Chapter Text
Getting the box out of storage was never the problem – it was the sight that met him once he opened the lid that caused trouble every year. Grantaire maneuvered the cardboard box from the lower shelf of the closet into his lap, the googly eyes of the Santa on the lid bouncing merrily. He’d been persuaded by Jehan to decorate the box the previous year, which meant that this year a thin layer of red paint covered the words ‘non-stick frying pan’ and a slightly manic drawing of Santa Claus, bulging eyes included, greeted him.
“You and me until Jehan arrives,” Grantaire muttered and maneuvered himself out of the closet.
He had put on a Christmas record when he arrived, meaning that he was gently ushered back into the front of the shop by Dolly Parton and her male companion. The floorboards in the corridor had not been changed since the shop was still an apothecary, back when Queen Victoria invented the Victoria sponge, which meant that his wheels caught several times along the way and the box was kept in his lap by sheer determination. Luckily Grantaire had spent enough time stubbornly getting heaps of books from the back when Jehan wasn’t around to get it done, and with a rush of triumph he hosted the box from his lap to the seat of the chair behind the counter. Dolly threw herself into an especially enthusiastic rendition of one of the classics, the ambient lighting that Grantaire liked to turn on in the mornings glowed softly from the nooks between the bookshelves, and Grantaire felt very pleased with himself indeed.
The triumph faded slightly as he opened the box and saw the chaos inside. String lights tangled in glitter, tangled in paper garlands, tangled in cotton wool snow, tangled in a Christmas tree ornament shaped like a hot dog. The version of himself that packed away the decorations each year was a twisted goblin of a man he’d never like to meet in the street. With a great amount of trepidation he dug into the mess with both hands, hoping that enthusiasm would compensate for a lack of method.
He had freed the string lights and was working on removing the glitter from the flimsy red hearts of the paper garland when the bell went. Jehan pushed the door open with two mitten clad hands, scowling at it as it slammed shut behind him.
“That door,” he said, “is going to be the thing that actually does my joints in.”
“Don’t talk ill of the door, it’s the only work-out I get throughout the week.”
Jehan smiled, shaking his head. “The fact that you even get that thing open sitting down is a miracle.”
“Continuous Christmas miracle, all year round.” He nodded towards the freed lights on the floor. “Those are ready once you’ve got your tea.”
Jehan headed towards the back, kissing Grantaire on the cheek as he passed. “Did you get the gingerbread one?”
“And more oat milk.”
“I love you!” Jehan called over his shoulder.
“Yeah, you’re alright.” Grantaire smiled to himself, and then scowled down at the knot of decorations still lying in his lap. “You, however… “
He was still wrestling with the paper garland when Jehan returned with his tea.
“Post came, by the way.” Jehan fished a couple of letters from an impossibly large pocket in his cardigan and handed them over.
One was the electrical bill, the other had writing on the front that Grantaire recognised and had learnt to dread. He frowned. He had paid the rent for this month last week, what could he possibly want already?
“Should I get on with the lights?” Jehan asked.
Grantaire nodded, eyes still fixed on the envelope. “Ladder’s in the usual place.” He looked up. “Are you up for the ladder today?”
Jehan lifted his velvet bell bottoms, flashing his ankles in a mock-flirtatious manner. “All braced up, just for you.”
“You’re too good to me.”
“Oh I know, darling.”
Jehan headed back through the hazardous corridor that the landlord hadn’t bothered to do anything about, just like he had refused to investigate if anything could be done about the front door.
Grantaire held his breath as he worked a finger under the flap of the envelope. It contained one single sheet of paper. Grantaire stared at it. He flipped the sheet over, finding the back blank. Then he stared some more.
“Everything alright?”
Jehan had reappeared with the ladder, an uncertain smile slowly slipping from his face.
“He’s raising the rent. Again.”
Jehan leaned the ladder against the wall. “Can we afford it?”
Grantaire looked away, his gaze landing on the new arrivals table by the door. Shiny covers, ordered just in time for Christmas gift season. “No,” he said. Dolly kept belting it out through the tinny speakers. The ambient lighting suddenly felt dim and insufficient. “No, we most certainly cannot.”