Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

He had been living in Berlin for 5 years now. 

He was currently working on a piece in his studio, which he rented in the city with his own money, made from the commissions he sent across the world that people paid him for. His life seemed like a dream at times, like he couldn’t believe he actually was one of the lucky ones. He wasn’t painting portraits of rich people’s dogs anymore, making just over minimum wage drawing for children’s books or caricatures for the newspaper. No, he had his own style, his own materials that he liked using, that people recognised him for. He had an online queue for commissions, a manager, exhibitions in small galleries across Europe. Somehow, he had made a name for himself. 

He was sticking little white papers onto his canvas when he got the text, but he didn’t see it until hours later, when he left the studio. He had a routine; he turned on no disturb as soon as he started working, painted until he got hungry, got food from the salad bar next door and continued working until inspiration stopped coming to him. It had taken him three years to develop a routine, and one more until he realised that routines were supposed to serve him and not the other way around. 

This is to say, years ago Grantaire would have jumped at the buzz of the notification, ran to his phone, pulled at the skin around his nails, and called his friends to find a perfect non-obsessive totally cool reply. Now, it was 9pm, and his non-gloved hand started freezing in the cold outside air as he stared at the contact name in his phone.

It’s not like his friends hadn’t visited since he left. 

Joly and Bossuet came every 6 months, their biyearly visit was a sacred tradition at this point, they even had their own bed sheets at his place. They had carved themselves a spot amongst his new friends, had stayed up many nights talking him out of bad decisions, knew the names of all his boxing coaches, and sometimes it almost felt like he never left. Jehan was not far behind, on top of their usual visits, their writing job had put them in Berlin many times and Grantaire’s walls were full of poems and stories they had written for him. Bahorel and Feuilly came with the other three to celebrate his recent 28th birthday, and had made a tradition out of coming for his exhibitions and pretending to be rich men interested in buying pieces. They said it put pressure on real buyers and increased the value of his work. When he stopped needing their help, they just started ironing their dress shirts increasingly worse, and said this made art connoisseurs appreciate the universality of his paintings. Courfeyrac had also come for his 28th birthday, and his 26th, and was the first ever visit he received when he came for his 24th. In true Courfeyrac way, he had made half his new friend group and a couple partners fall in love with him in the process. 

Even Combeferre, though he refused to stay at Grantaire’s place, had come exactly three times. The first was because of a research conference happening around his area - they got coffee together and barely spoke, he didn’t know what to make of his watchful gaze, Combeferre paid, and Grantaire left more confused than he came in. The second time, he said he was curious about the work he was exhibiting at a local gallery, though Grantaire still swears he caught him smiling and looking at his pieces for way too long to not be fond. He returned less than a year ago, they got coffee with his friends and walked around the city, went to the Pergamon, laughed at tourists taking pictures in the East Side Gallery, and it felt like the strange friendship they had shared all those years ago. He got a notification later that he’d bought one of his newest works, a deep blue 3D canvas that Grantaire thought went perfectly with Combeferre’s vintage living room design.

There was a glaring missing visit. For years it formed a hole in his chest, one that he tried to fill with hook-ups and parties and relationships with people that always looked at him in a way that made him uncomfortable. And for years after that, he tried to fill it with therapy and taking walks in the afternoon and doing affirmations in the morning; he tried to fill it with the sounds of his friends laughing, his weekly facetimes with Joly and Bossuet, the poetry books Jehan sent him, stable relationships with beautiful, fascinating, passionate people. And the thing is, he had succeeded. Half way through the process he realised that he may never fill that hole, but that maybe that was okay, that he could let bad things happen to him and not get stuck in misery. That he didn’t have to let life happen to him just because of the boy he fell in love with at 18. 

So when he saw the text at the top of his phone screen he had to steel himself on the pavement and rub at his eyes to make sure he was seeing right. He didn’t feel like the lovestruck 18 year old he was when they met, or even like the hurt and resentful 23 year old he was when he left. He just felt the cold breeze, and half-stared at his phone.

Enjolras [17:03]: Hello Grantaire, it's Enjolras. I will be in Berlin next week - do you know any good hotels around the city centre? Thank you. 

It took him a couple seconds to regain his composure. He put his phone in his wallet, and turned on his heels in the opposite direction. 

—

“You know it’s common courtesy to call people before you show up at their doorstep?”

Grantaired looked at the dark-eyed woman in front of him and pouted. “Sure, but it’s an emergency.” He said, letting himself in and jumping on the couch.

She looked at him, unimpressed.

Eponine’s apartment was on the first floor of a charming street close to Friedrichsfelde. It had wooden floors and most of the decor was inherited from the elderly woman who lived there before them. She slept on a pull out couch in the living room because she wanted to leave Gavroche the small room next to the bathroom. The kitchen had a window under which Grantaire liked to sit and doodle when the sun shone just right. Eponine didn’t like keeping the paintings he made for exhibitions, but she liked the improvised sketches he made when inspiration struck. One of them hung on top of the sofa he was lying on, a picture of the weird group of friends they had found themselves in after years of just them two. He remembered the day he drew it, looking inside into the living room from the north-facing balcony that no one used, where his friends were scolding Gavroche for stealing from the Späti next door. (‘Come on dude, it’s like the only good one in a 2 km radius.’ ‘What are we going to do if we get banned from this one Ep?’). This apartment was just as much home to him as his own.

She closed the door behind her and spoke, mockery in her voice “If you cry about losing out on another vintage leather armchair from Facebook Marketplace I swear Grantai–.” She stopped talking as he stood up and placed his phone directly in front of her, and blinked at the message sitting unopened in his lockscreen. 

“What the fuck” She said, plainly. A dry sound escaped from her chest, almost like a laugh, but with no humour. 

“Trust me you are not more shocked than I am.” Grantaire locked his phone away and sat back down.

“Is this the Enjolras?” She was staring at him now, stuck in place, wide eyes scanning for any emotion across his face. 

“Who else has that name Ep, please be serious.” He surprised himself by sounding more annoyed than desperate, and figured Eponine sensed the same, as her shoulders seemed to relax when she rolled her eyes at him. 

“What am I supposed to know about you French people and your weird names?”

Grantaire laughed and looked up at her. With the half hour it took him to get here it was almost 10pm, and she clearly was getting ready for bed. She had her dark curly hair in a bun, and was wearing the purple robe he got her for their last Secret Santa. Behind her hung pictures of their friends. Frames filled with a freckled blushing boy, a pretty blonde with a blinding smile, a small boy that grew up as the pictures went on - and him, always beside her, always surrounded by her sarcasm and her derision and her love. 

“How am I supposed to reply?” The furrow on his brows disappeared as he caught sight of Eponine's scornful gaze, and was easily replaced with an amused smile. 

“He hasn’t talked to you since before you left Paris, it’s pretty unfair of him to expect an answer.” She lied down opposite him and threw her legs over his. There was a small bowl with grapes on the side table, which she reached into and offered him as she spoke again. “Plus, he’s a massive dick and I bet he’s not even that hot anyway. All those pictures Joly showed me were edited.” 

His brain, distracted by the grape offering, took a second to catch up to what she said. “Joly showed you pictures of him?” 

“There’s a lot of things you don’t know about me and your friends R.” She winked.

“What the fuck is that supposed to mean?” She shrugged at him, feigning innocence, which he responded to by raising his middle finger. In response she just laughed loudly and slapped his leg. 

Their friendship had gone through many phases after the night they met, drinking at a bar. They had stayed up until 8am talking over a small round table covered with glasses of rum and gin, catching each other up on all matters regarding their respective broken hearts. For months after, they explored the city from bar to bar, taking turns making sure the other got home. When Courfeyrac surprise visited for his 24th he took them to a nice restaurant, and when they dropped her off she said she’d stick with him if all his friends were the same cool type of rich. He knew then they’d be attached at the hip, and through the years he’d been proven right time and time again. Through bad nights and great days, through odd jobs, take-out Korean BBQ, art magazines that Grantaire tried to make Eponine read, through everything they had stood by and grown with each other. When Eponine came crying because Marius found a girlfriend, Grantaire called in sick to his then job and they had a long weekend watching movies, and when Eponine poked fun at him Grantaire pretended he couldn’t see right through it. Months later, when Eponine moved into her new apartment, Cosette was at her side laughing about a weird regular in her beer garden, and Grantaire was inside helping Marius set up her new table. They had seen each other's worsts and still decided they liked the other enough, and from Grantaire’s previous experiences, he knew nothing was a stronger foundation for friendship. 

“Help me Ep!” This years-long friendship also meant he could increase his dramatism to his heart's desire, raising his arms over his head and bending his body against the sofa, and she could only raise her eyebrows and scoff at him in return. “What am I even supposed to say? It’s not like I can tell him ‘hey you ruined my life for years and now everyone that’s ever met me knows your name and also yes of course here’s an itemised list’”

She seemed to seriously consider what he said, as if he would ever have the balls to speak to Enjolras like that. He never did find him as terrifying as other people did, but he imagined he rehearsed his disappointed look every day in the mirror and with the time that had passed he wouldn’t put it past him to have discovered how to convey it via WhatsApp. “You should do that and also make sure the list only has hostels with bed bugs. I’m actually pretty sure Gavroche has that list somewhere, he should be back any time now.” Between all the problems they had come to the other with, they had learnt to read the other freakishly well. Sometimes, the smallest glint in his eye would let her know that he just needed her to turn on the tv and make popcorn - other times, she would hug him and pretend she couldn’t feel the tears falling on her shoulder. A long time ago, they would have ended the night with an empty bottle of rum and him asleep on her floor. But now, he just looked at her earnestly, and she shuffled closer to him, tapped his leg with hers and smiled softly before speaking.

“R you don’t have to reply to him if you don’t want to, and you don’t have to meet him even if you do decide to answer, okay?” 

They locked eyes for a moment, before he put his hands over his face, rubbing his eyes. “I know, I know… It’s just…It’s been five years of no contact, I had to half keep up with him through our friends, who also aren’t too happy to tell me about him.” A knot had formed in his throat, and he started picking at the skin around his nails before continuing.  “Like, last time I saw him we were screaming at each other, and we had to almost force Bossuet at knifepoint last time he was here to tell me he was working as a lawyer.” 

At this, Eponine furrowed her brows, thinking. “Actually, why didn’t Joly, Bossuet, or anyone tell you he was coming?”

His eyes regained focus at her words. It was weird that he hadn’t heard from anyone, which meant either Enjolras didn’t tell anyone he was coming but thought to tell him of all people, which was unlikely - or his friends had been keeping this from him, which was basically impossible. He groaned at the realization and rubbed his hands over his eyes again, whether for comfort or to stop any forming tears, he didn’t know.

“Why would this even affect me? It was so long ago and I’m not sickly in love with him anymore.” 

“You know you can feel nothing for him and still feel for the boy he hurt, he was horrible and yes it was years ago but it still happened. It can still awaken emotions in you that your past self was neglected like that.” He knew to listen to her when she got this serious. Despite all her mockery, Eponine was way too wise a woman for her 27 years of age, and she gave level-headed advice that he had ignored way too many times. He knew that especially about this topic, she had been hardened by experience. 

As if on cue, Gavroche appeared through the front door, going for subtlety and completely failing as he knocked over Grantaire’s bag in the foyer. Eponine looked at him, an apology in her eyes, before getting up and walking decidedly towards Gavroche. 

“Well! Look who’s here! It’s Mr. I’ll Be Home By Nine.” She had a way of sounding and looking murderous to anyone else, but between the quieter tone she usually took with her brother and his general disregard for authority, the best she could muster was a shrug from Gavroche. 

“We went for dinner after the movies.” He said matter of factly, walking into the kitchen and increasing his voice to be heard over the running sink. “Why is Grantaire here? Did he lose out on another Facebook Marketplace chair?”

Grantaire matched his tone as he answered. “No and I’d say it’s a much more important matter but I can think of very few things that matter more than idiots selling precious pieces for peanuts.” And then to Eponine, quieter, “I'm sorry, is my Marketplace habits something you guys discuss behind my back?” 

She shrugged. “You did cause a big scene that one time.”

Gavroche walked back into the living room, with a bowl of cereal for himself and a glass of water for his sister. He imagined that was how the Thénardiers apologised, glasses of water and half smiles.

“What is it then?” He asked her, as if Grantaire wasn’t in the room at all.

Eponine took the offered glass and responded, clinical as ever. “Enjolras texted him, he’s coming to Berlin next week.” 

Gavroche widened his eyes and finally looked at Grantaire, his cereal spoon halfway through the air as if paused in time. “The Enjolras?”

He didn’t know if this was just the normal response to realizing the man he had ranted about for years was real, or if Enjolras really was a very common name in the southern part of Bavaria the siblings were from. “How many Enjolras do you even know?”

“I don’t know French people have weird names.” Well that answered that then.

“That’s what I said!” Exclaimed Eponine, high fiving her brother with a grin on both their faces. 

“You are both so annoying.” Grantaire groaned. 

Eponine looked back at him, and despite the humour still present in her eyes, he could tell there was a question in them. Before Gavroche could continue asking about Enjolras’ text, she responded “Sorry, insights into Grantaire’s personal life are reserved for adults and for teenagers that arrive home on time, I don’t make the rules.”

Gavroche scoffed at her, and with his best sarcastic tone brought his hand to his forehead in a salute and said “Whatever, Chief.” As he turned around and back into his room, he said “Bye Grantaire, have fun with Mr. Liberty Leading the People.” 

He waited for him to disappear behind his bedroom door before saying “He has very impressive references for a 15-year old you know? I will take credit for that.” Eponine stared back at his words and raised her eyebrows. 

“Whatever makes you sleep at night hun.” She put down her glass and sat back down, clapping his leg. “Back to business, what are you going to do about him?” 

He thought for a second, more for her than himself. He knew he had already made up his mind. “I need to get home and call Joly and Bossuet, there has to be something I’m not getting if they didn’t know he was coming.” 

That seemed to be the correct answer, as she half smiled with a proud look in her eyes. Still, she asked. “You know you can stay the night right? I’m not working tomorrow, we can have a girls night.” He knew her enough to know that the offer to continue their old ritual was part of her Grantaire Emotion Assessment. There was a time where he would have attempted to fail or rather, pass, with no regard to what his needs actually were. Now, he just looked at his hands and responded sincerely. 

“I know, it’s just… I need to talk to them first.” He still could never say no to her though, so he added “I’d love to meet with Marius and Cos tomorrow though?”

She smiled and leaned back on the couch, adjusting her robe as she did so. “Cosette is working, but we can meet at her bar tomorrow night. I’ll text the group chat.” 

“Let’s do that.” He knew she hated whenever he voiced any gratitude for her unwavering friendship and support, but one of the very few things he loved more than Eponine was to make Eponine uncomfortable, so he added. “Thanks Ep, for everything.” There was still candour in his words, despite the layer of irony in them.

“Don’t get soapy on me dude.” And because she was an expert at reading his mind “I love you too or whatever.”

He laughed as he stood up and leaned down to give her a kiss on the cheek. He could feel her smile as he did, and he couldn’t help but smile in return. At the door, he reached for his bag, and put on his coat and beat up sneakers. “See you tomorrow princess, I’ll text when I get home.”

He could feel her eye-roll as she followed to hold the door open for him. “You do that R.” She waited a beat before continuing, softer, “and remember you don’t have to do anything you don’t want to.”

“I know.” He looked back after walking out onto the staircase, “Thank you again.” He waved back as she said her goodbyes, and walked down the floor that took him onto the cold street.

-

Only four metro stops separated his and Eponine’s apartment, but the 15 minutes it took him to walk into his Friedrichstain apartment felt longer than it ever had.  

He had always had an ability to land the best flats in every city he lived in, but he was still very lucky to find his current one. It was a third floor walkup close to Boxhagener Platz, with a big living room covered almost entirely in framed pictures, paintings, and posters. He had a brown leather couch over which he had sellotaped many of the material memories his friends had made him throughout the years. Dried dried flowers from Cosette, napkins with Jehan’s tableside poetry, pages of notes ripped from Marius’ notebook, sticky notes in Eponine’s handwriting with differing ways of saying ‘coming back in the afternoon don’t burn the house down’ written on them. There were also memories from his time in Paris, pictures of Joly and Bossuet, a ticket to one of Bahorel’s boxing matches, an old tic-tac-toe game he had played with Feuilly on a coffee shop receipt. He even had a doodle of Combeferre, glasses on and looking deep in thought as he read a book. 

He was proud of his apartment. This time, he had been able to make it a home, and not just a studio that he sometimes also slept in. With Marius’ help, he had also learnt how to cook properly and managed to keep a fridge full of groceries. 

After leaving his things by the entrance, he walked into his kitchen and grabbed an apple from his fruit bowl. Courfeyrac had drawn a ‘What?!?!’ as a bubble text over a dog with a surprised face on it when he first saw the bowl on his 26th birthday party. It now faced outwards and stared at him as he bit into his apple and walked out towards his couch. 

He laid down and pulled out his phone. He quickly texted Eponine to let her know he was home and found Bossuet’s contact. The anxiety over finding out whatever there was to find out was almost overtaken by his excitement at talking to his friends. Joly’s busy hospital schedule and his work on his current exhibition meant their last weekly catch up was shorter than usual, and if he knew anything about his friends, it was that their lives were eventful enough to fill a whole three hours of call about just five of his ordinary days.

He only had to wait two tones before he heard Bossuet’s voice. “R! Hi!” He could hear rustling on his side before he had a chance to answer. “Wait, did we change our call time again? We’ve been so busy with Chetta moving in I’m so so-” He cut him off with a fond laugh before he could continue rambling.

“No Bossuet, it’s fine, I just wanted to check up on you guys.” He still had not had the chance to meet Musichetta, as she had been busy the last two times the guys came over, but he could feel the happiness radiating from both his friends whenever they talked about her and that was enough to make him love her. “Is Joly around? I need to tell you something.” 

“Aw! Nice, that’s so nice dude for real. Yes he’s building the new table, last time I stepped on a screw so he’s taking over”. He quietly laughed as he heard more rumbling from the other line, and a ‘Joly!’ followed faintly by walking. 

“Grantaire?” This time in Joly’s voice. 

“Hi guys, how are you?” He answered, lounging back and taking full advantage of his long sofa.

“Hi R! We’re good, it’s so nice to speak to you.” Despite texting almost every day, Joly still sounded earnest in his excitement over speaking to him. The realization filled him with affection, and erased whatever amount of anxiety was still left in him. “We’re good, I took off the hospital today and we’re helping Chetta rebuild the furniture she brought over. She has the cutest sofa table R. You're going to love it when you see it.”

His friends still spoke like this, like he could crash at their flat the next day and tell them about his day while they made his favorite pasta. It’s not like he hadn’t visited since he left, he definitely had. He went for Joly’s graduation, for one of Bahorel’s matches, he went for Feuilly’s 27th birthday and had been in the city a couple times for no reason except seeing them again. Still, he had missed far too many special occasions, which he was deeply ashamed of. The funny thing was, the reason why he had avoided being in Paris for so many of their big moments was also the only person that would hold it against him. That’s why they had matched so well, he was the only person that agreed with all the reasons why he hated himself.

The silence from the phone brought him back to the present. They were expecting his answer. “It’s so nice to speak to you too, guys. Send me a picture of the table, I bet it’s so much better than whatever Bossuet convinced you to steal from the street last time.”  

He heard an offended scoff and a phone being passed. “It matched with our rug!” 

“It had blood marks on it, Bossuet.” Joly’s laugh engulfed the line and he smiled as he put the phone on his chest, switching the speaker on. 

They began an easy conversation, with Grantaire telling them about finishing his last painting for the exhibition and the commission he had started working on. It was a light blue canvas that resembled the ocean from above, using white paper to simulate the breaking waves. His client, a middle-aged man from Munich, wanted him to paint him with his husband lying on the water, smiling at the onlooker. He had loved talking to the man, and Joly and Bossuet both awed at the concept behind the painting. 

“I can’t believe our friend is a famous painter, I feel like a nepo baby.” Joly exclaimed with glee. 

“Well the second I can get anyone into any fancy restaurants or events trust me you will be my first call.” He responded, matching his joy. He needed a second before he remembered “Actually I promised Jehan and Cosette first, but you will be my plus three.”

Joly seemed to be equally happy with this, “I will take any and all privileges you bring my way.” He couldn’t see him, but he knew he had put his hand over his heart as he said this, and that he was only half joking. He heard Bossuet kissing Joly over the line and smiled even wider. 

“Ew, get a room you two.” 

“You’re just jealous we have someone to kiss over our cool sofa table, and you only have the cool sofa table.” He knew his friend was joking, but he couldn’t help but let out an empty laugh at how scarily close to the reason for his call he was. He had almost half forgotten.

The bad part of having great friends is that great friends notice changes in your mood, even when they are thousands of kilometers away. “Everything ok, R?” He heard Joly ask. And then, Bossuet “Wait, you said you had something to tell us, is that what it is?” He felt his mouth dry for a second, which seemed to be long enough for them to take it as a yes. 

A voice came from the phone “Really? I’m sorry, I didn’t know, is it Floréal?”

There was humour in Joly’s understandable rationale that his heart matters must be related to her, and not their mutual acquaintance about whom they had heard adorned improvised poetry for years. He and Floréal had dated for just under eight months, and had broken up amicably four months ago. It took him a little over two weeks and a couple of crying rants with Cosette and Eponine to really get over it. She was gorgeous, long straight black hair and thick eyelashes framing her beautiful eyes. More than that, she was passionate, charismatic, kind - she could make anyone in a room fall in love with her. And he had, and somehow she had shared the sentiment, and they had a beautiful relationship that necessarily ended when they realised they were too similar to maintain the same fire they had at the beginning. He had seen her a couple times since, and she gave him two kisses each time and looked as glad to see him as he was her. 

And yet, “No, it’s not about her.”

There was a beat of silence after his answer, when he realised he had spoken too rushedly to be inconspicuous. 

“Is there someone else? What happened?” The kindness emanating in his friend's tone didn’t make him uncomfortable, but rather broke down some kind of final wall he had built up inside of him without realising. He didn’t want to cause any issues in Les Amis, and he was frightened this would cause a stir. But Joly and Bossuet were worried, and he knew the others would be too, and if they really didn’t know anything then maybe there was something wrong that they needed to know; and he needed their advice. 

“Enjolras texted me.”

The silence that followed was far longer than the last. He felt he needed to fill it somehow.

“He’s coming to Berlin next week. Did you know?” He unwillingly let out a nervous laugh. His friends still didn’t speak. He wished he had video called them, at least then he could try to read their expression. This silence was impossible to discern. 

After what seemed like ages, Bossuet spoke.

“What?”

And then Joly.

“Do you think he…” The sound trailed off after this, like someone had put their hand over the microphone. He could still hear them mumbling to each other, but was only able to pick up every other word. Of all the possible outcomes he had conjured up in his head in the last 30 seconds, none involved this, and somehow it was still the most terrifying. What was going on with him?

“Guys, could we maybe involve me again in this conversation?” He was not surprised to hear his voice trembling. He felt like he was trembling. 

The silence continued for a few more seconds, before he could hear Bossuet clearing his voice, as if having come to a resolution. “R, we need to tell you something.”

He was clearly out of practice with his anxious thinking skills, because nothing could have prepared him for what Joly said after.

“We haven’t really talked to Enjolras in a while.”

The Amis had many rules, but they (and by they he meant Enjolras and to a lesser extent, Combeferre) disliked being told they did. He remembered a late night at the Musain, alcohol rushing through his veins and words, angering their fearless leader about the obvious rule that none of the Amis should interact with certain people or hold certain views. Enjolras had argued through gritted teeth that that is simply how good people should behave, and asked if he regularly interacted with fascists. Raising his glass of rum as a toast, he laughed, and said “Ah but Apollo, the existence of a should necessitates a rule. Whether I agree or disagree doesn’t matter, you need to read up on your Wittgenstein.” What he didn’t realise then was that yes, the Amis did have many rules - but most of them came from the active practice of friendship. 

They didn’t go to Courfeyrac’s ridiculous karaoke nights because they wanted to, but because he asked them. They didn’t call Joly whenever there was news of flu outbreaks because they were told, but because they knew he would be having a hard time. They didn’t bring Feuilly lunch at work and texted to make sure Combeferre hadn’t forgotten to eat when he was at the library because Enjolras forced them, but because they cared about them. And they definitely didn’t want to carry Grantaire home drunk or high, bloody from whatever fight he had gotten himself into. They did it because he was their friend. Whether or not you called that ‘rules’ didn’t matter at all. It was just the things people did for each other. 

Hearing that Joly and Bossuet hadn’t talked to Enjolras ‘in a while’ wasn’t just strange - it went against the very thing that had turned them into each other’s families all that time ago. 

“What? How long?” He couldn’t help the shock that showed in his voice. He hoped in vain that it wouldn’t be too bad. That maybe he was reading too much into the conversation and that Enjolras was simply on vacation, or wherever people like him went to relax. 

It was Bossuet’s turn to answer. “A month or so.” What crushed him was not the amount of time, but how defeated he sounded when he said it.

“Why?” When he looked down to pick at his nails, he saw the time on his watch. Funny how ten minutes ago they were talking about pretty ocean paintings.

“Last Amis meeting he went to he got into a pretty bad fight with Combeferre. He stormed off, Ferre looked crushed.” He thought Joly would have been anxious at this, but more than that he just sounded sad. He knew then that this was something that had been weighing on his friends shoulders for a long time. “He told us to leave Enj alone for a while.” A pang of pain hit his chest at the nickname. “So we haven’t talked to him since. Maybe Ferre knew he was going, but he’s just not bringing him up at all. This is the first we hear about him.”

The anxiety that had been brewing in his stomach at the beginning of the call came back in full force. He wondered if this is how his friends felt, a month ago. He wondered why none of them had told him. He wondered if it was fair to be angry at this. 

Joly continued. “The thing is, he… he hasn’t been himself, not in a while.” He coughed, and his voice sounded more sure when he spoke again. “It started a few months ago. He started speaking quieter in meetings, he was just less passionate overall. I know you joked about him being like a robot, but you couldn’t have seen him like this. It was freaky, everything he did seemed just… mechanical.” Grantaire could hear him fighting the tears.

He could only imagine how grateful Joly felt when Bossuet picked up the story. “We thought we should say something, but you know how he gets and how he doesn’t like talking about his… well, his feelings.” He tried not to laugh at his friend's hesitation. Besides Combeferre and Courfeyrac, no one in the world knew how bad Enjolras was at talking about his feelings. He always blamed himself for his friends thinking this way of Enjolras, yes he was reserved, but whenever they heard of their emotional conversations it was through Grantaire’s biased words. And for all his love for the blond boy, he always enjoyed riling him up and then licking his own wounds publicly.

But he wouldn’t tell his friends this. After all, it had been five years since he left. Maybe they had seen a side of their leader he never got the chance to see. So instead, he continued listening to Bossuet. “He started cancelling meetings, and rarely came to get togethers. A month before the fight, Ferre and Courf started taking over his role in meetings.” He fell silent, and a beat later, added “We don’t know much else.”

The previous question started pounding in his head. Why didn’t you tell me? He knew he wasn’t being fair, not really. He had no reason to be told anything that was going on in Enjolras’ life. Again, it had been years since he left, he had no idea what new things they had learnt about each other without him present. He also knew the Amis had been hard on him when he left for Berlin. He knew it took a long time for them to feel like their friendship was like how it had been. He knew he had put everyone in an awkward position, and he knew that even if his friends didn’t want to have to pick a side, they still felt like they had to hold Enjolras to some standards for acting how he did (he wondered if Enjolras had seen it that way). Maybe after all they went through, they had even stronger bonds than before he left. And certainly, they were more involved in his life than he was.

So no, he had no right to feel angry that they didn’t tell him anything. He knew he still felt that way, though. Instead of voicing it, he wondered where that emotion was coming from. In some small box at the back of his head, locked inside a dark room with spiderwebs, a thought mumbled that he was feeling protective. Not for the marmoreal man that had a talent for casual cruelty, but for the passionate, ambitious, and determined boy he also was.

He still needed to ask, if only to get a fuller story. “I just talked to Courf last week, why didn’t he tell me?”

He heard them both sigh. Joly spoke. “I don’t think Courf and Enjolras are talking much either these days.” They often joked at how aptly named Joly was, it took something truly awful to cause him to lose the joy that defined him. And even then, the most you would get was anxious jitters. It was strange to hear the sad tone in his voice. What the fuck happened.

“What the fuck happened?”

At least this earned him a laugh from Bossuet, though it came out more like a scoff, but he’d take anything at this point. “Fuck if we know. We should tell the others R, they’re also worried.”

He knew they were right. He knew he had no right to subject the others to more worry when he could be helping them. He realised then why they hadn’t told him - they knew he would also worry, and he had no way to help. He would have been hopeless.

“Yes. Please do that.” He thought of it for a second, and then added. “Can you just… You can tell Combeferre he texted me, but can you not tell the others? Just say you know where he is.” He hoped this wouldn't be too much to ask, that they would give him this. “Please.” 

He could feel Joly’s small smile when he answered. “Of course.”

“I think that might be even better. I can totally see Bahorel coming over to make sure he doesn’t kill you.” Bossuet’s words broke some of the tension that had built up. They all laughed in unison, actually laughed. It wasn’t even that good a joke, but no joke is better than a welcome one.

After they were done, Joly asked “Do you know when he’s arriving?”

“It’s Friday today, I’m assuming Monday or Tuesday.” Grantaire said, pulling up the calendar on his phone. “Knowing him, he’ll probably send me the full itinerary when I answer, and ask me for theory books to read on the plane ride.” He knew he was mocking him now, but he hoped the others could see there was no malice in it. 

Joly’s fond laugh answered that question. Still, his own words reminded him of something else. “I don’t know if I wanna see him yet, or if I will even reply.”

They seemed to ponder for a second. “That’s totally fair. Just let us know what you decide to do. We will tell Combeferre you called us.” He was unbelievably grateful for each and every one of his friends, but if Combeferre managed to get the blond to explain just a bit of what had been possessing his thoughts for the last, apparently, two months, he would kiss him on the mouth. And pay for his dinner. Maybe just the second one?

With all their talking, they hadn’t noticed how late it had gotten. They said their goodbyes and Grantaire apologised for overtaking their evening and for stopping their furniture-making plans. He was still smiling when he hung up, laughing at Joly’s parting statement that Chetta was way better at IKEA than any of them were anyway.

He only let himself check his phone again after getting ready for bed. He brushed his teeth, washed his face, and put on his nice pajamas. He climbed onto his bed and was suddenly very grateful to Morning Grantaire for changing the sheets that morning, their fresh scent almost managing to relax him.

His lock screen showed three messages. 

Gav [23:05]: keep your head up king!! don’t let anyone ruin the weather up there!!!! 

Princess Ep [22:30]: Coolio sleep well

Enjolras [17:03]: Hello Grantaire, it's Enjolras. I will be in Berlin next week - do you know any good hotels around the city centre? Thank you. 

He made a mental note to reply to Gavroche in the morning and opened the dreaded chat.

He hated that his profile picture still took his breath away. It was the same it had been for almost a decade now. He was sitting on a cafe chair, a notebook on the small table in front of him. He had a grey sweater on, and the old washed jeans that he had to be forced to throw away years after. His blond hair looked wild, it was clear that his hands had gone through it one too many times - it was finals week, so his deep blue eyes had the tiniest tint of red under them. Any other person could have only wished to look average, but he was smiling widely at Courfeyrac behind the camera, and he looked like the most beautiful man Grantaire had ever seen.

The first time he saw him, he could literally feel the ground being knocked from under him. The first time he heard him speak, his pulse was rushing and he felt so warm he felt like he would explode. But still, that was need, not love. After months of angering him just to get any look, even a furious one, he saw Enjolras give Jehan a book on female romantic poets. The way he looked when they hugged him in thanks, with his eyes shining just like they did in his profile photo and a soft smile on his face… That was the moment he realised that under all the toxic obsession, he’d fallen genuinely in love with him.

It was only then that he made sense of the worry that had been building inside of him for the last two hours. The confusion at the combination of feelings and logic that was tumbling in his brain. 

He thought of the boy that tried to learn how to bake for Courfeyrac’s birthday, and who ordered pastries from Courf’s favorite hometown bakery when he realised he was hopeless. He thought of the boy who would have entire conversations with Combeferre in just a few shared looks. He thought of the boy that spent hours studying labour law to help Feuilly create a union in his work, despite being in the middle of his internship. 

He thought of the day he was walking home from his waitering job and found that same boy stumbling next to the Seine, so drunk he could barely stand. He thought of how Enjolras clung to him, and of the tears he had to wipe off his face. He thought of the hug they shared without saying a word, and of how he brought him home and put him to bed and still neither of them spoke. He thought of how Enjolras seeked him out the next day, and of the glint in his eyes that he latched onto to allow himself to kiss him back. 

He knew he needed to do this.

Grantaire [23:51]: yes, this is my google maps they’re marked there.

Grantaire [00:01]: is anyone picking you up at the airport?

Chapter Text

He woke up at 9am, just like he always did. He stayed in bed for a couple minutes, taking in the comforting cashmeran scent of his sheets and enjoying the faint light that came from the sun outside his window. His room was laid out strategically so the gleam coming from the large panes to the side of his bed never shone directly onto the small number of paintings covered in the corner. Even the large mirror propped up against the same wall was placed next to his bookcase, so there was no risk of any sunlight reflecting on them. 

He used to keep all his paintings in his room, but his manager convinced him to move them to his studio so they wouldn’t be damaged. The frames that now stood against his wall were not for sale - usually they were personal, or had small mistakes that he didn’t feel comfortable charging money for. The latest addition was a small canvas that depicted Admiralbücke, a small bridge over the Landwehr canal and one of his favorite places in Berlin. During summer, Cosette and him would walk around and listen to the street musicians that adorned the street while they waited for Marius to get off work. He would be waiting for her with her favorite pistachio ice cream in hand and Cosette would take pictures of him smiling at her, the river at his back. The frame tried to show that very same image from the perspective of a passerby - a blonde with an analog camera, beaming at a dark-haired man, who was grinning right back. After all these years he still found it hard to draw himself, so the painting now lay in his room, waiting to be picked up again when inspiration struck. 

He sat up at the end on his bed and stared in the mirror in front of him, analysing his features. He had come to like the way he looked - his scarred limbs from years of training, his pointy Greek nose and defined cupid's bow, his drawn cheeks. He never did manage to learn how to control his wavy hair, so it always fell on top of his brown eyes, their colour defined by the violet hue of the bags constant under them. Cosette said he had a je ne sais quoi about him, which was hilarious coming from her both because her French was dreadful and also because she looked like Rapunzel personified, so people generally didn’t have a hard time defining what was pretty about her. Still, he appreciated the compliment, and he had come to believe it too. 

The main thing he could now see in his reflection was his tiredness, which he would need to fix before heading out to training. He got up and walked through the white sliding rooms into his living room, finally leading into the kitchen where he prepared his usual boxing day breakfast - omelette with two eggs, half a bell pepper and ham on a piece of sourdough bread. He grounded up some coffee and poured it into his french press. 

The comfort of his routine quieted some of the rumbling in his brain.

He was making a conscious effort to not check his phone until he could sit down at his dining table. He was glad to wake up not regretting his offer from the previous night. There was no anxious pit at the bottom of his stomach, but there was anticipation - his feelings after the call with Joly and Bossuet, the sense of protectiveness, they made sense to him. He hadn’t talked to Enjolras in five years, and even before everything that occurred between them they were never the best of friends; but he had cared about him deeply. He still had not met anyone quite like him, and for all the bad qualities of the man, if sadness and anxiety could creep into even the most ambitious and passionate of humans, what was there to hope for for the rest of them?

So of course he was worried. Maybe some years ago he would have been angry - furious - at the nerve to text him like everything was okay after all this time. Amidst all the confusion, a small part of him probably felt that way yesterday, but his conversation with his friends settled him into concern. Despite all the people that surrounded him, Enjolras had come to Grantaire, and whether that was fair or not didn’t matter. He wanted to help, if he could.

He poured some coffee into his favorite mug, the big one Bahorel got him in a flea market on one of his visits, and headed towards the living room. He turned on his speakers and rested his breakfast on the wooden table as a man’s voice inundated his apartment.

Te vi juntabas margaritas del mantel

Ya sé que te traté bastante mal

No sé si eras un ángel o un rubí

O simplemente te vi

This was one of Cosette's favorite songs, a consequence of the many years she spent in Spain while moving around with her dad when she was little. The language was one of the things she and Marius bonded over; if she needed any help winning over his family, being able to speak Spanish with his Argentinian dad definitely sealed the deal. 

As if on cue, a message lit up the phone screen he was still pointedly ignoring. 

He grabbed it and clicked on the latest message first, deciding to tackle the other unopened chat when he had some more caffeine in his system. The groupchat with his friends showed on his screen.

Eposette et. al - Princess Ep [09:07]: Meet tonight at James? 

Cosette had been working at the same bar for years now. It was a big beer garden in Friedrichshain, frequented mostly by expats and tourists, and the occasional regular that found Cosette’s persisting Danish accent especially charming. The bar was called James June, however, after one of Eponine’s awful dates had confused the real name of the bar with a potential other man in her life and gone into full ire, James had stuck. The confused looks when people thought there was a fifth mystical person in their four-person friend group added to the fun.

He smiled at the name and scrolled down.

Eposette et. al - Marius [09:23]: Yes!

Eposette et. al - Marius [09:23]: R, you coming? 

Eposette et. al - Marius [09:25]: Cos says her shift starts at 18 :)

He was still smiling when he typed his response.

Eposette et. al - Grantaire [09:27]: yupp will be there, meet at 18:30? 

Eposette et. al - Cos <3 [09:29]: yay work company!! see u <3<3

He still hadn’t responded to Gavroche’s text from the previous night; something to be thankful for, the response providing some welcomed stalling.

He met Gavroche almost 5 years ago now, when he was still a tween that looked up to him as the only male figure in his life. That spell broke soon after he started crashing at Eponine's drunk and looking for comfort like a lost deer, but he liked to think that Gavroche seeing him crawl his way out of the hole he had fallen into was a good example nonetheless. Sometimes when Grantaire spent the night and Eponine had to go to work during the day, he would take Gavroche to museums around Berlin and spend hours explaining every stroke to the kid as he looked up with stars in his eyes. It made him feel important. He liked to think Gavroche still looked up to him, that he still listened to his words and his advice and that he still saw his friendship with his sister as a positive. Some of this had to be true, he was 15 now and while he was getting into much more trouble than the average teenager, he was still going to the movies, and to museums, and he still played Joni Mitchell on his speakers like Grantaire did in his hungover mornings. 

