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Enjolras knocked briskly on the door to Grantaire’s quarters. It was the first time he had been in the ramshackle building only a few streets from the Musain, and he was only here on orders from Combeferre to return Grantaire’s cravat that he had left the previous night, and also to try and make amends for their fight. It hadn’t been any worse than normal – Enjolras insisted on that – but Combeferre had nonetheless refused to cave and here Enjolras was.
He knocked once more before Grantaire finally made it to the door, opening it a crack to peer outside at Enjolras with bloodshot eyes. “Enjolras?” he croaked, eyes widening. “To what do I owe this most fortuitous – if curious – pleasure?”
“I have your cravat.” Enjolras did not mean for the words to come out as stiffly as they did, but he did not see the point in niceties when he could instead say what he needed to and be off. “And I have come to apologize.”
If Grantaire looked surprised before, he looked comically flabbergasted now. “I am agog and aghast. The Noble Leader himself deigning to apologize to one such as myself? Perhaps I have indulged in too much absinthe and the Green Fairy has seen fit to provide me with such lovely delirium.”
Enjolras scowled deeply at him. “Be serious for one moment,” he snapped. “I did not come all this way to have my apology mocked before I even have the chance to utter the words.”
Now Grantaire grinned and threw his door open. “Then please, come in and utter the words you wish to say so as to be on your way and not stuck here when you would rather be elsewhere.” He did not seem at all concerned by the look Enjolras was giving him, instead standing aside to let Enjolras in.
As Enjolras stepped into the single room that Grantaire claimed as his own, his eyes widened. “Surely…surely you cannot live here,” he said, sounding scandalized.
“Why ever not?” Grantaire asked easily, crossing the room to plop unconcernedly on the single wooden chair, ignoring its broken arm. “The rent is affordable, the location is unbeatable, and above all, all my worldly possessions are here.” He waved a careless hand around, indicating his “possessions”, which seemed to consist mostly of empty bottles, the occasional half-finished canvas, and a cobwebbed easel in the corner.
Enjolras’s expression ranged from disgust to pity as he glanced at the pitiful belongings Grantaire claimed as his own, his eyes lingering distastefully on the single, thin pallet that acted as Grantaire’s bed. “No,” he said abruptly. “No, this will not do. I would be remiss if I did not do something about this. You shall return to my quarters with me. I have a rather large suite with a spare room that you may claim as your own.”
Grantaire stared at him as if he had gone mad. “Have you gone mad?” he asked, his voice rising almost uncontrollably. “For that matter, have I gone mad? Only I would swear that you just insinuated that I should move in with you, which would be, among other things, the most monumental of mistakes.”
Shaking his head, Enjolras gestured around him. “The only mistake would be letting you live like this. It is no wonder you find yourself so often in your bottles if this is what you have to look forward to upon your return.”
Grantaire’s expression darkened. “Even if I had your fair visage to return to, I fear that I would find myself just as often in my bottles. I daresay I may find myself lost in them even more.”
Enjolras frowned. “I did not mean—” he started before biting off the rest of his words, and after a long moment his expression softened. “I only meant to offer what I could, as your friend. It would not behoove me to do anything besides. I would not leave you to living in such squalor when more fit accommodations are available.”
Grantaire gave him an odd look. “You would share your luxury with me?” he asked quietly.
"I would share my wealth with all," Enjolras answered after a moment. "That is, after all, much of what we hope to accomplish."
Grantaire threw his head back as he laughed. “Ah, but you have mistaken one who is poor by choice with those who are poor by nature. Or, if not choice, then at the least by squander. My misfortune is of my own making, save for my face, which is misfortune of Nature’s design.”
Enjolras looked at him seriously. “I do not think your face is as misfortunate as you do,” he said bluntly. “I rather like it.”
As soon as the words left his mouth, Enjolras regretted them, but it was too late. He saw Grantaire’s eyebrows arch in surprise, and then saw his eyes soften as he looked at Enjolras. After an awkward beat, Enjolras cleared his throat hastily. “Well, then,” he said briskly, “will you gather your waistcoats and cravats and come to mine or must I leave you in this pit?”
