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Chapter Text

Enjolras sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose to stave off a headache as the line in front of him for conference check in seemingly refused to move. He checked his watch and frowned when he felt his cell phone vibrate in his pocket. He pulled it out and blinked down at the text message.

[From: Grantaire] Pinch your nose any harder and you’ll give yourself brain damage.

Enjolras looked wildly around, confusion etched in his expression. He didn’t see Grantaire, not that he expected to, because Enjolras was a thousand miles away from home for a conference and Grantaire, to the best of Enjolras’s knowledge, was not.

[From: Enjolras] Where are you?

[From: Grantaire] Hotel bar

Enjolras pivoted and finally saw Grantaire, who, sure enough, was seated at the bar in the corner of the hotel lobby. He grinned when Enjolras finally saw him and raised a hand in greeting. Enjolras took a deep, steadying breath and grabbed his suitcase before marching over to him, his brow furrowed. “Did you stalk me all the way to Chicago?” he demanded in lieu of a greeting.

Grantaire raised an eyebrow. “Hell of a greeting, Apollo,” he remarked, though he didn’t sound particularly put out by it. “And no, I didn’t stalk you anywhere. I’m attending a conference here, just like you.”

Enjolras scowled. “You’re attending a conference about corporate philanthropy?” he asked, doubt clear in his voice.

“No, I’m attending a conference on art and social justice.”

Something clicked in the deep recesses of Enjolras’s brain. “Hang on,” he said slowly. “Isn’t Feuilly supposed to be going to that?”

Grantaire shrugged. “His work schedule got changed around. Since it was already paid for and I’m the only other one of us with more than a passing interest in the arts…”

He trailed off, but something else was coming back to Enjolras, a conversation he had instantly forgotten the moment after it happened.

“Hey, Enj, Feuilly’s going to be in Chicago the same weekend as you,” Courfeyrac called.

“Don’t call me Enj,” Enjolras said automatically, not looking up from his laptop.

Even though he didn’t look up, he still knew that Courfeyrac had just rolled his eyes. “Nicknames aside, do you mind if we book him in the same hotel room as you? Seeing as how you’re paying for this whole trip with Mommy and Daddy’s black card?”

“And don’t call my parents mommy and daddy,” Enjolras muttered.

Courfeyrac plopped down next to him. “Seriously, Enjolras, can Feuilly stay with you?”

Enjolras finally looked up from his computer. “Sure, whatever,” he said absently. “Makes no difference to me.”

He looked back down at his laptop and missed Courfeyrac muttering mutinously, “For that, I’m booking you two in a room with only one bed.”

“Oh, no,” Enjolras groaned and pinched the bridge of his nose again.

“Problem?” Grantaire asked, amused.

Enjolras sighed. “Feuilly and I were supposed to share a hotel room. And unless you decided to book a separate room for yourself…”

Something shifted in Grantaire’s expression. “Me and what platinum card?” he joked. When Enjolras didn’t smile, Grantaire patted his arm comfortingly. “Serious, Enj, it’ll be fine. I’m sure Courfeyrac or whomever booked this was smart enough to get two beds.”

“God, I hope so,” Enjolras sighed before frowning at Grantaire again. “Are you getting drunk at 10 o’clock in the morning?”

“Not that it’s any of your business, but no, I was just getting coffee.” And as if on cue, the bartender returned and set a cup of coffee on the bar in front of Grantaire. “Besides, you say that like the early hour has ever once been a deterrent to my drinking habits.”

Enjolras rolled his eyes. “Well, we may as well go check into our hotel room,” he said bracingly.

Grantaire looked amused. “Don’t you need to register for your conference first?”

“At the glacial pace that line was moving? I can check in to our hotel room, put all my stuff upstairs and still be back down before I would’ve reached the front of the line.”

Together they headed over to the hotel check-in counter, Enjolras wheeling his suitcase, Grantaire with a duffel bag thrown over his shoulder. “I am surprised to see you standing in a Hyatt,” Grantaire said casually as they joined the line for check-in.

Enjolras frowned. “What do you mean?”

Grantaire smirked. “You’re the one who said that staying at a Hyatt was a tacit contribution to JB Pritzker’s gubernatorial campaign.”

Enjolras scowled. “I said no such thing,” he said as the line inched forward.

“Did too,” Grantaire said smugly. “And since I’m pretty sure you’re all in for Daniel Biss—”

“I am not all in for Biss,” Enjolras snapped, riled and defensive, a combination that Grantaire alone seemed capable of bringing out in him. “I’m all in for any candidate who is running with actual credentials rather than billionaire status. Illinois already has a billionaire governor, one seemingly committed to running the state into the ground, and you can’t tell me that what it needs it another.” His scowl deepened. “Besides, I think that this much money being tossed around is terrible for democracy. Don’t you?”

The question seemed to take Grantaire aback, and he snorted a laugh. “Considering I don’t actually live in Illinois, I can’t really say that I care who their governor is.”

“It’s not about their governor,” Enjolras argued. “Or at least, not just about their governor. It’s about the role of money in campaigns and the impact that has on elections and accurate representation in government.”

Grantaire nodded slowly. “Sure, I get that. Money is evil and therefore you should always root for the better-funded candidate to lose.” He paused before adding innocently, “In which case, I assume you’re also pulling for Jeanne Ives to defeat Rauner in the Republican primary.”

