Chapter Text
Grantaire paced nervously in his room. Tonight everyone would be celebrating his twentieth birthday. He was expected to join them, of course, but he couldn’t actually bring himself to head downstairs into the ballroom. After all, everyone assumed he would be expected to find a bride. Just the thought of getting married brought a grimace to his face. For one thing, he thought he was too young to get married. For another, he didn’t know any of the young ladies downstairs. But there was little choice on his part.
He glanced around his room, lavishly decorated with elaborate carpeting and wallpaper. His artwork was spread around him haphazardly, resting on his desk, littering the floor, hung up on his wall. His bed was unmade, covers twisted, pillow thrown to the side. He’d dissuaded any maids from entering and fixing his room today; a little chaos helped distract him from his near future. There were enough memories here to distract him from present life for at least a week, if no one bothered him. With a sigh, he collapsed onto his bed, knowing his new suit would wrinkle. He couldn’t bring himself to care too much. Looking up, his eyes zeroed in on a small dragon he’d painted at the centre of his ceiling. Then he looked to the left, where he’d mixed different shades of green to produce a Van Gogh-esque design. His ceiling was a combination of spirals, animals, shapes, and whatever else came to mind. To the untrained eye, it was a headache in the form of colours. To Grantaire, it was art. He’d spent hours on this project; the result was something he believed to be majestic. And it completely clashed with the rest of his room, gold and purple trimmings everywhere. He smiled as he skimmed over his designs.
A knock on the door and he lifted his head, calling out a cautious, “Come in.” He rolled his eyes when his father strode in.
“Juliano, what are you doing in bed?”
“I’m not in bed. I’m just resting a bit before I head down.”
“Your suit is wrinkled. Get up,” his father said sternly. “You’re to find a bride, for god’s sake.” Grantaire got up slowly, suppressing a spike of irritation.
“What if I don’t find anyone I connect with? I barely know any of these girls.”
His father tapped his foot impatiently. “You know Jeanne. You met her last month.”
“She’s a gossip. Not to mention a snob.”
“You don’t have to like them, you just have to marry them.”
Grantaire curled his lip in disgust. His father the Marquis of Aquitaine had never been a very compassionate man. He’d divorced his wife, Grantaire’s mother, after Grantaire’s fifth birthday, claiming she was disloyal. What he didn’t say was that he’d had at least five mistresses at the time. Of course he couldn’t care less who his son married. All that mattered was an heir.
“Fine,” Grantaire said bitterly. “I’ll be down soon.” Not truth, exactly. He just wanted the man gone. And his father did leave, mouth in a tight line that did nothing to enhance his appearance. Once the door closed behind him, Grantaire fell onto the bed again. He covered his eyes with his arm, feeling the beginnings of a headache. This night was sure to be awful. Not that other nights were any more pleasant. All talk and thinly veiled jealousy showered in pride for oneself. It was definitely a flawed system. One Grantaire wanted little to do with. He would never fit in with other petty nobles.
On the other hand, he lived a life of luxury and comfort. Servants, money, a warm bed. Which was more than what most of the people in Aquitaine could say for themselves. Ever since the fourth World War, people had been worse off. A lack of resources due to pollution and warfare had caused a lot of damage. Some fields would grow bitter crops, toxic for anyone who ate them. Others grew nothing at all. Land was an even more valuable commodity than before. So while he hated the people he dealt with on a daily basis, he didn’t necessarily want to give up his life of opulence.
He started fiddling with the corner of his sheet when he heard a tapping outside his window. A jolt of alarm ran through him. What if they were kidnappers? He’d never been kidnapped before, but wasn’t it a regular occurrence? It was in books he’d read. He froze, and after a moment, the knocking started up again. Should he run downstairs, call for guards? What if they were a thief instead, and they wanted him to leave?
In the end he decided to check the window himself, taking a book off his shelf in self defence. He cracked the window open slightly. Instantly a flash of yellow burst through the window, startling Grantaire and knocking him to the ground and sending the book skidding across the floor. He watched as the figure landed gracefully, frowning at him, blue eyes piercing under his blond fringe.
