Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The first time Grantaire met Jean Prouvaire, he barely noticed him. He was more focused on gathering all of his belongings, formerly in his arms and now on the ground.

“Oh, shit!” He dropped to his knees, frantically grabbing papers and books and his stupid calculator, ignoring the remonstration of a teacher (“Language, young man!”) from somewhere behind him. God, he hated middle school. It was bad enough just coming every day, learning about stuff that didn’t matter and didn’t make any sense, just dealing with all the ignorant, annoying people, all the meddling, patronizing teachers, just walking through the hellish jungle of a hallway every hour. And then something like this happened, right in the middle of the jungle. He was in the way, people were laughing, and all his colored pencils were rolling across the floor. He scooped up the pencils and counted them. Pink, darker pink, crimson red, bright red, orange, light orange, golden, yellow, light green, dark green, sky blue, ocean blue, midnight blue, god damnit the bell was ringing, purple, lavender, light brown, dark brown, light grey, dark gray, black, white, okay, go! And he got up and bolted down the hall, sparing less than a glance for the boy he’d run into.

- - - - -

Grantaire didn’t know what had gone wrong. But somehow, his drawing had turned out looking like crap. It didn’t make sense, though, because he’d been drawing train scenes for months now, and anyway, the lines all looked good. It was the color that was off, though that made no sense either. He’d used this color scheme at least a dozen times. Nevertheless, it was all wrong. The red was too dark, the blue was too soft, the yellow was too light, and the green was too… it was just wrong. It was only then that it occurred to Grantaire that these pencils might not be his. He wracked his brains, trying to remember how he possibly could have lost his pencils and acquired someone else’s, then remembered the boy he’d bumped into the day before. He’d dropped things, too, maybe colored pencils. How could Grantaire even find him, though? He didn’t even remember what the kid looked like.

So he moped for a while, mourning the loss of his colors and making do with the horribly unfamiliar ones for a week, until he was stopped in the hall by a boy with doe eyes and soft-looking, light brown hair that brushed his shoulders.

“I’ve sought you out far and wide,” the kid said in a light, breathy voice. “You have my colored pencils.”

Grantaire frowned. He was still a little sulky about ending up with the wrong pencils. “You’re the one who made me drop all my stuff,” he accused.

The boy simply nodded, a pleasant smile on his freckly face. “And at last I spotted your form, slipping through the masses, an embittered sprite with a leaden soul, to unfetter from your hold my cherished blood red and forget-me-not blue and oregano green and duckling down yellow.”

Grantaire rolled his eyes. What a weirdo. “Whatever. Look, I really want my pencils back, too, but the bell’s gonna ring. Are you a fifth year?”

He nodded again, still wearing the same dreamy smile, as well as some sort of rustic poncho and a periwinkle beret. How did a kid like this even survive in a middle school?

“Okay, then I’ll find you at lunch. What’s your name, by the way?”

“Jean. But I prefer Jehan.”

He furrowed his brow. “What’s the difference?”

“It’s the medieval incarnation of the common name. I have a passion for the medieval and feel I am anything but common,” the boy – Jehan – hummed.

“…Cool. Anyway, I’m Grantaire, and it’s been real but I gotta run.” He returned Jehan’s dopey smile (a bit sarcastically, but who would blame him?) and took off, weaving between the few people still in the hall, and arriving at his next class a minute late.

At lunch he scanned the cafeteria and located Jehan’s blue beret, setting his lunch tray down next to where the boy sat writing something in a notebook. “So, I got your pencils.” He held out his fist, with the four alien pencils in the middle.

Jehan looked up in a daze, like he hadn’t even noticed Grantaire until then, and his eyes lit up upon seeing the pencils. “Oh, thank you!” he exclaimed, though even when he exclaimed his voice was soft and gentle. “I have kept your pencils safe from harm.” He pulled them out from a pencil case and resumed writing.

“Thanks.” Grantaire glanced at the notebook page, slowly filling up with curly handwriting. “What’re you writing?”

“A poem about you.”

Grantaire almost spit out his chocolate milk. “What?”

“I’m writing a poem about you.”

He blinked a few times. “Um… why?”

“Because I just met you and you’re very interesting.” Jehan chewed on his pencil eraser. “Do you believe in God?”

Grantaire stared at him incredulously. “Uh… I dunno. Why?”

Jehan smiled serenely. “I’ve been trying to decide whether I do. I value your opinion. What do you draw?”

“What?” Grantaire looked at the colored pencils. “Oh. Um, nothing really interesting. I’m drawing trains right now. I did dogs for a while, and then cars, and then spiders –”

“Oh, can I see them, please? I love arachnids,” he said fervently, his eyes glowing.

Grantaire frowned. No one had ever wanted to see his drawings before. “Uh, sure. I guess you can.” He opened his expando and pulled out all his spider pictures, sliding them across the table.

“These are marvelous,” Jehan murmured, examining the pictures. “There’s so much realism…”

Grantaire rubbed his neck sheepishly. “Yeah, I kinda copied them from books and stuff, it’s not that great…”

“No, it really is,” he insisted. “I’ve never met anyone else who actually drew spiders instead of making cartoon emulations.” He gave back the drawings and flipped a few pages in his notebook. “I draw arachnids and insects, too. And flowers. And fungi.” He showed Grantaire a picture of a daisy with a ladybug crawling up the stem.

“That’s pretty good. So you like nature, huh?”

For the rest of the lunch period Jehan rambled on about nature and some guy called Thoreau, and Grantaire decided that a weird, poetic, poncho-wearing friend was better than no friend.

Chapter Text

After a week of spending lunch with Jehan, Grantaire started to think that Jehan was pretty cool. He liked poets and philosophers and pretty much every kind of flower and talked about them frequently. In the middle of the week he dragged Grantaire to the school library to look at books and hang out with the nerdy library kids. But even the nerdy library kids were kind of cool. There was Combeferre, who knew everything about space; Marius, who was taking all three language classes the school offered; Joly, who seemed to always be ‘coming down with something’; Bossuet, who was never seen without Joly and regularly emptied entire bookshelves out of sheer clumsiness; Courfeyrac, who hacked past the blocked websites on the school computers at least once a week; Feuilly, who did all his homework at school so he could babysit in the afternoons; and Bahorel, an fourth year in all advanced classes who passed with flying colors without ever studying. They were all interesting and fun, and they liked Grantaire’s jokes.

Except Enjolras. Enjolras had never spoken to Grantaire, aside from sharply shushing him if he and Bossuet laughed too loudly for the library. For the entire lunch period he stayed seated next to Combeferre, kept his blond head bowed, and never lifted his pencil from his paper. The only reason Grantaire knew his name was because Jehan had told him. Jehan insisted that he was really smart and nice. Grantaire thought he seemed like a pretentious stick-in-the-mud.

In addition to discovering a whole group of surprisingly tolerable people his age, Grantaire also discovered Greek mythology. He didn’t know why he liked the stories so much. Maybe because they seemed like a better version of life, yet still achingly real – aside from the magic, which was pretty awesome too. After devouring a book full of myths, he found himself itching to draw the stories and started to practice drawing people. It was hard; harder than anything he’d drawn, and eventually he got sick of trying to copy photos and just drew his friends, turned into gods. Courfeyrac was Hermes, Combeferre was Poseidon, Bahorel was Ares, Jehan was Aeolus, and he was working on others. It was especially difficult because there were a lot more goddesses than gods (probably because they were always killing each other) and Grantaire didn’t know how to draw girls.

Lunch in the library was fun, but Grantaire never really talked to any of the library kids during the rest of the day, except maybe to say hello in the hall. But one day he heard someone call his name.