“Exactly,” Enjolras said heatedly, then froze. “Hang on, that’s not—”

Grantaire practically cackled with laughter. “Oh God,” he gasped, wiping tears of laughter from his eyes. “I never thought I’d get you to say it.” Enjolras glared at him and Grantaire grinned. “Oh, c’mon, Apollo, I know you’d never support Jeanne Ives—”

“Of course I wouldn’t,” Enjolras snarled. “That woman is a racist, xenophobic, homophobic, anti-feminist, militantly pro-life menace and besides, your argument doesn’t even work since she’s taken Dick Uihlein and Dan Proft’s blood money, so if you think there’s any chance in the world—”

“You about done?” Grantaire asked mildly, interrupting Enjolras’s rant. “Because you’re holding up the line.”

Enjolras glanced around, realizing that they had in fact made it to the front of the line, and he colored slightly. “You’re also a menace,” he informed Grantaire before shouldering past him and heading up the counter. “Good morning, checking in. Reservation under Enjolras — that’s E-N-J-O-L-R-A-S.”

The hotel receptionist dutifully typed Enjolras’s name into the computer. “Mr. Enjolras, we have you down for a room with two adult occupants for three nights, checking in today, Thursday, and checking out Sunday morning. Is that correct?”

“That’s correct,” Enjolras said before glancing over at Grantaire. “And just to confirm, we’re booked in a room with two beds, right?”

The receptionist paused. “I’m so sorry, Mr. Enjolras, we actually have you down for a king bed.”

Enjolras closed his eyes and exhaled in a deep, soul-weary sigh. “I’m going to fucking kill Courfeyrac.”

“I can check to see if we have any double rooms available,” the receptionist said apologetically, “but with the conferences this weekend—”

“It’s fine,” Grantaire assured her, giving Enjolras a look. “We’ll manage.”

She nodded and went to get their keys ready while Enjolras transferred his glare to Grantaire. “We’ll manage?” he repeated.

Grantaire rolled his eyes. “I’m pretty sure there’ll be a couch in there, and luckily, I have plenty of experience crashing on a variety of couches back in my ill-spent youth.”

As quickly as Enjolras exasperation had risen, it dissipated, replaced by something bordering on guilt. “I’m not going to make you sleep on the couch,” he protested.

“If you’re that concerned about it, we can alternate,” Grantaire said cheerfully, accepting their room keys from the receptionist.

“You’re going to be on floor 24 in the west tower,” she told them cheerfully. “Room 601. Please enjoy your stay in the Hyatt Regency Hotel Chicago!”

Enjolras managed a polite, “Thanks,” even though he was still perturbed over the bed situation. “Stop thinking so loudly,” Grantaire said, handing Enjolras a room key. “Seriously. I’m pretty sure even you and I can manage a few days of cohabitation without killing each other.”

“Believe it or not, that wasn't my concern,” Enjolras said dryly.

Grantaire gasped dramatically. “I don't believe it,” he said. “Why, monsieur, at this rate I'm going to think you might actually like me.” Enjolras scowled and Grantaire grinned. “Yeah ok, I probably shouldn't press my luck.” He grabbed Enjolras’s suitcase. “Go get checked in for your conference. I’ll take this up to the room.”

Enjolras’s scowl softened somewhat. “Are you sure?” he said, his guilt at the bed situation compounding.

“Well it is such a hardship to take your bag with me when I'm already on my way to our hotel room,” Grantaire told him. “But no worries, I’ll just make you pay me back later.”

Enjolras rolled his eyes and Grantaire’s grin widened. “See, that's more what I was expecting. Seriously, I’ll see you tonight at some point. Have fun at your conference.”

“Have fun at yours as well,” Enjolras returned as a pointed reminder that Grantaire was also meant to be attending a conference of his own, and it was Grantaire’s turn to roll his eyes.

“Let’s not push it, Apollo,” he said, and with that, he started for the elevators, leaving Enjolras staring after him.

Enjolras sighed and drew a hand across his face once Grantaire was out of sight. He resisted the temptation to again pinch the bridge of his nose, instead squaring his shoulders and making his way back to the queue for conference registration. But as the line continued its previous slothlike creep forward, he found his thoughts drifting back to Grantaire, the man who vexed him at every given opportunity with his obstinate refusal to believe in anything.

And now he'd get to spend three nights in a hotel room with Grantaire of all people.

What could possibly go wrong?

Enjolras let himself into the hotel room and flopped face-first onto the bed, exhaling heavily. “That bad, huh?”

Rolling onto his side, Enjolras frowned at Grantaire, who was sprawled on the couch, already in his pajamas, and looked amused. “No, not that bad,” Enjolras said. “Just…” He trailed off and sighed again. “Ok, yes, that bad. This entire thing is just a circle jerk of capitalist greed clapping itself on the back for the tiny shred of their profits they dedicate to basic charity and community involvement.”

“Circle jerk of capitalist greed,” Grantaire repeated with a grin. “I'm stealing that for the title of my memoir.”

Enjolras scowled. “Hilarious.”

Grantaire’s grin faded somewhat. “So if it's as bad as you undoubtedly knew it was gonna be — because let's not lie to ourselves, you came into this eyes wide open — why even bother attending?”

Enjolras shrugged and sat up, raking a hand through his tangled curls. “I was asked to participate in a panel on partnering with nonpartisan political organizations. And since you know how much difficulty we have getting corporate sponsorship because most companies aren't willing to wade into political activities, it seemed like a good networking opportunity.”

