So, I'm a fan of Les Mis, mainly Enjolras and Grantaire. I'm also a fan of whump. So I thought to myself, why not create a collection of one-shots surrounding these two things? I will accept requests, but I can't guarantee I'll get to them all. Most of these will take place in a modern AU unless specified in the author's notes at the beginning.

This first one-shot is gonna be angsty in the beginning and then get super fluffy at the end. It was originally the prompt 'No, stop' but I really diverted from it's intended meaning. I guess it would be more accurate to refer to it

as mugging.

Enjolras was fully aware that he lived in a rough neighbourhood. He'd been mugged multiple times—only one attempt had actually been successful, as he'd taken to carrying pepper spray and a taser with him after the first time it happened. You had to be sharp to make it in this town, he knew.

Which was unfortunate, because judging by his decision to walk by himself, in the dark, without telling anyone what route he was taking, Enjolras was not very sharp. He'd be fine, he told himself as he trudged through the streets, no one's going to attack a grown man with a can of pepper spray in his pocket.

This was a lie, of course, and not even a clever one. Nobody cared who they mugged, so long as they had money on them, and even then, people were desperate. Enjolras to had admit that he sometimes pitied the street rats who had so little that they were willing to fight just for a single coin. His pity generally vanished when he became their target, or worse, one of his friends did.

Besides, even if muggers did pick and choose their targets, Enjolras wasn't exactly an imposing figure. Sure, he had a reputation for being ornery and cold, and most people knew him as that crazy revolutionary who was always yelling on campus, but it wasn't like people feared him. Grantaire and Bahorel, yes, but not Enjolras. Slender, blonde, girlish Enjolras, who at times looked like a stiff wind could carry him away, was in no way a threatening figure for muggers. If anything, he seemed like a prime target. Enjolras himself often wondered what Grantaire meant when he called him his Apollo—he certainly looked nothing like a marble statue, sturdy and built to last.

Grantaire. Enjolras smiled to himself, fingering the golden ring in his pocket. Even if he was mugged, the look on his face when he offered it to him would make it all worthwhile. It had taken Enjolras months to scrape together enough cash for even the simplest of engagement rings, but at long last, after a year and a half of dating, he was finally going to pop the question.

His excitement evaporated, however, when he realized he was being followed. There were three guys, all huge, trailing casually behind him, but with that slouch and smirk and the gleam in their eyes that made it plain they had malicious intent. Enjolras briefly considered running, but the streets were all but barren and there was nowhere to hide for at least another block. Grantaire had a painting on display at the museum tonight, which was where Enjolras was headed. It was at least three more blocks away.

Cursing under his breath, Enjolras switched pockets and wrapped him fingers around his can of pepper spray. He'd stupidly forgotten his taser at home, just as he'd stupidly decided to keep this a secret from literally everyone, meaning he couldn't have gotten a ride from someone. Stupid, stupid, stupid--

A rough hand on his shoulder stopped him in his tracks, and Enjolras whirled around, finding himself face-to-face with a hulk of a man, one hand gripping his shoulder, the other holding a knife.

Ah, shit. It was going to be one of those nights.

"Listen," Enjolras said, fighting against the urge to panic and make a run for it, knowing it would only end badly for him. "I've got somewhere really important to be, so could we maybe make this quick? I'll give you my wallet, just--"

Without saying a word, the hulking man shoved Enjolras against the wall, stepping in front of him and effectively cutting him off from the street, and any hope of escape. His two buddied appeared to flank him, grinning down at Enjolras as he struggled to regain his balance.

"Hand it over," hulk said, flexing his fingers, "let's go." Enjolras dug in his pocket for his wallet, which contained only a few coins and a picture of Grantaire, which was thrown to the ground and stomped on, much to Enjolras' dismay. "Empty your pockets," hulk ordered, clearly disgusted by the lack of proper cash. Enjolras heart sank.

Not the ring, not the ring, not the ring... he bit his lip hard, fishing his ring out delicately and clenching it in his closed fist. He pulled out his pocket, gesturing vaguely to show it was empty.

Hulk swore, shoving him again, this time sending Enjolras sprawling. His fist was wrenched open, and the ring fell to the ground, rolling away before Enjolras could snatch it back up again. A large, meaty hand swept down and scooped it up, and Enjolras cried out.

