Archive of Our Own ^beta

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If anyone had told Grantaire a few months ago that he would end up living with Enjolras, Grantaire would have laughed in their face and asked what they were drinking, and can he please have some as well?

And yet, here he was, in Enjolras’ home and not a single sip of alcohol in sight.

But maybe he should start at the beginning with all this - the beginning being, of course, Enjolras.

Because all things in Grantaire’s life started with Enjolras, really. Started with him, ended with him and revolved around him. Because Grantaire was pathetic and also pathetically, hopelessly, helplessly, heartbreakingly in love with Enjolras pretty much ever since the first time he had laid eyes on him.

***

Grantaire woke to a sharp pain racing up his shin and the feeling of a whole army of elephants tap-dancing inside his head. He groaned, or at least tried to. It came out more like a muffled croak, like a crow choking on a nut or something. Wait, did crows even eat nuts?

The pain flared up once more and this time Grantaire was awake enough to recognise it as a kick.

“‘Aire, get your arse up off my floor,” a voice said from above him and Grantaire really should have recognised it, but all he could do was wince and think that it was too fucking loud. “Grantaire!”

Grantaire tried to cover his ears, but ended up slapping himself in the face instead. There was an exasperated sigh and Grantaire expected another kick, but thankfully it didn’t come. In fact, only blessed silence followed and Grantaire was just about to drift back to sleep when a load of cold water was suddenly upended over his head.

That certainly served its purpose.

Grantaire shot up, spluttering and limbs flailing wildly.

“What the fuck!”

Eponine put down the pint glass that had no doubt held the water and put her hands on her hips, her eyes glinting dangerously.

“Eponine!” Grantaire was wiping at his face, the water smelling of stale beer and slowly seeping through his scruffy t-shirt. “Seriously, what the actual fuck?”

“I’ve been trying to get you up for the past fifteen minutes,” Eponine said, words sharp with impatience. “I need to go to work and you can’t stay here. You know Montparnasse doesn’t like you crashing here.”

Grantaire glowered at the mention of Montparass - as Grantaire gleefully referred to him in the privacy of his own mind - while scrambling unsteadily to his feet. The hangover from hell extended its riot from his head to his stomach and he swayed slightly as he willed the world to stop spinning.

“I hate you,” Grantaire informed his best friend with all the indignation his sorry state could scrape together.

“Yes, yes, I know.” Eponine rolled her eyes and threw his hoodie at him from where it lay discarded it on the foot of the mattress that served as Eponine’s bed. “Now let’s go, you can have a coffee on me, alright? But I’ll be late if we don’t get a move on.”

Grantaire fought his way into his hoodie, grimacing as he felt water dripping down the nape of his neck and brushed soppy curls from his forehead.

“That was so fucking uncalled for,” he grumbled as he stumbled out of Eponine’s flat alongside her.

She didn’t bother answering, instead turned her key once in the rickety lock and ushering him down the stairs. Once outside, the bright light was enough to feel as though someone was stabbing knives in his eye-sockets. Very sharp knives.

“Shit, fuck,” he cursed. “What the hell happened last night? Actually, how did we end up at your place? I thought we were supposed to go to that party? At what’s-his-face’s place?”

Eponine shot him a look.

“Luc,” she supplied. “And we did go there, actually. And then we went to this 24 hour bar one of the girls insisted you had to visit and then we went home with her and I rescued you from being molested after which she threw us out and I dragged your sorry arse back here.”

“Oh,” Grantaire said intelligently as they made their way down the street. He shot his friend a dubious look. “A girl?”

Eponine rolled her eyes again and Grantaire viciously hoped they’d get stuck like that once to stop her from doing it all the bloody time.

“Yes, a girl. Maybe you should tell them you’re gay before you drape yourself all over their laps.” 

Grantaire’s eyes widened. “I did what?”

Eponine eyed him from the side and suddenly bared her teeth in a grin. It made her look like a very pretty, brown-haired shark. 

“Maybe I should mention that she was blond and blue-eyed, not to mention at least five years older than you.”

Grantaire buried his face in the frayed sleeves of his hoodie and let loose a heartfelt ‘fuck’.

Eponine, obviously on a roll now, roughly tugged one of Grantaire’s arms free to link it with hers and went on with such an amount of glee that Grantaire seriously started questioning his choice in friends.

“She was all for it, mind you, until you started calling her ‘Enjolras’. I think she got a little suspicious after that. It’s probably also why she didn’t need any convincing when I told her you’re not actually into girls. I’m not surprised you don’t remember any of it though, you were quite spectacularly drunk. Even for your standards. I’m surprise you could walk at all, but I suppose I can forgive you just this once, seeing at it was your birthday.”

Grantaire’s only answer was a glare, but he still followed Eponine to the coffee shop where she was just about to start her morning shift and slumped into a corner close to the bar after she handed him a coffee. Grantaire inhaled deeply, waiting for it to cool enough to be able to drink it and hoped that until then the fumes were enough to clear his head at least a little.

He honestly couldn’t remember a single thing after the first three bars they had visited last night, only that their group had gotten bigger after every stop. Maybe he had overdone it a little last night. It wasn’t as though that was news, really, but Grantaire wasn’t usually prone to blackouts. He was a seasoned drinker - despite only having turned seventeen last night - curtesy of Vincent, the arsehole that had put Grantaire into this miserable world.

The thought of him alone was enough to darken Grantaire’s mood even further. It had been at least three days since he’d last been home and he was in desperate need for a change of clothes. He had grabbed showers here and there, sleeping over at random people’s places, because Montparass wouldn’t let him sleep over at Eponine’s. And what the actual fuck? He was her landlord, not her pimp, so what the fuck did he care who slept over?

Taking a deep drink from his heavenly strong coffee, Grantaire tried to remember today’s date, because he was pretty sure there was actually a meeting tonight and he could really use his weekly fix of Enjolras right about now. Another reason to go home and change into something a little less grimy. Not that Enjolras would notice, but still. Grantaire didn’t mind that his clothes were full of holes and paint-stains, but at least they were always relatively clean and if he hated one thing then it was being dirty.

Grantaire had been attending Enjolras’ meetings for about a year now. He’d stumbled across the strange gathering very much by accident one night when he had dragged himself to the Musain in the search for a drink after a backbreaking day at work and, instead of alcohol, had gotten drunk on Enjolras and his breathtaking…everything. Grantaire could’ve sworn he heard fucking angels sing when he’d first laid eyes on him, it was utterly pathetic.

That didn’t stop Grantaire from attending every meeting thereafter, indulging in some entirely non-creepy eavesdropping to find out more about the man and filling all of his sketchpads (and the occasional canvas if he had the money to spare to buy one) with Enjolras’ beautiful face. In the past year, Grantaire had managed to find out that the meetings had started out as a university thing involving Enjolras’ core group of friends and had been carried on after graduation because the following had become so big. Despite apparently managing his own lawyer’s office alongside two of his friends (Marius and Courfeyrac), Enjolras still somehow had enough time to spare for leading meetings and, as far as Grantaire had heard, was still actively involved in organising protests and blogging about the injustice of the world.

Grantaire was subscribed to Enjolras’ blog and had spent at least two months reading up on all the subjects the meetings covered regularly. It wasn’t that Grantaire had been disinterested in the plight of the world before, he’d just never seen the point in keeping up with the endless news-streams about human kind being stupid and destructive. But Grantaire had always been an avid reader and had caught on quickly, delving into the politics of different countries and reading up on animal rights and green-lists and the history of France.

He had given up meat and fish, not only because Enjolras was a vegetarian himself, but because he honestly hadn’t much cared for the taste in the first place and after wincing his way through several brutal videos about the treatment of animals and the meat-market, Grantaire hadn’t been able to even walk past a McDonald’s without feeling guilty about the amounts of times he had been too lazy to get something else and had ended up eating a burger. He would’ve also liked to try out the organic brand of cosmetic products Enjolras’ friend Jehan sold, simply because they smelled amazing, but he sadly didn’t have the money to spare.

Eponine had declared him completely insane and creepily obsessed, and happily went on stuffing her face with burgers while Grantaire picked at his wok rice or pasta dish of the day. She’d also laughed in his face when he’d told her he was trying to give up smoking, another one of these instances when Grantaire had wondered why he kept her around in the first place.

After being sure that he wasn’t in danger of embarrassing himself, Grantaire had started contributing to the discussions and had been pleasantly surprised when Enjolras seemed to actually be listening to what he had to say. They disagreed far more than they agreed, but their arguments were always exciting and tended to leave Grantaire breathless and with the intense urge to have Enjolras right then and there on the closest table. Even so, Grantaire doubted Enjolras even knew his name and very likely had never even considered talking to him outside the meetings. Enjolras was far too amazing to spare someone like Grantaire the time of day.

Enjolras was also ten years older than him and even though Grantaire knew he didn’t look his age, he certainly didn’t look one day older than maybe nineteen - twenty at best, if his stubble was particularly persistent. Enjolras didn’t look his age either, but it was still hard imagining him ever having been young, let alone acting it. Grantaire doubted Enjolras had any patience for a teenager now that he was twenty-seven and busy saving the world. Not to mention a school-dropout and borderline alcoholic that spent his days emptying boxes of tinned tomatoes and putting back packs of Skittles after the children had messed up the sweet section.

Sighing, Grantaire downed the last of his coffee and got to his feet, thankfully much steadier than before. He dumped the empty cup in the closest bin and leaned over the counter to press a kiss to Eponine’s cheek.

“I’ll see you later,” he told her.

Eponine looked up. “Are you coming to pick me up after my shift?”

Grantaire shook his head. “Can’t, sorry. Meeting today. Don’t say anything!” He added sharply, stopping Eponine’s no doubt acid comment.

She raised her hands palm-out in a gesture of mock-surrender. “By all means, go and have fun worshipping Enjolras’ arse.”

Grantaire grabbed a napkin from the dispenser next to him and, scrunching it into a ball, threw it at Eponine’s head. She ducked, barely, and casually flipped him off.

“Fuck off,” were Grantaire’s parting words. 

Eponine laughed at him and he threw another napkin, just because he could. Outside, they took the time to wave at each other through the window and Grantaire gave a reluctant smile, before setting off into the vague direction of his home. If he could go any slower, he would. There was little in this world that Grantaire dreaded more than facing his father and he spent his entire walk home hoping that he might still be passed out from last night’s bender.

Grantaire tried very hard not to think about the fact that if it hadn’t been for Eponine, he’d be doing much the same right about now.

*

As soon as he made it through the door, Grantaire should’ve known that something was up.

His thoughts, however, were already at the meeting tonight and so he missed all the warning signs and made a bee-line for his room. Crossing the main room, Grantaire’s foot bumped into an empty vodka bottle, which promptly rolled under their ratty couch, and kicked away a scrunched up beer can to avoid stepping on it. 

Everything smelled of stale alcohol and cigarette smoke and there was no part of the flat that wasn’t stained with one thing or another. The wallpaper was peeling off in broad patches and the ripped curtains sported burn-holes, as did the sofa cushions. Every available surface was covered in pizza-boxes and greasy burger wrappers that were scrunched up into small balls. Grantaire was so used to the mess, he hardly even registered it; although he did turn his nose up at the stench coming from the kitchen sink a few feet away. He really didn’t want to know what the fuck was festering over there.

It was only when he finally reached his room that he realised that something was very, very wrong.

Grantaire had never been a tidy person, but he tended to at least try an keep his clothes off the floor and his sheets on the bed. The only thing he took intense care of were his sketchpads and his drawing equipment, because god new it was expensive and Grantaire hardly had the money to scratch together the few things he owned.

Now it looked as though the entire contents of his single, rickety cupboard had been spilled across the floor and what must have been the entirety of his sketchpads had been taken apart and carelessly strewn about. Some were torn, others crumbled, most of them were stained with greasy fingerprints and Grantaire was sure that the sketchpad closest to him had been drenched in beer.

Eyes stinging viciously, Grantaire bent to pluck a few drawings from the floor and tried smoothing them out. Eponine smiled up at him from one of them, the next was of a scene from one of the meetings at the Musain with Enjolras standing at the front, eyes ablaze with passion for whatever point he was arguing. The next one was also of Enjolras, but it was far less innocent.

Grantaire couldn’t even remember drawing this, but it was far from the only one of its kind and, unlike some of the others, Grantaire had taken the time to colour it. Enjolras was sprawled out across the whole page, lying on red sheets that reached every corner and left no white spot on the paper. The red contrasted brilliantly with his pale skin and his golden locks were spilled around him like a halo, his head thrown back and his back arched. Enjolras’ long-fingered hands were twisted in the sheets, red spilling out from between them, his eyes pressed shut and his features twisted into a fierce look of pleasure, not unlike the expression he wore when he was heatedly objected to something Grantaire had said.

When the heavy, uneven footsteps sounded behind him, Grantaire’s heart was already beating a panicked rhythm against his chest and sweat had broken out across his brow and all the way down his spine. He braced himself, but couldn’t help jumping with fright when a big, meaty hand grabbed his shoulder and wrenched him around.

Grantaire reflexively ducked his head in response to the first blow.

*

The night air was biting, sneaking past Grantaire’s hoodie and jacket and chilling him to the bone with all the viciousness of the last bits of winter still clinging to the heels of an early spring. Drawing his hood deeper over his face, Grantaire made his way towards the Musain more out of habit than any intention to actually enter it. He hadn’t had the opportunity to look at himself in a mirror yet, but by the amount of pain that shot through him whenever he tried to move one of his facial muscles - or any muscle in his body, for that matter - Grantaire thought it must be pretty fucking bad.

Someone bumped into him and Grantaire bit back a sound of pain. He shifted the hastily packed backpack on his shoulders, a feat that sent another bright-hot burst of agony through his body, but Grantaire had given up on the fruitless endeavour of finding a way to carry it that didn’t hurt. The sight of the Musain was a godsend and, ignoring the suspicious stares he got from the people around him, unceremoniously dumped his backpack and slumped to the floor next to it.

There was an alley right next to him that led to the back of the café, and Grantaire took the time to scoot a little to the side to better blend into the shadows. He craved a drink, desperately, but he doubted his feet would carry him even another step and instead pressed one side of his aching face against the cold bricks in the hope of easing some of the swelling.

It had been far from the first time that Vincent had used him as a punching bag, but usually he was satisfied after a blow or three. This time had been another matter entirely and Grantaire was pretty sure he would’ve left the flat in an ambulance - or maybe not at all, ever - if his brother hadn’t chosen to appear when he had and dragged their father off him.

Vincent had still been roaring, calling him every homophobic slur his three still functioning brain-cells could come up with and telling him that he could take his cock-loving arse from his home, because he sure as hell wouldn’t be housing a fucking fairy.

“Yer no son of mine!” he had screamed, spittle flying from his mouth and a manic gleam in his eye.

Guillaume had dragged him from the room and most likely handed him a bottle to shut him up, before coming back to yank Grantaire off the floor where he was busy spitting out blood.

“Jesus Christ,” his brother had muttered irritably, pushing Grantaire onto his bed. 

He’d gone and returned with an almost empty bottle of vodka and, without warning, had doused Grantaire’s face with it. Grantaire had flinched back in surprise, his ribs protesting at the sudden movement as well as his sharp intake of breath. It’d burned like a bitch.

“Fuck,” Grantaire had spluttered, blinking sharp alcohol from his eyes and feeling as though his face was on fire.

“Shut the fuck up,” Guillaume had snapped, looking intently at his face for a moment, before emptying the rest of the bottle over the cut along Grantaire’s temple where he’d fallen against the edge of his nightstand. “Everything has to be a fucking drama with you, Jesus Christ. How much of an idiot are you, to keep that stuff here?”