“Grantaire!” It was Marius, tripping over his feet to catch up with Grantaire. “Enjolras started a club. Do you want to join?”

Grantaire shrugged. “What’s it called?”

“We’re called the Friends,” Marius declared proudly. “We do community service stuff and are nice to everyone.”

What a stupid club. “I dunno, Marius, it might conflict with my participation in the Go-Home-and-Eat-a-Lot-of-Oreos-While-Watching-Game-Shows Club.”

Marius’s eyes widened. “That’s a club?”

Grantaire scoffed. “Yeah,” he said sarcastically, “and I’m the president.”

“Really – O-oh. You’re joking.” He laughed nervously, “But really, you should join our club! It’s going to be fun. Everyone else from the library is going.”

“Hm. Maybe. When is it?” Grantaire asked reluctantly.

“Our first meeting is today after school. In the –”

Grantaire stopped outside his class. “Let me guess, the library.”

Marius nodded. “Please come!”

“Okay, okay.” Grantaire conceded. “Fine. I’ll come to the library nerd club. But I guess I am a library nerd now.”

“Great! I’ll tell Enjolras!” The bell rang and Marius took off in the other direction, yelling, “Thank you!” over his shoulder.

- - - - -

The library after school was quite unlike the library during the day, in that it was a buzz of noise and activity. When Grantaire walked in Bossuet threw himself across the room, swinging his arm around Grantaire’s neck – both to greet him and stabilize himself – while Joly followed behind, calling to them to be careful, and watch out for that book cart! Sitting at one of their usual tables, Marius was currently being punched playfully on the arm by Courfeyrac and blushing deeply, while Bahorel laughed loudly and stole a glance at a tripod of sixth year girls none of them knew, chattering at the next table. Feuilly and Jehan were folding origami frogs and making them leap into the air and land gracelessly on the floor, and after a moment Courfeyrac appeared behind them and folded an intricate paper airplane which he then launched at Marius, snapping him out of a stupor (he seemed to be staring at one of the girls). Combeferre and Enjolras were the most subdued, talking to an unfamiliar teacher.

After the books had been set right, Bossuet turned to Grantaire with a cheerful grin. “Hey! Marius said you were coming!”

“Here I am,” Grantaire responded, smiling. “And I couldn’t have been less surprised when you booked it across the room.”

Joly and Bossuet cracked up at the joke and pulled him towards the clustered group to sit down. “I think we’re starting soon,” Joly informed him. “Enjolras is very happy about the new arrivals.” He nodded towards the three girls.

Grantaire glanced at them and then at Enjolras. He didn’t look happy, his face hard and serious like always as he nodded at what the teacher was saying. He had probably been born scowling in disapproval, Grantaire thought.

Right after a short but glorious paper fight between Grantaire and Bahorel (it ended when Feuilly took a wad of paper to the eye, and he and Jehan retaliated by lobbing frogs at them), the teacher called everyone to attention with a clap of his hands.

“Welcome, everyone, to the first official meeting of the Friends!” They all clapped and Courfeyrac whooped enthusiastically, then the teacher continued. “I am M. Mabeuf, for those of you who don’t know me, and I’m going to be your advisor. Though,” he added, “I believe Michel planned on this being a mostly student-run club.”

There was a collective giggle among the others, and Grantaire looked around, confused. Jehan leaned over a whispered, “He means Enjolras.”

Grantaire turned his head and smirked. Apparently, Enjolras hated his first name, because he looked murderous – though on a face like his, murderous looked more like angry kitten. It was adorable, really. Maybe Grantaire would call him that just for kicks.

“And with that, I suppose I’ll turn it over to Michel.” M. Mabeuf sat down and Enjolras stood up, his mouth still twisted in displeasure before he seemed to gather himself.

“First of all, thank you all for coming, and I’m so glad to see some unfamiliar faces.” He smiled politely at the sixth years and went on. His voice was strong and sure, and Grantaire rather liked it. “Now, I’m sure you all know why we’re here.” He paused for dramatic effect. “We are here to promote charitable action in both our school and the greater community. We are here to spread kindness in a world full of hate. We are here to incite change!”

“And you think the library is the best site to do it from?” Grantaire called out. “How very insightful of you.”

Enjolras glowered while everyone around Grantaire burst into suppressed hysterics. “I believe I was talking, Grantaire.”

“Yeah, it was a sight to see, too.” Grantaire grinned as Bahorel laughed at full volume. “Carry on.”

Enjolras shot him one more disdainful look and returned to his speech. “To do all this we must stay united and dedicated. If anyone here feels they can’t make this commitment, then they shouldn’t bother to attend another meeting,” he stated brusquely.

“What Enjolras means,” Combeferre cut in, pushing his chair back, “is that we have a lot of hard work ahead of us and would appreciate your full participation and support.” He smiled warmly, neutralizing Enjolras’s hostility, and sat back down.

Enjolras nodded. “Our goal for the day is to appoint officers and get a sense of what our individual ideas are, but first let’s all introduce ourselves. I’m Enjolras, and I’m in fifth year.”

They went around the group, saying their name and year. The three sixth year girls were called Éponine, Cosette, and Musichetta. Once that was done, Enjolras pulled out a notepad. “Now for the elections. Does anyone have a nomination to make for president?”

Courfeyrac threw up his hand. “I nominate Enjolras.”

“Seconded,” Combeferre agreed.

Enjolras wrote his own name down and looked up again. “Any others? We need at least two nominations for this to be fair.”

Now one was saying anything, so Grantaire offered, “Courfeyrac.”

“Seconded!” Bahorel called.

Enjolras nodded and jotted that down as well. “No more? Okay, then. Well, I guess that I would be a good president because I founded this club, and I have a very solid idea of what I want to achieve here. Courfeyrac?”

Courfeyrac leaned his chair back on two legs. “I don’t really want to be president, Enj, you know that.”

“But – Well, fine. Courfeyrac’s campaign is that he doesn’t want to be president. Let’s vote.”

They continued like that for a long, boring half hour, by the end of which they had five democratically elected officers; Enjolras as president, Combeferre as vice president, Courfeyrac as treasurer, Joly as secretary (he won because Bossuet passed around his impeccable science class notes), and Bahorel as public relations officer.

When they’d finished, Combeferre stood up and handed out half sheets of paper. “Before we go, write down an idea for something you’d like to do in the club this year. You don’t have to sign them; just give them to Joly and we’ll talk some more about them next week.”

Grantaire didn’t really know what to write, so he drew a little cartoon Enjolras with his arms crossed and his mouth open in speech, captioning it ‘Michel the big shot’. If He wasn’t careful, this might end up being a serious club.

Chapter Text

“I lost my favorite pencil sharpener…”

“Dude, did I tell you my knock-knock joke?”

“I’m so hungry!”

“Guys, be quiet! Focus! We have serious work to do!”

“Yes, sir!”

“What work?” Grantaire asked, sliding into a free chair next to Feuilly. The second Friends meeting was starting in fifteen minutes, and the whole group – save Enjolras, Combeferre, and the sixth years – was already in the library.

“Marius has a crush,” Courfeyrac announced smugly. Marius went beet red. “Marius has a crush on Cosette.”

Grantaire frowned, thinking back. “Cosette’s the one with short brown hair, right?”

Marius hid his face. “She’s been in my study hall all year!” he wailed. “And I didn’t even notice!”

He grinned. “How romantic. You were wandering blindly in the dark until the dazzling light of her eyes, her smile, her desire to do community service illuminated your world.”

