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Enjolras doesn’t care about Christmas.
Neither he nor his family are religious, so to him, the celebration never meant anything else than getting presents or money and, later, having to suffer through endless dinners with relatives you barely know the name of.
As for now, Christmas mostly means people taking interest in charities for about two weeks, brands encouraging overconsumption, and the same annoying song being broadcast every two hours on every radio that exists.
And all Enjolras wants for Christmas is for radios to diversify their repertoire of Christmas songs.
So really, he doesn’t care about Christmas. And he certainly doesn't like Christmas. It’s such a terrible time for the ABC, the activist society he created with his friends. Nothing good can be done around Christmas because people are too busy buying things they would never buy if there weren’t a frightening amount of blinking lights in the shop windows.
He does not care about Christmas.
And yet, it’s the 24th of December, the radio host is announcing the oh so surprising news that Mariah Carey is up next, laughter is coming from both his upstairs and downstairs neighbours' flats, and Enjolras is slowly admitting to himself that he is very sad to be eating pasta alone on his sofa tonight.
It was easy enough to keep busy when there were still some of his friends around. He could try not to think about how for the first time in his life, he would be completely alone for a whole week during the holiday season.
But now that they’re all visiting their families, that it’s dark outside and that he can see the snow that’s more pollution than snow dancing in the light of the lampposts, he can’t not acknowledge the tightness in his chest and the want to be around people. People he loves, preferably.
And though he doesn’t care about Christmas, spending Christmas alone almost makes him want to cry.
He thinks of going to bed early but it depresses him even more. He wouldn’t be able to sleep with the noise of people laughing, talking, dancing and the Christmas songs coming from his ceiling anyway. He finishes eating, leaving the radio on, and picks up a book.
He changes books three times before he gives up and just listens to the songs that are sometimes interrupted by ads or Lamarque’s voice wishing people a happy holiday season.
Enjolras likes the radio. Few people listen to the radio nowadays and he finds the thought that it might disappear someday a bit upsetting. Radio is much less fake than TV and social media. You can have it anywhere with you, during your commute, while you work, while you eat, while you’re taking a shower. Somehow, Enjolras feels close to these faceless people who announce the news, and he would like to be that faceless voice that keeps company to people on their bus or on lonely Christmas Eves.
He stays up, on his sofa, until the thuds and the intelligible but perfectly hearable voices coming from the flat above his die down. Then, he turns off the radio and heads to bed.
There’s no word to describe how it feels to be alone and sad in a dark room, while knowing that everyone around you, the people physically close to you and your loved ones, are with at least one other person, smiling and sharing special moments.
-
Enjolras startles awake much too early when his phone starts ringing incessantly. He’s rather sure he didn’t set an alarm. The mystery is quickly solved when he finally grabs it on his nightstand and is greeted by Combeferre’s name.
He presses the ‘answer call’ button and it’s Courfeyrac with a Santa hat who appears on the screen.
“Joyeux Noël, my friend!” He yells and Enjolras winces at the volume of his voice.
“Why are you awake so early?” He asks blinking rapidly, trying to get his eyes used to the light.
“Enjolras, buddy, mate, darling, it’s Christmas.”
“Oh, wow, really? I wouldn’t have guessed what with the fairy lights all around, a waste of electricity if you ask me, and you screeching in my ear at eight AM.” Enjolras says stifling his yawns.
Courfeyrac grins. “I would have made a joke about you having turned into the Grinch overnight, but this sounds like the usual you.” He says, still too loudly.
Enjolras buries his face into his pillow and hears Courfeyrac laugh.
“Are you ready?” Combeferre’s voice comes much quieter from his phone. “What are you doing with my phone?”
“Checking on Enjolras,” Courfeyrac answers gleefully and Enjolras turns his face a little to see him again. Combeferre appears on the screen too. “He’s as grumpy as ever, so everything’s good.”
Combeferre chuckles and waves at him. Enjolras offers him a quick half-smile in return. He feels the same tightness in his throat as he did last night. The both of them left for the de Courfeyrac’s home almost a week ago, he misses them.
“How was your Christmas Eve?” He asks to distract himself from the feeling.
Courfeyrac sighs dramatically and lowers his voice. “My parents tried to kill Combeferre in front of my eyes. They kept telling him ‘ay flaco, take some more, you’re too thin it’s not healthy’. I thought he was going to be sick.” He rests his head on Combeferre’s shoulder who looks very amused. Enjolras can’t hide the smile tugging at his lips.
“It was great,” Combeferre adds.
They carefully don’t ask the same question in return, instead; they make small talk about what they’re going to do the next week and how Courfeyrac has been high on sugar for the past three days.
“I need the sugar. I’m nervous, the Combeferres are too intelligent I’m scared of saying something stupid and being banned from the household.” He laments.
Enjolras laughs. “You’ve met them before, they know you.”
“Yes, but it’s Christmas, it’s different.”
Combeferre kisses his hair and tells him he should get ready right now if they want to hit the road soon and arrive at his parents’ house before lunch. Courfeyrac tells Enjolras goodbye and makes a show of kissing the camera before disappearing out of view.
“Did you see Feuilly yesterday?” Combeferre asks him.
“They work on the 24th, I didn’t want to bother them,” Enjolras says looking anywhere but at his phone.
Combeferre nods and is silent for a few seconds. “You could still join us in the week.”
Combeferre and Courfeyrac are the only ones who know Enjolras has stayed in Paris for Christmas this year. And more importantly, they know why. They were both there when his mother called him and explicitly asked him not to come back to the south this year. They told him he should come with them to visit Courfeyrac’s family and then Combeferre’s, but this is the first time they spend Christmas together. And while Enjolras doesn’t care about Christmas, he knows his friends do, and he didn’t want to intrude.
They insisted it was fine and he insisted it was fine too. In the end, he promised to spend the week leading to Christmas with his friends who hadn’t gone home yet so he wouldn’t be alone, and they promised to call at least once every day. So far, both promises have been kept.
But now that Christmas is here, Enjolras is well and truly alone.
He’s tempted for a second to accept and try to find a train to meet them there and come back to Paris with them on the 31st.
“No, I think I’ll stay in Paris, but thank you.” He finally says.
Combeferre’s lips set in a fine line. “At least try to call Feuilly and ask them if they want to meet up today or sometime in the week. I know they have to work but you never know.”
“I don’t want to bother them. They don’t even celebrate Christmas and they probably want their weekend to themself to rest.” Enjolras argues.
“Feuilly is a very responsible adult they will not hesitate to tell you they need rest if they do. You should just ask them.” Combeferre says looking at him a little over his glasses. Enjolras hates it when he does that, he always feels like a child getting scolded.
“Fine, yes, I’ll ask, but I’m not a kid, I can spend a week on my own.” He snaps, though his words are devoid of any anger.
Combeferre’s eyes go a little sad. “It’s not just a week, it’s the last week of December.”
“I don’t care about Christmas,” Enjolras mumbles.
Combeferre sighs. “I know you don’t, but it’s not really about Christmas.”
Enjolras frowns but before he can say anything else, Combeferre excuses himself and tells him he has to go now. He promises to call him tonight or tomorrow or both and Enjolras tells him not to.
He hangs up and tries to go back to sleep but he can’t. He grabs his phone again and listens to the morning news while he showers and eats his breakfast.
He spends his morning thinking about what he could do now that there is no paper to write, no meeting to think about, and no one to talk to or argue with. He wastes his time on social media and thinks about calling Feuilly. He wants to, if he’s being honest with himself. But he doesn’t want to bother them, and if Feuilly can or wants to meet him today or in the week, which they maybe won’t, Enjolras would have to explain why he’s still in Paris when he told everyone he left on the 24th in the day.
At two in the afternoon, he finally decides to send them a message. Feuilly replies almost immediately after he’s hit the send button.
Feuilly [14:06]: Are you coming back earlier? Did something happen with your parents?
Me [14:06]: I never left Paris
Feuilly [14:06]: Why??
Me [14:07]: It’s a long story
This time, it takes a bit longer for Feuilly to reply.
Feuilly [14:13]: If you want to join us for the day I’ll be at your place in 15 minutes
Enjolras has no idea who Feuilly is referring to when they say ‘us’ but anything is better than spending the day pacing in his living room. He sends them an affirmative and waits for them.
When he hears his doorbell ring, he buzzes Feuilly in while he quickly puts on his shoes and grabs his coat. Feuilly is on the other side of the door when he opens it. They look tired, there are bags under their eyes, but they break into a smile quickly and hug Enjolras.
They step back and frown immediately.
“Okay tell me everything, why are you here when you’re supposed to be hundreds of kilometres away?” They ask as they both walk out of Enjolras' flat.
Enjolras focuses on locking his door and taking deep breaths before he turns around and starts walking down the stairs. Feuilly follows him.
“I won’t force you to tell me but maybe it would help to talk about whatever it is you don’t want to talk about.” They insist when they step out of the building and into the cool winter air of Paris. “You’re clearly bothered by it, and it looks like you need to get some things off your chest.”
Enjolras takes a few more determined steps before he slows down and sighs a defeated sigh. He walks at the same pace as Feuilly.
“They asked me not to come.” He simply says.
Feuilly’s eyes become comically huge. “Your parents?” They ask.
Enjolras nods. “Some... events this year got to their ears, or rather their eyes, and since it’s probable my distant family also heard about it, they asked me not to come this year so that the subject wouldn’t be broached and we could all spend a nice time, without any arguments about uncomfortable discussions.”
Feuilly lets out an impressed whistle. “I’m guessing it’s about June.”
“It is,” Enjolras confirms quickly before they can say anything else about it. He doesn’t want to talk about June. “But it’s okay. I don’t care about Christmas anyway.”
“The problem isn’t really about Christmas, though.”
Enjolras huffs an annoyed breath. “It doesn’t matter what the problem is about because there is no problem. Everything’s fine.”
He glances at Feuilly who simply raises an unimpressed eyebrow. But thankfully, they drop the subject and the both of them start talking about and laughing at the ridiculousness of the decoration of every shop they pass.
“Oh they’re already here,” Feuilly says interrupting themself in the middle of a rant about a particularly threatening-looking elf.
Enjolras looks up from his hands (which he’s rubbing together in a futile attempt to regain feeling in his fingers) and sees they’re walking on the Quai Saint-Michel. The second thing he sees is Éponine leaning her back on a low wall, next to an empty bouquiniste stall. The third thing he sees is Azelma lunging repeatedly for Gavroche who seems to always manage to be just out of her reach (and who is wearing a cowboy hat for some reason).
The fourth is Grantaire nodding at what Éponine is saying, his nose and the tip of his ears made pink by the cold, and a fond smile on his lips.