Grantaire had said nothing and his brother hadn’t persisted, no doubt already bored with the entire situation.

“Pack a bag and get out,” he’d told him. “Or he’s gonna come back and this time I’m not playing the hero, got it? I don’t have time for this shit.”

And that had been that.

Grantaire had packed a bag, hastily gathering all the drawings that were salvageable and barely managing to get a change or two of clothes in beside his now tattered sketchpads and pencil-case. He mourned the canvas he had bought only the other day, but managed to squeeze in the few paint-brushes he owned alongside his tubes of oil-paint. In his rampage around the room, Vincent had managed to discover the jar of change Grantaire had kept under the bed alongside his sketchpads, but thankfully not the loose floorboard that hid his meagre bundle of ten and five euro notes.

There hadn’t been time to take anything else.

He’d dragged himself to Eponine’s place only to discover that she wasn’t home. Grantaire knew that she would’ve let him stay with the state he was in, no matter what that fucker Montparnasse had to say about it, but she must’ve gone out without him after Grantaire had informed her that he would be at the meeting tonight.

Which left him exactly where he was now.

A cold gust of wind swept through the alley and Grantaire winced his way through a shiver, burrowing deeper into his hoodie and jacket, his fingers tucked away beneath the frayed sleeves both out of habit and to fend off the cold. It was about then that a pair of red Converse stepped into his line of sight. They stopped directly in front of him.

“Grantaire?”

It was rather more a demand than a question, but the concern was evident nevertheless. Grantaire’s head jerked up, both in surprise and because he had yet to meet a person that didn’t snap to attention upon hearing that tone.

Enjolras sucked in a sharp breath at the sight of his no doubt hideous face and Grantaire instantly regretted showing it to him. He tried to shield himself from view once more, but Enjolras was already crouching down to get a better look at him.

“What happened to you?” again with the demanding voice, but Grantaire was still busy being torn between shame and an intense feeling of awe that Enjolras actually knew his name.

He was far too tired and in too much pain to come up with some form of excuse.

“My arsehole father.”

Enjolras muttered something that sounded suspiciously like ‘Jesus fuck’ and Grantaire really shouldn’t have found that as hot as he did. Sucking in another deep breath, Enjolras shifted slightly and Grantaire dared to peer up at him through his lashes. His brow was furrowed in concern and the entirety of his fierce attention was directed at Grantaire, blue eyes intent on his face.

“Is there anyone you can call?” Enjolras asked. “Somewhere you can stay?”

Grantaire shook his head and instantly regretted the action as his vision swam out of focus and nausea exploded in his stomach.

“Right.” And just like that, Enjolras was back on his feet. “Don’t move,” he instructed firmly to which Grantaire gave a dry snort, because yeah, as if. “I’ll be right back.”

Enjolras left and Grantaire wondered what he would do now. Call the police? A distinct possibility. Or maybe Enjolras would try and arrange a place for him at one of those charity places for alcoholics and drug addicts. And wouldn’t that be fun. If he was especially lucky, they’d find out he was underage and notify childcare services and he would most likely have the pleasure of being forced to rot away at some godawful foster family for a year until he was eighteen, before being back on the street. Wasn’t life great.

Enjolras returned a few moments later, looking even more determined than before. Here we go, Grantaire thought.

But, to his utter surprise, Enjolras didn’t say a word about the police or charity places for that matter and merely crouched down once more, this time reaching to gently curl an arm around Grantaire’s waist.

“Come on,” he said quietly, all but lifting Grantaire off the ground and bringing him into a somewhat upright position.

Grantaire could tell Enjolras was trying very hard not to hurt him and Grantaire did his best to bite back his whimpers of pain as his ribs and head protested wildly at the change of position. Once on his feet, Grantaire all but slumped against Enjolras’ side, the day’s events finally crashing down on him with ferocity. Enjolras smelled amazing and Grantaire, brain having decided to go offline now, leaned into him and inhaled a lungful of his scent. His ribs screamed in protest, but Grantaire couldn’t give a flying fuck about any of that right now.

Enjolras said nothing, merely set to dragging Grantaire’s sorry arse wherever the hell he had decided he was supposed to go and Grantaire obediently stumbled along, his vision pretty much reduced to a blur of colours and too much brightness.

There was a jangling of keys, followed by a gentle hand cradling the back of his head and a nudge to make him duck and fold into the backseat of a car. Grantaire spilled onto the seat, instantly seeking to lie down his aching head and curling in on himself. He passed out before even hearing the car door slamming shut.

*

Later, Grantaire wouldn’t be able to recall how he ended up at Enjolras’ flat. He thought he remembered Enjolras’ voice, distant and far away as though Grantaire was submerged in water while above the surface a storm was raging on. He thought he remembered gentle hands and he certainly remembered the pain slicing through him at every turn. He thought he heard Enjolras tell him “I’m sorry” in a voice laden down with regret.

The first thing he saw when he blinked into consciousness was not, in fact, his golden god, but one of his friends.

Combeferre was leaning over him, peering intently at his face as he shone a light into Grantaire’s eyes. Grantaire blinked again and flinched back, black spots bursting in front of his vision. Combeferre retreated and revealed Enjolras hovering by his shoulder, his eyes as fierce in their concern as they were in revolutionary fervour.

“Grantaire?” Enjolras asked softly and Grantaire wished he was more elegant in his reply. As it was, he simply made some strange sound at the back of his throat in lieu of an answer. 

Jesus fuck, but his head was banging. And his ribs, fucking ow! He thought he must’ve whimpered again.

Combeferre put down the light.

“You have a concussion and some spectacularly bruised ribs,” he said in his mild voice. Grantaire didn’t think they’d ever actually spoken before. “I suggest you take a shower, it’ll make you feel better. After that I’d like to bandage your ribs. You’ll need to rest for a few days, no walking about too much and no heavy lifting. Alright?”

Grantaire caught himself just in time and stopped himself from nodding, wondering if this was what Alice had felt like when she’d slipped down the rabbit hole. Concussion totally fucking included.

“Yes,” he said instead, voice scratchy and pained even to his own ears.

Enjolras, never good at being idle, jumped into action and his gentle hands were back, curling around Grantaire’s shoulders and helping him up. Apparently he had been lying on the sofa. Grantaire stumbled and Enjolras caught him, still smelling wonderful enough that Grantaire wanted to bury himself in his chest and never, ever emerge again. Was it possible to just…crawl under someone’s skin and live there? Because if so, Grantaire was so, so down with that.

He hardly noticed when they were moving again and Grantaire was confused for a moment, having forgotten what he’d agreed to a moment before and only remembering when they stepped into the clean tiles and straight lines that was Enjolras’ bathroom. There was a shower in the corner and a tub to his right, the whole space was bigger than Grantaire’s whole room, holy shit.

Enjolras helped Grantaire sit down on a stool next to the sink and busied himself with retrieving a huge, fluffy towel from one of the cupboards. Grantaire watched him thought tired eyes, the world still spinning around him and his stomach twisted with nausea. Enjolras placed the towel on the rim of the tub and came over to Grantaire, eyeing him with a doubtful look.

“Do you need help getting in?” he asked, practical as ever. “You should use the tub so you can sit down. You look a little cross-eyed, I don’t think the shower is the best idea.”

Grantaire felt incredibly dumb, his swimming brain having trouble to keep up with the conversation, though by the time he deciphered the meaning of what Enjolras had just asked, he was sure that his eyes must have suddenly gone wide with horror. If Enjolras undressed him and touched his skin, Grantaire wouldn’t be able to be held responsible for his actions. Even if he was only barely conscious, barely was still enough to bury his hands in that beautiful hair and drag those beautiful lips to his own and… Grantaire felt blood flooding his cheeks, while the rest rushed somewhere that was definitely the opposite direction and Jesus Christ he was one sick, sick individual for getting turned on right there an then.

“No!” he all but squealed. He was so smooth, Jesus. “No, I’m fine. Really. I can manage. I’ll use the tub, I- thank you.”

Enjolras gave him a strange look, but probably thought he was being loopy because of the concussion. Thank god for small mercies!

“Alright. I’ll just go and get you a change of clothes and leave you to it,” Enjolras said and was thankfully out of the room when Grantaire realised that he would get to wear Enjolras’ clothes.

Willing himself to keep breathing evenly, Grantaire staggered to his feet and tried to fight his way out of his hoodie. The pain was excruciating, his entire torso on fire, and he promptly got stuck, which of course happened when Enjolras chose to re-enter the room.

There was a rustling of clothes and Enjolras’ quick footsteps as he crossed the distance between them.

“Here,” he said, quiet and close. “Let me help.”

The hoodie was tugged over Grantaire’s head, freeing him and having him come face-to-face with Enjolras. They were incredibly close, closer than Grantaire had ever thought he’d get to him, close enough for Grantaire to see the different specks of blue in his eyes. Grantaire leaned in without thinking. Enjolras steadied him, thinking he was about to stumble and snapping Grantaire out of it. His cheeks were back to being on fire.

“The t-shirt as well,” Enjolras ordered, unfazed and cool like marble.

But his fingers, when they brushed Grantaire’s skin as they plucked the hem of his t-shirt from his body, were soft and warm. Grantaire’s breath hitched and his felt dizzy for an entirely different reason.

“Arms up.”

Grantaire obeyed instantly, letting Enjolras carefully tug his grubby t-shirt over his head, further tousling his already messy hair. Enjolras sucked in a sharp breath, his eyes widening at the sight of Grantaire’s ribs. Grantaire didn’t have to look down to know that he must look like a war-zone. He squirmed slightly, feeling his skin heating beneath Enjolras’ gaze.

Enjolras snapped out of it and took a hasty step back, quickly averting his eyes.

“We’ll be right outside if you need anything,” he said. He closed the door firmly on his way out.

Grantaire clutched at the sink with shaking fingers, giving himself a moment to calm down.

*

Grantaire barely remembered his shower in the tub, nor fighting his way into the sweatpants and soft t-shirt Enjolras had laid out for him, only that they smelled nice and were probably the most comfortable thing he’d ever worn. He stumbled from the bathroom and back to the couch, where Combeferre was already waiting with some bandages.

He almost fell asleep right then and there, but started awake as a stab of pain from his ribs shot through him every other moment. Combeferre’s movements were quick, practiced and Grantaire’s head felt heavy as it rested against the back of the couch. He was handed some painkillers and it was Enjolras’ long-fingered hand that supported his neck and brought a glass of water to his lips. Grantaire leaned into him, aware that Combeferre and Enjolras were having some sort of murmured conversation somewhere above him, but too far gone to be able to make out the words.

They helped him lie down and Grantaire felt a blanket being draped over his form, warm and soft and smelling like Enjolras. He buried himself in it and welcomed the darkness dragging him under.

*

It took Grantaire three times to wake up properly.

The first one he woke to an intense stab of pain in his left side that forced him to change his position before he could drift off again. The second time it was his need to piss and he stumbled to the bathroom in the grey light of dawn, not bothering with switching on any lights and still mostly asleep throughout the whole thing.

The third time he actually felt rested enough to put some effort into forming coherent thoughts. Unsurprisingly, his entire body was still aching and his head felt only marginally better. The world still turned around him in dizzying circles when he tried to sit up and he ended up in some strange half-lying position between the back of the couch and the armrest. It was the first time that he actually felt lucid enough to take in his surroundings and took a few moments to let it all sink in.

Enjolras’ flat was a loft, complete with supportive beams throughout the wide, open space and red, unpainted brick as walls. Huge windows ran all along the southern and northern wall and the artist in Grantaire was swooning; the light in here was amazing! About half of the room was raised up, creating a long step across the centre. The open kitchen (complete with a dinner table in addition to the breakfast bar), a working area dominated by a huge desk, the front door and the one that Grantaire knew led to the bathroom were on the lower level; the couch, TV set and another two doors were on the platform, one of which must lead to Enjolras’ bedroom.

The couch Grantaire had spent the night on - and most of the day, judging by the light streaming in from the windows - was massive, as broad as a bed and long enough to fit at least six people. There was an armchair off to the right, piled high with pillows that probably belonged on the couch and had been moved for Grantaire’s comfort. They were all alarmingly bright and sported wild floral patterns - probably a gift from Jehan, then, if the man’s clothing was anything to go by. The fact that Enjolras kept them on his couch on a daily basis anyway was doing warm, fuzzy things to Grantaire’s chest.

Reaching over, he grabbed the closest one off the pile - a bright pink monstrosity with purple and orange flowers. It was soft and squishy and smelled just like the blanket he had slept with. He curled around it, not even caring what he looked like, and it eased some of the ache in his ribs. Grantaire had almost dozed off again when the front door slid open - and holy shit, Enjolras had a sliding door instead of a regular one, could this loft get any more amazing?

Enjolras entered the room, laden down with grocery bags, which he put down on one of the absurdly pristine counters. The whole kitchen looked as though it had never even been touched, what the fuck? Did the man not eat?

Toeing off his Converse at the door, Enjolras abandoned the shopping and crossed the room, climbing the step to reach Grantaire and pinning him with a searching look.

“How are you feeling?”

Grantaire, far too comfortable to move, didn’t even attempt to conceal the fact that he was cuddling with a pink pillow.

“Like someone’s run me over a few times,” he answered truthfully, his voice still more of a croak than anything else.

Enjolras frowned and stepped closer. The light did amazing things to his hair and Grantaire’s fingers itched to paint him, bruised ribs and concussion be damned.

“Would you like some more painkillers?”

Grantaire spared his throat and instead nodded into the pillow. Enjolras took off to briefly rummage around in the bathroom, before crossing to the kitchen and filling a glass with water. Grantaire watched him move around, marvelling at how different he looked in his own space and being ridiculously charmed by the fact that his dark socks were covered in little yellow smiles.

He came back and handed Grantaire two paracetamol and the glass. Grantaire took it all with a quiet “Thank you” and downed the cool water with a slightly shaky hand, before handing it back. Enjolras put it down on the coffee table, before gracefully folding himself to sit down next to it, his knees pressing into the couch cushions and close enough to touch if Grantaire was insane enough to reach out. He didn’t, of course, although the urge had him curling his fingers into the pillow and holding on tightly.

“Do you want to talk about it?” Enjolras asked quietly, eyes still fixed intently on his face.

Grantaire clenched his jaw. It made his head throb in protest. “What’s there to talk about?”

Enjolras pressed his lips together, transforming them from soft and red into a tight line of disapproval. Grantaire knew that face well.

“Has this happened before?” Enjolras persisted, as ever not to be swayed.

Grantaire scoffed. “What does it matter?”

“It matters to me!” Enjolras snapped, eyes fierce and making Grantaire instantly fall into stunned silence.

It stretched between them for a few, breathless moments, before Grantaire looked away, fingers picking at the pillow in his arms.

“Grantaire,” Enjolras said, gentle now and leaning slightly closer. His eyes were soft when Grantaire met them again. “I’m just trying to understand the situation. I want to help you, but you need to work with me here.”

Help him. Enjolras wanted to help him. If Grantaire had any pride at all, he would’ve probably been angry at the prospect of being one of Enjolras’ charity cases. He would have focused more on the fact that Enjolras would probably be doing the exact same thing for any random person he found beaten up at the mouth of an alley. But Grantaire had never been proud, least of all of himself, and so he simply latched onto the fact that Enjolras wanted to help him, that Enjolras knew his name and had taken him in off the street and had given him clothes and a warm, fluffy blanket to sleep in.

Exhaling sharply, Grantaire shifted slightly and curled a little tighter around himself.

“My father’s an arsehole. And a drunk. And yes, it’s happened before.”

Enjolras face looked tight, angry, but not at Grantaire. The hand that curled around Grantaire’s arm was warm and gentle, just like the night before, but completely unexpected, especially because it served no other purpose than that of comfort.

