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After their last class of the morning, Courfeyrac, Enjolras and Combeferre walk to the cafeteria. Marius is trailing behind, texting Cosette and walking into people. The group of friends sits at the second biggest table, their now usual spot.
Grantaire arrives to take his shift at the cafeteria but takes the time to stop by and say hello.
“Courfeyrac! Happy to see you on this beautiful day,” he greets his friend. Feeling daring, he adds, “and in beautiful company,” while looking at Enjolras.
The latter can’t decide if he’s supposed to be incredulous or flattered, and settles for silently raising his eyebrows.
Marius has been following Courfeyrac pretty much everywhere since he moved universities to join them, but he can’t remember if he has met Grantaire already.
“I don’t know if you’ve met R, he’s from the language department originally, but he goes to our French-Italian International Relations class with Enjolras and me.”
Enjolras chuckles “I forget you actually attend uni and don’t just hang out here.”
Courfeyrac laughs heartily.
“He thinks he doesn’t need to go to lectures cause his mom is Italian so he’s fluent,” he explains
“So he’s not seen in a lot of actual classes, except ours,” adds Enjolras.
“Sono qui più che altro per incontrare persone interessanti come te, Apollo.”
Before anyone has time to ask for a translation or even complain about his showing off, Grantaire jumps to his feet to go to the cafeteria counter.
“Well, sorry to leave you but some of us poor people have to go to work now!”
He bows.
When he turns around, Courfeyrac slaps Grantaire’s ass and laughs. Marius blushes with surprise. Combeferre, noticing his discomfort, explains that Courfeyrac is like that with everybody who he knows is ok with it, and that it has become a joke between them because Grantaire is a notorious flirt with anyone and everyone. Even if he knows this and is used to his friends’ antics, hearing it described out loud makes Enjolras’ face start feeling hot as well.
To change the subject, he asks Marius if he’s managed to get out of his registration to the worst student union, the sworn enemy of his people, aka students and those who represent them. Marius registered there first thing when he enrolled in this university, thinking his politically inclined friends would be happy with him. Unfortunately, it seemed to be the wrong choice for this purpose, and Enjolras would not let him live it down.
“It’s coercion of the new students!” exclaims Combeferre. “Poor kid didn’t even know what he was getting into!”
Marius scowls at being called a kid by a guy his age but is glad someone is defending him. Enjolras however remains unconvinced.
After their meal, they leave for the union hall, Marius slipping off to go meet up with Cosette and to avoid being berated further by Enjolras.
Enjolras always arrives on time at parties. Considering most of Courfeyrac’s friends are usually fashionably late – as is their host – he's used to being entrusted with such missions as grabbing beers at the corner store or moving some furniture around. He doesn’t even wait to be asked anymore. This time though, he quickly realises that for some reason the script has been flipped. Even through the closed door, he can hear his friends’ voices.
Grantaire opens the door and is stopped by the sight of beautiful blond curls, blue eyes, full lips and -
“Erhm. Hello, R” Enjolras says.
“Hey… man, nice to see you,” Grantaire manages to say, but doesn't move for another few seconds.
Enjolras is carrying not one but two bags, in addition to the bottle of white wine in his hand.
“I'll take that,” Grantaire says, and finally moves out of the way.
Eponine sits on the couch, her legs lazily thrown over Cosette's. Marius on the other side of her pokes Eponine's foot once in a while, but none of them move. Grantaire has sat back down on the floor in front of them. Courfeyrac is in the kitchen getting some food and more drinks.
"Did I get the time wrong or something?" asks Enjolras. "How are you guys here before me?"
Marius laughs.
"Well me and Cosette were making the cupcakes - ok I watched her - Ponine came here in the afternoon to.. “Hang !” Eponine interjects, “and Grantaire half lives here. But don't worry, the others are late though!"
Enjolras nods and goes to drop off his bags in Courfeyrac's room, in a sound of rustling paper.
“What’s all that?”asks Marius when he gets back.
“Well I’d love to tell you, but… our loyalties differ.”
Marius shoots him a questioning glance.
“Are you still affiliated to the union-that-must-not-be-named?” Enjolras wonders as he sits down.
“Oh come on, you’re still going on about that?”
“Yeah!” Courfeyrac laughs as he comes back from the kitchen. “Couldn't have you spying on us for the enemy, right?”
“Ugh,” says Marius, “sorry my pick isn’t revolutionary enough for you…”
It is only after a beer and a slice of pizza that Enjolras finally stops pulling Marius' leg about his questionable choice of a student union.
After Combeferre and Joly arrive, Eponine decides it is time to show off the sesame and popcorn daiquiri she has obtained at her parents’ bar.
“It’s exactly what it says on the bottle,” she explains. “There were at least six of them, and they’ve been there since 2017, no one’ll miss it.”
The bottle is placed on the living room table next to Cosette’s vanilla pumpkin cupcakes.
Eponine looks at it for a second before declaring: “Well, this isn’t going to open itself.”
She grabs a cup from Grantaire and pours herself a generous shot, which she immediately downs.
“Eh, it’s pretty ok.”
Once equipped with his own cup of fancy daiquiri, Grantaire looks around more thoroughly. He notices Enjolras talking with Marius, and they both wave at him. He is very much tempted to join them; however, as he gets closer, he realises what they are talking about. It is some ongoing conflict, about which Grantaire only knows these three facts: it is very complex; it is very polarising; and Enjolras is very knowledgeable about it. Grantaire has found himself in such conversations before with him and he has felt very small and ignorant. Moreover, it is rather hard to concentrate on sensible answers when Enjolras is talking so animatedly, his hands alternately combing his hair back and brushing against Grantaire’s arm. He has no wish to repeat the experience.
“Eh Grantaire, c’mere!”
Marius has evidently noticed him staring. Grantaire feels himself blush
“So,” asks Marius, “have you tried Ponine’s loot? How is it?”
Marius seems pretty keen on escaping the political conversation, and Grantaire is grateful for that.