Grantaire is the first to see them. The content expression on his face vanishes, quickly replaced by a perplexed one. His eyes meet Enjolras’ for a fraction of a second before he pointedly looks at Feuilly beside him.
Great.
“Oh no,” Feuilly mumbles as they grab his arm. Enjolras only notices he’s stopped walking when Feuilly tries to drag him forward. “This is the only time of the year I can relax so please, please, don’t make things weird.”
“You didn’t tell me he’d be here,” Enjolras mutters in his scarf.
Feuilly sighs. “Everyone knows the three of us are the only ones who stay in Paris for the holidays. Every year. I thought that smart brain of yours would figure it out.”
“Maybe I should just go back to my flat,” Enjolras says desperately, growing more and more uncomfortable the closer they get to Éponine and Grantaire.
“Enjolras, I’m sorry for saying so but you’re being unreasonable,” Feuilly says, squeezing his arm reassuringly. It might be the first time Enjolras disagrees with them. “You’d rather stay alone in your flat than spend time with me just because that would mean seeing Grantaire? I don’t know which one of us, him or me, should be more hurt.”
“No, it’s not like that,” Enjolras mumbles. “But it’s complicated.”
“It has been complicated for six months. I think we could all use some ‘easy’ now. Especially you two.” Feuilly says decisively two seconds before they let go of his arm and give both Éponine and Grantaire a warm hug.
It’s awkward when they’re done greeting each other and they all turn to Enjolras. Éponine is sending questioning looks at Feuilly, Grantaire is studying his shoelaces and Feuilly’s eye has started twitching.
“Oh hello Enjolras,” Azelma says as she comes up behind him. “I didn’t know you were coming. Guess we’ll have to add your name in the cowboy hat.”
“What?” Enjolras says, truly confused.
“He’s spending the week with us?” Grantaire asks suddenly. His eyes are wide, fixed on Feuilly.
Enjolras scowls. He wants to snap and tell Grantaire he could just turn his head a bit and ask him directly since they’re literally standing two metres and a half away, but Éponine speaks up before he can do anything that would make it all even more awkward.
“I have some paper, but I don’t think I have a pen on me.” She says frowning at the inside of her purse.
“I have the Ikea pencils I took when we went with Musichetta,” Gavroche says tugging at his sister’s sleeve and presenting her a handful of small pencils.
And just like that Enjolras is completely lost. Gavroche is taking off his cowboy hat while his sister puts some pieces of paper in it, Éponine is writing his name on another piece of paper, and Feuilly is telling Grantaire just how fun the week is going to be.
He feels like he’s somehow missed something very important.
“Okay, who wants to draw the name for today’s plans!” Gavroche says excitedly.
Enjolras clears his throat. “Can I get some explanations as to what’s happening first?”
Feuilly leaves Grantaire’s side, patting him on the shoulder one last time and comes back to Enjolras.
“I meant to tell you about it on the way here but I got carried away.” They say with a small smile. “We kind of have a tradition of our own. Instead of spending this terrible week between Christmas and New Year’s Eve alone, we get together and we do something different each day.”
“And the cowboy hat?” Enjolras asks, pointing at Gavroche.
“That’s to decide who chooses the plans of what day,” Feuilly explains. “So are you in?”
His first instinct is to say no. To excuse himself and go back to his flat. He can spend a week alone without a problem, he can take care of himself. But everyone knows he gets bored easily, himself included, when he has nothing to do and no one to talk to. And the idea of doing fun things with people he appreciates is more appealing than spending days alone reliving things he doesn’t want to relive.
“Alright,” he finally says. “I’m in.”
“Really?” Grantaire snorts. The derisive look on his face makes his last remaining doubts about joining them for the week disappear.
“Yes,” he says coldly, managing to maintain eye contact with him for a few seconds until Grantaire breaks and looks down at his gloved hands. It doesn’t feel like a victory.
The silence is beyond uncomfortable, but they’re all saved by Gavroche who has enough of waiting around and starts to draw the names one after the other out his cowboy hat, announcing with each name that the person will be the ‘supreme ruler of the world for twenty-four hours, but mostly you’ll just decide what we’ll do for the day’.
Soon they’re all too busy telling Gavroche to hurry up and pick a piece of paper already instead of trying to imitate drum rolls, that they stop thinking about Enjolras’ disastrous arrival.
When he’s finally done, Feuilly, who ended up being the one who gets to choose this afternoon’s plans, says they want to walk around the city first, preferably in the nicer parts they don’t usually have the time to see.
“But I’m cold,” Gavroche complains. Enjolras is slightly worried that his first thought after Feuilly’s announcement was so similar to a 12-year-old’s.
“Supreme ruler of the world, you said it yourself,” Feuilly says, ruffling Gavroche’s hair playfully.
And with that, they’re all following Feuilly. He leads them through the almost calm streets of Paris, passing by monuments they usually don’t look at and stopping at some park for a while. They keep walking and when they’re crossing a bridge, Grantaire makes a show of picking up Gavroche to pretend he’s going to throw him in the Seine because he keeps complaining about them walking for too long.
Enjolras only notices how bad his mood was when he realises how happy he is, right now, to be laughing in the streets of Paris with his friends. He didn’t acknowledge how much the feeling of loneliness weighed him down at the perspective of spending this whole week on his own. Now, he has to admit Combeferre was right (as always) to suggest he calls Feuilly.
After an hour and a half of walking, Feuilly says they want to spend the rest of the day on a couch, watching terrible made-for-TV Christmas movies while drinking hot chocolate.
“I don’t have a TV, we can’t go to mine.” They say.
“I’m poor, my place is tiny,” Éponine adds.
“I’m poor, I don’t have chocolate,” Grantaire says already looking at Enjolras, smirking.
Gavroche snickers. “That’s not true, you couldn’t live without chocolate.”
“Alright, I’m poor and selfish and I don’t want you eating my chocolate,” Grantaire says.
Enjolras manages to pretend not to know why they’re all looking at him for about three seconds before he sighs and tells them to follow him.
He walks between Feuilly and Éponine on the way back and jokes that they only asked him to join them so they could use his and Combeferre’s flat. Their conversation is pleasant until Grantaire turns around from where he’s walking with the kids ahead, narrows his eyes at them and frowns. A split second later he grins mischievously and Enjolras tenses up before he even opens his mouth.
“Hey, Apollo, have you already heard about how useless the rally from two weeks ago was? There was this article written in Le Figaro and there are so many tweets about it.” He shouts, now walking backwards so he can fully face him.
Enjolras feels the anger rise in him. Without really knowing what he’s doing, he speeds up to arrive at Grantaire’s level, leaving Éponine and Feuilly behind him.
“Does this amuse you? To make my life impossible and to find, let’s be honest, unimaginative ways to annoy me? Also what article in Le Figaro?” Enjolras hisses, gritting his teeth. Feuilly asked him to make an effort and he respects Feuilly a lot. So he is going to push down his instinct to yell at Grantaire for as long as he can.
Grantaire rolls his eyes and Enjolras mentally prepares himself for the oncoming attack.
“Calm down, there's no article and I don’t know anything about your rally.” He whispers. Enjolras has to move his head closer to his to hear him. “You were just being obtuse, as always.”
“Excuse me?” He says backing away to send Grantaire an offended look. His resolve not to yell at him is fading quicker than he thought it would. “Obtuse about what exactly?”
“About these two behind us.” Grantaire answers in a low voice.
Enjolras cranes his neck to peek at his two friends, walking now next to each other. Grantaire grabs his arm making him quickly turn back his head to look at the hand that feels like it’s burning a hole through the sleeve of his coat. But he still gets to see Feuilly with a much wider smile than the shy and barely-there one they usually have on, and Éponine with an expression he would describe as fond if it weren’t Éponine he was looking at.
“Are they...?” He asks quietly after a few seconds.
Grantaire lets go of his arm. “No. I don’t think so.”
“Are they going to...?”
Grantaire snorts. “What? Is love so foreign to you that you can’t even ask simple questions about it when you’re normally so eloquent?”
For the first time in months, Enjolras is glad Grantaire avoids looking at him. Because if he had his gaze directed towards him, he would see the unconcealed hurt Enjolras is sure is all over his face. He tries to school his features the best he can and looks down at his shoes like Grantaire.
They don’t talk for a whole minute, the silence is terribly awkward and Enjolras is acutely aware of how heavy his breathing is.
“I don’t know.” Grantaire finally says. “I think they want to. Both of them. But it’s been that way for a while, so I don’t know if they’re going to do anything about it.”
“Oh,” Enjolras simply says, at loss for words.
He glances at them again. It looks obvious now that the way Éponine bumps her shoulder against Feuilly’s and their knowing smiles mean something else than friendship, something a bit different.
“Do you think that would be a good thing?” He asks, partly because he’s curious, but mostly in the hope of ending the awkward silence between them.
Grantaire shrugs. “Yeah. They both know about the hardships the other had to go through and they care a lot about each other. I think they both deserve to have someone who cares about them, you know?”
Enjolras nods. He agrees with him, but he doesn’t know what else to say. He never knows what else to say with Grantaire.
Thankfully, they quickly get to his building after that.
They all leave their damp coats and shoes in the entry of his flat and immediately run to the couch to fight for the best spots, while Azelma offers Enjolras to help him with the hot chocolates.
“Are we really watching this?” Enjolras sighs when he joins them in the living room.
They all look captivated by the Christmas movie currently playing, never mind that the scenario is the same as every other Christmas movie, the only variation being a John changed to a James. He should know, Courfeyrac has been unironically watching them when he was bored since they've been playing on TF1 every afternoon since November 1st. And because his and Marius’ TV isn’t good enough, he would arrive announced in the middle of the week and claim the living room for the afternoon.
Combeferre found it amusing, Enjolras found it distressing.
No one answers his question, they just all grab a mug and Feuilly scoots over to make some room for him on the sofa.
The film is terrible. Awful. Enjolras wants to leave the room every time a character opens their mouth. He tells the others so, repeatedly, because honestly, how can they watch something that encourages irresponsible consumptions habits, and that, in addition, shows a very degrading image of women? His comments only earn him a pillow being thrown in his face.
You’d think with all the stupidities coming out from the TV they wouldn’t try to silence the only intelligent comments being uttered. You’d be wrong.
At least Grantaire argues with him during the commercial break.
“You can’t complain about queer representation if there aren’t any queer characters.”
“Lack of representation is still misrepresentation.” Enjolras throws back, glaring at Grantaire who’s sitting on the other side of the couch. Éponine looks like her patience is wearing thin at being seated between them, and Gavroche seems to be recording the scene with Azelma’s phone.
“Don’t kid yourself Apollo, these are meant for retired old people who have their afternoons free or family with kids on school break, you really think they’d ever write a queer Christmas romance for these? I’m sorry to ruin your day but Christmas miracles aren’t a thing.” He looks way too smug for Enjolras’ liking.
