Chapter Text
“The government has raised the taxes on the working class again,” Enjolras says at the beginning of their next meeting. “I think that we should have a rally sometime next week, get peoples attention.”
“You know, if you have so many rallies, eventually people will stop caring,” Grantaire chimes in, and Enjolras scowls at him. Grantaire raises his hands defensively. “I’m just saying, if protest becomes the norm, it will no longer attract attention. That’s all.”
Enjolras sighs. “That’s a good point, Grantaire. Thank you,”
Grantaire looks so surprised that Enjolras feels guilty. He hesitates, wanting to apologize for all the things he’s said in the past, but he bites his lip. That has no place here.
He tries to pick up the thread of what he was saying, but Grantaire is still watching him, eyes dark and intense and still so goddamn surprised and Enjolras cannot look away. Combeferre nudges him, and Enjolras jerks his gaze away. Combeferre looks a breath away from laughter, and when he catches Enjolras eyes, he mouths ‘Taxes’.
“Yes,” Enjolras continues, “the taxes. Right. Perhaps a rally would not be the best way, as Grantaire has pointed out. However, that does not mean that we should do nothing! We can inform the people- how they will be affected, what they can do. Encourage them to write to the government, to call in.”
“We could hand out fliers,” Jehan suggests. “Pass them out on the corners.”
Almost unconsciously, Enjolras finds himself glancing at Grantaire. Grantaire isn’t looking at him, but giving the corner of his table an absent little smile that Enjolras has never seen before. He looks away before Grantaire can sense his gaze and puts all of his attention into the rest of the meeting.
--
Much to his chagrin, Enjolras finds himself outside Jehan’s apartment, knocking almost sheepishly. He hears soft footsteps indoors and puts his hands behind his back, trying to look as resolute and certain as possible.
“Enjolras.” Jehan is clearly startled. He even peers over Enjolras’ shoulder, looking for some of the others. “Why are you, ah, come in.” He steps aside, letting Enjolras come in past him.
“Thank you,” Enjolras says, feeling uncharacteristically awkward. He stands in the middle of the room, glancing around. Jehan’s small studio is warm and sunny, a vase of fresh cut flowers on the kitchen table.
Jehan rolls his eyes affectionately. “Oh, just give me your coat and sit down. You clearly came here for a reason- you don’t do social visits.”
Enjolras thinks about protesting, but it’s technically true. Sometimes one of his friends will come to him, and he’ll go to the meetings and the group outings, but he will rarely visit one person just for the sake of it. He opens his mouth, then closes it again when he can’t think of anything to say.
Jehan gives him a small smile. “Let me make you some tea.”
“Tea would be nice,” Enjolras replies blandly, and feels like an idiot.
Jehan comes out with two teacups and nudges Enjolras over on the couch, curling up beside him. “Now, what can I do for you.”
Enjolras stares into his tea. “Jehan, you date.” He trails off.
“I do,” Jehan agrees softly.
“How do you balance it? With being asexual?”
Jehan makes a soft noise of understanding. “Enjolras, you know that the two aren’t mutually exclusive.” His voice is tentative.
“In theory,” Enjolras says. “But in practice, how does? How do I?”
Jehan looks out one of the large windows. “You know, it’s hard to work out the difference between liking sex and still being asexual. For me, sex is fun. I like that connection with my partner. I like showing them that they are beautiful, and I like to be shown that I am beautiful. Maybe I’ve had it easy, I don’t know. I haven’t felt like being asexual has limited me. I think it just makes it easier for me to choose people I’d be happy with.”
Enjolras presses his lips together. “And if you don’t want sex?”
Jehan smiles. “Enjolras, I think all of Paris knows that you do not want sex.”
Enjolras shakes his head, and takes a sip of tea to hide his discomfort. Jehan watches him with sharp eyes.
“But you think that’s the problem, don’t you?”
Embarrassed, and irritated with himself because of it, Enjolras nods.
Jehans sighs and rests his head on Enjolras’ shoulder. “Oh, Enjolras. Everything must be a battle with you. You need to stop thinking about these are two ideas. It’s not as though you can be asexual or you can date. It doesn’t work like that. Anyone who cares about you will understand. You don’t want the ones who don’t.”
“What I do?” Enjolras whispers.
Jehan snorts delicately. “I can promise you, if I’m half as observant as I like to think I am, you have nothing to worry about.”
Enjolras flinches. “You can’t-“
“Be calm, Enjolras. I won’t say anything. But, I just think that you need to stop seeing love as some battle you need to win.”
“I don’t know if I can do that,” Enjolras admits.
Jehan smiles at him. “Then maybe that is what you need to work on first.”
--
Enjolras likes to think that he has grown as a person, and that he is constantly in the midst of growth, building him up to what he could become.
He is able to look back at things that he has done in the past and see that they were wrong, that he was wrong. He thinks that ability is a good thing, but he does not like the remembrance.