“It’s weird, but it’s good I guess.”
Enjolras raises an eyebrow at him, seemingly unconvinced.
“You can try if you want,” shrugs Grantaire.
He hopes he isn’t staring too hard as Enjolras takes the cup gingerly from him and sniffs at it before taking a sip.
“Eh... ok... Must be really expensive though.”
Grantaire is ready to take the cup back, but Marius grabs it
“Nice!” he pronounces, giving his cup back to Grantaire, who feels somewhat betrayed.
After a few drinks, Grantaire is feeling playful, and keeps trying to trick Enjolras into misspeaking, to get him to trip over his words like he did at the door, like he does every time they get a little too close. He questions his philosophies, his ethics, the usefulness of his tactics. He makes play-on-words at every turn of every perfect sentence. Courfeyrac ends up groaning and hiding his face, begging him to stop with the puns. He whispers in Italian with Eponine, loud enough to be heard of course, but not understood. But nothing seems to crack Enjolras' cool composure: he either ignores him or has a response ready, and a beautiful smile with it, which would shut him up any time.
He takes a break from the party to go smoke in the bathroom. When he comes back, most of the party has deserted the living room space, tempted by the prospect of pizza, and Enjolras has stripped off his sweater to a white tank top and has a slight flush. Grantaire's stomach drops. He goes to sit on the couch, trying desperately to use Marius as a shield between Enjolras and him.
After losing his words for a while, Grantaire is pulled back into a conversation about activism - Enjolras' playground if anything is. Marius is arguing for compromise; Enjolras, flush now reaching down to his neck, for direct action.
“Not this again,” Grantaire breathes, reaching for another beer.
Enjolras stops, eyebrows raised, and replies in a tone so harsh even he doesn't quite recognise it:
“We know you don't believe in anything, R.”
Enjolras realises at that point that he is slightly drunk and might regret provoking his friend.
“Oh I believe, Apollo.”
He doesn't want to get into it but now he's started, Grantaire's words are coming out of his mouth faster than he can stop them.
“I believe in people. I believe humans can inflict an unlimited amount of pain on others. I believe in cruelty, viscousness, apathy, grief. I believe in suffering, cause I've seen it, in ways you haven't. I believe in joy, I believe in small reprieves, instants of brightness. I believe in beauty, music, comfort, distraction from pain. And maybe there will be a revolution. But I won't be in the trenches. I will be in the back, looking for some small reprieves, and hopefully sharing some instants of brightness with everyone else that stays behind, if you'll leave some for the rest of us when you go.”
As he finishes speaking, he immediately gets up to join the others in the kitchen.
Enjolras sits frozen in space, feeling rather small. He's known Grantaire for a while now, but he's starting to think he got him all wrong. He likes to think he is good at reading people, but now this man is making him doubt everything: what he thought about him, but also about himself, his belief, praxis. For all his action, all his compassion, Grantaire is right, Enjolras has lived a pretty comfortable life.
He can't shake the image of Grantaire, eyes gleaming, passionate, confident despite the beer and wine and the late night... Enjolras' heart feels like it's being squeezed in his chest... what's happening to him?
When Grantaire walks back into the room, they look at each other for slightly too long, and Enjolras suddenly feels too warm. From the other side of the coffee table, Marius calls to him:
“Are you ok J ? you look as if you'd seen a ghost.”
“Something like that, yeah,” he replies, looking out into nothing.
The night goes on, there is more beer, some dancing, more discussions – serious and less – from living wages to the latest Survivor episode. Eponine pulls out a tarot deck and reads their cards. Courfeyrac laughs at the prediction of an overwhelming amount of information (you mean every day of my life ?). Joly frowns at the Hierophant “I get it, I’m studying medicine, pulling the doctor card… Wait, do you think it means I should see a doctor ?!” Even though he doesn’t believe in anything mystical, Ferre listens carefully as Eponine describes the meaning of the Chariot to him. Grantaire shrugs at the tower, but he laughs at Enjolras' pulling the Emperor. Everyone rolls their eyes at Marius and Cosette both getting the lovers.
Later even, as the lovers are gone to Marius' room, Joly and Combeferre have left and the rest of them have been watching crazy conspiracy theory videos, Enjolras notices that Grantaire has been gone to the bathroom a while. He wonders jokingly whether he's got a habit of falling asleep in there. However, this doesn't make Courfeyrac smile, but rather frown and head to the bathroom. Enjolras follows.
When Courfeyrac opens the door, they find Grantaire sitting on the floor, hair even messier than usual, eyes red and puffy. When he sees them, he makes a sobbing sound towards Courfeyrac, who jumps into action.
“Can you get us a glass of water,” he throws at Enjolras, who figures he's being sent out of the way.
He goes to the kitchen, confused. He's never seen Grantaire in any other demeanour than aloof and joking. Of course in class he looks pensive and sometimes even sad, but the look on his face in that bathroom is weird - worrying even.
When Enjolras comes back with the glass of water, Courfeyrac is sitting behind Grantaire, arms wrapped tightly around him. He's repeating, mouth close to his ear, in a soothing tone “breathe, breathe, it's gonna be ok buddy, breathe.” Once again, Enjolras is unable to move. Too many emotions are running through his mind; he feels bad for Grantaire, but also useless. In the back of his mind, although he would never admit it, he realises he also feels a pang of jealousy for not being the one to hold him into comfort.
Silent as a mouse, Eponine appears behind him and grabs his arm to walk him back to the couch with her.
“Don't worry about it. Courfeyrac will calm him down,” she says softly as they sit down.
“What's happening to him?” Enjolras asks, the lump in his throat making his tone uneven.
“Panic attack. They happen once in a while. I know he seems like a chill guy and that nothing can get to him, but he's been through a lot.”
Unsure what to do, Enjolras stays seated with Eponine and pretends to watch the video on JFK's assassination still projected onto the wall in front of them.