“Took you long enough.”
Grantaire stared in wonder, he hadn't seen the nobleman in front of him for almost two years. His surprise waned, and he scowled. “I thought you were a thief or a kidnapper.”
The young noble smirked. “Imagine that. Jean Enjolras, son of Lord and Lady Enjolras, a kidnapper and thief.”
“What are you doing here, Enjolras?” Grantaire asked. The two weren’t on the best of terms. They’d known each other since they were both toddlers. At first they’d been best friends, spending most days together in Grantaire’s home, wandering the halls and meadows of Chateau D’Aquitaine. As time grew on though, they had become a bit more, not quite lovers, but not exactly friends anymore. A few kisses, wandering hands in secluded parts of the chateau. Grantaire had been smitten.
Then Enjolras became more and more political, voicing his opinions in a way that made all other nobles uncomfortable. Grantaire himself hadn’t shied away, he’d even agreed with some of what his friend had had to say. Enjolras had asked for his help. Grantaire didn’t have a problem listening to ideas, but Enjolras had wanted him to actually change the way society was being run. He’d wanted a republic, and was willing to take action to ensure that the future was more democratic. Grantaire had refused. He wasn’t the kind of person to take up arms when it came down to it. Besides, a few good-intentioned people weren’t going to change “the system”, no matter how noble the thought. Once he’d voiced his opinion to him, it was like shattering a mirror. Instantaneous and regrettable. Enjolras had recoiled in anger, walking off without another word. They hadn’t spoken since that day. And now they were chatting casually in Grantaire’s bedroom.
Enjolras shrugged. “You weren’t downstairs. So I went to look for you. Do you know how uncomfortable climbing a trellis in a suit is?” He fixed his red tie, tugging at it.
“Why were you looking for me?” Grantaire asked warily.
“To ask who the lucky bride is, I suppose,” Enjolras said absentmindedly, gazing up at the ceiling. “That’s a lot of colour.”
“I painted it myself. Now what do you actually want?” His tone came off a little angrier than expected, and Enjolras raised an eyebrow.
“Actually, I wanted to say goodbye.” His frankness surprised Grantaire almost as much as the phrase itself.
“What?”
“I’m leaving.”
“You just got here.”
“I meant I’m leaving home for good. I’m staying in Paris. I won’t be coming back.”
“You are?” Grantaire was slow to process this. Enjolras used to go on trips to Paris, but he was expected to run his place once his parents grew old. What had he been doing since he’d last left? “Wait, why are you even back in the first place?” His brow furrowed. “You made your goodbye pretty clear last time.”
Enjolras bit his lip, looking almost remorseful. “That was a mistake. It was rash and I regretted it. I wanted to come back, but I wasn’t sure you’d want to talk to me.”
Of course I did. Grantaire was full of disbelief. “So now you’re sorry? After two years.”
“I am.” Enjolras watched Grantaire apprehensively, fidgeting.
“Okay...what brought this up? Why are you leaving this time?”
“I’ve been disowned. That’s the main reason.”
“Disowned?” Grantaire echoed. “Why?! What happened?”
Enjolras held a finger to his lips. “Don’t be so loud, someone’ll hear us. Yes, I was disowned. My parents have had enough with my talk of justice, and to be honest, I’ve had enough of their trivial lifestyle. Apparently I crossed the line when I told them I was done with their absolutist drivel. Oh well, it’s over now. I’m fine,” he said with a half-smile. Grantaire lowered his eyes sadly.
“I’m sorry.” Even if Enjolras was happy at the moment, he might end up regretting it later on. He’d never be able to see his family again.
“There’s nothing to be sorry about. We all make our own decisions. That’s part of real life, not the fantasy we like to believe we live in.” Enjolras said waspishly. Then he sighed, carding his fingers through his hair and realising how angry he’d gotten. “Look, Grantaire, I’m sorry, but I made my decision, I can’t afford to worry about that right now. I have other things to consider now.”
