Chapter 1: A summer evening
A little friendship fluff that takes place before Noscitur A Sociis and is therefore pre-relationship.
Content warning for alcohol, but no drunkenness.
There’s something about evening parties that run on into the night.
Enjolras is sure Jehan or Combeferre would have some explanation for it, of the emotional or the existential kind, but to him it feels like the opposite of lying awake in bed. Right now, with all his friends dotted around the de Courfeyrac’s garden, talking and laughing under the cover of darkness lit up with lanterns, all the troubling things of the world seem silent for a while.
A foot nudges against his under the bubbling water and Enjolras looks up.
“Looked like you were falling asleep there,” Courfeyrac teases. He himself looks wide awake, all glowing with the joy of being a good host.
Enjolras smiles. “Just relaxing.”
Courfeyrac’s eyes spark. “The highest of compliments.”
Enjolras pulls a face at him, softened by the smile still lingering around his lips. “I know I complained at you for dragging us all out here,” he says earnestly. “But this is really nice, Courf, thank you.”
Courfeyrac preens with the compliment and Enjolras is immediately joined in his praise by Jehan, who coos: “It’s lovely is what it is.” They’ve been trying to float on the bubbles, ending up halfway on Grantaire’s lap most of the time.
“You know what it needs though?” they muse. “Cocktails.”
Courfeyrac makes one of his patented delighted noises and Jehan stands up, climbing out of the tub. Assisted by Grantaire, who mutters something about the last time they made cocktails.
“Oh don’t fuss, R,” Jehan scolds. “I’ll get the proportions right this time. Probably.” They direct their laughing eyes towards Enjolras. “You too, Enj?”
He rarely drinks, but— “Please,” he smiles.
“Yes!” Courfeyrac grins triumphantly. “This one’s going on the top of my ‘tricked both Enj and Ferre into relaxing at the same time’ list.”
Enjolras snorts, watching fondly how Jehan dressed into their floral bathing suit runs over to where Combeferre and Feuilly are absorbed in an animated conversation.
“Bonus points for Feuilly,” Grantaire speaks up.
“Oh yeah, I’m counting him too,” Courfeyrac says smugly.
Enjolras looks meaningfully at Grantaire. “Then you count too.”
“Me?” Grantaire snorts. “I don’t think I’ve ever been accused of working too hard.”
“You don’t relax either though,” Enjolras says earnestly. Because really, he doesn’t remember ever seeing Grantaire so…unbothered.
Grantaire looks a bit self-conscious at that, which was absolutely not Enjolras’ intention, but before he can say something else there is a loud cry from the other end of the garden and Courfeyrac ducks out of the way just in time to avoid and escaped ball.
“Baz!” Courfeyrac complains loudly as it splashes into the water.
“Not my fault!” Bahorel’s voice booms from across the garden, but it’s still him that comes trotting over to retrieve it.
“Liar,” Courfeyrac says, handing him the ball back. “And any aggressively thrown object is your responsibility until proven otherwise, you know that.”
“Sorry Courf,” Bahorel grins and he presses a kiss on Courf’s cheek. But whatever forgiveness that might have earned him he immediately forfeits, by following it up by planting his hand on Courfeyrac’s shoulder and firmly pushing him under water.
Both Enjolras and Grantaire scramble off their part of the bench in an attempt to escape Courfeyrac’s flailing limbs. Enjolras closes his eyes just in time to avoid getting water in them when Courf surfaces again in a spluttering fury of wet curls.
“La madre que te parió,” he screams at the already rapidly retreating form of Bahorel. “I had just oiled my hair.”
Grantaire gives a cry of protest as Courf pushes off him for leverage to climb out and Enjolras reaches out to steady him before his feet slip on the bottom of the tub.
“Christ,” Grantaire laughs with a cough as Enjolras lets go of him again and they both watch Courf chase after Bahorel, still fuming and still splashing water everywhere.
“BBQ, cocktails, Courf murdering Baz,” Grantaire says conversationally. “What more could we want.”
“Best weekend in a long time,” Enjolras smiles and he sits down next to Grantaire.
Grantaire slowly settles back down onto the bench as well, with a sideways glance that makes Enjolras expect a question, but nothing but silence follows. Luckily there’s too much screaming and laughing going on in the background for it to become uncomfortable. Not that Enjolras usually finds silence uncomfortable, but he always gets the impression that R does. There haven’t been so many uncomfortable moments though, lately. At least Enjolras thinks so. Somehow they’re getting on each other’s nerves as much. It feels easier to be around Grantaire now, easier to be friends with him. Enjolras isn’t quite sure why or what it exactly is that has changed, but he’s glad it did.
Enjolras looks at Grantaire, smiling through the wafts of steam coming off the water. “We’ve been good, haven’t we, lately?”
Grantaire’s face is very expressive, but the lines of wry amusement are too ever-present on it for Enjolras to be able to read his expressions very well.
“Yeah,” R says and he sounds sincere. “I mean, I hope we have.”
Enjolras’ smile grows a little warmer. “I’m glad.” He wonders if he could say something more about it. Ask, perhaps, if it’s something he did or stopped doing, that helped their current situation. If so, Enjolras really wants to know, so he can keep doing it—or not doing it. Because these past few weeks? Being around Grantaire without squabbling, having actual debates instead of arguments, being able to laugh at his jokes like the others we able to for so much longer… It’s been great.