Finally, Courfeyrac comes out of the bathroom, leading Grantaire to his room. Courfeyrac comes out a few minutes later and sits beside Enjolras. Over him, as if he's become invisible, Courfeyrac tells Eponine:
“He's out. Thank god.”
Eponine nods.
He seems to finally remember Enjolras is here.
“Hey, so I know we said you could sleep over and we'd look at the news flyers in the morning, but there seems to be someone occupying my bed, and I'm gonna need the couch.”
“Oh no, that's fine, I'm not that far, I'll come back in the morning.”
“Yeah, you do that,” Courfeyrac yawns.
Enjolras takes that for his cue to stand up and extend a hand to Eponine.
“My lady, shall I walk you home?”
She giggles and stands up. Her and Courfeyrac hug for a while and then they're off.
In his bed alone, unable to find sleep, Enjolras ponders. He tries to rest, but his brain is whirring, and an idea always comes back, front and center: touch. He is faced with the uncomfortable realization that his whole group of friends is really touchy with each other... Except for him, and he isn't sure how this happened. Over and over, images of the night come to him. Of Courfeyrac holding Grantaire to calm him down of course, but also of other things that happen all the time but that he's seemingly ignored before. Eponine with her legs over Cosette and Marius', Grantaire's head resting against their knees, Courf hugging and kissing everyone good night. And others, still, flooding his mind; Courfeyrac and Ferre holding hands in the hall, Jehan and Grantaire sitting with their shoulders pressed together, reading from the same book. Forehead kisses, hugs, limbs tangled on couches and floors, and himself, always outside.
He's always wanted to be strong for his friends and comrades, because they need it and because he can. Now however he is starting to realise it isn't the alpha and omega of support. In a way he's been physically absent: no one relies on him for comfort, and he can't really rely on anyone either. But he doesn't need that, he's never needed that.
Yet something in him wants to try. Perhaps he'd like a bit of physical contact, from time to time, nothing much. Perhaps it would comfort him, if it was Grantaire. He has never felt like he had been missing out on something, but now he wants it.
He finally falls asleep feeling empty.
Despite his short night, Enjolras is up early enough and doesn’t waste any time before going back to Courfeyrac’s. As he is climbing the stairs, he meets his friend coming down. Courfeyrac has way too much energy considering they were both up only a few hours ago.
“Hey friend! Didn’t expect you this early… although I probably should have… Marius and Cosette are gone and Grantaire is still asleep. Make yourself at home, I’ll be back in no time with breakfast!”
He throws him his keys and continues down the stairs.
Enjolras steps into his friend’s apartment and is met with silence. He starts to pick up the remnants of the evening and, once the flat seems clean enough, he decides to make some coffee. As he fumbles with what he guesses is the coffee maker - it looks alien and futuristic- his arm bumps the pile of reusable plastic cups drying by the sink, sending them tumbling to the tile floor. Plastic cups make a lot more noise than you’d think. He is still picking them up when Grantaire appears, disheveled as ever, wearing his shirt from yesterday and no trousers, which doesn’t seem to bother him. Enjolras barely notices it, his eyes drawn to the sleepy smile that sits on his friend’s face. All of yesterday’s distress seems to have melted into an air of contentment which warms Enjolras’ heart.
“Hello stranger,” Grantaire mumbles, pushing the hair out of his eyes, “what are you trying to accomplish here?”
Enjolras realises he is standing in the middle of the kitchen, three plastic cups in one hand and some part of the coffee maker in the other.
“Trying to make coffee… Sorry I woke you up.”
Enjolras genuinely feels bad for pulling him out of his sleep, but he is also glad that he is here with him, and that he seems better. Truth is he was really worried for Grantaire. Part of him wants to tell him that, and share his relief that he is smiling again, but his thoughts are quickly interrupted.
“I’ll take it from here.”
Grantaire grabs the handle from his hand and bumps his hip against Enjolras’ to push him out of the way. In a few minutes while Enjolras stares, impressed, Grantaire has mastered the technologically advanced coffee maker and is pouring them coffee.
“Sorry I woke you up and made you make the coffee.”
“It’s fine. I’m much better at coffee making than you, it’s rare enough that I get to do something you can’t.”
Grantaire leans up against the counter and sips his coffee. Enjolras is itching to ask whether he’s really feeling better, and also curious as to what caused him to panic last night, but he is scared the soft smile will leave Grantaire’s face if he does.
Grantaire sits on the couch and turns the projector on, syncing his phone to it. Enjolras goes to join him but half-trips and lands seated way closer to his friend than he had intended. They both smile awkwardly but neither moves away. They sit like this for a while, both seemingly engrossed in the marine life documentary projected on the wall. Although he feels incredibly comfortable there, Enjolras is way too aware of how close their bodies are, shoulder touching shoulder, thigh against naked thigh.
If Enjolras’ thoughts are racing, Grantaire has never felt so at peace. It seems as if everything is where it is supposed to be, and he smiles a secret, satisfied smile. The evening was draining, and the night short. Even though he fights it for a while, he falls asleep, unable to stay awake to appreciate the moment, his head rolling onto Enjolras’ shoulder. The latter is surprised at first but settles into contentment. Lulled by Grantaire’s breath against his ear, he drifts towards something like sleep.
They both jump when Combeferre and Courfeyrac walk in through the door.
“Oh, hi,” they each articulate.
“Hi!” answers Courfeyrac. “What are you guys doing over there?”
“Watching fishes,” says Grantaire.
“It’s a documentary about marine life,” adds Enjolras.
“...Ok.” Courfeyrac laughs.
“R…” asks Combeferre. “Why aren’t you wearing pants?”
“He slept here,” answers Courfeyrac, “and he doesn’t have any manners.”
“Hey I made coffee!”
They all sit down to eat warm croissants, and then Courfeyrac goes to his room to get Enjolras’ bags. Grantaire retrieves a sock that ended up in there the night before and heads towards Courf’s room. Before he leaves, Enjolras asks if he doesn’t want to stay. He really doesn’t want to hear about the organisation of the protest but it’s impossible to say no to Enjolras’ still sleepy eyes.