“Shouldn't you be arguing that we don't need corporate sponsorship, since you're practically a communist?” Grantaire asked innocently, though his grin was back and veering dangerously close to shit-eating territory.

Enjolras leveled a glare at him. “No, because I choose to live in the real world, where our efforts to do good are best helped by the ability to actually do anything, which tends to require, you know, money.”

“Fair enough,” Grantaire said with an easy chuckle, leaning back against the couch cushions. “Well, if it makes you feel any better, my conference thus far has been the expected circle jerk of pretentious, touchy-feely ‘art will save the world’ bullshit.”

Enjolras laughed in spite of himself at the derision in Grantaire’s voice. “I doubt it can be all that bad.”

Grantaire glared at him. “Someone suggested that modernizing blighted areas was key to economic development,” he said dryly. “Which is, you know, code for gentrification. I suggested they take that message to the South Side and see how that goes for them.” He smirked. “They didn't seem to appreciate that, for some reason.”

“Shocking,” Enjolras laughed, and he shook his head. “Fine, so yours sounds particularly irredeemable as well. But you at least get to make scathing comments to idiots. I have to bite my tongue if I have any hopes of actually getting anything out of this.”

Grantaire raised an eyebrow. “Since when does the mighty Apollo bite his tongue?”

“Since the determination that there are, on rare occasions, more important things than saying every thought that runs through my mind.” Enjolras gave him a look. “Something you might want to try someday.”

“Doubtful,” Grantaire said cheerfully. His smile sharpened into a smirk. “Just don't bite your tongue too hard. I'm rather fond of thinking about all the ways you could use it, and I'd hate to see it put out of commission.”

Enjolras groaned and threw a pillow at him. “Must you ruin everything with sexual innuendo?” he griped, though he knew Grantaire far too well to actually be offended.

Grantaire just grinned. “I think you mispronounced ‘improve’.”

Enjolras just rolled his eyes and picked himself off the bed. “Well, I think I'm going to call it an early night, unless you're opposed.”

He pitched it as just enough of a question that Grantaire shook his head andgave him an easy grin. “Nah, that's not a terrible idea. Lots of receptions with free booze tomorrow night, so I need to be in top form.”

“Of course you do,” Enjolras said, rolling his eyes as he grabbed his pjs and slipped into the bathroom to change and brush his teeth.

By the time he reemerged, Grantaire had turned off all the lights besides the one next to the bed, and Enjolras glanced at him, surprised. But Grantaire was already asleep on the couch or else was pretending, and Enjolras got into bed instead. He plugged his phone in and reached for the light before hesitating. “Goodnight Grantaire,” he whispered.

He turned the light off and the room was plunged into darkness. Enjolras had just gotten comfortable and closed his eyes when he heard Grantaire whisper, “Night, Enj. Sleep well.”

Grantaire’s voice was the last thing he heard before he fell asleep.

Chapter Text

When Enjolras woke up the next day, it was to the smell of coffee brewing from the kitchenette and the soft strains of terribly off-key singing over the sound of the shower running. Enjolras sat up and ran a hand through his tousled curls, glancing at the clock and suppressing his automatic surprise that Grantaire was up as early as he was.

He heard the shower turn off and got out of bed, making his way over to the coffee pot and pouring himself a cup before Grantaire emerged from the bathroom wearing nothing but a towel around his waist. “Oh, shit,” Grantaire said, stopping in his tracks when he saw Enjolras. “If I had known you were gonna be up, I’d’ve, uh…”

He trailed off and Enjolras raised his eyebrows as he took a sip of coffee. “Actually brought your clothes into the bathroom with you?” he supplied.

“Something like that, anyway,” Grantaire said, a blush spreading down his neck and across his bare chest.

Not that Enjolras was looking or anything.

Enjolras was definitely looking.

“I don’t normally make a habit of walking around half naked,” Grantaire said with a wry sort of smile that looked more like a wince. “Well, ok, that’s not true, but I at least try not to make a habit of it when other people are around.”

Enjolras decided his automatic reply of, “You should”, which he thankfully managed to swallow without actually voicing, could be blamed on the lack of caffeine and not at all the way Grantaire shook his head, water droplets spraying everywhere. “I'm going to shower,” he said instead, grabbing his own clothes from his open suitcase. “See you tonight, I guess.”

He disappeared into the bathroom and shut the door firmly behind him.

And if he decided to take a cold shower first, no one needed to know.

Enjolras’s morning was almost as mind-numbingly awful as his previous day had been, made worse by the knowledge that the panel he was presenting as a part of wasn't until Saturday morning. The prospect of sitting through an entire day like this made Enjolras want to die.

Or more accurately, openly revolt.

Since neither were good options, he settled for taking his aggression out on the salad he got for lunch, sitting by himself in the hotel ballroom and glaring at the salad as if it had personally offended him.

He could feel a headache building in his temples, and he took a break from stabbing at the lettuce leaves with more force than strictly necessary to pinch the bridge of his nose in a vain attempt to keep it at bay.

As if on cue, his phone vibrated on the table next to his tray, and he glanced down at it.

[From: Grantaire] Seriously, are you TRYING to give yourself brain damage??