“Does anyone else know?”

Grantaire shrugged, but leaned into the touch. He didn’t meet Enjolras’ eyes.

“My friend Eponine,” he said, staring down at the pink pillow. “And my brother.”

Enjolras’ fingers twitched slightly, but he didn’t let go, instead leaned in a little closer.

“Your brother? Is he older or younger than you?”

“Two years older than me. Guillaume isn’t really home a lot. He always says he can’t stand the drama.”

Enjolras made a strangled sound in the back of his throat and Grantaire looked up, finding his expression even fiercer than before. He looked dangerous and absolutely beautiful and Grantaire wanted to kiss him like this, wanted to be consumed by his passion.

The hand slipped away from his arm and Enjolras shot to his feet, abrupt and with a rigid quality to his posture. Grantaire had seen it before, when the debates got especially heated and Enjolras couldn’t stand to sit still for another moment. It always reminded Grantaire of a lion stalking wildly in its cage.

Enjolras seemed to be fighting for composure.

“It’s alright,” Grantaire said, seeking to give back some of the comfort from before.

Enjolras whirled around and fixed him with a fiery look.

“It’s not alright, Grantaire!” he snapped. “It’s completely unacceptable! You’re not going back there.”

Grantaire stared at him, completely enamoured. “You want me to stay here? With you?”

Enjolras stilled and took a deep breath. “We’ll work something out.” He looked at Grantaire, suddenly, as though something had only now occurred to him. “How old are you, Grantaire?”

Grantaire managed a bitter smile and smoothed his palms across the pillow. “You sure you want the answer to that?”

“If you’re staying with me, I need to know.”

Grantaire sighed, dreading the reaction. “I’m seventeen.”

There was silence between them for a few long, nerve-wrecking beats in which Grantaire was afraid to look up.

“Okay,” Enjolras said under his breath, clearly for his own benefit rather than Grantaire’s, who found him pinching the bridge of his nose when he finally dared to look up. “Okay. Let’s just…Let’s eat something. You shouldn’t take more painkillers on an empty stomach.”

Grantaire was almost afraid he’d broken Enjolras with his admission, but didn’t dare say anything that might draw attention to himself. Instead, he watched as Enjolras took off in a new flurry of activity and went to put away the groceries he’d left out before and setting on making them something to eat. 

Grantaire didn’t take his eyes off him. Not once.

*

Over the next few days, Grantaire wasn’t allowed to do much of anything. Enjolras was watching him like a hawk, making sure he took his medication and insisting he should eat regular meals. He was a terrible, terrible cook and knew it, too, so they ended up ordering out a lot, spreading out take-away cartons on the coffee table and watching crap telly. On one memorable occasion Jehan had stopped by, bringing a delicious vegetable soup and the best muffins Grantaire had ever tasted.

Jehan was usually not very outspoken at the meetings and Grantaire was sure he could count the times he had actually heard the man speak on one hand. Outside of them, it seemed, it was an entirely different matter. He breezed into Enjolras’ place as though he owned it and set about puttering in the kitchen, chatting cheerfully with Grantaire, who was still camping out on the couch. Grantaire found he liked him a lot.

After the first four days, when the bruises on Grantaire’s face had faded slightly and he was starting to be able to breathe without wincing, Enjolras told him he’d be going back to work. He left Grantaire with the number for his mobile scrawled on a post-it on the fridge and told him to call if he needed anything. He also wrote down Combeferre’s and Jehan’s numbers and handed Grantaire forty euros without blinking an eye, telling him he should order something decent for lunch.

Grantaire was struck to the bone with the amount of trust Enjolras displayed by leaving him alone in his home and spent the day feeling elated and drawing Enjolras over and over, putting to use the amazing lighting and the knowledge he had gained from being so close to him for the past days.

It took another week for Grantaire to be declared completely healthy by Combeferre and Grantaire had been dreaded what would happen after that, his mind back to imagining charity homes.

Turned out he had been worrying for nothing, for Enjolras made no mention of the fact that Grantaire was still living with him and that he was already so much at home he no longer had to open random cupboards to find stuff in the kitchen. He knew where the towels were, that the door to the bathroom creaked a little when opened too slowly and how to use the washing machine and dishwasher.

It was only two days later that Enjolras turned serious eyes on him and put down his take-away carton with an air of finality, as though he had just made an important decision. Grantaire’s stomach immediately turned and he let his chopsticks fall from suddenly numb fingers.

“You can’t keep sleeping on the couch,” Enjolras said and Grantaire thought he might actually be sick. “So I was thinking- Grantaire?” Enjolras eyed him with sudden concern, no doubt at the fact that all colour had drained from Grantaire’s face.

Enjolras reached out to gasp his arm, the gesture warm and familiar by now. Usually it was enough to make Grantaire feel instantly better, but today it did nothing to ease the dread that had gripped him, his chest so tight he thought he might stop breathing any moment.

“What’s wrong?” Enjolras demanded, eyes both fierce and soft in the way that never failed to make Grantaire shiver inside.

“Nothing I- I just-” Grantaire trailed off and sucked in a sharp breath, trying his best to get himself under control. “Can I- Can you give me two more days to find somewhere else?”

Enjolras frowned, for once looking completely lost. “What are you talking about?”

Grantaire stared at him. “You just- You said I can’t keep sleeping here. I just want to ask you for two more days to find somewhere else to sleep, then I’ll be out of your hair.”

A look of genuine horror crossed Enjolras’ face. “What? No! That’s not what I meant at all!”

The knot in Grantaire’s chest loosened the slightest fraction, instead replaced by confusion. “I don’t understand.”

Enjolras pinched the bridge of his nose, looking pained. “Jesus, I’m bad at this.” He looked back up at Grantaire. “What I meant to say was that I was thinking of asking Bahorel for help with clearing out the second bedroom. So you could have an actual bed; and your own space.”

Grantaire was sure that his eyes were seconds away from popping from their sockets and his jaw felt slack, his mouth parted in shock. It took him at least three attempts and awkward swallowing to be able to choke out a response.

“Really?” he croaked intelligently and immediately felt like slapping himself.

Enjolras didn’t seem to mind, his soft lips curving into a smile that immediately had Grantaire’s heart beat double-time. He was sure that his answering smile was blinding an utterly, utterly idiotic. Enjolras didn’t seem to mind that either.

*

 The next day was a Saturday and, true to his word, Enjolras asked Bahorel to come over to help with the spare room. Instead of Bahorel alone, the entirety of Enjolras’ friends invaded the loft, bringing with them bags full of food, various hand tools and a stack of DVDs, because, according to Courfeyrac, they were to have a movie night afterwards.

Everyone helped, dragging boxes after boxes to the main room for more room to manoeuvre; Enjolras and Combeferre were sorting through Enjolras’ university stuff and Jehan and Feuilly were shelving books that previously had simply been stacked against the walls. Joly was wielding the hoover, managing to whack everyone at least once with it, and Bossuet was stuck handing Bahorel whatever he asked for where he was fixing one of the cupboard doors, apparently because Bossuet couldn’t be trusted carrying anything. 

Marius came later, but arrived just in time to help drag the long since abandoned treadmill into the living room, where Feuilly set to dismantling it to get rid of it.

“Why don’t you want it?” Grantaire had asked Enjolras earlier, upon discovering the treadmill catching dust in a corner of the room, various protest-banners hanging off it at weird angles.

“I hate sports,” Enjolras had said, the disgust plain on his face. “It’s so dull. It always makes me feel as though my braincells are dying.”

Grantaire had laughed at him, then, and Enjolras’ mouth had twitched up into a lop-sided smile. Grantaire immediately archived it in his head so he could draw it later.

After the room had been cleared of unnecessary items and all the books were shelved, Feuilly and Bahorel set to putting the bed frame together, all the while arguing like an old married couple.

“What the fuck, Enjolras,” Courfeyrac had burst out upon seeing the box holding the bed frame. “Who the hell buys a bed and keeps it packed up in a spare room?”

Enjolras had gifted him with a glare. “I wanted it as a guest room, but then I ended up using it as storage space and the bed didn’t fit anymore.”

“So where’s the mattress, then?”

“I managed to squash it into the cupboard.”

This had earned him a collective head shake.

Grantaire didn’t really have much of anything to move to his new room, but the prospect of sleeping in an actual bed was still nice. It just wasn’t the same as the couch, as comfortable as it was - not to mention that he could finally start jerking off on a flat surface again and not just in the shower. The thought of doing it on the couch had just been…too much. Grantaire had a hard enough time controlling his hard-on in Enjolras’ presence, he didn’t need to help it along by seeing Enjolras sit in a place where Grantaire had come all over his hand to thoughts of Enjolras and with his name a bitten-off whimper in the dark. So, not a good idea and Grantaire had never been too much of a fan of jerking-off in the shower, so that was one thing to look forward to about his new bed.

Afterwards, everyone gathered for a Star Wars marathon - again, because Courfeyrac said so - and there was popcorn and teasing and everyone being squished together on and around the couch. Grantaire had been accepted into their midst with open arms and by the time Return of the Jedi had finished, Jehan had somehow managed to transfer at least half his flowers from his own hair to Grantaire’s and one of his legs had fallen asleep because Courfeyrac had decided to use it as an arm-rest. It was the first time in his life that Grantaire thought he might understand what it felt like to have a family and he had to duck his head to hide the wetness gathering in his eyes.

*

Their first fight happened a few days later in the ungodly hours of a Wednesday night - or rather Thursday morning.

Grantaire had been with Eponine, catching up and just generally informing her that he wasn’t dead. She’d smacked him across the head as soon as she’d seen him, but she must’ve been genuinely relieved because she shared her bottle of whiskey much more readily than usual. When Grantaire had told her about his new living arrangement, she’d wolf-whistled at him for a straight minute, until Grantaire had shut her up by throwing her own pillow in her face.

They had emptied the bottle between them, Eponine complaining about her fucked-up parents and Montparass and Grantaire wallowing in self-pity and Enjolras’ perfection. So by the time he’d actually bothered to look at the time, it had been well past three in the morning and Grantaire bid Eponine goodnight with a kiss to her cheek, before stumbling out onto the street.

He didn’t have any money on him for either a night-bus or a cab, so he ended up walking for at least ten blocks before bumping into a guy that had been at what’s-his-face’s party and sweet-talking him into giving him a ride home. Eponine lived in a rough area of Paris about a fifteen minute walk from where Grantaire had used to live with Guillaume and his father. He’d have walked for a whole day if necessary to get back to Enjolras’ place rather then go back there.

The guy from the party - Patrick, Pascal, Pierre or whatever, something with a ‘P’ anyway - got him home within twenty minutes and insisted on scribbling his number on Grantaire’s arm. Grantaire, always more in favour of giving in rather than having a pointless argument over nothing, obediently waited until the numbers were printed on his skin - done in a thick sharpie and big enough for a blind person to read it.

Grantaire thanked him and let himself into the building. He took the stairs instead of the lift and used the set of keys Enjolras had given him the other day. The loft door was heavy, but quiet as it slid open and Grantaire tried his best to shut it silently. As it turned out, he needn’t have bothered, because when he turned around he found Enjolras sitting at the breakfast bar, staring at him through the almost-darkness, his desk lamp across the room the only light in the loft.

Grantaire jumped in surprise and put down his keys.

“Jesus, you scared me.”

Enjolras got to his feet, sliding from the stool in a fluid, but slow movement.

“Did I?” he said, voice hard around the edges. “How thoughtless of me, seeing as I’ve been worrying myself sick over where the fuck you’ve been for the past few hours!” The volume of Enjolras’ voice increased with every word, until the last part ended almost in a shout. “Because what the actual fuck, Grantaire? Didn’t you think it might be prudent to inform me before you take off? Do you know what time it is?!”

Grantaire was frozen on the spot, completely taken aback. “I’m sorry, I lost track of time. I was with Eponine and I just…lost track of time.”

“Yes, I can fucking well see that!” Enjolras snapped. “Lost it in a bottle, apparently!”

Grantaire’s eyes narrowed, the words hitting a little too close to home. “You aren’t the fucking boss of me, alright? I can do whatever the fuck I want and when I want. You don’t get to tell me what to do!”

Enjolras’ glare was fierce as he stepped closer, melting most of the distance between them. “I don’t expect you to stay locked up here forever, but as long as you’re living under my roof you will adhere to some ground-rules. First and foremost to give me the common decency to tell me where the fuck you’re going, so I don’t have to imagine you lying in a ditch somewhere, wondering whether you’re ever coming back home!”

“I’m not a child!” Grantaire snapped.

“Did you even listen to a word I just said?” Enjolras demanded, throwing his arms up in exasperation.

The movement caught Grantaire completely off guard and, for a moment, all he could see was a hand shooting upwards and what followed was born from an instinct that had ingrained itself in his bones ever since he was a child. Bracing himself for the impact, Grantaire ducked his head with a flinch, each and every one of his muscles tense as a bow.

The blow never came.

The silence, until Enjolras spoke again, was deafening.

“Grantaire,” he said finally, voice suddenly quiet and as gentle as the hands that carefully, so very, very carefully, cupped his shoulders. “Grantaire, look at me.”

Grantaire was shaking, he could feel it, but he raised his eyes, unable to deny Enjolras anything. Enjolras looked stricken, eyes wide and darker in the dim light, his soft lips turned down at the corners. 

“I’m not going to hurt you,” Enjolras said intently, his fingers tightening the smallest fraction. “Not ever. I promise you. I wouldn’t, I couldn’t. And I won’t let anyone else hurt you again, do you understand? You’re safe with me, I promise.”

And that was it, the moment where Grantaire, who’d thought it was impossible to fall any more in love than he already was, knew that he was never, ever going to love another person as much as he loved Enjolras. Not in his whole, miserable life was he ever going to find anyone more perfect, anyone more beautiful and anyone who was more out of his league. But it was also in that moment, that Grantaire’s control shattered into a million tiny pieces and he all but launched himself into Enjolras’ arms.

Enjolras caught him easily, willingly,and Grantaire thought he might just as well die right here, right now, because he didn’t think he could get any happier. He pressed closer, his grip no doubt tight enough to be uncomfortable, but Enjolras said nothing, merely held him just as tightly in return and let Grantaire muffle a pathetic sound against his shoulder. Enjolras smelled as amazing as always, but he must have not taken the time to shower yet, because there was a distinct trace of clean sweat underlaying the usual scent of his shampoo and shower-gel. 

He didn’t shower because he was worried about me, Grantaire thought dazedly, unable to make his brain absorb that thought properly.

“I’m sorry,” Grantaire mumbled into Enjolras’ shirt, so muffled it was almost inaudible.

Enjolras sighed and Grantaire could feel a sudden, gentle weight against his shoulder where Enjolras had lowered his head, resting against him. Soft, golden hair brushed against Grantaire’s face and he couldn’t help but turn his head further into Enjolras’ neck.

“I’m sorry, too,” Enjolras murmured. “I’m sorry for shouting, I just- this is new for me too, you know?”

“I know.” Grantaire’s lips were almost close enough to brush against Enjolras’ skin and he wanted to kiss him there so much it felt like a physical ache. He bit his lip instead. “I know, I’m sorry. I’ve never,” he faltered for a moment, squeezing his eyes shut as though it would help shut out the world. “No one’s ever cared about whether I come home at night. Or, you know, at all.”

Enjolras held on tightly.

“I care,” he said quietly. “That’s why I was shouting. You scared me.”

Grantaire’s chest felt tight and he had to swallow before he could answer. And when he did, it was merely the same words as before, chocked and earnest.

“I’m sorry.”

Enjolras’ breath was warm against his neck. “It’s alright, just…please don’t do it again?”