“People can, and will, change. Society will too.”
“You know what?” Grantaire says before Enjolras can add anything else. “I’ll really believe in equality the day a shitty queer TV film is on TF1. I’m talking unimaginative story, overused tropes and awful French dubbing that makes you want to rip off your ears. The day I turn on my TV in the middle of December and I see Kate, a girl from the city who doesn’t believe in love and only believes in productivity, go back to her hometown to help her sick father, who despairs at the fact that his daughter still hasn’t found someone, and meet Jane, the owner of the town’s bakery, only to fall in love with her in a totally predictable way, I’ll look at you in the eye and tell you that yes, there is hope for equality.”
Enjolras isn’t sure he understood everything Grantaire just said. That was a lot of words in one sentence. He just blinks and gapes at him until they all start laughing. Grantaire is still looking at him over Éponine’s and Feuilly’s heads when Enjolras feels his shoulders shake with laughter. And he’s smiling at him. It makes something warm bloom in his chest, and he doesn’t have the strength, or the will, to push the feeling down.
No one pays attention to the rest of the film. They take turns coming up with bad scenarios and even worse titles for Christmas movies. Even Enjolras tries his hand at it, though he doesn’t get as many rounds of applause as Azelma.
He thinks they’re all going to go back to their place when the film is over and another ad break comes on. Instead, he gets roped into making a bingo card for the tropes and the characters they’re going to find in the next movie.
Enjolras is even taken aback when they look at the time and tell him they should go home. He almost asks them to stay over for dinner, but he knows he doesn’t have enough in his fridge to feed six people (he forgets about stuff like food when Combeferre isn’t here to remind him, so what?) and he’s not going to find anything open on Christmas day.
Grantaire waves awkwardly at him with a tentative smile before he leaves first. Meanwhile, Éponine asks Gavroche three times if he’s sure he didn’t forget anything and proceeds to point at the hat lying forgotten on the floor when he assures her that he has everything he came inside with. Feuilly hugs him while the Thénardiers argue.
“So,” they say when they pull back a little. “Are you coming with us tomorrow too?”
Gavroche interrupts what he was saying. “You better, I’m the supreme ruler of the world tomorrow!”
A smile tugs at Enjolras’ lips. It’s not like he had a bad time with them today. It was great actually. And it’s not like he had any plans.
“Yeah of course.” He finally says.
Feuilly smiles and nods. “We’re meeting at the same place we did today at one o'clock.”
Enjolras tells them goodbye and closes the door behind them.
The flat is so quiet after their departure. He puts on the radio as he prepares some dinner. It’s not long until his phone rings and it’s Courfeyrac’s name that appears on his screen this time.
“The first thing I did when we arrived was throwing up in their toilets because I was carsick and nervous, please help me change my name and move to another country.” Is the first thing Courfeyrac tells him when he brings his phone to his ear.
“At least you made it to the toilets,” Enjolras tells him.
“Oh god imagine if I’d vomited all over their nice rug when they greeted us at the door.” He whines.
Enjolras chuckles when he hears Combeferre come into the room and sigh, assuring Courfeyrac that his parents were just worried and not annoyed.
“But anyway, how was your day, chéri?” Courfeyrac asks when Combeferre has joined him wherever it is he’s seated.
“It was fine,” Enjolras says carefully. “I talked to Feuilly.”
“And?” Combeferre prompts gently.
“We spent the afternoon together. And with Éponine and her siblings.” He says. “And with Grantaire too.” He adds in a quieter voice, hoping maybe they won’t hear it.
His friends are quiet at the other end of the line. Enjolras can picture the looks they’re giving each other. A mix of compassion and pity. Telling them about his feelings was the biggest mistake Enjolras has ever made.
“We’re meeting tomorrow again. And maybe even for the whole week.” He adds when his friends stay silent.
Combeferre clears his throat. “How do you feel about that?” He says in his best therapist voice.
“Good. We had a nice time today. I don’t see why it should be any different for the rest of the week.” Enjolras tries to sound as casual as possible.
They change the subject but it’s not long until his friends have to leave him to go to dinner. They still argue because Courfeyrac wants to call him again the next day, but Enjolras assures him he doesn’t need to. He won’t spend his days alone like they had feared he would, so why bother? He’s pretty sure he wins the argument. But you never know with Courfeyrac.
When he goes to bed tonight, his upstairs neighbour seems to have family over again, but the laughs and happy chatter don’t make him feel as lonely as they did the previous day.
The ache in his chest is fainter and he doesn’t need to keep the radio on for as long as last night before he can fall asleep.
-
Enjolras is so focused on listening to the replay of Lamarque’s daily radio program from this morning, which he missed because he slept later than he usually does, that he almost jumps out of his skin when a hand falls on his shoulder.
As it turns out, no one is attacking him, it’s simply Feuilly notifying him of their presence.
“Didn’t mean to scare you, sorry.” They say with a sheepish smile on their face.
Enjolras removes his earphones and they struck up a conversation as they wait for the others. Éponine and Grantaire arrive together, the kids trailing behind them.
“It’s unfair that I have to choose the activity on a Sunday, when there is nothing to do,” Gavroche complains.
“Hey, you’re the one who drew the names, you can only blame yourself,” Grantaire says ruffling his hair.
Enjolras watches them wrestle playfully while Éponine and Feuilly are busy chatting, until Gavroche gasps and breaks free of Grantaire’s loose grip on him.
“I know what I want to do!” He says excitedly. Azelma looks like she’s expecting the worst. “I want to do what we did with the others’ flats two years ago.”
Éponine bursts out laughing and Grantaire high fives him. Enjolras is confused. But then it clicks.
“You mean when I came back and my bed was in the middle of the living room and Marius got a picture of his and Courfeyrac’s furniture turned upside down every day?” He asks glaring at them.
No one answers, but they don’t have to. Feuilly grabs his arm and they walk towards Bahorel’s building. Enjolras gets called a spoilsport at least ten times on the way there when he tells them that, really, are four adults going to blindly follow the suggestion of a 12-year-old? Apparently, they are, and no one sees anything wrong with that except him.
Something tells him their friends are going to regret a bit being part of such a tightly knit group where everyone knows where you hide your spare keys.
He ends up helping them hang all of Bahorel’s clothes around his kitchen like they would Christmas tinsel.
When Gavroche is happy with how the place looks, they head to Musichetta’s flat, stopping to get coffee and hot chocolate on the way. This time Éponine whispers something in Gavroche’s ear who cackles in return and tells them he wants to ask strangers to pose as if they were caught having broken into the place, so they can send Musichetta some pictures, while Éponine looks at him fondly.
Enjolras stays upstairs with Grantaire and Azelma to take the pictures of strangers who agreed to look at the camera in a startled way while pretending to eat or watch TV. Most of them are around their age, but at some point, they get an old couple to Gavroche’s and Grantaire’s delight. All of the people who agree to do this seem to find the idea hilarious.
They decide to make one last stop at Marius’ place.
“Isn’t it a bit mean to mess with him twice?” Enjolras asks Grantaire on their way there. Éponine and Feuilly are walking together far behind them again.
“No, because Marius is the funniest person to mess with.” He answers grinning. “Well, no that’s not true, you’re the funniest person to mess with, but you’re here this year so.” He says, smirking provocatively.
“And I let you all invade my flat for the whole afternoon yesterday,” Enjolras adds, instead of following his first instinct and glaring silently at him.
“Yeah, that too.” Grantaire chuckles.
They manage to have a normal conversation. Well normal for them, which mostly mean they argue and Enjolras gets frustrated by Grantaire’s cynical jokes. But there aren’t any comments meant to hurt, nothing aimed carefully to hit right where their weak spots are. And more importantly, no reference to June and Enjolras’ poor decisions. It’s not as natural as it could be, but Grantaire doesn’t sound angry or scornful like he has every time he talked to him for the past few months.
It makes his heart race and he has to carefully school his features into a neutral expression when they arrive at the building and their conversation abruptly comes to a stop. More importantly, he has to silence the hopeful voice (that sounds suspiciously like Jehan’s) telling him that maybe this is Grantaire changing his mind about him. Because it’s not, it’s Grantaire making an effort to get along with him because he doesn’t want to ruin his friends’ holidays.
Chances are the scoffing and the betrayed looks will be back on the 1st of January.
Luckily, wrapping everything in Marius’ and Courfeyrac’s kitchen with Christmas-themed gift-wrapping paper is amusing enough that he doesn’t think about it too much.
When they’re done, they send the first picture to Musichetta and Enjolras understands why they all followed the will of a kid. Gavroche is beaming at Grantaire’s screen waiting for her reply, and he looks nothing like another child with a family as terrible as his would at this time of the year.
“Same place, same time tomorrow?” Enjolras asks Feuilly when they’ve all started exchanging goodbyes.
Feuilly looks a bit surprised, but they smile at him and nod.
He doesn’t let the walk home alone kill his good mood. He finishes listening to Lamarque’s program.
Lamarque is his hero. She’s an amazing journalist and he should probably feel sad she didn’t go into politics. She’s honest and she genuinely cares about everyone, and she knows how to address the people. But then again, she wouldn’t be able to say everything she can say now if she was a politician, and maybe her voice wouldn’t have as much impact as it does now.
She’s a great woman and a good person. She’s probably responsible for Enjolras’ liking of the radio. She made him discover how much influence it can have over the listeners and how important it is that radio doesn’t disappear.
In the following months, Enjolras will have to look for an internship. He already knows he’s going to look for something in radio, but if he could work with Lamarque, or even just meet her, it would be a dream come true.
-
“I think I’d like to go ice skating.” Azelma says shyly, sending a questioning look at Éponine who nods encouragingly and mouths ‘supreme ruler of the world’. “I want to go ice skating.” She says more confidently.
At this moment, Enjolras feels anything but confident. It’s not that he’s bad at it, it’s just that the person who invented ice skating must have been deranged. No one sane would invent something like ice skating. Gliding on ice with shoes that have blades attached to them? Not a nice activity.
But Grantaire is already scrolling on his phone, showing Azelma what ice rinks they could go to and soon he’s leading everyone through narrow and suspicious streets he claims are shortcuts. Enjolras has to walk fast enough not to lose them and since he’s too busy focusing on breathing he can’t complain. People shorter than him have no business being as fast as that.
As they all expected, the ice rink is pretty crowded. It doesn’t stop them but it does slow them down, and as they are waiting in line to get their skates, Enjolras considers making a run for it, pretend he’s going to use the bathroom and instead go sit at a table in the area where there's food and it’s warm and he can wear normal shoes.
He doesn’t, though. Because he knows his friends would somehow find a way to get him on the ice anyway.