So he really doesn’t understand why Grantaire is playing with the bubbles so intently right now, almost refusing to look at him. Maybe if he—
“Frozen strawberry daiquiris!”
Jehan is back, a colourful wrap bound round their waist and a glass in each hand.
Grantaire lifts his to his lips as soon as he’s taken it and Enjolras has barely smelt it when Grantaire lowers it again already.
“How much rum did you put in here, Jehan,” he says. “A thimble.”
“You,” Jehan huffs, swatting him lightly on the nose. “-are no fun to mix drinks for. Critic.”
“Tastes good to me,” Enjolras smiles, temporarily drowning in strawberry taste.
“Cause you’re a lightweight,” Grantaire jeers pleasantly, making Enjolras snort. He’s not wrong. “And so are you.” Grantaire tugs on Jehan’s makeshift skirt.
“If you don’t want it, give it back,” Jehan demands, but Grantaire hastily holds the glass outside their reach.
“That’s what I thought,” Jehan says smugly. Behind them the unmistakable sounds of Bahorel’s rather bad guitar playing have finally replaced the general racket of Courfeyrac’s revenge.
“Peace restored to the four corners of the earth?” Grantaire asks.
“Cocktails make everything better,” Jehan says wisely.
Enjolras smiles and watches Grantaire offer Jehan a sip from his glass, then glancing past them to where his other friends are beginning to gather around Bahorel and Courfeyrac. He happily raises his own cocktail, taking in another sip of pure strawberry summer. Well, tonight they most definitely do.
Chapter 2: A summer evening
Written for my sister, uploaded for Débora <3
Being with Enjolras was easier, Grantaire had found, than just being around him. And not just because he didn’t have the whole ‘unrequited feelings’ thing to deal with now. No, interacting with him was just a lot easier now he had the option to pull Enjolras into a hug instead of saying something. Everybody agreed about that actually. When they had gotten together, Courfeyrac had told Grantaire that he was now the designated source of cuddles for Enjolras. Grantaire hadn’t really paid attention to that because one, he had just gotten together with the man he’d been in love with for over a year, and two, he and Enjolras had talked about what a romantic relationship between the two of them would involve and Enjolras had been absolutely clear that cuddling would be very welcome.
By now, however, Grantaire has learned that being Enjolras’ “designated source of cuddles” is as much for the benefit of the rest of the group as it is for his and even Enjolras’ benefit…
“Grantaire!” Courfeyrac exclaims when he steps into the Musain. “You, Enjolras, couch, now.”
“Gee, Courf,” Grantaire says sarcastically. “Don’t I get a minute to take my coat off?”
“You’re not wearing a coat,” Courfeyrac points out. “Now get to holding my best friend.”
Grantaire promptly turns around and hugs Combeferre from behind where he’s sitting next to Feuilly. Courfeyrac makes an exasperated noise.
“Hi, R,” Combeferre smiles, patting his arm for a moment.
“Hi,” Grantaire grins. He lets go of Combeferre and looks around. In a corner Enjolras is sitting with Marius and Bossuet. He’s talking very rapidly and the other two look like they’ve stopped trying to cut in a while ago. Since it’s Marius and Bossuet he’s talking to and Bahorel is nowhere to be seen despite his very loud purple coat being draped over a nearby chair, Grantaire guesses this is a legal dispute. And clearly one that is making Enjolras unhappy. Actually unhappy. This happens sometimes, especially when Enjolras hasn’t had enough sleep, which is most of the time. At some point in talking about things he cares about he gets angry about them being the way that they are and if he doesn’t catch himself he’ll keep going until he goes straight through angry and into sad. Courfeyrac has several names to describe the dejected state Enjolras sinks into when he gets so upset he starts to feel sadness for the world instead of anger at the injustice in it, but everybody agrees that whatever it is called it should be avoided at all cost.
“Hey,” Grantaire says, strolling up to the couch.
“R!” Bossuet beams and he pushes himself up from the couch immediately. “Here, take my seat, not enough room to properly stretch my legs.” He pulls in a nearby chair for himself.
Grantaire sits down in between Enjolras and Marius and gives the former an affectionate nudge. Enjolras comes to sit against him in a silent return of affection, but does not cease his frantic explanation of the legal complication he is trying to convince an already convinced Bossuet and a slightly bewildered Marius of. But he’s not really arguing anymore, he’s venting.
Grantaire listens in silence, because even though being friends with Bossuet has taught him a fair bit of law, he hasn’t got a clue what Enjolras is going on about right now. In any case, he’s not going on about it anymore. Or at least not with the same speed and intensity as he was just now. Because strangely, even though Grantaire didn’t exactly do anything, Enjolras is slowing down. He leans against him more and more and when Grantaire puts his arm around his shoulders, Enjolras lets himself slide down on the couch a little so he can lean his head against Grantaire’s arm.
Bossuet and Marius watch the proceedings with optimistic caution.
“It’s just…it’s important,” Enjolras says, suddenly looking very tired.
They both nod in agreement. That is the safest response. Grantaire doesn’t say anything either, instead he pulls Enjolras a little tighter against him. The fact that he can communicate with Enjolras through physical shows of affection now instead of having to use words is probably the best thing that ever happened to him. Well, one of the best things.