Enjolras glanced up from his phone, already smiling — and his headache already fading, just slightly — as he saw Grantaire sitting at a table across the room. Grantaire cocked his head slightly and nodded to the seat next to him. Enjolras raised an eyebrow and looked pointedly to the seat next to himself.

Grantaire smirked and picked his phone up.

[From: Grantaire] Seems we’re at a stalemate.

Enjolras rolled his eyes.

[From: Enjolras] Only because you refuse to just join me over here.

[From: Grantaire] Tempted as I always am to bow to your every wish, I'm quite comfy where I am and you should join me. For equality’s sake ;)

Enjolras scowled.

[From: Enjolras] Since when have you given a flying fuck about equality? Besides, the egalitarian thing to do would be for both of us to move and meet in the middle.

He looked up and watched as Grantaire’s smirk widened.

[From: Grantaire] I’ll move if you move.

Though Enjolras rolled his eyes, he picked up his tray and met Grantaire at an empty table roughly equidistant between them. “Would it have killed you to just join me at my table?” Enjolras asked, though he sounded more amused than exasperated.

“You know, it actually might have,” Grantaire said seriously, though he couldn't quite keep the smirk off of his face.

Enjolras rolled his eyes again. “Smartass,” he muttered, stabbing at his salad with renewed vigor. “Dare I ask how your morning has been?”

Grantaire made a face. “I was tempted to start drinking at 10am, so…”

“Which makes it different than any other day how, exactly?”

A grin broke across Grantaire’s face. “Touché,” he chuckled. He nodded toward Enjolras’s salad. “I’ll take it from your attempt to make your salad a caesar that your day’s been going almost as good as mine.”

Enjolras frowned at him. “Make my salad a caesar?” he repeated.

“You know,” Grantaire said, with a vague hand wave, “stabbing it and whatnot.” Enjolras choked on an ill-timed bite of said salad and Grantaire grinned. “But seriously, I’m guessing you haven’t had a stellar start to your day?”

“Not so much, no,” Enjolras sighed. “And I’ve got a super thrilling panel on maintaining corporate relationships to look forward to.” He nodded towards the brochure Grantaire had in his hand listing all the afternoon panels for his conference. “What about you?”

Grantaire flipped the brochure open. “I think I’ve landed on this fascinating little panel,” he said drolly. “It’s about theatre, which should just be, you know, incredible and whatnot. ‘Not a Moment, It’s a Movement: Theatre in the Age of Hamilton as a Vessel for Social Change’.”

Enjolras hesitated. “Is it bad that that sounds fascinating?” he asked.

Grantaire snorted a laugh. “Not bad so much as unsurprising. It sounds douchey and pretentious so yeah, seems like it’d be right up your alley.” He smirked at him. “Wanna switch places? I can go nap through your seminar on giving back to employees through such benevolent philanthropic practices as paid sick leave and federal holidays off work, and you can get your douchey kicks out of your system before your soul turns into a husk.”

Though Enjolras laughed at the imagery, he also shook his head. “There’s no way that I’d make you sit through that,” he said dismissively. “I wouldn’t wish that on my worst enemies.” He paused. “Although…”

He trailed off and Grantaire smiled at him, a little too softly to be a smirk. “I’m not one of your worst enemies? Apollo, coming from you, that’s practically a love confession.”

Enjolras rolled his eyes. “Hilarious.” He paused. “But even if I wouldn’t make you sit through mine, what would you say to sneaking me into yours?”

“What?” Grantaire said loudly, clasping his hands over his heart and looking scandalized. “You want me to break the rules of the conference for you? Would the Enjolras that I know be content with this kind of anarchy?”

“...Yes?”

Grantaire considered that. “Fair point.” He sat back and shrugged. “If you really want to listen to a bunch of white theatre kids crying about Hamilton and how one of the least accessible art forms has the potential to the change the world, be my guest.”

“I mean, when you put it that way…” Enjolras smirked at him. “After all, it’s not like I have any better offers.”

“I probably should be insulted that I rank exactly one rung above a symposium on corporate greed, but frankly, I’m going to take it as compliment,” Grantaire said, standing and stretching before gathering their lunch things together to throw out on their way to the panel.

Enjolras watched him and couldn’t seem to stop the words that popped out of his mouth. “Good. I meant it as a compliment.”

Grantaire stilled and gave Enjolras a slightly furtive look. “Careful, Apollo,” he said, though he seemed equally unable to stop his smile. “Keep this up and I might actually think that you like me.”

“And what a tragedy that would be,” Enjolras said sarcastically.

But something tightened in Grantaire’s face and he looked away. “It really would be,” he said lightly, picking the tray up and changing the subject. “Ready to go break some very strict guidelines on conference etiquette?”

“Always,” Enjolras said, following Grantaire from the room, their shoulders brushing against each other as they walked together.

“I still can’t get over it,” Enjolras said, for about the hundredth time, following Grantaire into their hotel room.

Grantaire rolled his eyes and flopped down on the couch. “You said that already,” he pointed out, though a small, satisfied smile lingered on his face.

“I mean it, though,” Enjolras said, perching on the edge of the bed and practically beaming at him. “I mean, shit, Grantaire, to hear you tear into those panelists—”

Grantaire snorted and shook his head before lying back on the couch. “I mean, they deserved it,” he pointed out evenly. “You can’t claim that theatre and live performance are the best medium for social change without acknowledging the very real disparity between those for whom social change is most needed and for whom theatre is most accessible.”