Time had still passed though, and talking to a 15 year old was much harder than a 10 year old, so he spent more time than he cared to admit crafting his response to the boy.

Grantaire [09:36]: keeping my head up so high my doctor is asking if i got a neck extending surgery help he’s at my door help gav!!!

He hoped that passed the Cool Adult test that seemed to be implanted into every teenager and drew in a breath, finally deciding to open the three messages awaiting him.

He didn’t really know what to expect, but he was eager to find out. Curiosity flooded him. He wondered if there would be too much normalcy, or too much change. He wondered if maybe they would fall right back into their unhappy middle, too cruel to be called normal but too established to classify as change. He wondered if the years had replaced some of Enjolras’ weird quirks with others, and if he would be able to tell which just from the three texts in front of him. He would bet that he still texted like a grandpa, and that he still insisted on proper punctuation - but maybe now he was more partial towards emojis? Maybe now he could steal more than the occasional smiley face? Would he send a calendar invite with the time of his arrival? Would he have remembered his favorite artists, and would he walk out of the gate with their wrapped biography under his arm, as casually kind as he was cruel?

After seeing the first message, he couldn’t help but chuckle at how early it had been sent. Time couldn’t change people that much.

Enjolras [07:30]: Thanks for the list, I will be staying at a hotel near East Side Gallery.

Perfect punctuation. One thing to cross off his Weird Enjolras Quirks checklist. He could imagine Enjolras studying his recommendations, zooming around his map, disapproving of the lavish five star hotels he included after sleeping there with visiting businessmen. He wondered if he knew that was the reason he had stayed in them, or if he thought his artist money really stretched that far. He wondered what Enjolras thought of his success, if he cared about it - if he knew. He was past the point of aching to know, but he was glad he could ask him now, if he wanted to.

Enjolras [07:30]: Re: arrival - no one is picking me up. I am landing at 16.30 on Monday, flight number is AF 1434. Thank you.

No calendar invite. He couldn’t help but smile at the almost rude assumption that Grantaire would be there, waiting for him as he got out of the gate. He had offered, and he would be, but most people would double check via a question. Customary conversation was never the Enjolras way though. He was incredibly charming, the kind of person that everyone looked up to and listened to - and yes, his looks added to this, but he still sounded different than everyone else. There was no doubt in his voice, not ever. His tone had been forged with a warlike nature - like a Messiah of revolution, savagely preaching his passion for the goodness of people. If Enjolras had been born a few centuries before, he would have been the inspiration behind the Leviathan; if the Egyptians had been able to elect him as speaker, he would have convinced Yahweh to stop the plagues; if Enjolras was not so convinced that people were inherently good, he could instigate the Apocalypse by virtue of his words. Grantaire once mocked him by comparing him to Saint-Just, and Enjolras smiled at him, for once. If he hadn’t known any better, Grantaire could have been convinced that his initial mockery was a compliment, and that he had always intended it as much - for a split second, he almost thought he had. 

One of the many beautiful things of knowing Enjolras for longer than most could ever aspire to, however, was that he had observed his rigidness in casual conversation. It was always lurking when you spent enough time with him. For all his revolutionary fervor, he usually struggled with one-on-one casual interactions, his tone was too determined even in regular conversation. One day they were out shopping and Enjolras managed to convince three people to switch their toothpaste after they asked them to reach for the one in the tallest shelf - he wasn’t even trying to do so. Other people usually found this intimidating, he always found it endearing. He didn’t know if it was a result of his marmoreal nature, meaning he never had to learn basic politeness, or if he just thought himself above such human matters. Either way, he was glad it hadn't changed.

With a smile hinting at his mouth, he read the final message.

Enjolras [07:31]: I would love some museum recommendations.

No question mark. Not an ounce of doubt. His smile finally broke out.

If there really was something affecting the blond, he couldn’t tell from these messages. Enjolras was a private man, he would have never expected him to tell him his afflictions in their first conversation after five years, but the familiarity put his mind at ease. 

He could deal with this. He could take this Enjolras. He could spend the half hour train ride from the airport with him, and he could stick around after that if he wanted and give him advice if he ever permitted himself to ask. 

He finished his breakfast and looked for his list of his favorite museums.

—-----

His phone didn’t vibrate with an answer until he was already back home from the gym. His training was simple, two hours on Saturdays and one on Thursdays - how seriously he took it usually depended on what other activity his brain had hyper fixated on that year, but boxing had stayed pretty regular throughout the last ten. He enjoyed it, he found that the layers of sweat over his skin usually erased the anxiety lying underneath it. 

He was getting out of the shower when the messages arrived. He wrapped a towel over his middle and went to grab it, surprised at finding who they were from. Enjolras was not a bad texter, he was just very good at prioritising. If there was a cause, an exam, or a case on his table, it could be days before he got around to texting back - but if his friends were on his mind, or they needed him, he was always available. Courfeyrac had achieved an average response time of three minutes, but Bossuet always argued that didn’t count, because Enjolras would always end up calling him since he could not stand Courf’s texting habits for longer than two consecutive messages. 

‘A few hours’ thought Grantaire, ‘I’ve had worse and I’ve had better’. He opened their conversation and reread his texts from the morning.

Grantaire [09:47]: well how long are you staying? cause it will take at least five weeks to visit every mandatory viewing museum 

Grantaire [09:48]: normally i would conduct a thorough personality, preference, and work behaviour test to really ensure satisfaction, but you should go to: the old national gallery, the bode museum, and the national history museum

Grantaire [09:51]: also, there’s an exhibition in the new national gallery of ‘art between politics and society’ during the cold war. you will love it

He had briefly pondered if he should keep his texts short and pragmatic, but he refused to change his Rambling Habit just because Enjolras was more of a practical texting person. And he liked this topic, it was comfortable - if they were going to see each other again this was a good start. Appreciation for museums was one of the few things they ever agreed on. Even if Enjolras preferred political undertones (and overtones) in his exhibitions, he never refused an invitation to an art gallery. It had been fun at one point to watch him struggle to understand and appreciate contemporary art but still stare at the paintings in showrooms because ‘culture is the food of the mind Grantaire’ . 

And anyways, he didn’t think Enjolras would mind the verbosity. Maybe he would also find comfort in its familiarity. 

Enjolras [13:16]: Those sound very good, I will look them up.

Enjolras [13:16]: I didn’t know about the exhibition. You’re right, it sounds like I would enjoy it. 

He thought back to his Weird Enjolras Quirks checklist, and couldn’t believe he had forgotten such a cherished one: thorough research of every cultural institution, author/artist, and argument point presented to him. He could imagine him now on Google Scholar, researching the colonial history of the statues in the Bode Museum, or the political party that ordered the construction of the national gallery. Would he send him required reading?

Another text arrived.

Enjolras [13:18]: I actually don’t have a return ticket yet. I’ve never been to Berlin, so I want to explore it with no pressure.

The image of Enjolras walking the streets of Berlin briefly distracted him from the first part of the text. He was always fascinated by the idea of beautiful things growing in ugly places, there was a reason his first drawings during his angsty teenage phase were flowers in garbage cans. Berlin was the juxtaposition of everything Enjolras was - Berlin had not heard of the Parisian social contract, or of the Republic, it was moulded by brutalism, it both sneered at and was devoted to idealism. If Enjolras was angelic beauty, Berlin was the devils that welcomed the Angel as he fell. He thought of Cosette’s pronunciation of je ne sais quoi and laughed - yes, that was exactly what this city was, born to be the reverse of people like Enjolras. 

When his brain caught up to all parts of the message, he wondered if he should be worried about that. It didn’t fit into what he knew of the other man to not have everything planned, but then again, this was not the man he knew all that time ago. He decided to not overthink it, maybe New Enjolras was big on spontaneity. 

Grantaire [13:20]: you’ve never been to berlin?????!!!!! enjolras that is sacrilege 

After a few seconds it became clear that Enjolras was no longer online. Grantaire put his phone down and walked towards the closet in his room, picking out a pair of sweatpants and an old t-shirt and heading towards the kitchen to make lunch. 

Marius’ vegetarian lasagna recipe only took twenty minutes to put together and twenty more in the oven; enough to clean up the bathroom, put the trash out, vacuum, dust the living room and set the table. He enjoyed living alone - he could create his own space, live at his own pace, have quiet moments when he needed them and not find suspicious thick substances in the shower (he didn’t want to talk about it). His friends came over often, his and Marius’ place were the designated hang out apartments, and usually that was enough, but it still got lonely on occasion. Sometimes he wanted someone to sit in his favorite reading chair and spill a bit of coffee on it, or to ruin his sleep by stealing his covers and pushing him off the bed. He remembered watching Joly and Bossuet’s relationship start back when they were all living together, and how much he wished back then to have something like that.

He stood up and walked over to his bookshelf, where a picture of the three of them stood, next to both of their favorite books. He smiled - the picture was taken shortly after Joly and Bossuet started dating, before heading out to Courfeyrac’s birthday party. That whole night Grantaire watched them, wrapped up with each other on the sofa, and almost built up the courage to talk to Enjolras while completely sober. He went home alone, and the next day his friends prepared him waffles and they watched movies until the sun set again. Maybe that’s what he missed, not the feeling of having another person, but the camaraderie of being young and living with your best friends, with your only worry being that the guy you like doesn't like you back. 

When he left he asked his friends to send him their favorite books so the first additions to his bookshelf in Berlin would be reminders of them. Jehan sent him their personal copy of the complete works of Emily Dickinson, annotated and divided into themes. Grantaire had spent many hours reading it, adding his own annotations and doodles to the margins, and Jehan picked it up during their visits and added even more notes. The book was old and worn by now, having acted as a vessel of communication between them for years. In contrast, Courfeyrac threatened to send him a dark mafia romance, and even seemed to have a list of options ready if Grantaire gave him the ok. However, when he arrived in Berlin a few months after he moved, it was with a rare second-hand edition of The Great Gatsby under his arm. 

Next to Courfeyrac was Comberre’s pick. When he first asked them to send the books in an Amis meeting, he bee-lined him and begged him not to send anything Rousseau related; this made it all the funnier when he received a package with Piketty’s Capital in the 21st Century in his mailbox. He always thought Combeferre’s humour went underappreciated, but this specifically still made him chuckle. Bahorel fit a biography of Muhammad Ali into his backpack before he left, which was his on-flight reading and which he credited for the lack of tears during the two hours he was flying - and Feuilly’s Demon Copperhead was the first book he finished on the floor mattress of his first ever apartment in Berlin. The one that stood closest to the framed picture was Joly’s favorite, As Long as the Lemons Grow; but the one he reached for, with an amused look already in his eyes, was The Fellowship of the Ring, which Bossuet had gifted him with a hand over his heart.

He pulled the book out and laid on the sofa, opening it on the first page.

—--

Almost four hours had passed by the time Grantaire set the book down. At some point he had connected the speakers, and Joni Mitchell’s Blue album was still looping over the living room. 

‘Richard, you haven’t really changed’, I said

It’s just that now you’re romanticising some pain that’s in your head

You’ve got tombs in your eyes, but the songs you punched are dreaming

Listen, they sing of love so sweet, love so sweet

When you gonna get yourself back on your feet?

He stretched out on the sofa and closed his eyes, letting the voice wash over him until the last notes of piano stopped.

It was about time to get ready to meet his friends, so he walked towards the bathroom and tried to make his hair look at least presentable. After fighting with water and curl cream for longer than he wanted to admit, he sighed in the mirror and stared at the stubble growing along his jaw. Life was about helping oneself live, and sometimes to help yourself live you have to not shave for a while, so instead of his razor he reached for his concealer. He had given up on covering his eyebags a long time ago, but he found putting a bit under his tear duct aided with the not-look-dead goal he generally aimed for.

Eponine said he had too many clothes, he said it was okay because they were mostly all second-hand, so really he was just giving them the life they deserved. She usually rolled her eyes at him and continued sewing whatever hole he had begged her to fix in whatever new sweater he had found at the flea market. He reached for one of those after opening his double wardrobe - an old black knit he bought from an old German man on a trip to Potsdam with Floréal. By the time he was ready the half hour it took to walk to the beer garden would be too short, so he quickly sprayed on some cologne, grabbed his bag, and walked out into the Winter air. 

The boulevard that led his way to the bar allowed him a perfect view of the Fernsehturm. He smiled. He loved his city. 

When he got to the bar Cosette was already dressed in her work outfit and was taking Marius’ order, with the latter beaming at her like he usually did in her presence. They were definitely some sight - Cosette with her blonde hair up in her uniform-ordained ponytail, trying to stop her dimples from forming, and Marius, all rosy cheeks and shiny green eyes - neither of them attempting to hide the adoration they held for each other. It’s like they were taken straight from a romance book, the kind knight and the sassy princess that doesn’t need saving.

He glided next to Marius before they noticed his arrival.

“Hello mes amours, am I interrupting something?” Marius startled and Cosette widened her eyes, the dimples in her face finally appearing.

“Hello angel!” She exclaimed. Marius finally recovered and put his arm around him in greeting.

“R! How are you?” He scrunched his nose and reached into his neck, “why do you smell so good?”

“That’s what I’ve been saying! It’s like, a field in the south of France during spring or something.” One of the very first things Cosette ever told him was that he loved how he smelled. At that point, Eponine still hadn't gotten over her crush on Marius ( ‘all consuming crush, R’ she would say), so he lied and told her it was his Dove shower gel. He called it his little revenge, but it only took him three weeks before he came clean and told her about his lavender, cedarwood, and pepper cologne. 

“Is it the cologne you put on me last time? That’s so unfair, it stopped showing up on my skin after like three minutes.” Marius pouted. Cosette laughed and grabbed his face, pouting back. 

“Tall, handsome, white, straight man with a lucrative job finds thing that doesn’t work for him - how will he survive?” He bumped his shoulder with Marius’, who freed himself from Cosette’s hand and stuck his tongue out at him. Grantaire feigned offense, putting his hand over his heart and letting air out in Cosette’s general direction, causing the couple to giggle. 

“Now what would you like to drink today, Sir? May I bring you something from our very, extremely long menu?” For some reason the beer garden equipped all their employees with notepads, one of which was open in Cosette’s hand, even though their menu only had two food items, a burger and a margherita pizza. 

“I’ll take a beer with a slice of lemon and your bestest margherita please.” 

With one wink at Marius, which left him only half blushing (was he progressing?) Cosette left their table.  

“Did you finish the ocean painting?” He asked once she was out of view.

“Not yet, just the background and the waves, still have to finish the figures. How about you? Any big projects you’re working on?” One of his favorite things about his friend was the fact that no matter how innocent his face looked and how much he was known to stammer, he was a kickass manager at a big government agency who had been promoted three times in five years. He wished just one part of him could hold such a dichotomy, but unfortunately he was cursed with the all or nothing syndrome. 

“Honestly? Nothing you will care about, just same old. I have vacation coming up soon though, I’m thinking of taking Cos somewhere.”

His heart filled with fondness. “Dude she will love that. Any ideas?” 

“Is it cheesy to take her to Paris? I know it’s cliché but she’s better travelled than Alexander the Great, it makes it hard to surprise her.” Grantaire laughed at the comparison.

“You could take her to an Aldi in a German suburb and she’ll be happy, that fact is already cheesier than taking her to Paris so I think you’ll be okay.” Marius smiled wide at that, with the characteristic rubor rising in his cheeks again. “Let me know when you will be there and I’ll get the Amis to give you the tour of a lifetime, they might even bring back the French monarchy so they can make Cosette their official queen by the end of it.” 

“I’m pretty sure during your last birthday party Feuilly, Bahorel and Courf said they’d have a crown waiting for her when she arrived, smelted from the prison bars they will be thrown into after they steal her from Germany.” 

Grantaire actually cackled at that, his friends’ ingenuity always surprising him. “Wait which one said that?”

“Oh, it was Bahorel.” Marius said, deadpanning. Right, so it was Courfeyrac.

“I’m more surprised you remember the full sentence honestly, Courf Poetics was one of my least favorite subjects at the Amis school.”

Marius shook his head with a smile just as Cosette reappeared with their beers in hand and Eponine in tow.

“Here you go my beautiful boys, your pizza and burger will be straight up, I bring to you our new menu item, it’s called Eponine you guys will love her.” Grantaire didn’t think it was fair that Cosette could get away with that teasing with not even an eye roll from his best friend, but if he were to try that he’d get at the very least a punch to the shoulder. He voiced as much.

“Well she’s an angel and you’re a bit of a dick sometimes, so I think it’s warranted.” Eponine responded while hugging the two of them in greeting. “Can I get a glass of white?” She said to Cosette, who smiled and left again. “How’s it going guys? Anything interesting to share with the class?” She pointedly stared at Grantaire.

Marius picked up on the undertone immediately, looking between them and deciding to stare at Grantaire too after a beat. “Well that seemed pointed.”

Grantaire just stared back at Eponine and feigned a cry. “What happened to hello? How are you? Am I just the Gossip Mill for you Ep?” 

She rolled her eyes and grabbed his beer, taking a sip and staring back at him over the glass. “You are also a very dear friend, but for the most part you are just the Gossip Mill, now tell.” 

He grabbed his beer back - it was his turn to stare at her over the glass, a look she gladly returned. They stayed like that, looking at each other, a smile tugging at their lips that would be imperceptible for anyone but them. 

Marius interrupted their interaction after a few seconds. “Okay guys you’re doing the thing you do, can I be filled in on your secret language please?” 

Eponine raised an eyebrow in Grantaire’s direction. He guessed Marius was right, without any words he could tell exactly what Eponine was asking ‘do you want me to answer? Are you okay?’ But he was, and so he spoke, not without fidgeting with the label on his beer.

“Right… so… remember Enjolras? From back in Paris?” 

“Umm. Yea, of course I remember Enjolras?” Marius seemed confused. Grantaire couldn’t help but find humour in how all his friends thought it was so ridiculous that he wasn’t sure that they would remember who Enjolras was. 

“He texted me. He’s coming to Berlin on Monday.” He looked from one friend to another. “I offered to pick him up at the airport.” 

Eponine spoke first. “Wait, you're picking him up?”

Marius interrupted in the middle of her sentence.“What the fuck?”

“Okay we will go one by one.” Grantaire put his arms up and adopted his best teacher voice, or what he could remember teachers sounded like. “Yes Marius, what the fuck indeed. Yes Eponine, I am. Now for the backstory: I saw his text yesterday when I got out of the studio, I went to Ep’s place after and we decided I should call Joly and Bossuet.” He lowered his voice a little, as if anyone else could hear them in the almost empty garden. “I did, turns out he hasn’t spoken to any of the Amis in a while. Not even Courfeyrac or Combeferre, he even had a big fight with Ferre apparently. I think something is going on with him, and he’s coming here for help or a distraction or whatever, and whatever it is I want to help him. I know he was a dick I’m not deluding myself, but I still cared a lot about him back then, and I’m just worried, ok?” 

Eponine didn’t seem as shocked at that as she did at his previous revelation, but her brows were furrowed. Marius’ eyes were wide open. There was silence for a moment before the latter spoke, slowly. 

“Yeah dude, that’s normal. You do what you gotta do.” He leaned back on the bench. “Do you think you’ll hang out?”

Grantaire watched Eponine reach for her phone and type something while he answered.

“Fuck if I know. I think I’ll let him make that decision.” Marius nodded in approval.

“As long as you’re not getting hurt R.” Added Eponine. Before he could say anything in return, Cosette appeared with their food and drinks. “Pizza, burger, glass of white, and may I ask what you are whispering about? Don’t keep me out of the loop just ‘cause I’m working, that's so not fair.”

Marius filled her in in a hushed tone and Grantaire watched as her eyes widened. “What! No! Way!” She punctuated each word with a small slap to Grantaire’s shoulders, which he tried to fend off to no avail. 

“Yes way, Marius was asking me if he thinks we’ll hang out, I told him I’m going to let him make that decision, maybe I’m overthinking all this and he’s completely fine.”

Cosette bit her finger and put her other hand on her hips, closing one eye, pretending to think. It made all four of them smile, she had a talent for that. “Mmh… very smart, very smart. I’m proud of you.” She looked away from Grantaire and at their other two friends. “Is it wrong I kinda wanna meet the guy? I’m curious.” 

Marius nodded and added, “he’s like a distant second cousin everyone talks about because they have beef with your side of the family.” They all laughed at this. Cosette beamed. 

“You’re kind of right honestly.” Eponine smiled mischievously before she continued. “But I feel like I get first dibs on meeting Enjolras considering he’s all I’ve talked about for the past two days and I spent two years hearing you call him Apollo.” Grantaire groaned and put his hands over his ears, which only made her speak louder. “I’ll even look up what Apollo looks like before I see him, to give an informed opinion!” 

She was laughing now. Marius also grinned, though he had the decency to try to hide it by looking down at his beer. Cosette only half-smiled, the more controlled of all of them. Good, at least one of his friends wasn’t a traitor. 

She spoke. “Honestly, I will never understand why you glorified him so much, Joly told me you once said he should be exposed in the Louvre but Mount Olympus got to him first.” Wow, so all his friends were traitors, cool. 

He groaned again, louder this time.

“Yeah why did you like, venerate him, R? Didn’t you date for a few months anyway?” Even though he was a traitor, Marius was still his funniest friend.

“We definitely didn’t date, Marius.”

“But you had sex and kissed and hung out alone?” Bless him, he sounded actually confused. “That doesn’t make any sense.”

Grantaire put his hand over his. “Take your time buddy.” Eponine scoffed, Cosette hid her smile behind her notepad.

Marius rolled his eyes. “Okay I’m not a child, I know how these things work, I’m just saying. Doesn’t make any sense.” 

He shrugged. To be fair, it didn’t make any sense for anyone either, at the time (he thought of blond hair and soft laughs and the glint in his eyes every time they kissed) .

“Okay guys I have other tables and I feel like I’m only going to get part of this conversation tonight and you know I suffer from horrid FOMO.” Cosette pointed her notepad at Grantaire. “Do you have plans for your lunch break tomorrow? Let’s eat together and you can fill me in fully.” He agreed and she left, sending another kiss to the table.

After Marius recovered from the coughs provoked by said kiss, he spoke. “I’m looking forward to seeing what happens on Monday. And if you want to meet with others to make it less awkward let us know too.” 

Eponine raised her hand up whilst still looking at her phone. “I said I call dibs on Apollo first.” 

“Guys, guys. We will all get to meet Apollo soon, including me. If he’s anything like how I remember him -” He pointed his hands at Marius, “- you will find him terrifying.” He pointed them to Eponine, “- and you will probably despise him.” He stopped for a few seconds. “I have no idea about Cos, you know they look so similar it’ll be like finding a long lost brother.”

Marius took this opportunity to ask Eponine for advice on his trip with Cosette, and the conversation derailed from there. They talked about Montparnasse, one of Eponine’s exes who sometimes boxed with Grantaire and who Marius apparently ran into the day before. They talked about Gavroche and his inability for maths (something to add to the list of things he took from Grantaire, right under the thorough knowledge he had of Berlin similar to Grantaire’s of Paris), and of the salsa night Cosette wanted to go to that Wednesday. He finished his food and nursed his one beer for the rest of the night. Eponine kept checking her phone, and Grantaire completely forgot about his, for a couple hours.

—

It took him fifteen more minutes than usual to get home, because Eponine insisted on walking with him to the Metro closest to his apartment, and it took him ten more minutes than usual to get under his covers, because he forgot to turn on the kettle while waiting for the water to boil. The Fellowship of the Ring lay unopened next to him in bed as he read the messages that had arrived during dinner.

Enjolras [20:09]: Trust me I’m aware. I don’t know why I didn’t go before.

Grantaire couldn’t help but find that amusing. The answer seemed obvious, it was the same reason why he had missed so many important events back in Paris and why when he came back he never visited the Musain - ‘because I’m here’. He would never dare type that out though - and he was coming now, anyway. 

Enjolras [21:34]: I looked up the exhibition. I’m assuming you’ve heard of Günter Brus, I hadn’t. Apparently the selection was premised on one of his performance art pieces ‘Stress Test’ 1970. He was detained for forcing the Austrian bourgeois class to confront their fascist-puritan ideals. 

Enjolras [21:36]: He’s cool.

Of course he’d heard of Günter Brus. Of course Enjolras had looked him up, and of course his conclusion after he had included the words fascist-puritan ideals. The tiredness dragging his brain disappeared as he typed an answer.

Grantaire [22:23]: he was so crazy, in one piece he defecated and masturbated in a university classroom while singing the austrian national anthem. left the country after cause he was persecuted by the cops. we discussed him lots in my art ethics class. 

There was an invitation in his answer, one he didn’t know if he meant. He would’ve started regretting it soon had it not been for the typing that appeared under Enjolras’ name.

Enjolras [22:25]: I read. Public challenges of fascist values are necessary for principle reappraisal. Since museum-goers are more likely to be open to questioning their subconscious biases, public provocation is crucial.

Grantaire [22:27]: kind of shocking to hear that argument coming from you. i’d think you would easily see that aestheticizing suffering is not conducive to any cause.

Enjolras [22:30]: Your use of aestheticization is a social construct. Suffering is simply suffering - not understanding this is premised on the same discomfort that causes the rich to cosplay the poor and European schools to not cover colonialism. We must face suffering without sugarcoating it. Labelling it as aestheticization is also sugarcoating. It is necessary to question the preconceived notions that cause us to be uncomfortable with seeing people in pain.

Only Enjolras would have the ability to form a well-rounded aesthetics argument based on two hours of research and also have the confidence to present it to a literal arts graduate. 

Grantaire [22:30]: but he is not suffering because of a system, he is suffering because he is forcing it onto oneself. 

Enjolras [22:31]: For a greater cause.

Grantaire [22:31]: isn’t that also a social construct?

Enjolras [22:32]: So is time. So is language. The point is some serve a purpose, some oppress the people, and some can do both. The latter ones, under the current system, are subjecting us while we are told they are servicing us. 

A text from Cosette thanking them for dinner stopped him from opening Google Scholar. He could have sworn he read an article on the ethics of consent in Viennese Actionism that he could use to attack his argument from another angle. He weighed his options and decided against it - he would not ruin his impeccable sleep schedule to argue about consent in 1970s performance art. Though it was an enticing prospect.

Grantaire [22:36]: i can assure you i did not think i would end my day reading you argue pro public performance art

Only half a lie. Truth is, Enjolras was the only person who would always take the bait. At first it delighted him, as it meant it was easy to gain his attention, then it annoyed him, because it was hard to lose it once he had it and was made all too aware of everything he disapproved of. So Grantaire knew his invitation to discuss fucking Günter Brus at almost 11pm would be disregarded by most others but never by Enjolras, but that was the half of it. As his brain helpfully supplied, he didn’t know if the person he was texting was the same he knew five years ago, as he had been reminding himself for the last 24 hours. So yes, technically, only half a lie.

Enjolras [22:38]: Not all, just this once.

Enjolras [22:38]: Why what did you get up to today.

A frown appeared between his brows. It really was strange, he decided, to talk to the version of a person he remembers, full of the creases that come with time, when he knew hardly anything of the person he was now. He knew it was strange from the minute he received that first message the day before, but it was now the primary emotion rumbling in his brain. Or maybe he just hoped that’s what the nerves in the pit of his stomach were about. Everything was made all the harder by the lack of normal tech-savvy clues people usually left in text.

Grantaire [22:40]: why do you never use question marks?

Enjolras [22:41]: Reflects the tone in which I mean to ask the questions much better.

He scoffed. Of course Enjolras’ punctuation was a carefully regulated operation.

Grantaire [22:41]: is that why you also always end your sentences with dots

Enjolras [22:41]: Yes.

Enjolras [22:41]: What did you get up to today.

Grantaire [22:42]: Boxing in the morning. Read Lord of the rings. Met up with my friends. 

Grantaire [22:42]: What about you.

Enjolras [22:43]: finished some work read a book researched günter brus. haven’t been on my phone much hence the scarce responses

If it was anyone else he’d consider this borderline flirting. As it was, he figured Enjolras was just feeling as strange about seeing him again as he did. He thought of Eponine’s words, ‘as long as you’re not getting hurt’. He didn’t think he would be, he didn’t think this conversation went any deeper than what it looked. But then again, he was wrong about a lot of things.

Grantaire [22:44]: i hope the book was worth it

Enjolras [22:44]: It wasn’t. I was intending on finishing it tonight. I’ll send my thoughts tomorrow.

He looked to his side, where his white sheets had almost swallowed his abandoned book and his wooden bed table still sustained the chamomile tea he’d prepared and almost forgotten. If art arguments weren’t going to keep him up, neither was this.

Grantaire [22:45]: sure

Grantaire [22:46]: i’m gonna go read lord of the rings.

He had time to take a few sips of his now lukewarm tea and read half a page of the book before a reply arrived.

Enjolras [22:50]: Good night.

Grantaire [22:50]: good night

There was a smile tugging at his lips. It’s just - it was nice. Talking to him like this. It reminded him of days before, days he now could see were few and far between, but that had still existed. They used to tease each other a lot, when it was good. He loved his friends, he really did, but sometimes it was nice to speak to someone that understood who he was and didn’t try to love him better, just mocked him about it. Other days, when it wasn’t good, Enjolras’ words came out less as teasing and more vicious. Knowing that this dynamic hadn’t been lost to time made him happy.

Tomorrow would be a productive day, he decided. He could feel inspiration itching between his fingers as he finished his tea and opened his book again. 

–

Cosette knocked on the door of his studio as he finished some strokes of the painting he was starting work on. He hadn’t even decided on the background, just sketched the main figure with his stencil. It was a young man in a university classroom, standing on top of a table, addressing the students. He liked it, it wasn’t the lively-coloured aerial nature scenes he was known for now, but it resembled the social realism he was partial to during college. Achieving the darker palette would be good practice anyway.

“Door is open!” He shouted.

She walked in more carefully than needed, just as she always did, scared that she’ll topple over a painting. He left the small canvas on the wood frame and went to hug her with a smile on his face.

“Hi angel, are you hungry?” 

“Yes, very. I saw they opened a new Italian place down the street if you wanna try it?”

“Sounds great, just give me a second to get ready.”

She smiled and nodded. She was wearing loose jeans and a flowery sweater that looked suspiciously like one of Jehan’s creations, a fun contrast to his straight trousers and dark blue turtleneck. Before pulling out his keys to lock the studio behind him he looked at her and pulled up his trousers, revealing his own socks decorated with sunflowers.

“Was it Jehan too?” She said jumping up and down. 

“Yes, but they didn’t have time to knit them themself so they got it from the Van Gogh museum in Amsterdam when they went.” He could hear her giggles as he started walking towards the pizzeria.

The place was only a two minute walk from his studio, the perks of it being in a central neighbourhood. They ordered two margheritas and sat down with them as they discussed everything and nothing. 

“Marius told me about the commission you’re working on, will I be able to see it before you ship it? It sounds adorable.” 

“Yeah of course, I’m not due to send it until a month from now and I’m super ahead of schedule. I decided not to take on a lot of work this month so I can relax a bit you know?” He knew being able to take time off his job was a privilege. When he began taking commissions he would take too many in a month and overwork himself, often getting close to burning out. It was Eponine that convinced him to take his first break, and it only made his job more enjoyable, so considering he had just finished working on a big exhibition he knew he needed some time to recharge. 

Cosette sipped her lemonade and nodded. “You are so wise.”

He rolled his eyes and bumped her shoulder “Oh shut up.” 

“No but I mean it! You’re so cool and stylish and -”

He interrupted her before he could start blushing “One more word and I throw my pizza at you Miss. Has Lived in Five Countries and Counting.” She put her arms up in surrender and smiled at him as she finished one of her slices. Just as he was about to finish his second one, she spoke again.

“So about your incoming visitor…” He knew the topic was coming, but he was still not above whining loudly at his friend before filling her in.

“Well there’s nothing much you didn’t hear about. He’s coming, staying for Lord knows how long, sleeping in a hotel, and I am waiting to see if he wants to hang out or not.” He decided to leave out yesterday’s conversation, and also that he was starting to become more and more certain that Enjolras did want to spend some time with him. He thought that should stay between the two of them. “What do you think?”

“R I honestly think it’s great. He’s a big part of your friend group anyway, they all clearly love him as much as they do you, and it’s not healthy to just ignore each other for years. I don’t know how you even managed it.” He was about to tell her how it really wasn’t that hard because if nothing else Enjolras was a creature of habit, which made it extremely easy to avoid him during his visits, when she spoke again. “If I’m being honest, I always thought he was an interesting person. I wasn’t here during the worst of it so maybe that’s why I don’t feel as strongly as Ep would about it, but all your friends talk about him so fondly. Feuilly told me he’s the reason he can take vacation to come here so often, and Ferre just smiles subconsciously whenever he’s brought up. Jehan told me once that ‘Enjolras is a man who in another life traversed the revolutionary apocalypse, and now has to live in a world in which he lost’” 

That was true, for all his friends disagreed about the way Enjolras dealt with a lot of things, they loved him to bits. Grantaire knew, because his friends felt exactly the same way about him. “Do all of my friends speak like they’re in the Iliad?” 

Cosette almost choked on her lemonade at that. “I always figured it was a byproduct of your mother tongue being a romance language.”

“Sure, and whenever you speak Legos come out of your mouth.” She smiled and grabbed the two forks on the table, pretending to stack them. 

Lunch with Cosette was one of his favorite moments of the week. He was the only one in their friend group who could technically sneak away whenever - Marius’ work schedule was airtight and none of them were a 100% sure what Eponine did to afford an apartment and raising a teenager - so they always made sure to plan one when Cosette wasn’t working mornings at James. They talked about whatever was going on in their lives - food, work, tv, weird customers, whatever food Marius learnt how to make that week that Cosette swore was better than ambrosia. By the time Grantaire was back at his studio, he usually felt much more inspired than he did when he left. 

When he finally walked back through the doors and stood before his recently begun painting, he got to work on the faces of the students looking up at the central figure. Some of them were in awe, others, revolted, and others, that mix between hopeful and sensible that concluded with a thin smile and drawn eyes. He felt revitalised by Cosette’s visit, and without realising spent almost three hours sketching and erasing mouths, noses and hair. What got him out of his trance was the slowly disappearing light over the canvas, which now shone over just the bottom right corner. He checked the time - almost five. He should start packing if he wanted to enjoy some of the afternoon sun during his walk home. 

He checked his phone once he was out and wasn’t surprised to see a missed call from Combeferre. It was only fair that he would call, this whole thing involved him much more than he initially thought anyway. And it worried him to hear him and Enjolras had fought. They’d known each other since they were six, and it seemed that since they were six they had been best friends. There were so many times when Enjolras got a bit too rowdy, a bit too dangerous, and a tap on the shoulder from the other man made him regain his composure. The leader and his guide, a symbiotic relationship if there ever was one. 

He found Combeferre’s contact and gave him a call. He picked up after the third ring.

“Hi R.” 

“Hi Ferre, how are you? You called me?”

“I’m good, I was just-” 

Grantaire’s impatience got the best of him much earlier than he wanted to in the conversation. “Actually- I’m sorry- I just- I spoke to Joly and Bossuet. I don’t know what happened between you guys but I think he might be coming here to get away from everything and I don’t think it’s a good idea to just leave him alo-” He stopped his word vomiting when he heard a soft laugh from the other side of the line.

“Grantaire, that’s fine. It’s your life. Everything Joly and Bossuet told you is true, but it’s not my place to tell you anything beyond that. I just wanted to hear how you’re doing.”

Oh. He needed to start giving Combeferre more credit for his kindness.

“Oh. Yeah I’m good. I’m fine. I just finished work on an exhibition, I’m working on a commission now. How about you?”

“I’m great. I’m teaching a new class this semester and it’s going really well. We received amazing feedback so far from students.” He was genuinely happy to hear this. He was never a science person, but Combeferre had a habit of rambling about medicine and nature when he drank a bit too much and those were the only times the subjects interested him. Even back then it was clear that he would be a great teacher. “I was grading some papers when Joly called me yesterday.” 

“Yeah it’s been a bit of a confusing weekend as you can imagine, but I’m looking forward to seeing him again.” He wasn’t scared to be honest with Combeferre. Plus, he figured it would help to know that his friend was welcome in the city. 

The relief was audible when Combeferre spoke next. “I think if anyone can help him now, it’s you.”

“What? Why? I haven’t spoken to him in five years. I have no idea who he is right now.”

“I guess that’s true, but I have a good feeling about it.” There was silence as Grantaire waited for him to explain. “Listen, he's my best friend. Be kind to him.”

“Um, yeah. Of course. Of course I will be.”

“Thank you R. Is it a fun commission?” 

“Oh the best.” He was happy for the conversation to transition to an easier subject so he didn’t have time to dissect Combeferre’s request that he be kind to Enjolras. Why would he think he wouldn’t be, anyway?

He was just hanging up when he walked through his apartment door. He didn’t have anything planned for the rest of the day, so he jumped into the shower and let the hot water warm him up after the cold walk. He was just lying down on the sofa, bundled up in his robe and dark red wool blanket, and about to open his book again when he was reminded of his conversation the day before.

Grantaire [17:40]: did you finish the book?

With his phone already in hand he took the opportunity to start his reading playlist over his speakers. He got three pages in before he heard a familiar buzz.

Enjolras [17:47]: Yes. I hated it.

Grantaire [17:48]: care to share with the class?

Enjolras [17:49]: It was A Little Life. I kept seeing it in bookstores and thought I would give it a chance. It was not good.

There really wasn’t a book that Grantaire could think of that Enjolras would dislike more than one predicated on a person’s misery and his inability to get out of it. Still, this was another one of the quirks he was delighted to find out many years ago - Enjolras loved hating books. He would swear he didn’t, he would say he wouldn’t waste valuable time on something that produced such little value, and yet he often ranted about how awful a book’s theme was or how much the author’s misogyny was reflected in the writing. One time he called him out on it, and he said it was important to learn how to critique speech to better develop his own. Grantaire thought that was the stupidest excuse ever, but it’s not like he minded at all. He was usually the only person who would both have read every book Enjolras hated, and also hated on them with him. It was fun.

Grantaire [17:50]: fuck i hated it too. i read a review that said if it was an opera it wouldn’t be la bohème, it would be rent. 

Grantaire [17:50]: also how are all his friends like super rich cool and successful? 

Enjolras laugh-reacted to his first message. That was new. Reactions weren’t a thing when they used to text, it was nice to know they passed the strict code of regulations necessary to represent Enjolras’ tone. 

Enjolras [17:51]: That’s one of the things I was wondering during the whole book. How is that possible.

Enjolras [17:51]: The prose is extremely dramatised too. At points, I felt like the author actually enjoyed making him suffer.

Grantaire [17:52]: weren’t you defending the representation of suffering in art like just yesterday?