There is a short, hesitant silence.
“I’m tired,” Enjolras sighs. The anger is gone, but so is the brimming sadness. He looks at Bossuet and Marius. “Sorry for ranting…thanks for listening.”
“Any time,” Bossuet grins.
“I wish I could have been more helpful,” Marius says earnestly.
Enjolras gives them a tired, but very appreciative smile and then glances up at Grantaire.
“Rough day?” he asks with a soft smile.
“Not really,” Enjolras says. “I mean, nothing specific happened, it just…I’m tired.” He lets his head slump against Grantaire’s shoulder and closes his eyes. No one says a word. The calm that settles over them is kind of like the uncertain quiet after a thunder storm that looked like it was going to come closer, but ended up passing by a couple miles off.
Courfeyrac comes over and glances at Enjolras, who is now hiding his face in Grantaire’s shirt and is very reminiscent of a sleeping child. “Oh thank goodness,” he says with a sigh. He pulls a face. “You know, I would be hurt that you’re so much better at this than I am, but to be fair you do look comfy to sleep on.”
“I’m not asleep,” Enjolras informs him, voice muffled against Grantaire.
“Shush,” Courfeyrac says affectionately.
Bahorel sticks his head around the corner of the door and glances around. “Is it safe?” he grimaces dramatically.
Bossuet grins and rolls his eyes. “Grantaire is here,” he says, by way of an answer.
“Oh good, I’ll take bullshit over law any day,” Bahorel says and he flops down on a chair.
“I’ve hardly said two words and I’m already being put down,” Grantaire complains.
“You mean you weren’t planning on talking bullshit?” Bahorel grins.
Grantaire looks him dead in the eye across the tussled mess of Enjolras curls. “Cogitationis poenam nemo patitur,” he quotes.
Bahorel’s face blanches and Enjolras lets out a muffled, but very appreciative sound that sounds suspiciously like a giggle.
“Enjolras what have you done,” Bahorel horrors.
“Hey,” Grantaire smirks. “Dirty talk isn’t his thing, gotta do something to impress him.”
Enjolras snorts and Bahorel still pretends to be horrified. Courfeyrac gives Marius, who actually laughed without turning into a beet for once, an approving smile.
“Well, I’m impressed,” Bossuet says cheerfully. “You know any more?”
Grantaire makes a doubtful sound, but Enjolras replies (without opening his eyes): “He does. He has a good head for Latin.”
“A talent you’ve been able to hide so far,” Bossuet teases. Between his law and Joly’s medical stuff there’s a fair amount of Latin quoted in their household, but Grantaire usually responds with a few sentences of broken Portuguese and dramatic arm gestures.
Grantaire huffs. If he hadn’t been holding Enjolras he would have dramatically turned away from Bossuet, but he is holding Enjolras so he is not moving. No way.
Enjolras smiles and actually opens his eyes. “Do you remember the one about-”
Bahorel rises from his seat so abruptly his chair moves back with a screech. “Do you want me to leave?” he threatens. “Because I’ll leave. Feuilly! They’re threatening me with legalese!”
Feuilly is idly folding one of the pages of Combeferre’s notebook into a lotus while listening to one of his audiobooks. “Be nice to Bahorel,” he hums. “He passed another test today.”
There’s a round of laughter and Grantaire delights in the feelings of Enjolras’ body shaking against his. He takes the opportunity to relax a little further into his position on the couch and while Bahorel complains loudly about being mocked for his tragic existence, Grantaire buries his face in Enjolras’ hair for a moment. He hums something that has no words, but a very distinctive rhythm. Enjolras hums back. They know what they mean.
Chapter 3: Enjoltaire Cuddling
Once again, written for my sis, uplaoded for Débora.
It’s around eleven at night and Courfeyrac and Bahorel are singing. Houcheloup has given up on telling them not to by now. The Musain is empty apart from them anyway. That tends to happen when they come in as a group.
Grantaire is sprawled out on one of the leather couches with Enjolras in his arms. He is almost used to this by now. Almost.
Enjolras is watching his friends perform with a happy smile diffused over his face.
Grantaire smiles too and closes his eyes for a moment. He is completely comfortable, apart from Enjolras’ hair tickling his face and he leaves that because the idea that that could be his only problem at any given moment is as hilarious as it is ridiculous. Enjolras mumbles something he can’t quite hear and he opens his eyes again. “Hm?” he hums.
“Do you know if Feuilly is still coming?” Enjolras repeats.
“Jehan said he is on his way,” Grantaire replies.
Jehan, at this time, is sleepily dancing and swaying to Bahorel’s guitar play. That is quite a feat, because it is not a song that encourages gentle swaying.
“We’ll be complete then,” Enjolras says approvingly.
Grantaire glances to a similar couch where Joly and Bossuet are sitting with a very tired, but triumphant Marius, who just got through an infamous law exam. Bossuet is still complimenting him.
“Pretty much,” Grantaire hums.
Enjolras shifts his weight and cuddles into Grantaire a little more. He grins, taking the hint and beginning to gently stroke Enjolras’ hair. Enjolras makes what he would describe as ‘an appreciative sound’, but that everyone else calls ‘that purring thing Enj does’. Grantaire doesn’t call it anything, he just considers it his favourite sound in the world right now. He makes eye contact with Combeferre over the top of Enjolras’ head and grins. Combeferre rolls his eyes and looks away with a smile.