His voice was unusually heated, and Enjolras nodded, unable to keep his grin even remotely reined in. The memory of Grantaire standing up during the panel and holding up his cellphone opened to StubHub’s Hamilton Chicago tickets and demanding how the all-white panel of moderators could possibly talk about how important Hamilton is for Brown and Black children to witness when nosebleed seats were going for 200 bucks a pop was a memory Enjolras was hoping to burn into his brain.

“You know, you’re going to have to be careful,” Enjolras said casually.

Grantaire raised an eyebrow at him. “Why, because I’ve probably pissed some of these people off? Whoops, look at how much I don’t care.”

His tone was dry and Enjolras laughed and shook his head. “No, not that.” He smirked at Grantaire. “If you keep this up, I’m going to start thinking you actually do care.”

“Perish the thought,” Grantaire said mockingly. He sighed and grabbed a pillow, stuffing it under his head. “Clearly spending this much time cooped up with you is rubbing off on me in the worst way possible.”

“We’ve been here for all of 24 hours,” Enjolras reminded him, amused.

Grantaire turned and raised an eyebrow at him. “Yeah, and apparently that’s 24 hours too long. I’m going to have to go full on hedonist at one of the receptions tomorrow evening to make up for it.”

Enjolras rolled his eyes. “Like you need an excuse to go full on hedonist,” he grumbled before yawning and glancing at the clock. “Mind if I turn on the news?”

“Nope,” Grantaire said easily, yawning as well and closing his eyes. “Just so long as you don’t mind me passing out. Pretty sure I had one too many glasses of free wine at dinner.” He opened one eye to squint at Enjolras. “But if you tell anyone I said that, I’ll kill you and hide the body.”

Enjolras laughed. “I have no interest in sabotaging your carefully cultivated image of heavy drinking,” he said, grabbing the remote and turning the TV on. He hesitated. “Though I do mind you passing out on the couch.”

Now Grantaire opened both eyes and frowned. “Want me to stay up so I can offer my scathing commentary on the news?”

“No, I don’t care if you sleep or not, I just don’t want you sleeping on the couch again.” Enjolras hesitated again before jerking his head toward the bed. “C’mon. There’s plenty of room. And as we learned at lunch today, we apparently both function best under some guise of egalitarianism.”

Though Grantaire laughed lightly, he also hesitated and bit his lower lip as he glanced between Enjolras and the empty space on the other side of the bed. “Are you sure?" he asked, his voice pitched slightly lower than usual.

“Positive,” Enjolras said decisively, and lay back against his pillow as if to prove his point.

Still Grantaire hesitated, and it took him a long moment to pick himself up off the couch and make his way over to the bed.He gingerly sat on the edge of the bed and without looking over at him, Enjolras asked, “Aren’t you going to change into your pajamas?”

Grantaire immediately stood as if scalded. “Good point,” he said before practically fleeing into the bathroom.

Enjolras sighed and debated texted Courfeyrac or Combeferre for advice on how to handle this. Were it any other of their friends, this would never have needed to be a conversation in the first place. They were both adults, they were both capable of sharing a bed without reading anything into it.

But this was Grantaire.

Which meant everything was layered with as much left unsaid as said, and Enjolras could hardly blame him for his hesitation.

So when Grantaire reemerged from the bathroom, Enjolras blurted, “You don’t have to sleep in the bed if you don’t want. I just figured it’d be more comfortable. But if you’re not, uh, comfortable or whatever—”

Grantaire saved him from his flailing. “It’s fine, Apollo,” he said bracingly, returning to his side of bed and clambering on it with an air of forced casualness. “My back isn’t as good as it used to be anyway, and—” He paused, a look of comical horror crossing his face. “Oh God, I can’t hold my liquor anymore and my back hurts. Am I getting old?” Enjolras laughed and Grantaire glared at him. “Just you wait. You’re only two years younger than me. You’ll see.”

“I’m sure I will,” Enjolras said, still laughing, and he glanced over at Grantaire, watching with something like fondness curling in his chest as Grantaire pulled the covers up and burrowed his head against the pillow. “Goodnight, Grantaire. Sleep well.”

Grantaire muttered something that Enjolras couldn’t quite hear, though he thought he might’ve heard the words ‘sweet dreams’. He tried to focus on the news and not the slow and even breaths from the man next to him, but found his concentration wandering.

Clearly Enjolras needed to go to bed as well, and he didn’t even have wine as a convenient excuse.

Still, he clicked the tv off and changed into his own pajamas before sliding under the covers and rolling over onto his side so that his back was to Grantaire.

For one long moment, he worried he would never be able to sleep with the soft puffs of Grantaire’s breath ghosting the back of his neck, but to his surprise, the man’s gentle snores were more soothing than Enjolras expected, and all too soon, he fell asleep.

When Enjolras woke up, he felt cocooned in warmth. He wouldn’t have moved at all if it weren’t for something tickling the back of his neck, and it took him a long moment to place it, a gentle breeze moving the hairs on the nape of his neck.

He blinked.

Not a breeze, a breath.

Enjolras stilled, realization filling him as the rest of his sense finally woke up. Grantaire’s breath was slow and warm against the back of his neck, just as Grantaire’s chest was warm where it pressed against his back, and his arm was heavy and warm across Enjolras’s waist and—

Enjolras refused to let his thoughts travel any further south.