“Alright I’ll stay, for you Apollo” he smirks “but i will not be participating! No thank you!”
He retrieves his sketchbook from his bag and sits a little outside their focused circle to draw while they talk.
Combeferre has taken out his computer and is reading out figures.
“So they said they have 30% more members than last year, but I don’t have last year’s numbers, so that’s useless.”
“Why didn’t anyone ask them about it?” Enjolras snaps.
“Who’s job is that even?” asks Courfeyrac.
Enjolras groans and makes a note on the pad he’s balancing on his knees.
“This is important!” he repeats, as if anyone in this conversation doubted it - Grantaire, still bent over his sketchbook, does not count.
“Also some of the people who registered never came to the meeting of course,” says Combeferre, jumping to the next topic and trusting the others would follow.
“So how many were we?” asks Enjolras.
“That’s the part you’re going to love: I looked over the notes of the person we asked to do that... no idea what it means, absolutely useless. I asked them about it,” he adds before Enjolras has the time to intervene, “and they said they didn’t remember. Obviously some people can give estimates but for those hard numbers we need we’ll have to wait until next time.”
“And now the other guys cancelled next month’s assembly?” asks Enjolras, not even wanting to acknowledge Combeferre’s news.
He knows the answer of course, but he still puts his head in his hands when Courferac confirms it.
“Ok that’s enough.”
Grantaire is looking up from his sketching, looking somewhat worried.
“You guys need a break,” he continues, getting up.
“No.” Enjolras looks outraged. “We need to finish this. We’re trying to be serious here.”
“I’m pretty serious about you taking a break.”
They stare at each other, and Grantaire slowly smiles.
“I know you’re serious, but I am wild, and I say you’re all exhausted. Break time.”
“Yeah J…” Combeferre adds while Courfeyrac nods, “I don’t think continuing right now will get us anywhere.”
Enjolras reluctantly relents. As he sets his notepad on the table with Combeferre’s computer, Grantaire disappears in Courfeyrac’s room. When he comes back, he’s wearing sweatpants and a grin stretching from ear to ear, while he hides something behind his back.
“Those are my pants,” remarks Courfeyrac.
He doesn’t seem very much offended though, so Grantaire ignores him. Instead, he shows them what he is holding: a box that Courfeyrac seems to recognise.
“Hey, is that my weed too?”
“No…” answers Grantaire deliberately.
Courfeyrac’s eyes narrow with suspicion.
“... or is it?” continues Grantaire.
“It better not be…”
The joint is passed around. Grantaire seated himself between Courfeyrac and the arm of the sofa where Enjolras is perched. For some time they don’t say anything.
Courfeyrac goes to put on some music, but Grantaire stops him with a look. He leans across Enjolras like he isn’t there and reaches for Courfeyrac’s guitar, but his fingers close inches away from it.
“Help, maybe?”
Enjolras slowly gets into motion, grabs the neck of the guitar and somehow manages to get it through safely to Grantaire. The latter starts strumming distractedly. It’s not a precise song, just chords, one after the other, falling from his fingers. Courfeyrac and Combeferre start talking together; Enjolras is content with simply listening. He lies back against the sofa in a weird but not uncomfortable position.
While Grantaire strums he cannot stop from looking at Enjolras’ face, his forehead, nose and chin silhouetted against the pastel walls. He’s got a pretty nice face , thinks Grantaire. His eyes are half closed, curls spread around his head like a halo. Grantaire wants to touch them so much, but he keeps on strumming. Enjolras looks like an angel; one doesn’t just stroke an angel’s curls.
A week later, Courfeyrac and Grantaire are hanging out as they often do, in Courfeyrac’s room. They are both lying down, Courfeyrac on his bed and Grantaire as his mirror on the floor. He doesn’t find it uncomfortable.
“Can I tell you something?” Grantaire asks out of nowhere.
“What kind of question is that, also have you ever asked it? Cause there is stuff you’ve told me that I would have rather not known,” Courfeyrac laughs.
Grantaire is rethinking the idea of this conversation and doesn’t reply immediately. His friend gets concerned by this silence and props himself on his elbow to look at him.
“What’s up dude?”
Grantaire hides his face in his hands.
“It’s … really dumb, ok, so you have to promise me you won’t tell ANYONE.”
Courfeyrac crosses his heart.
“There’s… There’s someone I like uh… like a lot.”
Courfeyrac is used to Grantaire telling him about all sorts of crushes and hook ups and crazy stories, but he has never seen him tiptoe like that.
“Well who is it? Spit it out!”
“Ugh! It’s Enjolras!”
Courfeyrac slumps back down onto his bed.
“R...I thought we agreed you weren’t gonna have sex with any more of my friends.”
Grantaire jumps to his feet and starts pacing around the room.
“I don’t want to have sex with him! Well I do, but, I’m trying to tell you it’s more than that! I don’t know what to do with these… feelings! I barely sleep anymore!”
“What are you saying?”
“It’s like… Love, I think?”
“You’ve said that before.”
“But I mean it now, it’s so much different, I feel so different.”
They sit in silence. Courfeyrac sighs.
“R… You know Enjolras… I don’t think he’s really… Like that.”
“That man is not straight.”
“That’s… not what I mean. We never really talked about it, he’s pretty private about that stuff, but if I had to guess I would say he’s probably aro and or ace.”
Grantaire seems to deflate.
A whirlpool of thoughts and emotions forms in him, and it drags him under the surface, drowning him. All the happy delusions that have kept him company these last weeks are laid to rest on the ocean floor. But for him there is no rest, only grief.
He wanted to believe in the fresh, new warm, fuzzy feeling. He wanted to believe, but there is nothing to believe in, nothing to hope for. Nothing can grow from these feelings.
“Im sorry pal.”
