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Enjolras’s phone buzzed in his hand and it took him a moment to answer it, because he was actually shaking with how excited he was to be receiving this call, the call for which he had waited three months (and six days, and nine hours and thirty-two minutes, not that anyone’s counting – not that he counted). Still, as he juggled the bouquet of flowers and the homemade sign under one arm to answer his phone with his now-free hand, he was positively ecstatic at the familiar name, and his voice when he spoke was breathy. “Hey.”
“Hey,” Grantaire responded easily. “My plane landed and I’m at baggage claim.”
Frowning, Enjolras looked around, because he was at baggage claim, where he had been for the better part of an hour, waiting for Grantaire. “Where are you? I don’t see you.”
After a beat, Grantaire replied patiently, “I’m standing in front of baggage claim at Midway, waiting for you. Speaking of, where are you?”
Enjolras felt his stomach turn to ice. “I’m standing in front of baggage claim at O’Hare, waiting for you. Why are you at Midway?” he asked, stupidly. “Your flight came in to O’Hare.”
“Um no, my flight came in to Midway,” Grantaire said, way too calm for Enjolras’s liking, since at the moment his heart felt like it was about to beat out of his chest.
“Your flight was an international flight,” Enjolras pointed out, feeling more defensive than he probably needed to, his death grip on the bouquet probably crushing the flowers that Jehan had painstakingly helped him pick out. “Midway doesn’t have flights to Rome.”
“Dude, are you really trying to argue with me over where I am?” Grantaire sounded more amused than anything, the smile evident in his voice. “It was a connecting flight through Philly. Which you should know, since you were the one who booked it.”
Enjolras thought he might pass out and die. Actually, dying might be preferable to what he felt right now. “I’m the world’s worst boyfriend,” he said hollowly, sinking down on to one of the hard plastic chairs. “I had it all planned out. I made a sign. I bought you flowers. I was going to do the stereotypical run towards you and sweep you off your feet and pull you into a giant hug and a kiss that lasted for a solid two minutes—”
“Your faith in my lung capacity is appreciated,” Grantaire snorted.
“Seriously,” Enjolras said, almost close to tears at having fucked this up, and royally. “It was supposed to be amazing. I’ve waited so long to see you…”
Grantaire sounded concerned. “Hey, it’s ok. Really. It’s not your fault.”
Enjolras just snorted, running a hand across his face. “I’m pretty sure it is.”
“No, it’s really not,” Grantaire said, sounding…strangely guilty. “Because you’re not the worst boyfriend ever. I am.”
Enjolras froze. “What do you mean?” he asked, his voice sharp.
“Just know that it was all Courfeyrac’s idea,” said Grantaire nervously. “And, uh, turn around.”
Enjolras stood and turned, almost in slow motion, his heart torn between racing and coming to a dead stop when he saw Grantaire standing there, grinning nervously at him, backpack thrown over one shoulder, looking tan and gorgeous and everything that Enjolras had pictured in the moment. The moment that was now ruined beyond all recognition.
Which is exactly why he marched over to him and punched him in the shoulder. Hard. “You are a complete fucking asshole,” he informed Grantaire, not even looking apologetic at the way Grantaire winced and rubbed his shoulder.
“It seemed like a good idea at the time,” mumbled Grantaire, trying to look shamefaced, but a smile threatened at the corners of his mouth.
That was all it took for Enjolras to grab him by the front of his hoodie. “A complete. Fucking. Asshole,” he informed him again before dragging him closer and kissing him soundly.
Grantaire laughed against his lips and slid his arms around Enjolras. “I’m sorry,” he said, completely insincerely.
“No you’re not,” said Enjolras, not pulling away, his lips ghosting against Grantaire’s. “You’re not sorry in the slightest. And I honestly don’t even give a damn because I missed you that much.”
Grantaire’s arms tightened around Enjolras. “I missed you, too,” he whispered, raising a hand to run it through Enjolras’s hair, kissing him again, deeply.
Enjolras closed his eyes and just let Grantaire hold him for a moment, let himself revel in the feel of Grantaire so close next to him, a feeling that he had missed desperately over the past three months. Then Enjolras kissed him, once more, and laced their fingers together, tugging him towards the exit. “Let’s go home,” he told him.
As they were heading towards the car, Enjolras asked casually, “So you said that was Courf’s idea?”
"Yeah," said Grantaire cautiously. "Whatever you’re planning, I want no part of."
Enjolras raised an eyebrow at him. “After that stunt, you’re helping me get revenge on Courf. And you’re going to let me do whatever the hell I want to with you in bed as soon as we get home.”
Grantaire chuckled. “I would have let you do that anyway.” He bit his lip. “I am sorry.”
"No, you’re still not," Enjolras said, though he leaned in and kissed him. "But Courfeyrac is going to be."
Laughing, Grantaire kissed him again. “I love you when you’re angry and plotting revenge.”
Enjolras squeezed his hand. “I love you all the time,” he said, honestly, “but most of all I love you when you’re right here, next to me.”