Grantaire shook his head, not able to say anything and curled deeper into Enjolras’ arms.

When Grantaire lay in bed that night, he thought that if he listened really, really hard, he could hear Enjolras’ even breathing through the wall. Closing his eyes, Grantaire imagined it bedside him instead and, putting a hand on his own chest, pretended that it was Enjolras’ heartbeat he felt beneath his palm.

*

When Enjolras came home from work the next day, he stopped behind the couch where Grantaire was watching telly and Grantaire was about to turn around to look what was going on, when a brand new iPhone was dropped in his lap.

Grantaire jumped in surprise. “Wha-”

“It’s yours,” Enjolras said, already moving on, shrugging out of his suit-jacket and loosening his tie.

Grantaire stared at him for a moment, distracted and trying very hard not to drool before the words caught up with him.

“What? No! You can’t just give me a phone!” Grantaire picked the iPhone up, scared to even touch it lest he put a scratch on it. “I can’t pay for it, you know that.”

Enjolras, now over at the fridge retrieving a bottle of water, looked entirely unfazed.

“It’s registered to me, you don’t have to do anything. Just use it.” Grantaire opened his mouth to protest again, but Enjolras fixed him with a fierce look. “It’s not for your benefit, it’s for mine. I’m not going to police your actions, but I want to know where you are and when you’ll be home. If you’re running late, or if you need anything, text me. Understood?”

Grantaire nodded dumbly, not really sure what the hell he was feeling at the moment. He took a deep breath and put the phone in the pocket of his hoodie, before turning back to the telly. Enjolras went off to have a shower.

*

With his long absence and no notification as to whether he’d be coming back, the supermarket had obviously given his job to someone else and Grantaire was desperate for a new one. He couldn’t let Enjolras pay for everything and he certainly wouldn’t ask him for money so he could buy things for himself. He was already so deeply indebted to him that he’d never be able to repay him for the rest of his life - and Grantaire wasn’t just talking about the money.

He set out on a job hunt the next day, swinging by the coffee shop Eponine worked at, before setting off to have a look around and ask if anyone knew about places that were hiring.

He was having absolutely zero luck and was just walking past the Musain when he heard someone calling his name. Grantaire looked up and found Jehan waving at him from across the street, probably just having exited the café. Quickly checking the traffic, Jehan crossed over to him and gave him a brilliant smile.

“Grantaire, hi,” he said cheerfully.

Grantaire smiled back. It was impossible not to smile at Jehan.

“Hey.”

“How’ve you been?” Jehan asked, absently tugging at his flowery braid, before flicking it over his shoulder. “I actually meant to come by with some pie, but work’s been so busy and I just couldn’t squeeze in the time. I hope Enjolras didn’t forget to feed you, he tends to forget that humans need to eat.”

Grantaire gave a soft laugh. “Yeah, I noticed that. But thank god for take-out, right?”

Jehan’s nose scrunched up, but it ended up looking more cute than disapproving.

“He used to be even worse, drove us all up the wall, especially Combeferre. I swear, he thought he could survive on coffee and determination alone, it was terrible.”

Grantaire tried to imagine Enjolras as a teenager, even more stubborn and driven than now and thought that must have been quite terrifying.

“Anyway,” Jehan went on, back to smiling again. “What brings you here?”

Grantaire buried his hands in his pockets and rocked slightly, shifting his weight between the tip of his toes and his heels and lifting his shoulders in a shrug, feeling self-conscious.

“I was looking if I could find a job, actually.”

“Really?” Jehan looked suddenly ecstatic. “You’re looking for a job? Because I really, really need someone for the shop. Oh my god, this is perfect, I’ve been desperate for an assistant…” He trailed off suddenly, looking unsure. “If you want to, that is.”

Grantaire blinked at him, slightly overwhelmed by the verbal onslaught, but when Jehan’s enthusiasm trailed off into uncertainty, Grantaire jumped in.

“No! I mean, I’d love to!”

Jehan beamed.

*

Jehan’s shop was some strange hybrid between a bookshop and a droguerie, with a few potted plants and brightly coloured pillows thrown in for the hell of it. Beside the organic toiletries, he also sold his own tea. It was all very Jehan and Grantaire thought it was amazing.

He acquainted himself with the products, listening carefully as Jehan explained what each of them was for and how best to answer frequently asked questions. He showed him how the till worked - some ancient thing that still ringed and you had to type in everything manually, Grantaire was immediately charmed - and showed him the back room; complete with a kettle, a microwave and a couch overflowing with more of those disgustingly adorable pillows. At least now Grantaire knew without a doubt who’d given Enjolras his own set.

For the first two weeks they both worked full hours while Jehan showed him the reigns, but after that Grantaire got his own set of keys and they worked out a schedule that gave both of them some free time. It was the best job Grantaire had ever had an he was practically addicted to several of Jehan’s tea-blends.

Jehan, besides being the most pleasant and lovely boss Grantaire could ever imagine, also paid him ridiculously well and he tried not to think about the implication that he might have gotten an immediate pay-raise simply because Jehan was a sweetheart and couldn’t stand the idea of not paying well - especially someone like Grantaire who had been picked up off the street by one of his best friends.

He couldn’t find it in himself to complain, though, and it didn’t seem as though Jehan couldn’t afford paying him what he did. For the first time in his life, Grantaire was able to actually buy the things he wanted. He finally, finally got himself some new clothes, sick and tired of rotating in-between the three t-shirts and pairs of jeans he had arrived with. (He’d managed to get himself a set of cheap boxers after first moving in with Enjolras, bought from the money he’d gotten out from beneath the floorboard of his old room, but that was all he could afford at the time.)

Enjolras hadn’t ever offered to buy him clothes and Grantaire was sickeningly grateful for it, still stuck on the fact that Enjolras had taken him in without the blink of an eye and given him a phone that Grantaire could use however he pleased. He’d offered paying for it himself, now that he had a job and could afford to, but Enjolras had waved him off and told him it ran under a contract with Enjolras’ own and to please stop pestering him about something as inconsequential as money.

Grantaire had also quietly infiltrated the kitchen. He wasn’t paying any rent (“Don’t be ridiculous, I’m not paying any either. I own this place.”) and so Grantaire had decided that the best way to contribute was to buy their groceries and cook their meals. He’d started off with simple things like pasta and basic wok-rice-stuff, but was slowly moving towards pies and soufflés and other more complicated dishes. Grantaire found out he enjoyed cooking - he’d always liked working with his hands - and he enjoyed watching Enjolras eat.

He always paid close attention to what Enjolras seemed to like and tried to make other variations thereof. The bookmarks on his phone were overflowing with recipes and Grantaire found himself scrolling through food blogs on his way to and from work everyday. 

It was all horribly domestic and Grantaire loved it.

*

“Grantaire?” Enjolras asked.

They were having dinner, about four months after Grantaire had started living with him, the sky outside already dark as the days had started to grow shorter once more. Summer was almost over, even though the weather was still pleasantly warm and the sun still bright in the sky every day he left for work in the morning.

“Mmh,” hummed Grantaire around a mouthful of quinoa-pie.

“There’s something I wanted to talk to you about.”

Grantaire swallowed, the food suddenly feeling heavy in his stomach. He put his fork down and looked at Enjolras, trying to keep the trepidation off his face.

“Alright,” he said, slowly.

Enjolras moved his plate to the side and used the space to fold his long-fingered hands on the table-top, briefly distracting Grantaire with thoughts of how they would feel on his body, gripping his hair, wrapped around his - woah alright, down boy. Grantaire swallowed, hard, and fought the heat threatening to flush his cheeks.

“You’re very talented.”

For a moment, Grantaire thought he was still fantasising. “What?”

He hadn’t made a secret of the fact that he drew, often taking full advantage of the amazing lighting in the loft and drawing for hours while Enjolras worked at his desk across the room. But he hadn’t realised Enjolras actually noticed, didn’t know that he apparently had seen some of his work.

Grantaire had often left his more innocent drawings lying on the coffee-table, forgotten because he had rushed off to work or to cook dinner. They were never of Enjolras, though, Grantaire wasn’t suicidal.

“Your drawings, they’re beautiful.”

Warmth exploded in Grantaire’s chest and the flush rising to his cheeks was for an entirely different reason than before.

“You-You think so?”

Enjolras smiled his small smile at him.

“I do.” He looked at Grantaire, eyes intent as though he was looking for something on his face. “So I was thinking, have you thought about going to university? Or an art-school?”

And just like that Grantaire felt his face shutter, his jaw tighten.

“You know they wouldn’t accept me. I didn’t finish school.”

Enjolras was still studying him closely. “I know, but that wasn’t what I was asking.”

“Yes,” Grantaire bit out, unable to keep the irritation from his voice. He had to be angry, or he would end up crying instead, and that just wasn’t an option. “Yes, I always wanted to do that.”

Despite the sharp tone, Enjolras smiled at him, wider than before, and it immediately eased some of Grantaire’s anger.

“I was hoping you’d say that,” Enjolras said and got up to grab his MacBook Pro from where he had abandoned it at the breakfast bar, motioning for Grantaire to join him on the couch.

Trust Enjolras to completely forget about dinner in favour of something more interesting. Intrigued despite the abrupt change and touchy subject, Grantaire went to fold himself onto the couch next to Enjolras, his hand automatically grabbing for the bright pink pillow that had somehow become his since he’d clutched it close during his recuperation period.

Enjolras turned his laptop for Grantaire to be able to better see what was on the screen and went on talking.

“I looked into evening schools. There’s quite a few to choose from and I thought they looked good. It wouldn’t interfere with your work at the shop and I looked at the schedule. I’m sure you’d be able to manage and I could help if you like.”

“Why are you doing this?” Grantaire asked, aghast.

“Because I think you’re brilliant and you should get a chance to develop your potential.”

“Your really mean that.” Grantaire had trouble swallowing around the lump in his throat. “You really think I’m brilliant.”

“Of course I do.” Enjolras was speaking with conviction, as though he was talking about one of his causes. “You’re very intelligent Grantaire and an amazing artist. And you’re happy when you do it. It’s something to fight for.”

Of course Enjolras saw it that way, Grantaire thought, gripped by a sudden burst of affection. Every time he thought Enjolras couldn’t get any more amazing, he did something like this. Grantaire was scared that he was displaying every one of his feelings in bright, neon colours all across his face.

His eyes were stinging again and he used it as an excuse to scrape all his courage together. Discarding the pillow, he shifted his weight and leaned forward, wrapping his arms around Enjolras’ neck and hiding his face in his shoulder, much the same as he had done the night he had come home late and found Enjolras waiting for him.

And just like then, Enjolras didn’t protest, instead put his laptop aside and hugged him close without hesitation. Grantaire wondered whether it was due to his friends - who all seemed completely unashamed of the fact that they all enjoyed hanging off each other - that Enjolras was so willing to indulge him. He couldn’t really bring himself to care either way, even if it was just charity for poor, unloved Grantaire. Not when Enjolras was shifting to accommodate him better, not when Grantaire could feel one of Enjolras’ hands running down his spine to come and rest on the small of his back.

He was sure Enjolras must be able to feel the frantic beat of his heart against his own chest and he tried his best to keep his breathing even, but his throat was tight and heat was already pooling in his stomach. In a minute, it would become too much and Grantaire would have to pull away, even though it would hurt to do so. In a minute he would get up and give some excuse about wanting to tidy up the kitchen first and then do just that to get his composure back.

But not yet. Not yet. Grantaire wanted to have this for just a little bit longer.

*

After that, Grantaire got a little bolder.

He reasoned that if Enjolras didn’t mind sitting squashed in-between his friends for entire movies, if he let Jehan use his legs as a back-rest and if, beside some minor annoyance, he didn’t object to Courfeyrac’s frequent tackle-hugs, then surely, surely he wouldn’t mind Grantaire being a little more affectionate.

Grantaire was careful and always put a lot of effort into it seeming either absentminded or completely casual. He used movie-nights as an excuse to lean against Enjolras’ side, he leaned across him to reach things on the coffee-table, he touched his shoulder in greeting and brushed against him to get to the fridge. Enjolras tolerated it all and never said a word, often instead reciprocating by squeezing his arm or shifting into a better position and letting Grantaire press close against his side.

Grantaire thought that maybe he would get used to touching Enjolras, that his heart might stop leaping painfully in his chest whenever he felt Enjolras’ warmth. He thought it might help the ache of wanting.

It didn’t. In fact, it did exactly the opposite. Grantaire got addicted to Enjolras’ warmth, constantly wanting more, and it got increasingly harder to resist now that a few boundaries had been crossed. Now, Grantaire could reach out if he wanted to, knowing that Enjolras would permit him. But he had to force himself to keep his touch light when his fingers were aching to grip tightly and he had to fight to make himself let go, when all he wanted to do was to touch more, to put his hands all over Enjolras’ body and be touched in return.

Grantaire’s pillow had permanent bite-marks from where he muffled his desperate moans every night.

Not even the fact that he was going back to school was enough to distract him; although it did manage to distract him a bit, mostly by exhausting him so much that he often just passed out on the couch, unable to even make it to bed.

Being back in school was hard. Not as hard, maybe, as Grantaire had thought it would be, but hard enough. There was some things he picked up again easily, and others he had completely forgotten and had to relearn from scratch. He was good at maths, as long as the calculations stayed straightforward and didn’t veer off into abstract infinity shit and weird problems about vacuums and things that just didn’t concern him in real life. Biology and Geography were easy enough, mostly just remembering facts and Grantaire was good at that. Languages were also manageable, mostly because he liked to read and had no problem memorising new vocabulary, so French and English were fine as well. 

Physics and Chemistry on the other hand, were an absolute nightmare. This, of course, wasn’t news to Grantaire. He’d spectacularly failed both of them every year without exception when he’d still been in regular school and the fact that he hadn’t looked at any of this material in at least a year didn’t help in the least. Combeferre and Joly took the time to tutor him, seeing as Enjolras wasn’t too accomplished in either of the subjects and Grantaire was amused at finding something he and Enjolras seemed to have in common, even if it was just a shared hatred for science. It was also kind of refreshing, knowing that there were things in the world Enjolras didn’t excel at.

Work and school kept Grantaire busy, so busy that he was quite frustrated at his lack of free time and was frequently pissed off for no reason other than being unable to sit down and draw, or to simply lie on the couch and do nothing.

Enjolras, far from being a ray of sunshine at the best of times despite his golden appearance, often didn’t have the patience for Grantaire’s bad moods and they ended up arguing over the most stupid things imaginable. Despite trying his hardest not to - Grantaire could see him fighting the urge - Enjolras always ended up shouting. On good days, Grantaire simply let him, jaw set tightly and waiting it out. On bad days, Grantaire snapped back and stormed out halfway through the argument. He knew Enjolras hated when he left like that, but Grantaire couldn’t stand the shouting and fleeing was what he’d always done and it was a hard habit to shake.

On days like these, Enjolras was always still up and waiting for him to come back. It was also on such days that Grantaire didn’t care about being obvious and simply curled into Enjolras’ arms, clutching him tightly until he was sure that Enjolras wasn’t about to tell him he’d had enough and wanted Grantaire out of his life once and for all.

*

By the time the autumn holidays came around at the end of October, Grantaire hadn’t seen Eponine in at least two weeks and he looked so tired that Jehan ordered him to take at least a week off and get some rest. He didn’t even have it in him to protest.

Enjolras was in the middle of a demanding case and had hardly been at home the past few days. Grantaire had taken to covering up plates of food and leaving them on the counter for when he returned home late and had been forced to have breakfast on his own, because Enjolras was already gone by the time Grantaire got up for work.