Though Grantaire was still looking at him with that same soft look, he managed to shake his head. “You would not want me as a houseguest, Enjolras. I fear I would leave the place in tatters, and worse, drink your finest wines which you have surely been saving for far better use.”
"Fie on wine," Enjolras snorted. "Wine does nothing more than cloud one’s mind and loosen one’s tongue. I have no use for wine. You may drink it all and I’ll not be bothered." He raised an eyebrow at Grantaire, who was biting his lip. "Your excuses run thin, my friend."
A smile twitched on Grantaire’s lips and he ducked his head slightly. “Dare I mention the fact that you will surely end up killing me, or else inundate me with your republican fervor, such that death maybe preferable? And I shall make intolerable comments and you shall shout at me, and then I at you? Does such an arrangement suit you?”
Enjolras looked at him for a long moment and nodded his head firmly. “Yes,” he said simply. “I believe it will.”
Grantaire gaped at him for a long moment, then shut his mouth and shook his head. “Very well,” he sighed, rolling his eyes. “But on your head be the consequences.”
Nodding as if in agreement, Enjolras looked around the small room. “Would you like me to assist you in packing?”
"Packing?" Grantaire snorted. "Grab my valise and we’ll stuff what few clothes I have in there. The rest I shall leave until my payment runs out or decay claims them, whichever comes first, and judging by the look you’re giving my settee, I do imagine decay may be first." He began to gather his clothing into a pile, and shot Enjolras a sideways glance. "Speaking of payment…"
He trailed off as Enjolras shook his head firmly. “No,” he said. “There shall be no talk of payment. You are my friend, and as such this is the least I can do to share what has been given to me.”
Now Grantaire cocked his head slightly, looking at Enjolras appraisingly. “Would we consider ourselves friends? I was not of the opinion that you considered me as such, if you considered me at all.”
"Would I let a man who is not a friend sit in our meetings, mock our work, and listen to our sedition if I did not consider him friend?" Enjolras shot back, matching his tone. "Do not underestimate the depth of our brotherhood. You exasperate and irritate me, this is true, but I would die for you as surely as any of our brothers."
The soft look had reappeared on Grantaire’s face, and Enjolras found himself blushing as Grantaire said quietly, “It goes without saying that I would die for you as well.”
Neither mentioned that Grantaire had not professed that he would die for their brothers, only for Enjolras. After a long moment, Enjolras cleared his throat and said gruffly, “Besides, I expect payment will come enough in the form of you ensuring that I remember to feed and bathe myself on occasion, as you well know that I am not best at remembering for myself.”
"Deal," Grantaire said easily. "I can promise all of that in repayment. And on nights when you forget to purchase coal for your brazier, I can warm your bed."
Enjolras’s lip curled as he sighed. “Do not be vulgar.”
"I? Vulgar?" Grantaire smiled sweetly at him. "Perish the thought." He grabbed his valise and dumped his clothes in it before straightening. "Lead away, then, most noble and fearless leader, and I will follow wherever you go."
Enjolras led him through the streets of Paris back to his own quarters, and once they were inside, to the spare room that Grantaire would now call his own. “I know its decorations are sparse,” he said nervously, opening the door to the room to usher Grantaire inside, “but I do believe it to be at least more adequate than your lodgings.”
Grantaire peered inside at the plush mattress and pillows and the spacious wardrobe. “It is perfect,” he pronounced, stepping into the room and setting his valise down. “Thank you.”
"You’re welcome." Enjolras hesitated in the doorway for a moment before saying awkwardly, "I should let you get settled."
He had just turned away when Grantaire called after him, “The offer still stands. On this night or any night.”
Enjolras turned back to make a snide remark, but paused at the look on Grantaire’s face. He swallowed and felt his face darken in a blush. “I shall keep that in mind,” he said instead, reaching out to squeeze Grantaire’s shoulder before he left to his own bedchamber, trying not to think of the look in Grantaire’s eyes or the temptation in his offer.