He tries not to look like someone who’s about to lose all credibility to people he really appreciates in a few minutes when he tells the employee his shoe size and walks to the benches to put on his skates. He knows it hasn’t worked when he sees the smirk Grantaire sends him as he stands up and has to use Gavroche as support not to fall.
“What has this poor ice done to you?” Grantaire asks him when everyone but them has gone on the rink. His voice startles him enough that he has to grab a nearby railing to regain his balance.
“Nothing,” he says scowling at the lazy, knowing smile on Grantaire’s face.
“Well then stop glaring at it and get on it already.” He says, gracefully stepping on the ice and spinning a few times. Show-off.
“I’m going to,” Enjolras huffs and takes a few steps forwards. There are a lot of people, it’s a good thing the rink is pretty big.
“You’ve never been ice skating?” Grantaire asks innocently as he keeps skating in circles in front of Enjolras.
“Of course I have. I’m friends with Courfeyrac.” Enjolras steps on the ice and regrets it immediately. He keeps his hands on the railing. “It’s just that, um, my balance isn’t great.”
He feels his face go warm as he hears Grantaire burst out laughing. He scowls and ignores him the best he can. He advances carefully, keeping his hand on the railing that goes all around the rink.
Feuilly appears at his side and starts politely conversing with him. They don’t have the ease of Grantaire, but they’re good enough not to need anything to support them like Enjolras does.
At some point, Feuilly looks behind them and gets a bit away from Enjolras. He doesn’t have the time to turn around and see what Feuilly moved for because something, or rather someone, collides with his back and grabs his arm to drag him away from the railing. He has to grab the forearms of the person not to fall. Which means the person can lead him as far from the side of the rink as they want to.
“What is wrong with you?” Enjolras practically yells at a laughing Grantaire.
“Many, many things, my dear.” Grantaire is skating backwards and sometimes throws a look over his shoulder to make sure they don’t run into someone. And, Enjolras suspects, to keep them in the middle of the rink.
“Get me back there.” Enjolras orders, keeping his eyes on his feet and tightening his grip on Grantaire’s arms.
Grantaire ignores him. “Do you want one of these?” He says nodding towards the area where kids have little reindeer and penguin-shaped chairs they can push around to help them keep their balance.
“Haha,” Enjolras says as drily as he can, glaring at him. “Isn’t it exhausting being so funny all the time?”
Grantaire sighs dramatically as he takes a sharp turn, which makes Enjolras tighten his grip more. “It’s a curse, really. Not that it’s something you’ll ever understand.”
“Seriously, Grantaire, get me back to the railing.”
“I cannot, because if I do, you are going to cling to it like a limpet would to a rock and Feuilly is going to feel so bad for you they’re going to spend the whole time following you and making sure you’re not alone.”
Enjolras looks around him and spots Feuilly racing Éponine farther away. He feels his cheeks heat up in embarrassment.
“Hey, uh,” Grantaire winces. Enjolras turns his head back to look at him. “Would you mind letting go of my arms? I don’t think there’s any blood in my hands anymore.”
“We’re in the middle of the rink there’s no way I’m skating on my own.”
“Yeah, no, of course, just,” Grantaire shakes his arms a little and Enjolras forces himself to loosen his grip on them.
Grantaire slowly starts moving away from him a bit, and for a second Enjolras is scared he’s going to leave him there, in the middle of people skating like pros. But then he feels him slip his gloved hands in his own and gently leads him around the rink like he was doing before. His heart starts racing, but not out of panic this time.
“That’s better,” Grantaire says, breaking the strange silence that had settled between them.
Enjolras stops looking at his feet for a second to look up at Grantaire, who’s already staring at him. He loses his balance and almost falls down backwards.
“Do not lean backwards, you idiot,” Grantaire says as he tightens his grip on his hands. “You’re going to hit your head and die if you fall that way.”
Grantaire spends the next half hour guiding him, telling him how to move his feet and making fun of him for looking so ridiculous. Enjolras spends the next half hour scowling at his remarks, telling him he’s going to fall if he does what Grantaire is telling him to do and blushing.
Without any kind of warning, Grantaire lets go of his hand and skates backwards and just out of reach. Judging by the smirk on his face, it was not an accident.
“Hey, what are you doing?” Enjolras asks, getting a little panicked.
“Come on, try to skate to me.” Grantaire says.
“What? No. I’m not moving. Do you want me to die?”
Grantaire shakes his head. “You spend too much time with Courf, you’re beginning to be as dramatic as him.”
Enjolras huffs, annoyed, and takes a few clumsy steps forwards. He reaches out to grab Grantaire’s hand again but he’s moved again. He’s grinning at him.
“I’m staying here if you’re just going to move away every time I get closer.” Enjolras crosses his arms but immediately loses his balance and starts flailing a bit.
“If I tell you that the left-parties will never be able to put their egos aside long enough to form an alliance, so we’re all fucked because the far-right candidates are going to get all the votes, you’ll have to tell me how wrong I am. But I can’t hear you if you’re too far.” Grantaire wiggles his eyebrows and slowly moves back some more.
Enjolras should be irritated but he finds he can’t stop himself from mirroring Grantaire’s smile. “I’ll shout how wrong you are if I have to.”
“What? I can’t hear you! You’re too far!” Grantaire yells though he’s like three metres away from him.
“You’re ridiculous!” Enjolras yells back and starts carefully skating towards him. Grantaire’s grin widens.
“What did you say? You have to come closer, I can’t hear you, Apollo!”
Enjolras is laughing though he keeps losing his balance and never manages to be quick enough to reach Grantaire before he can move away. But when he notices Grantaire isn’t looking where he’s going anymore, and that he’s about to collide with a girl, he sobers up.
“Wait, Grantaire stop, watch out!” Enjolras warns him, not stopping either. He still kind of needs something like a wall (or a person) to stop. Last he tried putting his feet like Grantaire told him to, he fell down and almost decided not to get up.
“What—”
Grantaire’s eyes widen when his back collides with the girl. He stumbles forwards as the girl swears imaginatively and disappears almost immediately.
As Grantaire gets dangerously close to him, Enjolras think they’re both going to fall down on the ice. But instead of crashing into him as Enjolras expected, Grantaire manages to regain his balance by grabbing his waist and spinning them a few times on the same spot.
It’s only when they’re completely still that Enjolras notices how close they are. He looks down at Grantaire who’s looking around to make sure no one is going to run into them, and who seems like he hasn’t even registered their position. Enjolras had put his hands on his shoulders as a reflex when they were both trying to regain their balance. They’re not moving anymore. Enjolras’ balance is fine. He wants to leave his hands there though.
The only time they were this close, pressed against each other was months ago. In June. Grantaire had both arms around him in June. He only has one now. Enjolras had one hand in Grantaire’s hair in June. It’s not the case now. They were breathing heavily in June. They are too now.
Grantaire looks up at him and asks him if he’s okay. He’s looking into his eyes and Enjolras thinks about June. Just like in June he could—
“Do you want to play tag with us?” Gavroche asks excitedly, tugging at Grantaire’s sleeve to get his attention.
Grantaire’s gaze lingers on Enjolras’, but he ends up removing his arms from around him, leaving Enjolras cold and disappointed. And hurt.
“Sure,” Grantaire tells Gavroche with a big smile. Enjolras can see he’s trying to look casual. If Enjolras weren’t looking for it, he would probably miss the uneasiness in his eyes and the subtle way he clears his throat.
Enjolras tries to stop thinking about it. About June, about the following months, about every complicated thing in his life. He’s managed to not think about it and pretend everything was fine for six months, he can do it for one afternoon. It’s fine
Grantaire is acting with him the same way he was a few minutes earlier. It’s fine. It’s all fine.
By the time they leave the ice rink, it’s dark outside and they’re all sore from having done so much physical activity, except for Enjolras who’s sore from falling every ten minutes. They all laugh about it on their way to a place to eat, even Enjolras finds himself smiling at their well-meaning jokes.
They find somewhere to order takeaway food and end up eating at Éponine’s flat. Enjolras realises with a start when he enters her place, that it’s probably the first time he’s ever been there. At least in a context unrelated to the ABC.
At Azelma’s demand, they get out a board game once they’re done eating. The girl is usually quiet, withdrawn, not really shy but more like she’s scared she’s bothering people with her presence. But right now, she’s laughing loudly and making a pun contest with Grantaire and when Enjolras turns to look at Éponine she’s smiling fondly at her sister.
Suddenly, Enjolras feels a bit like he doesn’t completely have the right to be here with them. Like he’s made himself at home at a place he wasn’t even supposed to know of. It’s their Christmas tradition.
He had never been invited to Éponine’s flat before today because they’re not close, he wouldn't even say they’re friends since she doesn’t seem to like him very much. He never talks to the kids apart from the rare times Éponine takes them to the meetings with her. And Grantaire, well, before this week started, he hadn’t looked him in the eye for months.
Maybe he shouldn’t be here. He’s been told he’s not much fun, and maybe he’s making it awkward without meaning to.
He should tell them he won’t be spending the rest of the week with them. It’s not like he cares about Christmas or this time of the year anyway.
And yet, when the kids have gone to bed and they’re all putting on their shoes and their coats, Feuilly asks him if he wants to come with them to the bar down the street to have a drink together, and he can’t bring himself to say no. None of them looks bothered when Feuilly asks, they look relaxed and happy, and Enjolras realises he doesn’t want to miss out on some more time with them.
“So do you already know what you want to do when the power will be in your hands tomorrow?” Grantaire asks Éponine almost two hours later, when they’re all tired, tipsy and ready to go home.
Éponine sighs and rests her head on Grantaire’s shoulder. “I don’t know.”
“Come on, you have an idea,” Feuilly says. “I can see it on your face.” They bump their knee with hers.
Éponine smiles. “I guess if I could choose anything, I would want to show the kids what snow is like. Real snow, not Parisian snow. Some snow you can build a snowman with and have a snowball fight in.” She shrugs. “But I guess we could just go to the movies or something.”
“No wait,” Enjolras says. He can hear that his words are slurred a little and the snort from Grantaire informs him he’s noticed too. “We could definitely go somewhere with snow.”
Éponine chuckles. “How? Where?”
“Who? When? What? Why?” Grantaire adds but stops when Éponine hits him in the arm.
“I don’t know, but Bahorel left me his car and told me I could use it if I needed to. We could go,” Enjolras makes a vague gesture, “somewhere. We don’t have to stay here.”
“That would be so cool, Blondie, you really think that’s possible?” Éponine asks sitting straighter.
Enjolras nods and gets his phone from the back pocket of his jeans. His three friends all lean over the screen, making comments whenever he finds cheap enough places they could stay at. They spend a long time like that hunched over Enjolras’ phone, searching for an inn, a hotel, a ski station, anywhere they could stay for one or two nights.
