Work Text:
The candle flickering at Enjolras’s elbow was rapidly shrinking, the liquid wax in the holder overflowing its basin to drip onto Enjolras’s desk in slow, steady drops in time with the steady skritch-skritch of Enjolras’s quill against the parchment. He was hunched over his desk, his waistcoat wrinkled, ink staining his hand. Dark circles shadowed his eyes, and his normally luscious hair flopped limply into his face, despite his numerous attempts to brush it back from his eyes.
Enjolras had been writing since late that afternoon, working on the text for a new pamphlet, one specifically aimed at the Parisian laborers. The idea had been festering in his mind since the previous night’s meeting and he felt if he didn’t get it out on paper, he might explode from it. Never mind the fact that it had long since passed midnight, passing almost into the third hour, if the amount of wax from his candle was any indication.
So engrossed was he in what he was doing that he did not even notice as Grantaire pushed his bedchamber open and crossed the room to perch on his bed, raising an eyebrow at his hunched back. “Much as I admire your dedication, even the most fastidious require sleep.”
Enjolras jumped in surprise at the sudden sound and almost overturned first his inkwell and then his candle. “Grantaire!” he gasped, whirling around. “You startled me.”
Grantaire bit back a laugh and lay back on Enjolras’s bed. “You have been working the day away, my friend, and while I declined to interrupt you for something as unimportant as food, I draw the line at sleep. We cannot have out leader exhausted, after all.”
Scowling, Enjolras turned back to his desk, gathering his papers. “I do not desire respite, Grantaire, not with as much work as I have left to do.” He turned slightly to glare at Grantaire. “And remove yourself from my bed, would you?”
Grantaire rolled onto his side and smirked at Enjolras. “No. You’re going to have to come over here and remove me yourself.”
Enjolras sighed and rolled his eyes, casting a longing look at the stack of papers on his desk. This disruption from Grantaire had reminded him just how exhausted he really was. “I…I suppose it shall keep until the morning,” he said reluctantly, standing from his desk and stretching before crossing to the bed to roughly shove Grantaire off of it.
Grantaire landed lightly on the floor, chuckling as Enjolras pulled off his cravat and waistcoat, leaving his shirt and trousers on. “There’s a good lad,” Grantaire said genially, standing up and brushing off his own clothes.
Once Enjolras had clambered on top of his bed, Grantaire bent over and pulled the coverlet up, tucking it around Enjolras’s thin shoulders. “Goodnight, Enjolras,” Grantaire told him, turning to leave.
Enjolras caught his hand. “Grantaire…” he started, but when Grantaire turned back to him, whatever he had been about to say seemed stuck in his throat. Instead he dropped Grantaire’s hand and muttered, “Goodnight.”
"Goodnight," Grantaire repeated, closing Enjolras’s bedchamber door after him as he left, leaving Enjolras staring at the door for a long time after.
As time went on with Grantaire and Enjolras sharing accommodations, Enjolras noticed more and more that Grantaire seemed determined to take care of him. It seemed not a day went by that Grantaire did not force Enjolras to abandon whatever he was working on for a full meal, often prepared by Grantaire himself, even if it was something as simple as bread and cheese.
Grantaire seemed immune to Enjolras’s protestations that he was busy, that he had work to be done. More than once Enjolras found himself being dragged around the entirety of Paris in pursuit of the perfect bottle of wine to accompany their dinner, or else looking for a warm little café that Grantaire swore up and down that he had stumbled upon one day.
Enjolras might have resented the intrusions on his normally sacrosanct workday were it not for the fact that, as reluctantly as he might admit it, he found himself better able to concentrate when he was more relaxed, and wandering around Paris, laughing with Grantaire, seemed just the thing to relax him.
But it was more than that. When Enjolras had invited Grantaire to live with him, it had been strictly as two friends sharing an abode out of necessity. But now…
Now there was a domesticity to it that Enjolras could never have predicted, but couldn’t quite find it in himself to dislike. The fact of it was that this arrangement was becoming quite comfortable, to the point where, when Grantaire puttered around Enjolras’s bedchamber, whistling as he collected Enjolras’s dirty clothing to take to the laundress, Enjolras barely even noticed, sometimes letting Grantaire take his jacket or waistcoat off if he reminded Enjolras that he had been wearing the same waistcoat for days on end.
As much as Enjolras found comfort in their arrangement, he nonetheless could not help but feel as if he was taking advantage of Grantaire’s generosity. After all, Grantaire seemed to be doing everything for Enjolras, and Enjolras…
The only thing Enjolras had done was provide Grantaire with temporary housing.