He knew that’s not what Enjolras was defending, he wasn’t dumb. He just wanted to rile him up a little. Sue him.

Enjolras [17:54]: You are willfully misconstruing my words, and you are very aware of that fact. I was defending that suffering is often aestheticised by external actors to manage their own reactions to it, because recognising its existence in its pure state is uncomfortable. If this book had been written with the intention of drawing attention to this fact and making a call for action regarding the life of the protagonist my opinion on it would be very different. However, it was made with no such purpose.

Grantaire [17:55]: i don’t think every story about pain should be politicised, maybe victims just want to exist

Enjolras [17:56]: Pain should not be decorated.

Grantaire [17:56]: i didn’t say it should be?

Enjolras [17:57]: I know. You do this thing where you purposely misinterpret my words because you know I made a good point. I am doing the same to you .

Busted. There was a smile hinting at his lips, it was nice to know that Enjolras noticed the things he did just to get a reaction out of him. Once again, he wondered if he was feeling the same confusion, strangeness, and interest he was. Maybe he had a Weird Grantaire Quirks checklist that he was checking off in his head. 

Grantaire [17:58]: you think i made a good point?

Enjolras [17:59]: You are impossible.

His smile finally broke out. His stomach turned on itself. He laugh-reacted to the message. 

Grantaire [18:00]: are you all packed?

Enjolras [18:02]: Yes. Bringing 4 pairs of trousers, 5 long-sleeves and 2 short-sleeves, water-resistant clothes and 3 warm sweaters and 2 lighter ones. Check-in will not be a problem as it is a 24h hotel. I booked a taxi for 12, I don’t think there will be a lot of traffic so I will be at the airport with plenty of time to spare.

Grantaire [18:02]: cool

Enjolras [18:03]  I need to start making dinner. I am looking forward to tomorrow.

Grantaire [18:04]: me too. see you tomorrow

He walked over to the kitchen to make his own dinner as John Denver started playing throughout his apartment.

Let me give my life to you, let me drown in your laughter

Let me die in your arms, let me lay down beside you

Let me always be with you, come let me love you

Come love me again

Chapter Text

Enjolras was nervous. He was never one to get nervous, couldn’t remember the last time he was. 

He was rushing through the streets of Paris, barely dodging the people in his way as he half ran to the spot where his taxi was waiting.

Once inside the car he checked his phone. 12:20. That was good, he had tried to get ready quickly but he was scared his shaking had slowed him down. He willed his heart to still and his breaths to quiet. The radio was playing an old English song he almost recognised, the unwelcome sound only managing to increase his unease.  

The trip was not long, 20 minutes from his apartment. The spring air was hot around him as he hurried out and towards the door of the block he needed to get in to. A part of the door frame was dislodged and weaker, so he was able to kick into it and create a small hole in the wood. His hand fit into it and he felt around for the open switch, which led him inside the block with a ring. He raced up the five flights of stairs, and finally stood outside the apartment. There was no pause as he reached into his pocket. The best way to take action, he believed, was to not stop and think, just move move move. That’s what he was doing now - no pause to assess his trembling thoughts. Just follow the steps, there is no shaking if you follow the steps. He found the old highschool card he had slid into his wallet and forced the door open. 

It had barely closed behind him when he shouted.

“Grantaire!”

No answer.

He muttered a ‘fuck’ to himself and ran into the bedroom. 

“Grantaire.”

Grantaire was lying on the floor, face to the side. He was half naked, his drenched t-shirt forgotten next to him and his jeans stuck halfway through his legs. The room reeked of alcohol and cigarettes and puke. Enjolras wished he could feel as repulsed as he normally would. He crutched down and nudged him as gently as he could.

“Grantaire, wake up.” 

Still no answer. 

“Grantaire please wake up.” 

He heard a mumble in response. 

The determination that had taken him out of his apartment and next to Grantaire flooded out of him at once. All the steps he had conjured up disappeared from his mind, and his shoulders started shaking again as he sat down against the bed. Relief, anger and frustration mixed as he pressed his knees to his chest and tried to breath, like he’d seen Joly teach the very man lying on the floor. 

In, in, in. Out, out, out.

His eyes were starting to well up. He pressed his knuckles to his eyes before they could.

In, in, in. Out, out, out.

The smell of the room clung to his skin. He could feel it crawling under his nails and inside his eyes. He dug into the wooden floors, trying to raise some of the lavender scent he associated with the room, but he came up empty. 

In, in, in. Out, out, out.

His hand reached out to the head of matted hair beside him. He fixed his gaze on the contrast of his pale skin and the dark curls. When he breathed this time, it was easier.

The only evidence of time passing was the sunlight slowly illuminating the room. 

In, in, in. Out, out, out.

By the time Grantaire stirred again, the room was drenched in light, and his index finger was wrapped around a curl of dark hair. As soon as he felt the movement, Enjolras stilled and moved his hand back before the other spoke.

“Enjolras?” His voice was hoarse. 

“Hello.” Grantaire moved to face him in a sudden movement, his brown eyes so open Enjolras could almost see the green specks that spotted them.

“What are you doing here?” 

“You should get yourself cleaned up.”

It took a few seconds for Grantaire to catch up to the world again. He looked tired, the eyebags under his eyes deeper than usual. Enjolras glanced down at his body, there were two new cuts under his collarbone, swelling on his left eye, and bruises on his knuckles. There were a couple of healing contusions lining his kidneys, but he had boxing practice two days before, so he needn't worry about that. His eyes were slowly gaining focus again as he adjusted to the light, which was good. The vomit on the floor was mostly water, and he had been sleeping on his side. 

He helped him to his feet and guided him towards the bathroom, where he switched on the shower. The pain as the hot water scalded his hand provided some relief. The pit at the bottom of his stomach still hadn’t disappeared, a feeling he wasn’t used to and which he hated more than anything. It made him feel useless and reckless, out of control; and if there was anything he needed to help people, it was control, it was steps, it was the mental clarity to follow them. Before he could leave the room, he felt his arm being tugged. He turned and saw Grantaire staring at him, desperation in his eyes. 

“Enjolras you can’t see me like this.”

“Then get into the shower.” He left the room.

On the sofa he found a half finished book, ‘Stoner’ by John Williams. Grantaire had talked about it to Joly and Bossuet three meetings ago. Normally he would read books much faster than that, but he hated this one, so he read it slower to understand why he did. Enjolras had read it once, a long time ago, but he picked it up where the bookmark was.

Grantaire appeared at the door fifteen minutes later, his hair wet, looking slightly more alive with his sweatpants and Bahorel’s hand-me-down t-shirt on. He leaned against the doorframe and looked down at his nails, picking on the skin around them.

“I hate that book.” He spoke to the entire room.

“I know.” There was a long silence, so he continued. “Me too.”

“You can just tell how much the author hated women.” He was still picking at his hands, but his tone was softer this time, more hopeful.

“I hate the self-pity in it.”

It was the truth, but when Grantaire finally looked up it was with a familiar cast upon his eyes. Enjolras easily recognised that look, the defeat and disappointment in it. Not disappointment at others, but at himself - he recognised it, but he had never quite been able to understand it. The softness was gone when he spoke again.

“Why are you here?”

“Jehan called me.” This was also the truth. 

“Right. Of course that’s why.” He looked down at his hands again. 

Enjolras didn’t take his eyes off him. He knew what he meant by that. He also knew there was no point in disagreeing with what they both knew to be true. 

In, in, in. Out, out, out.

—-

5 years and 7 months later 

Grantaire was nervous. He had every right to be. The train took 40 minutes to get to the airport, and Enjolras hadn’t landed yet, but it was still way too little time until he was to see him again. 

Normally he would take a metro to the train station, but this time he decided to walk, giving him ample time to overthink about how their first conversation would go. This was on top of all the ample time he had had in the morning to overthink what he wanted to wear. It made him feel a little silly, and apparently he sounded it too, if Eponine’s words when he called her stressed about his hair were anything to go by. He would have called anyone else, but Cosette had a morning shift, and all his other friends were already at work. She was equally useless about his outfit, but Jehan, the angel they were, texted at exactly that moment. Even though they didn’t know Enjolras was coming, Joly and Bossuet had made good on their promise, they still recommended his straight brown corduroys and black loose shirt for his ‘important meeting’. 

The ticket checker came just as he was trying to decide if he should text Enjolras now that he was on the way to the airport, or if he should wait until he actually got there. For a second he debated the benefits of asking her what he should do, until he realised how idiotic that sounded. They had talked since the night before, so it wouldn’t be weird to do a double text anyway. Enjolras had texted him in the morning, of course as early as the sun rose, to ask him about restaurants, and he’d replied with his 100 Places to Eat list when he himself woke up. While he was starting to prepare lunch, he’d received a picture of a taxi in an all too familiar street, confirming that Enjolras was on his way to the airport. He’d stared at the picture for too long, it hadn’t occurred to him that he would be living in the same street as he was when he left, and that he would order his taxis to the same corner two streets down so it ‘would be easier on the driver since they don’t have to do a U-turn’. It made him feel a pang of melancholy that he didn’t know what to do with, so he just asked if he had any on-flight entertainment. Yes, he did, his boss had given him access to the interns’ case drafts so he could do some easy editing on his time off. Yes, he knew he was supposed to be on vacation. No, he didn’t understand why that meant he couldn’t still do work if it was for a greater cause. And yes, ‘that is usually how people talk, Grantaire’.

He decided a double text was okay and quickly sent out a picture of his almost empty train cart as his mind found a new obsession to dissect. He’d thought a lot about how he might have changed personality-wise, but not at all about how he might have changed physically. For some reason, it scared him to see Enjolras as a victim of the same passage of time that affected everyone else, it seemed he should be above such afflictions. But his profile picture was old, and his friends had refused to show him any pictures of him throughout the years, so this really would be the first time he saw him since he left. Blond hair, deep blue eyes, stony expression, he bet all those were still there, but he wondered how many new lines he would see upon his face. He hoped his heart would behave when he saw him, and that as nice as their conversations had been and as beautiful as he looked he could remember that they weren’t even friends; Enjolras was just someone visiting his city, and he would be a good host and hope that he would be able to help with whatever was in his mind, if he so chose. 

The rushing thoughts mixed into a sense of excitement that, accompanied with the music playing through his earphones, felt almost lulling. He let the feeling carry him the rest of the way.

At 16:33 he was waiting by the arrivals gate. Enjolras still hadn’t landed, and he would need to wait for his luggage, so he had plenty of time. He took a picture of the arrivals sign and sent it off to let him know he was here. It only took five minutes for him to receive a picture of a plane window as a response, which caused a warm feeling across his chest. He couldn’t stay still while he waited, so he ordered a coffee and drank it slowly.

Enjolras [16:51]: Got my luggage, walking out now.

Grantaire stood up as he read the message and walked closer to the door. He ran his fingers through his hair, and straightened his shirt and trousers and secured his coat on his elbow five times until he ran out of things to do with his hands and put them in his pockets. His curls were back to being pulled through when a familiar set of blond hair walked into view.

He had imagined this moment many times throughout the last five years. Sometimes, his dreams would see him walk right up to Enjolras, a speech prepared, and he’d become incisive for the first time in his life as he listed off all the ways in which he had fucked him up. Other times, Enjorlas would run into his arms, and Grantaire would hold his face and murmur a thousand apologies. Now, in the middle of a busy arrivals gate, time stopped, and they simply held each other's gazes. One looking up from finger combing through his curls, his index still wrapped around the one that always fell on his eyes; the other, stopped on his tracks, grabbing tightly onto his black luggage and openly staring. They looked at each other, neither knowing what to do or say, until someone bumped into Enjolras and forced him to move out of the hallway. Time unpaused, and Grantaire watched him walk towards him, a soft smile on both of their faces.

“Hi.” Said Enjolras.

There really were new lines upon his face. His frown was more pronounced now, as was the skin around his eyes. His hair was shorter too, he used to wear it wild and long, sometimes held back by a ridiculous red hairband. Now it was shorter on the sides, and slicked to the right. It looked good, he liked it. Accompanied with the smart trousers and well-fitted white shirt he was wearing, he looked much more professional than he used to. It was a good reminder that he used to be a student, and now he wasn’t anymore. He wondered for a second if he also looked more adult - more put together, at the very least. 

“Hi.” He replied.

Enjolras looked him up and down, spending a couple seconds on his hair. He found himself hoping he liked what he saw, just like he liked his new haircut and his new frown lines and his stupid overdressed suit shirt. He smiled when his eyes found his, and Grantaire smiled back and pulled him into a hug. 

“Good to see you man.” 

“You too, thank you for picking me up.” His hair smelled like coconut and vanilla and his hand was sure on his back. He missed its presence as soon as he pulled back. There was a second of awkward silence, neither of them sure what to do next. Enjolras grabbed tightly onto his bags again, and Grantaire immediately noticed the movement.

“No worries, you don’t need help with the bags?”

“I’m good.” 

Something in him moved then. The excitement of having Enjolras in his city coursed through his body. As much as either of them had struggled to call the other friend throughout the years they’d known each other, he loved his company, and he could now believe that Enjolras enjoyed his too. He was in front of him now, and Grantaire wasn’t drunk, or anxious, or wanting to self-destruct. This was the healthiest version of himself, and damn if he wasn’t going to enjoy the few minutes he had with who used to be his favorite person.

“Are you ready?” 

The smile he received in return reached his eyes and somehow he knew he never should have worried about this.

“Couldn’t be any more.”

With that, they made their way back to the train; and Grantaire wasn’t surprised when Enjolras had already figured out the weekly ticket he had to get, and Enjolras wasn’t surprised when Grantaire said hi to three flight attendants he knew on the way and lunged into the story of how they met after the time his plane was delayed four hours. 

—

“What do you mean you saw a guy take a shit on the Metro?” 

They had been on the train for exactly five minutes, and Grantaire had decided it would be a great introduction to the city to tell him some of his favorite stories from living in Berlin. Like a crash course, he’d said. Enjolras was, like with everything, a dutiful student, and was listening attentively and interrupting only when he had a genuine question. This story seemed to prove a bit too much for him though, with a disapproving frown already in sight. 

“I guess he just really needed to go.”

He meant it as a joke, but he knew there was a real chance Enjolras wouldn’t take it as so and it would spark a lecture about creating community by ensuring public spaces were safe and comfortable. Instead, he laughed and said “Fuck I guess he did.” 

That was weird, since his mind was already gearing for the discussion, but he decided he didn’t mind it. It was nice to see the other laugh. He knew he wanted to hear the sound again, so he jumped into another story, this time about the time he caught two girls with her hands down each other's fancy skirts in the back alley of the McKinsey offices.  

“And that’s the day I learnt that defending that love is love sometimes means standing guard to make sure no one catches two horny corporate lesbians during their break.” 

Enjolras raised his eyebrows, a hint of amusement in his gaze, and deadpanned in response. “Can’t believe you stood guard for the enemy.” 

“Wow dude, lesbians are not the enemy.” Enjolras had many kinds of stares, there was the angry one, the disgusted one, the ‘I can’t believe anyone would say something so fucking stupid’ one… One of his favorites was the one he’d get when he said something dramatic, which was always just the smallest bit fond. That was the one he was at the receiving end of now. He remembered clearly the day he first unlocked this look, how it made him feel invincible, and how that feeling didn’t subside any of the other hundreds of times he got to see it again. It was a happy memory, and one he hadn’t thought of in a long time. 

Enjolras took the second of silence as a sign to speak.

“You know there’s these two girls interning in my office, I caught them during the Christmas party making out in a closet and I just walked out super awkwardly when they saw me. They’ve been super delightful and hard-working employees ever since, I’ve never had to edit so little in drafts in my life.” 

The image of two girls terrified that their stony boss would get them fired over an office crush was funny enough, he couldn’t imagine how terrifying it must be if said boss was the work version of Enjolras. “I can’t believe you’re blackmailing this poor young love couple.”

“Not blackmailing, just hiding that I wouldn’t rat them out.”

“Well of course, it’s making them better employees.”

“For a greater cause, you get it.” He’d missed that, the way Enjolras would deadpan every single line and everyone was left to guess if he was joking or not. Grantaire was pretty good at identifying it, though. 

The half hour to Ostbahnhof flew by as they talked about Enjolras’ job and the type of cases they usually had. He worked in the labour department of a law firm, and they mostly consulted trade unions across the European Union on complex litigation against multinationals, his latest case was a wrongful termination in Italy. It reminded him of the many conversations they had shared about dreams and ‘working for the establishment’ and whether or not it was possible to have an ethical job. What a crazy thing it was to think that both of them achieved what they wanted most, though Enjolras seemed to think a bit more mechanically about his role. The conversation was so pleasant, so simple, that he couldn’t help the tugging hope that they would hang out more during the week, because they deserved to be able to speak freely without Grantaire running his mouth just to feel any kind of worth. They deserved a moment to meet each other again. 

They looked around the East Side Gallery as they walked out of the station. Like Grantaire suspected, Enjolras looked out of place among the sharp lines and colors that made up the graffiti along the street. Like a Roman emperor amongst his people, or an angel walking on a pavestone. It wasn’t just his clothes and looks, he just exuded a certain regalness that made people stare. He couldn’t say that to him without setting him off though, so he ignored people’s looks and forced him in the direction of his hotel before he could ask something stupid, like where the panel of Brezhnev and Honecker kissing was. 

The anti-tourism speech was already at the tip of his tongue by the time they arrived at the hotel. Berlin didn’t even get that many visitors during the Winter, but the cold must freeze them in place, otherwise there was no explanation for how slow they walked. The conversation that would’ve sparked had to cease as they entered into the foyer. As Enjolras checked into the room, Grantaire’s mind was racing with all the ways he could ask him to hang out during the week that wouldn’t indicate a want for anything more.

“All done. I got room 205. Do you have plans for dinner?” His brain went static. 

“No, not really.” He said, careful. 

“Let’s go somewhere then, I want to thank you for the welcome. You can pick the place if you want.”

“Sure, yeah. Thanks.”

Enjolras smiled.

“Okay. Wait around here, I’ll be back down in a bit, I want to settle in first.” No hesitation, barely a question. Grantaire watched Enjolras walk away and into the elevator. 

His phone was already on Eponine’s contact when the hotel door closed behind him, and the ‘what the fuck’ he’d been murmuring to himself became the first words he said as she picked up.

“Is that a good what the fuck or a bad what the fuck?” She said in response.

“I think it’s a good what the fuck? He’s in his room getting ready and we’re having dinner after.”

“Like in a good way or in a bad way?”

“Eponine I don’t know I guess in a good way?” 

“That’s good then, was it awkward? Was he uptight? Was he annoying?” 

At least those were very easy to answer questions. “It was awkward at times, but it was still nice. He wasn’t annoying just… he was funny and weird and he told me about his job and about his interns making out in closets at office parties. He looked so good too, more like, put together and mature?” 

“You are so going to fuck aren’t you”

Well, Enjolras was definitely as attractive as he had been back then, but no, that wasn’t something that was top of mind at that moment. Still, he had to stop his brain from invoking any memories - ‘meet each other again’, that was the mission. 

“Ep I can’t even think of that possibility right now.”

“Sure sure, I just can’t believe I had to put up with years of you cursing this guy every chance you got just for you to crash out after seeing him once.” He could only laugh at that. Maybe his friend could see something he still hadn’t, but he definitely wasn’t going to pursue him, at least not now. There were so many things he didn’t know about him, and finding him just as attractive and fun to be around as he did back then wasn’t going to distract him from that. 

“I’m going to try my best to not do that, trust me.” 

“I guess that’s good enough, where are you going for dinner?” That was something to distract himself with, so he pulled out his restaurant list and filtered for the ones close to the area, rapidly listing off options as Eponine shut them down just as quickly. They ended up picking a Korean place, because they usually had vegetarian options, and Grantaire wasn’t sure if Enjolras still was, and it was cheap enough for it to not suggest any further intentions. Eponine pointed out that if he wasn’t interested at all he wouldn’t be thinking of those details, but he wasn’t above shutting her down when she made a good point.

“Let me know how it goes later, ok? And remember I still have first dibs on meeting the guy.” Enjolras reappeared in the foyer just as she finished her sentence, so they said their goodbyes and he walked back into the hotel. 

He was wearing a different outfit this time, his shirt replaced by a dark blue turtleneck that matched his marine fleece, accompanied by worn grey straight jeans. Grantaire recognised the material of his jumper as cashmere, and he briefly wondered if he had any idea how expensive that was. When he realised he’d been staring a bit too long he debated if he should use that as an excuse, but he shook that thought off soon enough. He had no reason to be mean.

“Your hair is wet.” Not like that was any better, but his brain wasn’t functioning as fast as it normally did. Enjolras didn’t seem to mind though, he just looked confused and brushed through the strands falling on his forehead.

“Yeah. I showered.”

They stared at each other.  “Right. Sorry. Korean?”

“Sure.”

Enjolras held the door open for him as they got out back into the Winter cold. They walked in silence towards the restaurant, Grantaire hitting a rock on the way and Enjolras watching him. 

It was him who finally broke the quiet. “Who were you talking to?” 

“My friend, Eponine. She was giving me recommendations for a place for dinner. She’s cool, I don’t know if you guys would get on but we met like the month I arrived in Berlin and we’ve been close ever since.”

“Yeah. I’ve heard of her.” That was the first sign that he had talked to their friends about his life in Berlin. In five years it was only normal that would’ve happened, he himself was able to scrape bits of Enjolras’ life through passing comments. But more importantly, it was also the first time he’d brought up their shared friends at all, even if indirectly. That made him feel uneasy, and reminded him of his conversation with Joly and Bossuet. How was it possible that a man that cherished his friends as much as Enjolras did hadn’t talked to them in so long? And why did Combeferre ask him to be kind?

“Enjolr-”

He didn’t get to finish his sentence. “You mentioned her in an interview some time ago, for the exhibition you did in Amsterdam.” Friends and the Mountains. It was a big canvas, inspired by something Eponine told him after a particularly bad month - ‘I wouldn’t be able to stop being by your side R, I feel like we are stuck to grow together’. It was a particularly poetic phrase for her, and he immediately felt the tingle in his hands he felt when he wanted to draw. The painting ended up as two big mountains, with two friends resting their backs on each other at their intersection. Like mountains, they were stuck together, but the other was the only other person that knew what it was like to grow there, so they wouldn’t move even if they could.

Did Enjolras read his interviews? Was this the only one? Had he always done it, or was it only because he knew he was coming? Did he like his art? It was very different from what he used to do back in college. He stopped in his tracks and stared at him.

“Enjolr-”

“Tell me about them. Your friends.” Interrupted again, he understood that he didn’t want to talk about it. At least not now. The last thing he wanted was to push him too far and too fast. He knew all too well that he had done that exact same thing before, and he was determined to not let his self-worth beg for him. He started walking again, knowing they were close to the restaurant. 

When they finally got there and sat down on one of the free tables, close to the window overlooking the street, Grantaire started speaking. “Okay so there’s Eponine, obviously. She’s probably the person I’m closest to, in the whole world. She has a little brother, Gavroche. He’s fifteen now and he’s great, very intimidating but he’s at the age. He’s very smart though, and has a great eye for art that I like to think I taught him, and has a bunch of friends too.” Something in him reminded him of Courfeyrac and Feuilly, but he decided to leave that part out. “Then there’s Marius. I met him because Eponine used to be super in love with him, but it’s okay now ‘cause she’s over him. He’s a bit shy and awkward, but super smart and kind. He always brings us soup when we’re sick.” And you should never get both him and Bossuet drunk because they ended up in the ER both times and Joly and him insisted there wouldn’t be a third. “He’s dating Cosette and she’s become part of our group too because she’s incredible. Just imagine a badass Disney princess, she moved a lot with her dad when she was little so she speaks like four languages, a little French too. She studied biotechnology but she doesn’t want to work in research or pharma so she waitresses at James.” She also has a shared Pinterest board with Jehan in which she uploads her favorite textile patterns for them to make skirts out of. 

“James?” Asked Enjolras, looking straight at him, the menu forgotten at his side.

He cowered under his gaze, picking up his own menu and pretending to read it. “Yeah sorry, that’s what we call her beer garden. It’s called James June. We call it James because a psycho Ep used to date thought it was a real person that she was cheating on him with. It’s supposed to be a joke, but it’s not really that funny.” 

Enjolras smiled. “No, it is. It’s silly. I like it.”

The smile reached his eyes when Grantaire looked at him. He cursed himself for the recognisable butterflies he felt.

“Yeah. I guess it is.”

“Will I meet them?” The question caught him off-guard. He’d spent hours pondering how to ask him whether or not they were meeting up again, even longer if you counted the days from when he first received his text. All this discussing with others and himself, and apparently the issue wasn’t even a doubt in the other’s mind. They just were. That was alright by him, if there was anything he was good at, it was following Enjolras’ every word.

“If you want to. They’d like to meet you, too.”

“Okay.”

And that was that. 

“I had an exhibition last month. I’m also working on a commission, but I’m pretty ahead of schedule for that. So I’m like, pretty free this week.” He offered the information tentatively, but grew assured as Enjolras’ lips slowly widened. 

“Okay.”

The waitress interrupted their moment, but all awkwardness disappeared for the night. Grantaire was still careful of not bringing up Paris, but he spoke freely of his job, his style, the methods and paints he liked using, just like Enjolras had spoken of his work in the train. He listened attentively, as if memorising his every word, and something told him that, somehow, he was. Sometimes, he would take out his phone and show him a picture of the paintings he was talking about, and not once was he scolded about the lack of political undertones in them.

After dinner, they walked along the river and laughed at the drunk teenagers lining the benches alongside it. Grantaire pointed at a restaurant on the other side, which had a terrace over the water filled with lights. “The food is awful, a total tourist trap, but it looks pretty.” Enjolras didn’t look at the restaurant once, but he could’ve sworn he was staring right at him when he murmured “Yeah, I bet it is” in response.

When he finally laid back on his sofa at home, the promise that they would meet the next day still hanging in the air around him, he pulled out his phone to catch his friends up.

Eposette et. al - Grantaire [22:34]: so Cos wanted to do salsa night on Wednesday?

The ‘Marius is typing’ bubble that appeared immediately didn’t surprise him in the least. He would bet him and Cosette were both lying in his bed anxiously waiting for his update.

Eposette et. al - Marius [22:34]: Did it not go well? :( 

Eposette et. al - Princess Ep [22:34]: YOU WANT TO TAKE HIM DANCING?

The image of Eponine also hovering her phone, probably with Gavroche peeking over her shoulder, made him chuckle to himself. A bit of waiting would do them good, he decided, so he found Enjolras’ chat and texted him before responding. 

Grantaire [22:34]: home

Grantaire [22:34]: how do you feel about salsa?

This time the typing bubble caught him a little by surprise.

Enjolras [22:35]: How do you feel about my two left feet and lack of rhythm.

Grantaire [22:35]: maybe i want to take you down a peg

Enjolras [22:35]: You’ve always been good at that.

Enjolras [22:35]: Sure. We can go. Is this where I am meeting your friends.

He had seen Enjolras dance before, and he doubted that was at the top of the list of skills to improve on during the last five years, but of course he felt no embarrassment at meeting his friends while doing something he was truly horrid at. Still, he felt it’d be better to get some drinks before, more for the benefit of Marius than anyone else.

Grantaire [22:36]: yea, Cos is a great dancer but Marius is awful and Ep doesn’t dance. you’ll love it. and we’ll go to James before if you need liquid courage, don’t worry.

Enjolras [22:36]: I’m not.

Enjolras [22:37]: I had fun today. Thank you for picking me up. See you tomorrow.

Grantaire [22:37]: see you!!

Three minutes didn’t feel like enough punishment for his friends, so he jumped up and into a quick shower. Once he was in his bed, his chamomile on the desk next to him, he grabbed for his phone.

Eposette et. al - Grantaire [22:58]: hello again

Eposette et. al - Cos <3 [22:58]: take your time hun

Eposette et. al - Princess Ep [22:58]: I will kill you

Eposette et. al - Grantaire [23:00]: so it went well. we had dinner and we went on a walk after. it was fun and he was very nice. we are meeting again tomorrow for brunch, and he asked if he would meet you guys, so i invited him for salsa night on wednesday. should we meet at James in the afternoon for dinner first?

Eposette et. al - Cos<3 [23:00]: omg you guys are so fucking

Eposette et. al - Princess Ep [23:00]: That’s literally what I told him earlier Cos, it’s not even fun, there’s no will they won’t they.

Cosette’s and Eponine’s freakish brain to brain communication didn’t catch him off guard. After all, he’d been there to see them bond stronger than any of them thought they would. But he still rolled his eyes at the statement. For some reason, his friends didn’t think he had the self-restraint to not throw himself at Enjolras like some love-sick teenager. He tried to steer the conversation to a more comfortable place.

Eposette et. al - Grantaire [23:01]: is that a yes to wednesday?

Eposette et. al - Cos<3 [23:01]: fuck yes, i’m so excited.

The same yes was echoed by Marius and Eponine, and he made a mental note to remind Enjolras the next day. He thought that would be it when Cosette texted again.

Eposette et. al - Cos<3 [23:03]: can we do a Q&A?

Eposette et. al - Grantaire [23:03]: go ahead.

The questions arrived in rapid succession.

Eposette et. al - Cos<3 [23:03]: did he pay for dinner?

Eposette et. al - Princess Ep [23:03]: What are you planning on doing tomorrow?

Eposette et. al - Marius [23:04]: Did he just say yes to salsa? No push back, no questions asked?

His thinking stopped when he read Marius’ question. That was the thing about Enjolras, he didn’t hold many people in high regard, Grantaire probably least of all, but for some reason he usually never heard no when he asked for something. It was the same for all the Amis, but he would be kidding himself if he didn’t admit that his requests were the least familiar for the man. Except for maybe Courfeyrac, who somehow had convinced him to sing Chiquitita with Combeferre for his birthday multiple times. 

It wasn’t always like that, of course. When they met, Enjolras would sneer and shake his head in disapproval at all his retorts. The benefit of hindsight allowed him to understand why; Grantaire had been disruptive, but the words he heard in return still didn’t sting any less. It was only a couple of years later, and he couldn’t pinpoint exactly when, that Enjolras started being more open to him. After that night at the Seine and the subsequent morning at his old apartment, something shifted. He’d come to think this was a necessary outcome of becoming closer, and they had become very close. Grantaire would take him to picnics, art museums, poetry readings, sometimes he’d show up to his boxing practice; there were things Enjolras told him and things Grantaire said in return that he doubted even Combeferre or Courfeyrac knew. The Amis had rules, you show up for each other, he’d simply figured that Enjolras wouldn’t be intimate with someone without extending the benefit of said rules. He could now see how stupid that was, because rules are not the reason people love each other, they just do. He saved that in his back pocket, deciding to analyze it at another time, next to his friends’ convictions that they would definitely sleep together.

Eposette et. al - Grantaire [23:05]: responses enclosed - 

• yes, he did pay for dinner, when he went to the bathroom. 

• we’ll probably do the typical tourist tour, take him to brandenburg, reichstag, the cathedral, checkpoint charlie… etc 
• i don’t think he’s over the moon about it, but he’ll come

Eposette et. al - Grantaire [23:05]: i’m going to bed now, good night my sweeties

He watched as his friends responded with their respective good nights and locked his phone. As he sipped on his tea, he wondered what the week ahead would be like. Just one day with Enjolras was enough to remind him of the person behind the marble that he so enjoyed all those years ago, but he hadn’t forgotten his conversation with Joly and Bossuet, and the worry in Combeferre’s voice when he asked him to treat him kindly. He wouldn’t force him to share anything he didn’t want to, but he couldn’t help but want to be back in his life, even if just for a little while.

Chapter Text

There was a basic tourism checklist he went through whenever anyone visited him for the first time. It had been a few years since he’d had to do the all too familiar routine, but even counting on how much is forgotten to time, he was still sure he’d never been this nervous to visit Brandenburg Tor. Before leaving he looked in the mirror and tried to straighten his striped loose shirt for what felt like the hundredth time. It was important to him that Enjolras knew that he not only owned an iron but used it every time he did laundry - it was just this one shirt that refused to get rid of its wrinkles. He had his life together, dammit, Enjolras needed to know! 

Half the walk to the brunch place he ruminated on that, the next half he slapped some sense into himself and realised that one wrinkly shirt wouldn’t ruin an intelligent man’s perception of him. This was common for him, now. He still hadn’t gotten rid of the spiralling thoughts, but now he felt more in control of them. His emotions weren’t able to take him hostage anymore. 

“I like your shirt.” The familiar voice startled him, and he turned around to find its owner walking towards him, his hands in his pockets.

“Thanks Enjolras, you scared the living shit out of me, though.” He was dressed more casually today, just jeans and a sweater. There was something akin to belonging in the way he walked through the street, he stepped with the same confidence in a strange city as he did in Paris. 

“On purpose.” Enjolras said. “Where’s this brunch place you say is about to change my life then?”

“Just down the corner.”

“Cool.” They walked in silence, Grantaire feeling the cold air on his face and sneaking looks at Enjolras, who was looking around the street. 

The place Grantaire had picked was a small cafe that had been owned by the same old man and waitressed by the same mean teenager since he had moved into the neighbourhood. The store had remained largely the same in all other aspects too, just simple wooden tables placed with seemingly no rhyme or reason; a large circled one in the corner, over which hung a drawn picture of a water lily, a thin rectangular one in the other, next to which lay a basket with blankets, tiny squared ones spotting the rest of the space. During summer they also put tables outside that took up half the pavement, but he preferred visiting during Winter, because they adapted the menu to the season and they only served peppermint cookies when it was cold out. It was a cheap enough place, despite the rising prices, which made up for the lack of warmth and kindness emanating from the waitress.

Enjolras, with all his Parisian disposition, didn’t seem to notice the unfriendly tone in her voice when she told them “You can sit wherever”, but Grantaire smiled back at her like he always did in hopes of someday getting on her good side. They ordered the brunch menu and two coffees, an espresso for Enjolras and a latte for him. The cafe was mostly empty, as it usually was on Tuesdays after the morning rush, but he didn’t mind, he enjoyed the quiet. Sometimes, he would come and draw or journal in the mornings when he wasn't in the studio, he’d doodle the faces of the people on the street, catch up on his training diary, sketch new painting ideas… 

“So where are we going today then?” Enjolras asked after the waitress left. 

“We’ll do a classic tour, just so you can say you’ve gone to the main spots. It shouldn’t take too long so we can take it chill, the cool things to do aren’t in the internet guides anyway. Some of them are genuinely so bad. I know you like researching all this stuff ahead of time, but I would be sincerely disappointed if you mention some of the things I’ve had to read in them. Truly awful stuff, all tourist traps.” This was a topic he was passionate about. He always had been, but Bossuet once visited trying to convince him to do a boat tour in one of those monsters that took over the river around Museum Island and he really couldn’t go through that again. 

“Why don’t you write the guides?” 

“What?”

“Well most people don’t read the websites anymore, they’ll just go to Instagram or whatever. You have a good following there, you could make your own guides. You knew so much about Paris when you lived there and I bet you know just as much about Berlin, people would be stupid to not listen to your recommendations.” 

“Huh. Yeah I guess you’re right. I’ll consider it.”

Enjolras shrugged his shoulders and looked at the waitress as she dropped off their coffees. Grantaire still found it hard to believe that Enjolras remembered these many silly things about him.

“Good that it’ll be a chill day, I have some work to do later if that’s okay. We can meet back up again for dinner.” 

“Sure that’s fine. Quick question though, not doing work until you’re back from your vacation is not an option?”

Enjolras laughed as he neared his cup to his lips. “Remember the interns I told you about? My working theory is that they had a fight, because they both delivered their worst drafts yesterday, boss asked me to give them feedback.” 

“Send them my condolences, I’ve been on the other side of your disappointment, I don’t know if their bruised hearts will be able to take it.” It was a bit risky to bring up sad moments from their shared past, but he felt inclined to nonetheless. He didn’t think it’d be taken wrongly, but he was still relieved to hear the trademark deadpan with a hint of amusement in the other’s voice when he answered.

“Oh I won’t be disappointed, just worried about the company’s bottom line. How will our C-level react? Will the partners be able to stop the client’s escalation?”

Grantaire nodded, following along. “Asking the real questions, have you considered bringing this up in the quarterly performance review?” 

“Unfortunately I am not leading those for the team, the senior manager is, but it is definitely a professional goal I intend to achieve in the coming years as I believe the company can really leverage my interpersonal skills to engineer better solutions and fulfill our KPIs.” 

He didn’t think he’d ever heard as much corporate jargon in a sentence. “Wow, never thought I’d see your speech skills used in this way, Enjolras. I guess it’s a transferable skill huh?” 

Enjolras raised his eyebrows and tried for a smile, but it didn’t reach his eyes. The waitress came by then, dropping off their food unceremoniously, causing Grantaire to make a comment about mean teenagers which finally broke a real smile out of Enjolras again. 

In the minutes that followed, Grantaire learnt two new things about Enjolras. First, that while he himself was a mix-your-Muesli man, Enjolras would just dig straight in and not bother to make sure the honey, yoghurt, and cereal were together to ensure the moisture of the yoghurt broke down some of the hardness of the muesli. Grantaire thought this was psychotic, and he told him as much, which only earned another raised eyebrow in return. Second, that Enjolras had seen more of his art than he thought, and actually had followed his career quite a bit throughout the years. He said this casually, like it was an obvious thing that he would, because he’d always liked his art, so why wouldn’t he.

“I was always curious, why did you change your style so much?”

They had briefly talked about his new brightly coloured aerial scenes the night before, but not the story of how he got to them in the first place. “Before I started making an actual salary I used to work a bunch of odd jobs. One of them was as office manager and secretary of this startup that desperately needed an HR independent assessment.”

“Most startups do, trust me, I’m a labour lawyer.” 

Grantaire laughed.

“Well I was friends with most of the younger people in it, most of them were interns, and I gave a girl there one of my paintings. It was an aerial scene of a forest, dark colours, it was raining, two people between the trees with one walking away from the other. She loved it for whatever reason so I just told her to keep it, turns out she’d been hooking up with one of the married C-levels the whole time, and he asked who the author was when he came by hers. That monday he asked me if I could make a similar one but with brighter colours, and a little happier, so he could put it in his living room.”

“Did he try to hide the affair or he just owned it?”

“He didn’t say anything about it, he probably realized I’d figure it out though. He paid very well and a bunch of his friends asked for my contact after, I think he appreciated that I didn’t tell anyone because he gave brilliant reviews of me and my work and I just started building a client base after that. Turns out I also have some transferable skills, apparently I am remarkable at networking, so it went pretty quickly from there to exhibitions, classes and such.”