Eventually, they find an inn in the Vosges, held by an old couple who’ve lived there their whole lives and who don’t seem to have a lot of visitors. The rooms aren’t too expensive, and the pictures show a very pleasant place.
They make plans. They decide they’re going to leave early tomorrow so they can arrive maybe at noon there and enjoy the afternoon in the mountains. They also decide to stay two nights there and to come back to Paris on Thursday morning.
When they leave the bar, it’s very late, and they know it’s going to be hard for all of them to wake up early to pack the few things they have to pack before getting in the car and starting their unexpected journey to the east.
Enjolras doesn’t go to bed when he gets home. He’s buzzing with a kind of childish energy he hasn’t felt in a long time, if he ever felt it at all. Instead, he starts packing his bag for two days.
When he goes to bed smiling, he catches himself thinking it might be what it feels like for children (and Courfeyrac) to go to bed on the 24th of December, expecting to wake up the next day to a cheery house full of presents.
-
“How drunk were you when you planned this?” Gavroche asks with a snort after a minute of silently staring at the car meant for five people.
“Do you want to travel in the trunk?” Éponine threatens him.
Grantaire rolls his eyes and takes the keys from Enjolras whose heart has no right to react the way it does when their fingers brush.
“Have you seen the size of this car? We can definitely fit four people in the backseat.” He says as he picks up everyone’s bags one after the other and puts them in the car trunk.
“The trip is about four to five hours.” Enjolras points out when everyone seems to accept Grantaire’s solution. “No one is travelling four to five hours without a seatbelt on. I’m not starting the car before we find something else.”
“Well then I’ll start driving,” Grantaire grins at him, already opening the car door to the driver’s side and dangling the keys above his head.
Enjolras admits defeat and gets in on the passenger’s side when the kids claim two seats with a seatbelt and Feuilly and Éponine look way too happy to be sharing a space that’s meant for one on the back of the car.
“Okay before I start this thing,” Grantaire turns around and looks at everyone in turn. “Place your bets. How many times are we hearing Mariah Carey until we arrive there?”
“No more than twice,” Feuilly affirms.
“Are we taking into account the fact that we might be changing radio stations?” Azelma asks much too seriously.
“Christmas is behind us, we won’t be hearing it at all, people move on quickly you know,” Éponine adds.
Enjolras clears his throat, already feeling ridiculous for participating in this discussion. “Actually, I think we’ll be hearing it at least three times. They won’t broadcast it as much as they do before Christmas, because people won’t find it as fun, but they definitely try to draw out the merry feelings they supposedly have on Christmas until New Year’s. It’s the same with decorations. You’ll be hearing Mariah Carey for as long as there’ll be tinsel in shop windows.”
“The radio expert has spoken, I’m saying four,” Grantaire announces, finally starting the car.
The ride is anything but quiet. Azelma and Gavroche are arguing in the back and Enjolras is arguing with Grantaire in the front. He gets interrupted in the middle of his elaborate explanation when Grantaire orders to “shut up everyone and listen to this” as he turns up the volume to sing along Queen’s ‘Thank God It’s Christmas’.
The car suddenly goes quiet when they’ve been driving for an hour, around nine. Enjolras is focussing on his phone when Grantaire unexpectedly changes stations.
“Hey! I was listening to that!” Gavroche protests loudly from the backseat.
“Shh, I’ll give you my headphones so you can listen to your crappy song later,” Grantaire tells him.
It’s only then, when everyone has stopped talking, that Enjolras sees, or rather hears, what radio Grantaire put on. He looks up from his phone as Lamarque’s voice introduces the subjects she’s going to talk about and her guest of today’s program.
Enjolras is too stunned to say anything. He’s not so stupid as to believe that Grantaire would choose to put on France Inter at this precise time for no reason and it happened to be the exact time Lamarque’s program started. He keeps his eyes on him, trying to get an answer without asking any questions. All he gets in return is a sideways glance and a twitching cheek.
At one point, Grantaire does look at him long enough for Enjolras to smile at him. The smile he gets in return might just be the most genuine he’s ever seen on Grantaire’s face.
They arrive at the inn around noon, after lots of breaks to go to the bathroom and change the driver.
The couple that owns the inn welcomes them warmly and prepares them a local dish as they get all their stuff in their three rooms.
“So what do you want to do this afternoon?” Feuilly asks Éponine during lunch.
They’re eating in the main room, seated at a wooden table that won’t stop creaking, with a really old tablecloth on them. The room is adjacent to the kitchen and has brick walls with wooden shelves. On them are things Enjolras can’t begin to try guessing the utility of. It’s lovely.
“I want to go hiking.” She says casually.
Enjolras almost chokes on his food. Once again, his thoughts are voiced by a 12-year-old.
“You want us to walk around in the mountains when it’s like minus thirty degrees?” Gavroche whines.
“Yes, I do,” Éponine purses her lips and stares at Gavroche until he sighs and starts eating again.
Gavroche seems to have no more complaints when he realises that going outside to go hiking means he can run around in the snow and throw snowballs at his sister. Somehow, this fact doesn’t comfort Enjolras. He’s still cold and dreading the walk ahead of them.
It’s as terrible as he expected. The view is great, huge pine trees covered in snow everywhere. But he’s struggling to keep up with everyone. How can they walk so fast somewhere so steep while having gone to bed at one in the morning? Okay, it’s not that steep, but still.
Grantaire teases him all the way, remarking on how red his cheeks and his nose are, how hard he’s breathing, and how the glare he’s sending him could probably kill him if he wasn’t already immune to it.
He ends up throwing snow at his face. He usually has a more elaborate response to Grantaire’s obnoxious observations, but he cannot waste air telling him to shut up this time.
He gets snow in his hair in return and stops walking to fully commit to this thing he started. Soon enough Feuilly and Azelma join his team and Éponine’s hike is completely forgotten.
They’re soaked and numb everywhere from the cold when they get back to the inn as it slowly gets darker outside despite the fact that it’s rather early. Grantaire insists his team won but Enjolras disagrees wholeheartedly. They decide to settle this with card games which they play the whole evening.
The games don’t settle anything.
“How can you say you won? Everyone here saw me win.” Enjolras insists. He’s giggling uncontrollably along with everyone else. The wine he drank loosened his tongue and his limbs. He gestures towards the others. “Tell him you all saw me win.”
They do and Enjolras turns back to face Grantaire. He crosses his arms, raises an eyebrow and struggles to keep a serious air, feeling the corner of his lips turn up without his consent.
Grantaire is looking at him with an unrestrained smile on his face. He’s resting his cheek on his hand and the fire crackling in the fireplace makes warm shadows dance on his face and in his eyes. Enjolras stops fighting against his smile as his heart flutters in his chest.
Grantaire shrugs and his gaze gets an oddly soft edge. “I don’t know, I kind of feel like I won anyway.”
Enjolras doesn’t have time to argue back, because Grantaire stands up and announces he has to go to bed or else he’s going to fall asleep on the table. He throws one last look at Enjolras over his shoulder before disappearing out of sight.
In the darkness of the room he shares with Feuilly, Enjolras dares to entertain scenarios he had forced himself to stop making up in the past months. Maybe it’s the wine or the hope that won’t leave him, that makes him see things that aren’t there. Maybe Grantaire is just really committed to acting like he appreciates him for the sake of everyone else. Millions of thoughts, of maybe, of perhaps, of dreamy or frightening stories bloom in his mind and talk over each other. The unpleasant cacophony of questions makes it hard for him to fall asleep despite the wine making him drowsy.
He thought these late-night introspections were behind him.
-
At first, it had been easy to ignore the attraction, the spike of warmth at every playful comment, the uncharacteristic fondness he felt for him.
Until it wasn’t.
Because then June happened. And not only had Enjolras been forced to confront his buried feelings, but the icy atmosphere that settled over the group with every vicious and hurtful remark from him or Grantaire, had made everyone else ask questions.
Not only did he have to admit it in the privacy of his own mind, but he also had to tell some of his friends, who told other friends, and now, he has to endure every pitying look or glare they send him.
So really, now that Jehan squeezes his hand and Combeferre rests a comforting hand on his shoulder when Grantaire drunkenly rants about how heartless he is every two meetings, it’s hard not to remember that yes, it hurts, and it will be a long time until it hurts less.
Pretending is, unfortunately, no longer an option. The best he can do is not say anything about it out loud.
-
Since they all stayed up late two nights in a row, most of them sleep in on Wednesday. Enjolras is the first to get up, careful not to wake up Feuilly on his way to the main room.
He eats breakfast with the owners of the inn, and they discuss various topics ranging from how the two of them met, to their daughter who lives in Bordeaux and also has an activist group, with a brief stop on politics.
His friends join them one after the other at the table, yawning, blinking sleepily and begging for coffee.
“Do you know where we could find sledges around here?” Grantaire asks the old couple in the middle of a conversation. Gavroche, who has just arrived, gasps excitedly.
“You should be the supreme ruler of the world every day, you have the best ideas.” He says and Grantaire high-fives him while giving a significant look to Enjolras and mouthing ‘kids always tell the truth’.
Enjolras shakes his head and hides his smile in his mug of coffee.
It turns out that the owners have lots of plastic sledges here (most of them meant for children) and that they are more than happy to lend them to them for the afternoon. After lunch, they even show them the spot other visitors usually go to, a long, wide slope of thick snow framed by high pine trees.
Gavroche and Azelma don’t waste a second and immediately grab a sledge for the two of them, sliding on the snow at full speed, screaming and laughing all the way down. It’s not long before Feuilly grabs Enjolras’ arm excitedly and makes him sit with them on a bright green sledge.
Soon they’re all laughing breathlessly and taking breaks every five seconds when they have to drag the sledges back up the little hill.
“Come on get up, you’re coming with me for this one,” Grantaire says nudging Enjolras’ arm with his foot. Enjolras smiles up at him and sits up just in time to see Gavroche face-plant in the snow and Azelma bursting out laughing behind him.
“You do have good ideas sometimes,” he tells him bumping their shoulders together.
“It’s their first time getting out of Paris for real and seeing snow. I couldn’t waste that opportunity to introduce them to sledding.” Grantaire says settling down on the plastic sledge that's definitely not meant for two grown men.
“Yeah well, you’re introducing me to sledding too,” Enjolras says as he sits between Grantaire’s legs. He reminds himself that this was not weird when he was doing it with Feuilly so there is no reason for it to be weird with Grantaire.
Grantaire gasps. “But I thought you were part of the rich kids who got to go to the Swiss Alpes on every winter holiday.”
“I definitely was, but sledding wasn’t our primary activity;” Enjolras mutters as he helps Grantaire make them move off the flat surface.
Grantaire chuckles much too close to his ear. He can blame the shiver that runs down his spine on the cold.