Even before he had ever thought to apply the label of asexuality to himself, there had been this sense of superiority. He had been above the weaknesses, the follies of his peers. When they had wasted their time in bars and in beds, he had been studying for classes or writing out pamphlets or planning his next rally.
He hadn’t used those words at the time, but looking back, he had always thought that he was better than them; above their stupid, petty dramas.
He had certainly thought that he was better than Grantaire.
Grantaire, who had seemed at first glance to be more vice than person, who drank wine like it was water and laughed too easily and looked at Enjolras like he wanted to devour him.
It had made Enjolras angry, those days in the past. He didn’t want to be sexualized, he didn’t want Grantaire’s attentions especially, and he had gone out of his way to explain how repulsive he found the very idea of a relationship.
Grantaire doesn’t look at him like he wants to devour him anymore, but he’s stuck around and Enjolras still isn’t sure why.
--
Enjolras lingers around Grantaire’s table after their next meeting. Grantaire’s shoulders are tense, but takes the time to finish whatever he’s working on in his sketchbook before he flips it closed and looks up at Enjolras.
“Can I help you?” he asks archly.
Enjolras swallows around a sudden, uncomfortable bout of nerves. “There is a new historical film at the theatre this weekend,” it’s probably cheating, but he knows from Jehan that Grantaire loves them, “Would you like to, that is, will you go? With me?” He winces, kicking himself for sounding so awkward.
Grantaire tilts his head to the side, staring at him. “Um, sure. Why not?” He sounds hesitant, and Enjolras winces.
“You don’t have to. Obviously. I don’t want to pressure you into doing something you have no desire to do. That would be the last thing- well, anyway. You can say no.”
Grantaire’s lips quirk into a grin. “I know. Believe me, you’ve made your feelings on informed consent very clear.”
It sounds like a jab, but his eyes are soft, his voice teasing.
“So, you want to?” Oh god. Enjolras should just turn around and leave. This is quickly passing mildly embarrassing and turning into downright humiliating.
Grantaire’s smile turns into a grin. “Yeah. I want to. Just text me the time and place.”
Enjolras promises to do so, and walks away grinning.
--
The date starts to go bad the second that Grantaire gets to theatre, opens his mouth and says “Where are the others?”
Enjolras’ mouth falls open, and for a moment he just gapes. Grantaire hadn’t made more of an effort than he usually does, paint staining his fingertips and dotting this underside of his jaw. Beside him, in his favorite red shirt and his best pair of black pants, Enjolras feels foolish and over dressed.
“What others?”
Grantaire stops looking around to give him a weird look. “Combeferre and Coufeyrac for one. I thought they at least would be with you. Are they running late?”
Which would be the best point for Enjolras to say, no, this is a date. “They couldn’t make it.” He actually has to close his eyes for a long moment to process what he just said. He’s supposed to be good at this.
Grantaire shrugs. “Ok. Just us then?” His voice cracks, just a little, on ‘us,’ and if Enjolras wasn’t so nervous himself, he might have missed it. It’s reassuring, somehow. Not proof of interest, but something.
“Apparently.” He opens the door for Grantaire, gesturing him inside. “I already bought us the tickets. You can get the popcorn.”
Grantaire gives him a confused look, but passes by him into the theatre. “If you insist.”
“I really do.”
They discuss books in line, old ones that they had both read in college. They bicker, but there is something playful in it, the edge lost, and Enjolras finds himself grinning. They almost keep going through the start of the movie, until the old lady behind them shushes them loudly.
“She’s just bitter,” Grantaire whispers. “She’s here by herself.” His breath stirs the hair tucked behind Enjolras’ ear and Enjolras shifts, suddenly uncomfortable. Suddenly every place where he and Grantaire touch, ankles bumping against one another, forearms pressed together on the arm rest, feels like too much.
He shifts away, just a bit, but his heart is racing. He’s not sure if it’s fear or nerves or the butterflies of Grantaire’s presence, but he doesn’t like it. Grantaire must pick up on it, because he draws back as well, retreating well into his own space, drawing in like a turtle going back into the shell.
The movie is blooming into color in front of them, but Enjolras can hardly see it. All his old fears are blooming to the surface. Of Grantaire asking for things that he can’t give. Of wanting to give Grantaire those things and making himself miserable. Of refusing to give those things, and making Grantaire miserable.
Even if Grantaire was interested in him at some point, he can’t be now. Not after months, years, of having Enjolras yell his own opinions on sex to anyone who will listen. Not after Enjolras spent the first two weeks of their acquaintance making every word a pointed rejection, trying purposefully to kill any interest Grantaire could have for him.
Why did he ever think that this was a good idea?
Grantaire taps his foot against Enjolras’. “Stop thinking so loud. You’re spoiling the movie.” He tilts popcorn bucket towards Enjolras, keeping his hands carefully clear so that Enjolras doesn’t need to touch him if he doesn’t want to.
Enjolras takes a deep breath and lets it out. He shifts back so that his shoulder presses against Grantaire’s and takes a handful of popcorn. Grantaire knows him. If Grantaire wants this, wants him, then he knows what he’s getting by now. Enjolras just has to be brave enough to ask for it.