“Like your revolution?” Grantaire asked skeptically. Enjolras’ face said it all, he hadn’t gotten over his delusions of grandeur. Grantaire hadn’t expected him to. “I hope you know what you’re doing.”
“I hope so too,” his friend said wryly. “So, I won’t be seeing you for a long while after this. Maybe you could visit in Paris or something.” He smiled as though he’d made a joke, perched at the bedroom window, ready to leave. Grantaire felt a small jolt run through his body.
In a spur of impulsiveness he blurted, “Take me with.”
“Excuse me?” Enjolras was clearly taken aback, his eyes wide.
“I--” One small moment of hesitation. “I want to come with you.”
“Grantaire, do you realise what you’d be giving up? Your home. Your wealth. All for something I know you don’t believe in.”
He was right. The thought was ridiculous. It sounded impossible and impractical.
But the thought of it was irresistible. Running away, living a life away from an overbearing father and strict schedules, all the partying and lies...if anything, that was more of a fantasy than his life right now, but it was amazing to imagine.
“I don’t want to stay. This isn’t the place for me. Maybe I’ll figure something out when I’m in Paris.”
Enjolras shook his head stubbornly. “No. What if something happens? You’ll be stuck in the middle of it, you might even get hurt. You need to stay here where it’s safe.”
“That's...that'd be my problem to deal with. I don't want to stay here anymore, there's nothing here that I would be missing.”
“You said yourself that what I was doing was ridiculous, why do you want to come with?”
“Does it matter? I’m done being locked in my room all day, bored as hell.”
“Better bored than dead,” Enjolras retorted. Grantaire snarled.
“Why are you fighting this? I thought we were friends.”
“Grantaire-”
“Enjolras, no. I'm coming with.”
Enjolras stared at him for a long while, gaze stony. Grantaire braced himself for another argument, but then he nodded, though he didn't seem happy about it. “Okay, fine. But you have until the end of the party to actually decide. That should be enough time for you to make up your mind, weigh out pros and cons and think of the consequences.”
“Fine.” Grantaire had already made his mind up, but if it really mattered that much, he could afford to wait a couple hours.
“That party really is something,” Enjolras said, voice dripping with sarcasm. “I'll be there, find me when you're ready.” He sat on the window sill, ready to climb back out the window. Grantaire worried he'd fall.
“Why don't you use the stairs with me?” The other nobleman paused.
“Think about it for a moment, Grantaire.” So he'd remembered they both preferred last names. “We head down from your room together, into a throng of loose-lipped nobles. How do you think that will go?” He waited.
“Oh.” Grantaire knew he was blushing, knew exactly what Enjolras was implying. Affairs were always a hot topic, truthful or not. “Okay then. Be careful climbing down.”
“I will.” Enjolras grabbed the rim of the window before lowering himself onto the trellis. Grantaire watched as he jumped to the ground gracefully, straightening his suit and walking into the palace through the gardens.
What an odd person, Grantaire thought. Then again, he supposed Enjolras had always been like this, confident, almost reckless. He straightened his own suit, realising just how wrinkled it had gotten. He’d decided it was finally time to grace the party with his appearance. Which was slightly disheveled, as his hair was a mess of unkempt curls ill-suited for any person of importance. Well, who cared anyway. He’d had his share of people who even liked his messy hair, so it didn’t bother him too much. He set off down the stairs, the buzz of conversation growing louder as he neared the ballroom.
The cavernous room was filled to the brim with people. Women in all hues, their dresses rustling as they twirled and evaded lovestruck suitors. Men shared stories of wealth as they shared drinks. He met Enjolras’ eye, who was currently speaking to another young nobleman, a light scowl on his face. Neither seemed too happy in each other’s company, and Grantaire offered Enjolras a light smile in exchange for an eyebrow raised, obviously unimpressed. It was clear his old friend felt out of place. Just as he was deciding whether or not to join in conversation, a hand clapped down on his shoulder. His father.