Grantaire slowly gets up. He feels nauseous, but he doesn’t want Courfeyrac to have anything to do with it.
“I’m going to go…”
Courfeyrac nods and lets him grab his belongings.
“I need to be alone for a bit.”
The following Monday, Grantaire, who got only a few hours of sleep, goes to the French-Italian International Relations class in the law and poli sci building. He is on autopilot, and has been for the last few days.
Courfeyrac is surprised to see him sit down in the lecture hall, and Grantaire, too late, is surprised to realise he is there. A few rows in front of them, he can see Enjolras’ figure. He looks beautiful as ever. Not more interested in the lecture than he ever was, Grantaire has no choice but to continue looking at him and brood. Enjolras raises his hand with an insight on anarchist perspectives about the day’s lecture theme. All he says flows beautifully, and even the professor seems impressed.
Grantaire admires him, his voice and ideas; he resents him, his perfect face and clever tone. He sighs and buries his head in his arms on his desk. He stays there until it is finally time to leave. He wants to run off, but Enjolras catches up with them as they exit the hall. They exchange pleasantries and it feels so normal and usual Grantaire wants to scream. He has to remind himself that to Enjolras, nothing has changed; even though for him everything is different, overwhelmingly so. The way his heart skips a bit when Enjolras grabs his arm feels too familiar though. He flinches, and Enjolras removes his hand immediately, worrying he has made Grantaire uncomfortable.
As they walk away, Enjolras shoots a small smile at Grantaire and cracks an innocent joke, punctuated by a radiant laugh. Grantaire’s heart is aching with the desire to respond, but his mind is raving with rotten thoughts. He’s mocking me, laughing at my feelings. He has noticed, has figured out or worst, Courfeyrac has betrayed me and told him, and now he’s laughing at me, feeling all superior. I know he is too good for me, I don’t need him to act like this. I don’t need to be coddled. If he could stop pretending to even like me now that would be fine. Grantaire spirals.
Oblivious to his internal turmoil, Enjolras ends up figuring R is tired or grumpy or in a weird mood and leaves him alone to grumble. Instead talks to Courfeyrac about the plans for the weekend protest. Grantaire walks a few paces behind his friends, fuming anew because he is tired of hearing about Enjolras’ stupid protest.
Courfeyrac, feeling his friends tense up as they walk, scrambles to find a subject of conversation to lift everyone’s spirit.
“Oh guys. You’ll never believe what story Cos’ told me about when she and Marius had just met!”
He starts ranting about tissues, and Marius will probably kill him for it, but at least his friends seem slightly less preoccupied.
For a while after that, Enjolras wonders if he did something to upset Grantaire. He can’t think of anything, but he knows he can sometimes be careless. He thinks back to their recent interactions but can’t find anything that could have been aggravating to R. Maybe he should ask Courfeyrac if something has been up with him lately? He concludes that from now on he will need to be careful not to say or do things that could be misinterpreted. Yes, that will make things fine , he thinks to himself.
By Friday, Grantaire has made a decision. After a week of sleeping all day, partying all night and going on every bar crawl the city had to offer, he has decided to stop brooding. In all his sadness and self pity, he has realized he misses his friend. Yes he is heartbroken and disappointed, but whatever it is, what he and Enjolras share is special, and he knows now that he doesn’t want to lose it. When he woke up that afternoon, he texted Courfeyrac. Even without seeing him he knew he was relieved, he even invited Grantaire to drop by the union hall that night.
When he gets there, Enjolras, Courfeyrac, Combeferre and Eponine are cramped into the small office, sitting around a table covered in papers and banners. In the corner, he notices Joly is sewing sheets to a pole. He leans against the door frame and waves at the group. Courfeyrac shoots him a huge smile. Enjolras, however, doesn’t raise his head from the paper he is scribbling on. His eyebrows are furrowed and the bags under his eyes stand out under the room’s fluorescent lighting. Grantaire approaches him, full of good intentions and renewed appreciation for their friendship.
“What are you working on, Angel?”
Enjolras jumps.
“Christ you scared me. I’m trying to write our official statement for tomorrow but I can’t get it to sound right.”
Grantaire peers over his shoulder.
“Yeah. Sounds a bit stuffy,” he grins.
Enjolras does not return the smile. Instead he sighs
“R, really I need to work on this right now.”
“You need to chill. Take a break. Wanna go grab some coffee at the machine ?”
“I don’t have time to relax, I can’t,” Enjolras grits his teeth
“Of course you can, you’re the master of your destiny Apollo! You can’t let this stuff take over your life like that, you look exhausted!”
Enjolras only shakes his head, so Grantaire snatches the paper out of his hands and runs outside the room. In the corridor, empty at this hour, he starts reading in an affected tone:
“Dear comrades, the government is once again at the universities' throat...”
Enjolras runs after him and grabs for the paper, but Grantaire ducks and continues: “these new reforms will again increase the divide between the poorer and the wealthier students, and young people in general...”
This time Enjolras seizes his paper and yanks it out of Grantaire's hand.
“Enough. This is serious!”
“It’s not though, it’s not that serious.”
“It’s not because everything is a joke to you that it doesn’t have consequences. You’d think you of all people would care about the uni fees increasing so much, it will affect you a lot more than it will me.”
If he was genuinely concerned for his friend and determined to save their friendship before, now Grantaire is angry.
“Fuck off. You don’t know shit. All you care about is your little protests and talking for us. Maybe we don’t need you fighting for us ok?”
“But I care!! I care!!” Enjolras repeats “I don’t need your cynicism right now R. A lot of people are counting on me. I know you don’t think it’s worth it but I do. I think I can make a change.”
He is out of breath, exhausted.
“You care more about the fight than the people you’re fighting for. When real people count on you you don’t notice. And when people care about you , you dismiss them.” Grantaire whispers.
“You don’t know anything about what I notice and don’t! You don’t know how I feel!” Enjolras yells.