“That’s exactly what it was like!” Marius cried. “Just like a life-changing burst of light!”

Grantaire shrugged. “I though the other one was cuter. What was her name, Emmaline?”

“Éponine,” Jehan supplied.

“Yeah, Éponine. But each to his own.”

“Marius is going to talk to her,” Courfeyrac said proudly.

“Who, Éponine?” Bossuet asked.

“No, Cosette! He’s gonna talk to her after the meeting.’

Marius’s red face suddenly went pale. “What? No, Courf, I couldn’t!”

“Why not? Just go up to her and say, ‘Hi, I’m Marius, and I’ve been stalking you for a week’.”

“Don’t say that!” Bahorel shouted.

Poor Marius looked bewildered. “Then what do I say?”

“Mention your study hall!”

“Tell her she’s cute!”

“Ask for her phone number!”

“Write her a poem!”

“I can’t!” Marius moaned. “I can’t do any of that, I’m a coward! What if she laughs at me? What if she thinks I’m weird?”

“You are weird,” Courfeyrac assured him, “but we all like you anyway! Why wouldn’t she?”

“Why would she? I’m not even cute…” Marius mumbled.

“That’s not true!” Courfeyrac protested. The door opened, admitting Enjolras and Combeferre. “Enjolras, tell Marius he’s cute,” Courfeyrac called.

Enjolras blinked. “Why?”

“Because he doesn’t think so. Go on, tell him!”

Enjolras scrutinized Marius, who shuffled uncomfortably. “You have a symmetrical face,” he said at last.

“Ha! See? You’re cute!” Courfeyrac elbowed Marius.

“Can we get started soon?” Enjolras asked, setting down his books and surveying the group.

“As soon as the sixth years get here.”

“But it’s time to start –”

“It’s 2:56,” Jehan pointed out.

Enjolras checked the clock, and then his watch. Of course he wore a watch. “Four minutes, then,” he said grudgingly, sitting down.

Courfeyrac put his hand on Marius’s shoulder. “Remember, Marius, after the meeting you have to talk to her, and try to act natural – oh, there she is!” The girls were entering the library.

“I’m not ready for this,” Marius whispered anxiously.

“Good, we can begin our meeting now,” Enjolras said briskly after they’d sat down. “As president of the Friends I move that this meeting is called to order.”

“Seconded,” Combeferre said.

“And the motion passes.” Enjolras seemed pleased with the show of democracy. “Let’s get started! Joly, do you still have the suggestions from last week?”

“Mm-hm, right here.” He handed the papers up to Enjolras.

“Okay, I’ll read them so you can list them down before we discuss each suggestion. First is, ‘we should have a fundraiser’. That’s a very general idea, but a good one,” he allowed. “The next one says, ‘read to écoliers’, um, ‘clean litter in the parks’, ‘tutor kids’. Wow these are all really good. ‘Have a food drive’, ‘send anonymous nice notes’, and –” Enjolras’s mouth fell open and his brow furrowed. “Who drew this?” he demanded angrily, holding up the paper in his hand.

Grantaire recognized it as his drawing and bit back a laugh. He raised his hand in a peace sign, his mouth twitching into a grin.

Enjolras looked furious. “You – Of all the rude and unproductive things – Do you really care about what we’re trying to do here or do you just want to cause trouble?”

“Relax, it’s just a joke. A pun, if you didn’t notice. Michel le macher. I thought it fit, after seeing how you don’t mince your words.”

The others snickered. Enjolras gritted his teeth, scowling. “Don’t call me that!”

“Boys,” M. Mabeuf interjected, “let’s try to get along, alright?”

Enjolras glared at Grantaire once more and turned his attention back to the notes. “Of course,” he said icily. He ripped Grantaire’s drawing in half and pushed it aside, like it had never existed. “Back to business.”

Grantaire sunk down in his seat, not knowing how to explain the heavy disappointment in his chest.

- - - - -

“Do it. Go!”

Marius shook his head rapidly. “I-I can’t.”

“Marius, go!” Courfeyrac needled him. “Talk to her.”

They were all standing outside the school, clustered around Marius, a few feet away from Cosette, Éponine, and Musichetta. The last girl looked over at them and said something to Cosette, who looked right at Marius. Marius snapped his head down, flushing.

“Come on, Marius, we can’t stand here all day,” Courfeyrac whined. “Go talk to her. Marius. Marius?”

“There’s mud on my sneakers,” Marius whispered, horrified.

“Oh my god,” Bahorel groaned. He pushed Marius from behind, making him stumble towards Cosette and the other girls. “Just get it over with.”

Marius glanced back at them, terrified. They pantomimed their encouragement, and he finally seemed to brace himself and walked over to Cosette, stammering out something that made her smile shyly.

The rest of them payed rapt attention. Bahorel and Feuilly bumped fists and Courfeyrac pretended to wipe away a tear. “He’s growing up so fast,” he whispered, as Marius rubbed the back of his neck and Cosette played with the ends of her hair, laughing.

Chapter Text

“Put your right hands up!”

“As the official Friends, we pledge to be kind and helpful, to be friendly without judgement, and to oppose bullying in our school community.”

Enjolras smiled in satisfaction. “Good. See, this pledge shows that’s there’s always an opportunity to make the world better, no matter how small. Courfeyrac, would you like to explain the next item on the agenda?”

Courfeyrac stood up, bouncing on his feet. “Yep! Okay, so you all probably remember that we decided to talk more about having a charity of the month. If we did that, we’d vote on one every month and plan a fundraiser to donate to that charity. The great thing about this idea is that we can work on other projects at the same time, but always know that we’ll have something going on. So I move that we vote.”

“Seconded,” Enjolras said. “Those in favor of having a charity of the month?”

The vote was unanimous, and after another vote they decided the charity of the month for December would be One Voice, an animal rights organization.

Grantaire thought that would be the end of it, but he was proved wrong. In the next meeting they had to discuss what kind of fundraiser to do, as well as voting on it. After that, they had to assign roles to participate. Enjolras insisted that each assignment be proceeded by a motion. Grantaire thought that the whole process would be a lot quicker if they didn’t have to vote on stupid things like whether to buy new markers, and he told Enjolras as much.

“What did you just say to me?”

“I said democracy isn’t always the best thing to have. I mean, seriously: we have one working marker, and even then it’s pretty crappy. Not to mention that it’s orange and the only poster paper we have is also orange. Why wouldn’t we buy new markers? Voting on it is stupid and a waste of time.”

Enjolras’s nose scrunched up. Grantaire had realized that he always did that when he was about to lose his temper. It was kind of funny; making Enjolras mad. “That’s totally not true! If we don’t vote, then we aren’t being fair. Do you want corruption in this club?” he demanded.

Grantaire scoffed, “Come on, how corrupt can a club of twelve year olds be?” (He ignored Bahorel’s protest of “I’m thirteen!”) “The officers should just make the decisions; it’s not like you or Combeferre or anyone is going to do anything that’d be bad for the club.”

“But that isn’t how democracy works!” Enjolras stamped his foot and Grantaire almost laughed. Almost. “If you don’t want a democracy, then join some other club, where the president does everything so you can just sit around and waste time on stupid drawings!”

That was the one thing about bugging Enjolras – there was always a certain point when it stopped being funny. When Enjolras threatened to kick him out and said things like ‘stupid drawings’. Grantaire kind of wanted to cry when Enjolras said things like that. He pretended to laugh instead. “Nah, I can get away with it easy enough here. Thanks for the offer, though. Your compassion never fails to impress me.”