“You finally made it down,” he said.
Grantaire shrugged. “I didn’t want people to miss the main event. I am to be the centre of attention, after all.” His father nodded slightly, walking off to join a group of older, stuffy rich people. The conversation was clearly over. Grantaire rolled his eyes, looking to see that Enjolras had disappeared, and continuing to stroll around. There were a lot of young women waiting to dance. A couple were striking, but he wasn’t very interested, and he wasn’t in the mood for dancing, at least not yet. He needed to get settled in the boisterous atmosphere first. He took a glass off a tray, sipping while observing.
He’d done a pretty good job of avoiding too much conversation for the most part, giving noncommittal replies to those who neared him. He had to be civil, but not necessarily engage in camaraderie. It was his own fault when he bumped into a young woman, seemingly near his age, maybe younger.
“Oh, I’m sorry, I wasn’t looking where I was going,” he apologised. The girl laughed, voice high and sweet.
“Don’t worry about it. You’re Lord Grantaire, aren’t you?” Grantaire bowed slightly.
“At your service. And your name?”
“Lady Cosette Fauchelevent.”
“Fauchelevent?” Granatire searched his memory for the name, coming up blank.
“We’ve only recently come into power. My father did yours a favour, I think.” That made sense, Cosette didn’t seem like the other nobles. Grantaire found himself smiling.
“How are you finding the party?”
Cosette looked down shyly. “My honest opinion, or a polite opinion?”
“Honest.”
“It’s a little boring. Everyone’s nice enough, and the music is nice, but there’s no one to dance with, or actually connect with.”
Grantaire offered his hand. “I haven’t danced yet tonight, would you care to join me?” Cosette took his hand, and they started to waltz. People made way as they danced, but soon joined in, the room filled with dancers. It wasn’t the most important dance of the night, so Grantaire wasn’t seen as the centre of attention. Perfect. Cosette and Grantaire talked as they danced, about the country, latest fashion, and even whether or not Grantaire found a bride.
“If I find someone I love, they probably won’t be found in a ballroom, giggling over dresses.” At Cosette’s raised eyebrow he added. “You’re one of the most intelligent ladies I’ve ever talked to, don’t worry. I meant women I’ve known since I was a child.” Besides, it was clear neither he or Cosette wanted any more from each other than friendship, so they left it at that.
At the end of the dance everyone clapped politely, waiting for the next dance. Grantaire was mid-conversation when someone tapped Cosette lightly on the shoulder.
“Excuse me, miss?” Cosette turned and Grantaire swore he saw sparks fly when her eyes met the young man’s. A man Grantaire knew.
“Marius?”
“Oh, Grantaire,” Marius said, still caught by Cosette’s beauty. “Would you introduce us?”
Grantaire smirked. “Certainly. Marius, this is Lady Cosette Fauchelevent. Cosette, meet Baron Marius Pontmercy.” Grantaire had met Marius a few years back, he’d come into power once his father had died. A decent, cheerful man who was a bit of a ditz at times, Grantaire had enjoyed conversations with him.
“Pleased to meet you,” Cosette said, blushing lightly. Marius simply nodded. Poor man, he had no defences against love.
“Marius, are you going to dance with her or not?” Grantaire said. “Otherwise…”
“Yes! I want to dance with her! I mean, if that’s alright with you,” Marius said hurriedly to Cosette.
“That would be wonderful,” she replied. Grantaire took that as his cue, and he said his goodbyes. Marius sent him a smile of thanks as he and Cosette danced. Grantaire simply waved him off, taking another drink from a tray. He’d fulfilled his quota for socialising tonight, at least in his mind. So why not drink a bit? He could go up later, provided his father didn’t see him escape. He tipped his head back to down the drink in one go, feeling the wine run down his throat. There was nothing quite like wine, especially quality wines like [insert here]. He walked out onto the balcony then, wanting fresh air and a little quiet.