“Want me to wake you when Feuilly arrives?” Grantaire teases.
“I’m not falling asleep,” Enjolras protests and he tries to turn around in Grantaire’s arms to give him an indignant look.
Grantaire tightens the arm he has around Enjolras’ waist. “No, stay,” he whines.
Enjolras stops struggling and snorts softly.
With the shifting of position Grantaire can now reach Enjolras’ head a little better and he softly scratches his scalp through the loose curls.
“You know, I really can’t tell which one of you is enjoying that more,” a voice says behind them.
“Feuilly!” Enjolras says delightedly and he almost sits up, but Feuilly quickly rounds the couch and gives his shoulder a squeeze.
“Stay where you are,” he chuckles. “R looks like he’d fight me if I make you get up.”
“You are a prince among men, Feuilly,” Grantaire says solemnly. “And yes, I would fight you.”
Enjolras rolls his eyes and Feuilly laughs. “I’ll be back in a moment,” he says. “Just going to say hi to the others, then we can catch up.” He’s been very busy with work lately, they haven’t seen much of him at all.
“Okay,” Enjolras says contentedly and Grantaire smirks because Enjolras is only making himself heavier in his arms.
They both watch Feuilly navigate the maze of tables and chairs, saying hi to Combeferre, Marius, Joly and Bossuet on the way, before reaching the trio of entertainers. There is a loud squeal that belongs to Jehan and a boisterous cry from Bahorel, immediately followed by Courfeyrac insisting Feuilly sings with them.
“Make that a little more than a moment,” Grantaire chuckles, watching how Jehan drapes themself around Feuilly’s neck.
“That’s fine,” Enjolras says sincerely. “I’m just glad he’s here.” The soft, flowing smile is back on his face as he watches their friends. One of his hands slides to the arm that Grantaire is hugging him with and he absentmindedly strokes him through the fabric of his shirt before placing his hand over Grantaire’s and keeping it there.
Grantaire smiles. There’s a bright flash followed by a pearl of laughter from the other couch, where Joly has taken his phone out.
“Invasion of privacy!” Grantaire yells. “Sue them for me, Enj.”
“No legal speak!” Bahorel booms from behind his guitar.
Grantaire laughs. Enjolras starts laughing too, but that might just be because Grantaire’s laughing is shaking him.
Bahorel glares around the room. “I’m warning you!” he threatens, narrowing his eyes at Bossuet and Marius as well.
Since Enjolras is too comfortable to start messing with him on purpose, the room stays free of legalese and Bahorel goes back to playing the guitar. Jehan is now sitting on Feuilly’s lap and Courfeyrac is standing on a chair, waiting for his accompaniment.
Grantaire keeps stroking Enjolras' hair until Enjolras makes a sound and turns around in his arms. Grantaire lets him, he can tell the difference between half-hearted and determined movements. Enjolras looks up at him and Grantaire wonders if he will ever not be struck by how blue his eyes are. Surely even that must become normal after a while?
“Speaking of privacy,” Enjolras begins. “There’s going to be a debate at the law faculty about the status of lèse-majesté in modern monarchies. One of my favourite professors will be speaking…”
Grantaire smiles slightly. “Sounds cool. Shall I come?”
“Would you want to?” Enjolras asks, looking straight into his eyes.
“Sure,” Grantaire says. “I’ll go to anything as long as it isn’t math.”
Enjolras gives him a genuinely puzzled frown. “Seriously, R, why do you still study math?”
“For my sins,” Grantaire answers simply.
Enjolras doesn’t argue, but he plucks at the collar of Grantaire’s shirt and says: “You don’t have to go, you know, only if you want to.”
“Why wouldn’t I want to?” Grantaire says. “I sneak into Ferre’s lectures all the time.”
“Yeah, but you also did that before you knew him,” Enjolras points out.
“So?” Grantaire says, giving a shrug with the shoulder he’s not leaning on.
“So I don’t want you to come to law lectures for me,” Enjolras says earnestly. “Only if you want to.”
Grantaire looks at him with a somewhat bemused expression. “Can I not want to come because of you?” Grantaire asks.
A slight shadow passes over Enjolras’ face.
Grantaire smiles inwardly. Because as weird as it is, this is one of the things he adores about being with Enjolras. Everything is a matter of principles with him and since Grantaire only feels strongly about a very select number of subjects that means they clash. Frequently. Like they are now. Except Enjolras is still lying in his arms and he’s clearly not going anywhere. He’s frowning, because he disagrees with Grantaire’s standpoint, but that doesn’t mean he disagrees with Grantaire. It has taken Grantaire a long time to figure that out.
“Why can’t I go to this thing because it matters to you?” he asks, sinking his voice to a more gentle tone.
“I had rather you’d go because it matters to you,” Enjolras says.
Grantaire laughs. “I don’t think you realize how few things I care about without the influence of my friends,” he quips.
The look on Enjolras’ face grows a little more sober still and the hand that was plucking at Grantaire’s collar now moves to his back as he wraps that arm around him. “Don’t joke about that.”