Which was good, because at that moment, Grantaire shifted, his rhythmic breathing becoming less so, and Enjolras closed his eyes when he felt Grantaire nuzzle against him as he slowly woke up.

Then, abruptly, the warmth was gone as Grantaire sat bolt upright. “Oh, shit ,” Grantaire muttered, raking a hand through his hair as he stared around, eyes wide.

Enjolras rolled over, forcing his expression to stay neutral. “Everything ok?” he asked, his voice scratchy from sleep.

Grantaire didn’t look over at him. “I really think I should be the one asking you that,” he muttered, standing and stumbling over to his bag to grab some clothes.

Enjolras slowly sat up, a frown puckering his brow. “Everything’s fine where I’m sitting,” he said. “You’re the one freaking out.”

“I’m not freaking out, I just—” Grantaire broke off and shook his head before forcing a smile. “I completely forgot. I signed up for the architecture boat tour this morning, and Lord knows I wouldn’t want to be late to hear all about century-old architecture and how it could possibly relate to modern-day social justice. Besides, you probably need to get ready for your panel, so I’m just gonna—”

He jerked a thumb over his shoulder toward the bathroom, and before Enjolras could so much as nod, disappeared inside, closing the door after him with a loud snap.

Enjolras stared after him, completely at a loss for what had just happened and why Grantaire had reacted that way toward what for Enjolras had been the best sleep he’d gotten in weeks.

But Grantaire was right, and Enjolras had his panel to prepare for, and he decided to put it from his mind until after the panel when he could finally sit Grantaire down and talk to him.

Something easier said than done, but no one had ever accused Enjolras of lacking willpower, and so he barely even looked up when Grantaire came out of the bathroom, and only gave a vague wave when Grantaire told him that he would see him later.

Which meant he completely missed the longing look that crossed Grantaire’s face as he looked back at Enjolras before closing the hotel room door behind him.

Chapter Text

Enjolras’s panel went about as well as could be expected. He only raised his voice at the moderator three times and shouted at an audience member once, which was particularly tame for him.

In fact, his entire point — that corporations shouldn’t be afraid to take what might be considered ‘political’ stands, especially in the face of issues that are vitally important — was overwhelmingly well-received, far moreso than he expected, and he found himself in a particularly buoyant mood as he distributed his business cards to panel attendees after the session wrapped up.

But what struck him most of all was the for one wild moment, shortly after he had yelled at an audience member, he thought he had caught sight of someone with dark, curly hair slip out of the room. Someone who looked an awful lot like Grantaire.

Of course, it didn’t make any sense — Grantaire had the architecture tour, after all, and panels of his own to attend, but for one wild moment, Enjolras allowed himself to imagine that Grantaire had snuck into his panel just to watch him present.

The idea probably shouldn’t have made him feel as good as it did.

He had every intention to ask Grantaire about it over lunch, but Grantaire didn't show up in the exhibition hall for lunch. And between not seeing him and the afternoon’s panels, Enjolras almost forgot about it.

In fact, he didn't give it any further thought until his phone buzzed on the bathroom counter when he was getting ready for the conference reception that evening.

[From: Grantaire] ABORT MISSION ABORT MISSION ABORT MISSION

Enjolras arched an eyebrow at the cryptic text.

[From: Enjolras] ?????

Not even fifteen seconds later his phone buzzed again, with a two-word text.

[From: Grantaire] CASH BAR

Enjolras laughed out loud and shook his head with fond exasperation as he typed back:

[From: Enjolras] Mine’s an open bar. Want to join me?

Grantaire’s response was fifteen raised hands emojis in a row and Enjolras rolled his eyes and finished dressing.

By the time he was done, the hotel door opened and Grantaire let himself in, looking disgruntled. “Cash bar,” he repeated to Enjolras, sounding downright scandalized. “What kind of crappy conference is this?!”

“I’m shocked that the arts and social justice world hasn't proven itself lucrative enough to sponsor three nights of open bars,” Enjolras said dryly.

“Can't you get your corporate buddies to sponsor it?” Grantaire complained.

Enjolras gave him a look. “If I'm going to get my ‘corporate buddies’ to sponsor anything, it's going to be arts programming, not bougie cocktail receptions.”

“Big words from the guy about to go to a corporate-sponsored bougie cocktail reception,” Grantaire said with a smirk.

Enjolras rolled his eyes. “That's different,” he huffed. “They're more or less sponsoring it for themselves. We’re just reaping the fringe benefits.”

“Fringe benefits open to only a select few?” Grantaire asked mildly. “How very capitalistic of you.”

“Take that back or I won't let you come.”

Grantaire gasped and clutched his chest. “How dare you?” he said, though a smile was threatening at the corners of his mouth.

“Carefully,” Enjolras said, hiding his own smile as well. He glanced at Grantaire. “Do you need to change?”

Grantaire glanced down at himself. “Do you want me to change?” he asked, something like doubt in his voice.

Enjolras snorted. “Grantaire, I wouldn't give a damn if you were wearing sweatpants,” he said impatiently. “In fact, given the response we’d get, I’d probably prefer it.”

“You would, you rabble rouser,” Grantaire laughed, before his expression turned abruptly serious. “But I don’t want you to be embarrassed to be seen with me.”

For a moment, Enjolras just stared at him before his own expression softened, just slightly. “It’d take a lot more than that to make me embarrassed to be seen with you,” he said, something gruff in his tone.