"No, stop!" He cried, reaching desperately, but his hand was brought back down with a painful crunch as hulk stepped down on it. "Thanks for the gold," he said, kicking Enjolras in the side. He gasped, the wind rushing from his lungs, and instinctively curled onto his side. "It'll really help us out. See you around, blondie."

Enjolras lay there for a few moments, sucking in air desperately and clutching his bruised ribs tenderly, watching through blurred vision as his ring—Grantaire's ring—was carried off. He lifted his head, wiping his eyes to rid himself of the reflex tears. As he got to his feet, Enjolras realized that he was crying.

He'd wanted to give Grantaire a ring so badly. He deserved one, surely, after all he'd done for him. And now he'd ruined everything by being an idiot and letting it get stolen. He hadn't even tried to use his pepper spray.

Enjolras trudged a few more steps, then sat down on the curb and stared at the glistening road. It had rained recently, and everything was slick and cool. Enjolras cried for a few minutes, then wiped away his tears, drew in a deep breathe, and rose to his feet. His ribs ached, and his hand throbbed from when it had been stepped on, and when he tried to flex his fingers it didn't quite work, but at least he could walk.

By the time he reached the museum, Enjolras felt like crying again. Grantaire would be inside, and he'd be thrilled to see Enjolras finally there, and he'd worry about what happened to him. He wouldn't even know that Enjolras had been planning on giving him a ring. He didn't have to know.

Grantaire found him within thirty seconds of his arrival, practically throwing himself onto his boyfriend. He drew away quickly when Enjolras hissed in pain, his ribs aching with the force of his impact. "Sorry," he said, "what happened, Enj? Are you okay?"

Enjolras shook his head. Grantaire observed his tearstained face and pale skin and nodded solemnly. "Okay. We need to go home."

Enjolras shook his head again. "Your painting's here," he said softly, "I came to see you, R. I don't want to take you away from your display."

Grantaire was about to argue, but then seemed to think better of it. "Okay, fine," he said, "but only because I know you'll whine and complain for a week if I make you go home." He took Enjolras by his uninjured hand and led him through the museum. They didn't go to Grantaire's exhibit, however, but to the washroom. Grantaire checked to make sure they were alone, then turned on Enjolras, folding his arms.

"So what happened?" He asked. Enjolras didn't bother lying. "I got jumped," he said, "there were three of them— didn't take anything, though."

"That's good, at least," Grantaire said, although he sounded furious, "and at least your mostly alright. How badly are you hurt, Enj?"

At those words, Enjolras found that he could suddenly no longer contain himself. He burst into tears, completely unwillingly, leaving Grantaire standing there looking utterly bewildered.

"Enj," he said gently, pulling his boyfriend into a hug and rubbing his back soothingly, mindful of his tenders ribs. "Hey, Enj, it's okay… shh, it's okay. You're safe now."

"They— they t-took the ri-ri-ring," Enjolras blubbered, unable to contain himself, "I— I was g-going to give it to y-y-you b-but they— they took it— and I—I have nothing to give you now—"

"Enj," Grantaire said, sounding equal parts surprised and horrified and saddened, "Enj, it— it's okay."

Enjolras shook his head, pressing his face into Grantaire's shoulder. "I wanted to give you something nice," he whispered. Grantaire petted his hair, smiling at the top of his head fondly.

"Enj," he said softly, "look up."

Enjolras looked. Grantaire pulled back, reaching into his pocket and producing from it a small, delicate golden ring.

Enjolras stared. Grantaire blushes slightly, chewing his lip. "I envisioned someplace more romantic than a musical bathroom," he said awkwardly, "but seeing as you were going to propose anyways, I might as well beat you to it."

Enjolras blinked. "You… you bought me one, too?"

Grantaire nodded, still blushing furiously. "It isn't much," he said, "but— but I hope it's enough."

Enjolras burst into a fresh bout of tears, throwing himself onto Grantaire. "Yes, of course!" He cried. "I— yes, I will marry you, R—"

"Good," Grantaire replied, reciprocating the hug and laughing through tears of his own. "Good, great— and Enj?"

"Yes?"

Grantaire smiled, kissing Enjolras quickly, their forehead pressing together. "Even without a ring, the answer would always be yes."