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Coach’s whistle rang in his ear, the puck flew out into play, and for once, Grantaire had a single-minded determination and focus.
He sprinted for the puck, but Bahorel cut in and carried it smoothly behind the goal before passing it to one of their other teammates. Grantaire followed, jostling the other player with his shoulders, then stole the puck out from under the other player’s stick and quickly turned. He sprinted down the ice the other way, but Bossuet shouldered him and steals the puck back. Bossuet passed down to Bahorel, still by the goal, who shot and scored.
A second whistle rang out, and Grantaire watched Coach’s hand go up in the universal gesture of “Bring it in”
Grantaire skated over to their Coach, and the scrape of hockey players coming to a stop echoed around them. The next team who booked the ice was waiting just outside the ice, and between their noisy chatter and Grantaire’s own heavy breathing, he had to strain to pick up Coach’s words. He heard “Friday” something something “drills - Bahorel, Grantaire” something else “good today” and pride bloomed in his chest.
Just as the smell of a high school men’s hockey team started to really hit, Grantaire heard the whistle again. “PUCKS IN THE BUCKET BEFORE YOU CAN GO,” Coach yelled above the din. “THEN GO GET CHANGED.”
They skated around collecting the piles of pucks from all over the ice, and Grantaire relished the speed and grace of being on skates. He used his stick to scrape out pucks from inside one of their ratty practice goals and sent them down the ice to where Bahorel was flipping them into the bucket.
Grantaire skated over to Bossuet, tossed his stick with a clatter, and leapt belly first down onto the ice. He slid towards Bossuet and they collided, knocking Bossuet to the ground until both boys were splayed out on the ice. Their heavy gear and layers of padding protected them from both any bruising or any cold, and they lay on the ground just staring at the ceiling.
Bossuet grunted, then clonked his helmet onto Grantaire’s, making both of them wince as they lay on the ice.
Bahorel skated over and stopped with a spray of ice. “Hey. Floor boys. Zamboni’s coming.”
Grantaire looked over, and sure enough, all the pucks had been cleared and the boards were opening to let the Zamboni in. They’re the only ones still on the ice, and the still-noisy next team stared at them impatiently.
Bossuet coughs. This was awkward.
They hauled themselves up and skated quickly off the ice, then clomped down the stairs in their skates to their changing room.
Grantaire pulled off his gloves first, then helmet, raking a hand through his sweaty mop of curls. He pulled his mouthguard off and stuck it in its case, then began pulling off the rest of his gear. His practice jersey came off, then his elbow pads - they were thrown unceremoniously into his gear bag. He unstrapped his shoulder pads, then began unlacing his skates.
Bossuet, next to him following the same procedure, flopped a glove at Grantaire. “Wanna hit the public rink after?”
Grantaire huffed out a “sure” as he pulled off a skate.
He shoved his gear into his bag then zipped it up. He pulled his skates back on, and nudged Bossuet. “I finished up. See you on the public rink?”
Bossuet nodded, focused on removing his foot from his skate. Grantaire picked up his stick and headed out the door and up the stairs to the public rink.
Public rink wasn’t the right word for it at 7 AM - it was only serious skaters instead of the families and young couples wobbling in slow circles like this rink was full of on the evenings and weekends. But in the mornings, it had only a handful of the most committed figure skaters - and importantly, space to skate.
Grantaire set his stuff down on the benches and stepped onto the ice, doing slow circles around a small handful of skaters in the center ice. He skated slow and smooth, enjoying the sound of his strokes as he glides in wide laps. He leaned forward with his hands clasped behind his back, and enjoys just flying across the ice.
Also, the smell of the ice. There was nothing like it.
Grantaire saw a graceful figure approach on his left, and straightened up. Cosette began skating along next to him.
“Hi, Grantaire!”
“Hey, Cosette! When did you get here?”
“Oh, I just got here. We had a meeting with our Coach. My brother’s still meeting with him.”
Her brother.
Enjolras.