Today was no different, with the only exception that instead of staying at the office, Enjolras had brought home a massive file and had set to working on it at his desk. Grantaire, for once completely rested after having slept till almost noon, was in his usual place on the couch, all his concentration fixed on the drawing in front of him. He thought, absently, that he might actually have enough time to go and buy an easel and a canvas or two tomorrow. It had been far too long since he’d last painted and Grantaire missed it.

He tilted his head, studying the drawing in front of him and added a bit more shading to Jehan’s braid, before putting the sketchpad down, satisfied. Across the room, Enjolras let loose a frustrated burst of air and Grantaire looked up to see him fall back in his chair and pinching the bridge of his nose. Grantaire could see the on-coming migraine from all the way over here.

Putting his pencil down, Grantaire got up and filled a glass with cold water, before carrying it over to the desk. He nudged Enjolras, who opened his eyes and gratefully accepted the glass Grantaire handed him.

“Still no progress?” Grantaire asked softly, watching Enjolras drain half the water before putting down the glass.

“Barely,” Enjolras absently rubbed at his neck, his eyes already starting to cloud over in pain.

Not so much an on-coming migraine, then, but one that had already started and Enjolras the stubborn bastard had thought he could ignore it. That never ended well, Grantaire new, having become closely acquainted with the multiple gel-packs in the fridge that he often had to bring to Enjolras when he was reduced to a ball of misery on his bed. Grantaire always thought he looked very human like that, for once not untouched by the world, but suffering alongside it. He also hated to see him in pain.

Without thinking, Grantaire reached out to gently rub at Enjolras’ shoulders and by the time his brain had caught up with what he was doing, Enjolras had already leaned back against him, his head coming to rest somewhere between Grantaire’s chest and stomach.

Warmth burst inside him and his brain must’ve gone offline for a moment, because Grantaire couldn’t keep his fingers from finding their way into Enjolras’ golden hair. It was just as soft as it looked, softer even than Grantaire had imagined when he’d thought about touching it and the quiet sound Enjolras made at the contact shot straight to Grantaire’s cock.

He was a horrible, horrible human being, taking advantage of Enjolras’ trust and using it to get off on touching him. That being said, it didn’t stop Grantaire from massaging small, gentle circles into Enjolras’ scalp, hoping to ease some of the pain while at the same time internally hyperventilating over Enjolras actually letting him touch him this way. It felt intimate and gave Grantaire a feeling of power, for once being the one to give comfort rather than to receive it.

“You shouldn’t have carried on working,” Grantaire said quietly.

He was talking because he was nervous, because he needed to distract himself from the intensity of the moment.

“I know,” Enjolras said, soft and almost like a sigh. “But the trial is in two days and if we don’t get anything on the bastard we’ll lose the case. Courfeyrac is practically living at Marius and Cosette’s place at the moment and all the stress has driven her out of her own home. Marius told me she went to stay with her fathers.”

“Poor Cosette,” Grantaire said, laughing softly. “Courfeyrac on stress is enough to drive even a saint round the bend.”

Enjolras tilted his head further into Grantaire’s touch and Grantaire bit his lip, but obediently pressed a little harder.

“They wanted to come here,” he went on and Grantaire could see that his eyes were closed, his lashes ridiculously long and a few shades darker than his hair. “But I told them it was out of the question. You had enough going on already, I couldn’t subject you to them camping out in the living room.”

Grantaire’s fingers stilled, but he didn’t withdraw. Even so, Enjolras’ eyes blinked open and he ended up looking at him upside-down.

“It’s your home, Enjolras. You can do whatever you want in here.”

“Ours,” Enjolras said. “It’s our home. You live here, too.”

Grantaire swallowed, hard, unable to even start thinking about what that meant.

“Let’s get you to bed, okay?” he said gently. “You need a lie down. And a gel-pack.”

Enjolras frowned, but didn’t protest and let Grantaire drag him up and off the chair. Enjolras, however, must have underestimated Grantaire’s strength and Grantaire had forgotten that Enjolras was actually a lightweight, despite his endlessly long legs. So they ended up stumbling backwards, Enjolras gripping Grantaire so he wouldn’t fall and Grantaire dragging Enjolras with him until his stumbling feet hit an obstacle and he ended up with his back against one of the beams. 

They stared at each other in surprise for a moment, breathing slightly heavy from the sudden bout of clumsiness. Grantaire could feel Enjolras’ warm breath on his face and his eyes looked darker than usual, his expression one Grantaire had difficulty reading. 

And then Enjolras was kissing him and Grantaire’s whole world screeched to a hold, before spinning wildly out of control a moment later. Enjolras’ lips were hot and demanding, nothing at all like Grantaire had imagined. In all of his uncountable fantasies, it had been Grantaire who snapped, Grantaire who couldn’t take another moment and attacked Enjolras on the spot. And the Enjolras of his fantasies was usually shocked, but pliant and letting Grantaire do as he pleased, much as he let Grantaire shower him with affection without saying anything about it.

In retrospect, Grantaire could see that he had been an idiot. Enjolras was passionate about the smallest things, his eyes always fierce and his drive relentless, so why should this be any different?

Enjolras kissed him the same way he did everything else, by giving all of himself and taking over. It felt desperate, completely out of control. Enjolras kissed him as though he was staking claim on his mouth, as though he was declaring ownership over Grantaire and would fight anyone who antagonised him.

And Grantaire, in turn, did what he always did and took it all while at the same time still aching for more. He was making small, whimpering noises, feeling helpless and overwhelmed but never wanting it to stop. He clutched at Enjolras, gripping tightly to keep him close and parting his lips, begging for more. And Enjolras gave it to him, his tongue hot and wet as it conquered his mouth and stole the last of Grantaire’s breath. But it didn’t matter, Grantaire didn’t need air, didn’t need anything but this.

He arched his back, shoulders pressing into the cold metal of the beam and wanting Enjolras closer, wanted every inch of his body against his own. Enjolras sucked Grantaire’s bottom lip into his mouth, hard, and Grantaire moaned, breathless and so, so close to coming just from this, his cock jerking in his pants and straining painfully against his jeans.

But then, as abruptly as it had all begun, it suddenly stopped and Enjolras was wrenching himself free, stumbling back and putting distance between them. He looked wrecked, his eyes dark and wild and his lips red and wet from their kisses. They were both panting harshly and Grantaire wanted to close the space between them again, wanted back into Enjolras’ arms even if it was just to be held, but the look on Enjolras’ face froze him in place.

Enjolras looked destroyed, as though he had just made the biggest mistake of his life and Grantaire didn’t think it was possible for feelings to change so completely from one moment to the next, not until now when all of his elation was shattered by just this one look. He was glad for the beam still behind him, because Grantaire didn’t think his legs would have held him otherwise.

“I’m sorry,” Enjolras said, slightly hoarse and still breathless. “I’m just- I’m sorry.”

And then Enjolras stumbled past him, with a lack of grace that was completely out of character, and rushed from the loft, the sliding door slamming into its hatch and echoing around the room.

Grantaire was left completely stunned and still achingly hard. Not even Enjolras’ horror could do anything to erase the memory of his tongue in Grantaire’s mouth and he knew that a cold shower wouldn’t do it either. So he reached for his jeans with trembling fingers and opened them only far enough to shove his hand inside. It took only one, two, three rough strokes and he was biting back a cry as he shuddered through his orgasm, tasting Enjolras on his lips.

It left him feeling empty and exhausted, eyes stinging and chest painfully tight. 

*

For the first time, Grantaire was on the receiving end of being the one just left standing there and it made him feel all the worse for all the times he had stormed out and left Enjolras with words still burning on his tongue that no one was there to hear. He swore to do his best to never do it again.

Grantaire took a shower, angrily wiping at his eyes and trying to convince himself that the wetness on his face was nothing but water, and then sat down on the couch to wait. He switched on the telly, simply because he couldn’t stand another moment of silence, and grabbed his pillow, hugging it close to his chest.

Grantaire also learned that the reason Enjolras was always waiting for him at the breakfast bar and not the couch, was that the couch was too comfortable and made it impossible to stay awake.

When he woke, the loft was filled with light and he was covered with a blanket he knew he hadn’t had before. Bolting upright, Grantaire looked around, but Enjolras was nowhere to be seen and the file as well as his laptop were gone.

Cursing wildly, Grantaire got to his feet and went to check Enjolras’ bedroom, already knowing he would find it empty. Feeling utterly useless and as stupid as his brother and father had always accused him of being, Grantaire went back to the living room and simply stood there for a moment, not knowing what to do next.

He eyed Enjolras’ desk and ended up aimlessly walking over to it, while he contemplated calling Enjolras or at least sending him a text. That’s when he saw it, one of those XXL post-it notes Enjolras always used - because he said that normal ones were too small - stuck exactly in the place the file had taken up last night.

Swallowing around the lump in his throat, Grantaire leaned closer to read it.

Grantaire,

I cannot apologise enough for what happened last night. I will be staying with Combeferre until the trial is over. Please don’t feel bad about this, it’s all my fault. I’m sorry. We’ll talk when I get back.

- Enjolras

Grantaire let himself sink into Enjolras’ chair and simply stared at the note for a few more moments. Then he took out his phone and typed out a text to Eponine.

come over here as soon as possible. bring as much booze as you can carry, i’ll pay.

*

Eponine arrived in the late afternoon, right after her shift at the coffee shop had ended and, because there was actually a reason she was Grantaire’s best friend, was completely laden down with two bags full of alcohol. She’d brought the whole range, everything from beer to whiskey to Bacardi - all except for vodka, because she knew Grantaire couldn’t stand it; it reminded him too much of his father.

“Choose your poison,” she sang, dangling the bags in front of Grantaire’s face.

Grantaire took them off her and dumped it all in the fridge, shoving aside some leftovers and moving Enjolras’ soy milk somewhere to the back, before grabbing the Bacardi and a bottle of coke Eponine had so helpfully provided - because fuck starting slow, he needed to be drunk right now.

They took both bottles and two glasses to the couch and Eponine promptly sprawled herself out all over it, piling a green and purple pillow together to rest her head on. She’d been to the loft plenty of times by now, saying that if Grantaire had a sugar daddy now (“He’s not!”), then he might as well share his new ‘super-posh’ home.

Grantaire lifted her legs and let them fall across his lap after he’d sat down, already busy downing his drink. Eponine kicked him lightly, twisting so she could look at him without craning her neck too badly.

“Spill,” she demanded. “You haven’t been this close to your alcoholic ways since lover-boy took you in.”

Grantaire lowered his glass and glared at her. “Don’t call him that!”

Eponine raised an eyebrow, but moved back into an upright position, taking the glass from Grantaire’s fingers and downing the last of its contents, before putting it on the coffee table. She then took Grantaire’s arm and yanked him down with her, pressing him against the back of the couch and squishing his head against her breasts. Even her cuddling was aggressive, but Grantaire didn’t mind, gratefully leaning into her and hiding his face in her chest.

“What happened?” she asked, softer this time, smoothing down Grantaire’s wild curls with her small hands.

So Grantaire told her everything, letting himself be petted and pausing only to take a few more sips of the drink Eponine poured them. She let him talk, for once keeping her sharp comments to herself, pressed kisses to his cheeks and kept the alcohol coming. She didn’t tell him to slow down, just let him get drunk at high-speed, and acted as though she didn’t see the tears when his eyes finally spilled over.

By the time the sky outside had turned dark and the digital clock on the blu-ray player read eight o’clock, they were utterly and completely wasted. The Bacardi was history and they had started in on the whiskey.

Grantaire was squinting at his phone, trying to find the number from the Chinese restaurant a few streets down that he knew was in there somewhere. Eponine had thrown her legs over the backrest, the couch big enough for her head not to be hanging down, but her long hair had spilled over the edge and was brushing the floor.

The telly was turned on some music channel where Niki Minaj was currently bathing in candy-pink liquid and singing about her heartbeat running away. It spoke to Grantaire on a rather frightening level.

Finally having found the number, Grantaire then changed his mind and handed the phone to Eponine to let her order instead. He regretted it a moment later when she ended up ordering half the menu, but by then it was already too late.

“I think he likes you, you know,” Eponine said later, around a mouth full of chicken chow mein.

Grantaire swallowed a mouthful of fried rice and leaned back against the couch. “What are you talking about?”

Eponine rolled her eyes and kicked his shin. “I mean he doesn’t seem like the guy to just kiss someone for no reason.”

Grantaire shook his head. “He was horrified. And he’s fled his own home, I don’t really think there’s any misunderstanding about that.” He took a deep swig from the whiskey.

Eponine shrugged and tucked her bare feet under Grantaire’s thigh, cold even through the fabric of his jeans. “I think you’re wrong. Talk to him and you’ll see.”

Grantaire said nothing, simply pushed his food away, having lost the little appetite he’d had.

*

They slept on the couch, more because they passed out on it rather than out of some kind of choice, and Eponine cursed him viciously the next morning when her alarm went off. She only had to be at the coffee shop after lunchtime, but she still needed to get home, change and make herself presentable.

Grantaire let her, handed her a handful of painkillers while downing some himself and sending her off to take a shower. Eponine, being Eponine, took a bath instead, emptying almost the entire bubble-bath Jehan had given him to try out into the water and effectively evading clean-up. Grantaire, feeling vicious about his bubble-bath and the blatant abandonment, ended up upending the box of ice they had made last night onto her suds-covered chest and laughing as she shrieked.

Never one to let something go, Eponine then grabbed Grantaire around the waist and tugged him - clothes and all - over the edge of the tub with a surprising amount of strength. Grantaire should’ve seen it coming, really. Everything about Eponine was sneaky, even her strength.

By the time Grantaire managed to splutter his way to the surface and get the suds out of his eyes, Eponine had already dried off and gone to his room to steal some of his clothes.

She left half an hour later, hair tied in a bun with one of Enjolras’ scrunchies and dressed in one of Grantaire’s long-sleeved t-shirts and a hoodie. Grantaire, in retaliation for her unhelpfulness and the whole bath incident, handed her the bin-bag he had filled when cleaning up their mess of last night and made her take it down with her.

Grantaire had no idea when Enjolras would be home and he felt twitchy and unable to sit still, too agitated to even draw. So, for a lack of something better to do, he set to cooking a late lunch or earlier dinner or whatever, figuring that Enjolras would probably be hungry after a whole day in court. Looking through his bookmarks, Grantaire absently checked the fridge for ingredients, before choosing one of the more complex recipes to keep him occupied for a while.

When Enjolras still wasn’t home after he’d finished, Grantaire made a cold dessert and after that - because why the hell not, he was already there after all - he tried out the muffin recipe Jehan had given him the other week. It was only when the muffins were in the oven - slowly rising as they should under Grantaire’s watchful eye - and he was busy scrubbing the counters when the door to the loft slid open and Enjolras stepped inside.

Grantaire took one look at him and had to fight the intense urge to put his arms around him. Enjolras looked exhausted, honest to god bone deep tired and his skin was downright pasty. For once his eyes weren’t bright, but dulled and there were shadows forming underneath. It made Grantaire’s heart ache to see him like this.

Despite everything that had happened, despite his chest going tight with dread at the memory of how Enjolras had looked at him two nights ago, Grantaire wasn’t capable of leaving Enjolras to suffer. He just couldn’t. So instead of crawling into a corner to hide himself away, preferably with another bottle of booze, Grantaire took a deep, steadying breath and carefully concealed his inner turmoil as best he could, burying it beneath his usual veneer of casual cheerfulness and dry humour that he was steadily getting better at.

“Dinner’s ready,” Grantaire said, not looking at Enjolras and instead returning to cleaning the kitchen. “Why don’t you have a shower and I’ll set everything up?”

Grantaire could feel Enjolras’ gaze on him, but he didn’t look up. He went over to the sink as an excuse to turn his back and rinsed the sponge in his hands.