Enjolras scoffed and turned away from Grantaire’s table. “I think it’s time to vote. All in favor of using budget money for new markers?”

It didn’t hurt quite as much, but Enjolras ignoring Grantaire was just as unfunny as when he was mean to him.

- - - - -

“Joly, what are you doing?”

“Making the poster!”

“That doesn’t even look like ice cream!” Grantaire exclaimed.

“Plus, ice cream isn’t orange,” Bossuet added.

“Sherbet is!” Joly retorted. “And Marius forgot to get the new markers.”

“That looks horrible! Get out of the way; I’m drawing the ice cream.” Grantaire rummaged through his bag and found his own set of markers. “No one’s going to want to go if they think it’s a vomit social.” He flipped the paper over and started drawing cartoon ice cream cones marching across the bottom of the poster.

“It didn’t look that bad…” Joly pouted.

Bossuet laughed, crossing his legs and sitting next to Grantaire. “You’re good at lots of things, Jol, but art isn’t one of them.”

“Yeah,” Grantaire agreed, adding sprinkles to the ice cream and a cherry to the leader. That one was Enjolras. Ha. “But the letters looked good. You can do those.”

“That’s our secretary supreme!” Bossuet grinned and poked Joly in the side. He yelped and soon enough they were having a tickle war on the floor of the library.

“Guys, stop! I almost messed up!” Grantaire laughed, blindly pushing them away when Joly accidentally elbowed him.

“Will you three please stop rough-housing and focus?” Enjolras marched over to them, his hands on his hips.

Grantaire lifted his head. “Don’t look at me, Michel, I’m the one working for once.”

“Don’t,” Enjolras said shortly. Grantaire knew by then that ‘don’t’ was an abbreviation of ‘don’t call me Michel’. “And as for your work – Oh. Well.” He actually looked at what Grantaire had drawn – he’d inserted a banner held by the ice creams reading ‘One Voice’ in capital letters – and seemed surprised, to say the least. “Well,” he repeated.

“I was picture. Joly’s gonna do the words,” Grantaire informed him.

“Well,” and that was the third time he’d said it, “good job, I guess.” He acted like saying that to Grantaire felt entirely unnatural.

Grantaire shrugged. “I draw stuff. It’s what I do.”

Enjolras still looked completely nonplussed. “Okay, then. I’ll… check on the others.”

Just as he walked away Bossuet rolled sideways into Grantaire, knocking all the markers askew. “Oof! You guys, stop! Joly, it’s your turn. Do the letters.”

Considering that until those posters appeared in the hallways no one had really heard of their club, the ice cream social was a great success. Grantaire maintained that anyone would show up to an event with ice cream and brownies no matter what the cause was, but it was still fun to steal tastes of ice cream when Enjolras wasn’t watching and make dumb jokes that got everyone laughing, and it wasn’t even too boring watching the speeches. Enjolras and Musichetta both gave speeches about One Voice and their cause, and of course everyone was very polite and clapped so they could have their ice cream. Grantaire even kind of liked Enjolras’s speech. Seeing how excited Enjolras got about protecting animals made Grantaire want to get that excited about protecting animals. He didn’t really know what it was – something about his tone of voice, maybe, or the great high school level words he used. But all in all, the first official charity of the month fundraiser went so well that it was decided heartily that they’d do it again every month.

With all the fundraising, Grantaire almost forgot about the semester ending, and didn’t even expect it when he got a new schedule in homeroom. It was almost the same, except for one study hall before lunch that had been changed to a different room. He thought nothing of it, until he located the room and walked in to see a familiar blond head bowed over a book.

Oh, this was going to be a fun semester.

Chapter Text

“Hey,” Grantaire sat down to Enjolras’s right. “I didn’t know you were gonna be here.”

He didn’t even look up from the book, tucking his hair behind his ear.

Grantaire frowned. Maybe he didn’t think it was him being spoken to. “Hey, Michel,” he tried, “I’m talking to you.”

That got Enjolras’s attention. He snapped his head up and glared at Grantaire. “Stop that!” he snapped. Then he paused. “What are you doing here?”

“Semester changed.”

“Oh. Right.” Enjolras nodded in acknowledgement, then went back to his book.

“What’re you reading?” Grantaire tilted his head sideways to read the cover. “The Red and the Black, huh? What’s it about?”

“The Restoration and hypocrites, as far as I can make out,” Enjolras responded.

“Sounds like a barrel of laughs.”

Enjolras shot Grantaire a disdainful look. “Can you leave me alone?”

Grantaire pretended to consider the idea. “Hmmm. No.”
“This is a quiet study hall!” The teacher had appeared in front of them.

Enjolras looked nothing short of triumphant as Grantaire was shunned to the back of the room. It didn’t really bother him. He busied himself drawing Enjolras as the Statue of Liberty, with his pretentious book in one hand and a sign that said “I like big words” in the other. He carefully folded the paper and threw it at Enjolras.

Enjolras gasped, his back stiffening, and it took all of Grantaire’s strength not to burst out laughing at just that. He turned sharply and glowered at Grantaire, his nose scrunched up.

Grantaire mimed in the air, mouthing, “Open it.”

Enjolras frowned suspiciously, picked up the paper, and unfolded it. His expression became mutinous and he slapped it down onto his desk with a vehement huff, scribbling something on the page and then throwing it back at Grantaire, perhaps a bit harder that necessary.

Below the picture, in spiky handwriting, was, ‘Why are you always making fun of me???’.

Grantaire snickered under his breath and wrote back, ‘Everyone needs a hobby, Michel’.

‘DON’T CALL ME THAT!!!’ the reply came quickly. Enjolras had drawn a little angry face next to the message.

‘See, it’s funny. You’re cute when you’re mad.’

Enjolras stilled for a moment longer than usual while reading the note, then wrote something and sent it back. ‘Did you just call me cute?’

‘Why,’ he wanted to say back, ‘is that weird?’. He inexplicably felt heat rising in his face and ducked his head. ‘I just meant, you know, funny.’ That was what he’d meant, right?

‘Are you gay?’

Grantaire did a double take. Yes, that’s what it said. He knew for certain he was now blushing to the tips of his ears. What kind of question was that? Why would Enjolras ask? Was it because Grantaire had called him cute? He hadn’t meant it like that. ‘NO. NO WAY.’

‘Oh.’

‘Why?’ It was such a crazy question, he had to know.

‘I was just wondering.’

‘Are you?’ Grantaire asked. ‘Gay, I mean,’ he clarified.

‘I don’t know. I’m too young for relationships anyway.’

Somehow that response made the conversation even more confusing. Grantaire felt obligated to explain himself. ‘I don’t have a problem with it or anything. I’m not scared of being gay. I just know I’m not.’ He added, as an afterthought, ‘I like girls.’

‘Okay. I was just wondering,’ Enjolras repeated.

Grantaire needed to change the topic. He didn’t know if he could take any more of this. He drew a picture of Enjolras pulling back an arrow with the sun blazing behind him and captioned it with, ‘Look, you’re Apollo’.

‘At least it’s not Michel anymore,’ came the grim reply.

From then on things were a little different between them. The next day Grantaire sat with Enjolras, swearing up and down to the teacher that they would be quiet, and they wrote to each other. Enjolras told Grantaire about his book and how it was all supposed to show how self-interested and contradictory people were. Grantaire replied that no one should be surprised by that, and in turn presented Enjolras with a plethora of examples of human hypocrisy in Greek mythology. After the class was over they walked to the lunchroom and then the library together, and Enjolras continued their discussion, saying that he was certain he could find as many examples of inherent human goodness in Greek mythology if Grantaire would give him a few days.