Some of the Amis said that the story didn’t paint him in the best light, morally speaking, but the whole situation seemed so gray for him. What could he have done? Told the wife and destroyed a marriage with children, leaving a twenty-year old as the target? Told his friend that it was a bad idea, and that she should stop the affair, as if he knew so much better than her and destroyed their friendship and her career? Told the boss, get fired, become basically unemployable in all the businesses of his friends? It was difficult, so he waited it out, and decided being there for his friend when everything hit the fan was the most reasonable.

“You’ve always been a great networker, just not always known when to use it.” That brought back some painful memories, but leave it to him to somehow turn it into a compliment. He probably thought it was, too, back then. Or maybe it was just a fact to him, neither good nor bad.

“I guess you’re right.” And after a second of silence. “Do you think I should have told anyone about the affair?” He started playing with his napkin, breaking it into tiny pieces. 

“Probably. But who am I to say?” Probably the only person who could convince me and anyone else to take a stand on this and any other situation, Grantaire immediately thought. If he wanted to, he could have made all involved parties talk it out, battle it out, sign it out, whatever he wanted, and probably sign up for community organising after. There really was no one else he could think of whose lead he’d follow in this and anywhere else. But he didn’t say any of that, so Enjolras continued. “Are you still friends with her?”

“I am, but we lost touch. She quit the job after their relationship ended and she’s been living in Zurich for a while now, working in strategy for an apparel company. She still buys my prints, though.”

“I’m glad she’s okay.”

“Me too.” The girl was great. She was pretty, full of life, sociable, everyone loved her. Berlin had been right for her at the time, she wanted a wild few years and she got them. He was glad the city didn’t take too much in return. 

The conversation had reminded him of something else, something he’d thought of when he first started texting Enjolras during the weekend. “Do you like it? My art, I mean. It’s quite different from what I did in college, isn't it.”

“It is. I was surprised when I first saw the pieces you were selling, to be honest.” He seemed to think for a second. “I liked your art back then because you had a great eye for what was important, even if you didn’t realize, it was very crude and very sincere. You still have a great eye for what is important though, people are just more likely to smile in your paintings now.”

That sounded honest, and it was a beautiful and succinct analysis of all the thoughts Grantaire had struggled to string together for so many years. His art resembled his own mind, it was just hard to express how and why when the best way you have to express yourself is in itself your art. He hadn’t changed that much, not really, he just was more likely to reach for a smile when drawing a face now. 

“That’s a very pretty way of looking at it, Enjolras.”

“Thank you.”

There was a moment of indulgence where Grantaire allowed himself to surrender to Enjolras’ soft smile and to feel the familiar rush at the bottom of his stomach. It was soon, though, that he conceded to the voice in his head telling him they were just friends. Acquaintances, really. After the moment passed, Enjolras was still looking into his eyes, but Grantaire had pulled out his phone and showed him the metro they had to take to get to their first stop of the day. He received a furrowed brow in return, which made him feel like he’d done something wrong, like something of significance had been about to happen, but it disappeared as soon as it came.

—

There were few tourists along Brandenburg Tor, which Grantaire was extremely thankful for. Enjolras raised his eyebrows at him in the way he’d come to find was his new preferred way of answering to his dramatics when he asked if he’d like a picture with a thumbs up with the imposing stoned structure behind him. He just laughed in return. He was glad to move on from there to the Reichstag, the government building which was a lot more interesting, at least to him. 

In front of the building there was a large patch of grass that, especially in the summer, was filled with people doing picnics or just sitting down and taking in the sun. Now, in the Winter cold, they were some of the only ones that dared to lie down in it. Grantaire could see some of the recognisable tour guides with their umbrellas, which they used to not lose anyone in their group, waiting for their start times.

“You know I used to work as a Free Tour guide? The old women loved me, they gave the best tips.” 

Enjolras had his eyes closed and his head up to the sky, as if enjoying a sun that was not there. “Is there any job you haven’t had?”

He pondered for a second, thinking of every cafe, office, and hotel he’d had a short contract in. “Probably not.”

“Did you also have to carry around the stupid umbrella?”

“I actually think I wore it with a lot of suave thank you very much.”

Enjolras laughed, still looking up. “I don’t doubt that.”

Grantaire hit him in the shoulder for that, which Enjolras took with a smile before speaking again. “I’m just sorry for all the grandmas and mothers that fell prey to your charms.”

“Oh yes, my renowned charm.”

“Something very attractive about a man that won’t shut up.”

He hit him stronger for that. This time it wasn’t taken with as much blasé, and he received a kick in return. Before he could retaliate, Enjoras stood up and offered his hand to help him up. Electricity rushed from his fingers to his spine at the touch. He didn’t get any time to bask in the feeling before he heard a familiar voice say his name. 

“Grantaire?”

He looked around at where the sound came from, and found a familiar set of black hair and wide brown eyes marked with a smile.

“Floréal!”

The girl started walking up to him, arms wide waiting for his embrace, which he gladly gave. She was wearing a long silk skirt and a turtleneck, which he recognised as one of her on rotation work outfits. Probably on a late lunch break, judging by the time. The sweet scent of her conditioner flooded his senses at once, a reminder of their time together. There was something about memories, it occurred to him, that he never was able to surmount like other people. They stuck to him, both good and bad, a pang of melancholy everytime he smelled, looked, or recognised something familiar. Her conditioner, her clothes. His words, his smile, his quirks. They all clung to the walls of his subconscious, refusing to let go. 

“What are you doing here at this time?” She asked.

He pointed to Enjolras, who had remained a step behind him. “This is Enjolras, he’s visiting from Paris, I’m showing him around.”

To her credit, and not to his surprise, nothing in her face denoted recognition of the name. They had, of course, talked about him, just like they had talked about everything else that had signified a pivotal change in their lives. He knew her mind was filled with a flurry of assumptions, but there was little he could do without further confounding the situation, so he just watched as the two shook hands and introduced themselves. It reminded him that she was always too soft for him to stay with. He needed someone harsher.

“That’s lovely, you’ll love it here.”

“I know.”

Enjolras wasn’t the best at meeting new people. Whenever they were walking in Paris and they ran into someone Grantaire knew, he would stay back and answer curtly without ever meaning to. Grantaire never minded it, he found charm in the contradiction between his revolutionary fervor and his occasional awkwardness. 

“I mean, I already do.” He corrected himself, and Floréal gave him a wide smile in return.

“Where are you headed now?” 

“I think we’ll do the Cathedral now and then Checkpoint Charlie, he has some work to catch up on so don’t wanna do too much, just enough so he doesn’t leave saying I didn’t take him to the classic places.” 

“Of course, can’t have that.” She looked at Enjolras. “You have the best tour guide with you, I swear he knows this city better than me and I’ve lived here my whole life.” 

Enjolras smiled, soft and sincere. “He has a talent for that.”

Floréal looked between them both and subtly gave Grantaire a knowing wink. He tried to conceal the blush rising to his cheeks, but knew it was a losing battle and instead pretended to cough into his sleeve. 

“I’ll leave you to it then.” He hugged Grantaire again and with one last look at Enjolras said, “Have so much fun, like I said, you’re gonna love it.”

He nodded in response and they watched her leave in the direction of what he remembered being her office. She really was a delight of a person, even now after their break up. His friends loved her, Joly and Bossuet even met her once, and yet he was never able to shake the feeling that they’d be better off as friends. They were starting to get there, it wasn’t easy to just be it after dating for months, but it was easier than it ever could have been with the man he had to hide his blush from. Before he left Paris, in the months after their last fight, he couldn’t talk to or see him at all.

“Should we go? It’s a half hour walk to the Cathedral.”

“Let’s go.”

During the walk, Grantaire told him his favorite stories from working as a tour guide, interspersed with facts about each street they passed. “David Bowie moved here in the 70s, he actually frequented this one restaurant called Paris Bar, but the owner of that bookshop always tries to convince me that he was good friends with him.” “The singer of The Velvet Underground went to that club before she went on vacation to Ibiza and passed away from cycling too hard.” “I’ve met Sean Scully in that cafe, I told him I used to illegally download his prints so I could hang them over my sofa in Paris, he said he’ll do the same with mine so we’re even.”

In the middle of a story about the married woman who tried to give him her number, in front of her husband, in a piece of paper hidden under a stack of cash, they turned the corner and came face to face with the Cathedral. It was a beautiful monument, he always thought so, but it had become almost mundane after walking past it weekly for five years. The look on Enjolras’ face, one of complete awe, shook that thought off him. Something that made stars appear in his blue eyes could never be unremarkable, only something akin to godly could accomplish that.

“You like it?”

Enjolras nodded. 

Grantaire continued. “It has nothing on the Catholic churches of Paris, but it is very pretty for a Protestant one.”

“Why does it remind me of a Parisian church?” The question was an honest one, and it made a warm feeling appear across his stomach. Rarely did he feel like he had the solution to anything, but with Enjolras, it was as if he held the answers to all the questions he’d never dared to ask anyone else. Jehan once said they complemented each other.

“It started as a Catholic church in the 16th century. It’s been remodelled throughout the years, but it still keeps a lot of renaissance, gothic and baroque characteristics. That’s probably why.”

He nodded again. 

“A large part was destroyed during World War 2, but they inaugurated it again in the 90s after the Wall fell.” He would’ve been scared to be rambling if Enjolras hadn’t been looking at him so attentively. 

“Is there any place where the Wall is still intact?”

“Not many, but there are some. Not the decorated ones though, that’s just for tourists.” 

Enjolras’ gaze was starting to burn. It was so open, so honest, so adoring. And he couldn’t do that, not right now. 

“Let’s go, it’s another half hour to Checkpoint Charlie.” 

He started walking before he could get lost in his confusion. The water around Museum Island, where the Cathedral stood, started reflecting on his eyes as shy rays of sun broke through the clouds. Enjolras caught up to him, and the light made his eyes shine. He distracted himself by pointing at the imposing museums that made up the street, the Pergamon, the National Gallery, the Humboldt Forum. He walked them by the French Cathedral, explained that it wasn’t actually a church, just a tower, and they continued strolling through the streets in silence. 

Ten minutes passed before someone spoke. It wasn’t strange for them to have moments of quiet. It was Grantaire usually that led their conversations, rambling about whatever as Enjolras listened and occasionally commented; it sometimes occurred that Grantaire would get too lost in his own mind and Enjolras would simply let him be, breathing in his surroundings. It was strange, though, that Enjolras spoke first, not with a question, but simply just speaking.

“I looked up the steps to salsa last night, and some classics of the genre. I liked them. It seems very freeing, to only have some markings and let the rest be where the music takes you.”

Grantaire, who was still playing with the wrinkles of his shirt, looked up at him and smiled. 

“Of course you did Enjolras.” And with that, the awkward moment had passed. “It is very freeing, the guy normally leads which can make a lot of people get in their head, but if you have a good partner everything is so much easier.”

“I bet it is.”

“Which songs did you find?” He’d perked up quite a bit, and was looking forward to making fun of Enjolras for butchering Spanish names with his thick French accent. Of course, once he actually did, he received a kick to the shin for it. 

—

“This is Checkpoint Charlie, I’m sure you looked it up already but I don’t care I will tell you anyway.” He had to shush Enjolras when he saw his mouth was already opening to speak.

“It is one of the old borders between West and East Berlin, the guards would stand in that little house in the middle. You couldn’t actually cross from here, but before the actual wall was built lots of people tried to cross by jumping the barbed wire. Some succeeded, interestingly so.”

Enjolras was raising his eyebrow at him and tapping his foot, waiting for him to finish his spiel, as if any European leftist worth his weight wouldn’t already know everything he just said. 

“Class, who can tell me what happened here in June of 1961?” He looked around at the people around them, who rightfully ignored him, as if Enjolras wasn’t in front of him. He continued pretending he couldn’t see him, hoping he would play along, and was delighted when he received an eye roll and immediately after a hand raised in the air. 

“Yes Enjolras?”

“The Berlin crisis of 1961 where American and Soviet tanks faced each other for months and which culminated in the partition of West and East Berlin.” He spoke as if reciting an academic book. Considering the history classes he took voluntarily at university, he probably was.

“Touché! Star student, I’d give you a sticker if I had one on me.” 

A guy in a suit bumped his shoulder at that moment, which he took as a sign to move out of the way and drag Enjolras into the small free entrance museum next to the spot. It housed Cold War memorabilia, pictures, and remaining pieces of the Wall. He figured he would enjoy it. 

While looking at some of the propaganda posters inside he could see Enjolras repeatedly check his phone from the corner of his eye. 

“Do you have to go now?”

“Yes, I’m sorry. I’m going to need at least 3 hours and I’m already cutting it close. I should have left like a half hour ago.” He tried not to get offended at the last part - he didn’t say he didn’t want to stay, he stayed longer for a reason, he’s enjoying his time you didn’t force him into it - and be happy that they had an extra 30 minutes. “We’re still on for dinner, right?” The look in his eyes reassured him further, he didn’t seem too happy about leaving either.

“No problem. Yes, of course. I’ll be in my studio, it’s close to your hotel so just let me know when you’re about ready and I’ll come pick you up.”

His sentence was barely finished when he felt a pair of arms surround him. He hugged him back, taking in the comforting scent of vanilla and coconut, and tried to not hold on when he broke the embrace. With an apologetic smile, Enjolras left, already typing something in his phone as he did, and Grantaire stayed in the museum for ten minutes before heading for the Metro. 

It didn’t take long to get there, just a couple stops, which he used to answer the few texts he’d received during the morning. Gavroche sent a meme that he had to look up to understand, Cosette asked to confirm a time for the next day, and Bossuet was wondering how the week with Enjolras was going. He still hadn’t completely updated Joly and Bossuet on the state of things, but he had been so distracted it had been hard to find the time. It still was. He texted him saying it was going well, that he was well, and that they could talk at their weekly call, and Bossuet replied immediately with a smile and a heart. 

Gavroche replied with an equally nonsensical picture as he was opening the doors to his studio. The place was quite dusty, it had been a while since he’d properly cleaned it, but at least there was no sun to reveal the specks flying through the air. The painting he’d started during the weekend, the young man standing on a lecture hall table addressing the students, was still perched on its frame. He hung his coat and walked to the canvas, ready to pick it up where he’d left it. 

The last few days had reignited his inspiration, and all the details of the painting, the young man’s eye color, his hair, the faces of the people around him, came to him easily. If the figure was starting to resemble someone he knew, that was neither conscious nor subconscious. It simply was.

After working for an hour, he realised his hands were covered with red and green paint. Normally this wouldn’t be an issue, since he would go home straight after to wash it away in the shower, but he was planning on going straight to Enjolras’ hotel after. His studio had a small room in the back with a toilet and washbasin, which he opened once he reached it and tried to scrub the paint away. The water pressure was dreadful, hence why he preferred using his home shower, but it worked enough for his hands to look presentable again. Back in the main room he stared at the canvas, from a distance, trying to discern what to add, what to enhance, what to erase.

Dozens of things came to mind, as they say, an artist is his own worst critic. All in all, though, he was happy with where it was going. Enjolras said he had a good eye for what was important, and he couldn’t help but think of what he’d think of this painting now. What would he think was important here? The figure, passionate and fiery, trying to convince students to act on what they all believed? The students, some impassive and some agitated, filled with the foolish ambition of youth? Or maybe those in the audience that looked in pain, as if they had already traversed this road, sharing knowing looks but unable to hide the spark in their eyes? A part of him wished he was able to sell pieces like this, but like his professors told him, he was always unable to hide his partiality for the unconvinced. 

The leather chair gave under his weight when he sat down again and continued his work. He could probably fit in another half hour before he had to leave. 

—-

This time, he didn’t need Eponine’s help to pick a place for dinner. Actually, he needed Enjolras’ help. He figured there was progress there somewhere, maybe. They ended up picking a sushi place, because they were both adults with stable incomes now and didn’t have to rely on basmati rice, cucumber and soy sauce to get the experience.

The waitress asked if they wanted a beer or wine, and Grantaire could tell that was a question that had been rumbling in Enjolras’ head because he looked at him for confirmation before asking for just some water. It’s not like he’d completely stopped drinking, he just only allowed himself one drink a week, and only if he was with his friends already. It was easier that way than if he’d gone cold turkey, and he’d managed to continuously reduce the number of drinks to the comfortable level he was at now. When he finished telling the story, which hadn’t gotten easier through the many times he’d told it, he found he wasn’t nervous to know what the reaction would be. Something told him Enjolras would acknowledge its significance, show his pride with a soft smile, and change the subject to an easier one.

His suspicions proved correct. 

The intern drafts were apparently worse than Enjolras had imagined, the girls had completely forgotten basic grammar and were barely addressing the case.

“It can’t be just heartbreak, these are smart girls, how are they suddenly at a highschool reading level?”

Grantaire felt some empathy for them, not just because of how terrifying he imagined Enjolras would be as a boss, but because he could remember a time or two that he’d messed up at work because of a fight with the very man. 

“Well, how old are the girls?”

“Not sure, must be around 21, I think it’s their final year internship.”

“Well that answers it doesn’t it?” Enjolras seemed confused. “They’re 21 and probably going through their first messy relationship, everything just seems so important at that age it’s hard to prioritize, they’ll figure it out.”

“It wasn’t that hard for me.” He ignored the implied description of whatever they had as ‘messy’, because there really was no other word to describe it.

“Not everyone is like you Enjolras, created in the image of Engels. Or like, Saint-Just.” 

Enjolras rolled his eyes and threw a bit of bread at him. “You’ve compared me to Saint-Just before, you should brush up on your references.”

“Fine, Emily Davison then.” 

“I’ll take that. Love a martyr.” 

The chair made a creaking sound as Grantaire reached down to pick up the bread where it had landed on the floor. The movement attracted the eyes of one of the waitresses, who was leaving the kitchen as she tossed her hair up in a ponytail. He immediately recognised her as one of the girls that had worked the bar when he was a host in a hotel during peak season. It was a short contract, only for the summer, but the people were great and they had made a good friend group.

“Grantaire?”

“Emma!” 

Emma was a tall brunette with a thick German accent, a body covered in tattoos and a knowledge of club security guards that put his own to shame. She closed the gap between her and their table in a few strides and gave him a bump on the shoulder.

“Good to see you man. What are you doing here?”

“Good to see you too, Em. This is Enjolras, he’s visiting Berlin for the first time so I’m showing him around. Couldn’t pass on the sushi place in the city with the best waitresses.” Emma rolled her eyes and bumped him again, knowing he’d had no idea she’d be working here before he saw her. She looked to be about to say something to Enjolras before recognition dawned on her face. Of course he had talked about him to her too, one of the many, many mistakes he’d made throughout his life, if her mischievous smile was anything to go by.

“He’ll flirt with anyone, our Grantaire, right?” He groaned internally and hoped to God Enjolras wouldn’t pick up on the tone.

“And here I was thinking I was special.” 

He almost choked at that. Not on water, not on food, not on anything really, the power of his words was strong enough to bring about physical responses he didn’t even know to be possible. Emma seemed delighted though. 

“Oh Enjolras I can assure you you are.” She said with a toothy smile. Grantaire was already listing all the ways he could make a body disappear. Enjolras didn’t immediately respond, and he could’ve sworn he saw a pink blush in his cheeks, but he coughed into his sleeve before he could see it. “Anyways I’ll figure out who your waitress is and make sure you get a discount. If you texted me more I could have given you some freebies but it’s hard to find a spot in your busy calendar R.” The hotel group had been meaning to meet up all together at some point, but it had been hard to find a date that fit all their schedules.

“I always have space for you Em.”

“You only have space for your favorites.” She said this with a smile and a wink which she didn’t even bother to conceal, further increasing his embarrassment. He was sure this would be brought up when they all met together again, and that all of them would be jealous that she got to see Enjolras in the flesh and they didn’t. As for the man, he seemed to have recovered from his fit of coughs, and was looking through the food menu. 

“You know what you want already?” Grantaire said to try and regain a bit of composure and dignity.

“What?” Enjolras looked up at him, and down at his menu again when Grantaire pointed at it. “Oh. Oh, yeah. Yeah, I know.” 

“Cool.”

“Yeah.”

Grantaire reached over and stole the menu. The page was open on the same one Enjolras was skimming, and he was about to ask what was so fascinating about the allergy guide when their waitress interrupted them. They ordered their food - Enjolras ordering vegetarian sushi, whatever that was, - and cheered with their glasses of water despite his protests.

“What was your favorite part of the day?” 

“Having to delete a dozen semicolons in one singular page.” Grantaire threw a piece of bread at him, half in return for the one he’d received earlier, half because it was fun to see Enjolras’ unimpressed look.

“Copycat.”

“Guilty. Won’t do it again if you tell me what your actual favorite part of the day was.”

“Something tells me I shouldn’t trust you.” Grantaire pointed at himself and mouthed ‘I’m an angel’, and Enjolras feinted another throw of the bread. “The Cathedral. Everything was pretty, but it just struck me how similar it was to the ones at home. Thank you for the tour.”

“It was my pleasure. We have a lot more places to go to, Tiergarten, Schöneberg, the Jewish quarter, Tempeholfer Feld, it’s a shame you didn’t come during summer otherwise we could go to Mauerpark.” The list of places became so long that the waitress came back with their food just as he finished. In his defense, the cooks were fast. 

“What’s your favorite thing about Berlin?”

It wasn’t the first time he’d pondered the question, but he was yet to come up with a definite answer.

“It honestly changes from year to year. It has an edge to it, which I liked when I first moved, like it doesn’t bother being pretty because it knows people will be here anyway.” That first year had been hard, basically only strung together through kind strangers and Eponine’s undeserved loyalty. “Then I started really loving the way you can be literally anything here, like no one cares. I always felt Paris had a certain condescension where you had to be or look a certain way to be considered Parisian. I kind of realised that that’s not necessarily the case, I just fit into the mould here, and it took me a while to get that a mould still existed.” He couldn’t imagine someone like Enjolras living here, for example. Some of the other Amis probably, Bossuet, Joly, Jehan, but they had always been the ones that fit in the best when they came over. This realization made him sad, for some reason, as if Enjolras would ever consider moving away from Paris to Berlin of all places.

“Now I think what I like best is what I used to also like about Paris, there’s so much history here. It’s a different one from Paris, but it’s history still. Every street, building, stone on the pavement, it has a story to tell. And I like that.”

“You like knowing people’s stories.” Enjolras offered. 

“Exactly.”

“They’re very political stories, in any city, but especially in Berlin.” 

Grantaire tensed. 

They also had a story to tell, one where every time something political was on the table, Enjolras spoke with a fury that both dazzled and terrified him. They didn’t generally disagree, no, they wanted the same things - equality and freedom for all and all that - he just knew there was no achieving them. Every idealistic man throughout history, Gracchus, Robespierre, L’Ouverture, had fought, and thought they’d succeeded, until the next person came along and destroyed everything they’d built. They ended up assassinated, exiled, traitors… Were the last few years in the world not enough proof? Had Enjolras not studied the same history, read the same books, walked the same streets? Still, he loved the passion with which he spoke, the intensity in his words, if anyone would be able to accomplish anything it would be him; it was just hard to stand by and be silent when you saw the people you loved march on to their doom. So he spoke, and he spoke, and when they asked him to stay still for once, he spoke louder, because he couldn’t bear just standing by.

Sometimes he went overboard, he knew that now. That last time… All the shouting, and the crying.

But he couldn’t help but feel that the last few years had proved him right. There was no saving humanity, he wouldn’t drink that feeling away now, but he would pour that energy into loving his friends and trying to make the most of their lives. It was small, but it was something. 

He doubted Enjolras would agree.

Without realising, he must have been quiet for a bit too long, because Enjolras was looking at him with an expression he couldn’t quite discern. Like sadness, or defeat, but that couldn’t be right.

“It’s fine, R.” That was the first time he’d called him that in 5 years. “I didn’t mean anything by it. It was just a thought.” 

That did little to calm him down though. It must have shown on his face because Enjolras reached over, flicked one of his locks away from his eyes and stared at him intently. 

“I mean it. It’s all good. I’m not here to discuss anything you don’t want to.” A voice in his head told him it would be selfish to accept that, but he didn’t care to hear it.

“You sure?”

“Of course.” 

“Cool. That’s cool.” 

Enjolras smiled, gentle at first, but it grew to be teasing. 

“Hey drop that smile, that conversation could have gone so wrong and you know it.” The laugh he received in return lit him up. 

“There is one thing I’d like to discuss, even though I know you don’t want to.” Grantaire widened his eyes, not knowing what to expect. “What’s up with the looks all your friends have been giving me today and the winks they’ve been giving you thinking I won’t notice.”

This time there was no hiding his blush. 

“I regret ever offering to show you around.”

Enjolras ignored his comment. “Don’t get me wrong, it's flattering, and it was only a little bit embarrassing for you.”

Grantaire had put his hands over his head, pretending to not hear a word. “Oh God what must I have done in my previous lives to deserve such a harrowing one.”

Before Enjolras could speak again, Grantaire got up and told him he was going to use the restroom, and that he’d better be behaving by the time he got back. When he actually did, Enjolras was badly hiding a laugh, and Grantaire started blushing again immediately.

—-

Life really came at you fast. One day you’re 20 and on top of the world, the next you’re falling asleep immediately after hitting the bed because you stayed up past midnight. They had agreed to not meet up too early the next morning, which he was thankful for, because by the time Grantaire dropped off Enjolras at his hotel they were both barely standing from tiredness. 

It had been a fun night. A great night. They had stayed late with Emma in the restaurant, and she told Enjolras stories of the summer when she and Grantaire met and the wild people that had stayed at the hotel. Her favorite was one rich young woman that they had to talk out of what she considered summer loves one too many times. She’d come in with a new German man under her arm, smiling wide for everyone to see, and she’d be crying at the bar by the next Monday over her heartbreak. He also had a soft spot for her. They never did learn her name, because the one she’d booked the room with was so clearly a fake, which made it all the better.

When Emma left it was with another knowing wink, which Enjolras immediately teased him about. They walked by the water, trying to get perfect throws of beer cans into public bins, counting the couples making out along the river, judging the music blaring from people’s speakers. Enjolras asked him to show him some boxing moves, and Grantaire was surprised that he wasn’t completely uncoordinated. When Enjolras tried to get past his defense with a jab to the stomach, Grantaire moved away and slapped him in the shoulder, immediately running away. Shortly after they made their way back to the hotel, and if Enjolras stood with his shoulders a bit too close to Grantaire’s he didn’t say anything, because he was moving closer to him too. 

Wednesday morning came fast, and using the extra time he had now that they weren’t meeting so early, he was able to read a bit more of his Lord of the Rings copy. He sent a picture of it, opened at the page he was at, to Bossuet, who seemed delighted at it. When he got tired he picked up his phone again and scrolled through his favorite website, Facebook Marketplace. Everything he needed he basically already had, and there wasn’t a lot of space for extra decorations, but some people really didn’t check the value of things before they sold it and he was able to get insane deals.

The neighbour must have heard his scream when he found a Finn Juhl 45 armchair in black leather and dark brown wood for 100 euro. It was one of his favorite designers, and his favorite piece by him, basically impossible to find in Germany. It said the piece was reserved, but there was no harm in trying, so he sent the woman a message asking to be notified if the other person failed to show and went to get ready, too jumpy now to sit back down. 

His hair, for once, was cooperating, and he was able to get some pretty curls going. He was planning on coming back home before meeting his friends for salsa, so he wasn’t bothered that the straight jeans he chose didn’t allow too much movement. 

The metro wasn’t too full, with it being midday on a Wednesday, and they were meeting directly at the Pergamon museum, so it wasn’t too long a ride from his place either. After Emma explained all the Metro lines, trains and buses, Enjolras felt confident that he would be able to travel down to Münich alone without Google Maps if need be, so they thought there was no point in Grantaire picking him up. It might also have had something to do with Emma teasing Enjolras about it, because Grantaire was pretty sure he liked coming out into the lobby to him already waiting, but something told him he was trying to make a good impression on his friend, so he didn’t comment on it.

Once he was out of the Metro and three minutes into the five minute walk to the museum he received a text confirming that Enjolras was already there. He was typing out a quick response when he saw a Facebook notification had also come in. Not knowing what it was, he opened it, and started running as soon as he read its content.

The person the armchair was reserved for was a no-show, so the woman told him it was a first come first served situation with the other people that had texted her. The place was a 5 minute bus ride away, but buses in the city were unreliable and slow, so he knew he would be faster if he ran the distance. 

Only problem was, Enjolras was already at the museum, so he closed the gap by sprinting his way and only stopped when he was in front of the very confused man. 

“Grantaire you weren’t even late, I was just early, you don’t have to run.” He seemed dumbfounded. 

He had good training, so the sprinting didn’t make him too tired, and Enjolras didn’t look unfit, so he was confident they could make it if they didn’t stop to chat too long.

“A woman is selling a very expensive armchair that is impossible to find for very cheap. It’ll be 15 minutes to her place if we start running now.”

Enjolras seemed unconvinced, but not unwilling. 

“Original price is ten thousand euros and she’s selling it for a hundred.”

That seemed to do it.

“Fuck it. Lead the way.” 

And they started running.

Enjolras was right behind him, and Grantaire was impressed at his cardio already. Maybe all the years of running from cops really did build good stamina. He was already regretting his choice of jeans, though, they trapped his sweat in and didn’t allow his hamstrings to move too far, slowing him down. Enjolras managed to catch up to him only a few minutes into the run.

When he started to actually lag behind him, Enjolras looked back, and without needing a second to think about it reached for Grantaire’s hand and grabbed it. 

Grantaire could just about feel his heart, lungs, and head screaming, and knew it had very little to do with the sudden exercise. He looked to his side, where Enjolras was concentrating on dodging any passersby, and laughed, the ridiculousness of the situation finally catching up to him. Enjolras noticed, and started laughing too, not letting go of his hand. 

They ran side by side the rest of the way. 

—-

They got to the building before anyone else did, and when Grantaire started walking up the four flights of stairs, it was with Enjolras’ hand in his.

Chapter Text

“How are we getting this thing back to your place?”

“We’ll just leave it in the lockers at the museum and I’ll bring it back home after. I don’t live far.”

“Okay follow up question. Did you really just pay 100 euros in cash?”

“I always carry at least 200.”

The chair almost fell down the stairs when Enjolras’ grip faltered. Grantaire held on to it until he could grab it tight again. 

“Careful.”

“Sorry, discovering that I’m in the presence of maybe a drug dealer distracted me for a second.”

“Not a drug dealer, I just don’t trust banks on principle.”

“Well that’s fair.”

To the old woman they got the chair from, they looked like two sweaty and a little crazed men that were barely making progress getting the chair down the flights of stairs. They themselves felt like they had the strength of Goliath and the speed of Usain Bolt. 

It took them 10 minutes to get the piece of furniture back into the street. 

They opted to take the bus, too exhausted now to walk back to the museum. Once on it, Enjolras offered an embroidered handkerchief to Grantaire, to get rid of some of the sweat that lingered on his forehead, and Grantaire laughed so hard at him for owning such a thing that the bus driver had to tell him off. 

The museum, thankfully, wasn’t too far from the bus stop, and they were able to get the chair there in under 5 minutes. Also thankfully, one of Grantaire’s boxing friends worked as a security guard, and he allowed them to use one of the staff lockers to put the chair in until they needed to take it back home. 

“I need to stop being taken aback whenever you run into someone you know. Is there anyone you don’t know?”

“I don’t know that many people.”

Enjolras shot him the most unimpressed look yet.

They were going to the Old Museum, which mostly held Greek sculptures and monuments. Grantaire wasn’t expecting Enjolras to be too fascinated by it, but they had a sculpture of Apollo and he got a chuckle out of seeing it with him. 

To his credit, Enjolras read all the framed descriptions Grantaire pointed at and listened intently to all his musings and ramblings about classics and myths. He realised halfway that they had never actually been to a history museum together, only art ones, and found out that Enjolras loved the parts with trinkets and remnants of lives past. Something about seeing how they lived back then, how their struggles were also the same struggles they faced today, was particularly fascinating to him. Grantaire could only think of how only Enjolras could make a spoon the object of such interest. 

In front of Apollo, with Enjolras distracted reading the plaque under it, Grantaire stared at both the men, stone and flesh. He used to imagine Enjolras the subject of a renaissance statue, carved by the hands of Michelangelo himself, in the image of old Gods that were too good to walk side by side with him but did so as a distraction to the pains of immortality. He didn’t look like that now, though. He was more human, the lines in his face more pronounced, his eyes a little sadder and tame. Maybe it was time that had happened, or maybe it was something else, he couldn’t tell. Enjolras asked to move to another room, and feeling his hand on his, he couldn’t say no.

Looking down at yet another vase, this one showing a man in armour bidding farewell to his loved ones, Grantaire spoke, “I had a knockoff vase like that in my apartment and Marius broke it during a party.” It had actually been Bossuet that dropped it, but he didn’t need to know that.

“Where is your apartment? I haven’t asked you yet.”

“Friedrichstain, not far from your hotel, it’s a cool neighbourhood. I'm lucky to live there.”

“Your old studio in Paris was like 300 euros a month and was close to everything, it is a fascinating skill that you have.” 

“I bet it’s not 300 euros anymore though. Market is impossible here right now, Marius and Cosette are trying to move in together and nothing is under 1500.” Enjolras wasn’t wrong, he did have a talent for finding nice apartments and he had helped many friends with their search. He remembered a discussion they once had, about whether or not Grantaire being involved in mutual aid meant he cared about the many causes of the Amis. Back then he felt like he held a dirty secret, because Enjolras didn’t know that he was doing everything for him, to be close to him, to see him up close in a way many could only dream of. He wished he could tell him he’d been wrong, because even after knowing their time was over he’d continued helping, trying to make at least his friend’s lives a little better. He’d continued caring about what they cared about because he cared about them, not expecting anything in return.

As the years passed, though, it had become more and more difficult to help, even in his own little way. He knew the Amis were trying to do something about the housing market in Paris, organising protests and workshops in occupied spaces. Last thing he knew was that Ferre, Courf and Enjolras had a big project in a squat house, because he had helped connect Courf to a housing lawyer back in Paris, but he hadn’t heard anything more about it since. 

“Yeah. We really are the lucky ones, I hope they find something. Now come and tell me about the silver spoons.” With Enjolras’ fingers intertwined with his, there was only one thing he could do. 

He told him about the spoons.

—

“So I go forward one step with my left foot, shift my weight to the right, and back to the middle with the left; then my right foot goes back, shift weight to the left, and back to the middle.” 

After a quick lunch at the museum cafe Enjolras had insisted on showing him everything he’d looked up about salsa steps, and it had turned into a full revision session. He wasn’t completely arrhythmic, he knew as much, but he tended to get too in his head about everything. Basically the opposite of what one wanted when dancing.

“Okay Enjolras you know the steps, but it’s just about letting your body move. Just do what it tells you to do, not your brain.” They were still inside the museum, in the benches by the exit, neither wanting to be the first to go. 

“I haven’t done what my body told me to do since 1997.” Grantaire laughed, shuffling closer to him and putting a hand on his leg. Enjolras leaned into the touch and tried to feign a complaining tone, but it was betrayed by the smile on his face. “I’m serious, if I did what my body told me I’d be sleeping 20 hours a day.” 

“Sleep is for the wicked but fun is for the free. Just don’t think about it too much, the music will be loud, people will be smiling, it’ll come naturally. I’ll talk you through it.” Enjolras’ eyebrow rose so fast he barely had time to register what he’d said. “You’re disgusting. That’s disgusting.” He bit his cheeks to stop his grin as he tried to get up, knowing his arm would be grabbed and his body pulled back as soon as he did. 

“Come on it was too easy, won’t do it again.” As he let himself be guided next to him again, their entire sides touching, Enjolras continued, “I already knew you talk me through it.” 

“Oh God shut the fuck up.” He groaned into his hands, feeling a blush spread from his cheeks to his ears.

Enjolras let him stay there for a second, laughing at his embarrassment, before deciding he’d had his fill and getting up. Grantaire, barely recovered, followed him down to the lockers to pick up his chair. It had gotten late, and they both wanted to go back to their places before meeting up at night. 

“You sure you’re okay to take it home by yourself?” 

Grantaire tried the weight of the chair. “Yeah I should be good, it’s a direct line in the Metro and I live close.”

They hugged goodbye, this time not bothering to part within any acceptable timeframe. 

—

The chair ended up next to his leather sofa. He had to shuffle some furniture around to make room, but it fit the best with the color palette of that corner. You would have to pry it out of him (because he was not a lovesick teenager, but a 28 year old man), but he lay down on the sofa when he got home, face down, and pinched his cheeks to stop them from hurting. For some reason, time had made him forget how funny Enjolras could be, with his sarcasm, and his deadpans, and his unexpected confidence. That was not a mistake he would ever make again.

He tried to shake the thoughts of him out of his head, but it felt more like trying to get rid of soda bubbles by shaking the can. Finally, he opted for a cold shower. 

His phone rang as he was trying to tame his hair, and he immediately picked up with a smile when he saw who it was. 

“Hello angel!”

“Hi R!” Jehan’s voice was cheerful over the line.

“To what do I owe the pleasure?” He accepted the video call request, and soon he was looking at his friend in their bedroom, covered in their sheets. Their hair was up in a ponytail, some strands of hair falling over their face and lining their freckles. “Having a selfcare day?”

“Yeah, it’s kinda shitty weather today in Paris so I’m staying in and reading.” They stopped to take a sip of their tea. “I’m reading a collection of poems from modern authors, it made me think of our Emily Dickinson book. And then I remembered that I never asked you how your meeting went on Monday.” It took a second, between his friend’s charm and how forgetful he could be, to remember that he asked them for outfit advice before he went to meet Enjolras at the airport. 

“Yes! It went really, really  well, thank you. I don’t know how I ever lived without you.” He honestly didn’t. There was always a connection between him and Jehan, something he couldn’t quite put a name to, that felt like he was looking into a mirror. A more sane, spiritual, and likable mirror, but a mirror nonetheless. They understood each other on an artistic level, and that was closer to understanding their souls than anything else.

“And I don’t know how I ever lived without you. I’m about to finish this book, and I need a new novel pronto, can I entrust you with a recommendation?”

“I was reading one the other day, name’s Lapvona by Ottessa Moshfegh. Tetric, stylistically driven, magical realism, you’ll love it.” He’d thought of them as soon as he finished it, it wasn’t his cup of tea, but it screamed Jehan through and through.

“Oh I’ve heard of her. I’ll check if they have it in my library. Are you getting ready for something?” 

Maybe he and Jehan really were connected on some higher level, because they had a habit of calling whenever he needed advice on the one thing he wouldn’t trust anyone else with: Fashion. To be fair, he would also trust Courfeyrac, but he was too put together - Jehan understood his inherent need to look just a little bit scruffy. 