--
The cafe outside the theatre is crowded, half hipster crowd and half spillover from the theatre or local businesses. Enjolras isn’t sure which crowd they belong to. Probably both, if he’s perfectly honest with himself.
He watches Grantaire blow carefully on his own cup of coffee, paint stained hands wrapped carefully around the ceramic. Yeah, definitely both.
The moment spins between them, quiet and calm. Grantaire’s eyes flick from Enjolras to the other patrons then back again. He opens his mouth and hesitates, and for a moment Enjolras thinks he can almost see the shape of words unsaid on Grantaire’s lips.
Then Grantaire shuts his mouth again, and looks around the cafe.
“What did you think of the movie?” Enjolras is usually comfortable with silence, but Grantaire tends to fidget and it makes him nervous.
Grantaire looks up at him and smiles, fleeting as a candle flame. “It was terrible. I mean, I loved it, but it was terrible.”
Enjolras laughs. “How can you love it if it was terrible?”
Grantaire tilts his head. “The writing was trite, and the characters were flat, and I had so much fun watching it. That’s what really matters, right?”
Enjolras finds his own mouth ticking up, and he feels warm all of a sudden. “Yeah.” Under the table, he nudges his ankle against Grantaire.
Grantaire flinches, and pulls back, and it’s like a bucket of ice water. Enjolras yanks his foot back, tucking it under the chair.
When he glances back up, Grantaire is staring at him. When Grantaire leans forward, dark eyes intent, Enjolras swallows.
“Enjolras,” Grantaire stops to take a breath, and Enjolras knows how that feels. “What, exactly, is going on here. I thought this was- you’ve made you feelings, you contempt, for me pretty clear. But now you’re here, and you’re,” he gestures at Enjolras, taking him in from the waist up above the table, “dressed up and fucking gorgeous, and you keep touching me. You don’t touch people.” His cup slides forward across the table when he leans in further, his hands pushing it out absently. “What is going on?”
Enjolras swallows hard. “I thought, I.” He stops. Takes a breath, let’s it out. All his eloquence seems to have deserted him. “I was hoping that this would be a date. I hadn’t realized you didn’t know.”
Grantaire stares at him, though Enjolras can’t see how he expected anything else.
“But, you hate me,” Grantaire blurts out, then raises a hand before Enjolras can protest. “No, that’s not fair. I don’t think that you hate me anymore. But you certainly haven’t been shy about your contempt for relationships, or for me in particular.”
Enjolras reaches out. He wants to put his hands on Grantaire’s and doesn’t quite dare. He rests them in front of Grantaire’s cupped palms instead. “First of all, I never hated you.” Grantaire snorts and Enjolras knocks his hands against Grantaire’s, then pulls away again. “I didn’t. But, you might not be wrong, about my contempt. I didn’t- I was wrong. About a lot of things. I’m sorry.”
Grantaire croaks out a laugh, and it sounds hoarse and choked. “Right. OK.”
“But I know better now. I would like to date. You. I would like to date you.” Enjolras has to take a moment to close his eyes because this could not be going worse if he actively tried to fuck this up.
“Enjolras, look.” Oh god. Here comes the polite rejection. “I know I haven’t been very subtle about my feelings for you.” Enjolras’ eyes snap open. Grantaire is tracing patterns in the condensation on the table, not making eye contact. “And I appreciate what you’re trying to do. But you don’t date. You’ve made it very, very clear about how you feel about dating sexually active people.”
Before he can think better of it, Enjolras reaches out to Grantaire’s hand. “You know, I actually have no idea what your feelings towards me are. I thought, well, when we first met you made it very clear that you found me attractive.” He ignores the rude sound that Grantaire makes in response. “But you’ve stopped, in the last few months. I thought that you lost interest.”
Grantaire turns his fingers so that they interlace with Enjolras’. “Because it was making you uncomfortable. I didn’t think that I had a chance in hell, I’ve made no secret about the fact that I like sex. I didn’t want to lose the chance to be your friend as well.”
Enjolras almost tries to pull his hand free. “And if I wanted to date now?” Grantaire squeezes his hand tight and Enjolras smiles at him. “Would you be able to- I don’t want sex Grantaire. I like you. I like you a lot, but I can’t do that.”
Grantaire actually laughs. “Enjolras, all of France knows that you don’t want sex. You have been literally shouting it from the rooftops since I met you. I don’t care. I knew what I was getting the moment I realized that Iov- that I care for you.”
His face almost hurts from smiling, but he has to ask. “And you’re ok with that? I know you like sex.”
Grantaire lifts their joined hands to his mouth and kisses the back of his own knuckles. It’s symbolic and sweet and Enjolras feels his heart flip over. “I like you a lot more,” he says softly.
“Good,” Enjolras has to clear his throat. “I’m glad.”
Grantaire beams back at him, so stupidly happy he almost glows from it. Enjolras has never seen anything more lovely. “Me too.”