“I bet your family rented, no owned, a fancy chalet there and you had to go skiing every day,” Grantaire says as they get to the start of the slope.
Enjolras snickers. “I always made sure to get sick on the first day so I could stay inside with my grandmother and read all week.”
“Of course you would,” Grantaire barks out a laugh as they start to descend.
The rush of cold air stings his cheeks that already hurt from smiling so much lately.
When they’re down the hill, they get the sledge back up and slide down together again. And after that, they race Éponine and Feuilly to the bottom while Gavroche is filming and Azelma is telling them when to go.
They totally win.
“After this one, I’m staying down there.” Enjolras gasps out as he rests his back on Grantaire’s chest. “I am not climbing up here ever again.”
“Don’t worry, I’ll carry your unconscious body to the inn if I have to,” Grantaire says half cackling as they go down, down, down the slope so rapidly the only thing Enjolras can really register is Grantaire’s warm breath on the side of his face and the arm around him as the snow and the pine trees of their surroundings blur together in a whirlwind of white and forest green.
They almost collide with Éponine and Azelma before Enjolras manages to put his feet in the snow and stop their descent. But he also sends them flying in the snow. The cold snow burns Enjolras face, he rolls over on his back and can’t help giggling when he hears Éponine clapping and yelling ‘bravo’.
“Man, imagine if I’d landed on you, do you think I would be able to live with the guilt of having killed the world’s only saviour? Do you?” Grantaire asks laughing and throwing snow at Enjolras’ face.
It’s a short-lived fight. About five seconds after Enjolras has thrown snow back at Grantaire they give up and lay side by side, trying to catch their breath.
Enjolras lets his head roll to the side to look at Grantaire. Grantaire looks back. At this moment, Enjolras forgets himself. He brings his gloved hand to Grantaire’s cheek and silently laments the fact that he can’t feel the warmth of the pink flush on his cheeks.
Incomprehension flashes on Grantaire’s face for a second, the time to blink a few times before poorly concealed sadness and disappointment take over his features. Enjolras doesn’t have time to apologise because Grantaire stands up and calls for Gavroche as if nothing happened.
Enjolras lets his still outstretched arm fall on the snow and sighs, screwing his eyes shut. It was stupid to do this. He knows how Grantaire feels about him, he has made it abundantly clear, so why can’t he just move on once and for all? He can already see the concern in Combeferre’s and Courfeyrac’s eyes when he tells them about this week.
Thankfully, no argument breaks out between the two of them. No one insults anyone. No one sneers or scoff at what the other says. Things are as calm as they have been since Saturday. Grantaire still jokes with him the whole afternoon and throughout dinner. He still makes inappropriate remarks. The only difference is that he always stays at least a meter away from him. Enjolras almost snaps at him in front of everyone, almost tells him that he’s not going to assault him, but after a few glasses of wine he mostly wants to cry and tell him he’s sorry, he doesn’t know how to act because it’s the first time he ever likes someone so much.
But even his drunk self knows better than to be this honest in public.
It’s hard to ignore the feeling of someone squeezing his heart when the kids have gone to bed, Grantaire has gone to the bathroom, and he’s left alone with Éponine and Feuilly who are laughing about inside jokes and very obviously holding hands under the table.
Enjolras clears his throat. “I’m going to get some air.” He barely has time to see Feuilly nod at him before he’s out of the main room looking for his coat.
The first thing Enjolras notices is how well he can see the stars and how nice it feels. In Paris, it’s practically impossible with all the light coming from the city and the pollution making the sky almost orange when night falls. The second thing is that he’s forgotten his gloves where he left them drying on the radiator and that he’s shivering. He shoves his hands in his pocket and rests his back against the brick wall behind him.
He decides to stay on the front porch, where there is warm light rather than walking where there isn’t a single lamppost in sight, and where he would probably see nothing and get lost in the dark. So his only activities are to study the stars and to study how he feels. He doesn’t do it often. Not often enough according to Courfeyrac. It’s just that it always seems like there is something more important to take care of than his feelings.
Maybe it could be a new year’s resolution. Enjolras smiles softly as he thinks of Joly and how he makes every Ami write a little list of things they want to do every year. He would probably faint if Enjolras wrote anything that has to do with emotions.
“Should I consider you mad for grinning at nothing in the cold?” Grantaire’s voice startles him.
“Do you not already consider me mad?” Enjolras asks as Grantaire comes to stand next to him, rubbing his hands together and blowing hot air on them.
Enjolras doesn’t get an answer, just a quiet snort as the only sign Grantaire heard him. Grantaire breaks the comfortable silence a few minutes later.
“Why aren’t you with your family?” He asks quietly. Enjolras doesn’t turn to look at him.
He takes a shaky breath. “My parents asked me not to come because they feared some events from this year would spark unpleasant discussions.” Enjolras waits and waits for a reaction but nothing comes. He dares to glance at Grantaire beside him. He looks like he’s waiting for more. “They saw the video.” Probably everyone saw it.
Grantaire’s mouth forms an ‘o’ and his eyebrow rise comically high on his forehead.
“I’m sorry,” he says, real concern visible in his eyes.
“Not your fault,” Enjolras mutters and focuses on the night sky again. “I don’t care about Christmas, anyway.”
They’re silent again.
“It’s uh,” Grantaire coughs awkwardly. “It’s a good thing Feuilly brought you with them on Saturday then.”
Enjolras huffs out a laugh. “Yeah,” he agrees. “But I could have spent a week on my own, I’m not a child.”
“Oh no, it would have been too sad if you’d been alone in that flat of yours all week,” Grantaire says.
Enjolras shrugs. “No, it wouldn’t have been. It’s very nice of you to bring me along but I don’t care about Christmas. It means nothing to me, it would have been like any other week.”
After five seconds of silence, Enjolras turns a bit to look at Grantaire. He looks like he can’t decide what he’s feeling. Anger, sadness, confusion. Just as Enjolras is about to ask him if he’s okay, he speaks up.
“It’s not about Christmas,” he says slowly. “Feuilly has never celebrated Christmas in their whole life. To them, it really means nothing at all. And yet they work harder the whole month of December so that their boss will let them have this week free. To Éponine and the kids, Christmas means bad memories, but this is the only time of the year Azelma will smile so much. Christmas doesn’t mean shit to me either. It doesn’t matter, we always have the best time.”
“Yeah, it’s your tradition, I get it,” Enjolras says, slightly annoyed that Grantaire is speaking to him like he would to a little child.
“Yeah, and we made you part of this tradition.” Grantaire insists, starting to raise his voice.
“Well, it was very nice and I appreciate it greatly, but I’m just saying you didn’t have to, because I didn’t need you to. As I said, I could have spent the week alone, I don’t care about Christmas.” Enjolras says as calmly as he can, not liking the tone they’re both starting to use.
“You sound like a fucking broken record!” Grantaire throws his hands up in the air. Enjolras doesn’t think he said anything too upsetting, but it’s too late, Grantaire is talking rapidly and he’s raised his voice. “It’s not about Christmas Apollo. It’s about having fun together when the family we have or don’t have made sure we couldn’t have a nice time. It’s about showing the people we care about that we’re here until the end. It’s about, I don’t know! It’s about,” He pauses and looks at Enjolras in the eyes. “It’s about choosing who you want to be with. Will you go to your family because that’s what everyone else does even though they’re like strangers to you, or will you choose to spend this time with the people who were with you the rest of the year? It’s about choosing to do meaningful things with the people you love. But I guess it’s not something you’d understand. Nothing ever means anything to you anyway. Maybe you joined us because we were ‘just there’, not because you wanted to spend time with us. We were at the right place at the right time, weren’t we?” Grantaire looks downright mocking.
Enjolras is too shocked by this outburst to answer. So he just lowers his gaze and wonders if that’s truly what Grantaire thinks of him. He couldn’t blame him if it was. He did work on creating an image of himself that resembles a heartless man that nothing can touch. He had to, he wouldn’t be here if he hadn’t, but his friends know he loves them, don’t they?
“Well,” Grantaire finally says, moving towards the door. Enjolras doesn’t dare to look up at him. “Know that we wouldn’t have done the same with a stranger. This was us choosing you. We asked you to join us because we wanted you to, not because it’s Christmas or because you were there. Maybe you don’t care about this, but we do.” He walks inside without even glancing at Enjolras.
It’s the first time Enjolras cries in months. He’s tired, hurt, and he wishes things could get better between him and Grantaire. He wishes they would go back to how they were six months ago.
This time, no matter how hard he tries, he can’t not think about June. He can’t not relive it all.
-
For once, it hadn’t been Enjolras who had started things. He even tried to ignore the homophobic comments the guy was shouting after them, as Grantaire and he attempted to find the rest of the group, who they had lost somewhere in the Parade.
But well, like everyone else, Enjolras has his limits. And that homophobe went far beyond them. He started talking back, this time ignoring Grantaire who was tugging at his arm and telling him he wasn’t worth wasting his time for. The interaction went nowhere, Enjolras got angrier and angrier every time the guy opened his mouth He would have probably punched him if Grantaire hadn’t been holding his right arm.
In retrospect, punching him would have been a better idea.
“You’re destroying this country is what you’re doing!” The man yelled hysterically.
Thinking that actions spoke louder than words, Enjolras turned around to face Grantaire who looked relieved for the fraction of a second before Enjolras grabbed his face and smashed their lips together.
He remembers the way Grantaire had dropped his arm after a second to wrap his own arms around him. He remembers how for a few seconds he forgot about the arsehole standing behind him because all he could think about was Grantaire and how good this felt. He’s almost sure he can remember Grantaire kissing him back.
When he pulled back, he was dizzy and he almost kissed Grantaire again. He didn’t.
Instead, he turned back around and took an exaggerated look at his surroundings.
“Huh, nothing’s destroyed. Guess that wasn’t gay enough to make anything collapse.”
The police arrived almost immediately after. Enjolras turned around to tell Grantaire they should go now but he was not here anymore. When he looked around to see if he could spot him, he noticed that a crowd had formed and that quite a few phones were out.
The video spread very fast. The ABC had never gotten so much attention, in both a good and a bad way. It didn’t last very long, everything was forgotten by the media in a matter of weeks. Unfortunately, it wasn’t as easy to forget for Enjolras. Or for anyone else in the ABC.
The first meeting of their activist group after the incident was the worst. Everyone spent it pretending they hadn’t read the dozens of articles about it and pretending not to notice how much Grantaire drank.
On his way out, Enjolras was stopped by a hand on his arm. When he saw it was Grantaire a knot formed in his throat, but he forced himself not to let anything show. They hadn’t talked since the kiss.
“Why did you do this? And why did you choose me, Apollo?” Grantaire croaked.
The way Grantaire was looking at him made Enjolras scared that he knew. That he had guessed about the questions he started asking himself, about the numerous times he found his thoughts wandering to him, about the undeniable but unwanted attraction he feels towards him.