“Funny you ask. Yes I am, going to a salsa night with friends, help me pick an outfit?” He picked up his phone and moved them in front of his wardrobe before they even had to ask. 

“There’s nothing I would love more, what are we going for?” 

“Obviously flowy so I can dance, but also chic. Very importantly, I need to look hot.”

“That won’t be too hard.” Jehan was leaning closer to the camera, as if they could get a better look that way. Almost like they were right next to him, sitting on the same bed he was on.

“Stop it, you flirt.”

After about five minutes of Jehan asking to be moved more to the right, and to the left, and to open his undershirt drawer, and to show them his shoes with better lighting to make sure they really did go with the fit; they reached a winner. 

He had some suit trousers that were snug at the waist, but much looser through the legs, that he’d had Eponine size up for him recently. Their dark grey colour went great with one of his undershirts, which he covered with a similarly coloured cardigan buttoned up at the top. He paired it with a vintage silver watch and a belt and stood in front of his phone camera for a final verdict.

“You look so good. Whoever you’re trying to impress is going to have a very hard time keeping their eyes off you.” He straightened up his sleeves at the wrist and looked at the mirror. His friend wasn’t wrong, he did look good, in a vintage, cigar-smoking sort of way. Any other night he’d be sure he’d be coming home with someone beautiful under his arm. 

“Thanks Jehan. You’re a genius and an angel.” 

“Oh I know.” 

He chuckled at his friend's confidence and checked the watch on his phone. Almost time to meet Enjolras.

“I have to go, my hair is still not done and I need to be out the door soon.” 

“Keep me on the line while you fix your hair?”

Twenty minutes, a lot of hair gel, and a fascinating conversation about Parisian theatre later, Grantaire was out the door.

—

Enjolras was waiting outside the nearest Metro station, having agreed to meet there before heading to James to see his friends. A dark coat was hugging his sides, lining his figure. He didn’t get to see the outfit underneath before he was pulled into a hug and a heavy woody scent enveloped him. 

“Hi.” His neck was out of reach, covered by a red scarf, but the closeness still set a spark from his lips to the bottom of his stomach. The spark was still lit when he pulled away, meeting Enjolras’ smile with his, turning into ember.

“Did you fit the chair in your living room?”

The lack of greeting barely took him aback, he laughed softly. “Yes, yes I did. Perfect spot right next to the sofa.” 

The pace they set was an easy one. No need to rush, they were leaving early. They had all the time in the world.

—-

For a split second he thought of how Grantaire from a week ago would feel if he knew Enjolras was about to meet his friends - but then he looked down to his arm, linked with Enjolras’, who was walking ahead with his head held high. If he had all the confidence in the world while breaking into this new life of his, why wouldn’t he be confident in letting him do it?

A familiar light blue coat ran into him as he entered the inside area of James.

“Hello angel.” 

Cosette’s responding beam lit up the room. “Hi R! Sorry I was about to hang my coat.” Her gaze went from his face down to her arms and forward to his, where he was still tangled with Enjolras. It was almost funny how fast her eyes looked up to his face. 

“You must be Enjolras?” She didn’t spend long scanning his features. Her arms opened in greeting and she stepped forward to give him a hug. 

Their arms unravelled, leaving Grantaire to look at Enjolras’ face, which was looking back with wide eyes at Cosette’s gesture. Maybe a better warning on his friend’s cuddly nature would have been in order, but he’d been distracted. Maybe a subconscious part of him wanted to see Enjolras’ reaction, and his shocked face and hesitant arms around Cosette were definitely humorous enough to be worth it. 

“And you must be Cosette” No question mark. 

“That’s the name.” Her arms were now extended towards Grantaire, and he welcomed them gladly. “Marius is waiting at our table, he’s really looking forward to meeting you.”

Grantaire wondered how it could be that his friends were more nervous about meeting Enjolras than the guy was. At least Marius definitely would be, because Cosette was already pulling Enjolras’ arm and telling him about James, so she seemed okay.

His suspicions proved correct. Marius was sitting by the table, wiping his hands on his legs. He stood up as soon as he saw them and beelined to Enjolras, who almost towered over him.

“Hi!” 

Marius stood for a beat, Enjolras mirroring him. Then, the most fantastic thing occurred, at least if you asked Grantaire. At the very same time, Enjolras offered his hand for a shake, and Marius extended his upwards, to what he could only assume was an offer of a hug. They stood stuck in time, both staring at each other's hands and unsure how to continue. Grantaire and Cosette looked on and eventually found each other’s gazes, both trying to hide their amusement. Before the two men could remain frozen forever, Grantaire lightly tapped Enjolras’ foot with his, restarting him again.

“Hi, I’m Enjolras.” 

Marius lowered his arms and shook Enjolras’ offered hand.

“I’m Marius. Sorry. I didn’t say that before.”

“That’s okay.” 

If you asked him, they should’ve let them stay there a bit longer, trying to figure out conversation. Cosette was always kinder than him, though, so she took over, holding Marius’ hand in hers, and offered them a seat in front of them.

The cushioned seat was more comfortable than their usual tables; with Cosette getting privileges as James’ longest running waitress, she was able to book the only booth in the place. He offered to take Enjolras’ coat to the hanger, and as he came back to sit down he got a full view of his outfit. His breath held at his throat and his heart refused to beat as he looked up and down at the man in front of him.

He was wearing a striped shirt with thin white and light blue lines. It didn't cling to him, it didn’t hug his muscles or snug his waist. It fell from his shoulders and into his middle, barely touching skin along the way. It was tucked into black trousers not dissimilar to his, showing off his long legs, which were cut just above the floor, where beaten sneakers matched his white gold necklace. He looked older, more elegant. Not hot, or sexy. Attractive.

It took him a second to get his bearings, for his lungs to function again and oxygen to resume the beating of his heart. The blood rushing through his veins, which had not stopped but felt stronger and faster, continued its torrent when he sat back down next to him. 

“What would you guys like to drink?” He heard Enjolras ask.

He didn’t get an answer out before Enjolras walked past him to the bar. 

“Jesus, Grantaire.” The mockery in Cosette’s voice and the sneer in Marius’ face finally woke him up to the world. 

He raised an eyebrow, “What?”

It took Cosette at least half a minute to recover from the fit of laughs, Marius having to get her a tissue to wipe the tears from her eyes. Grantaire was still none the wiser.

“What’s so funny?”

“You?” Said Marius, himself still chuckling. 

His continued confusion must have shown on his face, as Cosette finally had mercy on him. “I’ve never seen someone check another person out so hard in my life, you looked like an animal in heat.”

“They might kick us out for indecency if you look at him like that again.” Marius supplied, backing up his girlfriend.

He groaned loudly. It didn’t feel like he was being that obvious, but all or nothing, wears his heart on his sleeve, that was his whole thing right?

“Shut up both of you.” He lightly slapped Marius’ shoulder. “Can you even blame me? He looks great, do you not have eyes?”

“I can see why you crashed out so hard over him, yes.” 

Cosette received her own deserved slap for that. Enjolras came back at that second with two beers in hand. “Don’t slap your friends.” 

“Thank you Enjolras.” Cosette sat up straighter and grinned at him. “A friend of the people, truly.” But he was out of earshot, back to the bar to bring whatever he’d ordered for the both of them. 

There was enough time for him to pull out his phone and type Eponine a message with their table location. As he sent it, a glass of bubbly lemonade was set in front of him, a similar one to his side. Enjolras drank, he knew that, not often nor too much, but he did - and yet he’d ordered himself a lemonade. It was small, but it mattered. Warmth set along his stomach and travelled to his hand as he held Enjolras’ under the table.

“It’s great to finally meet you, Enjolras.” Cosette said.

“You too.” He responded, honest. 

“I’m assuming this guy over here has already gushed about us.” She winked at Grantaire. “So what should we know about you?”

“I was kind of assuming he had already gushed about me.” Well, something like that, Grantaire thought, watching Marius and Cosette grin at Enjolras in a way that saw the line between evident and inconspicuous and stomped on it with both feet. “But I’m not the most interesting person in the world. I was born in Paris, I studied politics and law in La Sorbonne, which is where I met Grantaire. I work as a labour lawyer, I like reading and writing, and I’m pretty close with my friends.” The mention of the Amis didn’t go unnoticed, and he hoped that maybe the night would help him open up about what happened. What could it really be? He seemed happy here. “What about you guys?”

No time was wasted in telling him about Cosette’s less than conventional childhood, from her mother passing, to her adoptive dad, to moving all around Europe due to his dad’s legal issues, to finally settling down in Denmark. Enjolras leaned in a bit closer when she told him about her degree in biotechnology, and how she hated all the companies in the field and found research boring, so she just pivoted to something else. He smiled and muttered a ‘That’s so cool’ in response, making Cosette beam.

“I live with two other girls in a small apartment, but I’m looking into moving in with this one.” She bumped Marius’ shoulder. “It’s just hard at the moment.”

“So I hear.”

Marius started speaking then. “I’m half German, so that usually makes it easier to find a place, but I’m not very close with my German family. My dad’s side is from Argentina. And I’m also not the most interesting person either, but I work for the government, in the Environmental agency, and I know you have a political activism group. Some of our work is probably similar then.” 

Grantaire facepalmed. He would’ve immediately butted in, trying to change the subject or joking about how you could hardly compare the two, to hide his fret that Enjolras might be upset by the words; but then Enjolras gripped his hand even tighter. His eyes tried to meet his, but he was still looking at Marius. There was no indication in his face that anything had happened, but his hand remained tightly grasped, like a lifeline. Instead of speaking he interlaced their fingers and held on, solid and secure. 

Before Marius could dive further into how guerrilla activism and bureaucracy were the same, he felt pressure on his shoulder and he turned around to a familiar voice. “Sorry guys Gavroche was being annoying.” 

“Hi Ep!” Never had a person been happier to see another than Grantaire at that moment. He stood up to give her a kiss on the cheek and helped her with her coat, walking the few steps to the hanger and leaving it there for her. 

When he got back, less than fifteen seconds later, with an introduction hanging from his lips, Enjolras and Eponine were staring at each other. 

It seemed neither had moved, Enjolras looking up from his seat and Eponine down at him. It didn’t look like they were sizing each other up or, God forbid, checking each other out. No, he felt more like they were having a silent conversation that he wasn’t privy to, but that was hardly possible, they’d just met. When he looked at Marius and Cosette for clarification, neither looked to have noticed anything. 

“Sorry Ep, this is Enjolras, Enjolras this is Eponine.” He grabbed Eponine a chair and pulled it in for her as she sat. “Marius and Cos were just introducing each other.”

“Oh I hate introductions. Anything you’ve been told about me is true, unless it’s flattery, then it’s false.” Enjolras chuckled. 

As Cosette took over the conversation Grantaire sat back down again. Enjolras immediately interlaced their fingers again, and met his eyes and a tender smile. He smiled back, taking in the strong lines around his delicate eyes, the soothing touch of what could be merciless hands - nothing much had been steady in his life, but he’d uproot his very core to be a safe place for him. 

—-

“So you and R knew each other for five years before he came here.” His friends were being very careful to not tread on the dangerous ground of their previous relationship, and the Amis, and of asking if anything had happened between them since Monday - come to think of it, there was a lot they had to tread carefully around - but so far, they were succeeding. “Would you say he’s changed a lot?”

Enjolras didn’t need long to answer Marius’ question. “He definitely seems healthier. But that’s not something I didn’t already know.” That seemed to be the best way to avoid uncomfortable topics, imply the existence of common friends who would inform him of this, but never explicitly mention them. Like ghosts hunting their stories. “So I’ll say yes, he’s changed, but in a lot of ways he’s still the same person. I bet I could hold my own in a ‘Who knows R better’ game.” 

There was a ‘No’ at the tip of his tongue even before Cosette’s lit up eyes came into his view. It was futile though, he knew - three votes against two, no wonder democracy was failing in the Western world. 

So they ended up playing a Who knows R better game. Rules were simple, Eponine vs Enjolras, Cosette and Marius would act as a referee and ask the questions, switching between things more relevant to Current and to Past Grantaire. It took a little over 3 minutes for them to start. Don’t get him wrong, he basked in the attention, but he was struggling to mask the cringe.

“Okay this first question is more of a warm-up, hopefully you both know it but just to get you both in the groove.” It was agreed that whoever had the answer had to flip over a coaster placed in the middle of the table. “Where was Grantaire born?” 

They both reached for the coaster, though Enjolras was a bit too slow and ended up overtaken by a swift Eponine. “Avignon, close to Marseille.” She’d come to visit his family home a couple times, so he wasn’t surprised at her perfect pronunciation of the name. Enjolras, on the other hand, widened his eyes and looked at him with an unasked question. 

“My brother taught her how to say it.” He answered. Enjolras straightened in his seat, seemingly letting his competitive side win after understanding who he was up against. Grantaire looked at Marius for some common appreciation of how silly the whole thing was, but he was too immersed in certifying the point and whispering the next question to Cosette.

“Okay, hope you’re all warmed-up Enjolras, point goes to Ep. Next question: How many languages does he speak?”

Enjolras had the coaster turnt before Grantaire could even register the movement. 

“Four; French, English, Italian, and German.” 

“Wrong!” Eponine exclaimed.

The look Enjolras got on his face could have killed a hundred royal guards back in the day. Unfortunately, both then and today Grantaire felt he would be on the receiving end of that murderous look. Definitely when he said his next words.

“She’s right. You’re wrong.” He watched Enjolras bring his lemonade to his mouth, sulking. 

“Okay Ep you get one rebound chance.”

“R speaks five languages, French, English, Italian, German, and Spanish. That last one learnt in the last two and a half years, like the insane freak he is.” 

Cosette certified her point and confirmed they were 2-0 as Enjolras turned to him and asked, “How?”

He shrugged. “French, Italian, and Spanish are basically the same language, just different accents.” From both his vantage points, Enjolras and Eponine rolled their eyes at exactly the same time. 

“Next question. What’s the name of his most recent partner?” This one was definitely one for the Current Grantaire part of the bracket.

Enjolras turned the coaster even faster than before. “Floréal.”

They all turned to him, Grantaire the most confused of all. “What the fuck?”

Eponine followed. “Wait, how do you know that?”

It was Enjolras’ turn to shrug. “We ran into her yesterday.” His tone was matter of fact. “He got a look about him when they hugged.”

All three of his friends laughed, whether at him or with him, he didn’t know. Probably the former.

“Very impressive I have to say.” Cosette said, looking to Marius for the next question. “Next, what’s his favourite philosopher?”

Enjolras answered again. “Hume.”

“How did you even guess that?” Grantaire was shocked.

“You used to say it was whatever French existentialist came to mind, but you used to quote Hume all the time in the philosophy papers you helped us write. I asked you why once when you were drunk and you said you respected his ability to have an opinion on everything.” 

“It’s true.” As much as he loved continental philosophy, he was an empiricist at heart. It had started as a bit, but when he saw how much it drove first year philosophy students up the wall, he stuck with it. 

Somewhere next to him, Eponine groaned. 

“You used to write your friends’ papers, really? I swear you told us you slacked all your classes.” Asked Marius, and well, he did that too. Two things can be true at the same time.

“I’d hardly call it writing their papers. For the most part I just recommended easier to understand essays that summarised the authors we were learning about. I don’t know why professors think politics students need to study Heidegger in their second semester.”

Enjolras interrupted. “He’s the reason half our group passed our Intro to Philosophy class. One of our first actual conversations was me asking for a good introductory book to Foucault and him giving me the introduction himself.” He’d been so nervous that Enjolras was talking to him that he blanked out for twenty minutes and didn’t realise what was happening until Combeferre appeared at his side. He couldn’t believe he remembered that.

With the score now at 2-2, Eponine regained a bit of competitiveness and was able to gain ground on the name of his first ever exhibition and interior design aesthetic of his apartment. Enjolras used a preferred cologne and thesis supervisor name to even it out again. 

“We’re kind of out of questions, sorry guys. Didn’t think we’d need a tie-break.”

“Just come up with whatever. Marius, ask the first question that comes to mind.” Eponine said, with Enjolras nodding along.

His friend was not good on the spot, so with his cheeks already burning red, he blurted out. “Eye color. What’s R’s eye color?”

Eponine was faster this time. “Light brown.”

“Wrong.” Said Enjolras, almost immediately. They all looked at him, confused, and he looked at them, unimpressed. As if he couldn’t believe he had to explain this. “Grantaire has light brown eyes with green specks around the iris.”

“You do?” Asked Cosette and Marius, at the same time.

“I guess? In certain lightings you can see it.” 

Marius and Eponine leaned closer to him. “It’s too dark to see it.” Said the former.

“Let’s leave it then. It was a stupid question anyway, no offense Marius. I know you’re not good under pressure.” She turned to Enjolras and offered her hand. “Tie?”

Enjolras shook it. “Tie.”

“Should we order food before we leave?” Asked Marius.

—--

The night air felt fresh as they walked to the party. It was in a familiar place, a remodelled basement of an old club that held themed nights that Cosette adored and always dragged them to. The way there was the same boulevard Grantaire had walked hundreds of times, lined with grand buildings that almost looked to be kneeling to the Fernsehturm, transforming the unassuming tower into an imposing monument. 

Cosette and Marius led the way, followed by Eponine, who was on call to Gavroche making sure he was home already and hadn’t burnt anything. Enjolras and Grantaire closed their little group, now standing a bit further apart, though the warmth lingering in Grantaire’s hands was still enough to fight the cold outside air. 

“Eponine and Cosette seem very smart.” 

Grantaire laughed. “Should I point out the obvious Marius exclusion?”

Enjolras smiled. “Him, too. Does he always blush so often?”

“He’s getting better at it. Don’t mind his comment earlier, he’s the biggest Max Weber fanboy there is.” 

“It’s fine. He just hasn’t discovered that those kinds of authors don’t work in practice.”

Sometimes the Amis would get into drunk arguments about theory versus praxis, ends versus means, freedom versus structure. It didn’t sound like that’s what he meant though. “What do you mean?” 

He put his hands in his pockets. “Human nature, I guess. Let’s catch up to the group.” They went to Eponine, who had just hung up her phone, and walked with her the rest of the way.

—-

The place was already packed when they got there. Grantaire and Cosette were swarmed almost as they walked in, familiar faces giving their greetings. In the crowd, he overheard Enjolras asking Marius if it was always like this, and Marius answering that it came with the territory of him and Cossette. The interaction set a smile on his face that didn’t leave until he was back in their small corner of the bar, with a round of drinks for everyone.

“They usually start with an introduction to the place and organisation.” He said to Enjolras when he gave him his lemonade. “It’s kind of an occupied space, it used to be a club but it went under years ago and the owner doesn’t really care. Different organisations use it and all the money from drinks and stuff goes to them.”

“That’s really cool.” 

They went quiet as a small man got on a table and explained the organising group of the night, a community that raised money for small-scale coffee farmers in Central America. The speech was a short one, and soon a recognisable beat immersed the room. Cosette was talking to Eponine, trying in vain to get her to dance. 

“Never Cos, I don’t even know the steps.”

“I’ll give you an intro, come on I bet even Enjolras is dancing tonight.” All eyes turned to him.

“Grantaire has already shown me the steps, so I think I’m obligated.”

Eponine narrowed her eyes at him. 

“Been there Enjolras. Good luck, everyone looks silly dancing next to R. Except Cos.” Marius gawked at his girlfriend as he finished talking. The beat of the music and the excitement of having his friends together with Enjolras was rushing through his veins, and he stepped forward and leapt Cosette off her feet in one movement. She laughed in her arms, and Marius smiled at them. 

Next to him, he heard Eponine murmur to Enjolras. “You know looking at you both together, you and Cos really do look like siblings. He was right.” Enjolras seem to tense at the words, though it was probably a trick of the lights. Grantaire figured Marius must have said at some point, and he did see the resemblance. It was kind of striking actually, once you saw it. 

After Marius put Cosette down from his own turn of leaping her off her feet, he grabbed her arm and whispered in her ear. “Let’s show them how it’s done.” And they were off.

An old classic was playing, one Marius translated for him when he was beginning his Spanish classes. They immediately started their routine, Grantaire leading Cosette from step to step, swirling her around the dancefloor. He adorned each beat by turning her, accenting a tap, kicking his heel, or shuffling their bodies closer and further together. It came easy to them, Cosette a worthy partner after all their nights dancing. They’d come to learn each other’s moves and tells, making it easier to move as one being. He could spend hours twirling her around. 

After two faster songs they chose a slower one, allowing them to breathe and talk a bit. “He seems nice.” She said first.

“Never said he wasn’t.” Of course that was a lie, but they both knew that.

She turned her head back when she laughed. “Yes, never, of course. I mean it though, I don’t want to intrude too much, and I already knew he’d be sweet, but he cares about you.”

The lemonade, playing into his friends’ silly games, bragging on his behalf. Fighting about his eye color. He really did care, he could see that. He wondered if he could see it too, though. 

“How long is Marius going to be thinking about their introduction?” Cosette laughed again, her cheeks pink. 

“Oh he will be mortified for months.”

“If it’s any consolation I don’t think Enjolras is any better.” He looked over to their corner, where he seemed to be engrossed in a conversation with Eponine.

They were both standing close, Eponine with her brows furrowed. Enjolras was saying something he couldn’t make out, but she didn’t seem too happy about whatever it was. And where was Marius? 

The song ended and Grantaire let Cosette go in search of her boyfriend. His strides were fast towards the two in the bar, who barely registered his arrival. 

“Everything okay?” In the dim lights of the bar it was hard to make out facial expressions, but he could’ve sworn Eponine was rolling her eyes before he spoke.

“All good.” Her smile was forced. 

“Yes, all good. I’m gonna go to the bathroom, I’ll be right back.” Enjolras left quickly. When Grantaire turned to Eponine she was already raising her eyebrows at him, as if prepared for his probing. Had they been fighting? Why would Eponine be antagonizing him? 

“What was that?” 

“Just having a conversation with the guy, am I not allowed to?” She took a nonchalant tone. They knew each other enough for her to know that would only annoy him, which she must have remembered, because she put her hands before her in surrender before speaking again. “Look, sorry. We were just speaking and it got a little out of hand, but it’s fine. I’m just worried.” 

“Worried?” 

“You still don’t know why he’s even here.” He bit his lips. Eponine followed the movement, and her tone softened. “You’re looking at him like he’s the sun. I don’t want him to hurt you again.”

The familiar flow of anger hurried to his mouth, where his lips were starting to hurt. “I don’t need you to be fighting my battles Eponine, I’m an adult, I know what I’m doing.” 

She reached for her beer. “I’m just saying. He’s not a saint, I’m worried you think he is.”

There was no reason for her to be feeling so overprotective over him. Hadn’t he proved that he knew how to make his own decisions? He wasn’t 24 anymore. “He’s been here two days, we’ve barely even hung out.” 

The beer was almost done when she put it down. Her hand was grasping the glass tight as she turned to him and spoke, decisive. “Ask him why he’s here then.” 

“I don’t want to force anything.”

She smiled, but it was bitter. “Of course you don’t.” Enjolras came back into view and she started walking away from him slowly. “Whatever, R, it’s your life.”

They almost bumped shoulders when they crossed paths. He heard her say, “He’s all yours.” and walk towards someone else.

Enjolras seemed as confused as he felt when he got to his side. “Everything okay?”

It wasn’t rare for him and Eponine to bicker. The many years together had turned them into almost adoptive families, just as he’d helped take care of Gavroche since he stumbled into their life, Eponine had taken care of him when he needed a strong hand and firm advice. Sometimes she was overprotective, a consequence of the years where he needed her to be more often than not. 

Maybe she was having an off day, maybe Gavroche was being annoying. He decided not to pay much mind to it.

“Yes, all good. Do you wanna dance?” He offered his hand to Enjolras, who reluctantly took it.

“I don’t think I have a choice.”

They stepped onto the dance floor just as a new song started. It was a newer one, and the floor quickly became crowded as people sang along. Grantaire took Enjolras’ hands and started leading him slowly, going back and forth and side to side to the beat. He started mouthing the words, increasing his volume in each hit, to make it easier for Enjolras to follow along with his movements.

“What’s the song about?” Enjolras asked after getting tangled with his own feet for the second time. “Everyone knows it.”

“An old love.” He started translating. “ ‘I can’t forget you, I can’t erase you, you taught me how to love, you taught me how to dance ”.

They started flowing better, the steps coming more naturally to Enjolras as they repeated each one. A feeling came over him, something that told him this is what it should’ve been like all that time ago. Just being themselves, no pressure from anything bigger or smaller. 

Enjolras tumbled again. He was still too stiff.

“Just let yourself go, don’t think too much about it.” 

He stopped for a second and caught his bearings. Then, he smiled, and Grantaire felt the whole room disappear. 

They were alone now, dancing in his living room, the lights of Paris venturing through his window. They were smiling, laughing, alcohol rushing through their veins; Grantaire felt on top of the world, the most important man in it blushing in his arms. Move this way, and now to the side. R this is so unfair I can’t move like that. Yes, you can, just let yourself go, don’t think too much about it. It was a different song back then, but Enjolras had melted at his words all the same.

He whirled him around, and Enjolras followed, his gaze never leaving his. 

“You got it.”

They danced in silence for the rest of the song. Enjolras blushed, and Grantaire’s cheeks hurt from smiling.

When they got back to the bar Marius was sweaty and tired from dancing with Cosette. She herself had been stolen by some of her other friends, and Grantaire was swiftly stolen too by some of the people behind the bar, who he knew from volunteering at some of their other events. He left Enjolras in the trusty custody of Marius, hoping against faith that they wouldn’t get into the subject of bureaucracy again.

It wasn’t long until he was lost with Cosette, having found each other in the bathroom line and deciding to run upstairs to the community kitchen to get food. Their adventure was cut short by a text from Marius, and they found the rest of the group by the bar. Eponine looked to be sulking again, but he didn’t pay much mind to her as she was chatting with one of their common friends from the bar. He forced Marius out and into the dance floor with him, with Cosette getting Enjolras for herself, the four of them stepping side by side, and him and his usual dancing partner trying to get their men to not step on each other.

When Enjolras found himself back into his arms both of them were feeling high from the energy of the room. This time he was more flowy, letting the music guide him instead of his head. He was a natural. He laughed at him when he told him as much.

A new song was starting and the crowd was parting, which Enjolras used as a chance to speak again. “I told Cosette some of her questions were unfair. How am I supposed to  know what the aesthetic of your apartment is? I've never even seen it.”

“You did pretty well with the others, somehow you can tell who I’ve dated just by the way I hug them hello.”

His smile was playful. “You always get a look.”

“Do I?” He laughed. Was he looking at him like that now? A thought came into his head, and because he’d never learnt self preservation, he said it. “Come back to mine.” Enjolras stomped on his foot and looked at him with wide eyes. “Not like that, sorry. It’s just- It’s very close to here, and it’s late. The Metros are not running.” They most definitely were. 

“Sure. Thank you.” 

The song stopped and they stared at each other. 1, 2, 3, 4 seconds, before Cosette grabbed them for one last drink. 

Eponine was waiting for them by the bar, and he kissed her cheek before almost downing his lemonade. There was half a smile painted on her face as he parted, which he took as a sign that she’d gotten over what was affecting her earlier. She stood next to Marius, as far as possible from Enjolras, who was glued to Grantaire’s side.

The place was starting to empty when they left. A wind had started in the time they were inside, and the breeze was no longer a cold but pleasing feeling. They said their goodbyes as fast as possible, Cosette winking at him and Marius asking Enjolras for his number so he could ask for some political theory recommendations. Apparently they’d had quite an interesting debate while he was upstairs with Cosette. Eponine left with some of her friends from the bar, who she’d spent most of the night with and who lived fairly close to her place.

They walked fast and quiet, too cold to think. Grantaire half ran the steps to his apartment and sighed as soon as he opened the door, thankful for the warmth behind his walls.

He hung his coat and went to grab Enjolras’, who was standing by the door. “You can walk in, it doesn’t bite.” He grabbed his hand and forced him inside. “Just drop your stuff here and take off your shoes, I’ll show you around.” 

They walked hand in hand, first to his kitchen and bathroom, and then to his living room. Enjolras stood in the middle of it, as if frozen. 

“Feel free to use anything, like you’re right at home.” The chair from the morning caught Enjolras’ eye, so Grantaire sat on the sofa next to it and tapped on its surface, offering it. “You might recognise this one.” Enjolras sat, still looking around in awe. “I’m really proud of the place honestly, I’ve had it for a while and there’s no way I’m getting any deposit back but at least I’m happy in it. It feels like a home, I really made it my own.”

“How the fuck did you find this place?” He spoke as if his throat was dry.

“I have no idea, honestly. It was a friend of a client that was living in it, he was moving away and I just happened to mention that I wanted a new place. It’s not even that expensive, an old woman is my landlord. She just likes that I’m charming and have a French accent.” Enjolras’ eyes were bright. “I’ll find you something to sleep in, I’ll take the couch.”

“No way. Either I take the couch or we both sleep in the bed, your choice.”

“If I ever turn down the opportunity to sleep close to you, shoot me.” Enjolras got over his stupor and tried to slap him in the shoulder for that, but he’d already gotten up in the direction of the bedroom. 

The french doors opened wide, thanks to Cosette’s magic oiling technique, and he left them open for Enjolras to see inside from the chair. The choice of pyjamas wasn’t the biggest, as he himself usually slept in just sweatpants, so he laid out one of his smaller ones for Enjolras along with a clean t-shirt and went to the bathroom to take out a new toothbrush and get ready.

When he walked back out Enjolras had already changed and was sitting on the bed, looking at his bedside table. He had his Long of the Rings book in his hand, and he raised it at him with an amused look when he saw him walk in.

“Oh shut up, it’s one of the greatest fantasy books of all time. Plus it was a gift.”

“None of your friends strike me as the type to read The Fellowship of the Ring.” 

Before he realised what he was doing, he pointed him to the bookshelf in the living room which contained the Amis’ pictures and books. When the moment caught up to him Enjolras was already in front of it, the book still in his hand. He cursed himself for the slip up and rushed to his side. The words caught at his throat when he saw the look on his face.

His eyes were glossed over, as if in a daze. His lips were set in a straight line, his shoulders stiff. There was no way to tell what was going through his head, though his brain was in no short supply of possible ideas. He followed his gaze to Courfeyrac and Combeferre’s books, next to a picture of the both of them Courf had brought over from Paris a couple years ago. They were dressed up like The Plastics from Mean Girls, probably for Halloween. He’d never noticed, but it was a three person costume, and just the two of them in the picture. It was clear to him then what Enjolras was replaying in his mind; a night out with his best friends, complaining that they’d made him dress up, trying to stop Combeferre from drunkenly lecturing people, coming back home to sleeping in the same bed too small for the three of them, but trying regardless. 

Without thinking he grabbed his hand, and Enjolras seemed to remember where he was again. He blinked away his watery eyes and coughed before speaking, “Sorry.”

“All good. You okay? Wanna talk?” 

“No, no. It’s fine. Let’s go to bed?” The sudden silence didn’t unsettle him, rather, he understood it. Still, he thought of Eponine’s words from earlier. Should he be asking what happened? He’d seemed so happy the last two days, and in under thirty seconds a quiet penumbra had engulfed him. How would he act if he’d lost touch with all his friends? He was certain he’d be so much worse.

“Sure. Let’s go to bed.”

Grantaire took the side closer to his bedside table. They were quiet when they got into bed until Enjolras mumbled. “Thank you for tonight. It’s the most fun I’ve had in a while.”

He knew he was telling the truth, and he was too when he answered. “Me too. Sleep well, Enjolras.”

“Good night, Grantaire.”

—-------

His alarm woke him at 9am, just like it did every Thursday. This time, though, he wasn’t energetic nor excited, the late night catching up to him and making him groggy. Enjolras didn’t snore, or move too much, or sleep with his mouth open - somehow the Gods had agreed to bless him in every department, even this one -  so it had been a good sleep, just a short one. Still, there was no excuse to miss his boxing training, so after a third snooze he got up and started getting ready.

He was scared half to death when he walked out into the living room. “I made coffee.”

“Jesus Enjolras, you scared the living shit out of me.”

“Not sorry, coffee is on the table though.” He was sitting on his new chair, a book resting on his legs.

When he was debating whether to get a new coffee machine a big drawback had been the high likelihood that no one else would know how to operate it. He could have kissed the past version of himself that decided to stick with the French press, because he didn’t know if he’d have the energy to make his own coffee today. 

“Did you sleep well?” Though he seemed okay now, he was still wary of what happened before they went to bed. It had been a long time since he’d seen Enjolras as disappeared in his own thoughts, he was always so present. 

“Yes, short though. I grabbed a book from your shelf.” From the table he could peek at the title, ‘Bullshit jobs’ by David Graeber, a sociological study on the uselessness of most modern corporate jobs.

“You chose a very happy one, feeling positive this morning?” It was open a third of the way through, he probably started it back home and was just continuing it here. 

He smiled at him. “Always.” He laid the book down and gave him a lookover, stopping on his bare chest, and Grantaire prayed to everything holy that he wouldn’t blush. “Any plans this morning?”

“I have training, hope that’s fine. It won’t be long, you can stay here or you can grab the spare keys by the door. I should be back for lunch.”

“Sounds good.” 

Grantaire went back into his room and changed into his sports clothes, deciding to get breakfast on the way. Enjolras gave him another lookover as he walked out, his eyes somehow looking even deeper into him. This time he pulled over his sweater as it happened, planning ahead so his blush wouldn’t be as obvious. Somehow he knew Enjolras enjoyed knowing it was still that easy to make him nervous. 

“There’s plenty of food in the fridge, take whatever you want. There’s also a good cafe down the street, they do good breakfasts.” 

Enjolras nodded and continued reading, not without sneaking looks at him as he packed his boxing gloves. It would be unfair to just let him enjoy it without consequences, so he bent over slower, making sure he was still looking when he got up. His scheme was definitely noticed, as Enjolras was using the book to hide his smile when he walked in front of him.

“Grantaire?” He heard while putting on his shoes. “Are there any good bookshops around here?”

“Yeah definitely, if you still have the link to my Google maps just filter there, there’s one a 10 minute walk away.” 

“Perfect. I’ll see you later then.”

With a goodbye he was out the door and skipping over the flights of stairs. 

—-

He practically begged his coach to let him go early, pulling out all the stops including a thorough enumeration of all the extra hours he’d put in throughout the years. Eventually, he was let off a half hour before his usual time, and only because the next guy arrived earlier than usual. He tried pretending he was not running back home, excited to go back to Enjolras making the place his own, but he quickly stopped lying to himself and started half-jogging down the street. 

The weather was not the best that day, it was drizzling when he left and a strong wind picked up when he walked into his street. As soon as he got to his door it started pouring, strong and merciless. Lucky that he got home early, though his hair was still wet when he walked through the door.

The chair was empty in the living room, the book lying on the dining table next to one of the tote bags he kept in a kitchen drawer. 

“Enjolras?”

The noise of two pans clanking together came from the kitchen, followed by a hushed curse. 

“I’m in the kitchen!”

Curious as to what was inside the tote he neared the table, thinking Enjolras must have gone to the bookshop while he was out. Inside he only found a gift wrapped rectangular package, definitely a book, which he turned in his hands trying to make out its title. Maybe something for someone in Paris. 

Enjolras’ warm voice sounded next to him. 

“You found it fast.”

The sudden noise frightened him, and he took a step back. “Sorry I didn't mean to snoop. Who’s the book for?” 

Enjolras was wearing the same clothes he’d slept in, Grantaire’s sweatpants and t-shirt. He couldn’t help but smile at the thought; Enjolras sleeping in his bed, making food in his kitchen, wearing his clothes. It made him feel warm, and protective; Eponine said he still didn’t know why he was here, and it’s true, but he looked happy, calm, and bright next to him. He’d give anything for him to stay this way, and if being with him was the reason, he’d move earth and sky to remain by his side. 

Maybe he was restraining himself a little. Just like Cosette told him the night before, he wasn’t blind to Enjolras’ looks and actions, he knew he cared about him. Maybe it was fear holding him back, the memories of five years ago still lingering in his head, or maybe it was fear over what could happen if he did what he’d wanted to do since the moment he saw him at the arrivals gate. This was a different Enjolras, he was kinder, less headstrong - but what did that mean for them? Did it mean he could care better this time? Would his bigger passion not still get in the way? And what about Grantaire, would he still be okay with being second priority, with never being let in all the way into his thoughts? Would he still find refuge in that position, knowing he found someone that let him have only what he deserved?

The thoughts were swarming his head, had done so the entire morning. And Enjolras’ soft gaze and half smile didn’t help calm him down at all.

“I thought you were smarter than that.” Enjolras grabbed the package and placed it in front of him, as if answering his question. “It’s for you.”

The floor disappeared from under him at those words, and the entire room followed when Enjolras laughed and urged for him to open it. He made quick work of the paper, which revealed a copy of ‘A Gentleman in Moscow’ by Amor Towles. The book had been on his bucket list for a long time, since he saw Enjolras reading it before an Amis meeting. That had been one of the last ones he attended, when their relationship was at its crashing end. Perhaps the memory of Enjolras sitting down at the long Musain table, looking up from the book as he walked in and narrowing his eyes in anger, or disappointment, or indifference, had been too painful to ever read it.

“Before you left, your second to last meeting, you asked us to give you a book for your bookshelf. I was going to give you my copy of this one, I still have it at home, I even wrote you a note in the dedication page.” Only Enjolras’ words and the pounding pulse they gave rise to existed in Grantaire’s mind and body at that moment. “But we’d fought, and we weren’t talking, and maybe I was still too angry, so I never gave it to you.” He pointed at the bookshelf, where his friends’ books stood. “Seeing that yesterday reminded me of it. I always regretted not giving you my own copy, but this is the next best thing. It’s a great book.”

The light next to them was shimmering low, cars clamoured down the street, the rain was pouring and pattering on the window; his upstairs neighbour was stomping on the floor, and someone’s kids were screaming in the hallway. Grantaire could only hear Enjolras’ words, could only see the darkened hue of his blue eyes, could only feel his soft skin as he traced his forearm. 

He was so touched by the gesture - that he’d thought of fulfilling a request he’d made five years ago, that he remembered the exact date he’d requested it, that he’d regretted not giving him his own copy, that in a familiar bookshelf back in Paris a book contained a note only for him. And he was touched by everything Enjolras had done since his arrival, it wasn’t just the lemonade or knowing his eye color, it was the listening, the observing, the following along with his stupid ideas. Running down busy Berlin streets because he found a chair he liked on the internet. Being attentive to every silly story he told. Dancing with him in a room full of people. Remembering his cologne, his thesis supervisor, his favorite philosopher. Recognising the smallest glints in his eyes, knowing when he was hugging someone he’d cared deeply for, knowing when he’d gotten lost in his own thoughts and gently bringing him back to Earth. It was the best parts of him, the human parts. It was everything that had made him fall in love with him, all that time ago. It wasn’t that the Amis had rules, it was that they cared; and few cared as much as Enjolras and Grantaire did for each other. 