“Sorry,” Grantaire says. “But…I’m not joking.” He searches for the right words. “Dancing is a lot more fun when Jehan’s there, boxing a lot better with Bahorel, bad movies a lot funnier with Bossuet…”
“That’s not the same thing,” Enjolras protests.
“They’re things that matter to me,” Grantaire says, with as much sincerity as he can command. “And people that matter to me more.” He falls back into his jokey comfort zone and adds: “Imagine how hard-core I’ll be about law by the time you’re done with me.”
Enjolras snorts and tries to give him a shove, but it’s hard to shove someone you’re leaning most of your weight against.
“So, shall I come to the law thing I’m interested in because it matters to you?” Grantaire grins.
“Yes,” Enjolras rolls his eyes.
“Cool,” Grantaire says. He pulls his face into a serious expression and says with mock concern: “I can’t promise I’ll care as much about lèse-majesté as I care about you, though,” he says. “Because I don’t think that’s possible, or healthy.”
Enjolras scoffs, trying to hide how pleased he is getting the term right. “I’d like it if you came,” he says. He smirks. “Are you going to be yelling things from the back, like you do at Ferre’s uni?” His eyes twinkle. “He told me about the philosophy lectures.”
“Ferre is a snitch,” Grantaire grins. “And I didn’t yell anything except very necessary comments.”
“Nietzsche could kick Gadamer’s ass was a necessary comment?” Enjolras snorts affectionately.
“Well he could, and yes,” Grantaire insists.
Enjolras leans forward, nestling his forehead against the crook of Grantaire’s neck and laughs. Grantaire turns his head just a little so he can bury his face in Enjolras’ curls.
“I’m not going to be done with you,” Enjolras mutters, but it’s so muffled that Grantaire can’t quite hear what he’s saying.
“What?” he hums.
Enjolras pulls away to look at him and Grantaire really doesn’t agree with that, but then Enjolras repeats, very deliberately:
“I’m never going to be done with you.”
Grantaire looks at his open face and can’t think of anything to say in return, because the levels of sincerity that Enjolras can speak with would probably kill him. If he opens his mouth, he’ll probably say something self-depreciating without meaning to and he’s not going to spoil this moment. So instead of saying anything he reaches out and brushes a stray blond curl out of Enjolras’ face and tucks it behind his ear, because that is a thing he can do now. And a thing Enjolras appreciates, judging from the soft look on his face. Grantaire sees movement coming towards them and clears his throat in an attempt to regain the ability to speak. “Hi Feuilly, long time no see.”
“Yeah, sorry about that,” Feuilly grins, dragging a chair towards the couch. “So, catching up?”
Enjolras turns around in Grantaire’s arms. “Do I have to move?” he asks, half-jokingly.
“No,” Feuilly smiles, leaning back in his chair.
“Good,” Enjolras grins.
“Do I get a say in this?” Grantaire quips.
“Not really,” Enjolras says. “You signed up for this.”
“The nerve,” Grantaire huffs, but he’s delighted. Enjolras actually joking with him about consent and boundaries is life to him.
“To be fair, you do look pretty comfy to lie on,” Feuilly chuckles.
“He is,” Enjolras confides. He nestles backwards, a little closer against Grantaire’s chest and rests his head on his arm so he can look at Feuilly comfortably. “How did it go with the music box?” he asks eagerly.
“We’re almost finished,” Feuilly says happily and he begins to explain with colourful details how everybody at the workshop is half in love with the antique thing and half-terrified of messing something up. They’re woodworkers and furniture makers after all, music boxes are hardly their expertise. But it’s a big thing, mostly made out of wood and leather and with very rudimentary mechanics. The owner couldn’t find anyone else willing to even try a restoration.
Grantaire listens with interest, because Feuilly tells excellent stories. He could make a far duller subject than this interesting to listen to. Still, at least half his attention is still on Enjolras, who is lying snugly in his arms and eagerly questioning Feuilly.
There’s a flash of bright colours and suddenly Jehan is climbing on the side of the couch. “No fair,” they complain. “I want to hear the story too.”
“It’s not really a story,” Feuilly protests.
“Yes it is,” Grantaire grins. “Everyone, come listen to Feuilly’s story!”
Feuilly groans, but laughs as the others all draw near.
“Ferre!” Courfeyrac calls out and Combeferre looks up from his notebook.
“Feuilly is not telling a story,” Grantaire grins.
“About the music box,” Enjolras reminds them all cheerfully.
Combeferre closes his notebook and turns towards them, leaning on his arms. “I’m listening,” he says and Feuilly buries his face in his hands for a moment.
Jehan pats him on the back sympathetically from where they’re perched on the couch’s armrest.
“Hey move over,” Bahorel commands, pushing at Grantaire’s legs. He and Enjolras both draw up their legs a little more so he can sit. “See,” he grins. “That’s better. Now you’re actually spooning, makes for better pictures.”
Enjolras rolls his eyes and makes no effort whatsoever to move. Neither does Grantaire. He watches how Joly, Bossuet and Marius drag the other couch closer towards them so they can join without having to give up their seat and thinks back to all the other times they all hung out at the Musain. He’d give anything to be able to tell his past self that one evening he would be hanging out there with his arms wrapped around Enjolras like it’s the most natural thing in the world. That all his friends would be sitting around acting like it’s the most natural thing in the world. That Enjolras would be cuddled up against him like he thinks that’s the most natural thing in the world.