It was rather chilly, the wind tugging at him. But it was clear, and the stars were visible in the pitch-black sky. Watching the stars always calmed him, made him realise that even if he was anxious or uncertain, they would always be there, constant and reassuring. When he was younger he would wish on stars, making his nanny take him to a field just to stargaze. Sometimes Enjolras had come with them. Back when everything was simple, and he had no worries about getting married or maintaining the chateau. He sighed, setting the glass down on the stone bench beside him. Maybe now was a good time to make an escape back upstairs.
“You know, it actually is a nice night for a party.”
Grantaire turned around. Enjolras was leaning on a stone pillar, arms crossed.
“Yeah, it is,” he replied, looking back up at the stars. He heard footsteps grow closer. “I remember you used to always point out the Little Dipper, on nights like this.”
“You liked Orion.” That was true, it was still his favourite constellation. “Happy birthday, by the way.”
“Thanks.” There was a pause in the conversation. Grantaire knew what was on Enjolras’ mind, but neither wanted to voice it at the moment. So he decided to change the subject. “What’ve you been doing these past couple years?”
“Oh, avoiding marriage proposals, mostly. Which is what I’d be doing if I were to stay, Grantaire thought. “Besides that, I’m sure you can guess.”
“Planning for a little revolution?”
Enjolras nodded. “Maybe not a violent one, at least not yet. I was thinking more along the lines of protests and strikes. It would work, especially if everyone got into it.”
At this point Grantaire let out a small snort of disbelief. “That won’t work.”
“Why not?” Enjolras asked, annoyed.
“Because they have no power, Enjolras. You think a couple strikes is going to overthrow--” Grantaire looked around to see if anyone was listening, and satisfied no one was, he lowered his voice and continued, “going to overthrow the monarchy?”
“But if everyone got together, we would definitely make a difference.”
“Maybe, but it’s doubtful. If no one is revolting now, it’s because they don’t care.”
“No, it’s because they’re disorganised. We need to give them something to rally around.” Enjolras’ brow was furrowed, his voice laced with determination.
Grantaire sighed. “If you say so. But don’t bet your life on it.” He ran his fingers through his hair.
“Listen, R.” Grantaire hadn’t heard that nickname since he and Enjolras had left. He watched Enjolras as the nobleman took his hands. “You know this isn’t the life for me. Doing nothing, drinking and waltzing my life away. I want to make an impact and help. If you do decide to come with me, which I'm still against, by the way-” Grantaire rolled his eyes at this, “-we can fix how the world works. You’ve seen the people you rule over, ragged, poor, starving. A good leader would make sure they’re happy, but right now that isn’t happening.”
Poor Enjolras. He was completely right about the poverty, but too naive to see his plan wouldn’t work. And he was stubborn. Grantaire pulled his hands away, shaking his head. “I don’t know. It’s a huge risk. We could get thrown in jail, or beheaded."
“We could. That’s a chance I’m willing to take, but what about you?”
“Enjolras…” Grantaire didn’t know what to say. He did want to go with him. And he didn’t want to stay. Wasn’t it a simple choice? He knew what his heart was telling him, but his logic against running was just as strong. What to do… “Okay. I’ve decided. Meet me in my room. The way you came in earlier, but be careful.”
Enjolras shrugged. “I’ll be alright. You should go, we’re getting curious looks.” With a toss of his blond hair he strode off, casual and self-assured as a cat in a roomful of birds. Grantaire pushed through people, making excuses until he reached Marius, who was sat at a small table with Cosette.
“Marius!”
The baron acknowledged him, a dreamy expression on his face. “Hello again Grantaire. What did you need?”
“A quick word.” Grantaire glanced at Cosette. “Sorry, Cosette. It’s important.”
“You can trust her,” Marius reassured him, but he seemed more determined now. Grantaire thought about it.
“Okay. If you see my father, and he asks where I am, tell him I’m in the garden.”
“Why?”
“I’m leaving. You can’t tell anyone, alright?”