“Of course I don’t! How could I! All you ever talk about is politics and struggle and fights. I’m tired of the fight.”
The silence between them stretches and stretches. At the end of the hallway, a light flickers. After who knows how long Grantaire shakes his head and walks away, the sound of his boots on the floor echoing in Enjolras’ head.
Courfeyrac doesn’t ask Enjolras any questions when he comes back to the room.
That night however, he gets a text from Grantaire that is very clear: “Forget anything I’ve said about E. I’m done.” and then another, as if Grantaire was reading his mind “don’t CALL me ill see you around im fine”
The big protest against the government’s plan for universities ended a few hours earlier, and Enjolras, Combeferre, and Courfeyrac have regrouped in union hall for a debrief. Their little union office is strewn with paper, markers and dozens of used and unused flyers and banners. Courfeyrac has started piling up some of the older papers, but he’s only managed to clear the doorway.
“It’s ok Ferre, you can go home if you need to.”
It is getting pretty late: Enjolras knows Combeferre takes a while to get home and trains are few and far between in his area in the evening.
“Thanks man,” says Combeferre, “I owe you.”
He shakes hands with Enjolras, half hugs half claps Courfeyrac on the back and makes his exit.
“Good luck guys! It was a good protest. We did good.”
Enjolras and Courfeyrac look at each other. Night has fallen, and the small room, lit by an unforgiving naked lightbulb makes the mess they need to clear look even worse.
“Coffee?” asks Courfeyrac.
Enjolras nods.
They drink their coffee in silence. Enjolras is leaning against the wall, looking into his cup gloomily.
“You look pretty miserable,” remarks Courfeyrac.
Enjolras avoids the playful punch his friend aims at him.
“Just tired… I’ve been thinking about that stupid fight with R.”
“What about it?”
Courfeyrac is uneasy: he wishes he hadn’t known about Grantaire’s feelings. He feels slightly guilty, even if he doesn’t know what he could have done. His friends had an argument, it happens, right? But he knows it went deeper for Grantaire, and that doesn’t feel right.
Enjolras continues:
“I know R is pissed and doesn’t want to talk to me so it doesn’t really matter…”
“Are you pissed at him though?” asks Courfeyrac.
He would feel more at ease if his friends made peace. They could all forget about this and go back to normal.
Enjolras looks at his coffee obstinately.
“...No, I... like him.”
“Yeah I mean I l-...”
Realisation dawns over Courfeyrac. It feels like a bucket of cold water is being poured on him. Again.
“Oh… Oh”
Enjolras looks up, and there are all sorts of emotions passing through his eyes - too many in fact for Courfeyrac to understand them all.
“Are you telling me you’ve got a crush... on Grantaire?”
Enjolras seems to slide against the wall until he’s crouching on the floor, his head in his hands. Luckily his cup was empty.
“Don’t say it like that,” he groans.
Courfeyrac can’t repress a smile. He clears some markers from the floor and sits close to his friend. He’s never seen him express his emotions much - unless he counts revolutionary righteousness as an emotion - and evidently Enjolras isn’t used to it either.
“Ok, let’s get this straight,” says Courfeyrac.
“Don’t...”
Courfeyrac snickers, and Enjolras seems to be smiling, even though his face is still hidden.
“Yeah, about that… I thought you weren’t into that stuff?”
“Stuff?”
“People. Having a crush.”
“Ughhhh…” groans Enjolras. “If you tell anyone I’ll kill you.”
Enjolras’ suffering is somewhat entertaining. Courfeyrac tries to hide his smile at discovering this brand new side of his friend.
“So... “ he asks, “are you going to, like, do anything about it?”
“What’s the point? We already had an argument because we don’t have the same outlook on anything…”
Courfeyrac pats him on the shoulder and, for once, Enjolras doesn’t recoil.
“All this is stupid. Useless.”
Courfeyrac continues to pat his shoulder until Enjolras takes a long, steady breath.
“Ok I’m done with this now,” he says, looking up.
“How does it feel talking about your emotions?”
“Hate it. I never want to do this again.”
Courfeyrac bursts out laughing. Seeing Enjolras’ offended look, he quickly subsides.
“Fuck off,” mutters Enjolras, standing up and sifting through some papers.
They resume their work in silence. Courfeyrac knows Enjolras enough to understand he isn’t angry with him at all, only with himself, as if emotions were weaknesses.
Now Courfeyrac feels really bad though. He thinks back to what he said to Grantaire; No way, not a chance . He has made his friend feel terrible, and for what? Misinterpreting Enjolras’ identity. And he is the one always going on about the importance of self-identification and respecting people’s labels… If he could he would kick himself. If only he’d known, maybe none of this would have happened.
It’s probably too late now. Grantaire’s text was pretty definite. Perhaps he really was upset enough that his feelings have changed...
Courfeyrac sighs. Why does he have to be in the middle of this?
Another week passes before Enjolras and Grantaire cross paths again. The latter has not made the mistake of going to his friends’ poli sci class again, and Enjolras has carefully avoided Courfeyrac’s flat when there was any chance of R being there.
In the cafeteria line, Enjolras is fidgeting and wringing his hands. In front of him; Grantaire chats with Eponine, but when his turn comes, he is met with ice-cold silence. He gets his sandwich and coffee, and he is pretty sure Grantaire overcharges him too. Enjolras guesses he sort of deserves that, if only for having brought up Grantaire’s financial situation during their fight.
Enjolras is fine eating with Grantaire’s icy stare on his back. However, when Marius invites him to sit down with them for his break, he tries to convey to him that it is a bad idea. His look of distress is unfortunately intercepted by Grantaire. Ever the contrarian, this finishes to convince Grantaire to join them. Marius, oblivious to the tension, is happy to have gathered his friends together.
“Now that you’re here too,” he begins, “I’d like your advice about something. See, Cosette’s birthday is coming up, and I don’t know what to get her. I don’t want to get her any old thing, I want her to really like it!”