“Grantaire,” Enjolras said.

And Grantaire knew that voice, knew what it meant, and he refused to have this conversation when Enjolras was half-dead on his feet and the only thing he’d likely ingested all day was an entire sea of coffee.

Putting down the sponge, Grantaire briefly braced himself before turning around and finally meeting Enjolras’ eyes.

“We’re not doing this right now,” he said firmly. “You need to give yourself a break and you need to eat. Your head will thank me for it.”

Enjolras was frowning and he looked ready to protest, when the impossible happened. Seriously, Grantaire even considered divine intervention, because not even for a moment had he believed that what he’d said would be enough to make Enjolras deflate and actually do as he was told for once. But Enjolras didn’t say anything, simply put down his briefcase and went to take a shower.

Grantaire was so surprised he ended up staring after him for a ridiculously long time. Only the smell of the muffins starting to burn finally tore him from his thoughts and Grantaire hastened to get them out.

*

They were quiet throughout dinner, the silence laden and tense enough to make Grantaire want to crawl out of his skin. He hardly tasted the food at all and he doubted Enjolras did either.

More than half of it was still on heir plates when it became clear that they wouldn’t be eating anymore and Grantaire wordlessly packed up the leftovers and put them in the fridge. Instead of moving over to the couch, Enjolras stayed seated at the table and waited for Grantaire to finish. If it was some kind of ploy to keep some distance between them, then it was definitely working. Grantaire didn’t know when he’d last felt Enjolras to be this unreachable.

Re-taking the seat across from him, Grantaire tugged the sleeves of his hoodie over his fingers, and hid them under the table. He felt exposed and wished to make the rest of him vanish like his hands. Enjolras placed his folded arms on the table and leaned on them, pinning Grantaire with his intent gaze.

“I’m sorry about the other night,” Enjolras said.

Grantaire studied the lines of the wood, his fingers twisting his sleeves beneath the table. 

“You said that already.” It came out quiet, bitter. Grantaire swallowed.

“I cannot say it enough. I- It was completely out of order. I violated your trust and all I can do is promise you it will never happen again. But of course I’d understand if you’d rather not live with me any longer.” Grantaire’s head snapped up, fear so intense it almost felt like a living thing in his chest. Enjolras’ wasn’t looking at him. “There’s plenty of other options and I could help you find something else.”

“What are you- Enjolras, do you-” Grantaire broke off and choked in a deep breath, his voice a little higher than usual with the faint traces of panic clinging to it. “Are you throwing me out?”

Enjolras flinched as though slapped.

“Jesus, no!” he said quickly. “No, of course not. Grantaire, no, that’s not what I meant at all.”

Grantaire let out the breath in his lungs, feeling shaken and far too vulnerable, as though it would only take another word and he would break under the pressure.

“What did you mean, then?” he asked, voice tight and barely concealing a tremor. “What’s this all about, Enjolras? If you don’t want me to move out then what? I get it, you regret what happened. You were out of it and I was there and I get it okay? You don’t want me - and really who can blame you - you thought it was disgusting, you gave it some time to cool off and that’s that. I’m not angry with you, if that’s what you’re worried about. I know it didn’t mean anything.”

Enjolras was staring at him, looking completely and utterly shocked. “That’s what you think? That it didn’t mean anything?”

Grantaire frowned.

“Isn’t this what all this is about?” he asked slowly. “You telling me that I shouldn’t get my hopes up?”

Enjolras looked genuinely confused. “Get your hopes up for what?”

Grantaire stared. “Are you being serious right now? You kissed me!”

“I know I did,” Enjolras said with a frown. “And it was wrong of me, but why would you ever think it didn’t mean anything to me?”

Grantaire could feel his eyes widen as he gaped at Enjolras.

“Wait, wait, what?” he stammered. “Are you telling me it did mean something?”

Enjolras let out a sharp breath of frustration. He looked angry, as though it was Grantaire that was spouting nonsense.

“Of course it did! Do you think I just go around kissing people just for the hell of it? Especially when there’s so much at stake?”

Somewhere, in the back of his mind, Eponine was laughing herself silly. She’d love to hear that her words had come back to bite Grantaire in the arse. It did nothing to make Grantaire feel any less dazed, any control he’d thought he might have had over this conversation dying a slow and painful death.

“Okay, stop. Stop.” Grantaire raised his hands to do the according gesture, as though his fingers were enough to stop time until his brain had managed to catch up. “I have the feeling we’re having two entirely different conversations here. Can we please rewind to the bit where you said that kissing me meant something to you? Or better yet, forget all of that and just tell me: Why did you kiss me?”

Enjolras looked at him as though Grantaire had just said something particularly stupid.

“Because I’m in love with you. Obviously.”

The words came out sounding so matter of fact, so sure and steady, that it took Grantaire a moment to actually understand them. When he did, he could feel the colour draining from his face and he honestly thought he would faint. He must have looked the part, too, because Enjolras was suddenly next him, all his intentions about keeping his distance seemingly forgotten for the moment.

Enjolras slid into the seat beside him, his hands warm when they curled around his arms.

“Grantaire,” the way he said his name made Grantaire shiver. He was sure he must be dreaming, that he’d finally lost it and was living in his very own fantasy world. Enjolras ducked his head slightly, trying to catch his gaze. “Hey. Hey, look at me.”

Grantaire did so dazedly, hoping that he didn’t have to wake up just yet.

“You’re in love with me,” he echoed, sounding weak and completely out of it, his brain unable to connect to the words even now.

Enjolras’ hands slipped away and Grantaire felt immediately cold. He looked unhappy, the corners of his mouth turned down and he was frowning again.

“I’m sorry,” Enjolras said quietly.

Grantaire’s head snapped up. “No!” He grabbed Enjolras’ arm, his fingers closing around his wrist, not daring to take his hand. “Please don’t say that. Don’t apologise for that.”

There must have been something in Grantaire’s face, or maybe the sound of his voice, because Enjolras’ expression softened instantly. He shifted his hand, drawing his wrist from Grantaire’s gentle grip, only to slide their palms together instead, his fingers slipping between Grantaire’s own and curling around them. Grantaire gripped back tightly, afraid he would lose this again any moment.

“I’m not apologising that I love you,” Enjolras said softly. “I’m apologising for being unable to control myself.”

Grantaire’s heart was beating violently in his chest. “Don’t apologise for that either. Because I really, really don’t want you to.”

Enjolras sighed. “Grantaire.”

“Jesus Christ, Enjolras, I love you too! Obviously,” Grantaire added the last bit with a sardonic twist to his lips, because really, if anything was obvious about this situation, it was this. “I can’t believe you didn’t know that. There is nothing in this miserable life I love more than you. You’re everything to me.”

But Enjolras was shaking his head. “That’s what you might be thinking right now, but Grantaire, this isn’t right. My feelings for you - this is all wrong, don’t you see?” He exhaled on a sharp breath and sat back, leaning away from Grantaire to put some distance between them once more. He looked away for a moment, his eyes roaming unseeingly across the room before coming to rest on Grantaire once more. “I’m ten years older than you. You were - are - in a very delicate situation. I helped you when you needed it and you might think I saved you, but that just makes it all so much worse.”

Grantaire’s gip on his hand tightened. “You did save me, Enjolras.”

If anything, these words only served to further darken Enjolras’ expression and Grantaire wished to take them back, wished that he knew what to say to make Enjolras believe him. To make him stay.

“This is what I mean,” Enjolras said sharply. “You were desperate and vulnerable and I was the first person to treat you like you deserved. It’s only natural that you latch onto me, it’s basic psychology. But I can’t take advantage of you like this. I was wrong to even consider letting you stay without telling you how I felt, but I couldn’t send you away.”

Grantaire took a shuddering breath. “How long have you felt this way?”

Enjolras looked away, his jaw tight with tension. “I’ve been…attracted to you for some time. I enjoyed arguing with you at the meetings.”

“So you mean before?” Grantaire had trouble wrapping his mind around this and wondered how long it would take for his brain to raise a white flag and tell him it was finally done, unable to take any more surprises. “You were attracted to me before you took me in?”

Enjolras still wasn’t looking at him. “Yes.”

Grantaire dared to run his thumb along the back of Enjolras’ hand, his skin soft and warm. Grantaire wanted to press his lips against it. 

“You completely flipped your shit when I told you I was seventeen, didn’t you?” he asked quietly.

“You could say that, yes.” Enjolras returned his gaze to him. “You don’t look it.”

Grantaire smiled weakly. “I know.” He looked down at their hands, studying the contrast of their skin colour and thinking of how two things that were so entirely different could fit so well together. “But if this wasn’t just a dependency thing. If I could prove to you that I’m really fucking in love with you, would my age still be an issue?”

Enjolras gave him a sharp look. “Of course it’s an issue.”

“But it wouldn’t be as bad?” Grantaire pressed on.

“I suppose not.” Enjolras didn’t sound convinced. “But Grantaire-”

Grantaire shook his head. “You keep saying that you took advantage of me, that you abused my trust or some shit. But Enjolras, I did the same to you. I let you think that I just wanted comfort. I saw how you are with your friends and I thought I could just - touch you more. That you would let me because you - because you’re just good. The best person I’ve ever met. And I did it because I wanted you, because it - I did it, because I needed to touch you and then I thought about it at night. So don’t tell me you took advantage of me, because if anyone took advantage, then it was me.”

“Grantaire,” Enjolras said and he sounded just a little bit breathless, his eyes dark. Grantaire’s own breath caught and he could practically feel the heat in the air between them, ready to spark and consume them whole.

But Enjolras was fighting, Grantaire could see it. He saw him swallow and briefly close his eyes, forcing himself under control and inhaling deeply. He shook his head again and Grantaire’s heart sank once more.

“That’s not the point.”

And there, there was that voice again and Grantaire had the urge to grab Enjolras and give him a shake, to fling him down onto the couch, the table, the fucking floor, and show him how much he meant everything he was saying. How much he wanted him, has wanted him from the moment he saw him.

And oh, oh, that was it, wasn’t it? That right there was exactly the proof he needed to give. That this hadn’t just started the day Enjolras took him in and showed him kindness. That this wasn’t just some weird psychological reaction to finally having someone care about him, for him.

Grantaire got to his feet. Enjolras looked up.

“C’mon,” he said firmly. “I need to show you something.”

Enjolras frowned, but when Grantaire brushed past him he followed with slightly hesitant steps. Grantaire led them to his room, Enjolras lingering in the doorway and watching him with wary eyes.

“Do you remember, after that first night when you took me in,” Grantaire said as he got to his knees in front of his cupboard and started rummaging in it. “Do you remember when you asked me about what happened? And I told you it was my father?”

“Of course I remember.” 

Grantaire didn’t have to see the frown to know that it was still there. 

“I didn’t tell you the reason, though.” He moved some art supplies and reached in, past some t-shirts that had managed to end up down there at the bottom. “I didn’t tell you why.”

His fingers finally found the stack of papers he had been looking for, carefully held together by a soft string. He drew them out and into the light, revealing familiar stains and the lines of abuse from his father’s hand. Unlike on Grantaire’s skin, these had not faded, instead branding his drawings like scars; thin lines running all along them never to be erased.

He just looked at them for a moment, tracing the creases with the tips of his fingers and trying to tame his fluttering nerves, his heart trembling in his chest at the knowledge that he was about to bare it to the one person able to shatter it so easily, so completely.

Taking a deep breath, Grantaire looked up and offered the drawings - along with his pathetic, fragile heart - to Enjolras. He thought it was rather fitting he should do it like this, kneeling on the floor with Enjolras standing over him, fierce and beautiful.

“This is the reason.”

Enjolras finally took a step into the room, then another, before taking the stack of drawings with careful fingers.

The first drawing, Grantaire knew, was of Enjolras the way he’d looked on that very first meeting Grantaire had stumbled into. People were milling around him on the page, but Grantaire hadn’t had eyes for any of them, hadn’t yet torn his gaze away long enough to pick out the faces of the others he knew so well now. The people around Enjolras were featureless, grey and unformed, unimportant. Enjolras was in the centre, vibrant and golden, his face sharp and clear in a sea of blurry lines. 

Grantaire’s eyes were fixed on Enjolras’ face, watching his eyes widen and his lips part on a soft gasp. He sank onto Grantaire’s bed in a way that looked as though his knees weren’t willing to hold him anymore and his fingers were trembling slightly when he reached for the string, untying it with a few, jerky movements. He let the string fall to the floor, forgotten, but the way he touched the drawings was almost reverent, his touch delicate and so very, very careful. Just as he had been the very first time he’d touched Grantaire himself all those months ago.

The gentle rustling of paper was the only sound in the room for a few long moments and when Enjolras froze, his eyes even wider than before and his tongue darting out to wet his lips, Grantaire knew that he had reached something explicit.

“These are all,” Enjolras started, sounding slightly hoarse. He cleared his throat and swallowed and Grantaire wanted him so much, he didn’t dare move even an inch in the fear that he’d simply end up throwing himself at Enjolras and damn the consequences. “They’re all from before?”

“Yes.” Grantaire tugged his sleeves back over his hands and studied the frayed ends. “There were more, but my father destroyed quite a few. And I have two paintings as well, they’re at Eponine’s. You can look at them, too, if you need more proof.”

There was the faint rustling of paper once more as Enjolras went on looking. “So you do draw me.”

Grantaire looked up, frowning slightly. “I draw you all the time.”

“So I can see. I just thought,” Enjolras trailed off, his thumb absently trying to smooth out one of the more vicious creases. “The drawings you kept lying around, they were always of everyone else. Especially Jehan. But I wasn’t in any of them. I just thought I wasn’t a very good subject. I thought you just…didn’t draw me.”

Grantaire blinked. “You-You were jealous? Really?”

Enjolras looked away, jaw tight. 

“Of course not,” he snapped, but Grantaire could tell it wasn’t quite true.

Suddenly, the distance between them was just too far. Grantaire got to his feet, his heart still fluttering in his chest, and slowly walked over to the bed. Enjolras looked up at him and Grantaire couldn’t stop himself from reaching out and carefully tucking a stray lock behind Enjolras’ ear, the gesture at once innocent and intimate.

“You have absolutely nothing to worry about, you know,” Grantaire said softly. “I haven’t even been able to look at anyone else since I met you.”

Enjolras caught his hand, and Grantaire tensed, expecting a rejection, but instead of pushing it away, Enjolras drew him in closer and brought it to his lips, brushing a gentle kiss against his palm. Grantaire’s breath hitched and heat shot through his body, pooling in his stomach. Feeling bold, Grantaire let the fingers of his free hand sink into Enjolras’ golden hair, much as he had done two days ago, drawing the same soft sound from Enjolras as last time. Tipping his head forward, Enjolras rested his forehead against Grantaire’s stomach, his breath hot and close even through two layers of clothing. Grantaire shivered.

“I’ve never felt like this before,” Enjolras said, voice low and vulnerable in a way that made Grantaire’s chest feel tight, made his arms come up to slide around Enjolras’ shoulders to cradle him close, wishing to protect him just as Enjolras had protected him up to now. Enjolras leaned into it, pressing closer and making his next words almost inaudible, muffled against Grantaire’s hoodie. “It scares me.”

Grantaire curled around him, burying his nose in Enjolras’ soft, soft hair and holding on tightly, his heart beating wildly and not quite yet able to believe that this was really happening. He could feel Enjolras’ arms closing around his waist, his fingers curling into the fabric of Grantaire’s clothes.

“It’s alright,” Grantaire mumbled, inhaling Enjolras’ scent with every breath. “You’re not alone. We can figure it out together.”

Enjolras said nothing, but his grip on Grantaire tightened.