And that wasn’t an option. Grantaire was never meant to know. No one was ever meant to know. It was something that was supposed to stay a secret until Enjolras found a way to get rid of these feelings.
He shook his arm out of Grantaire’s grip and spoke as emotionlessly as he could bring himself to.
“I didn’t choose you, you were just there. I would have done the same with a stranger, this wasn’t me choosing you.”
He probably would have done it with anyone. But maybe he wouldn’t have made it last as long, maybe he wouldn’t have slipped his hand in a stranger’s hair, maybe he wouldn’t have let a stranger sneak his arms around his waist, maybe he wouldn’t have felt so dizzy afterwards if he had done it with a stranger.
And he probably wouldn’t be replaying it whenever he closes his eyes, had it been with anyone else.
But Grantaire’s couldn’t know that. He can never know that.
The events had made the fragile balance they had managed to find after their rocky start fall apart. They were back to square one. Or rather square minus three. None of their arguments had been as bad as they were in the following months, even when they’d just met and everyone was scared Enjolras would one day snap and strangle Grantaire.
Six months had come and gone and not only did their relationship not get better, but Enjolras hadn’t been able to erase his feelings like he had planned to. He tried to take comfort in the fact that since Grantaire wouldn’t talk to him except to make his loathing for him known, he could move on, stop entertaining these ridiculous ideas.
It didn’t work, he just missed him horribly and every argument brought its fair share of pain.
-
No one questions it when Enjolras slides in the back of the car and Grantaire in the front. Enjolras notices everyone’s eyes darting between the two of them, but thankfully no one comments on the tangible tension.
Enjolras feels miserable. He didn’t get a lot of sleep after Grantaire’s outburst. He doesn’t understand why he made him so mad. They were doing great. Enjolras almost believed they would keep doing great even when the others would come back and the holidays would be behind them.
But of course it was too good to be true.
In reality, he should be angry with Grantaire. His reaction wasn’t fair. Enjolras is tired that he’s always accused of being heartless by one of the people he cares the most about in the world. He’s tired of always being blamed for the same mistake he made months ago and tried to make up for.
“So what are we doing today?” Azelma asks breaking the terribly tense silence in the car.
Enjolras doesn’t react until Gavroche elbows him in the ribs quite hard. Gavroche seems unfazed by the glare he’s sending him. “You’re the supreme ruler of the world today.”
“Oh,” is all Enjolras can say. “I don’t,” he stops and thinks for a second. “I don’t feel very well I think I just want to stay home today. Alone. But you should do something without me.” He finally says.
He ignores Feuilly’s concerned look beside him, Éponine’s raised eyebrows in the rear-view mirror and the kids’ whispered, coded, conversation, to focus on Grantaire’s shoulders. They have gone even tenser than they were when he got into the car.
He doesn’t change his mind, no matter how many times Feuilly asks him softly. Neither does he when Grantaire changes the station just at the right time for them to hear Lamarque’s program.
A lot of things have happened and he can’t expect to feel better if he ignores them all, it hasn’t worked in the past. So he needs to be on his own today.
He exchanges polite goodbyes with the others when they drop him off at his flat. Grantaire avoids his eyes.
The first thing he does is make himself some coffee. Courfeyrac would tell him to take a nap because he’s really exhausted, but he’s never ever been able to take a nap. He doesn’t understand how people can fall asleep in the middle of the day.
The second thing he does is unpack the few things he’d taken with him to the inn.
Only then does he let himself fall on his sofa and think about it all. It takes him approximately five minutes to stop telling himself he feels this affected because he’s just sleep-deprived and not because he’s in love and hurt. He thought it would last longer. He had planned to be arguing with himself and pacing in his flat for the whole day, now he has nothing to do but to feel sorry for himself and sigh in a resigned way all day long.
It quickly gets boring, so he decides to catch up on everything he’s missed about the world in the last few days, listening to the radio, reading some articles and watching the news.
In the evening his phone starts buzzing, he looks at it and is surprised to see Combeferre’s name appear on the screen.
“Allô?” He says bringing the phone to his ear.
“What happened?” Combeferre asks in the soothing voice he uses whenever they’re having the emotional conversations Enjolras detests. He tenses up.
“What?” He asks confused. “Nothing.”
“With the others, what happened?” Combeferre asks quietly again.
Enjolras doesn’t say anything. “You know, I tend not to listen to Courfeyrac’s crazy theories, but do you really have the ability to know things?”
Combeferre chuckles lightly at the other end of the line. “As much as I would like to, I can’t. Feuilly sent me some pictures and videos every day. Except today.”
“Ah.” It makes much more sense.
Enjolras doesn’t really know what to say.
“So, what happened?” Combeferre prompts again.
Enjolras takes a deep breath and tells him everything. Everything he’s bottled up for months. Everything that happened this week and everything that happened last night.
“And frankly, I don’t think it’s fair of him to act like that. He has no reason to, that kiss was six months ago, maybe I need to move on, but he also needs to. Yelling at me in December because he’s still mad about something stupid I did in June is just absurd.” He’s started pacing in the living room in the middle of his explanation. He stops abruptly when something comes to his mind. He feels vaguely sick. “Wait, do you think he knows? Do you think that’s why he’s being so mean? Oh shit, he knows, he has to. But hey, that’s still not fair to blame me for something I have no control over, it hurts enough without him having to do anything more.”
“Enjolras,” Combeferre who has been patiently listening to him until now cuts him off. “What do you think Grantaire knows?”
“You know,” Enjolras clears his throat and waits. Combeferre doesn’t say anything. “That I, um, have feelings of romantic nature for him.”
“It’s the first time you say it so explicitly,” Combeferre says softly.
“Yeah, well, I’ve had a lot of time to think about it.”
“Joly is going to be so proud,” Combeferre says, his smile almost audible in his voice.
Enjolras huffs out a laugh and goes back to sit on his sofa. “Do you think he knows and that’s why he’s upset?” He asks. His voice sounds small to his own ears and he realises he’s immensely scared of the answer he’s going to get.
“Enjolras, have ever considered that maybe Grantaire wasn’t upset that you kissed him but rather that you,” he marks a small pause, “dismissed him?”
Enjolras’ pulse quickens. “What do you mean? Do you know something you’re not telling me?”
Combeferre sighs. “It’s not my place to say some things but I think there are some angles of the story you should think about. Maybe it’s time you two start being honest with each other.”
“So you know some things I don’t and you won’t tell me,” Enjolras mumbles, annoyed.
“Everyone knows these things but you—”
“What?”
“—but it’s not for us to tell.”
Enjolras doesn’t have anything to say to that.
“Do you understand what I mean?” Combeferre asks in a gentle voice.
“No, why does this have to be so complicated?”
“We’re coming back tomorrow, we’ll have a great New Year’s together and you’ll talk with Grantaire without getting defensive and lying to protect yourself from dangers that don’t exist.”
Enjolras huffs. “That was oddly specific, how long have you waited to tell me that?”
“A long time,” Combeferre admits.
They exchange goodbyes and are about to hang up when Enjolras remembers something.
“Hey, could you send me the pictures and the videos Feuilly sent you?”
He spends the evening going through them, watching and re-watching the video of him falling down while ice skating and Grantaire laughing his ass off. He follows Combeferre’s advice, he thinks about things he hadn’t even considered. It’s hard to believe but Enjolras has to admit that when he zooms in on Grantaire’s face on the pictures, the soft look he has on isn’t one you get when you’re looking at someone you hate. He wants to talk to him.
And even if Grantaire doesn’t share his feelings, it’s been a long, hard year and they both deserve the truth.
-
Enjolras wakes up on the 31st to a string of texts from Feuilly telling him he can come to Jehan’s flat whenever he wants to, if he wants to, to help them decorate and get everything ready for the party tonight. He thanks them and gets ready in record time.
He has to take a few deep breaths before entering the apartment, expecting them to be all discussing calmly and thinking he’ll have to join the conversation and face all their questions. Turns out he didn’t have to worry about it because it’s such chaos inside he’s not sure they heard him coming until Feuilly leaves their spot on the floor next to Grantaire and hands him a list of things he needs to buy.
“You want me to go shopping on the 31st of December?” Enjolras asks them, eyeing the list warily.
Feuilly gives him a sheepish smile and he departs with a sigh and some grumbling.
It’s hell but he manages to brave every shop with minimal damage and get back to Jehan’s a bit after noon. It doesn’t look much more ordered than it did earlier. It smells like something burned, and judging by the way Éponine is cursing, she was on baking duty. Grantaire looks half-mad sitting crossed legged in the middle of the room and getting frustrated on what looks like origami flowers. Feuilly is already looking inside the bags Enjolras brought back counting stuff on their fingers and scribbling some things on a piece of paper. The kids are nowhere to be seen.
“We had a week to get everything ready why are we starting today?” Enjolras asks a bit out of breath from his climbing up the stairs with approximately fifteen shopping bags.
“Oh, fuck off,” Éponine snarls at him from the kitchen area. “Come here and help me instead of complaining.”
Enjolras does as he’s told but he’s not much help. Their cookies are a bit deformed and their chocolate cake looks nothing like the one in the picture that was on the recipe.
“I mean,” Feuilly says looking at it. “You did everything right, I’m sure it tastes good.”
“Yeah, what it looks like doesn’t matter, what’s important is what’s on the inside,” Grantaire says snickering. Éponine transfers her glare from the cake to Grantaire so Enjolras doesn’t feel he has to.
Jehan arrives in the middle of the afternoon just after they’ve eaten something and got back to work. Jehan gasps and runs at them to hug them one after the other. Enjolras thinks they should maybe be slightly more worried about the state of their place.
He listens to them retelling the crazy week they spent at their family’s house with their cousins, while he tries to fix some decoration to the ceiling without falling from the table he’s standing on and breaking his neck.
Around six, Jehan shoos them all out and tells them to get ready back at their place and come back later for the party. They assure Feuilly they don’t need help for the last few things that need setting up and give everyone a kiss on the cheek before closing the door to their faces.
Enjolras almost has a heart attack when Courfeyrac tackles him the second he enters his flat.
“I missed you,” Courfeyrac says taking his hand and leading him to his own sofa where Combeferre is already seated with an amused smile on his face.
“I missed you too,” Enjolras admits as Courfeyrac plops down on his other side. “Tell me about your week. Did you vomit again?”
Courfeyrac groans and buries his face in his hands. The pure joy of having the both of them sitting next to him and acting as they always have makes laughter bubble out of him. A week and a half is a long time to be without them.
They catch up and get ready. Enjolras almost forgets the carefully wrapped box in his room and gets questioning looks when he rushes back inside to grab it and put it in his bag. He doesn’t offer any explanation.
