five (two) golden rings?

[pylades_drunk]

It's Christmas Eve and they're still decorating. Re-decorating, inasmuch as there were very many decorations before, because the cats have done their very best to topple the tree, late-purchased as it was, twice now (once Trick actually got stuck in the damn thing) and have brought down a good number of the baubles.

There's some bizarre holiday movie on the TV, though, and everyone's laughing. It'd be easy to snipe at each other if any or all were in a mood, over something as stupid as decorations and the cats, the stress of oncoming snow for Edgar or holidays in general for both Grantaire and Neil. Instead, it feels warmer than it has in months, and he turns from where he's choosing an aesthetically pleasing spot on the slightly disheveled tree for one of the ornaments to watch Edgar and Neil getting more fucking around accomplished than actually decorating.

It feels right, this moment, relaxed and unloaded, and it sort of just slips from his mouth.

"We should get married."

This is not how he planned it.

There are actual rings supposed to be involved, for one thing, hidden away in the room he rarely uses anymore. Several different length speeches that never sound right in his head, one version where they're all gathered together and another individually and private. Some where it's fairly romantic and spectacular (a few of these at Julie's suggestion, for she's crafty and he'd confessed his thinking to her back in July), and some more like this.

This isn't spectacular, it's not even something he was quite prepared to hear himself say, but it carries, and he bites his lip, suddenly anxious all over in a way he's not familiar with.

Comments

[pylades_drunk]

Grantaire can't tell, exactly, if that wince is about the rings, his studious assigning metaphors to objects, or Neil's own exclamation. He isn't expecting either of them to be some gasping, showing-off debutante about it, especially after the living room, but it does make him hold his breath for a moment.

Then Edgar speaks, and it's his turn to flush, leaning into the kiss with feeling, gentle and lingering. Poetic is something Grantaire likes to think of himself as, but usually doesn't. Impossible, well, that's usually been applied to him in negative ways. But they are, aren't they, the three of them? Impossible.

His smile turns into something just simply pleased, boyish almost, when Neil puts his hand out, and he nods, setting down Edgar's for just a moment to pluck Neil's ring off and put it on his finger, chewing on the inside of his lip as he does.

He does the same in turn to Edgar with a little private smile just his. It's strange, the ways that he loves them both, the things that they bring to his life: so similar and so very different.

Right now, though, he's feeling happy and ridiculous about all of it, and wishing very much that all the amis were here to mock him later for all of this sentiment.

[humanresource]

They could only have happened in Darrow, the three of them. It's about as impossible as fossils from a place without history , mixed with metal from the sky, elements that should never have met and yet were there. Edgar wasn't much for words unless he was about to insult someone or incite violence. When it came to trying to express how beautiful he thought they were and how much he loved them? He was lost.

Edgar let Grantaire slide the ring onto his finger and then took a moment to contemplate it. The ring was still new, foreign on his person, but he could imagine it being there every day, getting used to it, until the ring was an ingrained part of his being. Just like they were.

"I love them," he said, finally tearing his eyes away from the ring to look up at Neil and Grantaire. "Fuck, I love you both."