Grantaire didn’t know how long they stayed like that, but it must have been quite a while, because his neck had started to protest, forcing him to draw back slightly. Enjolras loosened his grip and Grantaire looked down at him. Enjolras looked exhausted, even more so than when he had come home earlier, even his golden curls looking unusually limp.

That wouldn’t do.

Decision made, Grantaire scooped up the pile of drawings and quickly moved them to his bedside table. Enjolras followed his movements with tired eyes and Grantaire made quick work of tugging the duvet back, before crawling onto the bed still wearing his clothes. He patted the space beside him.

“C’mon,” he said. “You need to rest.”

Enjolras eyed the spot beside him, looking torn.

“I don’t think-”

Grantaire glared at him and reached out to tug at his arm. 

“No buts,” he interrupted firmly. “You. Here. Now.”

Enjolras looked ready to protest again, but ended up simply exhaling sharply before shifting and lying down next to Grantaire.

The bed wasn’t really meant for two people, but they managed to lie down facing each other without tumbling out. Grantaire stuffed one of his hands beneath the pillow, their heads resting close together to both fit on it. Enjolras was looking at him through heavy-lidded eyes.

“This is a bad idea,” he said quietly.

Grantaire shifted slightly and covered Enjolras’ hand with his own, carefully threading their fingers back together.

“Are you still hung up on the age thing?”

Enjolras sighed, his breath warm on Grantaire’s face.

“This isn’t something that will just go away, Grantaire. I shouldn’t even be considering any of this. It’s wrong.”

Grantaire looked at him intently. “Does it feel wrong right now?”

“No,” Enjolras said softly. “But you’re still so young, you’re just now figuring out your life. You should be with people your age, not stuck with me.”

“I want to be stuck with you,” Grantaire said firmly, gently squeezing Enjolras’ hand. “And I can’t stand people my own age. They’re insufferable.”

Enjolras looked down. “I just- I want you to be sure about this.”

“Give me some credit.”

“It’s not that. Grantaire I,” he trailed off, looking suddenly vulnerable and Grantaire’s heart seized in his chest.

“What?” Grantaire moved even closer, gently bringing their foreheads together and tracing his thumb along the soft curve of Enjolras’ jawline. “Enjolras, what?”

Enjolras closed his eyes, hiding behind soft lids and long lashes.

“I don’t just need you to be sure because of you. I need you to be sure because of me.” He looked at Grantaire, their faces so close together that his features were slightly blurry. He looked open in a way Grantaire had never seen before. “Because if I give into this, if we do this, I won’t want to let you go again.”

Warmth burst inside Grantaire’s chest.

“I don’t want you to let me go. Not ever.” He brushed back a few locks of golden hair, before letting his fingers sink into it, cradling Enjolras’ head in his palm. “What else do I need to do to make you believe me?”

Enjolras leaned into the touch. “I do believe you.”

“Then stop fighting this. Stop fighting me.”

“Alright.” Enjolras brushed the tips of his fingers against Grantaire’s cheek, so soft and fleeting Grantaire almost thought he’d imagined it. “Alright. But we’re taking this slow. I want you to be sure and I don’t want you to do anything you don’t want, alright? I mean it.”

Grantaire sighed. “I can do slow, if that makes you feel better.”

“It does.” Enjolras pressed his hand to Grantaire’s chest, right over his heart.

Grantaire covered it with his own, feeling his own rapid heartbeat drumming against their palms.

“But, just in case that wasn’t clear, I’m not sharing you,” Grantaire said.

Enjolras’ look was suddenly bright and fierce once more. “I’m not sharing you either.”

He took his hand back, only to run his fingers along the inside of Grantaire’s right forearm. Grantaire shivered and it took him a moment to realise that Enjolras was tracing the outline of numbers that had long since been washed away.

“You saw that?” he asked quietly, amazed that Enjolras had ever payed him that much attention. “It didn’t mean anything, you know. Nothing happened. We just met at some party and I met him again on the street a few days later. He just drove me home.”

“Next time, call me. I’ll come and get you.”

Grantaire cupped a soft cheek in his palm. “You don’t even have a car.”

Enjolras tilted his head, brushing a kiss against the bridge of his nose. “I’ll borrow Combeferre’s. Or take a cab.”

Grantaire drew back slightly, doing his best to form a glare. “Enjolras, you don’t have to- I’m not your charge, or some shit.”

“No,” Enjolras said softly. “But I want to take care of you.”

Grantaire’s throat tightened and his eyes were already starting to sting. 

“Enjolras.” It was no more than a breath between them.

Enjolras caressed his cheek once more, but this time his thumb ran a deliberate line across his cheekbone, his palm curving around Grantaire’s jaw.

“You deserve everything, Grantaire. Everything that’s good, everything that makes you happy. Don’t forget that.” Enjolras brushed another kiss to his skin, this time his forehead. “And, if you’ll let me, I’ll try my best to give it all to you.”

Grantaire felt like he couldn’t breathe, could do nothing but curl in close and hide his face in Enjolras’ chest.

“I only want you,” he said into the fabric of Enjolras’ t-shirt. “I’ve only ever wanted you.”

Enjolras’ arms wrapped around him, warm and tight. “You have me.”

“Tell me again,” Grantaire said into Enjolras’ chest, sounding pathetic even to his own ears. “Please, tell me.”

Enjolras smoothed his hair back. “Tell you what?” he murmured. “I love you?”

Grantaire’s throat was too tight to speak, his eyes already spilling over even though he was trying so hard to fight back the tears. He buried himself deeper and could only nod. He felt Enjolras’ breath at the top of his head, his lips pressing a kiss to his unruly curls.

“I love you,” Enjolras said into his hair. His heartbeat was strong and steady against Grantaire’s chest and Grantaire pressed his hand over it, feeling it thudding against his palm.

“I love you, too.”

*

The next morning, Grantaire woke to an empty bed and the faint sound of Enjolras’ voice through the closed door of his room. Blinking the sleep from his eyes, Grantaire fought his way out of the duvet that had twisted itself around his legs and cursed as he stumbled into an upright position. It was far from the first night he had slept fully clothed, but it still didn’t make wearing jeans to bed any more comfortable.

Deciding that a shower was a definite priority, Grantaire grabbed some fresh clothes from his cupboard and quietly left his room. Enjolras was seated at his desk, his laptop open in front of him and his iPhone pressed to his ear as he scrolled.

“That speech was terrible,” he was saying. “I had to re-write the whole thing. Did you get a look at the new design for the blog yet?”

Combeferre, then, Grantaire thought as he made his way to the bathroom. Trust Enjolras to immediately throw himself back into work immediately after a nerve-wrecking case. Grantaire remembered him saying something about helping out with the speeches for the next human rights protest. There had hardly been time for any meetings lately, and Grantaire knew that it bothered Enjolras that he was unable to do it all. He’d always been bad at accepting that he was only human and needed to sleep at least a few hours every day.

Turning the shower up as hot as he dared, Grantaire quickly washed himself and his hair, before dressing in his fresh clothes and emerging from the bathroom feeling much more like himself. Enjolras had ended his call and looked up when Grantaire made his way over to him.

“Good morning,” Grantaire said, sounding slightly more unsure than he’d intended.

He needn’t have worried, however, because Enjolras reached for him and tilted his head up, which Grantaire took as permission to brush a kiss to his lips.

“Are you going into the office today?” Grantaire asked, gently smoothing Enjolras’ hair back.

“No,” Enjolras pressed a soft kiss to one of Grantaire’s palms and turned back towards his laptop. “We’re closed for the day. Courfeyrac and Marius deserve a break.”

“Speak for yourself,” Grantaire said, making his way over to the kitchen. “You’re allowed not to work for a day, you know. The world won’t end if you leave it to its own devices for a bit.” He took out a frying pan. “Eggs or pancakes?”

Enjolras was frowning at his laptop, his lips pinched in the way that meant he had read something particularly stupid or offensive.

“You choose,” he said absentmindedly as he clicked on what had to be the ‘reply’ button and started typing furiously.

Grantaire rolled his eyes. He chose pancakes.

*

Things changed after that, but in other ways, they didn’t change at all.

Enjolras still worked too much and forgot to eat if Grantaire didn’t shove food at him at every turn, they still fought over stupid things and Grantaire was still stressed out over school. But they also curled up together on the couch and shared soft kisses over breakfast and dinner. Enjolras went with Grantaire to buy an easel and some canvases and Grantaire’s painting area was now next to Enjolras’ desk.

Grantaire left his drawings lying around the flat without thought and Enjolras looked at them all, smiling to himself when Grantaire thought he wasn’t looking.

Even so, Grantaire couldn’t shake the feeling that Enjolras still hadn’t quite accepted the shift in their relationship. He never rejected Grantaire’s touch and always returned his kisses, but he never initiated any himself. He touched Grantaire gently and wrapped him in his arms, but was careful not to let his fingers wander and his kisses were restricted to Grantaire’s cheeks and hands, never seeking his lips out of his own volition and certainly never straying anywhere more intimate.

Grantaire almost felt as though they were back to square one, with Enjolras letting Grantaire do as he pleased but never taking anything in return. It was passive and dispassionate in a way that was the exact opposite of Enjolras and made Grantaire want to scream in frustration. He knew that Enjolras wanted to take it slow and Grantaire was absolutely fine with that, but this wasn’t slow, this was no progress at all. It was nothing at all like the fiery kiss they had shared that day when Enjolras had lost control, when he had pressed Grantaire against the beam and taken his mouth like he meant it.

Grantaire wanted that again, it was all he thought about, all he pictured when he panted his pleasure into his pillow at night.

It was, once again, harder than before, with Enjolras so close and with the knowledge that Grantaire could touch him whenever he wanted, just not the way he wanted to. It made Grantaire doubt himself, made him doubt that Enjolras wanted him at all, and he hated himself for feeling like that. For being ungrateful for what he had and for being forever unable to shut up the voices in his head that often sounded so very much like his father and brother.

It was only so long before he couldn’t take it anymore.

*

Two weeks later, Enjolras was sitting on the couch, phone in hand and checking his messages. It was a Saturday and they had spent their day at home, Grantaire catching up on some studying and painting and Enjolras helping out with the last minute preparations for the protest. Combeferre had been over earlier, first discussing one point or another with Enjolras, before sitting with Grantaire and helping him with some Physics and Chemistry texts.

Grantaire had abandoned his painting, unable to concentrate and had taken a shower to wash off the paint. He found Enjolras when he came out of the bathroom, engrossed in his phone and looking far too beautiful for being clad in a loose t-shirt and a pair of old, faded jeans. His hair was finally getting long enough again for him to barely manage a small pony-tail at the nape of his neck, a few stubborn locks at the front already having come loose once more and falling into his face. He’d been complaining about needing a haircut for the past weeks, but Grantaire had told him not to and Enjolras, though making no comment on it, had not mentioned it again and left it as it was.

It was a good a time as any, Grantaire thought with a knot of nerves twisting in his stomach, making him feel sick.

He crossed the room and stopped in front of Enjolras, his hands reaching out to tug the phone from between his fingers. Enjolras looked up at him with a frown, but relinquished his hold and Grantaire put it down on the coffee table, before turning back and smoothly straddling Enjolras’ lap before he could talk himself out of it.

Enjolras started in surprise, his hands shooting out to grip Grantaire’s hips tightly. Grantaire shifted into a more comfortable position, letting his palms rest against Enjolras’ chest and feeling his heartbeat spiking beneath his palms.

“Have you changed your mind?” Grantaire asked before Enjolras could start questioning him.

Enjolras blinked, looking adorably confused, but the frown that appeared on his forehead a moment later was all too familiar.

“Have I changed my mind about what?”

Grantaire took a deep breath, already bracing himself for the answer, his fingers curling slightly into Enjolras’ t-shirt as he forced the words past his lips.

“Me,” he said quietly. “Have you changed your mind about me. Us.”

Enjolras looked at him with wide eyes. “No. No, of course not. Why would you think that?”

“It’s just- you never kiss me. And it kind of just feels like…you’re humouring me or something.” Grantaire looked down. “As if you don’t really want me.”

“You think I don’t want you.” It sounded flat and Enjolras’ expression was suddenly shuttered, almost pained.

Grantaire felt a pang in his own chest, already regretting his words. Hating that he had apparently hurt Enjolras with his own insecurities.

“Enjolras no, I’m sorry it’s not- I mean it’s just-” He exhaled sharply in frustration. “I’m probably just being stupid or something, but…you know when you first kissed me? You haven’t kissed me like that again. And I just- I keep thinking about it.”

Enjolras’ jaw was tight with tension.

“It’s not that I don’t want you, Grantaire, it’s that I want you too much. I don’t trust myself to keep it together,” he said. “I lost control that night. I was too rough and I overwhelmed you. I can’t risk it happening again.”

Grantaire looked at him, knowing that his desire must be writ plain on his face.

“What if I want it to happen again?” he asked quietly. “What if it’s all I’ve wanted since that night?”

Enjolras inhaled sharply, a protest already forming on his lips. “Grantaire-”

Grantaire cut him off before he could go off on another lecture on morality. 

“No, look, I know you’re still freaked out about the age thing and I get it, I do, but I won’t break, Enjolras, I promise. I’m not asking you to throw me down and fuck me, I just want…something. I want- I need to be close to you. I want you so badly you have no idea, I can’t think about anything else, just- please, Enjolras.”

“Christ, god Grantaire,” Enjolras’s smooth voice sounded hoarse and Grantaire could see that his pupils were dilated, eyes dark and fierce as they looked at him. “You’re driving me crazy.”

Grantaire laughed, breathless and broken, because how was this even real? Enjolras had no fucking idea, no idea at all.

Enjolras’ grip on his hips tightened, fingers digging into his skin through his jeans, and with one, firm tug, Grantaire was flush against Enjolras’ body. Enjolras was hard, Grantaire could feel it through both their pants, and that fact alone was enough to make shudder with want. He shifted against him, unable not to, wanting, needing to feel Enjolras’ desire for him. His own hardness dragged across the firm bulge in Enjolras’ jeans, and Grantaire bit his lip to stifle his moan.

Enjolras’s fingers tightened and his lips parted on a gasp, pale cheeks flushed with colour and a thin sheen of sweat starting to build on his forehead, plastering darkened curls to his skin. Grantaire reached up, brushing them back and cradling Enjolras’ face between his palms. Enjolras drew him in, detaching one of his hands to thread them into Grantaire’s unruly hair and bringing them close together.

Grantaire could feel Enjolras’ hot, heavy breath on his face and for a moment, they simply sat there, suspended, breathing each other’s air.

Then Enjolras was kissing him, not as wildly as the first time, but not chastely either. His mouth was like fire and Grantaire moaned, the sound stuck somewhere in his throat as Enjolras nipped gently at his lips. Grantaire pressed closer, so hard he thought he might pass out from the intensity of it all, and parted his lips, demanding Enjolras’ tongue.

Enjolras didn’t deepen the kiss straight away, instead tilting his head into a better angle and sucking on his lower lip. It wasn’t as harsh this time, but it was still like a direct line to Grantaire’s cock, his hips grinding down against Enjolras’ in a sharp, uncoordinated thrust. Enjolras jerked up against him at the contact, gripping him tightly, and his answering moan was lost as he licked into Grantaire’s mouth.

Grantaire met his tongue with his own and rubbed their hips together, needy and desperate, making soft, whimpering noises into Enjolras’ mouth. Enjolras kissed him deeply and held him close for another moment, before drawing back slightly. Grantaire followed his lips, unwilling to let go, curling his fingers into Enjolras’ golden hair and licking into his mouth for the first time. He was decidedly less skilled, but Enjolras moaned when he ran his tongue across his teeth and flicked it against the roof of his mouth.