Grantaire’s brain did a funny little dance where it said “it is very important that you leave immediately and avoid him” while simultaneously declaring that Grantaire needed to find Enjolras immediately and hold his hand. Or watch him skate. Or kiss him. Or all three, in whatever order worked best for Enjolras’ schedule. Grantaire wasn’t picky.
But Grantaire was Very Calm, thank you very much, and kept pace with Cosette as Bossuet skated up besides them.
He shot Grantaire a knowing glance, because for all Grantaire’s Calmness, he was not and never would be subtle. Grantaire elbowed Bossuet just as he opened his mouth.
“Your brother, huh? Is he gonna join us any time soon?”
Cosette shrugged. “Probably soon. He needs to work on his leaps.”
“Soon… Well, Grantaire, guess we’ll just have to wait around so we can say hiiiiiiii.” Bossuet said, drawing out the last word with a grin, because he was a terrible friend and Grantaire hated him.
“Or, you know,” Bossuet shrugged, nudging Grantaire. “We could say other things to him.”
Grantaire wished they were still wearing their hockey gear so he could knock Bossuet into the boards without damage. Bodily damage made Cosette upset, and upsetting Cosette was against the law.
Cosette laughed. “Don’t be mean, Bossuet, Grantaire’s just repressed. He’ll get there eventually.”
Okay, so never mind, Cosette was a traitor and he had no sympathy for her.
Grantaire muttered under his breath, and Cosette rolled her eyes as they skated around the bend.
“Oh, don’t be like that. It’s cute! You should talk to him, he might surprise you.”
Bossuet nodded importantly. “And if he rejects you and verbally assaults you to the point of eternal regret, I’ll be there with ice cream and Mamma Mia. You may not have a boyfriend, but we’ll always have the synth from Gimme, Gimme, Gimme.”
That was a good point, but- “No, wait, okay. First of all,” Grantaire said indignantly. “First of all, I missed the part where we talked openly about my whole…” He gestured vaguely.
“Gay sitch?” prompted Bossuet.
“Massive crush?” supplied Cosette.
“Okay, thank you both, yell it to the rink, why don’t you? My whole… situation. Can we go back to when we all knew but weren’t acknowledging it?” Grantaire pleaded.
Cosette shook her head dramatically, her ponytail swinging behind her. “Alas, Grantaire,” she said, hooking her arm through his and slowing them both down. “We cannot. You see, as your friends, Bossuet and I prefer this much more, as we can now make fun of you A Lot.”
And, well. That was fair.
Cosette glided off back to the center of the ice and began stretching, doing leaps and spins that were utterly beyond Grantaire. Bossuet and him practiced their one-footed stops until they had made a pile of snow, with Grantaire glancing up at the door of the rink every 18 seconds and Bossuet snickering at him every time.
Grantaire would shoot him a dirty look, and Bossuet would raise his hands innocently. “What!” He’d say, with a defensive tone but a teasing grin. “I think it’s cute!”
Grantaire had an eye on the massive clock on the wall, counting down to when they had to leave so they could shower and go to class. It was 07:27 now, and they had to leave by 07:35 if they were going to make it to Bossuet’s morning seminar.
When the clock hit 07:29, they skated off the ice and unlaced their skates. Grantaire shoved them into his bag with the rest of his gear, hoisted the bag on his shoulder, and Was Not Disappointed. He was here to play hockey, not to yearn after beautiful skaters with hair that danced around them like falling stars when they spun and who glided across the ice with the speed, danger, and grace of a bird on an ocean breeze- ahem.
He was not here to yearn.
They pushed out the front doors of the rink, and Grantaire fished in his pocket for his car keys. He was just pushing the unlock button when he heard his name called from behind them, inside the rink.
Enjolras was jogging towards them, dressed for practice with his hair pulled up in a ponytail that matched his sisters’.
Grantaire swallowed, and Bossuet clapped him on the shoulder with a laugh and grabbed the keys from his hand. “I’ll meet you in the car. Good luck, R.”