“Yeah?” Grantaire said, clearly aiming for casual but not quite getting there.

“Yeah.” Enjolras paused before adding wryly, “Like you getting drunk on top shelf liquor while crashing a conference reception that you aren’t technically supposed to be at.”

Grantaire laughed. “Fair enough, Apollo,” he said easily. “I’ll take that as a word of warning.I’m going to stick to a strict twelve drink maximum.”

Enjolras blinked. “I can’t tell if you’re serious or not.”

Grantaire winked at him. “Good. Now, shall we?”

Enjolras looked at him warily. “I have a bad feeling about this.”

As it turned out, Enjolras’s bad feeling was predominantly unfounded. Sure, Grantaire made a beeline to the bar but returned with two glasses of wine and even took his time sipping his own.

While Enjolras had thoroughly expected him to chug a few drinks and then head back to their room, he was pleasantly surprised that Grantaire stuck around, accompanying Enjolras as he made the rounds and even contributing to the conversation.

The latter part didn’t really surprise Enjolras; he knew that Grantaire was a good conversationalist, better than Enjolras by far, but what did surprise him was that Grantaire didn’t just limit himself to small talk.

“Did Enjolras get a chance to tell you about Les Amis’ workforce development startup partnerships?” he asked one venture capitalist. “We’re trying to match unemployed and underemployed workers with startups and getting them in on the ground floor.”

“Really?” the venture capitalist said, sounding impressed. “That seems like something my firm might potentially want to invest in.”

Grantaire nodded and took a sip of wine. “Exactly my thought,” he said, giving him a wide smile. “Here, I have one of Enjolras’s cards — you should give him a call, it’d be a great opportunity.”

That was only one of many such conversations, and Enjolras found himself looking at Grantaire with newfound appreciation. Not even Combeferre or Courfeyrac could have been a more perfect companion, which was about as high of praise as Enjolras could give.

After an hour or so, Enjolras gestured for Grantaire to follow him to the bar, where they both got another drink before sitting down together. “Tapping out already, Apollo?” Grantaire teased, taking a sip of whiskey.

Enjolras rolled his eyes. “Not quite,” he said, pausing before adding, “You’re good at this.”

Grantaire laughed. “What, echoing your talking points? I’ve heard them often enough, it’s not like it’s difficult to regurgitate at will.”

“I meant caring,” Enjolras said. “You know, that thing that you pretend not to do.” He took a swig of wine. “But having seen you tonight, having seen you at your conference — you can’t tell me that you don’t care. I know better.”

Grantaire’s smile softened and he shook his head. “You make it very hard to not care,” he admitted, draining his drink. “Not impossible, mind you. Just — difficult.”

Enjolras nodded slowly. “Is that why you came to my panel today?” he asked carefully.

Grantaire froze. “You, uh, you saw that?” he said, a flush creeping up his neck.

“I thought I might’ve imagined it,” Enjolras admitted. “I mean, you had your boat tour…”

Grantaire shrugged and let out an awkward laugh. “Well, I figure seeing you school a panel of corporate snobs was a once-in-a-lifetime thing,” he muttered, picking up his glass and looking at it like he wished he hadn’t finished it. “I can see architecture anytime I want.”

Enjolras cocked his head. “I’m pretty sure the opposite is true,” he said.

Grantaire glanced up at him and half-smiled. “Maybe,” he said, his voice low. “But I wouldn’t trade it regardless.”

“Is that so?” Enjolras asked, his voice also pitched low.

Grantaire leaned in, just a little. “Yeah,” he breathed.

Enjolras didn’t know which one of them ended up closing the space between them, but it didn’t matter. His lips met Grantaire’s in a rush as he reached out to ball a fist in Grantaire’s shirt and pull him closer, while Grantaire tangled a hand in Enjolras’s hair, his mouth opening against Enjolras’s with a soft sigh.

Enjolras licked into Grantaire’s mouth with enthusiasm born not just from witnessing Grantaire actually care about something but from years leading up to this moment, years of bickering and fighting and a slow and at times tenuous friendship that somehow always seemed destined to lead to this moment. Enjolras kissed Grantaire with the confidence that this was where he was meant to be all along.

Which is why he was surprised when Grantaire pulled back, eyes wide, cheeks flushed. “We can pretend that didn’t happen,” Grantaire blurted, and Enjolras blinked.

“What, why?” he asked, distracted, and when Grantaire just shook his head, he reached out for Grantaire’s hand. “How about instead of pretending that didn’t happen, we instead do it again?”

Grantaire stared at him. “I mean, if...if you want,” he hedged.

Enjolras smiled. “Well, what I actually want is to go upstairs and take advantage of our hotel room.”

Grantaire’s eyes darkened with want. “Well, then, Apollo,” he murmured, leaning in to press a kiss to the corner of Enjolras’s mouth, “lead the way.”

Enjolras felt content and sated, and he stretched languidly in bed, his eyes fluttering open and smiling when he saw Grantaire lying next to him. “Good morning,” he murmured, leaning in to kiss Grantaire.

To his surprise, Grantaire sat up before he could, running a hand through his riotous mass of curls. “Morning,” he muttered, sliding out of bed and fishing for his boxers off the floor where he had left them the night before.

Enjolras propped himself up on one elbow, feeling his contented mood slipping away. “Problem?” he asked, his voice still scratchy with sleep.