“Obviously-” “You should-”
Enjolras and Grantaire stop when they realise they’re talking over each other. They were not the first people at the table Marius expected to have an opinion on the subject, but he stands corrected. To him, it only confirms that he has much to learn of the art of presents.
Fortunately the silence is not prolonged.
“You should get her one of those nice big sweaters - one that’s really soft,” asserts Enjolras, as if he’s already given the idea a lot of thought. “She often says she's cold, doesn’t she?”
“Are you stupid?” retorts Grantaire. “That either means she wants cuddles, or she wants Marius’ clothes. Getting her own sweater is not the point.”
Marius makes a mental note.
“She might also like to have a nice sweater,” huffs Enjolras, “but ok, what is your great present idea then?”
“Do something personal,” says Grantaire, “write her a poem, draw her a picture, something like that.”
Marius thinks back to his few artistic attempts, all of them rather disastrous. He winces, remembering when he tried to sing “I Was Made for Loving You” for his ex.
“Yeah…,” he slowly says, “I’m not sure that would work…”
“Yeah, that won’t work,” Enjolras insists. “Cosette’s the artistic one in the relationship.”
There’s an uncomfortable staring contest going on between Grantaire and him. Eponine sighs and says matter-of-factly:
“Actually there’s no need to fight it out, Cosette gave me a list. I’ll send it to you right now.”
Over some time, the group solidifies into this routine, Grantaire and Enjolras avoiding or coldly fighting each other, and everyone walking on eggshells, tiptoeing around them, like any word could be the tipping point into more fighting, or even the end of their little group. Everything is suspended, everyone waiting without knowing what for.
Final week saves and ruins them. Everyone is too busy to meet up except in the overheated library to work in silence, but tensions are running high with the added stress of essays and deadlines.
The afternoon after their second-to-last final Eponine, Courfeyrac, Combeferre, Marius, and Enjolras are sitting at their usual cafeteria table. They are mostly silent, except for Marius’ occasional groans as he reads through his notes.
“Ughhhh… and I said the Westphalia Treaty was in the 18th Century…”
“Marius…” starts Courfeyrac.
“Do you think it makes sense if I explained the nation-sate with…”
“Marius please shut up.”
He subsides, and they relapse into silence.
Enjolras finishes his coffee.
“I’m going to go, tomorrow’s philosophy is going to kill me.”
He gets up, and immediately bumps into someone who was walking briskly in their direction. That someone is Grantaire.
“Can’t you pay attention?!” snaps Enjolras.
“Look who’s talking.” shoots back Grantaire.
For a moment, it is unclear what will happen: they stare at each other as if they were going to pick a fight right in the middle of the cafeteria.
Then Enjolras turns around and leaves, and Grantaire walks out in the opposite direction.
Eponine turns to Courfeyrac:
“This is unbearable, Courf we have to do something. If these two don’t make up and make out soon I'm gonna kill both of them and then myself, I swear to god”
“Don’t you think you’re being a little drama- wait,” Courfeyrac pauses, “you know about … about…” he stumbles over his words. He knows he has kept his friends’ secrets so how…?
“B - b -b” Eponine mimics him. “Of course I know! On account of oh, I don’t know, me having eyes.” She points at them, as if her argument needed proving.
“But if you’ve noticed … How haven’t they?!” Courfeyrac sighs.
When the friction becomes unbearable, Courfeyrac and Eponine devise a plan to put an end to what she has started referring to as a couple’s bickering. When the day comes to put the plan in action, Courfeyrac still isn’t convinced.
“It’s fool-proof, Courf,” assures Eponine, sitting on Courfeyrac’s couch.
“Are you sure about that? Cause we’re dealing with quite the fools here.”
Eponine shakes her head.
“Trust me, they need this. And so do we.”
Enjolras arrives early, as they had planned on. He ignores Eponine being there, used as he is to see her occupy his friend’s apartment as her own, much like Grantaire would. As a result of her dominion over the living room, Enjolras and Courfeyrac stay in the latter’s room to plan a statement from the union. At first glance the plan is working flawlessly, but Courfeyrac is uncomfortable tricking his friends.
Thankfully Grantaire isn’t too late to the movie afternoon he was invited to by Eponine. When he knocks, Courfeyrac runs out of the room, telling Enjolras not to move.
He greets Grantaire at the door.
“Hey, good thing you’re here, I wanted to show you something!”
Courfeyrac feels like Grantaire must see right through him; he’s never felt more awkward or less genuine. His friend does seem suspicious, but a “go on, I’ll wait for you!” from Eponine convinces him to precede Courfeyrac, who makes a theatrical gesture to show him to his room.
“As if I didn’t know the way!” comments Grantaire.
As soon as he has crossed the threshold, before he has realised who is in the room, Courfeyrac slams the door behind him, locks it with his key, and runs to hide behind Eponine.
Grantaire and Enjolras both realise at the same time what has happened. Enjolras utters an inarticulate yelp while Grantaire whirls around and slams his palm against the door:
“Jean Alexandre Courfeyrac, you fucking bitch!”
Enjolras snorts. Grantaire cannot tell if it’s laughter or disapproval. Perhaps both.
From behind the door, and despite his voice trembling, Courfeyrac demands that they talk about their relationship and solve their issues “for the good of the group” he adds, appealing to Enjolras’ sensibilities. As they get no answers, Eponine joins him and threatens them with physical and psychological violence.
“You’re not getting out of there until you’ve made up, and that’s final. We have all night if necessary,” she says as Courfeyrac and her walk back to the living room.
Nobody speaks for a while - then they start speaking at the same time: “I’m-” “-listen”
“You first,” yields Grantaire.
Enjolras looks at the floor, trying to get his words in order.
“He’s right, one way or another, we can’t go on like this.”
There is almost defeat in his voice, and although Grantaire hates to admit Courfeyrac is right after he’s locked them up, he agrees..
“I fucked up. I know, I’m sorry” he tries, biting his lips to remain civil.