“You’re going with Enjolras, aren’t you?” Marius said. Grantaire looked at him in confusion. “I was asked to go, but I can’t. Not since I’m in charge of my father’s land now. But I can help.”
“Thank you,” Grantaire said.
“Have fun,” Cosette said. “You’re clearly a fish out of water here.
“I’m going to take that as a compliment,” Grantaire said with a grin. “Thanks again, and sorry for interrupting.” He left. Taking the stairs two at a time, quietly as he could. Thankfully no one noticed. The halls were clear of servants, and he slipped into his room.
Enjolras was already there, lounging in a chair. “Took you long enough.”
“I was trying to be inconspicuous,” Grantaire muttered. “I'm going.”
“I knew you'd say that…” Enjolras said with a sigh.
“You aren't getting rid of me that easily, sorry. What should I bring?”
“Casual clothes, if you have any. Bandages, thread...anything you might think to be useful.”
Grantaire packed, making sure to remember his paints and a sketchbook. If Enjolras noticed, he ignored it. “Who else is coming?”
“Oh. Courfeyrac and Combeferre. I don’t know if you know them.”
“Courf yes, we’ve met a couple times. Combeferre...no, I don’t think so.”
“Well, they’ll be accompanying us.”
“Then what? We're going to Paris?”
“Yes.”
“Why Paris?” Grantaire frowned. “It’s completely rundown, dilapidated.”
Enjolras took in a sharp breath. “Take that back. Paris is beautiful. Full of history and art. Did you know at one point they actually had republics? It’s been two hundred years since everyone has had free will and enough to live on.”
“Right. Okay, let’s go then.” He shrugged on his backpack.
“You’re completely sure?”
“As sure as I’ll ever be.” He looked around his room.
Just then a noise was heard from outside his door. His eyes widened in alarm. He yanked Enjolras into the closet, closing the door just as his door clicked open.
“Juliano?” Footsteps in the room. Annoyed, quick footsteps. “Where is he now?” It was his father. Grantaire shifted farther from the door, hiding behind his clothes. Enjolras followed when the steps neared the closet. They shared a look of unease when the door creaked, a small sliver of light appearing. Who knew what would happen if they were caught? This was a compromising situation to begin with. Grantaire held his breath, biting at his lip nervously.
“He’s probably just downstairs.” A woman’s voice. Grantaire recognised the voice as belonging to one of the Marquis’ mistresses, with a prickle of disgust.
“Maybe you’re right.” The footsteps receded, the door to his room closing. Grantaire exhaled, relieved. He met Enjolras eyes, and realised how close they were. Enjolras’ chest was flush with his, their faces inches apart. He looked at the nobleman’s lips, saw they were inches from his own.
“Enjolras,” he started. They needed to move, otherwise...
“R, I...” Enjolras closed his mouth, having apparently run out of words. He hesitated, then pressed his lips to Grantaire’s, the latter giving a squeak of surprise. What? He found himself pressed against the wall, not entirely kissing back, but not pushing away either. Enjolras had one hand braced on his shoulder, the other wrapped around him, resting against the small of his back. They slid down the wall, Grantaire’s legs going weak, feeling butterflies in his stomach. This was entirely new, he’d never expected a kiss like this. Maybe it was because they'd been apart for so long, but he felt both hot and cold, dizzy and lucid. It was an odd mix of feelings, but it wasn’t unwelcome. He’d missed Enjolras, he really had. His fire and passion, never absent for long. It was like the sun itself had disappeared for a couple years, and had come back as bright as ever. And he decided to kiss Enjolras back with just as much fervour, arms looping around him.
The blond’s eyes were heavy-lidded when he pulled away, nuzzling at Grantaire's neck and sending shivers down his spine. Grantaire murmured something too soft to be understandable, which seemed to wake Enjolras up, lifting his head up to look at Grantaire.
“What?”
“What was that?” Grantaire whispered, unable to keep a smile off his face. There had been no preamble to the kiss at all, it was sudden and passionate, and the feel of it still burned Grantaire's lips.