Grantaire shrugged and stood, heading over to the coffeemaker. “No problem,” he said, but Enjolras could see the tension radiating off of him and sat up.

“Sure doesn’t seem like it,” he remarked calmly.

Grantaire sighed, his shoulders slumping. “What do you want me to say, Apollo?” he asked tiredly, turning around and meeting Enjolras’s eyes for the first time. “Last night was amazing. Incredible. The best night of my life. And I don’t…” He shrugged again. “I don’t want it to end.”

Enjolras frowned slightly. “Then come back to bed and it doesn’t have to.”

“Pretty sure that’s not how it works,” Grantaire said with a sigh, and he gave Enjolras a wry attempt at his usual sardonic grin. “We go back home today, which means we go back to things being how they were. And I get that, I really do, I’m just…” He shook his head. “I’m just not ready.”

“Hang on,” Enjolras said slowly, his still-half-asleep brain finally catching up to what Grantaire was saying. “Who says that things have to go back to the way they were?”

Grantaire gave him a look. “The fact that you’re you and I’m me, for starters. Don’t pretend like the me at this conference is going to be sticking around past today, because we both know better.”

Enjolras stared at him. “Are you...trying to break up with me before we even go out on a date?”

Grantaire rolled his eyes so hard it looked almost painful. “I’m trying to stop you from making a mistake,” he said firmly. “Because that’s what this would be, Apollo. You and I…” He trailed off, something wistful in his expression. “It’s never going to work.”

“You sound awfully convinced for a man who claims not to believe in anything,” Enjolras said mildly.

Grantaire scowled at him. “That’s not the point and you know it.”

Enjolras sighed and ran a hand through his hair. “So this is the part of the conversation where you try to convince me that you’re no good for me, I can do better, etcetera, right?”

“Sounds like I don’t have to do much convincing,” Grantaire said mildly, pouring himself and Enjolras both cups of coffee and crossing to the bed to hand Enjolras his.

But while Enjolras reached out and took the cup, he didn’t drink from it, instead frowning at Grantaire. “You really think that, don’t you,” he said, more rhetorically than anything. “You really think that this wouldn’t work.”

“Well, I’ve yet to see any evidence to the contrary.”

“Last night wasn’t enough?” Enjolras shot back.

Grantaire managed a small, crooked smile. “Last night was great,” he said. “But it was also one night in a strange city. It’s not exactly something we can build off of.”

“That’s because you’re looking at it all wrong,” Enjolras told him. “Last night wasn’t the beginning of anything. Last night was just one in a long series of nights together.” He finally took a swig of coffee before setting the mug decisively on the bedside table. “Or are you going to try to tell me that Joly and Bossuet haven’t been trying to convince you that you and I have basically been dating for years?”

Grantaire blinked and opening his mouth to respond, though no words seemed to come out. Enjolras managed a small smile. “Courfeyrac and Combeferre said the same thing,” he said. “I told them they were nuts, of course, but…” He shrugged. “I’m beginning to think they may have a point.”

“Whether or not our terrible friends have a point, that doesn’t change anything,” Grantaire told him. “I’m still a cynical disaster, and you’re still, well, you.”

Enjolras shook his head and squared his shoulders. “Do you not remember what you said in the Hamilton panel?”

Grantaire rolled his eyes. “I said a lot of things, Enj, but none of them were exactly applicable—”

“You said that it wasn’t about the finished product.” Grantaire blinked at him, mouth half-hanging open, though whether with surprise that Enjolras had memorized what he said or confusion that Enjolras was even bothering to argue this in the first place, Enjolras didn’t really know. Either way, he carried on doggedly. “You said that if theatre is truly meant to change the world, we need to stop focusing on the finished product, which is to say, the performance. That’s just one aspect of theatre. The story and the design and getting underrepresented communities involved in the creation of theatre is much more important than focusing on those who can plunk down 200 bucks to see a show on Broadway.”

Grantaire shrugged, his brow furrowed. “Ok,” he said. “Sure. That sounds like something I might’ve said, especially if I was drinking.”

“You weren’t,” Enjolras told him helpfully.

Grantaire ignored him. “But what does that have to do with us?”

“You’re looking at the finished product,” Enjolras told him calmly, reaching out for Grantaire’s hand, drawing him in toward the bed and holding his hand between both of his own. “You’re looking at an ideal version of a relationship where I’m some unattainable product and you’re a disaster only good for screwing up, and that’s not what it’s about at all. A relationship is about both people being willing to work together to create something.” Grantaire shook his head but Enjolras didn’t let him interrupt. “Do you honestly think that I don’t realize that being with you would take a fuckton of work on both our ends? Do you think that I somehow believe our differences and disagreements will just...I don’t know, evaporate, I guess, just because we’re dating? I mean, I know you call me naïve, but I figured you knew me better than that.”

Grantaire shook his head slowly, but he was also smiling, just a little. “Using my words against me?” he complained, even as he let Enjolras pull him back into bed. “That’s a cheap shot.”

“Yeah, but I thought cheap shots were your favorite kind,” Enjolras said with a grin, and Grantaire laughed.

“Touché,” he said, kissing Enjolras. “What time do we have to check out?”

“Eleven,” Enjolras said. “Meaning we’ve got plenty of time.”

Grantaire’s expression softened and he cupped Enjolras’s cheek, tracing his cheekbone with his thumb. “All the time in the world, Apollo,” he murmured, kissing him once more. “All the time in the world.”