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“We should enter a marriage.”
While a hello would seem more appropriate to most, considering that Combeferre has just walked in, pretty much anything suffices for a typical greeting in this household. The number of times Combeferre has welcomed Enjolras by showing him the latest update on the Perseverance rover is immense enough that he is obliged to accept Enjolras’s daily philosophical musing as the first thing he comes home to.
It’s said so casually, and with such resolve, that Combeferre nearly misses the phrase’s actual meaning. He nods his head slowly, with great consideration -- consideration that he always gives to Enjolras’s words. And then his friend’s round blue eyes prod earnestly into him, and it strikes him that this is not a typical philosophical pondering.
There’s some absurdity in it. Enjolras doesn’t exactly look like he’s proposing, turned at the waist from where he’s seated at his desk rather than down on one knee. Indeed, it’s more like he had just proposed that they should invest in an automatic vacuum cleaner or register for curbside grocery pickup.
Combeferre clears his throat. “Usually,” he says, not unkindly, “when someone proposes, it’s phrased as a question.” Granted, that’s the least confusing part of this; usually when someone proposes, it’s to their romantic partner, and he and Enjolras are…not that. They’re roommates, close confidants, lifelong friends, and maybe something that’s harder to describe underneath all of those things, but they aren’t that .
“Should we enter a marriage?” Enjolras corrects himself wryly.
Combeferre plays along. “I don’t know -- but I do know that getting married is not a split-second decision.”
“I’m not talking about getting married,” says Enjolras. “Just entering a marriage.”
“What’s the difference?”
“Entering a marriage is just a legal commitment; ‘getting married’ implies more than that.”
Combeferre isn’t sure that he likes where this is going. The crease in his neatly tapered brow says as much, prompting Enjolras to elaborate.
“We already live together and plan on continuing to do so; a marriage agreement would lend some extra conveniences to that. Tax benefits would be the obvious one, but there are others. Visitation rights -- we’ve both seen enough protests go wrong to know why that’s important. And given how neither of us are romantically inclined, there’s no risk of the potential awkwardness of explaining our situation to romantic interests.”
Combeferre takes a seat on the couch opposite Enjolras’s desk, and Enjolras spins his chair around to better face him. Combeferre stares at his hands, the fingers pressed together.
“It’s only logical, Combeferre.”
“Ah, but is it sensible , Enjolras?”
“Why wouldn’t it be?”
“Principle, for one thing,” says Combeferre. “Wasn’t one of the tenets in the fight for same-sex marriage the fact that same-sex partnerships wanted their love to be recognized in equal respect to opposite-sex couples? If we got married just to take advantage of the systems in place, I would worry about the broader ethical implications regarding the sanctity of marriage and what that means for everyone who had to fight for that recognition of their love. Wouldn’t you?”
Enjolras shakes his head. He speaks without urgency behind his words, simply stating his thoughts. “I don’t believe in the sanctity of marriage. It’s a legal arrangement with a religious origin, constructed to enforce monogamy and the nuclear family structure by granting privilege to traditionally-minded couples. It’s oppressive regardless of how far you stretch the definition.”
“Marius and Cosette are married,” Combeferre points out -- not accusatory, never accusatory, but speculative. “Are they oppressors for it?”
“I’m not talking about individuals; only the institution. All of which is to say, what’s the harm in shaking things up by turning the sanctity of marriage on its head?”
The pause that Combeferre replies with carries a certain weight to it, one that Enjolras knows well enough not to mistake it with a lack of response. He is searching for the right thing to say, and Enjolras will not interrupt his thought process.
With a heavy sigh, Combeferre settles on his words. “This is a difficult thing you are asking of me, Enjolras.”
Enjolras blinks, genuinely apologetic. “I’m sorry; I would never mean to pressure you.”
“It’s alright. I just need time to think about this. You understand.”
“Of course. Take all the time you need.”
Combeferre nods, leaning back on the couch. Enjolras turns back to his computer for a moment, his thoughts suddenly rushing to the work he’d been doing. Then slowly, fingers just settling on the keyboard, he turns back toward his friend. “How’s Perseverance?”
The way Combeferre’s eyes light up behind his glasses brings his friend warmth, along with a heavy sense of relief. “Perseverance is doing great. It’s going faster than any rover before it.”
“Really? How fast?”
“Nearly one-tenth of a mile per hour,” Combeferre replies, the corner of his mouth picking up. Already he’s scrolling through his phone to find the article, like a cat owner looking for pictures of their beloved pet to show off.
Enjolras grins. “Incredible.”
---
“Yes,” is all Combeferre greets Enjolras with as his friend steps into the living room. It’s one of those days where Combeferre’s last class ends before Enjolras’s, and he has settled comfortably onto the couch with a research paper pulled up on his tablet. He doesn’t look up from it.
Enjolras, eyes still glazed over from a drawn-out and ostensibly pro-capitalist Econ lecture courtesy of his least favorite professor, cocks his head to the side. “Yes…?”
Combeferre looks up, cracking a calm smile. “Yes, I’ll enter a marriage with you.”
---
They don’t tell the others at first. It simply doesn’t happen to be relevant to any of their conversations with their friends in the following months, so they never bring it up. They rarely even mention it between one another, until April comes around and they nearly forget to file their taxes jointly.
It doesn’t have a huge impact on their day-to-day lives, but it’s assuring to know they’ll be able to be there for one another in ways that only their binding legal agreement allows. Months turn into a year, and they’re still living together with no intent of parting ways. They’re comfortable and domestic, still not lovers, but allies in life.
Courfeyrac jokes that the two act like a married couple, and they decide, with the kind of mutual look that hides an entire conversation in its silence, to finally let their friends know. It comes as a shock, but Enjolras is deft in his explanation of the platonic, politically subversive relationship. He nearly seems proud to share the idea.
It’s harder for him to admit that as the months pass, his affections are becoming less platonic. There’s a hesitancy to turn this into a romantic relationship, something that doesn’t match up with the principles he’s been building up in his head to make this marriage internally logical in the first place.
Combeferre notices. He feels a hand linger on his shoulder a little longer than usual, hears the subtle but uncharacteristic stammer in Enjolras’s voice during their heartfelt conversations, keeps track of the way that Enjolras is even more complimentary of him than usual. He’d be lying if he said that he hadn’t started to take an unexpected interest in Enjolras, too.
But Combeferre is patient and calculated in all things, and he will not risk this by pushing Enjolras to admit something he’s not ready to. For now, he enjoys the long touches and the late conversations. He reciprocates when Enjolras does something akin to flirting, encouraging him to do so but never letting on that he realizes exactly what’s happening.
And deep down, in their moments of privacy, his heart flickers with quiet elation when he thinks of Enjolras as his husband.