“I-I just.” Enjolras suddenly seemed to notice what had just happened, shock apparent before his face became unreadable. He stepped away, helping a confused Grantaire up, whose smile was slowly disappearing. “Fuck.”
“Fuck?” Grantaire asked. His happy giddiness went away and he narrowed his eyes, suddenly angry. “Is that all?” Two years without even talking to each other, a kiss, and now this. “I missed you, you up and left, just now come back, and that’s all you can say?”
“I’m sorry I had to leave, really.” For once his suit wasn’t tidy, and Grantaire just stared. Enjolras refused to meet his eyes. “Look, Grantaire. Just forget that kiss happened. We have bigger things to deal with right now.” He was grimacing, focused on the floor. Then, as an afterthought, “If it makes you feel better, I didn’t mean it. I can’t.”
The phrase hit Grantaire square in the chest, felt like icy shards. Oh. It didn’t make him feel better, it had made him feel as though he’d been emptied of all emotion. Enjolras didn’t mean it, it had meant nothing. He turned away, picking his bag back up. “Let’s just go.” He opened the door, heading towards the window.
“Grantaire--”
“I said let’s go.” Grantaire didn’t bother keeping the coldness out of his voice. He looked out the window, swallowing as he saw how high up he was from the ground. Shaking his head, he stepped out, foot braced on the trellis. He slowly stepped completely out of the window, the trellis creaking under his full weight. The frame swayed precariously in the wind. “This isn’t going to work,” he mumbled to himself. He shivered.
“Don’t look down. At all. Focus just on climbing.”
“Fuck you, Enjolras. I can do this myself.” But Grantaire grudgingly listened to him, climbing carefully, one after the other. His eyes were squeezed shut, just using his hands and feet to guide him. After what felt like forever, his feet touched the ground. He let out a shaky breath. A second later Enjolras climbed down, standing next to Grantaire.
“I’d forgotten you were afraid of heights.”
“Apparently you forgot a lot of things,” Grantaire said bitterly. “And I’m not afraid of heights, I’m afraid of falling. Now come on, my father should figure out I’m gone soon enough. If he even cares.”
“Of course he cares. He needs an heir,” Enjolras said. Grantaire ignored him. “Do you have a phone? Once we leave they might be able to track us with it.” Grantaire shook his head. The only thing he and his father shared was a dislike of phones, although he had a feeling his father hated them because they had the potential to influence and inform. So they’d been banned in the chateau. “Okay then. Follow me.” He led Grantaire to a clearing in the woods nearby. A car sat in the middle, a rather run down, shabby red vehicle with dusty lights.
“Classy,” Grantaire said flatly.
“Oh, shut up,” Enjolras said, finally snapping. “I got this car because newer ones all have internal gps. We’d get caught right away. If you’re going to be mad the whole time, you should just stay here.”
“Well then, maybe I should.” Grantaire clenched his fists. “This was a stupid idea anyway.” He started back towards the chateau. Enjolras took his hand.
“I didn’t mean that, R.”
“Well then what did you mean?” Grantaire asked, glaring at him and jerking his hand away. “That’s the second time tonight that you’ve said that.”
“I want you to come with me to Paris. I do.” Enjolras said, his voice wavering slightly. What was that about? Grantaire didn’t answer. After what felt like forever, Enjolras tentatively asked, “Well?”
Grantaire tapped his foot furiously against the gravel, deciding. “Alright. I’ll go. But don’t expect any conversations on the way.” He opened the passenger door, closing it and leaving Enjolras outside. Enjolras walked to the opposite side, sitting next to him and turning on the car with a violent rattle.
“Courfeyrac and Combeferre will meet us in Cholet.” He pressed on the gas, the car jerking forward and startling Grantaire, who shouted in surprise.
“How long have you been driving?!”
Enjolras thought about it. “About two months?”
“We’re going to die here,” Grantaire said sullenly.