Grantaire disagrees. It’s not natural at all. It’s the most amazing, incredible, unparalleled thing and as far as he is concerned, it can last forever.
Chapter 4: In Need of Cheering Up
Inspired by Débora Cabral's drawing of a discouraged Enjolras:
Enjolras’ phone, that ended up on the floor beside him, buzzes politely. He glances down at it. It’s Grantaire… He hesitates. If he opens the message Grantaire will see he’s seen it. Enjolras keeps those time stamps on because he’s so terrible at responding, then at least his friends can see if she’s even been online or that he has seen it, he’s just gotten caught up in another moment and forgotten to reply. But that doesn’t work with Grantaire. Slowly, his head still leaning on his knees, Enjolras extends an arm and swipes to open the message.
R: howd it go? X
With a hand hovering over the screen Enjolras tries to decide what to reply. Something that isn’t a lie and that won’t make Grantaire worry. He can’t deal with a worried Grantaire right now. And Grantaire shouldn’t have to deal with him right now.
Enj: Not as good as I’d hoped. But it’ll be fine.
There, that’s good. Nice and neutral.
Enjolras frowns a little. That doesn’t seem like a completely coherent response, not even for Grantaire. But at least it worked, no more messages. He wraps his arms around his knees again. About five minutes later, if he’s any judge, there’s another buzz. Grantaire again.
R: like. if that didnt mean: come over to cheer me up you should have said
Enjolras sits up. Dammit.
Enj: It didn’t. It’s fine.
R: Ange. fine is: it went great and ill change the world or: the bastards didn’t listen and ill kick their ass. nothing in between
Enjolras groans and puts his head back down.
R: im coming over
Of course he is.
But when the door opens it sounds an awful lot like multiple people coming in. Enjolras wants to get up, but…he doesn’t. He doesn’t even lift his head when he hears Grantaire’s shuffled footsteps halt in the doorway.
“R, I don’t need cheering up,” he mutters despondently. “It’s just-”
“Oh, I’m not here to cheer you up,” Grantaire says and Enjolras glances up to see him cross the room and slide to the floor by his side. “Cause I’m guessing this isn’t a ‘I didn’t do a good job’ moment?”
Enjolras makes an angry noise. He did a great job. He talked his heart out and the council even listened, they just don’t care enough to actually do something.
“Right,” Grantaire nods. “So it’s a faith in humanity kind of thing, which I am not great at, so I have come here for this-” He wraps an arm around Enjolras and pulls him closer until Enjolras is leaning against him. “-and I brought Feuilly for the other thing.”
“Right here,” Feuilly’s voice drifts comes from the living room and a moment later he appears with a large glass of water. He smiles down at Enjolras. “Hi.”
He doesn’t feel like smiling yet, but with his head leaning against Grantaire’s shoulder and Feuilly’s eyes crinkling at him it’s beginning to feel like a better option already. “Hi,” he says.
Feuilly puts the glass down in front of him and sits down cross legged on the floor. Enjolras let’s go of his knees in favour of sinking deeper into Grantaire’s chest and looks at Feuilly.
“So they listened but they don’t want to do anything,” he says.
Enjolras blinks. How does Feuilly know these things.
Feuilly nods understandingly. “You know,” he says. “People don’t really understand ideas and ideals if they don’t feel them.”
“How can they not feel them?” Enjolras bursts out, but Grantaire has started to lean his cheek against the top of his head and Enjolras decides that moving is not something he wants to do right now.
“I don’t know,” Feuilly says feelingly. “Some people don’t. Not immediately anyway.” His eyes brighten slightly. “But that doesn’t mean you can’t teach them. It just doesn’t always work with words.”
Enjolras grumbles softly. He shouldn’t have to explain this shit in the first place. Words or no words.
“So!” Feuilly says, leaning forward and there’s a crackle of energy in the air that Enjolras has come to associate specifically with Feuilly telling stories. Stories that can go on for hours if no one stops him. And no one ever wants to stop him.
“Have I ever told you-” Feuilly says solemnly, “-about the rice pudding parties in the Maldives?”
Chapter 5: Te Amo
Inspired by this drawing (http://deboracabral.tumblr.com/post/166042820258/mysunfreckle-deboracabral-stress-relieving) and blessed by this sequel (https://mysunfreckle.tumblr.com/post/166137013666/deboracabral-quick-and-messy-part-two-of-this-x) because Deb is too good to me.
“This would be easier if you sat still,” Enjolras hums.
Grantaire squirms even more in response, nearly making Enjolras drop his brush.
They are both sitting on the floor. Grantaire cross-legged and Enjolras on his knees behind him, brushing his very thick hair with a fine-haired brush.
“Sit still,” Enjolras laughs and he scratches the back of Grantaire’s neck, just on the edge of his hairline, with his free hand.
Immediately Grantaire leans back against him, a soft, involuntary sound escaping from his throat. “That’s cheating,” he protests weakly.
“You’re implying I usually play fair,” Enjolras says, grinning behind his back.
“Why do you want to brush my hair anyway?” Grantaire mumbles, closing his eyes as Enjolras runs broth the brush and his fingers through his hair.
“You like having your hair stroked,” Enjolras points out.