“I want-” it was a plea rather than a demand, trailing off on a gasp, his thoughts scattering in a burst of pleasure as Enjolras dipped his head and pressed his lips to his neck, laving his skin with a hot tongue.

“What?” Enjolras murmured into his neck. “What do you want? Tell me.”

“I want your weight on me,” Grantaire blurted out. “I want- I want you. Please. Please don’t stop.”

Enjolras drew their lips together once more, kissing him tenderly but insistently. His hands were back on Grantaire’s hips, guiding him gently.

“Lie back,” he said softly, their lips never quite parting.

Grantaire complied with trembling limbs, letting himself fall onto the couch and landing in-between a sea of brightly coloured pillows. Enjolras followed him down, pushing several to the floor without looking and Grantaire parted his thighs and opened his arms, cradling Enjolras close as soon as he was able to reach him properly. Enjolras wasn’t heavy, not enough to crush him in any case, and Grantaire never wanted him to move again. Except, that is, when he shifted and accidentally brushed their aching erections together.

Grantaire’s head fell back on a moan and Enjolras stifled his own by latching back onto his neck, sucking on his pulse point, before his lips were back on Grantaire’s, hot and wet and addictive. The second time was deliberate, a sensual, slow roll of Enjolras’ hips against his own, grinding their cocks together through their clothes and making Grantaire arch his back and lose all sense of coherency. His kisses turned sloppy, his grip bruisingly tight on Enjolras’ back and shoulders. He felt dizzy with pleasure and lack of oxygen.

“Enjolras,” he gasped helplessly, writhing beneath the delicious feel of Enjolras’ body on his.

“God, you’re beautiful,” Enjolras said softly, watching him with all the intensity usually reserved for his speeches. “I love you like this.”

Grantaire let out a breathy laugh that turned into a moan as Enjolras ground against him once more.

“I think you’ve got it backwards,” Grantaire panted, breath ripped from his lungs in uneven bursts and his hips strained upwards to press closer.

Enjolras kissed him again. “I don’t think I do,” he said against Grantaire’s lips, one of his hands curling around Grantaire’s thigh and shifting it higher up along his side. The next thrust made Grantaire keen and his release was so close he could feel it tingling up his spine, could practically taste it in Enjolras’ deep kisses.

“I’m gonna- Enjolras I’m-”

Enjolras grabbed one of his hands, the other still curled around Grantaire’s thigh, and pressed it into the couch cushions, their fingers sliding together even as their hips did the same. His vision whited out a moment later, the rushing in his ears drowning out his desperate, breathless moaning as he shook apart under Enjolras, their lips still close together as they breathed each other’s air.

Grantaire was trembling, he could feel it, his nerve-endings still alight with orgasm. Enjolras held him through it, stretched out on top of him and cradling him close, their fingers still intertwined. He was pressing soft kisses to Grantaire’s lips, his cheeks, his forehead and the curve of his jaw. Grantaire’s eyes were stinging and he curled closer, hiding his face in Enjolras’ neck and shoulder. Enjolras shifted them to the side, his back against the couch, and brushed wild, sweat-drenched curls of dark hair from Grantaire’s face and pressed his lips to the top of his head.

Grantaire clenched his eyes shut, feeling tears building without knowing why he was crying in the first place. He felt raw, vulnerable, and shaken to the core, his limbs still trembling and weak and his heart racing in his chest, a chest that felt tight with emotion and made it hard to breathe. Grantaire had to fight down a sob and Enjolras smoothed his free hand across Grantaire’s heaving back, stroking gently.

Grantaire took a deep breath, fighting for control, his cheeks burning with shame. “I’m sorry, I don’t know-”

Enjolras kissed him, making a soft comforting sound in the back of his throat.

“Don’t apologise,” Enjolras said quietly. “It’s alright.”

Grantaire drew back slightly, furiously wiping at his eyes.

“I’m pathetic,” he muttered darkly, hating himself for his weakness. Soon he wouldn’t be able to pour himself a glass of water without bursting into tears like an idiot.

Enjolras gently tipped his head up, his thumb brushing away a stray tear Grantaire had missed.

“Grantaire, look at me.” He was using that voice that meant he expected to be obeyed. Grantaire looked at him. “You’re not pathetic, don’t say that. This is a perfectly natural reaction.”

Grantaire scowled, unconvinced, and gave a derisive snort. “Is it?”

Enjolras glared at him, but there was no heat in it and his hands were gentle as they pulled him closer once more.

“Yes, of course,” he said. “First times can be intense. This is exactly what I meant with overwhelming you.”

Grantaire grimaced. “I feel like a virgin on their wedding night.”

Enjolras kissed the frown off his face.

“There’s nothing wrong with crying, Grantaire.”

Grantaire shifted closer and met him in another kiss, deeper this time.

“I’m still sorry,” he said against Enjolras’ lips.

Enjolras nipped at his mouth. “There’s nothing to be sorry for.”

Grantaire wrapped his arms around him and pressed closer, about to lean in for another kiss when he felt the hot length of Enjolras’ neglected hardness against his leg. His eyes widened slightly, feeling even more of an idiot.

“You haven’t- you’re still-” Grantaire stammered, before forcing himself to pause and take a deep breath. “Let me take care of you.”

Enjolras ran a soothing hand over his arm. “There’s no need, you don’t have to-”

Grantaire interrupted him with a kiss.

“I want to,” he murmured into Enjolras’ mouth. “I want to so much. Please, let me.”

Enjolras did let him, let Grantaire push him back against the couch cushions, let him press in close and lick back into his mouth. He was panting and Grantaire swallowed his soft moan, his hands cupping Enjolras’ face, before running down his chest and grabbing his slender hips to pull him closer. He nipped at Enjolras’ lips, then his jaw, then tipped his head lower to press his mouth to his throat, sucking gently.

Enjolras gasped and arched against him, one hand buried in Grantaire’s curls, the other curled around his hip, his fingers gripping convulsively as Grantaire shifted and pressed his thigh between his legs. Grantaire felt Enjolras tugging at his hair, urging him back up to seal their lips together in another deep kiss. 

Grantaire drew back slightly, wanting to look at him. He brushed a stray lock behind Enjolras’ ear.

“I thought about this,” Grantaire whispered into the hot air between them, like a confession. “I thought about you like this.”

He traced Enjolras’ lips with the tip of his finger, red and wet from Grantaire’s own mouth. Enjolras kissed it, before his tongue flickered out to taste it. Grantaire’s breath hitched.

“Tell me,” Enjolras said softly, his lips moving against Grantaire’s finger before wrapping around it and sucking it into his mouth.

Grantaire made a soft, needy sound and felt his spent cock fighting to rise again.

“I thought about you every night. I thought about how you were just there, in the other room while I-” Grantaire broke off on a groan as Enjolras sucked a second finger into his mouth. “While I touched myself, pretending it was you.” Enjolras ground his hips against Grantaire’s leg, a muffled sound stuck somewhere in his throat, dragging his hardness across his thigh and releasing Grantaire’s fingers as his lips parted on a moan.

Grantaire took advantage of this by leaning in and thrusting his tongue back into his mouth, both their gasps muffled as they met in a burst of heat. It was sloppy, without fineness, but Enjolras clutched him closer and kissed back hungrily.

“Can I touch you?” Grantaire asked as he drew back, voice hoarse with desire and chest tight with lack of oxygen.

“Yes,” Enjolras said, breathless and with a faint edge of desperation.

Grantaire’s fingers were trembling, his movements clumsy as they fought to open Enjolras’ jeans. Enjolras kissed him and reached down between them to help. He caught Grantaire’s hand before it could fumble its way inside and Grantaire made a sound of protest that turned into a moan when Enjolras brought his hand back to his lips and pressed an open-mouthed kiss there, before his tongue licked a broad stripe across the centre.

Grantaire was panting, wanting so much he thought he might actually go insane with it. He let Enjolras guide his hand downwards and into the open fly of his jeans, his hips straining towards Grantaire’s touch as his palm finally brushed against the hot hardness there. He pressed against it, fingers curling around Enjolras’ cock and feeling his own jerk in his pants.

“Tell me,” Enjolras said again, panting it into his skin and pushing into Grantaire’s hand, sucking a hungry kiss into his neck.

It took Grantaire a moment to catch on, but when he did, heat shot to his face even as he gripped Enjolras tighter in his hand and started talking again.

“I thought about crawling into your bed at night,” he murmured, running his hand along Enjolras’ cock and feeling it twitch against his slick palm. The angle was different, slightly awkward, but it was still one of the hottest things Grantaire had ever done. He never wanted to stop touching Enjolras like this. 

He went on, emboldened by the breathy sounds Enjolras was making, by the way he was pushing against Grantaire and clutching at his arm. “I thought about pressing you against the fridge and getting on my knees, god I’d love to taste you.” Enjolras shuddered against him and groaned something mangled that sounded like a hybrid between Grantaire’s name and a curse and Grantaire felt the slickness on his palm growing. Grantaire stroked him firmly and nipped at his jaw, his own brain fogging over with pleasure once more. “I thought about touching you, about having you on every available surface in the loft.”

Their kisses were hungry now, full of teeth and tongue and Grantaire’s cock was already rock-hard again, straining against his jeans and Jesus Christ, was it possible to die of pleasure?

His hips jerked against Enjolras’, desperate for friction. Enjolras’s hand slid along his side, fingers slipping into the waistband of his jeans and tracing a caress along the line of the fabric. Grantaire shuddered, heat spiking beneath his skin.

“Yes?” Enjolras said softly, breathlessly, and it took Grantaire a moment to realise that it had been a question.

“Yes, fuck yes, god, please.”

Enjolras’ hand closed around his hard cock a moment later, his grip gentle but sure, the skin of his palm soft as it ran across his length, slick from the come still coating the inside of Grantaire’s boxers, the tip already weeping again. Grantaire’s own strokes faltered as Enjolras captured his lips in a filthy kiss and rubbed his thumb over the slit, sucking Grantaire’s tongue into his mouth. The combined pleasure made Grantaire convulse as his orgasm was literally shocked out of him, tearing unexpectedly from his body and making him shudder wildly.

“I’m sorry,” Grantaire gasped, still hopelessly out of breath and utterly horrified.

“Stop apologising,” Enjolras murmured against his mouth, kissing him gently but with an edge of desperation. “Just touch me, Grantaire, please.”

Grantaire surged forward, face still hot, but embarrassment taking a backseat as he re-captured Enjolras’ lips in a deep kiss, his fingers finding their way back to Enjolras’ no doubt by now painfully hard cock and gripping him firmly. Enjolras groaned, hips twitching upwards to drive his cock into Grantaire’s hand, shuddering beneath his touch. Grantaire tightened his still shaking fingers and answered Enjolras’ desperation by picking up the pace.

“Grantaire,” Enjolras groaned, desperate and helpless. This was the most intoxicating thing Grantaire had ever experienced, seeing Enjolras unravel, watching him fall apart. If he hadn’t just had his second, blinding orgasm of the evening, he’d be coming again right then and there. As it was, he was left with his cock giving a weak, painful twitch.

Enjolras was beautiful like this, so much more so than Grantaire could ever have imagined. His golden hair was dark with sweat, his lips swollen and parted as he moaned deeply, his whole body vibrating with tension. He strained against Grantaire, holding onto him as though he was the only thing keeping him from drowning and Grantaire loved him so much it hurt.

“God, I love you,” Grantaire said, the hand that wasn’t jerking Enjolras’ cock running upwards over Enjolras’ chest in an aimless caress, simply wanting to touch. He accidentally brushed a nipple and Enjolras shuddered, a choked sound tumbling from his lips.

Grantaire swallowed, then did it again, this time letting his fingers graze over the firm nub deliberately, rubbing the fabric of Enjolras’ t-shirt against his skin and leaning in to lick at Enjolras’ lips. And then Enjolras was coming, painting Grantaire’s hand with hot wetness and sounding as though he was dying. Grantaire stroked him through it, torn between looking at the beautiful sight in front of him and placing kisses on whatever part of Enjolras he could find.

Enjolras took the decision from his hands by curling into him, limbs shaking and chest heaving as he buried his sweat-slick face in Grantaire’s neck. Grantaire cradled him close, smoothing back damp, golden locks and pressing their bodies together, completely ignoring the mess between them.

They lay like that for a while, with Grantaire tracing absentminded caresses on Enjolras’ back and Enjolras pressed in closed against his chest, his hot breath still coming in short bursts against Grantaire’s neck. After a few more moments, Enjolras shifted and drew back a little. Grantaire didn’t want him to go and took this as an opportunity to steal another kiss.

Enjolras was warm and pliant, parting his lips for the gentle caress of Grantaire’s tongue and winding his arms around Grantaire’s neck to keep him close. Grantaire kissed him some more, pulling him deeper into it. It was only when Grantaire’s still breathless lungs protested that he drew back slightly, instead resting his forehead against Enjolras’ own.

Gentle hands ran along his back. 

“Alright?” Enjolras asked softly, his breath still slightly uneven.

“More than alright,” Grantaire said, brushing a curl from his face. “Are you? I mean, was that…okay?”

“More than okay,” Enjolras said, eyes bright and lips curving into a smile. Grantaire leaned in to taste it.

“Does that mean I can sleep with you now?” Grantaire only realised how that had sounded after the words had already left his mouth and hastened to keep speaking. “Just sleeping! I didn’t mean- I meant sharing the same bed.”

Enjolras laughed and brushed their lips together in a gentle kiss. “I’d like that.”

Grantaire shifted and felt his clothes sticking uncomfortably to his skin. He grimaced.

“Next time we’re doing this without clothes. And I only just had a shower.”

Enjolras smiled, looking almost playful. “At least we didn’t get any stains on the couch.”

Grantaire grinned. “You do realise that I’ll probably have to ravish you every time we sit down on this couch now.”

“Just the couch? I thought you said something about every single surface.”

Grantaire blushed and Enjolras leaned in to kiss him, smiling against his lips.

“Don’t worry, we have all the time in the world. Enough for you to have me wherever and whenever you want.”

*

None of Enjolras’ friends - or rather, it was their friends now, Grantaire thought happily - even had the decency to look surprised when they told them about their relationship. Jehan squealed and hugged them both, Courfeyrac leered at Grantaire and offered to give him sex advice and everyone else just seemed happy that they were happy.

Eponine didn’t stop needling him about it for at least a week, telling him that Enjolras’ title as his sugar daddy was finally completely applicable. Grantaire refused her entrance to the loft until she apologised and promised not to call Enjolras his sugar daddy ever again.

“Fine, fine, I’ll stop, I promise,” she’d said, leaning with her elbows on the counter at the coffee shop. “But tell me, is one of his friends still single? And into girls? I could use a bit of fun and you’re hanging around them all the time, the least you could do is help me get a date.”

Grantaire had groaned. “What the fuck, Eponine. I’m not responsible for finding you someone to get laid!”

“Yes you are. Now that you’re finally getting some, it’s my turn. I had to listen to you whine about Enjolras for one and a half years.”

“I suppose I could introduce you,” Grantaire had grumbled, thinking that maybe some more social contact would be good for Eponine. She deserved some happiness in her life.

“Great.” Eponine had actually beamed at him.

Later, when Grantaire was lounging on the couch, his head pillowed on Enjolras’ lap and his eyes fixed unseeingly at the telly, a thought occurred to him.

“Combeferre’s into women, right?”

Enjolras gave him a dubious look, but Grantaire was already on a roll. It was true, after all, now that he’d finally managed to get what he’d wanted so much for so long - and god only knew how that had even happened - it was time to help someone else get the same. 

He’d talk to Courfeyrac tomorrow. Because if he could make anyone at least half as happy as he was right now, Grantaire would take that as a win.

---