There’s music and colour changing lights when they arrive. They get greeted by squealing and hugs from everyone already here.
After a while, Enjolras’ cheeks hurt from all the smiling and his head is spinning from all the dancing. He walks to the kitchen area and loiters by the snack table for some time, watching how happy his friends all are to be together again. When he takes another look around the room, his eyes stop on Grantaire, who’s standing outside on the narrow balcony, facing the street.
Before Enjolras can overthink it, he grabs the wrapped box from his bag and makes his way to the balcony.
“Salut,” he says quietly but still startles Grantaire who almost drops his cigarette.
He looks at him with wide eyes, blinks a few times and exhales some smoke. “Hey,” he says carefully, still looking at Enjolras like a frightened animal.
“I meant to talk with you earlier today but then we were all busy and Éponine glared at me every time I tried to leave the kitchen and, yeah.” Enjolras’ voice falters as his anxiety rises. Grantaire nods and his lips set into a small smile. “I just wanted to apologise.” Enjolras finally blurts out. “I’m sorry if I made it sound like spending time with you didn’t mean anything. It did, it meant a lot, you have the best tradition. I don’t care about Christmas, but this year, it was nice. I was very happy that you let me come with you. I wouldn’t have wanted to spend the week any other way.”
Grantaire sighs deeply, looking pained. “No, I’m sorry, you don’t have to apologise for anything. I shouldn’t have talked to you like that. I was tired and looking for excuses to get angry. I should have kept my mouth shut, as always.”
He offers Enjolras one last quick smile before he turns his attention back on the street. But the conversation isn’t over. Enjolras clears his throat and Grantaire turns around, his eyes wide and surprised again, as if he thought Enjolras already went back inside.
“I, uh,” Enjolras rubs the back of his neck, feeling his resolve to be honest with Grantaire dissipate with each passing second. “I got you a present. For Christmas. I didn’t know when I should give it to you.”
Grantaire looks more taken aback if that’s even possible. He leaves his burned down cigarette in the ashtray on the balcony and Enjolras hands him the box. He can hear the sound of his heartbeat getting louder and louder in his ears until Grantaire sees what’s inside and gasps softly.
He doesn’t look up, just stares at the camera in his hands in silence. Enjolras starts to get worried.
“I hope it’s okay.” He says hurriedly. “I just heard you mention you’d always wanted to do photography like your grandmother did, but you never got to have a good camera. But I know nothing about cameras so I had to ask the guy at the Fnac and he—”
“I was really drunk when I said this,” Grantaire says quietly.
Enjolras feels his heart sink. “Oh. Well I’m sure you can get it exchanged. I’ve kept the receipt just in case.”
“No,” Grantaire interrupts him and finally looks up with an unreadable look on his face. “I just didn’t think you’d remember or that you’d take me seriously.”
Of course Enjolras remembers Grantaire telling them about his grandmother initiating him to photography. His grandparents were the ones who raised him since his parents couldn’t or wouldn’t (he never said) take care of him. They’d both died before Enjolras met him, but he often mentions them with melancholy. Photography as well. He also mentioned several times that it was basically impossible for him to indulge in a luxury like buying a camera just to take pictures for fun because his art supplies already cost quite a lot. And he didn’t want to stop painting.
Enjolras has had that camera sitting in his room for ages. He had first planned to give it to him for his birthday but then they weren’t on speaking terms and so he had kept it until right now, the perfect occasion.
“So you like it?” Enjolras asks just to be sure.
“Yeah I do, I really do,” Grantaire tells him with a genuine smile. It makes his heart skip a beat and he himself offers a shaky smile in return.
They look into each other’s eyes for a long time, everything around them fading to background noise, the music coming from Jehan’s and the other flats around, the cars driving beneath them, people laughing in the street. Enjolras doesn’t want to break this peaceful, precious moment between them.
He doesn’t have to, because it’s Grantaire who speaks up, his voice so low it’s almost a whisper.
“I got you something too actually.” He says, his eyes not leaving Enjolras’ face but his expression shifting from calm and composed to sad and worried.
“Really?” That was the last thing he was expecting.
“Yeah I’ve got it with me right now. I’ve got them with me right now.”
Enjolras raises an eyebrow at him.
“Okay so it’s complicated.” He starts making grand gestures with his hands to go along with his explanation. Enjolras doesn’t even try to stop himself from smiling at the Grantaire-ness of his movements. “I got you something like months ago. But then I freaked out about it because it was too much, and so I got you something else that I thought would annoy you but be kind of funny. Except that in light of recent events, it’s not actually going to be very funny. So I have two presents but I can’t give you either.” Grantaire is biting his lip, looking very uncomfortable.
“I’m curious now,” Enjolras says smiling. “Just give them to me it can’t be that bad.”
“Can’t say I didn’t warn you,” Grantaire mutters before walking quickly inside and coming back almost immediately without the camera and with a decorated Christmas-themed bag in his hand. “I really had no idea about your family and everything when I bought this.”
Enjolras chuckles and throws him one last quizzical look before taking the bag from his hands. He reaches in and gets out a plain white t-shirt. Until he unfolds it.
He almost starts crying because of how hard he’s laughing in a matter of seconds. In big black letters on the front of the shirt is written ‘I’m gay enough to make buildings collapse’.
“You’re laughing,” Grantaire states. “Are you laughing at me, or do you really find it funny?”
“What did you think you were going to achieve when you got me this?” Enjolras gasps out still laughing.
Grantaire grins at him. “Well I was hoping you’d laugh like that and then you’d ask me ‘do they really sell this stuff?’ and I’d laugh with you about the wonders of the internet, and maybe we’d put everything complicated behind us and start being friends again.”
Enjolras sobers up and puts on his best smile though his heart is torn between happiness and disappointment at the mention of them being friends. Later. He’ll bring it up later. This is going so well he’s not going to ruin it.
“You can consider your plan worked.” He tells Grantaire. “What about the other thing?”
Grantaire chuckles and tugs at the sleeves of his jacket self-consciously. “I was just going to give it to Combeferre so I wouldn’t have to be there when you saw it.”
“Why?” Enjolras asks, bemused.
“Because I was supposed to be mad at you but this is not something I’d do for someone I’m mad at and I didn’t want you to know that. But it’s too late now I guess so just,” he takes an envelope from his pocket and hands it to Enjolras, “take it and we can pretend you don’t know how pathetic I am like we used to.”
Enjolras takes the envelope, and opens it slowly, a bit scared of what he’s going to find inside.
He takes out the piece of paper in the envelope, unfolds it and sees a phone number scribbled in Grantaire’s handwriting.
No other explanation, just a phone number.
“I’m going to need some context here,” Enjolras admits looking up at Grantaire who’s drumming his fingers on the balcony railing.
“Right,” he says looking fidgety. “So, I know someone who has been working at France Inter for a few years and he helped me get in touch with some people there. I sent them links to the ABC website, videos of your rallies, those things you did with the other activists who have that podcast, and I finally got their attention. Which is good because their other option was probably suing me for spamming their inbox. I got in touch with Lamarque, we talked, she said she loved what you guys did and loved your eloquence and she wanted to meet you. So you can arrange a meeting whenever you just have to give her a call or send her an email, she has an address for important stuff which I wrote on the other side. I told her you were studying to be a journalist, and she said she was totally ready to find a way for you to do your internship with her and her team at—”
“Please shut up,” Enjolras says when the shock has worn off enough for him to regain the ability to speak. He shoves the paper in the back pocket of his jeans.
“Sorry,” the words are barely out of Grantaire’s mouth that Enjolras throws his arms around him and kisses him, his heart almost bursting out of his chest when their lips connect.
Grantaire’s cheeks are pink and his pupils are dilated when he pulls back. He opens and closes his mouth a few times, and Enjolras feels his stomach drop, expecting Grantaire to get angry any minute now. He sets more distance between them but keeps his hands on Grantaire’s shoulders, hoping he won’t get pushed away.
“You know, you need to stop doing that. This is the second time you kiss me because of outside circumstances and it’s kind of fucking with my head.” Grantaire gets out laughing nervously. “Was that a very fucked up way to thank me? I would have been fine with a merci.”
“No, no, no,” Enjolras says hurriedly, getting closer again. “That was,” he can’t believe he’s going to say this. He’s blaming the crappy Christmas movies he’s been forced to watch if anyone asks. “That was me choosing you.”
“Oh,” Grantaire says softly. Enjolras doesn’t comment on the way his eyes seem to get wet and instead places a soft kiss on his cheek, leaving Grantaire plenty of time to pull back if he wants to.
Grantaire doesn’t pull back. He kisses him back and slides a hand in his hair, then on the back of his neck, then down his back, making Enjolras shiver and smile on the kiss, before both his arms wrap around him firmly and Enjolras let himself completely melt against him. This result in Grantaire being trapped between him and the balcony railing but if his sighs are anything to go by, he’s not complaining, so Enjolras focuses on running his hands in his hair.
“Wait,” Grantaire gasps out, pulling away after a while. “You have so much to explain. How long?”
“A long time,” Enjolras admits looking sideways at the street below them.
“Why now?”
“Because it’s New Year’s and it has been brought to my attention that we both deserve the truth.”
Grantaire shakes his head. “Why?”
Enjolras huffs, irritated. “Because I just, really, really, really like you. Look can we save the talk for later? Some day over coffee maybe, if you’re amendable. Just not right now.”
Grantaire grins and gets that glint in his eyes he has when he’s about to make a bad joke or a lewd comment.
“Yeah the talk will just have to wait,” Éponine’s voice startles them and makes them jump apart and turn to look at her. Enjolras glares at her smug expression. “We’re getting the chocolate cake out, and it’s almost time for the countdown.” She says before going back in and drawing the curtains of the window behind her.
He’s pretty sure the curtains were open before. He feels his cheek heat up in embarrassment and judging by the look on Grantaire’s face, he’s thinking the same thing.
“Come on we wouldn’t want to miss out on your beautiful cake,” Grantaire teases, putting an arm around his shoulders and nosing at his cheek. There’s no way Enjolras is going to get used to the tingling sensation every time Grantaire so much as touches him.
“Hey, you’ll see, it’ll taste delicious and you’ll feel bad about making fun of it,” Enjolras says elbowing him in the ribs.
Grantaire detaches himself from him to open the window and takes a step inside before looking behind him and shyly offering his hand to Enjolras.
No more repressed feelings, no more old stories, secrets or grudges. Just honesty and a clean, new slate for them to do as they please with. Enjolras thinks he can spot a few stars in the sky above him despite the light and the pollution. Maybe it was always possible to see them, maybe he didn’t look the right way or focus for long enough.
He focuses on Grantaire again, on the hopeful look in his eyes and the way he’s biting his lip. Enjolras takes his hand and they walk back inside together.