“Me too man, I was a dick, I’m sorry,” Enjolras replies.
They might be able to salvage this friendship after all, if Grantaire can manage to shut up this time.
“Friends ?” he asks, extending his hand.
“Oh course.”
Enjolras shakes it. The reconciliation feels fickle for now, but if it is the beginning of mending things, they’ll take it.
From the living room, they hear the microwave and the smell of popcorn fills the apartment.
“Courfeyrac!” Grantaire yells “We’re done here! We’ve made up, ok? Don’t let Ponine take out the popcorn like she’s gonna be here any longer,” he adds.
From the couch, Eponine replies: “I’ll make popcorn when I goddamn please”
They can hear Courfeyrac walk to the door, but it doesn’t open.
“Are you gonna open the door or what?” Enjolras asks.
Courfeyrac throws a quick glance to Eponine, asking for confirmation. She shakes her head.
“Not, yet,” he replies.
“What?” Enjolras and Grantaire lament in unison.
“I’m sure you’ve got more things to talk about,” Courfeyrac hints, but he refuses to reveal anymore and leaves them to figure it out.
“You know what he’s talking about?” Grantaire wonders.
Some part of him is still worried that Courfeyrac might have betrayed him and told Enjolras about his feelings. However the latter is quick to reply that he has no idea.
Grantaire jumps to his feet.
“Alright then. Let’s get revenge on this bastard!”
He rummages through Courfeyrac’s possessions and pulls out a now familiar box. Enjolras shakes his head but doesn’t do anything to stop him.
“He deserves it, and so do we,” argues Grantaire, feeling he won't need to do much convincing.
At the smell, Courfeyrac runs back to the room. He knocks urgently.
“Uh what are you guys doing in there?! This isn’t what we agreed on!”
“We didn’t agree on anything, you locked us in here remember?” Grantaire reminds him.
“Yeah, and this is actually a violation of the Geneva convention,” Enjolras adds.
“What- stop. Well…” Courfeyrac is at a loss for words. “Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do!”
Enjolras chuckles. He does deserve it.
They share the joint, both sitting on Courfeyrac’s bed, careful to not put ashes on his bedsheets. At first, they don’t say anything, then Grantaire breaks the silence.
“So… what’s new with you?”
Enjolras resists the temptation to go on a full rant about the government’s reaction to the recent protests. At least he’s learning from his past mistakes.
“Not much… Finals have been hardcore but that was expected. The French-Italian IR exam was pretty chill though!”
Grantaire smiles.
“I wouldn’t know, can’t say I paid that much attention to the class to be honest.”
“What about you?” asks Enjolras.
“Well I passed my semester, proving that you don’t need to go to classes at all, apparently.”
“Congrats! I guess?”
“Thanks.”
They exchange a look, as if to confirm that it’s ok, they are ok.
“I’m actually sorry you know,” begins Grantaire. “I didn’t mean for things to get weird or uncomfortable.”
“Me neither. We both fucked up.”
“Poor Courf,” Grantaire laughs, “we really put him through it…”
Enjolras agrees with a laugh.
“Did you hear how Marius hid all the forks in the flat when he found out he told his tissue story?” continues Grantaire. “Hysterical.”
“And who could have told Marius that?” Enjolras asks with a knowing look.
Grantaire’s only response is a sly smile. They both burst out laughing, and it’s a relief and an absolution. In the moment, Grantaire errs and stares a little too hard at Enjolras’ smile. Forgetting all his resolutions about salvaging their still unsteady friendship, he lets out:
“You’re so fucking beautiful.”
Enjolras stops laughing with a cough.
“Be serious!” he protests.
“I am serious! You just don’t listen!” Grantaire scream-laughs in a high pitched voice.
If there was any chance of going back, it is gone now.
After hesitating a minute, Enjolras decides he is done being serious and replies:
“Well you’re not so bad yourself.”
What he said hangs in the air between them until Grantaire lets out another high pitched laugh.
Regaining his composure, Enjolras declares:
“You’re a good person, R. I’m glad we’re friends.”
Grantaire doesn’t have time to process what he’s heard before his mouth is replying:
“Shut up. I thought you hated me or something.”
It’s Enjolras’ turn to give up on trying to salvage the friendship as it was.
“No… I.. like you.”
“Yeah ok, I get it, we’re friends again, we established that,” Grantaire replies, still thinking of Enjolras’ earlier declaration.
“Now you’re the one not listening” says Enjolras.
He then takes Grantaire’s chin in hand so that he is looking at him when he repeats “I like you a lot.”
“Now you’re not being serious,” Grantaire stammers.
“Oh I am .”
They are so close now, their noses are nearly touching. Grantaire feels very warm, and even more when he realises Enjolras is smiling a small but triumphant smile, like the one he has when he finds a gap in a professor’s reasoning or an inconsistency in a university statement. Enjolras seems to notice Grantaire’s feelings, and he smiles more widely and raises a mocking eyebrow.
“So…” Grantaire doesn’t really know what to say. “Uh… are you going to kiss me now?”
Perhaps he is imagining it, but Enjolras flushes a bit too.
“I don’t know… do you want me to?”
Grantaire takes this as his cue, and he closes the space between them. They kiss, first slightly awkwardly, then with growing confidence. Grantaire’s fingers brush against Enjolras’ curls.
As they break the kiss, Grantaire says:
“I also like you a lot, angel.”
He feels giggly and a little bit stupid. Enjolras hesitantly drops his forehead onto Grantaire’s chest. He can hear his heartbeat and feels at home there. Grantaire rests his chin on Enjolras’ head and feels on top of the world.
They stay like this a minute, a while, an eternity.
“You think they’re ok in there?” Courfeyrac asks his partner in crime.
She replies around a mouthful of popcorn, “I gueff… Can’t hear anyffing.”
She is also furiously typing on her phone.
“What are you doing?”
“Uh? texfting Cofette, she’ve gonna lofe thif,” she replies.