“Yeah…” Grantaire hums, tilting his head to the side to follow the movements of Enjolras’ hands. “But you’re going to turn it into a fluffy mess.”
Enjolras makes a great effort to keep his voice level. “Oh no,” he says, corners of his mouth twitching. “I didn’t think of that. What a terrible thing.”
Grantaire makes an affronted sound and before Enjolras can move away, he has turned around and grabbed him around the waist. “Oh I see how it is!” he grins, trying to grab the brush. “You get to put your hair up every day, but I have to let you turn me into a sheep!”
“Yes,” Enjolras laughs, struggling against his much stronger boyfriend. “That’s exactly how- No!” He wriggles away from the grasping hands trying to snatch the hair tie from his bun. He drops the brush and Grantaire laughs victoriously.
He drags Enjolras up off the floor and onto his lap, a manoeuvre that Enjolras might have counteracted quite easily if he had had any desire to. Instead he slings an arm around Grantaire’s neck to steady himself while Grantaire pulls him firmly into the cradle of his legs.
Enjolras lets out a soft laugh. “Now your hair is half-brushed.”
“And whose fault is that?” Grantaire demands, still grinning.
Enjolras shakes his head fondly and tries to smooth down a couple of stray locks with his hand. Optimistic, but completely ineffective. He lets his hand slide down until it cups Grantaire’s cheek, thumb resting at the corner of his mouth.
Grantaire’s grin has softened to a smile. He looks up into Enjolras’ face for a long moment, before closing his eyes and moving his head towards the touch of his hand, pressing a kiss on the edge of Enjolras’ palm.
Enjolras can just hear the muffled “Te amo,” that is muttered against his skin and he’s smiling so wide his own reply is hardly more articulate.
Chapter 6: Come Again Tomorrow
“I am officially done with the world for today.”
Enjolras looks up from his screen. Grantaire is lying face down on the bed, his laptop and books pushed away from him until they’re dangerously close to the edge of the mattress.
“It’s three in the afternoon,” he points out wearily. To be honest, he’s not having the best day himself.
“I don’t care,” Grantaire grunts into the duvet. “I’m done. Day’s done. Come again tomorrow.”
With a sigh Enjolras saves his document (3000 words worth of frustrated arguments about constitutional rights under secularism and laïcité respectively) and gets to his feet. He walks over to the bed and puts Grantaire’s laptop out of harm’s way on the bedside table. The screen is full of LaTex coding and mathematical formulas Enjolras knows he will never understand. “How do you save this?” he asks, frowning at the screen.
Grantaire lifts his head and reaches out, but instead of pointing at the screen, he grabs Enjolras’ sleeve and pulls him towards him.
“I still have a paper to finish,” Enjolras protests, sitting down on the side of his bed.
“Your ratio of paper writing and angrily scrolling twitter has passed the productivity crash point about an hour ago,” Grantaire says, rolling on his back and looking up at Enjolras. “Can’t we just agree the rest of today is cancelled?”
Enjolras glances at his laptop and the stupid blinking cursor on the page. “Just a minute then,” he sighs and he lets himself fall onto the bed next to Grantaire.
Grantaire makes mildly triumphant noise and pulls lazily on Enjolras’ waist until he’s lying fully against him, his head nestled against Grantaire’s shoulder. Grantaire immediately weaves his fingers into Enjolras’ hair. Enjolras’ closes his eyes. “I said just a minute though…” he reminds him.
“Shhh,” Grantaire mutters. “Or I’ll cancel time too.”
Enjolras shifts his weight, wraps an arm around Grantaire and hugs him until he’s lying at least half on top of him. They’re clearly not going to be moving for a while.
Chapter 7: Tragically Trapped
Written because I was procrastinating like crazy, uploaded as a reward for my sister <3
Grantaire is just about to get into his car when he remembers to send Enjolras a text first. They have by now accepted that they’ll never be quite compatible as far as levels of planning are concerned, but if Enjolras knows at least vaguely when Grantaire is planning to drop by it’s fine. He appreciates an extra heads-up though, so Grantaire sends a quick: ‘Leaving now x’.
Before he can even put his phone properly back in his pocket there’s a reply. That’s unusual. Surprised, Grantaire takes it out again.
Ange: You have your key still?
Grantaire raises a surprised eyebrow. It’s nine o’clock on a Thursday. Neither Enjolras or Combeferre is home? That is very unusual.
R: Not home then? Need a lift?
Ange: No I’m home <3
Ange: Can’t come to open the door is all
Grantaire decides not to ask, sends a “fifteen minutes” flanked by random emoji’s he knows Enjolras will try a little too long to make sense of and gets in his car. When he’s walking up to Enjolras’ building form where he parked it he gets another message.
Ange: That you?
R: ~ creepy ~
Ange: I can hear your car
R: Are you insulting Bucephalus?
Ange: I wouldn’t dare
Grantaire fumbles for his keys with one hand, still grinning and still texting. He can practially see Enjolras roll his eyes.
R: ETA 3 min!
He unlocks the door and trots up the first flight of stairs.
R: 2 min!
Ange: Just be quiet coming in okay?
Now that’s less unusual, but still weird. At least at this hour.