The meetings, however, were the same as they’d always been. Grantaire didn’t really know how to explain it; maybe Enjolras wanted to keep up appearances. Maybe he thought that being friends with a good-for-nothing layabout would make him look bad. Whatever it was, he completely ignored Grantaire when they were with other people; unless, of course, he was yelling at him. Grantaire didn’t really mind. Enjolras had started apologizing after he said something horrible, and really, it was good enough to have their study hall. Grantaire wasn’t one to look a gift horse in the mouth.

He’d started to learn a few things about Enjolras after talking to him so much. First of all, he wasn’t quite as stuck up as Grantaire had thought. Second of all, he was stubborn as an ox and when he had an opinion nothing could change his mind. In all fairness, he was just as smart as he was stubborn and usually managed to hold his argument together until Grantaire got bored of poking holes in it. The few times he saw he was losing whichever debate they happened to be having, he went into full pout mode, with his eyebrows furrowed and his nose scrunched up and his lips tight and sulky. Every time it happened the word ‘cute’ sprang to Grantaire’s mind again. It didn’t mean anything, though, really. It was just an observation.

In the past weeks, Marius and Cosette had kept dancing around each other, much to the delight of their friend group. At any opportunity one of them would start off until they were all either teasing Marius or bombarding him with mostly terrible advice. Marius didn’t mind, too busy being smitten to really care about much else.

“She sits with me in study hall now!” he announced rapturously one day in the library, putting his hand over his mouth after Enjolras shushed him.

Grantaire rolled his eyes and turned his attention back to Marius. “Oh, yeah? You guys are taking things pretty fast, when’s the wedding?”

Marius grinned sheepishly while Joly and Bossuet started humming Mendelssohn’s wedding march. Grantaire snickered and waved his hands like a conductor, accidentally whapping the side of Enjolras’s forehead.

Enjolras snapped his head up, glaring. “Will you stop?” he hissed.

“Sorry, Apollo,” Grantaire whispered back, “but I don’t think you understand that this is a joyous day. Marius is engaged!”

Joly and Bossuet burst into hysterics as Enjolras tisked and huffed and Marius smiled, blushing and blushing.

Chapter Text

‘Happy Valentine’s Day,’ the caption said. Grantaire watched anxiously as Enjolras scanned the picture. It was a full color drawing of Enjolras as Apollo; a better, cleaner, more realistic incarnation of the doodle he’d done over a month ago. It had taken him a week, and he’d even done it on printer paper instead of loose leaf.

‘Are you ever going to stop making fun of me?’

Grantaire’s heart plummeted. He hadn’t been meaning to make fun of him! ‘I thought you would like it,’ he scrawled back quickly. ‘It’s not a joke, you know I do mythology drawings.’ Or did he? Did he even pay attention to the things Grantaire drew?

‘You have others? Can I see?’

‘Well, the only ones I have are really old. They aren’t as good as this one.’ Would Enjolras think it was weird that he’d made a drawing for just him for Valentine’s Day and not anyone else. Was it weird?

‘Oh. Thank you, I guess.’

Maybe he didn’t mean that. Maybe he didn’t like it. Should Grantaire apologize? He wanted to for some reason, but maybe it would seem weird. Or maybe Enjolras would say something like, ‘You should be sorry’. Grantaire felt about ready to fall through the floor. He changed the subject.

- - - - -

“The Enjolras on the bus goes –”

“Will you all shut up?” Enjolras yelled, interrupting the seventh verse of Grantaire and Bossuet’s rather crass rendition of The Wheels on the Bus.

Bossuet fell over, cackling, while Grantaire grinned broadly and kept singing, right to Enjolras. “The Enjolras on the bus goes will you all shut up! All shut up! All –”

Enjolras stomped his foot on the floor of the bus, cutting Grantaire off. “I’m serious! You better not act like this when we get to the nursery school, or I’ll –”

“Tell on me?” Grantaire finished mockingly. Enjolras just crossed his arms and glowered. “Don’t worry, Apollo, I know how to behave myself in a nursery room. Just watch; I’ll be a model student volunteer.”

All of the Friends were on their way to one of the local nursery schools to read to a class of écoliers. Grantaire didn’t see the point – he thought most of the kids would forget the experience within a year – but he got out of science, math, and Spanish class for it. And now he was on a bus with all his friends, making fun of Enjolras. Much better than trying to figure out if the word ver was a false cognate.

“Grantaire!” Courfeyrac leaned over and poked his ribs. “Who’s your kid?”

“I don’t know.” Grantaire took the paper with his assigned reading buddy’s name out of his bag of picture books. “Gavroche,” he determined after a moment.

“Gavroche Thenardier?” Éponine looked over the seat. “That’s my little brother.”

“Really? What’s he like?”

“Cheeky,” Éponine said bluntly. Grantaire and Courfeyrac laughed. “And obsessed with dinosaurs.”

“Huh. Hey, everyone,” Grantaire shouted. “Trade me for your dinosaur books!”

By the time the book swap was complete, the bus was pulling up the nursery school. Just to make Enjolras mad, when they’d gotten off the bus Grantaire sang as loud as he could, “The wheels on the bus go round and round –” before Enjolras whipped his head around with a venomous glare. The others laughed and Bahorel affectionately smacked the back of Grantaire’s head, and they walked into the building and were led to the nursery room.

Gavroche took very enthusiastically to Grantaire, regarding him as some kind of dinosaur book god, and after they had read all six of the books three times Grantaire taught him the more nursey school appropriate verses of his song. Enjolras was furious when he heard them singing, and it was worth every single time Gavroche demanded, “Again!” after they finished a book. Before they left Gavroche hugged him around the middle and made him promise to come back with more books, and at the next meeting Éponine said, “We better do that reading buddy thing again, because my brother will not shut up about how great Grantaire is.” The next time around Grantaire brought a story he’d written and illustrated; a five-year-old-safe version of Jurassic Park with Gavroche as the hero. Gavroche loved it, and hugged him again when he told him he could keep it. Enjolras at least, seemed impressed, and even mentioned it in study hall: ‘You’re really great with your reading buddy, I’m glad that idea worked out so well’.

School was nothing like it had been before for Grantaire, maybe because he had friends now. The weeks flew by and the Friends somehow managed to make a name for themselves even as a five-month old club. Soon the winter was dwindling away, and Jehan’s thirteenth birthday was coming up. He invited all of the Friends to his house to sleep over. It turned out that everyone could go except Cosette, who said her dad didn’t want her to at a boy-girl party. Grantaire couldn’t remember the last time he’d been invited to a sleepover. Probably in seventh year before all his friends started playing sports and got popular. Anyway, he said he would definitely be there and then accidentally arrived an hour early.

“Oh my god, I’m sorry. You probably aren’t ready,” he exclaimed when Jehan let him in and told him how early he was.

“No, it’s fine. Come upstairs, I want to show you something.”

Grantaire followed Jehan through the high-ceilinged house to his room, every visible surface cluttered with trinkets and books and paper. The ‘something’ turned out to be a collection of small glass and wire insects, a birthday gift from his parents. They stayed up in Jehan’s room until the others started to show up, and Grantaire left his bag upstairs when the doorbell rang, announcing Courfeyrac’s arrival.

“Happy birthday!” he shouted when they opened the door. “Let’s party!”

Chapter Text

“Spin the bottle! Spin the bottle!” Courfeyrac and Bahorel chanted, while Courfeyrac waved around his empty soda bottle.

“Get in a circle!” Bahorel bellowed.