His lips tingled when he murmured his name and his heart thrummed when he saw his dilated iris. He ran his fingers up and down his forearm, and felt a pounding pulse matching his. Both of them were breathless when they locked eyes.

Doubts, fear, painful memories. It all disappeared when Enjolras stepped forward and their lips clashed. 

A second passed before the moment caught up to him, but soon Grantaire was kissing him back, hungry and deep. The kiss wasn’t tender, or delicate, it had been too long for that - and even back then, they had never been anything but passionate about each other. It was fiery, and impatient, and they both flushed as Grantaire pressed against Enjolras until his legs crashed on the table. Not wanting to be outdone, Enjolras wrapped a hand around his waist and curled his tongue around his. Any self-restraint he still had went out the window when he tasted Enjolras’ mouth, and his hands travelled to his neck, making him let out a low growl. 

They didn’t waste time in exploring the differences in their bodies, their hands trailing soft and stubbled jaws, buried deep in curls and silky hair, sliding under t-shirts and touching lean and bulky muscles. Enjolras murmured his name and he felt his heart flutter, his mind so lost in the daze that he barely registered the hoarse hum that escaped his mouth. 

Enjolras grinned into their kiss and he followed the movement. They parted and found each other’s eyes, their hair was messy, lips swollen and red, Enjolras’ gaze full of desire and an intensity he hadn’t thought possible in this new existence of his. Then, decisive and confident, he traced the scars along his collarbone to his collar, where he lightly but firmly grabbed his neck.

“Come to the couch.” In his haze, he simply followed his orders. He was good at that, and it’d never led him astray.

Sitting down, Enjolras eager on top of him, he realised how light the layers separating them were. Their laps were brushing against each other and sending sparks through him. His body was empty space, made up only of the sensations of Enjolras’ curious hands and mouth, a serving vessel ready to be full of him, him, him. A thousand words were tangling from their lips, only able to say them through hungry kisses and low hums. 

His lower lip was captured, his right hand grabbed and guided to Enjolras’ shoulders. He pressed his chest against him, causing his back to leave the couch, and subsequently be covered by a familiar touch. 

Enjolras parted, his hands still resting on his shoulder blades. “Your back is wet.”

A clear laugh made up of both happiness and amusement at the words left his mouth. “It’s sweat.” Both of them had been too lost in the moment to remember where Grantaire had been coming back from, and despite the training session being shorter than usual, it hadn’t been any less intense.

They fixed their eyes in each other’s faces, almost gaping, as if trying to save the memory forever. Enjolras smiled, and his gaze brightened as he did. “Of course this has to happen when you‘re sweaty.” He caressed his cheeks, the gesture so tender in their heated kiss that Grantaire’s heart fluttered. 

“Why do you say that?” He rested his hands on Enjolras’ hips.

“I like my men sweaty, I guess.” A quiet chuckle escaped his lips, and he lifted his fingers to tuck a strand of blond hair behind his ears. 

“I never could’ve guessed.” It felt as if years of work on himself had all led up to this moment. It was so important, so gentle, Enjolras’ responding gesture in feigned annoyance so precious to him. Maybe he would’ve said, all that time ago, that his whole world was resting on his lap; he’d grown older now, he understood that had been an unfair devotion that not even Enjolras could live up to, but he still would do anything for him to be a part of his world, forever.

They stayed like that for a few minutes, basking in the sight of each other, sharing kisses varying in intensity. They were both smiling, soft, sure, and truly content.

“You should go take a shower, I'll finish lunch.” Enjolras said as Grantaire left feathery kisses along his jaw. He parted from his neck and reached in for a quick kiss, broken by the grin on both their faces. “And put on some decent clothes, you’re too distracting.”

They got up and he watched as Enjolras stood in front of him, their waists almost touching, and tried to unravel the tangled mess he’d made of his curls. After a few seconds he seemed satisfied, and though Grantaire knew it’d still be a long time to get his locks back to their normal self, Enjolras cupping his face and giving him a steady kiss assured him that he’d spend a thousand hours taming his hair if this was his reward.

They looked each other up and down once again before Enjolras turned on his heels to the kitchen, pointing him in the direction of the bathroom. Before turning on the water, he heard the recognisable sound of pans clanking against each other, followed by a hushed curse. 

He smiled. He could get used to this.

Chapter Text

The hours passed, and the rain continued pattering and the smell of wet asphalt started enveloping the apartment, mixing with the scent of spices Grantaire was cooking in the kitchen. He’d never liked the silence, had gotten into the habit of playing music on the speakers to get rid of it and gotten so used to the sound the space started feeling empty again. It wasn’t silent now, though. The tofu Enjolras bought from the grocery store was sizzling on the pan, the shower was running and tattling slightly as the old thing always did, and the music didn’t feel quiet this time.

He knocked on the bathroom door. “Do you still hate peppers?”

The water stopped for a moment, “I don’t hate them, I just don’t like them. Put them on the side.”, and the water continued.

And he obeyed. Had it really always been this easy? Could they have been doing this all these years? No point in harping on that now, but it was definitely on his mind. What had stopped them then, and what had changed now? 

Enjolras came out of the bathroom, a towel around his middle, and laid against the counter. “What clothes am I allowed to steal from your closet?”

“Just grab whatever fits you. The second drawer on the right has the clothes I use for painting days, those should be good.”

Just as he turned off the fire and set the food to the side a voice came from the bedroom. “Grantaire?”

Close to the wardrobe, Enjolras was looking at a corner of the room. A pair of his old sweatpants were loose around his hips, the ones he used to paint in back when he didn’t have a studio and his nutrition was a third or even fourth priority in his life, and because God hated him, he was still not wearing a t-shirt. He wrapped his arms around his waist as he came from behind to look at whatever had captivated his attention. It wasn’t lost on him just how crazy it was that he was able to do that.

Enjolras was looking at his stash of discarded paintings, which Grantaire had almost forgotten about, and pointing at the one of him and Cosette in Admiralbrücke. “Is that supposed to be you?” 

The figure to the right side of the painting was unmistakably his body, but his struggle to paint himself was evident by the blur of facial features that was fighting to become a recognizable face. “Well right now that face is a creepy expressionist painting, but hopefully at some point it will become me, yes.”

His rib cage reverberated when Enjolras laughed against him. “Where is it?”  

With a feathery touch, Enjolras’ hair brushed his neck as he laid his head on his shoulder. “It’s Admiralbrücke, it’s just a bridge over a canal but it’s always full of people when it’s sunny out. It’s not too far from here, I’ll take you there someday.” 

“That’s Cosette?”

“Yes, Marius works close so sometimes we wait for him together.” He moved to pick the painting up, brushing off the dust collecting on top of it and answering the question he knew Enjolras was thinking. “I don’t normally keep paintings here, my agent would kill me.” His arms opened to the rest of the frames in the corner. “But these have mistakes or are styles I don’t normally sell, so they’re here until I find space in my studio to store them.” 

Enjolras walked up to him and picked up the painting, his fingers delicately tracing the frame. “This is very pretty. You don’t do this style anymore?”

“Not really. This is a very realistic painting. I used to do social realism back in college but I didn’t have the talent to pull it off, as much as you say I did.” Enjolras was still looking at the painting, his gaze locked on the blur that made up his face. Suddenly he remembered the features of the man in the picture he was working on, the one that was now standing up against a wooden frame in his studio, and he smiled at how obviously his fingers had been working off muscle memory. “I should take you to my studio at some point, I just started a painting in that style, you’ll like it.”

Enjolras smiled as he laced his arm around his waist, Grantaire feeling the familiar butterflies where his hands touched. “I would love that.” His curls were soon pulled by curious fingers, raising Grantaire’s neck the few centimeters that separated them and kissing him slowly. 

After indulging in the feeling for a few seconds, Grantaire separated them. “I'm cooking Enjolras.”

He received an eye roll in return. “Fine. We can have dinner, but then you’re coming to bed.”

Amazed that this was what his life had come to, Grantaire grabbed a t-shirt from the closet and shoved it in Enjolras’ hands, looking back at him for one last look before he walked back into the kitchen.

It didn’t take long for dinner to be served on the living room table, Grantaire finishing it fast after their conversation was interrupted by a call from Enjolras’ boss asking for his input on a case. 

“Sorry I’m back.” He said as he sat at the table, pulling a chair next to Grantaire. “Food looks great.” 

“Everything good at work?”

“Even if it wasn’t it really wouldn’t matter at all, so don’t worry. Let’s eat.”

The food was decent, he’d become a fine cook since Marius got set on giving him cooking lessons. Enjolras thought it was the most magnificent thing he’d ever tried, devouring every last drop as if he was a starving man. This only served to confirm Grantaire’s suspicions that he hadn’t got any better at cooking or making sure he was getting enough nutrients with his meals. From what he understood his job paid quite enough to eat out whenever he wasn’t in the office canteen.

“I think I made a good impression on your friends. Marius texted me while I was in the shower, he wants me to send him some readings.”

Cosette also texted him something regarding Enjolras, but he preferred to not have to say it out loud. It was embarrassing enough to read it.

“I think you did too.” The memory of Eponine’s furrowed brows appeared in his mind, though. He still hadn’t talked to her, and she hadn’t messaged him. “Ep wasn’t at her best, you’ll have to forgive her for that.”

Enjolras’ fork faltered in his hand when he looked down, avoiding his gaze. When he looked back up again, it was with a smile that didn’t reach his eyes. “All good. I’ve also never been the best socially.”

“Damn right.” He moved his head to the right at just the right time to avoid the jab coming his way. “You can’t get me Enjolras, I’m a boxer.”

“One day.” 

Grantaire couldn’t help but throw a hook his way, which he stopped just shy of his face to avoid actually hitting him. Just to prove a point. 

“When is your next boxing training?”

“Saturday morning, that one’s a bit longer though. You can come by if you want, it’ll be smelly and sweaty but apparently you like that.”

With a playful smile, Enjolras leaned in to kiss him, just a quick peck before standing up and getting their finished plates off the table. “Let’s say maybe on that one. Now get to bed I’ll clean up.” 

The suggestion seemed stupid to him, and he immediately walked to Enjolras’ side and started washing the pan he used. “A maybe might be a good shout, I don’t know how I would even begin to explain your existence.” His boxing gym might be the only place in Berlin where he hadn’t recited Enjolras’ name like the morning news for years. Perhaps it was the fear of his sixty-year-old biceps-bigger-than-his-head coach laughing at how pathetic he was, or perhaps it was that speaking his name would break the therapeutic fantasy he’d built around his gym. 

Absent-mindedly, while still putting plates in the dishwasher, Enjolras answered with something that rocked Grantaire, or as much as was possible considering the last two days. “I thought we already agreed on this, we’ll tell them we met in jail.”

It was a late, late night when they had that conversation. At the beginning of whatever they’d had, back when their friends still hadn’t found anything out, and Enjolras still hadn’t gotten angry at his excessive drinking. 

‘How would I even begin to explain this to anyone that sees us in the street.’ He’d meant it as a self-deprecating joke, but Enjolras didn’t seem to pick up on the tone. Or maybe he ignored it.

‘We’ll just tell them that we met in jail.’

' Sure, it was a dark cell and you were a domestic terrorist and I was there overnight due to public urinating.’

The cheerful sound that came from Enjolras’ stomach then was akin to the one he let out now, in his kitchen, five years later. Some things never change.

“Yes they might actually believe that.”

When they locked eyes next they were both smiling, and Enjolras reached up for his hand and slowly led him away from the kitchen. 

“Done with cleaning now, come to bed.”

—

Lying under his sheets, sunlight long forgotten outside his window and Enjolras drawing circles along his back, a peace descended upon them. They were bickering over some Netflix reality show, one Enjolras had never even heard of but somehow had formed an opinion based entirely on Grantaire’s summary.

“No Enjolras it’s a strategy show, it’s not about status, you just have to make people believe you are who you say you are and convince them to vote for you.”

“But they vote based on how likeable they perceive you are, so it is about social status.”

“Well that’s just life, but it is mostly about strategy.”

Even while lying in Enjolras’ arms and almost unable to see his face, he felt his eye roll. He rested his cheeks on his chest, letting the sensation of his breathing lull him as he closed his eyes. Not for the first time that day, he thought of how easy this week had been, how right it had felt when they kissed, and what had changed to make it so. Was it him? Was it the man whose arms surrounded him? Did it matter?

A sure voice brought him back to the moment. “I think you’d win the show.”

The assuredness with which Enjolras spoke was very humorous to him, and he showed as much. “That’s so stupid. You just have to show a picture of yourself and they’d vote you the winner on the first night.”

The hand on his back disappeared and turned into a jab to his shoulder, as Enjolras disentangled himself and looked at him with stars in his eyes like he’d just said the funniest thing to ever be said. Why and what it was was outside his scope of understanding, so he could only look on, confused.

“So you agree? It is about social status?”

His groan was loud when he realised what he’d done, though his annoyance couldn’t last too long when Enjolras looked so happy, even if his pleasedness at himself was at his expense. 

Still, he wasn’t above some drama, so he half-crawled to the other end of the bed and crossed his arms on his chest. Enjolras laughed, loud and clear, and moved on top of him, his legs around his waist. He placed his hands on his cheeks, cupping his face, and sealed their mouths in a kiss, broken when Enjolras smiled and pressed his forehead on his. Grantaire mirrored him, resting his hands on Enjolras’ sides. 

“It is about strategy though.”

“Oh shut up, R.” 

Before Enjolras could reach in and kiss him shut again, Grantaire moved his head to the side and raised an eyebrow, a mocking expression that was the complete opposite to the butterflies that were fluttering against his ribs. 

“I’m R now? Haven’t called me that in a while.”

The unimpressed look he received in return rivalled years of difficult rivalries between them, and probably could have made Paris surrender Helen in less than a minute if Enjolras appeared in Troy. Grantaire too caved soon, wrapping his arms around him and burying his fingers in silky hair. His chest exploded in fireworks when he felt Enjolras smile against his neck.

“Don’t get corny on me.” 

He lifted his face to look him in the eyes. “I would never, Enj.”

Despite Enjolras trying to remain impassive the sides of his mouth were threatening to expand and a blush rose to his cheeks. It was the most you could hope for from him, and he would never dream to hope for anything more. “Who’s getting corny now?” 

They locked eyes again, both rosy in the face, trying to contain their smiles. Grantaire looked at him, the pink on his cheeks bringing out the blue of his eyes, the lines around his mouth getting deeper, his body soft and warm against him. He could hardly believe his luck. 

“I feel like this is probably what they mean in those American shows I used to watch as a teenager when they said it gets better.” Enjolras raised an eyebrow at him, but this time it wasn’t in mockery, just curiosity. “I just imagine telling a 15 year old me, the guy whose best friends were the old women that ran the local library, that I’d be in bed with you in a city I love with friends my age that I also love, he wouldn’t believe me.” Though maybe that had happened before, in Paris. He’d certainly appreciated it back then, but he felt more in control now, finally able to wrap his entire mind around it. “I also imagine telling a 20 year old me that you’d be into me and that I’d be sober enough to enjoy it, and I can assure you he wouldn’t believe me either.”

The honesty in his words seemed to erase all derision in Enjolras, who was now looking at him with wide eyes, tangling his fingers in one of his curls. “You know I always liked you R.”

That made him chuckle, because if there was one thing he was sure of in life, was that Enjolras found him incredibly vexing for at least 3 years. Truly he would say it was through the entirety of their acquaintance. “You’re telling me you liked me when I turned up drunk to a meeting, begged you to give me a task to help with, and when you finally caved in I didn’t even do it?” The memory of the Barriere du Maine was a painful one, but the hurt was strangled on Enjolras’ weight against him, his blue eyes looking across his face as if he held the secrets of the universe.

He was still looking at him when he spoke. “Okay maybe not liked you, but I was always attracted to you.”

That seemed more like it. When he chuckled, causing the curl still tangled in Enjolras’ fingers to be pulled, his face lightened up. “God knows why, but I’m not complaining.” That made him think of something, a question that had appeared in the corners of his brain a long time ago, now finally finding the courage to speak it. “When did you start?” Enjolras tilted his head. “I mean, I don’t mean to assume things, but I guess you like me now. So when did you stop finding me annoying?” It was an embarrassing question, something you’d ask your high school crush, but Enjolras took it in earnest.

“I don’t know that I ever stopped finding you annoying.” He slapped his shoulder, and he responded with a small smile. “I think it was gradual, I was attracted to you, and there were times when you were especially funny, or intelligent, and it drew me to you. I thought about you a lot, but I don’t think I realised what it meant until you found me at the Seine.” They’d never talked about it after it happened, the mention of the night taking him aback. “I knew you were kind, but it was so important to me what you did. It made me feel safe, as soon as I saw you I knew I’d be okay, that you’d take care of me. And you never asked anything about it, or mentioned it. The next morning it kind of crashed down on me.”

That next morning, the one when Grantaire opened his apartment door to an out of breath Enjolras, one that wasted no time in kissing him. Even back then, there was a sparkle in his eyes, the one he latched on to to assure himself that he wasn’t taking advantage of his vulnerable previous night, that this really was real. It was that same sparkle that had spread now, lighting up his eyes with stars.

Grantaire traced his fingers across Enjolras’ face, finding soft skin and an honesty that warmed his stomach and spread throughout his body. “That makes sense.” There was no need to ask when he started liking him, they both knew Grantaire’s life had pivoted the moment he heard him speak for the first time. 

A second of silence followed, Enjolras looking deep in thought. As if debating something in his head, he bit his lip so hard it started turning white around his tooth. To get his attention back Grantaire ran his fingers through his hair, causing him to free his lower lip and raise one side of his mouth softly. Another second followed, and then Enjolras looked like he’d finally made up his mind.

“That night, when you found me.” This was the first time either of them mentioned what was occurring before his arrival at the Seine. “I went on a dinner date, before, with a guy from one of Courfeyrac’s political science classes. He was nice, smart, decently good looking, it honestly was going great.” He tried not to jump at the mention of Courfeyrac, it being the first time Enjolras mentioned one of the Amis by name. 

It was silent for a few more seconds, his throat jumping up and down as he found his words. “And then at one point he asked how Courfeyrac and I knew each other, and I told him about the Amis.” He smiled bitterly. “Maybe I spoke for too long, got too excited, I don’t know, but he laughed and asked if I really believed in all that stupid stuff. Then he went on about how people like him and I had to accept our place as leaders of society, and that I should use my skills in something worth my time, not in people with no personal responsibility or that had no added value to society.” Those words clearly still affected Enjolras, his mouth set in a thin line and his hands turning into fists.

They affected Grantaire too, because if the side of the just lost someone like him, there truly was no hope. If anyone could change everything that was wrong with the world, however he wanted to, it was Enjolras. It was the thing he was most sure of in the world.

Still not looking him in the eye, Enjolras shook his body, as if trying to shake off the emotion in him. “I left at that point, very pissed off. For those few hours I kind of lost hope in the world, you know? This was an intelligent, educated man, and it hit me that he wasn’t on our side. It was probably naive of me, but it was shocking to see it in real time, in front of me.” 

There was something that hurt Enjolras about those words that felt beyond Grantaire’s comprehension, and he couldn’t help but wish he was someone like Combeferre or Feuilly, someone that understood what it was like to have your core beliefs challenged like that. As it was, Enjolras seemed too big of a person to be affected by some asshole on a bad date.

“So I went to a bar, because it was the only thing I could think of to do, and drank until the waitress forced me to leave.” A dry laugh left him. “I just felt hopeless and useless, it wasn’t a feeling I was used to and I didn’t know what to do with it. I still don’t.”

He breathed out. 

They locked eyes, and for what must have been the first time that day, neither of them smiled. There was a dryness forming in Grantaire’s mouth, and he spoke before it could expand. “He was wrong, and also fucking dick.” Enjolras narrowed his eyes, but a light appeared within the blue. “I mean it Enjolras, who the fuck talks about personal responsibility like that? At least my cynicism is based on human nature, but Reaganism? What an idiot.” 

His words appeared to cheer Enjolras up a little bit, but not by much. Grantaire was coming up short of what to say, how does one express that you think a person is too Godly to need to be interested in the opinions of humans? How do you tell someone that they don’t have to worry about lack of believers when they can create ten with just one sentence?

“I wish the world was filled with more people like you, but unfortunately it isn’t, and that’s why I find it hard to believe in change and progress. But that’s why people like you are especially important, because you can fight those assholes and rally people around you.” He’d said similar words before, and before today, Enjolras would usually roll his eyes and say that all bastions of the fight were of equal importance. Now, however, he wouldn’t even meet his gaze.

“Have you ever read about the Weimar republic?” 

He took the words in jest, and tried to conjure a laugh. “I live in Berlin, what kind of question is that?”

Then Enjolras looked up. 

“I’ve based my entire life around this, what if I’m wrong?”

His eyes were watery, his shoulders squared and tense. If Grantaire didn’t know any better, he'd say he seemed deflated. Defeated. But that was an adjective that went against Enjolras’ very nature, so he tried to remind him who he was.

“Trust me, you’re the only domestic terrorist that anyone would follow to a revolution.”

His words didn’t have the intended effect. Enjolras furrowed his brows for a second, then his face tried to soften, but the lines around his eyes were still visible. He cleared his throat, attempted a half smile, and stood up. 

“Definitely not a domestic terrorist you’d follow.” His tone was playful, but his voice broke at the middle of the sentence.

Grantaire moved to the edge of the bed and grabbed his hand. “I’d follow you anywhere, even revolution.” He hoped this helped, knowing he could convince even him that fighting was worth it. Maybe he didn’t have the right words, but if this was something that he’d been thinking of, though he doubted it, he would try to help however he could.

Enjolras gave him a half smile, a real one this time, and walked to the bathroom, ending their conversation. 

When he got back into bed, it was with a book under his arm, and they both read next to each other until sleep claimed them.

—-

Friday came fast, and Grantaire awoke with a decision and a recognisable voice playing from the living room. They’d had a good night, despite Enjolras’ mood being dampened after their conversation, and he was determined to help him feel better. To remind him of who he was. 

When he walked into the living room he found Enjolras setting breakfast on the table, and he hugged his waist and turned him around for a quick kiss, which they both smiled into.

“Morning, breakfast is almost done. You have time for a shower.”

Grantaire opened his mouth in feigned offense, placing a hand over his heart. “Are you saying I smell?”

Enjolras just walked past him, turning around only to say yes with his mouth set in a thin line, despite the amused light in his eyes.

Through the rush of water in the shower he could hear some of the verses of the songs playing in the speakers. Once again he was amazed at everything Enjolras remembered, this time his favorite album to play in the mornings. 

When he walked back into the living room to the smell of eggs, bread, and jam, Enjolras was mumbling along to the lyrics. You’re in my blood like Holy wine, it tastes so bitter and so sweet. I could drink a case of you, and I would still be on my feet.

“How do you remember everything?” He hadn’t meant to startle him, but Enjolras still almost jumped at his voice.

“What do you mean?” He gestured for him to sit down next to him.

“You remember my favorite music, my favorite philosopher, my favorite cologne…” 

Enjolras raised an eyebrow at him. “You asked me yesterday if I still don’t like peppers.” If you asked him, that was different. How and why, he couldn’t say. “And those are easy, every room you walk into ends up smelling like lavender. Wait until you hear that I remember your favorite New York Times culture critic and pillowcase brand.”

He dropped his fork on his plate and stared at him through wide eyes. “Why?”

Enjolras just shot him a quick look, an impassive one, but Grantaire understood what it meant. Because I liked you. Because I loved you. Because that’s the kind of person Enjolras was.

He resumed his eating.

“I thought we could go to my studio today.” The weather was better, some sun even managed to break through the clouds, so they’d planned to go to the old airport with his friends. “Before we leave for Tempelhofer, I want to show you something.”

“I’d love that.”

They smiled at each other, and finished their breakfast pretty quickly after that.

It didn’t take long to get to the studio, but they decided to stop for a coffee along the way, with Enjolras making fun of his obvious nervousness.

“Come on R, it’s not like I haven’t seen your stuff a hundred times.”

It was true, Grantaire had shown Enjolras his art many times. Really, it wasn’t a rare occurrence. Sometimes he would show him his worst pieces, trying to enact a reaction from him that would justify his own self-hatred, but it never satisfied him. Other times, especially in the time they were together, he would be so nervous his hands trembled before lifting the veils he used to cover his canvases. He’d never felt eager before, not until now. 

Maybe eager was the wrong word, moreso anticipation. He was excited to show him something different to what he did now, something that was more akin to what Enjolras liked. Maybe as a way to say ‘I never really forgot you’ or ‘I also remember you’ or ‘I could draw you with my eyes closed and my hands broken’. Because there was no denying it, that young man in the middle of his painting, with lethal words and a powerful presence, bore too much resemblance to the man holding his hand to be anyone else. Not even a product of his imagination.

“I always get nervous, you’re not special.”

That was definitely a lie, he hadn’t gotten nervous about his art since he started making money out of it, definitely not for the kind of rich clients that usually bought his stuff. His friends were a different story, some of them still making his pulse jump slightly and his mind scan their features for a reaction. Enjolras was a whole other beast.

So they finally made their way to the studio. 

“It’ll probably be pretty dusty, don’t blame me. I've been very busy and I was supposed to clean up this week.”

“R, it’s fine.” 

He said it with a soft smile, and Grantaire was reminded that despite how much people told him he was annoying when he rambled, none of the people in his life seemed to mind that much.

The door was heavy to open, the rain of the night before expanding the wood, and he had to force it with his forearm. Once inside, he gestured for Enjolras to follow him. Just like Cosette did, he walked in slowly, looking around as if visiting a secret room in a museum. Careful that he wouldn’t break anything in his way. 

There wasn’t much to break, really. The room wasn’t too big, but it had a good amount of storage to keep paintings in until someone came to pick them up. What was left on the floor was mostly unused frames, old paint, and dust. 

Grantaire took Enjolras’ coat and hung it by the door, watching as Enjolras brushed his fingers over even the cupboards where he stored his pencils, seemingly finding everything fascinating. After leaning down to open the drawers where he kept the blackout curtains that covered his paintings he looked up at him and smiled, serene and sincere. When he got up again he walked towards Grantaire, and with two hands softly cupping his face, he kissed him slow and sure.

Neither tried to break the kiss, Grantaire surrounding his neck with his hands and pulling him closer. Enjolras hugged his waist, his fingers digging into his hip bone, the dull pain lingering when he moved his hands under his t-shirt and traced circles on his back. Without either trying to deepen their kiss, they stayed like that for a moment, drinking each other’s bodies.

When they separated, nearing their foreheads towards one another and grinning, Grantaire whispered in a low voice. “Do you wanna see what I’m working on?” Enjolras nodded.

His setup was to the back of the room, where enough natural light reached but not too much as to affect the drying process. He removed the stool from in front of the canvas and placed Enjolras in its place. A black blanket covered the painting, not allowing any light in and preventing anyone from seeing the colors behind it. 

“Like I said, it’s more similar to a social realism, like the ones I did in college that you liked so much. I started it after we texted about Günter Brus, kind of inspired by his performance and kind of inspired by our conversation. So you can take a bit of credit for it.”

“I would never dream of it.” His voice was honest, his gaze locked on the covered frame. 

Before lifting the veil, Enjolras looked at him, as if asking for permission. Grantaire nodded, and couldn’t help but laugh internally at the silliness of the moment. It certainly wasn’t just Enjolras that was giving the situation an air of regalness, he also spoke low, moved slowly, as if this was a momentous occasion. Instead of just him in his studio, as he was nearly every day.

With one quick movement, Enjolras lifted the blanket and came face to face with the half-finished painting. 

There really wasn’t much left to draw, just some of the background behind the wide window panes of the university room, and the detail on some of the student outfits. The main focus of attention, the faces of the students exhibiting their different reactions and opinions, as well as the young man on top of the table, with passion and anger written all across his face, were already finished. It had been a quick one once he found the inspiration.

He was proud of it.

Before looking at Enjolras, too nervous to see his initial reaction, he breathed in one, two times. Then, a smile already upon his face, he turned his gaze to the man standing in front of the frame.

His mouth was set in a straight line, his hands balled into fists, and his eyes shut closed. He was breathing deep, in and out, as if trying to remain calm. All the ways in which his brain had imagined his reaction, and this was completely unexpected.

He reached for his fist, “Enjolras?”

Eyes that had been so full of life the entire day, the entire week, laughing and smiling wide; eyes that had appeared so alit; those same eyes looked dead when Enjolras opened them, the light long extinguished. It wasn’t anger, just a quiet acceptance of sadness.

“You painted me.” Not a question.

“Well I was hardly trying to, but you’re the only person I can see in that position. Fingers drew what I knew, I guess.” His tone was shaky, an insecurity growing at the center of his stomach at Enjolras’ tenseness.

Without even sending a look his way, Enjolras covered the painting again with one forceful movement, the complete opposite of the feathery touch he graced the less important details of his studio with just a minute ago. 

The old wooden floor cracked when he kneeled at the corner of the room, his gaze still not leaving the veil now covering the paint that had so affected him. Grantaire was stuck in place, watching as Enjolras covered his head with his hands, his anxiety trapping him in stillness. 

“Enj? You okay?” His voice came out in a quiver.

It took a moment before Enjolras emerged, pressing his knuckles against his eye sockets and then placing his hands together, as if in prayer.

“That is not who I am, Grantaire. I don’t know who you think I am now but it’s not that.” His voice came out broken, speaking through a knot, as if he wasn’t the reason for the few ideals Grantaire still held.

He tried to sound understanding, tried to convey empathy for words he couldn’t comprehend. “What are you talking about Enjolras? That is exactly who you are, you’re the leader in the room, you’re preaching your cause to people and you’re good at it. That’s why everyone follows you. You’re the one who can make a difference.”

Like an earthquake, his words completely shattered the solid structure that had made up Enjolras in all the years he’d known him. He’d seen and he’d put Enjolras to the worst that he could, and somehow it was those words, ones he spoke earnestly and lovingly, that made him feel like he had blood in his hands.

Enjolras looked at him, but it wasn’t him there, it was a ghost with eyes he struggled to recognise. His hands trembled, and he placed them between his legs, nails digging into the wooden floor. “Fuck just shut up.” 

Finally able to fight the anxiety sticking him to place, Grantaire took the steps that separated them and kneeled in front of him, reaching for his legs and tracing circles on his knee, just like Enjolras had the day before on his back.

“Enjolras…”

His lips twisted into a snarl at the gesture, looking up at the roof and speaking through clenched teeth. “I can’t make a difference, I never could. That person you drew, he’s following an illusion. Progress doesn’t fucking exist, I’ve based my entire existence on a mirage when no one else is bothered to care.”

The words were so shocking his hands stopped moving, Enjorlas realising and laughing bitterly as they both watched it happen. His heart started pounding, the moment slipping so far from what he’d imagined he was struggling to keep up with his thoughts, and his body, and Enjolras’ words, so opposite to everything he thought him to be.

“That’s not true.”

Water was settling in Enjolras’ eyes, refusing to fall, and his lip started quivering. He bit it, but it didn’t stop the tremor, only causing one singular tear to make its way to his cheek, as if setting a path for the others to follow. They both realised this at the same time, but whereas Grantaire finally got hold of himself and reached out to him again, Enjolras snapped, getting up in a sudden movement and barking at him.

“It isn’t? Okay, let’s check out every government in Europe and America, or let’s look at anti-immigrant attitudes throughout the West. Oh and have you talked to a young person lately? Have you seen the state of young men? Listened to the people they listen to?” 

It was as if a dam had broken after heavy rainfall, water rushing through a crack that had formed before anyone had time to inspect it. It destroyed everything in its way, refusing to slow even as it reached a low valley. 

“Or let’s read the comments on young women’s social media, or let’s read the news and find genocide, racism, hate crimes - and then you go out and try to talk to the people in the street that defend it. That’s not even taking into account everything that doesn’t even make the news: femicide in South America, prisons in the Caribbean, fascism rising in Europe and North America. Did you know we’ve more than tripled civilian deaths since 2005? Did you know AIDS diagnoses are on the rise in the entire world?”

His tone was loud, but it never broke into shouting. He spoke fast, but it never seemed rushed. Where all this would other times turn his words into a speech, this time it sounded like a madman who had carefully considered all the reasons for going mad, and thought it was the most reasonable conclusion. His face was getting hot, Grantaire could see the red rising from his neck, while he was doubling into the pain in his stomach, trying not to give in to the voice in his head that was screaming this was his fault.

“Enj, breathe.” He tried to calm him, but he was soon interrupted. 

“No, R, no. And you know what the worst part is? It’s not that people don’t care, it’s that they justify it. They think this should continue, as long as it doesn’t get to them. Grantaire, we were born in a world that was more progressive than the one we created.” He spat this, pointing at his chest as if accusing himself, as if he’d completed a trial and found himself solely responsible. “Did you know being trans was widely accepted in Berlin in the 1920s, that abortion was legal, that multiple gay magazines welcomed the regime? Did you know 19th century revolutionaries thought the 20th century would be a happy one?” 

He brought his hands to his head and started pacing around the room. 

“And my friends don’t even have time to protest, or do anything, because their jobs take up too much time, or because it would put them at risk to lose their salaries which they need because everything is so fucking expensive. Joly’s coworkers at the hospital complain that patients don’t speak French and then refuse to help them, Combeferre’s students use AI for all their hand-ins and haven’t read a book since high school, Feuilly started training some guys going into the trades and it took them two minutes to make a rape joke and then laughed when he asked them to stop. I work for a corporation that claims to have a purpose, but we only apply outdated laws that don't protect the worker at all, and the only cases where we actually help people we do because they get us publicity. You can only sell pretty paintings with no meaning because rich people don’t give a fuck otherwise. We’re all doomed.” 

At the corner of the room he stopped his pacing, his last words still haunting the space between them. He looked at him, a beg in his eyes.

“We lost, R. We never even fought.” 

When your anxiety leaves its place within your rib cage, it can be because it left your body, or because it's spread so wide you can’t tell what’s reality and what’s your own creation anymore. Grantaire’s blood roared in his ears, had started as soon as Enjolras had mentioned his friends, and blocked his imploring request, as if the sound had made him blind as well. 

“Don’t do that. Don’t use my own beliefs against my friends and their lives, Enjolras.” He stood up and walked up to him, a pointing finger hitting his chest. “I love my art, I don’t care if it has no meaning to you, it allows me to live a good life and spend time with my friends; Joly struggles at the hospital, but he gets to go home to a loving relationship and know that he spent the day helping people; Feuilly trains more and more women every year. Combeferre started a book club at university.” 

At the sight before him, narrowed blue eyes screaming for hating words, just like he knew his own did years ago, his mind cleared. His tone lowered, and he found it in himself to show some understanding. “We’re not doomed Enjolras, we’re trying our best.”

They were face to face, the few centimetres that separated them feeling even smaller as they locked eyes. Grantaire’s heartbeat was slowing, but when he found Enjolras’ expression, a furrowed brow and a straight line on his mouth, he knew to prepare for the hit before it came.

“It’s not good enough.”

He felt like he had the air knocked out of him. 

If it had been against only Enjolras, as much as he loved him, he thought it unlikely that the words were actually honest. If it had been against only Grantaire, it wouldn’t be the first time he’d heard it, from himself or another, it would hardly hurt more than the pang of an old memory crawling through his skull. If it had been against the both of them, well, then it was just the truth, wasn’t it?

But it wasn’t about either of them. It was about the friends Enjolras had only mentioned twice in three days, both times as accomplices to the crimes of trying and hoping. It was about the friends that Enjolras had only mentioned to call their efforts doomed. It was about the friends that had worried about him despite Enjolras not talking to them. His friends, the one that saved every second they had in their day to help other people, in any way they could.

It was they that Enjolras was calling not good enough.

Feeling every drop of blood in his body rushing at once, he hissed in return. “I’m sorry?” 

A pause came before Enjolras spoke, hunching his shoulders and rubbing two fingers in his temple. “I’m not a Saint Grantaire, I couldn’t even change the mind of a child if my life depended on it and somehow I’m supposed to be the one to change the world.” For the second time in two days, he looked defeated. “I thought you’d at least get it, but I guess I was wrong.”

Grantaire was struggling to listen to him through the blood going through him, feeling like a charge of murderous water closing in on a town, making him see red behind his eyes. “You thought? Is that why you’re here Enjolras, ‘cause you were hoping for some sympathy from your loser ex?” Perhaps his words weren’t fair, perhaps he was being too personal, but his judgement was cloudy.

“I don’t think you’re a loser.” 

He rolled his eyes. “Oh please.”

Enjolras laughed with vitriol in his mouth, as if spouting acid. “No I don’t. But I guess this is your specialty, blaming all your insecurities on me, putting words in my mouth to justify your own suffering.” He took a few steps back, putting a distance between them that felt unsurmountable despite the small space in the studio. His coat, still hanging next to Grantaire’s, was forced into his arms and shoulders forcefully. The vein in his forehead was now visible, and it popped as he roared his next words. 

“Your friend really wants to know why I’m here, why don’t you tell her I came here because I’ve been thinking of you, because I missed you, and because you were the only person I thought wouldn’t just try to love me better.” 

With one last look up and down Grantaire, one that held all the same disappointment, confusion and disdain he’d gotten used to in Paris and he didn’t need to in Berlin, he reached for the door handle.

“Like usual, I was wrong.”

And then he left.

Chapter Text

Already at 13 years old, Courfeyrac was the life of every conversation. His grandma called him her sunshine, and that was a nickname he took very seriously, aiming to bring a smile to everyone’s face whenever he could. Sometimes he got sad, but he never let it show, because the sunshine never stops shining. When it got hard, when he felt the familiar sting of tears, the knot forming in his throat, or the well setting at the bottom of his stomach, he just looked up at the sun and waited for his eyes to start burning. The physical pain helped to erase some of the mental one. 

At grandma’s funeral there was no sunshine to look up to, so he became it. And when his mom looked at him she stopped crying, so he figured he was doing something right. 

He was glad that everyone liked him so much, because being alone was never his favorite thing. He had so many friends in his small town that he never called any group his own, he was a part of all of them. That was alright by him, because when someone didn’t want to hang out with him, someone else would, and that meant he always had someone to make smile. 

Maybe that’s why it was so hard when his dad took that job and he told him they would have to move to Paris. That last summer in his hometown he looked up at the sun so much his head would start hurting at the sides. 