Ange: Just get in here
Grantaire puts his phone away. The apartment is eerily quiet when he arrives. Usually there is at least music or a podcast playing. He opens the door and Enjolras neither appears nor calls out to greet him, which is definitely weird. By now slightly suspicious Grantaire drops his bag and coat in the tiny hallway and walks to the living room. He stops in the doorway and snorts. Enjolras’ rolls his eyes at him from the couch, where he has been effectively trapped by Combeferre and Courfeyrac. Ever since they started dating the both of them – especially Courfeyrac – have been very anxious to make sure Enjolras doesn’t feel left out. Tonight it seems this has resulted in Courfeyrac falling asleep on both of them in an attempt not to play favourites. He is curled up across both Enjolras and Combeferre’s lap, who are sitting very close together as a result. Even more so since Combeferre has fallen asleep as well by now, his head against Enjolras shoulder, one hand still holding his book, the other tangled in Courfeyrac’s hair.
“I don’t know what you need me for,” Grantaire quips, keeping his voice down. “You seem amply provided for. Shall I go again?”
Enjolras frowns. “I knew you’d say something like that,” he says in a disgruntled whisper. “And I know you’re joking, but it’s still not funny.”
“Okay, okay,” Grantaire smiles soothingly, kicking off his shoes and walking to the couch. “But someone has to exploit the comedy in this situation.” He carefully lifts Courfeyrac’s legs and slides into the spot next to Enjolras, putting Courfeyrac’s legs down on his own lap and wrapping an arm around Enjolras’ shoulders without disturbing Combeferre. “You, for instance-” he whispers decidedly. “-could have sent me a picture lamenting your impending death of starvation. Due to your being tragically trapped through no fault of your own.”
The corner of Enjolras’ mouth twitches.
“That would not only have been funny, but also strategic,” Grantaire says seriously, shifting his position until Enjolras can put some of his weight on him. “Because it would have made me bring food.”
“I’ll do that next time then,” Enjolras smiles.
“Good,” Grantaire hums. “You want a kiss?”
“Mm,” Enjolras mutters and he tilts his head towards Grantaire.
Grantaire presses a kiss on his temple and Enjolras leans into him a little more, making Combeferre slide heavier against him on his other side. He makes a sleepy noise, which is answered by a drowsy murmur from Courfeyrac. Enjolras smiles, letting out what is almost an audibly happy sigh and looks at Grantaire.
“What?” Grantaire asks with a grin.
Enjolras smile turns a little lopsided and just for a moment Grantaire gets lost in the near-impish amused glint in the blue eyes. “I really don’t why people are complicated about dating friends and best friends dating each other,” his boyfriend smirks. “I’d recommend it to anyone.”
Grantaire chuckles. “Well, you sacrifice your freedom of movement-”
Enjolras slips an arm down behind Grantaire’s back and presses a hand into his waist. “And where-” he says with a happy sort of solemnity that Grantaire is convinced only he is capable of. “-could I possibly want to go?”
Grantaire grins. “Likewise.”
Chapter 8: Good Morning
Written because someone asked for a good morning kiss on tumblr~
The world is a tangle of blankets. Enjolras opens his eyes just enough to ascertain a very important fact: the sun is not shining behind the curtains. That makes the universe’s suggestion that he should be awake a great deal less compelling.
Enjolras would be the first to admit that he has his weak points. Hating to rise before the sun has done so is definitely one of them. He purposefully turns his face away from the outside world and disappears deeper into the pillows and duvets.
Somewhere in the bulky nest of softness someone else stirs. Enjolras doesn’t open his eyes again, but he frowns through his half-sleep. No, no that’s absolutely not acceptable. He reaches out pulling at least one blanket with him in the movement and manages to wrap an arm around Grantaire’s waist before he gets too close to the edge of the bed.
A somewhat muffled, tired laugh reaches Enjolras through the several pillows around his head.
“Good morning,” Grantaire’s sleep-roughened voice comes through the haze Enjolras refuses to wake from.
“Ngh,” he protests, pulling Grantaire closer and simultaneously burying his head deeper in the layers of bedding.
“I was going to make breakfast,” Grantaire laughs, trying to turn around. That’s quite the challenge, considering he’s twisting himself up in duvets and quilts as well as having to struggle against Enjolras’ grip.
Breakfast is tempting, but not quite good enough compared to staying in bed with Grantaire. “Nnn,” Enjolras mumbles some more, only letting go of Grantaire when he feels that his boyfriend is now moving towards instead of away from him. A warm hand comes to rest at the back of his neck, stroking at his messy curls and Enjolras makes another noise, a more pleased one this time.
The soft shape of Grantaire’s body moves up against him, partially taking over from the duvets in their duty to keep Enjolras warm. There’s no way for Enjolras to actually know, but he can feel Grantaire is looking at him.
“Sleep,” he mutters.
The watched feeling doesn’t stop.
Very slowly, Enjolras opens his eyes. The world is a tangle of blankets, and Grantaire’s smile.
“Hi there,” Grantaire says warmly.
Enjolras blinks at him with half a frown. “Mmf.”
Grantaire’s smile comes closer, nudging past the pillows until he is close enough to press his lips to Enjolras’ cheek. “Good morning,” he repeats.
Enjolras smiles. It definitely is.
That doesn’t mean he’s getting up though. And neither is Grantaire.