After a good minute or so of shuffling about, the entire group was seated on Jehan’s living room floor in a vaguely circular configuration. Grantaire glanced around, registering Bossuet on his right and Jehan on his left and Enjolras four seats away. Stop it, he told himself. There’s no reason it should matter where Enjolras is sitting. In any case, the game was starting, as Courfeyrac grandly proclaimed that as the birthday boy, Jehan had the honors of spinning first. Bahorel shouted, “Only kissing on the mouth counts! The game ends after everyone’s spun!”, and they were off.

Grantaire watched as Jehan kissed Bossuet and Bossuet kissed Combeferre and Combeferre kissed Feuilly and Feuilly kissed Joly and Joly kissed Éponine until Grantaire lost track, falling on his back laughing at his friends’ antics. Just about everything seemed terribly funny, probably mostly due to the late hour and the sugar coursing through his veins. He felt a pang of something bitter watching Marius awkwardly smash his lips against Enjolras’s, but he brushed it off and laughed with the others. The whole room was a bit of a giddy blur, as everyone yelled and shrieked and the bottle whirled. For a split second silence was heavy in the air as the bottle landed on Grantaire. Everyone started to giggle while Grantaire found himself staring at Enjolras, a flush creeping up his neck and the thought racing in is mind that he was about to be kissed by Enjolras. And for a moment it didn’t really matter why it mattered that it was Enjolras and not anyone else in the room. All Grantaire could think was that he felt like he’d remember this forever. Then Enjolras’s voice, shrill and indignant, pierced his thoughts and the world came back into sharp focus.

“No! I don’t want to!”

The group fell silent, collectively gaping at Enjolras. “Hey, that’s not fair,” Courfeyrac protested. “Everyone else did it!”

Enjolras crossed his arms. “It’s not fair that you’re trying to make me do things that I don’t want to do!” he retorted.

Grantaire was barely listening. Now his thoughts were pounding, pounding against his head and repeating each time that Enjolras refused to kiss him, Enjolras didn’t want to touch him, Enjolras didn’t want to have anything to do with him. He registered a dull ache in his chest while the others debated over whether Enjolras should be allowed to spin again. He wanted to sink into the floor. At least it would be quiet, and no one would be looking at him, and he would never have to face Enjolras again.

“No, because Grantaire hasn’t spun yet! It’s the easiest way!”

“We can’t just skip –”

Grantaire didn’t hear anymore. He had to get away. He got up and left the circle and the room and kept going, ignoring the confused shouts behind him and not stopping until he was in Jehan’s bedroom with the door closed behind him.

He paced in circles, rubbing his forehead. Stupid Courfeyrac and Bahorel with their stupid bottle and stupid kissing game. He kicked Jehan’s bureau and immediately felt bad. The same ache was still pulsing through him and he sat down, pulling his legs close to his chest, like that motion might make it stop or protect him from whatever had made him start. His fists clenched and unclenched as he reeled. Why did it bother him so much? It just didn’t make any sense at all. Unless it was the one sneaking suspicion that had recently creeped its way into his mind. But no, every time he considered it, it seemed ridiculous. Even though there’s no other explanation, especially now, the part of his mind he tried so often to ignore chimed in. He sighed and buried his face in his knees, his eyes shut tight and his head throbbing.

How long he sat there trapped in his own head before Jehan nudged the door open, he didn’t know. After minutes of hearing nothing but his spinning thoughts, his ears picked up the sound of the door squeaking, and then Jehan’s soft, soothing voice.

“Hey, Aire? I just wanted to tell you that we’re going to be downstairs for the rest of the night, and, well, you can come down any time if you want.”

Grantaire lifted his head and forced a smile. “Okay.” There was no way he was going back down there.

“Or,” he continued, “if you want you can stay up here. You can sleep in my bed.”

“Thanks, Jehan.” Grantaire met Jehan’s eyes and saw them full of worry. He quickly dropped his gaze. “Sorry for, uh, you know… ruining your party,” he mumbled.         

“You didn’t ruin it,” Jehan insisted. Grantaire sensed a hesitation, then Jehan asked, “Are you okay?”

Grantaire’s fake smile slipped, and he hugged his knees tighter. “I… I guess,” he answered. “I don’t know. Not really. I –” He stopped short and looked at Jehan. “If I told you something would you not tell anyone else?” Jehan nodded solemnly, so Grantaire braced himself to continue. “I… I think… I think I like Enjolras. Like like. A lot. Only it doesn’t really make sense, because I’m not gay. I know I like girls, so I can’t be. I like girls,” he repeated. Despite that one fact, now that he’d voiced his suspicion it didn’t seem nearly as far-fetched.

“But you also like Enjolras,” Jehan said gently.

“I just don’t get it!” Grantaire ran his hands through his hair, frustrated. “And it’s all so stupid, now with that stupid game…” He sighed, toying with his shoelaces. “I hate feeling like this,” he said quietly. “It makes everything hard.”

The next thing he knew Jehan was by his side hugging him. “I’m sorry,” Jehan murmured. “I wish I could make you feel better.”

Grantaire didn’t think anything could really make him feel better, but the hug was helping. “Thanks for listening to me whine about my stupid emotions.”

Jehan laughed softly. “Well, what are friends for?” He stood back up. “I guess I should probably go back down. Are you sure you’ll be okay?”

Grantaire shrugged. “Yeah. I mean, as okay as I’m going to get.”

“Well, okay. Bye.” He left, closing the door behind him and laving Grantaire alone with his new revelation.

So he liked Enjolras. And now he knew that Enjolras hated him. The others had done it, but he couldn’t even tolerate the thought of touching Grantaire’s lips. That explained the ache. Heartache, his mind supplied. What was left an enigma was why Grantaire had a massive crush on another boy. Maybe it was because Enjolras was just so pretty. Almost like a girl, if Grantaire stretched his imagination. But not really. Not if he thought about the almost permanent hard set of his jaw or the strong, commanding tone of voice he tended towards. Could it just be an exception? Was that a thing?

It didn’t really matter now, though, a bitter voice in the back of his head said. Even if he liked Enjolras for a million more years, there was no way Enjolras would ever like him. So he should just get over it. At that thought a lump caught in his throat. All the hyperactive energy of earlier had left him and now he felt completely drained. He heaved himself up off the floor and changed into his pajamas. He just wanted to go to bed.

Jehan’s bed was piled with fluffy things that Grantaire looked forward to hiding under, possibly forever. After turning off the light he crawled into the cocoon of bedding, clutching his unravelling-at-the-edges baby blanket.

Even then he couldn’t sleep right away. His mind was still whirring away, reminding him over and over that he liked a boy and that boy didn’t like him and he hadn’t even known he liked boys and he didn’t know what to do, and the lump in his throat grew and before he knew it he was sniffling and sobbing into his blanket, overwhelmed and just so confused and feeling completely alone.

Chapter Text

‘I’m sorry about what happened on Saturday.’

Grantaire frowned uncertainly and glanced at Enjolras. When he didn’t write anything Enjolras took the paper back and wrote more.

‘I didn’t mean to be rude. I just really didn’t like the game.’

Well, that was sweet. He was too polite to say, ‘I just really don’t like you’. ‘Oh.’

Enjolras must have sensed that he didn’t believe him, because he kept explaining. ‘I wasn’t even sure I wanted to play to begin with and I knew I didn’t want to play after Marius, but I spun anyway because, well, you saw how they were, and then I just sort of snapped. It wasn’t about you. I’m sorry.’

‘Why didn’t you want to play?’

Enjolras took a while to respond. ‘It made me uncomfortable. I don’t like kissing. It’s weird.’