In the car ride to Paris he asked his parents if it would be hard to make new friends, if he would have to be alone a lot now, and his mom beamed at him and told him everyone would want to be his friend. He then closed his eyes and let the thought lull him to sleep. 

He knew now that his mom hadn’t been lying, that she genuinely thought he would have an easy time at his new school. After all, there was no indication as to the opposite, he’d always been popular. That didn’t stop him from feeling some resentment towards her after, when the other kids started pointing out his accent, his mannerisms, the way he ended every sentence in a higher tone than he started it. He was mad at her for not warning him that he was different. 

He switched schools in the middle of the year. That made him even angrier, he’d gotten to know the ways in which he didn’t fit here, what if they found new ways in the new school? What if they found new things for him to hate in the mirror? He screamed at his mom for the first time that night. Later he heard her crying in the bathroom, but he couldn’t find tears to fall from his own eyes. The well had dried, leaving behind just a sinking hole that he filled with anger instead.

Before the first day at the new school his dad made him promise that he’d at least try to talk to someone. They tried to strategise who would be best, and Courfeyrac realised his mom had already briefed him, because somehow he knew exactly who to mention. ‘Try the girls first, they’re always nicer’. It made him sad that his mom wasn’t the one talking to him about this, but there was no sun to look up to in their living room, and the well was clamoring at him, so he screamed that he didn’t need anyone’s help and left the table. 

When they dropped him off at school, the downturn at the sides of his dad’s mouth stuck behind his eyelids, he walked decisively to a group of girls hanging by the entrance. His dad had been right, girls were always his favorite. It wasn’t until he was next to them that he realised that they were much older than him, and then the sound of laughter flooded his eardrums. It wasn’t the laughter he knew from back home, loud and unapologetic, but the Parisian one, the one that was quiet, and short, and always directed at him. 

After that he knew this school wouldn’t be any better, that this city wasn’t made for him. He tried to think of ways he could convince his parents of this, think of how to ask his dad to go back home. Maybe he could come down on the weekends, and mom and him would stay down South, and they would all go to the market on Sundays just like they used to. 

He couldn’t concentrate in classes anymore, not even in English. They still made him introduce himself at the beginning of the first one, and the faces of his new classmates blurred behind his eyes as he stuttered through an introduction. His name had never left his mouth in such a quiet manner, as if he was a little kid hiding behind his mom’s skirt. A boy at the back of the class hollered at him to repeat it, and the girls around him giggled. He looked down at the floor in front of him, the tiles turning into a flower pattern, and as he did he caught a glimpse of a brown-haired boy with glasses sitting in the first row. He was murmuring something, it only took a half second for him to realise he was trying to make out the soft whisper in which he’d said his name. A blond boy next to him tapped his shoulder and said something in his ear, before turning back to the boy at the back of the class and shouting for him to shut up. When he walked past their table to find his seat, he saw the brown-haired boy had written something while his friend was shouting at their classmates. At the top of the page, next to the date, he’d written down ‘Courfeyrac’.

Recess came fast, faster than it had back at his other school. He laid low the rest of the morning classes and only spoke when a group of girls approached his table, though they left as soon as the blond boy from earlier raised his voice at them. After that everyone left him alone, and despite the welcome respite, he couldn’t help but wish he had someone to make smile. The thought made him happy, at least they hadn’t taken his love for people away from him.

Most of the boys in the class ran to the football field during the break, and some of the girls followed and sat around it while the rest took over the corners of the well-kept school yard. He sat down next to the bathroom doors, where a large patch of grass stood empty and slightly discolored. He opened his backpack and found his favorite chocolate bar, the one with caramel in the middle, next to a post-it note in his mom’s handwriting. ‘Have a great first day of school, love you my sunshine’. The note dropped from his hands to the grass, and his fingers soon found the nook on top of his eyelids, the sensation grounding him and stopping the rush of confused anger at the bottom of his stomach. He felt guilty, he felt annoyed, he felt angry, he felt bitter. Most of all, he felt loved, and he felt like he didn’t deserve that love.

He tried to look up at the sun, already readying himself for the familiar sting, but it never arrived. Instead, he found a set of blond hair and blue eyes staring back at him, and a brown-haired boy with glasses kneeling down and sitting by his side. The two boys from class, the ones that had defended him. 

The one with glasses spoke. “Hello Courfeyrac, can we sit down with you?”

Despite being taken aback, he nodded shyly. 

The blond one sat next to his friend. “I’m Enjolras, this is Combeferre.”

“Is that from your mom?” The one with glasses, Combeferre, pointed to the note now lying on the grass. 

Before he could nod in response he felt something dropping in his stomach. The raindrops came slow at first, and then all at once, and suddenly the well was overflowing with tears that soon made their way to his pupils.

Enjolras put a hand on his shoulder. “It’s okay to cry, we cry all the time.”

And then something broke inside of him, and Combeferre offered his shoulder, and he was crying with them.

By the end of recess the tears had stopped, and his new friends laughed loud and unapologetic, just like back at home.

—-

5 years later

If you asked Courfeyrac, the idea to create Les Amis was his own. Sure, they’d been fifteen, sitting on the discolored patch of grass they’d come to call theirs, and he’d said it offhandedly after Enjolras almost punched a kid from their class - again - for messing with one of the girls, but he still maintained authorship. Granted, when he actually voiced this to Enjolras, he only received a raised brow and a dry laugh in return. 

It’d been only three months since they had their first meeting, but the group was getting closer each week. They’d done great work, but he felt they needed an event to bond as a group outside of university activism. A united front is always better, was what he’d told Combeferre and Enjolras to convince them that throwing a party for his birthday was actually a great idea.

“We just need to decide who is actually invited, some people that were there at the beginning have stopped showing up, and some haven’t been able to come to all meetings but they still seem engaged.” Jehan was one of their last additions, they hadn’t heard of the group before joining but they’d been just as helpful as the people that had been there from the beginning. It seemed unfair to exclude them.

Combeferre looked up from his computer, “Joly and Bossuet should be locked, they haven’t missed a meeting yet.”

Enjolras nodded and wrote their names on the whiteboard. They had been using the library group study rooms as their designated meeting spots, but seeing Enjolras struggling to write with the dry pens was less than intimidating. Maybe they should find a better meeting place, bigger definitely, but also somewhere that was always open for them. Somewhere that didn’t need them to be students to use it.

“Jehan, too. They have been wonderful with recruitment so far.” He added.

Enjolras was already writing their name, along with two others. “True, and they brought Bahorel and Feuilly. We really needed different perspectives in the group.” 

Combeferre tapped his shoulder to show him an email he’d just received from administration, confirming they could form a group of three instead of the usual two for one of their group assignments. After the short distraction another name had been added to the whiteboard. 

He laughed. “Grantaire? Really?”

“He’s very obstructive, he holds the meetings back sometimes, don’t you think?” Combeferre offered.

Enjolras looked perplexed at their reaction. “He’s a very intelligent person, just the other day he spent twenty minutes straight talking about Foucault. I think he would be useful.”

“That’s cute". He received a confused glare from his friend in return, and a quiet smile from Combeferre, but they didn’t question the new addition any more. 

Soon, he was forcing them to come up with themes for his birthday party that they and six other people could adhere to. 

—--

5 years later

Jehan once asked him if he ever got tired of people always wanting to hang out with him. He’d told them that he only got tired when he didn’t want to hang out with them in return. Something must have gone right in another life, because he didn’t think he’d ever not want to hang out with the Amis.

They hadn’t had the best of months; Feuilly had an accident at work and Enjolras had to pretend to be his lawyer so the client reported it to insurance; the protest they were organising wasn’t gaining a lot of traction, despite how hard they were trying; Combeferre didn’t get into his top choice doctorate program, and Enjolras and him were the only ones who knew so far. Grantaire had a too drunk night last week, mixed something with something, and almost ended up in the hospital. Enjolras was the one to find him the next morning, after a call from Jehan, and things had been tense since. He could tell his friend was trying, but it was harder for him than it was for them. 

So he figured everyone needed a bit of a break, and after their usual Friday meeting at the Musain they all met up in Joly’s and Bossuet’s apartment for a sleepover and a couple drinks. He’d prepared some games: trivia, monopoly, he even brought his karaoke machine. People were starting to get in good spirits, Joly and Combeferre leading a presentation on the evolutionary differences between orangutans and humans while Grantaire and Bahorel prepared their own presentation on female MMA fighters. Jehan asked him if he would present with them iconic stan Twitter moments, and he simply couldn’t say no.

It was a little crazy to him that they’d been friends for more than five years, it seemed only yesterday that they walked into that artificially lit university meeting room for the first time, hoping that people hadn’t ignored their posters around campus. Looking around the room right now, Joly and Combeferre disconnecting their presentation from the TV and Bahorel rearing for theirs, somehow armed with MMA gloves, it appeared so natural. Like they’d been meant to be friends, and nothing could ever break them.

Arms around his waist brought him back to Earth and he turned to find Grantaire, his mouth curved upwards.

“How likely are you to agree to being our Regular Guy dummy for the presentation? We just need you to try the moves so people can appreciate how cool these women are.”

“I don’t think I can say no, I’m literally scared you’ll KO me.” 

Grantaire’s crooked canine showed when he smiled in return. When he followed him to the center of the room, in front of the TV, he felt the burn of a stare on his back. He didn’t need to turn to know who was looking, Enjolras’ gaze hadn’t left Grantaire the entire night. 

While Bahorel connected his phone to the screen, he tapped Grantaire’s shoulder and whispered in his ear. “I think you have a shadow.”

Grantaire glanced at Enjolras, so subtle he doubted he would’ve noticed had they not been so close. There was sorrow in his eyes, his mouth turned down at the sides. It left as soon as it appeared, replaced with a smile that didn’t reach his eyes and a slap to his shoulder before he turned to the entire room and introduced their presentation. As they started, he hoped Enjolras realised how often Grantaire was looking in his direction.

Something that hadn’t gotten any better in their five years of friendship was their collective ability for karaoke. Thank God at least Jehan had some pipes, and Combeferre and Enjolras were surprisingly good at carrying a tune after how many times Courfeyrac had forced them to be his chorus boys, but besides them their little group was helpless. It didn't matter though, that’s really what made karaoke fun. Maybe that’s why Grantaire rarely took part in it, it was boring to hear someone who could actually sing putting them all to shame. It was still strange for him to disappear while Joly and Bossuet did their mandatory rendition of Don’t go breaking my heart, and it was even stranger for Enjolras to disappear knowing he would be forced to sing Chiquitita soon.

“Have you seen Enj?” He whispered to Feuilly while Bossuet did an impression of Kiki Dee that could truthfully kill a child.

Feuilly pointed towards the kitchen, where the door was half closed. He got up decisively, walking towards it with an order for Enjolras in his lips.

His steps slowed when he neared the door and heard two soft voices coming from inside the kitchen. As low as they were, they were unmistakably Enjolras and Grantaire, laughing and talking. He peered over the door, curious, and found them leaning on the counter, so close their sides were almost touching. Grantaire was looking down at the floor, and Enjolras was looking at him. He couldn’t help but smile at the sight, the forgotten drinks by the sink, the nearing hands between them, the slight blush on their necks. Whatever they had talked about, it definitely worked.

Their rendition of Chiquitita that night was a duo, but with the rest of his friends intercepting to sing Enjolras’ part, it really didn’t matter. 

At the end of the night, when they had all had their turn at his karaoke machine and their words were getting more and more slurred by the minute, Grantaire arrived back in the living room with a guitar under his arm and a glass of wine between his fingers, Enjolras in tow. 

“Are you children ready to see how it’s done?”

A resounding ‘ooh’ echoed throughout the room as Grantaire grabbed a chair and sat at the center of the room, Enjolras finding a spot to his right side, between Combeferre and Feuilly.

A beginning strum led to a second of silence when they all held their breath, awaiting whatever song he’d decided to play. After a wide smile to the entire room, Grantaire started. 

You can hold my hand

When you need to let go

I can be a mountain

When you’re feeling valley-low

It wasn’t a song he recognised, but Grantaire liked to switch songs each time he sang for them, too terrified to become the Annoying Guy With A Guitar stereotype that he made a point of changing chords in songs so they wouldn’t be the same old classics. He had a nice raspy voice that reached both high and low notes with ease, but it was his guitar playing skills that really shined. His musical talent felt never-ending, it was hard to remember just how many instruments he could play. He gave up when he pulled up to a meeting with a trumpet. 

I want a house with a crowded table

And a place by the fire for everyone

Let us take on the world while we’re young and able

And bring us back together when the day is done

This part sounded like the chorus, his suspicions confirmed as Grantaire repeated the words looking at the entire room, clearly asking them to remember them. He made a mental note of them, thinking of how appropriate they were as he looked around at the faces of his friends; rosy cheeks, wide smiles, stars in their eyes. Joly and Bossuet with their arms around each other, mouthing along to the song, clearly privy to Grantaire’s playlist far earlier than any of them were. Bahorel, who had obviously drank a bit too much, was crying openly along with Jehan, despite them drinking not nearly as much. Combeferre had a stoic smile on, but he knew him enough to know this was the happiest he’d been in some days, the doctorate program probably forgotten by now. Feuilly was also looking around, catching his eye and half-smiling at him before pointing his head slightly next to his side, where Enjolras stood.

It really was a funny sight. Enjolras wasn’t smiling, but his mouth was half opened, as if agape. He was staring at Grantaire, not noticing the knowing looks from both Feuilly and him, with a glint in his wide eyes that made him look almost adoring. He wondered if either him or Grantaire realised it.

The door is always open

Your picture’s on my wall

Everyone’s a little broken

And everyone belongs

If he hadn’t been looking so closely, he wouldn’t have realised that Enjolras was also mouthing along to the verses. That made him stop staring. He knew his friend, he knew he never let anything that wasn’t a cause, anything that wasn’t conducive to a bigger goal, overtake his mind. Enjolras had so little to himself, - he always shared, always was there when people needed him, always made all of himself available to others - he deserved to have this. He just hoped Enjolras allowed himself to have it too. 

The chorus returned, and with a lean of his head Grantaire cued them to start singing. It was hardly melodic, none of them fully remembering the words or beat, but it also hardly mattered. 

I want a house with a crowded table

And a place by the fire for everyone

Let us take on the world while we’re young and able

And bring us back together when the day is done

As they all clapped after it was over he looked around at his friends again. This group that had provided a steady friendship where he never thought there would be one, a group that always smiled when he tried to make them smile, and a group that tried to make him smile in return.

It was nice to know it would never change.

—-----

5 years later

Courfeyrac’s eyes were still swollen and red from the night before. He tried to conceal the effects of his crying with makeup, but there was little he could do about it. After a sigh at the sight of himself, he decided that if his face refused to look put together, his clothes would have to do the heavy lifting. There was no telling what the next hour would entail, but he took pride in his presentation, he took pride in not letting the world take that away from him, and today would be no exception. 

A brown suede jacket and vintage jeans were now staring back at him in the mirror. The gel in his hair was helping with it not falling straight onto his forehead, but there was no hiding the redness lining his eyes. This would have to do.

A half hour later he walked into the Musain. The bar was closed at this time, but they still let them use the meeting room in the back as long as they ordered a significant number of beers whenever they did. That wasn’t usually a problem with his friends, it would be just them three for now though.

He stared at the figure looking out the window when he walked in, and at the smoke coming from the cigarette in his hand.

“Ferre will be disappointed if he sees you smoking.” He said.

Enjolras smiled, bitter. “I think we are way past that.”

The familiar flow of annoyance he had started to associate with his friend took over his lower stomach, having to stop himself from rolling his eyes and instead taking the few strides that separated them and putting off the cigarette. He threw the butt into the nearby bin and turned to look at Enjolras again. 

A poisonous remark made its way to his mouth, the filter in his brain able to stop it for just enough time for Combeferre to walk to the door, turning Enjolras’ head towards him. Under the dim lighting of the Musain he could make out his bloodshot eyes, his disheveled hair, his unkempt outfit. Their meeting was supposed to smooth things over, to discuss everything that was said last night, to say sorry and to forgive each other just like they would have years ago. Looking at Enjolras’ appearance, it seemed unlikely that’s how the next few minutes were going to go. And granted, years ago many of those things wouldn’t have been said. 

“Were you smoking?” Combeferre had walked to his side, but he spoke to Enjolras. 

“You’re both way too concerned over one cigarette.” Despite the bitterness, there was a hint of amusement in his tone, a small hope that maybe they’d be okay.

Combeferre also seemed to notice it, and he smiled softly before speaking. “We’re just worried about you, you haven’t been yourself and we’d like to help.” 

“I’m fine, Ferre. It’s me who should be worried, you’re going to get yourselves hurt in this protest.” 

After what happened with their housing project they’d gotten together with some other groups in Paris, the few that were still on their side, and organised an information campaign and protest with them. However, their bad standing with the city council meant it was especially hard to get the permission, and the little time they all had between work and everything else meant the organisation had been messy and sparse. There was a real risk the protest would be co-opted by non-activist groups just looking for whatever trouble they could cause, but this is what they were supposed to be trying to prevent yesterday during their meeting. Not like Enjolras seemed to care. 

His hands turned into fists by his side. Whatever words were building up in his throat were not the kindness Combeferre wanted to lead with today, so he opted to stay quiet and let him do the talking.

“We know it’s risky, but that has hardly stopped us in the past. Bahorel and Bossuet are working on getting security and all the necessary precautions for anyone that might risk their jobs by attending, and the three of us can talk to the council until then to get permission.” 

At the mention of the council a glint of anger flew by Enjolras’ eyes. He knew he’d been the one at those meetings, the one that was told about the razing via phone, the one that had been the most invested. Still, that was no reason to shut them out like that, to refuse to talk about the topic. To not let himself cry about it.

“It’s useless. They’re going to say no, and even if they don’t, they will offer such little security that you will all still get hurt.”

It didn’t escape him that Enjolras had used ‘you’. He wasn’t even planning on attending any more, the realisation hitting him like a truck and making it all the harder to keep his words to himself.

Combeferre was still patient. “That’s why Bahorel and Bossuet are trying to get some friends for the secu-”

“It won’t be enough. And you know it.” He said it like an accusation.

The interruption set him off. The anger that had built up finally flooded out of him, leaving in a curt and poisonous tone. “Don’t you care?” Their gazes locked, blue eyes meeting green, as if measuring each other up. 

That’s when he finally got a good look at his friend. The eyebags, the sadness in his pupils, the redness along his lips. Not even his attempt at a menacing look could erase the underlying desperation. He would have felt bad for him if it hadn’t been for what left his mouth next.

“I care so much that sometimes I think you don’t care enough.” 

He watched Combeferre’s face turn into a grimace from the corner of his eye, only for a second, before returning to the concerned look he’d worn for what seemed like weeks now. His heart sped up when he heard what had been said, his nails dug into the inside of his palms, and his eyes narrowed, looking his friend up and down, taking in his judgement. The words were spoken with a venomous certainty, not as an accusation, but as a statement of fact that was known to be hurtful. They were words he could have sworn to have heard before, except in someone else's mouth, someone who would cry if he heard Enjolras repeating them.

“You’re starting to sound like someone else.” He spit. It was a low blow, he knew as soon as he watched his friend’s shoulders slump and his face recoil before turning into the familiar stoic expression.

“And yet you didn’t try to save him like how you do me.”

He tried to mimic the assured tone Enjolras was dressed up in. “No, that role was already taken by someone else.”

It was mean, it was cruel and unnecessary. He didn’t even mean it. And yet he’d said it, and he had to live in the moment where Enjolras’ eyes filled with tears, and he had to know it was him that was at fault. 

He missed Grantaire, he really did. All of them did. And he knew there was no use in ranking friendships, he knew nothing made less sense, he knew the love he held for his friends couldn’t be compared. But he missed Enjolras most of all. He missed the little boy that had offered his hand that first day of school, he missed the selfless teenager he’d been, the one who would defend the girls in class and who got their creepy teacher fired. The shy twenty-something he’d turned into, quiet when he needed to be but who could spur passion out of the worst non-believer. The fearless man who led with compassion and an unwavering love for humanity. Really, he missed his friend. He struggled to make sense of his days if he couldn’t send him an illegible text only to be called back in return, he struggled to not spend his lunch breaks trying to force him to eat too, he struggled to laugh if it wasn’t with his sarcasm.

Because his friend was not the person in front of him. His friend was not the person who sucked down his tears and laughed, quiet and short, reminding him of all those times that same sound had been directed at him. 

The words left his mouth almost at the same time as they did Enjolras’. “Fuck you.”

A second of silence followed when their words hung in the hair, both of them understanding they couldn’t take them back. He reached forward, his name in an apologetic tone starting on his lips, but Enjolras had already made for the door, his face out of sight. 

Combeferre ran towards him, reaching him when he was already outside, far enough for his words to be barely understandable for Courfeyrac. “You know it’s safe to cry with us.”

Enjolras’ answer clung to the corners of his brain. “Not many things feel safe anymore.”

They told their friends Enjolras was sick when they arrived for the meeting.

—---

3 months later

The empty plot of land seemed to taunt him as he walked past it. There was some irony in how it always seemed to be on the way to wherever he was meeting people, like a constant reminder of both his failure and his friendship with Enjolras. As if when the spot became empty, so did his friend. It was a bit corny to think about it like that, and he couldn’t help but imagine Enjolras making fun of him for that very reason, but it rang true.

The café where he was meeting Combeferre wasn’t far from his apartment, and apart from that empty corner, the walk there was actually quite pleasant. It was the rare Winter day where the sun made an appearance in Paris, lighting up the path as he walked, and he couldn’t help but wonder how the weather was in Berlin. Was Enjolras enjoying the same sun? Was it windy? Did he get stuck somewhere with Grantaire, rain pouring outside the window, unable to get back to his hotel? The questions hadn’t left his mind since Combeferre told him of Enjolras’ whereabouts. 

The door to the café rang as he opened it, and he immediately located his friend on the corner, reading on his computer.

“Grading papers?”

His voice startled him, and he laughed softly at the reaction before sitting down, watching as Combeferre closed the laptop and put away his reading glasses. “Indeed I am.”

“How’s the new exam method? Is it working?” It’d been two weeks since the department board decided each lecturer could pick their own method to battle the use of AI in assignments, some opting for handwritten sit-in exams, others, like Combeferre, relying on AI-proof questions. He’d described it as statements that were confusing for a basic gen-AI system, but perfectly interpretable for the human mind. He didn’t quite understand how it worked, but Combeferre seemed confident.

“Great, actually. You can tell some are still using AI, but to a lesser extent or with more human inspection. Some are not using it at all, I’m quite happy with it.”

A smile crept onto his face, the first one that day. “Then I’m happy too.”

It wasn’t until they’d received their coffees that Courfeyrac finally tackled the topic of their meeting.

“So he’s with R in Berlin? You’re sure? How do you know?”

Combeferre put his small cup down. “Positive. Joly and Bossuet told me, apparently he called them when he texted him. They brought him up to speed and he asked that we keep it under wraps for a bit. I called him on Sunday and he told me he would go pick Enjolras up at the airport. I haven’t spoken to him since.”

His face fell on his hands, his fingers finding his temple. “Fuck.”

“I know, I was worried at first, but knowing R was picking him up kind of put my mind at ease.”

It did him too. He knew Grantaire, he’d take care of him, and probably wouldn’t question his visit unless forced to. Maybe it would be good for Enjolras to be around him, too. To see the life that exists beyond activism and belief, to see that there is a great life to live. If anyone could show him that, it was Grantaire. 

Still, he hoped they didn’t let it get too much, too fast. They were like magnets to each other, an obsession they just couldn’t get rid of, and they couldn’t be trusted to not let the relationship get out of hand before they could properly talk and understand how much they had changed.

“There’s something else.” Combeferre interrupted his thoughts, his tone inciting nothing but worry in him. “They’ve gotten close, very close. I don’t know if they’ve kissed or something by now, but they went dancing with Grantaire’s friends the other night and went home to R’s alone after.”

Yet another ‘Fuck’ left his mouth, and Combeferre raised his coffee as if in cheer. “Aye aye.” 

He laughed, at his friend’s reaction, at the entire situation, at their friend’s unending obsession with a guy he hadn’t seen in five years. Everything, really. “What can we do?”

“I don’t think there is anything we can do, unless you want to tell either of them what to do. And we both know how that would end.” 

That was true, if there was anyone you didn’t want to order around, it was them. He’d learnt that lesson time and time again, and he’d learnt it once more when he asked Enjolras to act like the person they’d always known him to be.

Not once did he question why he’d decided to go to Grantaire, and he knew Combeferre hadn’t either. There was no point in questioning something you knew you would never discover. It was funny how Enjolras would do so much for all of them, sacrifice himself if he had to, and yet was so unmoving on the topic of Grantaire. He would share everything except his feelings towards him, he would give them anything they asked except the words they spoke to each other. The stolen glances and soft touches were for them only, the first time Enjolras had kept anything for himself. So they didn’t question why he was with him, they just hoped it would be for the better.

“I miss him.”

“Me too.”

It had been hard without him, it had been even harder to watch his mannerisms, his convictions, his passion, decay. They tried to get by, they had their two-person film club, their dinners every Thursday, their sleepovers once every two weeks where they ate their favorite foods. It was different now, though. Combeferre would correct his grammar in the film club discussion topics, but no one brought a well-structured written response to all of them. They cooked the same pasta dish on Sundays, but no one insisted on the same brand of vegan cheese, so they started trying new ones. They always had leftover candy in their sleepovers, neither of them liking sweets that much but refusing to not get it. 

The thing is, he knew they’d manage. It was knowing that he was suffering that he couldn’t live with.

“Do you ever think of how many times Enj has saved us? Do you ever think that he never let us save him?”

Combeferre sighed and nodded. It wasn’t a new topic, they were both well aware of their friend’s fault. The sun reflected on Combeferre’s glasses for a second, and he followed the ray outside the window and directly to its source, just like he used to when he was a kid. The pain behind his eyes felt familiar, and when he looked back at his friend it was with a warm memory setting in his mind.

“Do you remember the day we met?”

“When you were a little skinny boy that hadn’t even smelled puberty? Yes I do.” 

He slapped his friend on the shoulder for that, though he wasn’t wrong. He’d been quite the late bloomer, puberty arriving much later than his anger did, resulting in Combeferre having to get them out of a lot of fights. Enjolras always joined him in them. 

“Yes, then. I told you how difficult it was to adapt to Paris, how bullied I was in the previous school I went to. I was a very emotional kid before that, but after that I struggled to show emotions for a really long time. Because my well dried up.”

Combeferre looked confused. “What do you mean?”

“It’s something I used to think, when I was little. I thought tears would collect in my stomach, in this massive well, but if you don’t allow yourself to cry there are no tears to collect. The well is still there, though, so you can only fill it with anger.”

Understanding appeared upon his friend’s face. “Enjolras didn’t cry after the housing project.”

He nodded. “The first thing he ever told me was that it was okay to cry with him. It’s always been safe to cry with him. But he refused to cry with us.”

“He also didn’t cry when R left.”

It had been a long time ago, but it was hard to forget the disappointment in the rest of the Ami’s face when Enjolras appeared in the meeting after Grantaire left, and started talking as if nothing had happened. Bossuet would deny it, but it was obvious they blamed him somewhat for it, and Enjolras knew. Joly could hardly pretend, their friendship took months to get back to normal. 

Through it all, they tried to support him. They tried to walk the line between worrying and prying when they asked about their last conversation, their last goodbye, the last words he said to him. They brought him lunch at home, hung out with him even more, showed him they were sticking by him no matter what. And never did Enjolras cry. 

It was close one time, months after, when he visited Grantaire in Berlin for the first time and came back with a story about his new dark-haired moody friend. He watched as Enjolras looked down at the Musain table as he told it, picked his nails, closed his eyes and breathed it all back in. Never did a tear fall. They’d done the best they could, but what does a good friend do in that situation?

He must have shown his thoughts on his face, because Combeferre reached over and grabbed his hand over the table, his face full of understanding.

“Courf, I think he’s having a good time in Berlin. Apparently he looks very happy.”

He nodded at his words, swallowing the knot that had formed in his throat and trying to internalise that Enjolras was okay. Most likely he was lying in bed with Grantaire, bickering about something stupid, or reading a book side by side and showing each other their favorite passages, or walking with their arms tangled through a museum. They were definitely the only two people in the old vase section, and Grantaire definitely knew more about old wooden spoons than the museum curator did.

The worry was still visible upon Combeferre’s face, so he tried to lighten up the mood. They’d talked about something sad for too long, it was time for something else.

With a smirk, he asked. “And who told you that?”

Combeferre raised an eyebrow, but he couldn’t hide the tug at the sides of his mouth. “Eponine.”

“Right.” Normally he would tease his friend much more about her, and about how often he checked his phone nowadays, and about how all of a sudden he was really into heavy metal, and about the book he bought on how to talk to teenagers. This time he just smirked at him until he blushed slightly and his face finally broke into a grin.

“Oh shut up. Let’s plan the next meeting, and you better behave from here on out.” He put his arms up in surrender and reached into his tote bag for his notebook, where a picture of the three of them decorated the inside sleeve.

After leaving the café, when they had already said their goodbyes, Combeferre called out to him from the other side of the walkway.

“Can you get the same brand of cheese Enj likes for pasta this Sunday? It’s the only good one.”

He gave him a thumbs up and started walking before he reached for his phone in his pocket. His fingers found the contact name easily, and a smile was already on his face when the other person picked up. 

“Hello my sunshine, how are you?”

“Hi mom.”

Chapter Text

Not good enough.

The words hadn't been spoken about him, and yet they felt like a punch to his worst insecurities. No, they weren’t about him. They weren’t about him, but why did they feel like they were? Why did he feel 23 again, so young and small? 

The wind was hitting his face fiercely. Who does he think he is? Had he not changed at all? Had him? Fragments of distant kisses and reassuring words struggled to make their way through his anger and fear.

Blaming all your insecurities on me, putting words in my mouth to justify your own suffering.

He was right, wasn’t he? What a self pitying talent he had developed, all to rationalise his own depression. There had been no logic behind it, and yet he tried to find it in every action taken by Enjolras. Every single insecurity crept up at a less than doting look, at a non-adoring word. Hadn’t he changed at all? Had it all been his fault? Was it him who pushed him away? 

You were the only person I thought wouldn’t just try to love me better.

Love him better from what? His words hardly made sense, the pessimism, the defeat. Nothing made sense, at all. Was this the new Enjolras, one that had lost everything that made him him? What was it that did it? Had there even been an ‘it’? 

And he was right there too, he would never try to love him better. Just like Enjolras hadn’t all those years ago, despite what his own insecurities told him. He just loved him, he didn’t think that could ever change, no matter what he believed all these years.

Find Eponine. She can help. She always did.

The way to her apartment was shorter than it had ever been, his strides becoming faster and faster as he neared her block. It was Friday, she worked from home, it was nearing her lunch break. She could help. 

She blinked at him when she opened the door. “Hi R, are you okay?” Her hair up in a bun, her office shirt and yoga pants on. The sight brought immediate relief, and his shoulders relaxed as he walked inside her apartment. 

He fell to the floor by the entry, the coats in the hanger falling on his head and grazing his neck. His fingers found their way to his eyes, where he rubbed his eyelids and temple in a weak attempt to get rid of the pain in his head.

“I’ll get you some tea and then you can tell me what happened okay?” 

Not for the first time this week, he was thankful for the friendship he’d found in the girl in front of him. He looked at her through bloodshot eyes and tried to convey his gratitude before she left for the kitchen. 

As the kettle rattled he tried to make sense of his scattered brain. His pulse was still racing, though it had made way to a calmer sort of anger and sadness. He felt frustrated, insecure, and above all, young. A young kid unable to understand his own self. 

He stood and walked to the sofa, lying down and wiping away a tear from his cheek with the palm of his hand. He waited in silence for Eponine to come back, listening to her moving in the kitchen, closing and opening cupboards. 

“Okay.” She entered the living room silently, placing a cup of tea on the table in front of him and motioning him towards it. “Do you want to talk about it? Was it Enjolras?”

He groaned, which made Eponine smile, and he somehow already felt better. The tea was still too hot, but the warmth was pleasing on his palms. His brain was less cloudy now, and he finally found the strength to speak.

“Ep, I don’t know what the fuck happened.” He looked at her, finding kindness and understanding in her eyes. “We had a weird conversation yesterday, I told him we needed people like him to change the world or some bullshit and he looked like he disagreed.” She raised her eyebrows. “I know, I know. It was very strange. And this morning, because I’m an idiot, I thought ‘I know how to cheer him up, i’ll show him the painting I’m working on’, which is heavily inspired by him.”

He realised he was rambling, trying to work through his own thoughts at the same time as he said them. Eponine seemed to be following though, her lips set in a straight line and her eyes slightly narrowed. “It totally set him off, like I showed him a painting of his own death or something. He started talking about how there was no way to change the world, how it’d only gotten worse since we were born. How we lost. How what the Amis have spent their entire lives on, their life project, is worthless.”

His voice broke. The irony of his disagreement with that statement wasn’t lost on him. He’d spent years disrupting meetings and saying those very same things - it felt different though, it was different. He never meant any of those words against his friends, they knew that. It was just a defense mechanism, a symptom of a hurting sense of self. But then again, maybe that was the case for Enjolras, too. Was he just projecting his pain? Had his anger at the mention of the Amis blinded him to it?

Eponine laughed, short and dry, with no humor behind it. “He’s such a dick.”

The word landed wrong in his stomach. The familiar protectiveness, the one he’d felt around Eponine since Enjolras arrived, crept up again. Maybe he was just hurt, maybe it was all a misunderstanding, maybe they could just talk it out and go back to yesterday, when everything was possible. 

“That’s a bit harsh.”

He took a sip of the tea, staring at his friend from over the top of the cup. It was still too hot, but he welcomed the burn on his tongue. He let the liquid sit on his mouth for a little, waiting until the tissue around his palate got accustomed to the heat. 

“I really don’t think so, he seems like a very selfish person to me. I don’t understand what you all see in him.” She spoke calmly, as if she’d been waiting for this fight, as if she’d been waiting for Grantaire to knock on her door and was glad the whole thing was over. He’d talked to her about him plenty, but this level of dislike was new. Something started to fall into place, a puzzle that had been forming this entire week, but that he didn’t have all the pieces to until now. 

“What do you mean ‘you all’?” 

She crossed her legs on the sofa and looked around the room nervously. “Oh you know, the Amis, in general. He’s had this whole ‘I’m not enough’ thing for a while, I don’t really get it.” 

She wasn’t looking at him, but he studied her features closely. Her fingers itching her forearm, her teeth biting her lower lip. He followed her gaze to her phone on the table. The puzzle looked clearer now; the constant texting, the standoffishness with Enjolras when they met, their look as if sizing each other up. The tense conversation they’d shared by the bar when he was dancing, Enjolras avoiding his eyes when he mentioned her the next day.   

“Who told you that?”

There really were few people Enjolras would say that to. Joly and Bossuet noticed something was off about him, but they never mentioned him saying anything about it. 

Eponine looked at him, a plea in her eyes. And then, everything clicked. Apart from him, there were only two people in the world who Enjolras could open up to. ‘You and Cos really do look like siblings. He was right.’ It sounded like something Courfeyrac would say, but he couldn’t be it. It sounded like something that someone would repeat to her, though. 

The final piece. Combeferre.

“Are you talking to Combeferre?”

It wasn’t the fact of it that angered him. It was the fact that Eponine had been chippier for a couple of months now, she laughed more, talked about visiting Paris with him, asked for non-fiction book recommendations. Two months, and he had to guess and pry it out of him. His best friend.

“Grantaire…” She trailed off, trying to get close to him and putting a hand on his leg.

He moved away from her touch. “No, no. What the fuck, Eponine?” His tone was sharp. He watched, trying to control his heavy breathing, as she rubbed her palm over her face, frustrated. It all made sense now, Enjolras must have known too. He was meeting his best friend’s something , and they both hid it from him. “Do Cosette and Marius know?” He was scared of the answer, scared that it would reveal a deep crack in his friendships he hadn’t even realised existed.

Her silence answered for her. Not for the first time that day, he felt his heart break. 

He got up rapidly and bolted for the door, forcefully putting on his coat. Eponine followed him. “Wait, I wanted to tell you, it’s jus-”

His muscles tensed. “No, you clearly didn’t want to tell me, though.”

She grabbed his arm, her touch burning, and tried to meet his eyes. There was a supplication in the deep brown hue. “It’s very new R, and I was scared you’d think it’s weird, I wanted to make sure it was real first.”

It was so stupid that that was her fear, so hurtful that she knew him that little. “Fuck, I don’t care that you’re dating Combeferre, more power to you, he’s great.” His tone was loud, too loud, but he was struggling to control anything his body did. “I care that you hid it from me, only from me.” He paused for a second. “And that you’ve been rude to Enjolras just because you’re fighting a fight that isn’t yours.” 

He knew he’d hit the nail on the head as soon as she watched the bitter grimace in her face. This entire week, Eponine had been teasing Enjolras with the loss of his best friend. It was cruel. 

“You’re one to talk.” She said.

If his pulse hadn’t been drumming so hard behind his ears maybe he would have tried to understand what she meant by that. “Have you told him about this week? About Enj and I?”

Her shoulders, as tense as they had been just a second ago, deflated. “Of course I have, it’s his best friend, he’s worried.”

The words had barely left her mouth before he retorted. “It’s his best friend Ep, but you’re mine. I deserved to know this.”

After one last look at her, he opened the door and walked out.

—

When he got home a dull pain had settled on the sides of his head. The wind, the cold, the constant rush of the city, had done nothing to help subside the irritation running through him. He felt betrayed on the one hand, damaged on the other. The day before, when everything seemed so simple and easy, was a faraway memory now. 

As soon as he walked into his apartment he rested his head on the wall and brought his hands to his temple. He muttered a ‘what the fuck’ to himself, in confusion at everything that had transpired. The tears, which had fallen intermittently since he left the studio, stung in his eyes, a warning of the ones that were to come. He didn’t try to fight them, there was no use, he just let them fall freely as he wrapped his own arms around himself, wishing they were someone else's.

Only him. He was the only person Eponine hadn’t told this to.

He stayed there, by the entryway, enough time for the tears to stop. When his shoulders stopped shaking and his nose stopped running he walked into the living room, fighting the urge to fall onto the sofa and let the sadness carry him again. Because he didn’t know what else to do, he started to tidy up the place, as if clearing it out could somehow clear out the mess in his own mind.

There were reminders of Enjolras throughout the entire room. The book he’d been reading on the table, the book he’d given him on the sofa. The chair. He put the books back on the shelf, caressing the covers as if that could bring back his touch. 