Enjolras walked up to him, and through the door Grantaire was still holding open in surprise, until they were face to face in the early morning sun.
“Hey, Grantaire. Sorry, are you in a hurry?” Enjolras asked, his brow furrowing slightly.
Grantaire checked the massive clock on the wall, still visible from outside the rink. 07:36. Yes, he was in a hurry.
“No, no, I have time. What’s up?” he breathed out.
Enjolras rocked back on his heels, suddenly nervous - which was unlike the confident athlete Grantaire was used to seeing on the ice.
Now that he thought about it, this was one of the first times they’d talked off the ice. They had their usual banter as they passed each other on the rink, or glances and jokes as they laced up their skates, but this conversation seemed like it was going to be different.
Grantaire suddenly realized Enjolras was talking and snapped back to focus.
“-And, I was just thinking that, you know, if you were free after practice some time, that we could-” Enjolras was rambling, which was not helping Grantaire’s brain process this conversation. “We could, I don’t know, grab some coffee? Or, there’s a really good
burrito place down the street that Cosette and I go to all the time-”
Grantaire furrowed his brow, looking at Enjolras. “Are you… asking me out?”
Enjolras bit his lip and nodded, looking nervous. “I hope that’s okay, Cosette said she didn’t think you’d be… averse to it- I just- I see you here all the time, and I really like talking to you, and. Well, you’re really cute, and- sorry. If this is too forward,” Enjolras said, tucking some hair behind his ear and looking up at Grantaire.
Grantaire blinked. “I- Yes. I’d love to go out with you some time, I’ve- uh.” He laughed nervously and scratched the back of his neck. “I’ve had a thing for you, like, forever. Just never really thought you’d-” He cuts off awkwardly and doesn’t say, I never thought someone like you would go for someone like me. He changes directions quickly. “Your sister and Bossuet spent the whole morning teasing me about you. It’s not too forward. I’d love to go out with you,” he repeated.
Enjolras stopped shifting and broke into a wide smile, which was quite rude, honestly. Grantaire was awkward enough as it was, and Enjolras smiling was NOT helping.
“Here, give me your phone,” Enjolras was saying, and Grantaire unlocked it and handed it to him. “I’m adding myself to your contacts. Shoot me a text when you get home so I’ll have your number.”
Grantaire found himself nodding along until Enjolras looked up with a frown. “It says I’m already in your phone? Enjolras, Call In Case Of Getting Over Being A Yearning Coward?”
“Ha ha,” said Grantaire, and resolved to push Cosette and Bossuet into traffic. “I think your sister gave me your number a while ago. She was, um. Not very subtle.”
Enjolras laughed. “She can be like that.” A voice called his name from inside the rink, and Enjolras shouted back that he’d “BE RIGHT THERE” over his shoulder.
Enjolras sighed, and looked up at Grantaire. “I have to go. But - text me. I’ll see you, okay?”
Enjolras bit his lip for a moment, then after glancing back into the rink, took another step forward and very quickly kissed Grantaire.
Grantaire took a moment to react, but then he tucked the hand not holding a hockey stick around Enjolras’ waist and tugged him closer for just a moment. Enjolras sighed against his mouth, and huh, that was something Grantaire could get used to.
He pulled away as he heard another shout of Enjolras’ name from inside the rink.
Enjolras, still tucked close to him, looked up at him with wide eyes. “I have to go, I’m sorry.” He extricated himself and yanked the door open, and shouted “Don’t forget to text! We’ll make a plan!” over his shoulder, which was funny, as if it would just slip Grantaire’s mind.
Grantaire lifted a hand in goodbye, watching as Enjolras looked back one more time.
They’d make a plan.
~~~
When he got in the car, Bossuet gave him a shit-eating grin. “How was your… conversation?” he asked, wiggling his eyebrows.
Grantaire shut the car door with a slam and glared mockingly at Bossuet. “Our conversation was good.” He lets out a breath and starts the car, pulling out into the road and deftly ignoring a bouncing Bossuet.
He grins. “We’re making plans.”