‘Aww, little baby Apollo must protect his virgin lips’. Grantaire couldn’t help but tease him; plus, he had an instinctive urge to take the attention off of him and his little tantrum.

He watched as Enjolras read the note and slowly but steadily turned bright pink. When he wrote back it was in a flurry of feverish anger and embarrassment reflected in his words: ‘Can’t you take anything I say seriously??? Don’t act like I’m a prude just because I didn’t want to play a stupid kissing game!!!’

Grantaire instantly felt like a jerk. ‘I didn’t mean it like that! Well, I did, but it was just a joke.’

Enjolras read the message but didn’t even pick up his pencil, his eyes darting between Grantaire and the paper before settling on the ceiling, his lips pressed into a thin line.

Grantaire sighed and took the paper back. ‘I’m sorry’.

That time Enjolras dignified him with a response, but it wasn’t much better than his silent treatment. ‘Just forget about it.’

- - - - -

Grantaire sat at the family computer, compulsively glancing over his shoulder every other second as he typed into the search engine, ‘is it normal to like girls and boys?’.

Somehow, he couldn’t find a definite answer. He combed articles and blogs and forums, but each person seemed to have a different opinion on whether he was a freak of nature. One word kept turning up, however; ‘bisexual’, so he pursued that.

He was making his way through an infinitely confusing Wikipedia article on bisexuality when his mom popped her head into the computer room and he almost knocked over the keyboard in his frenzy to close the window.

“What are you doing, sweetie?”

“Video games,” he answered, hoping his mother wouldn’t notice how high pitched and strained his voice was.

“Hm, that’s nice. Just make sure you finish your homework, and I’ll call you down for dinner, okay?”

Grantaire nodded, feeling his ears go red. When his mom closed the door he let out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding in and brought the Wikipedia page back up.

- - - - -

‘Have you heard of bisexual?’

Enjolras’s brow scrunched up in thought. ‘Being attracted to both genders? Yes. Why?’

Grantaire hesitated, fiddling with his pencil. Oh, what the hell. ‘I think I’m bisexual.’

‘Oh. Okay’

Grantaire glanced at Enjolras nervously. What did that mean? ‘I hope it doesn’t bother you or anything.’

‘No, of course not! Good for you. You know, coming out.’

Well. Grantaire hadn’t thought of it that way. In his mind he’d just been divulging an ordinary secret, but it did seem that there had been a metaphorical closet involved that he’d failed to notice.

While he was thinking Enjolras reclaimed the paper. ‘Do you want me to keep it on the down low?’

Grantaire cracked a smile. Down low? Who said stuff like that? It just made Enjolras seem even more adorable. ‘No, you can tell whoever. Might as well, now that I’m out. Except maybe not my parents. I should probably do that.’ He regretted the feeble attempt at a joke as soon as he passed the paper over. It was so lacking in humor that Enjolras might not even realize it was a joke. How idiotic could Grantaire possibly get around him?

Luckily, Enjolras laughed softly and sent back a smiley face. ‘Yeah, probably.’

Grantaire stared at that cheery little face and wondered if he was old enough to know what love was.

- - - - -

Before long, all of the Friends knew that Grantaire was bi, and none of them gave him a hard time at all. To be honest, most of them didn’t really care – except for Jehan, of course, the only one who knew Grantaire’s real secret, and whispered ardently to him one day in the hallway that he’d like to write a love sonnet about him and Enjolras, if that was okay.

Grantaire shrugged. He was quite used to odd requests from Jehan. “Yeah, I guess. Just don’t put our names or anything in it.”

Jehan nodded, smiling. “Oh, of course not! It’ll be much more romantic without names!”

Grantaire honestly didn’t know whether Enjolras had noticed all his embarrassing feelings. He managed so frequently to say the wrong thing or only the most obvious thing – at least in his mind – and Enjolras acted completely normal. It didn’t make sense, really. He should have noticed. Or maybe, Grantaire occasionally thought with a twinge of guilt, he kind of wanted Enjolras to notice.

Despite all that, school kept him busy until the end of the school year was fast approaching and a fifth year commencement dance was announced. The Friends got permission to change the entrance fee from five euros to five euros and a canned good, something they were also doing for the other commencement dances and the third year graduation dance. Bahorel bragged loudly about bringing a pretty, funny girl from his year to the fourth year dance, and Marius made Cosette blush and giggle by shyly whispering to her that he wished she could come to the fifth year dance with him, but it seemed that all the other Friends were just going as a big group – and Enjolras had insisted that they all go, if only to contribute to their food drive. Grantaire then made fun of him for being such an antisocial homebody, and added in some rather suggestive comments about being more of a partybody himself. Enjolras told him off, saying that he didn’t even care about the club or people in need, and Grantaire sulked until Enjolras apologized in study hall the next day. It was what they did.

- - - - -

“Are you enjoying yourself?”

Grantaire looked up from the water fountain, wiping his hand across his mouth. “Yeah.” He sat down next to Enjolras, on the benches serving as a blockade between the dance attendees and the dark, empty hallways. “Are you?”

Enjolras shrugged. “Not really.” In the cafeteria a few feet away a new song came on and every single girl in the fifth year screamed. “I don’t like being with so many people. And I don’t like dancing.”

Grantaire glanced at him and considered poking fun at him again. But it’d been a nice night, and he didn’t want to ruin it. Maybe he could even make it better. “Do you want to enjoy yourself?” Was that suggestive? It sounded suggestive to Grantaire.

Enjolras was scrutinizing him. “Sure,” he finally said.

“Okay, just stay here.” He stood up.

“What are you doing?”

Grantaire grinned. “Just watch.” He casually walked back into the cafeteria, waited for a pause, then emerged again, jogging over to the chaperone standing guard at the water fountain. “Hey, I think I saw a fight in there!”

As soon as she was out of sight Grantaire looked both ways and ran past the benches and rounded the corner, grabbing Enjolras’s hand on the way. “Come on!”

“You’re going to get us in trouble!” Enjolras hissed, following behind.

Grantaire stopped at a pair of doors blocking off the next hallway. “How? No one saw us go. And if we’re careful, no one will see us go back.” He was still holding Enjolras’s hand and never wanted to let go. He tried to quell his disappointment when Enjolras pulled his hand away.

“And how is this supposed to be fun?”

“Not as many people. And no dancing.” He smiled and sat down, patting the patch of floor next to him.

Enjolras sighed and reluctantly joined him. “That’s true,” he allowed.

So they talked. They talked about anything and everything; their friends, the club, fourth year, what they wanted to be when they grew up, books they’d read. It was just like study hall, except they could actually talk out loud, or at least at a low murmur. And somehow it was nicer. Grantaire felt like they were the only two people in the world.

“Do you like anyone?” he heard himself say. Oh god. What was wrong with him?

Enjolras didn’t say anything for a moment. “Combeferre.” Well, that was disappointing, although Grantaire wasn’t really surprised. Those two were almost always together. But Enjolras was continuing. “Courfeyrac. Joly, Bossuet, Prouvaire, you. Everyone in the group, really. Even Pontmercy isn’t so bad.”

Oh. “No, I don’t mean as a friend! As more than a friend.”

There was a much longer pause. “No one,” he said quietly.

“No one?”

Enjolras shook his head, avoiding Grantaire’s eyes. “No one. And I don’t want to like anyone, either, I don’t want to have a boyfriend or a girlfriend, I don’t want to kiss anyone, and there’s nothing wrong with that!” He sounded frustrated. Then he took a deep breath. “Sorry.” Everything was silent, except for the thump of music from the direction of the cafeteria. Enjolras looked at Grantaire. “Do you like anyone?”