He could have walked to the kitchen, but the dishwasher Enjolras had loaded before leaving was there. In the bathroom, the shower gel they’d used together the previous day. Just one day in his apartment, and yet everything screamed his name. 

In his room; the pajamas he’d lended him folded neatly on the covers, the sheets they were entangled with, the pillow he rested his head on as he laughed at whatever joke he’d made. Every single joke he’d ever made was to make him laugh. 

He contemplated changing the sheets, but as soon as he smelled the familiar woody scent he knew he couldn’t. He lay on top of them, finally giving in to the exhaustion, and took in the fragrance that he’d smelled on his neck, his hands, his chest. 

He reached for his phone in his back pocket, wanting to talk to someone, anyone, but who he did not know. Joly and Bossuet? Jehan? Marius? Fuck, Combeferre? They all would be happy to hear from him, and yet he only really wanted to talk to two people. The two that he could not talk to right now. 

As if on cue, a message illuminated the screen.

Enjolras [14:35]: I didn’t mean those words about the Amis. 

Enjolras [14:36]: Can we talk?

Question mark. 

He breathed in deeply, reading the messages over and over, understanding the written words harder when his own mind kept screaming at him. Not good enough. Only you. He put his fists over his eyes and pressed down until he saw flickers of light in the darkness. 

Did he want to talk to him? Yes, always. Did he need to? Definitely not. 

Grantaire [14:41]: sure, meet at 17.00? i’ll send you an address.

The idea of having Enjolras back in his apartment made his heart feel smaller. He couldn’t do it today.

Enjolras [14:42]: See you then.

Without thinking, as if in reflex, his fingers clicked on Enjolras’ profile picture. Like it had done a thousand times, it took his breath away. The cafe, the notebook, the gray sweater. He grazed the screen, trying to run his hands through that wild hair, brush through it, tease him about it. Not good enough. He clicked away. 

His nails found his mouth, ripping at his lips until a metal taste reached his tongue. He sucked on the cut, a motion he’d gotten used to after so many boxing matches. It brought some comfort. 

Quickly, he found Jehan’s contact and wrote a message. When it didn’t get an immediate response, he tried to call, but it went unanswered. Busy, he told himself. They’re probably busy. The only one she didn’t talk to. 

Why did she not tell him? He told her everything, the most embarrassing, painful, disgusting things about himself. Why was it not reciprocated? What else was she hiding? 

Why didn’t Marius and Cosette? Why didn’t Enjolras? Did she ask them not to?

Jehangel [15:05]: I can’t talk right now, at a reading! Call tomorrow?

Did the rest of the Amis know? That hadn’t been something he’d thought of. What if they were all part of this, conspiring to make sure he didn’t find out, holding secrets from him? Talking about him behind his back.

Jehangel [15:07]: You okay? <3

Grantaire [15:07]: all good! yes, talk tomorrow :)

He knew he was spiraling, he knew his insecurities were getting a hold of him. His friends loved him, he told himself, his friends valued him, he repeated. Well, at least some of them.

To his side, Bossuet’s Lord of the Rings book stood. He picked it up and opened it on the first page. 

To R, 

this is not a goodbye gift because we will see you again very soon. 

I love you like a brother, but chose you like a friend. 

- Bossuet

He smiled. His friends loved him. 

Grantaire [15:12]: hi guys! we’re still missing our call this week, are you off work this weekend joly? 

Bossuet [15:13]: He is :) And sounds good, can’t wait to talk!

The bookmark fell softly on his bed when he opened the book. He climbed inside his sheets and continued reading, letting the words distract him from the ones inside his mind.

–

Volkspark means park of the people, there’s usually one in every Berlin neighbourhood, but the one in Friedrichstain is the oldest one. There is a fountain by the entrance with statues along it that depict characters from the Grimm brothers stories. In Summer, kids jump in the water and splash around with each other. In Winter, the statues are covered so they don’t get damaged by the weather, and the park is empty, all the children at home where no rain or wind can get to them. 

He’d told Enjolras to meet there, in the benches right behind the fountain, where you could see statues of dogs inside water basins. Maybe he hoped he would ask why they were there, and he’d tell him the answer, and then he’d look at him with that glint in his eyes. It was dark at this time though, too dark to easily make out the shape of any of the sculptures.

When he got there, Enjolras was already sitting on the bench, hunched over with his head in his hands. He looked up when he heard him approach, his blue eyes looking dark in the dim light. He was wearing his university sweater, the one they all bought together when they graduated, oversized and soft. 

“Hi.” Enjolras spoke first, soft and full of doubt. It should have been an oxymoron, but so many other things should have been. 

“Hi.” He sat down next to him.

In the few hours since they’d agreed to meet, his anger had mellowed, leaving behind something broken, a dull pain in his chest and a voice in his head that just wouldn’t shut up. How could this have gotten off the rails so fast? 

“I’m sorry about what I said, about the Amis. I didn’t mean it.” Enjolras shuffled close to him, not quite touching, but close enough for Grantaire to see the fear in his eyes. He remained quiet, not sure yet what to make of it, what to make of anything. He was tired, and the feeling dragged his brain, the area behind his eyes aching and making it difficult to concentrate.

Enjolras put his head back between his hands, rubbing his eyes and breathing out, like trying to find his words. “The truth is, I’m going through something right now, I don’t know what it is but it’s something. Combeferre tried to talk to me, back in Paris, but all I could think about was you and how I wished it was you I was talking to.”

They finally locked eyes, and he could tell Enjolras was looking for something in him, but what he did not know. Answers? Questions? Words of encouragement? He wanted to help, he really did, but the day had left him drained, and tired, and he was finding it hard to understand what he needed to say to help. 

“Why do you feel this way? How is it that you feel?”

Enjolras swallowed. “I don’t know, R. Sometimes it feels like I’m just going through the motions, doing what is expected of me, but I don’t know what I actually want. I don’t know if I’m allowed to want things.”

Grantaire blinked at him. Everything Enjolras did was about what he wanted, which mostly was just about what everyone else needed. That was one of his favorite qualities about him, his selflessness. “You’re a selfless person, if what you want is what others want, that's okay.” Enjolras looked down at his hands.

He meant those words, he really did. Hope rising in him, knowing he’d expressed the thing that made Enjolras so important, he reached for his hand on his leg. He jerked at the touch, rapidly moving away and placing distance between them. Grantaire looked for his gaze, confused, not knowing what he’d done wrong, and found Enjolras’ eyes dark and narrowed. In a second, it felt like there was a wedge between them again. 

“Of course. I don’t know why I expected a different answer.” His tone was bitter, his hands turned into fists.

A hole opened in his stomach, sucked all the hope he’d put into his words, and spouted the same ones he’d heard in his head the entire day. Not good enough. “Why didn’t you tell me about Eponine and Combeferre?” 

Enjolras whipped his head around, but his look wasn’t one of surprise, but of pain. “It’s not my business to tell.”

“Why did you all keep it from me?” Maybe he wasn’t being fair, maybe he wasn’t thinking straight, but once the thought of his friends’ exclusion had clung to his mouth, he couldn’t get rid of it. “Why?”

“Why the fuck aren’t you listening?” He snapped, and then closed his eyes and breathed in and out. Like walking a tightline. “I’m trying to talk to you here.”

“Just tell me why.” His voice came out in a whimper, which had an effect on Enjolras. Suddenly, he was calmer, not relaxed, just less tense. He let his body slip down the bench.

“Trust me, I didn’t enjoy it, but he’s my best friend.”

At once, he felt tears water his eyes. Even without talking to each other, even being mad at each other, Combeferre and Enjolras looked out for each other. Wasn’t that what friends did? Where had he gone wrong for his own friends to hide something from him? 

“Why does it feel like everyone is always putting other people’s interests over mine?” His voice broke. “Why am I not Eponine’s first choice? Why was I not yours?” 

That’s what it was. This feeling he’d had all day. The words screaming at him. No matter what he did, Enjolras never put him first back then, always loyal to someone or some cause before him. No matter how much they’d shared, the time they’d spent together, Eponine had chosen others before him. He’d been both their confidants, opening up to them and thinking they were opening themselves up to him too. Both times, he’d been wrong.

When he looked back he found Enjolras staring at him with a downward turn in his mouth, his brows furrowed.“R… you know that’s not true. Not with you.” But the words came too late, and were too little. 

“I don’t really know if I can believe you, you’ve put on quite a show since you arrived.” Low blow, he knew it was. He’d been happy, so happy, to see Enjolras smiling around him having fun. It made him feel special, important, like he had something only he could give him. There was no truth behind those words, and yet he’d said them.

“And you’ve been kind of an asshole this whole conversation.”

His heart twisted in a knot, not because he was hurt, but because he was right. A realisation came at once, a painful one, that the last week had just been an illusion. Maybe Eponine was right in not being surprised at his appearance on her door, maybe Enjolras and him were always going to have a fight. Maybe they were just like this, two sides of the same coin, always attached, but never able to see head to head.

Maybe he’d gotten ahead of himself, maybe he should’ve listened more when Enjolras tried to open up, maybe Enjolras should’ve been clearer. But what good was knowing this, if this was just their natural state? Like a hurricane during summer, no matter how much you prepare for it, it will always come, and it will always destroy everything in its way. That’s just who they were. 

What good was apologising again? A fight would happen, and they would let their anger carry them, and they would hurt each other again.  

He sighed.

“We’re never going to learn how to talk to each other, are we?”

Enjolras looked at him, his expression unreadable. “Doesn’t seem like it.”

There was a few seconds of silence where Enjolras just stared at him, and he looked anywhere but at him. The trees, the fountain, the lights of the windows surrounding the park. “I’m gonna go.”

Without waiting for an answer, he got up and walked away, not looking back.

Passing by the covered statues on his way back, looking down at the water-less fountain, the wind in his face tousling his curls, only one word invaded his thoughts.

Fuck.

Chapter Text

One, two, three. Slip left. Seven. 

One, two, five. Roll out. Two, three, two, one, one, two.

The bag was steady as he hit it, not swayed at all by his punches. 

Two, three, two.

One, five, two. 

Sweat rolled down his forehead, his back, his legs.

One, two, three. Slip right. Eight, four. Roll out.

His mind was blank, concentrated only on the feeling of his gloves against the fabric, the wraps around his hands restraining his knuckles, the dull pain in his shoulders as exhaustion took him apart.

As his movements slowed and his muscles started to fail, his mind filled again with the questions that had been hunting him since he left the park. Why could they never figure it out? How much of it was his fault? Was it because of the same flaws that made Eponine not trust him? Why did it always end like this? 

Why did he always fuck everything up?

“You’re here early, R.” 

The voice startled him enough to miss a step to the right, and he had to overcorrect to not fall to his side. He dropped his hands and straightened his back, breathing heavily, then turned around to find his coach by the door.

“Yeah. I wanted to get some bag work in.”

The old man left a heavy box by the door and walked up to him, slapping his back. “Everything ok?” There was honest concern in his voice.

Still breathing heavily, he picked up the t-shirt he’d thrown on the floor and put it back on, trying to look more presentable. It didn’t matter how many years he’d been training with him, he still had too much respect for the man to not at least try. “I didn’t have the best day yesterday. Is it very obvious?”

“You’re very easy to read.” With a nod, he pointed towards a towel he’d pulled out of the box and offered it. He took it gladly, using it to wipe the sweat off his forehead and grabbing his water bottle. “Especially when I come in and see punches I haven't seen from you in years.”

The water caught in his throat when he laughed. Struggling through the coughs, he spoke. “You mean because my technique was awful?”

He nodded, and he laughed in return as they sat against the wall. “And because you looked like you were fighting someone.” He slapped his shoulder again. “I mean it, you know you can count on us.”

It was true. It wasn’t a place where people spoke about their personal lives, with most of the guys being older men, but they always lent a hand if they could tell something was off. They’d ask their wives to bake some cookies for you, or get you an extra Redbull on their way to the gym, and give you one too many high fives after sparring. He thought it was cute, just a bunch of guys trying to do their best despite having never been taught how to. 

Sometimes they’d even ask him about art or politics, because their daughter got into it, or because they wanted to go to a protest and didn’t know how to. They didn’t always know the best words, but they tried, and it was reassuring.

“Thank you.” There was a second of silence, and he knew he wasn’t expected to say more, but he felt compelled to. “I argued with some friends of mine yesterday and needed to get some steam out.

It felt like an understatement, it felt like everything he’d felt the last 24 hours couldn’t possibly be summed up in just that sentence, but he seemed to understand it nonetheless. “Oh you’ll be okay, I’m sure.” Another silence followed, where it looked like he was trying to find the words to continue. “These things only make the friendship stronger. You’re young, you’ll learn that with time.”

He couldn’t help but smile at that. He’d felt so young yesterday, like the useless teenager with no friends he used to be, the one who got tongue tied whenever his crush talked to him. And young like he was when that same crush broke his heart, yelling at him that there was nothing between them, that there never could be. 

Maybe he’d associated that youth to an inability to express himself, and maybe he needed to associate it with learning how to. If he could look back now to then and see how youth and the stupidity that comes with it had slowly grown into maturity, who’s to say the same wouldn’t occur when he looked back to now in a couple years?

“I’m not that young.” They both laughed, and he offered a hand after he got up. He followed him to the box by the door, where weights, combs, and hoops stood waiting to be set up.

They unboxed everything in silence, not needing to be shown where to set each object after being here so many times. When they were almost done, the silence was broken with a neutral tone. “Was it really just your friends?”

“What do you mean?”

He looked to find his coach smirking. “Oh you know, I saw you Tuesday night with a pretty blond near East Side Gallery, I thought maybe it had something to do with him.” 

“Oh God.” He covered his face, not wanting to reveal his blush if one did occur, and smiling despite himself. Was it possible that he and Enjolras had run into everyone he knew in this city? “It does, unfortunately.”

A smile broke across his face, and he slapped his chest hard enough to leave him breathless for a second. “Ah you’re a charming guy, you can win him back.”

He raised his eyebrows in return, seriously doubting the words. Voices started coming from the door though, a sign of people arriving for training, so he let it go.

—

It was hard during the down times in class to not think of how Enjolras said he’d come to see him training. Maybe they would have gotten brunch after, or he’d have cooked something instead, to impress him. Then Enjolras would kiss him, slowly, with a hand on his lower back, and they’d go on a walk after. When they came back they would watch a movie in bed, he would pick it, something that would spark endless rants from both their sides that they would both listen to intently.

It was hard to not think of him while in the gym, and it was even harder when he left. Not for the first time he cursed himself for not listening to Enjolras better at the beginning of the conversation, for being too consumed by his own insecurity to listen. 

He still struggled to make sense of what he’d said wrong. For some reason, Enjolras didn’t like when he called him selfless, when he put words to the thoughts he’d had since he met him - that he’d do anything for anyone, even if they didn’t deserve it, just like he’d come to take care of him when he was hurt, drunk, and bitter. 

But then again, he’d mentioned going through the motions, feeling like he was doing what was expected of him, not knowing who he was beyond that. Was that why he said all he wanted was to talk to him? It reminded him of something they’d talked about, long ago, in his terrace, after their friends found out about them. 

Enjolras asked ‘Do you think our friends hate us?’. With the feel of a cold bottle in his hand and his warm body next to him it seemed like such a stupid question, who cares what their friends thought? Still, he answered truthfully. ‘I don’t think they hate you’.  

He’d looked at him, like he’d said something stupid, like he couldn’t believe he couldn’t see what was so obvious. ‘They think I’m a robot’ and he’d answered ‘ they think I’m a drunk’ , and then Enjolras smiled and reached in to kiss him, and he forgot about not knowing who he was beyond others expectations and cared only about being someone Enjolras liked.

Maybe they connected over this, maybe they understood each other in a way their friends struggled to, maybe they saw their own reflection in the other’s flaws. But what did that matter? A robot can’t understand emotions, and a drunk can’t see beyond them. They were stuck in a loop, forever drawn to the other, but never meant to be. 

The door to his apartment opened with a creak. He dropped his bag by the door, beelining to the shower without daring a look around, the apartment still reminding him too much of him. 

He was barely out when his phone rang on top of the sink. Struggling not to slip on his way out, he checked the caller, and smiled from ear to ear when he saw Jehan’s name. He accepted the video call with wet fingers, trying to find the towel before he flashed them.

“Hello hello.” They were clearly in their apartment, the phone set up against something in the coffee table as they drank what could only be English breakfast tea. He was still trying to set up the towel around his middle, his curls falling onto his eyes and obscuring his view. “Oh don’t get dressed on my behalf, nothing I haven’t seen before.”

When he finally got the towel to stay he picked up the phone and set it against the wall, smiling at Jehan. “I love you too much to subject you to that I’m afraid. How are you?” It wasn’t the first time this week that they talked while he got ready, though the main difference between the times was not lost on him.

“I’m great, sorry I couldn’t pick up yesterday my editor invited me to a reading, couldn’t really say no. Was everything ok?”

His hand stopped in the air while reaching for his curl cream. He hadn’t really thought this far, why was it he was calling them yesterday? To reassure himself that he had friends that loved him? To rant about Enjolras, whom they didn’t know was even with him? 

“Yes, everything was ok.” All his friends could immediately tell when he was lying, but some of them would not call him out on it. Jehan was one of them, and even knowing he could’ve gotten away with the lie, he felt a drive to tell the truth. “Actually, can I ask you a question?” He waited for Jehan to nod in response. “What do you know about Enjolras’ state of mind lately?”

He looked directly at the camera, as if analysing his friend’s reaction could help illuminate any of his doubts. Instead, Jehan’s shoulders tensed, Enjolras being a topic that the Amis long decided to not bring up around him, and their eyes looked inquisitively into his. For a second they stared at each other, as if there was no screen between them and they truly were face to face, trying to understand what was going on in the other’s mind. Then a light seemed to light in Jehan’s head, as if they’d come to a realisation.

“He’s in Berlin, isn’t he?”

The affirmation caught him by surprise, so much that he almost slipped on the bathroom tiles. Trying to compose himself, he asked, “why do you think that?”

His question was met with a raised eyebrow. “Well we haven’t seen him in a while, and Combeferre told us on Sunday that he knew where he was and that he was ok. Then the next day you ask for outfit advice to meet someone, on Wednesday you say you were going dancing… Plus you’re so easy to read, I’m surprised I didn’t figure it out sooner.” 

“Fuck.” He couldn’t help the small smile at how well his friend knew him, and maybe at the idea of people picturing him and Enjolras together. 

“Do you want to talk about it?” Jehan returned the small smile, but theirs looked more worried, and kinder. As if they were trying to encourage him. 

He pondered the question, looking down at his moisturiser, wondering if talking about it might help make things clearer. Maybe it could help with the insecurity that had been brewing inside of him, and maybe Jehan could help him understand Enjolras, they were always great at reading people. Or maybe he just needed a friend to be kind to him. 

“Yes, I would.” He finished applying the cream and picked up the phone, throwing on some sweatpants before walking to the bedroom and jumping on the bed. 

“Hit me.” Jehan said when he was finally ready.

“He texted me last week, asking for recommendations of what to do in Berlin. You know we haven’t spoken since we fought before I left, so I was very confused. I called Joly and Bossuet and they brought me up to speed on what’s been going on in Paris, they talked to Combeferre after.” Jehan was humming and nodding as he explained. “After finding all that out I just had some… feeling. I don’t know how to explain it, but I felt protective over him, I wanted to help him. So I offered to pick him up at the airport.”

There was a second of surprise in their features, but they soon returned to a neutral expression. “We texted back and forth during the weekend, and then I met him at the airport, we went for dinner, I showed him around… and it was so nice. Like the best parts of when we were together in Paris. I know it’s stupid, but it’s how it felt.”

“It’s not stupid.” Jehan interrupted, gentle, and he breathed in and out in response, trying to calm down his nerves.

“He didn’t look sad or anything during those days, he was in such a good mood the entire time. On Wednesday we went dancing, and he acted really strange around Eponine.” They furrowed their eyebrows, and for the first time the idea of them knowing about her and Combeferre crossed his mind, clouding his thoughts for a second. 

“Grantaire?”

The serenity in their voice brought him back to Earth, and he continued. “I should’ve thought something was up then, but I didn’t. He came over and slept at mine that night.” He could see Jehan biting their tongue, though their dimple was forming. “Nothing happened, but he found the shelf where I keep all the books you guys gave me when I left Paris. He got really sad then, but I figured it was because he missed you.”

A sadness crossed their gaze. The Amis missed him too, he knew it. How could they not?

“I came back the next day to find a book on the table. He bought me a copy of the book he was going to give me when I left. Jehan I swear my knees faltered when I saw it.”

“Of course you’d swoon at that.” They were making fun of him, but there was a glint in their eyes. Almost like hope. How sad was he to have to crush it.

“Right, you get it, I just had to kiss him for it.” Jehan had the decency to at least act surprised. “You don’t have to fake it hun, I know we’re predictable.” They smiled from ear to ear at that. “The thing is, we had a great day. Like, truly great. I felt like I was floating, like all this time everything was leading up to this, like we had both improved on whatever made us not work last time and we were finally figuring it out.” 

“But I was so wrong. He mentioned he was scared he’d spent his entire life on something that he was wrong about, and I wanted to show him he wasn’t, so I showed him this painting I’ve been working on. He’s the main figure, and he’s doing a speech in front of this group of students. It was supposed to encourage him, but he got so mad. He was talking about how we lost, how what you and the Amis have been working on your entire lives is not good enough.” A knot formed in his throat, the memory making him emotional even now. He fought to not let tears fall.

“I don’t know Jehan, it was so… I’ve never seen him like this. I’ve seen him angry before, angrier than this, but never so self-hating, and so pessimistic, and that comment about your work not being good enough… It was a lot. We talked after, but by then I had also fought with Eponine, and I wasn’t in a good mood and I didn’t listen to a word he said and we just fought again.”

He wiped his hands on his face. “How does it always end like this? I feel like we’re just stuck in this loop, and we’re never going to get out of it. Like a very pathetic Orpheus and Eurydice.” 

“That’s a lot to go through in one week R, how are you dealing with it?”

“Fuck, awful. I mean there’s all these insecurities I forgot I had just crawling back out, and the fight with Ep made it even worse. I just have so many questions for him and I don’t think he even knows the answers, like why did he even come here in the first place?”

Jehan breathed out, long, and he followed suit. Sometimes it felt like they did these things more for his benefit than their own, and it only made him love them all the more. 

“Honestly? I can’t say I expected him to go to you, but it makes sense.”

Combeferre had hinted at a similar thing, on Sunday, and he was still trying to wrap his mind around it. “Why?” 

Jehan didn’t look him in the eye this time, staring down at their tea instead, but they sounded sure when they spoke next. “I think you’re the only thing Enjolras has ever allowed himself to have. I know he was bad at it, but loving you was the first time he did something selfish.”

So many things were confusing about that sentence that his brain grasped the first one it found. “How is loving me selfish?”

They sighed. “To him it is. Enjolras has never allowed himself anything that isn’t conducive to a cause, least of all love.”

Not for the first time that day he thought of that fight that ended it all, back in Paris. ‘We’re not anything, we never could be’ . Maybe Enjolras was trying to convince himself as much as him.

Jehan continued. “Maybe he wanted to reconnect with that part of him.” 

“I don’t get it, I’m sorry.” 

They stopped for a second, as if trying to order their own thoughts, or trying to find the best way to present them. “Do you ever stop and think about the Amis? When we were younger?” 

The nights they spent running through Paris, getting drunk in the Musain, going to exams without having slept the night before. The sleepovers, the adventures, the trips, the parties… How could he ever forget it? Being young surrounded by friends was the best thing that ever happened to him. “Of course I do.”

“When you think of all our best memories together, like when we all took the same Sociology class together, and then when we went to Courfeyrac’s summer house after we finished the exam and got so drunk in the train we almost missed the stop, or when we went to Joly’s ex’s concert and it was so bad it made him realise he was in love with Bossuet.” The memories warmed his chest, and he smiled absentmindedly. “Think of those times, and now think, where was Enjolras?” 

He knew exactly where Enjolras was every single one of those times, remembered his explanations like the poems he’d learnt when he was in school, he knew how his absences had made him feel back then. He also remembered how angry he was capable of making him when he did appear. “His sociology grade screwed his average so he wouldn’t have been able to get into his internship, he had to stay back to talk to the professor about extra credit, and then drove to Courf’s on his own because he insisted we left without him.”

Jehan nodded. “And he couldn’t make the concert because someone dropped out of a pro bono project and he stepped in to help. And he wasn’t there the night you slipped and fell on the Seine and almost broke your hand on the way out because he was helping to organise a protest for another group in the city.” He’d been stressed that entire month and their arguments about how useless the protest would be were not helping the situation. Still, he came to the ER when he found out about his fall, and looked at him with a mix of frustration and something else that he hadn’t learnt to put a name to back then. 

A silence engulfed them, him trying to not get lost in the nostalgia of those times, Jehan seemingly trying to find the best way to articulate their thoughts. Finally, they spoke, “You know… Enjolras never really got to be young. While we were out getting drunk together, having fun, making mistakes… he was always doing something for a higher reason, and he was always expected to do it perfectly. He expected that of himself too.” He knew all of this to be true, every word made sense and fell neatly into his perception of Enjolras, into everything he’d ever seen him do or heard him say. And yet, it was only now, hearing Jehan speak, that he found where the pieces fit. 

“When we all met we were so young, barely teenagers, but he acted so much older. He acted like a man who could win a revolution, and now he’s grown into someone that couldn’t even start one. What would that do to you? To your perception of who you are?”

Everything made so much sense. It was like a cloud had lifted from his eyes, and he didn’t see Enjolras in a new light, but he saw all the shadows that came when the sun shone directly at you. All the parts where the light made you look angelic, and the ones where it casted darkness. 

He felt encouraged. Maybe they were stuck in a loop, maybe they couldn’t be together, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t help him. That didn’t mean he could ever stop caring about him.

“He hasn’t lost himself. He never could.”

Jehan smiled, not without sadness. “You believe in him more than he does in himself.”

And that was one thing he was proud of. How some people could see Enjolras and not believe was truly beyond him.

Once again his friend’s wisdom floored him, how did he ever get so lucky to know them? “You know sometimes I wish I could fit you into my back pocket and take you everywhere I go, I feel like I wouldn’t get into half the problems I get into if I could do quick consultations with you throughout the day.”

Jehan laughed, loud and clear. It made him feel warm, and it made him miss having them around. “You said you had a fight with Ep, do you want to talk about that?”

He started playing with the fabric of his pillow, distracted, thinking of all the ways in which Enjolras had tried to talk to him without him realising. Walking to salsa when he talked about human nature, when he changed the topic after discussing the housing crisis, how he never talked about the lack of political message in his art. What did him and Marius even talk about when he was gone with Cosette? “Well, it’s kind of related I guess. Did you know about her and Combeferre?”

“Her and Combeferre? What?”

His face betrayed him before he could return to a neutral expression, the mistake catching up to him too late to stop it.

“Fuck.”

“They’re dating? That’s cute, good for them.” They must have sensed the panic, because they spoke again. “Were you not supposed to tell me?”

“No. Fuck Jehan, she’s gonna be so mad. She didn’t even tell me until yesterday it was supposed to be a secret until they’re more established.” He felt the inside voice win, how could he have been so stupid? How could he have messed this up, again?

“R, hun, I’m sure she won’t mind. I can keep a secret. It’ll be ok.”

The words did calm some of his tension, but he immediately felt the urge to talk to her. Maybe he could explain that it was just a mistake, and she wouldn’t be too mad at him. Though she was already mad at him.

“I’m so stupid. Thank you Jehan, you’ve been an angel as always. I love you, but I think I should go talk to her.” Maybe he just wanted to be with her, fuck up or not. He already missed her.

Jehan smiled softly. “Of course. Thank you for the chat, R. I love you.”

“I love you, too.”

Just as his hand was reaching for the hang up button, Jehan spoke again, hurriedly. “Oh and R, there’s something else about Enj. It’s not my story to tell, but I think you should ask him about the Amis house. The one he was building with Combeferre and Courfeyrac.” He had all but forgotten about that place, though he faintly remembered Courfeyrac asking for advice about it once or twice. He made a mental note of it and said his goodbyes, getting up and grabbing a t-shirt and a sweater before making his way towards the door.

If he left now, he could make it to Eponine’s before lunch.

—---

The clouds followed him all the way to her apartment, getting darker by the minute. The first drops of rain only wet his hair when he walked out of the Späti close to the Metro, three Kinder Buenos in hand. A peace offering, he thought.

The rain got heavy when he neared her street, his steps becoming faster by the second, almost racing as he walked up the stones to her doorstep. The downstairs door was open, as it always was, so he ran inside and walked up the stairs two at a time. 

It wasn’t Eponine that answered the door. Instead, a little man was staring up at him, the boredom characteristic of teenagers showering over his face. 

“Gavroche.” He got out between shaking breaths, brushing over his now wet sweater.

“Hi dude. She’s in her room, are you done being mad at each other?” He moved sideways, and he took the cue to walk inside and rid himself of his shoes in a rush. 

“That’s what I’m trying to get to, do you think it’ll be hard? Is she still angry?”

Gavroche rolled his eyes, but there was a hint of a smile tugging at his lips. “You’ll be okay.” He nudged his shoulder before he entered the living room. “Can you let me know when you’re done? I kind of wanna watch something, all of us.” 

Sometimes they got worried, Eponine and him, about Gavroche. What if he was going out too much? What if he got in trouble? Was he in the wrong crowds? But moments like these made them realise they were raising him so much better than they ever got. And they turned out pretty okay.

“Sure will. Now go to your room.” Gavroche tried to flip him off, but he slapped his hand away before he could. He looked at him in surprise, smiling as he did so, and muttered ‘good luck’ before returning to his room. 

Eponine should already have heard him coming into the apartment, so when he walked into the living room it didn’t surprise him to see her looking at him from the sofa. He tried to get an ‘I’m sorry’ out, but barely managed a syllable before he felt her arms embracing him. 

He hugged her back, and for a few seconds, only her arms, her hair grazing his cheek, and her breath on her neck existed.

A drop of water from his hair fell on her shoulder, and he broke the embrace before he could get her as wet as he was. He looked at her, her wide brown eyes, her curly hair up in the ponytail she always had on at home, her sweatpants and loose t-shirt. She still looked so young to him, but he bet that if he looked at the pictures hanging all around the room he would be able to point to lines that didn’t exist a few years ago. So many years they had spent together, growing, and so many stupid arguments that they had now learnt to let go. 

“I’m so sorry Ep.” He said first.

She gripped his arms, and in a second he was back in a hug. “I’m sorry too, I should have told you.” She spoke to his skin. 

“Stop hugging me, I’m going to soak you.” She pulled away and looked at his sweater, as if only now realising his state, and offered up her hands.

“Give it to me, I’ll put it in the radiator and grab you one of mine.”

A minute later he was clad in one of her robes, looking on as she set his sweater on top of the radiator behind the sofa. 

“It’s kind of annoying how much more stylish you look in my own clothes.”

He laughed, despite his disagreement, not being able to help it after the joy of being back in her good graces. “What can I say, I’m an effortless beauty.”

The unimpressed look he received in return as she sat back down opposite him reminded him of someone else, but he didn’t have the energy to think of him right then. 

“And an effortless annoyance too.” He opened his mouth, feigning surprise, and placed a hand over his heart, not missing the tug on her lips as she rolled her eyes at him. “I’m serious about apologising R, I really should have told you, I regret that I didn’t.”

Before he could speak, before he could apologise for his own part in their argument, she continued. “It started very suddenly, you know? He kept liking my stories, and then he responded to one of them, and we just got to talking. I haven’t even seen him in person since it all started, so I didn’t know how real it was.” 

The picture started to make sense, the confusion, and the hesitance to tell him. 

“I didn’t know how to tell you, I was scared it would make it real. And maybe if I messed it up with the one guy you’d approve of then I’d have to face that it’s me that is the problem. I froze, and I’m sorry, I should have told you.”

She swallowed, looking up at him, for the first time in her life looking like she needed his approval. As if he could ever give her anything but. 

“Ep, it’s fine. I should have listened when you told me, waited for you to explain. But the whole Enjolras thing hurt me, so I was already sensitive, and it made me feel excluded. I’m really sorry for reacting how I did, you didn’t deserve that.”

“It was pretty shitty to not tell you. And the only reason Marius and Cos know is because Cos goes through my texts when she’s bored and I forgot how to hide conversations on WhatsApp.”

He laughed, loud and clear, because had life always been so easy? When did it get like this?

“Of course she did. Do you forgive me, though?”

Her eyes widened, and her teeth showed when she answered. “Of course I fucking do, are you kidding me?”

A weight lifted off his shoulders, and a voice quieted in the back of his brain. It took him years to realise that voice could be wrong, even longer to learn how to tell it that it was. He was still learning, but somehow his friends were always able to silence it. 

“And R…” He looked back at her, growing concerned at the furrow between her brows. “About the Enjolras thing, you were right, I wasn’t being the nicest to him. You know at the bar, when you were dancing with Cosette, I tried to confront him about Combeferre, it’s very embarrassing looking back now.”

It looked like she wanted to continue, so he waited.“I didn’t mean to find out about their fight, and Ferre didn’t mean to tell me. I just called him once, out of the blue, and he looked like he’d been crying, so I asked him what happened. He didn’t want to tell me, but he needed someone to talk to, someone to vent to that didn’t also love Enjolras.” He couldn’t help but agree, it’s not like Combeferre had many people in his life that didn’t consider Enjolras a brother. It must have been hard to consider his own feelings when everyone around him wanted to consider them both.

“It was only some days before he texted you, so I didn’t know how to breach the subject. When I told Ferre about Enjolras coming here he looked so happy, as if you’d be able to make him feel better.” That conviction again, the same one he’d told him last Sunday, the same one Jehan mentioned. “When I saw him with you I felt like he didn’t care about his friend, like he only cared about you. It upset me, and I know that’s stupid, but I felt protective.” He certainly knew the feeling, he’d felt protective over Enjolras since this whole thing started.

“And I was also protective over you, you know? I remember how bad it was back then, and now I had another person telling me about how awful this guy was being… I know I should have been a bit kinder about showing my concerns, but it’s weird, being so close to two people who love someone so much, and yet you only hear about all his worst faults.”

He thought about the vibrant boy he’d fallen in love with at 18, how passionate he’d been, how caring, how thoughtful, how funny. It felt like a privilege to even know him, to be allowed to know him. His light washed over him, made him see a world he didn’t believe in, and one that with time, even if he wasn’t by his side anymore, he started believing in too. Enjolras was everything; he was kind, he was compassionate, he was honest, but he was also angry, he could be terrible, judgemental, reckless. He used to think that was the nature of a God, now he could see they were the qualities of a human. Maybe he didn’t paint him in the best light when he was heartbroken, but he was human too, wasn’t he? 

“He does care about his friends, way too much sometimes. Probably too much to be able to talk about them now.” He looked down at his legs, now interlaced with Eponine’s, and thought of the very same day he’d received a call from Combeferre. “Last Sunday I talked to Cosette about him, and she told me something I didn’t really think of before. She said she wasn’t here for the worst of it, like you were, but maybe that’s why she’s been able to listen more when the rest of the Amis talk about Enjolras. Because she’s been listening, she knows he couldn’t have been that bad, and when she met him, it was knowing that. You knew only the worst of him, so I see why you were wary.”

An image passed through his mind, the same living room they were in, lying on the same sofa. Only this time, two men joined them, and there was an extra picture in the living room where the four of them appeared, smiling. Wishful thinking. “I’m sorry I was a dick. I hope I can solve this whole thing, somehow.”

Eponine put her hands over his, a glint in her eyes as she spoke. “You will. He cares about you, you care about him, you just have to figure it out.”

It seemed easy when she said it, but nothing was ever easy with them. And as far as he knew, love was supposed to be.

He thought of Eponine again, in that crowded basement, scolding Enjolras about an argument she wasn’t even involved in. He would laugh at her if he didn’t know he would’ve done exactly the same thing. “We’re both very loyal, aren’t we? Both fighting a fight that isn’t ours.”

She smiled, a usual smile, the one he knew came before she was about to make fun of him. “That’s why we’re such good friends, it’s both of our worst qualities.”

He slapped her shoulder, the mundanity of the interaction calming the last of the nerves he’d brought into the apartment when he walked in it. 

“I can’t believe Ferre slid into your DMs. I didn’t know he had that much game.” She raised her eyebrows at him, as if daring him to continue. “Oh come on, tell me about him, I’m dying over here.”

“I’m not sure you are.” This time, he used the tie around his robe to hit her. 

“So you like him?”

She was quiet for a second, clearly thinking of something, a soft smile on her lips. “Something like that.” 

It was nice to see her like this. She’d dated around before, but like she said, no one he really approved of. Normally assholes who didn’t deserve one third of her, and who would hit her up whenever they got into trouble and never return the same favour. He’d gotten so used to only seeing the best sides of her when she wasn’t with someone. This calm, almost serene kind of happiness was reserved only for her friends, the idea of her being able to share it with someone else, the idea of that someone being as wonderful as Combeferre, it made his chest explode with joy.

“It’s gonna be raining all day, you wanna make soup and watch something?”

“Hell yes, I brought Kinder Buenos for all of us, for dessert.”

Her eyes lit up. “This is why we love you so much in this household.” He grinned. “All right, why don’t you go take a shower, get all the wetness out of you, I’ll get started on chicken noodle soup, and we can spend the rest of the day binging Derry Girls.”

“This is why I love this household so much.”

Hours later, after he’d showered, after they’d eaten, just as Eponine was bringing a tray of teas to the table and he showed her a doodle of Gavroche on the sofa and she took it and saved it in the TV drawer, he realised how routine this had become. This little family of theirs, hanging out, falling in sync with each other and understanding their needs almost instantly. 

He could look around this entire room and find proof of their family; the forgotten pebble on the counter from when they visited Postdam, the humming that always came from the kitchen when Eponine was there, the doodles that adorned the whole place, unimportant to him, but proof to them that he somehow had an incredible mind. He could waste an entire day together with these two, and it would feel like a blessing.

The world outside could be ending, the people in it could be pushing and shoving each other, destroying everything that was beautiful, the voice in his head could implore that he wasn’t ever enough. But in this room, in this home, he could be unapologetically himself, and never fear being left behind. 

With Eponine half asleep on the couch, resting against his side, Gavroche against hers, nothing really seemed that scary.

In the morning he’d face the real world. In the morning he’d text Enjolras, tell him everything he’d realised, apologise, hope for the best. In the morning he’d see what the consequences of his actions were. But until then, he would bundle up next to Eponine and her derision, her protectiveness, her stubbornness, and all the other sweet nothings that made up who they were. Knowing that neither of them would ever ask for any more than that.