That thought struck him one day as he pored over a text in the café, and he froze in his spot. Was this all Grantaire’s misguided attempt to repay him? If so, he had more than accomplished it, especially since in Enjolras’s eyes, he owed no recompense for what Enjolras had been able to provide.
He knew he had to address this with Grantaire sooner rather than later, and so abandoned his text, hurrying home. He found Grantaire in the kitchen, and he looked up and smiled as Enjolras rushed in, cheeks pink from the late autumn breeze. “Enjolras!” Grantaire said cheerfully. “I had not expected you so soon. I was making galettes for our meal this evening.”
Enjolras felt his mouth open slightly at the sight of Grantaire beating the batter for the galettes, buckwheat flour dusting his waistcoat and even smeared lightly across his cheek. He closed his mouth with a snap, and gripped the back of one of the chairs at the table. “Ah, that’s…that’s good,” he muttered distractedly. “I had wished to discuss something of some importance with you.”
"Discuss away," Grantaire told him unconcernedly. "I shall listen, and even promise not to interrupt overmuch."
Frowning slightly, Enjolras took a deep breath before speaking. “I do not want you to mistake this for me being ungrateful, as only the opposite is true. But you - you do not need to do all this for me: the cooking, the cleaning, everything. I just…Do not think that you somehow owe me, that there is a debt you must somehow repay.” Enjolras started a little awkwardly, but picked up steam as he continued. “I have done no more for you than I would have done for any of our friends, and the only payment I require is your continued friendship.”
Grantaire’s hands had stilled as Enjolras spoke, but they picked up with the whisking where they left off, even as a smile flit across his face. “This is not mere payment for what I owe - despite your insistence to the contrary,” Grantaire informed him cheerfully. “Has it perhaps occurred to you that I enjoy taking care of you? That it makes me feel needed?”
Enjolras stared at him, for indeed, the thought had not occurred to him in the slightest. “You enjoy taking care of me?” he repeated, sinking into the chair across from Grantaire.
Though Grantaire did not look at him, preoccupied as he was with the galette batter, his smile grew wider. “Yes,” he said simply. “I enjoy taking care of you. You will argue with me, undoubtedly, when I say that I bring little enough to your precious cause, but I’ll not deny it. And in this way, I am able to be useful, even if it is for nothing more than keeping the Noble Leader fed, watered and rested. At least when the time comes, you will not be able to say that Grantaire did nothing for the revolution.”
A lump seemed to grow in Enjolras’s throat and he blinked and looked away. It was several minutes before he was able to say in a low voice, “You are far more useful to me than that, Grantaire. But if it makes you feel useful, if you enjoy it…I’ll not deny that I have enjoyed it, as well. Being cared for…” He trailed off, a blush rising in his cheeks as he determinedly did not meet Grantaire’s eyes. “It is better than I thought it would be. I believe asking you to stay here was one of the best decisions I have ever made.”
Grantaire’s smile was soft as he focused on the bowl in his hands. “And I still question whether or not you have been taken by a fit of madness, and would suggest you see Joly on the morrow for a cure. That being said…” He hesitated, then added quietly, “Thank you.”
Enjolras nodded, his fingers tapping a steady rhythm against the table, and after a long hesitation, asked in a strange-sounding voice, “Does your previous offer still stand?”
“What previous off—OH.” Grantaire’s eyes were wide, and the bowl clattered from his hands and onto the table where it wobbled precariously against the edge. “Surely you do not mean my offer to attend your bed? Though I must admit that the offer will always stand, but surely you jest if you refer to that.”
A small smile lifted the corner’s of Enjolras’s mouth, and he bit back a chuckle. “Yes, I do mean that offer, though perhaps not in that way. As the nights grow longer, it seems beneficial to have a heat source, and cheaper by far to use what is naturally available rather than purchase coal for the brazier.”
“Of course,” Grantaire said faintly, his grip on the edge of the table tightening. “Cheaper and beneficial. I—yes, of course.”
Enjolras inclined his head as he stood to return to his bedchamber, pausing when Grantaire called after him, “What do you mean by ‘perhaps not in that way’? Do I dare read too far into that ‘perhaps’?”
Turning back around to face him, Enjolras grinned at him, a wicked, mischievous grin such as Grantaire did not think he had ever seen from Enjolras, directed at him or otherwise. “Perhaps,” Enjolras told him before disappearing into his bedchamber, and Grantaire stared at the closed bedroom door for longer than he cared to admit.