He really should have seen that coming. And now that Enjolras had said what he’d said, what did it matter, anyway? “Yeah.” He prepared himself to be rejected. “You.”

Enjolras looked gobsmacked. “Me? But why?”

Grantaire shrugged. “Who knows.”

He was silent again. “I guess you can probably tell that I have a lot on my mind and I don’t really want to… date you or anything. But it’s not – I don’t want to date anyone.” He hesitated. “I’m sorry.”

Grantaire tried to smile. “Don’t be. And don’t worry about it. Don’t… let it bother you. Maybe… we could just agree to pretend this never happened?”

Enjolras nodded. “Agreed.”

No one noticed them slip into the cafeteria from a back door Enjolras said he hadn’t even known existed, and no one questioned it when they joined the other Friends, and they never talked about what happened at the fifth year commencement dance again.

Chapter Text

Enjolras stumbled into the nurse’s office, cupping a hand to his face as blood gushed out of his nose.

“Yes, what can I do for you – My goodness!” The nurse’s voice turned remonstrating and hands hurried to steady him and steered him to a sink. “Have you been fighting, young man?” He shook his head and she clucked her tongue, pressing a wet washcloth to his face. “Two in one day, I can’t believe it.” Soon enough he was handed a scratchy paper towel. “Hold your head back and pinch your nose until it stops.” She guided him to a cot where another boy was already sitting. “Stay here,” she ordered. “My, my, I’m going to have to call a custodian for all this blood…” Her voice drifted away and Enjolras closed his eyes, sighing.

“Long time no see, huh, Apollo?”

His eyes snapped open. Only one person had ever called him that. He did his best to glance sideways. Sure enough, there was Grantaire, holding an ice pack to a blossoming bruise on his jaw. “We see each other all the time,” he said, his voice nasal from stoppering his nosebleed.

Grantaire scoffed. “Yeah, but when’s the last time we talked? Second year orientation?”

“Probably,” Enjolras conceded.

Once they’d gotten to high school, Grantaire had somehow slipped away from their group, falling in with a more popular and less academic crowd – though Enjolras thought he still talked to Jehan sometimes. He and Enjolras hadn’t really communicated at all. All Enjolras knew was that Grantaire wasn’t in any of his ultra-accelerated courses and that he’d developed a reputation as someone who would fool around with anyone.

“So, who punched you?” Grantaire was asking.

“A misogynistic asshole.”

Grantaire didn’t ask him to elaborate. “Okay, then.”

“Who punched you?” Enjolras asked in turn.

“Just some guy. His girlfriend dumped him and he found out that she made out with me

the same night.”

So, the gossip about Grantaire was true. “Oh.”

“Hey, what happened to the Friends? Abandoned once we graduated, or…?”

Enjolras shook his head. “Éponine has a younger sister who’s in the club. It’s still going strong. And her little brother, Gavroche, he wants to join when he’s in sixth year.”

Grantaire barked out a laugh. “Oh, Gavroche! That fucking kid. I wonder if he’s still crazy about dinosaurs,” he said fondly.

“I would assume so; most nine year olds are.”

“So, what do you have to keep you busy without meaningless shows of community service?”

Enjolras wrinkled his nose. But he was right; their club had been pretty frivolous and childish. “I’m president of the Queer-Straight Alliance now. You should join; everyone from the Friends is in it.”

“Well, I dunno, Apollo, it might interfere with my participation in the People-Who-Get-Shitfaced-On-Weekends Alliance.”

Enjolras huffed. “Fine, then, if you think you’re too good for my club –”

“Relax, Apollo, it was a joke. I’ll think about it.”

“You should. Like I said, everyone’s in it.”

“How is the old gang? How are Joly and Bossuet?”

“They’re doing well,” Enjolras replied, and continued to tell him about how the two accidentally asked Musichetta on a date within an hour of each other last year, and now the three of them took turns going on dates every couple weeks. They chatted about old times and Grantaire asked after all their old friends until Enjolras’s nose stopped bleeding, and he could look at Grantaire properly. He hadn’t seen him so close in a long time, and he’d definitely changed. His hair was as unruly as ever, but a little longer; there was a silver hoop in one of his earlobes; and Enjolras thought that Grantaire was shorter than him, which hadn’t been the case back in middle school. More than anything, he looked tired, with bags under his eyes and careless, sloppy stubble and what looked like a bit of smudged eyeliner on his lids. Evidently, the ‘People-Who-Get-Shitfaced-On-Weekends Alliance’ comment hadn’t entirely been a joke, and Enjolras couldn’t say he was surprised.

“And what about you? How’ve you been?” Grantaire asked at last.

“Fine,” Enjolras said. “Like I said, I run the QSA. I don’t have much else going on.”

“To the contrary, Apollo, I think you’ve got it all going on.”

“Are you making a pass at me?” Enjolras said sharply.

Grantaire grinned wolfishly. “Maybe. In all seriousness, though, you can’t have forgotten the fifth year dance.”

Enjolras blinked. “I thought you never wanted to speak of that again.”

He shrugged. “Well, I mean, it’s been four years. I’m sort of over it.”

“Sort of.”

“Yeah, sort of.”

“What does that mean, ‘sort of’?”

He had barely finished the question when Grantaire’s lips were on his. He froze and pushed his hands against Grantaire’s chest, sliding away from him. “What was that?”

Grantaire didn’t answer. “So. You still think kissing is weird, huh?”

Enjolras’s cheeks burned. “No! I just – I don’t – I’m not interested in a relationship that’s physical before it’s anything else, which I gather is what you’re primarily interested in.”

Grantaire bit his lip and looked down at his sneakers. Enjolras could tell he was hurt. He always had possessed a talent for saying rude, thoughtless things to Grantaire, hadn’t he?

“I’m sorry. That was presumptuous.” Grantaire didn’t say anything, so he continued. “What I meant was… Here’s the thing. I’m demisexual. I don’t want to have anything physical with anyone, at least not right away.”

“Okay. I get it. You’re not interested. Whatever. I was just taking a shot in the dark.” Grantaire told his feet.

“I didn’t say that,” Enjolras said, frustrated. “Do you want to go on a date?”

Grantaire’s head snapped up. “What?”

“I said, do you want to go on a date?”

“I know what you said, I just… what?” he repeated weakly.

Enjolras sighed. “I want to get to know you. And then, who knows, maybe I’ll want to kiss you. But not yet. Do you want to go on a date or not?”

Grantaire nodded, still looking shocked but smiling all the same. “I – Yeah, of course! And, uh… sorry I kissed you without asking. I won’t do that.”

“Thank you.” He pulled out his phone. “What’s your phone number?” Grantaire rattled off the number and Enjolras sent him a simple, ‘Hey.’ “That’s me. I’ll text you, and we can plan something.”

He nodded again, a crooked but gentle smile on his face. “Yeah, okay.”

The nurse marched over to where they sat just then. “I see you boys aren’t tending to your injuries anymore. Back to class, then, both of you, and no more fighting!”

They left together with passes from the nurse and Grantaire walked with Enjolras to his classroom. “Well, see you around.”

“Come to the QSA meeting,” Enjolras requested again. “We meet on Thursdays, in –”

“The library?” Grantaire finished, smirking. Enjolras rolled his eyes and nodded. “I’ll be there.” He looked like he really meant it, too.

“Great. Well… bye.”

“Bye.”

Enjolras thought for a second, kissed Grantaire’s uninjured cheek, and left him in the hallway, biting back a smile.