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The summer heat was horrid, blazing in a silent, pulsating fury of light. The only sound in the apartment was the repetitive whir of a ceiling fan on its last legs. Its pathetic attempt to make cool air was a valiant but fruitless effort. Ice cream wrappers lay in a heap by the trash can. A conglomerate of water bottles adorned white counters neglected a good clean due to the current tormenting heat wave. Undoubtedly they’d be cleaned once the heat died down. Enjolras was a neat freak. He wouldn’t stand the state of the apartment much longer. Windows were draped with thick blankets, in an attempt to keep away the sun’s rays, helping lower temperatures ever so slightly.
The only other movement came from the man laying on the wood floors, holding a frozen water bottle to his head and staring at the canvas beside him. Grantaire was used to the scent of paint fumes, so he wasn’t bothered a bit, though Enjorlas would complain when he came home. The man had tried to work on his newest piece that day, but the summer was too much to bear. He looked at the temperature. One hundred and twelve degrees. And their cooler was out of commision. Holy fuck. It was unlike any summer he’d experienced before. He compared it to the likes of sitting in the pits of hell. Actually, at this point, Hell sounded much more pleasant. Maybe it would melt his skin too, but it would feel oh so cooler. Befriending a demon could be nice, too. He imagined the demon would be named Phil, and be a portly thing with a big smile, maybe a snaggletooth. Phil was a charming fellow.
Grantaire’s senses all burned, and his chest ached for relief. A headache pounding at his temples accompanied this feeling, ever increasing his suffering. Rolling over and onto his stomach, he laid his face against the cool wood boards of the floor. His paint-splattered tank top rode up his back as he rolled over, exposing the sweating skin to the light whir of the fan. Temporary relief. He relished in it like he often relished in the consumption of cheap wine. As a man may relish in the presence of a woman in his bed. It was euphoric.
“Ahhhhhh....shit,” He mumbled. “I really need to fix that damn A/C..”
The door swung open forcefully the and a disheveled and sweating Enjorlas waddled through, books and laptop held firmly to his chest. His satchel hung loosely, almost seeming to have given up too, as dead as the leather it was made of. The blond’s hair was ripe with sweat, it beaded down his forehead and only seemed to agitate the male further. He despised the heat, could not handle it. His lungs often gave way at any temperature over eighty degrees, one hundred and twelve was far past his limits. Nevertheless, he persisted. He would not shirk work nor school. He worked on his thesis for his political science class all day, tucked away in one corner of the library with twelve red bulls and seething hatred for some tall, grinning douche named Kevin in his class fueling him. Fuck you Kevin, and your Romney bumper sticker and man crush on Trump.
“Welcome home, Apollo.” Grantiare’s voice was muffled by the floor. Hand shooting up in a lazy wave, a smile formed on his floor pressed face. He didn’t have the energy to get up and kiss him like usual.
Enjolras, not dignifying him with a reply, set his materials down and walked to the kitchen, systematically removing layers from his body. First his tie, tossing it aside. Next his red button up, discarding it to the floor. Both were then picked up and tossed in the laundry basket. He banished his shoes and socks next. His pants were betrayed and tossed with the shirt and tie and what was left was his bare pale chest and french flag patterned boxers. Pulling a cold water from the fridge, he downed the sixteen ounces of liquid in a record time of ten seconds. Quite a feat. His body, laced in sweat, was only offered a small reprieve before the heat outmaneuvered his attempts at cooling.
“How is it so. Fucking. hot.” Grantaire emphasized the last three words, ending his sentence with a groan. Skin sticking to the floor as he pulled himself off, he sat up slowly.
“Well, global warming mixing with the fact that it is summer and we didn’t receive enough rainfall over the winter..” Enjorlas started, undoubtedly he would go into a rant about officials denying climate change and destroying the world if he wasn’t stopped by Grantaire. ”You know if politicians would get their heads out of their capitalist loving asses and see that funding oil companies and destroying mass stretches of forest won’t earn them any profit if we all die due to rising temperatures and sea level-” Grantaire cut him off.
“It was rhetorical, Enj.” The black haired man rolled his eyes, looking over at his blond boyfriend. “Don’t go on a rant, again, please. I can only listen to your pretty face speak about politics for so long. I met my quota at our meeting this week when you didn’t shut up for three hours.” He complained. “Why don’t you talk dirty to me, huh? Put that mouth to use.” His lips curled into a sly smirk and Enjorlas deadpanned.
“The patriarchy. Also it stinks like paint in here and it’s not helping. These fumes could kill you.”
Grantaire, disappointed, let out a cry of defeat and fell back onto the floor with a thud. “What a boner killer. You’ll be the death of me!” He looked at the ceiling fan above him, whirring around. It was almost trance worthy. Bless the man who invented ceiling fans. It was the two young men’s only lifeline. Grantaire was no religious man and neither was Enjorlas, but bless him.
Enjorlas dragged his feet to the living room, no hop to his step like usual. He was all out of energy, an unusual thing for the red leader. The heat had officially killed his efforts. With an uncomfortable grunt, the angelic blond sat beside Grantaire.
“Let’s go to the little diner down the street. It’s always practically freezing in there and they have good ice cream and milkshakes.” Stretching, the blond spoke with a slight yawn. He was exhausted and needed relief. No work was getting done now, much to his dismay so he might as well see to cooling off.
“We’ll have to get dressed for that and that means fabric sticking to our skin.” Grantaire groaned loudly, but sat up and peppered his boyfriend with a few kisses to the cheek. “Good idea though, let’s go before I melt.” Replacing his sweat covered tank top with a fresh article of clothing and swapping out his underwear, the French man idly moved around the apartment. Though his body screamed against it, he put on shorts and sandals. Proper shoes were not going to happen.
Enjolras meanwhile traded his previous clothes for a plain red tee-shirt and some jeans. His legs would suffer and he didn’t care. He burned easily and his scrawny chicken legs didn’t need exposure. His bottle of sunscreen was halfway gone already and he got it a few days earlier.
After grabbing wallets, keys, and having a short kiss, the two departed from the hellish apartment and walked out into the open of the sun scorched streets.
The walk was thankfully short, so the two pasty men weren’t exposed to the sun long enough to burn, though they felt as if they were. The cool air of the diner was a welcome change. Immediately upon entering the threshold both let out a sigh of relief. They sat at a booth as close to an air vent as they could get, relieved to be out of the hellish heat and awful sunlight.
It was probably ten minutes until they got the much anticipated ice cream. Enjolras had triple chocolate brownie and Grantaire had mint chocolate chip. The two were left in a comfortable silence for a few moments.
Grantaire eyed the golden beauty of the man sitting across from him, attention stolen from his melted flip-flops. Enjolras looked as composed as ever despite the sweat beading down his forehead. Perfect even in weather that could make the greatest wilt. And of course he fell even more in love with this man every time. Enjolras was everything. The leader of the ABC was the sun, the center of his universe. Without him, he’d perish, however the sun was a dangerous and testing god. The sun was a god with beautiful cheekbones and bright eyes and ….dark bags under his eyes.
“So, Apollo, when was the last time you slept?” Grantaire leaned on the table with his elbows, ice cream forgotten for now.
“Tuesday, probably. But who else is going to keep the debate team, the ABC, and professor Lamarque from crumbling?” The blond shrugged him off without a care. He glanced out the menu and ate his ice cream with a tired expression.
“Okay, good point, but- No no not a good point! Enjolras it’s Friday. You need to sleep. After we leave here, I’m locking up all of your books and laptop.” The shorter man threatened. “If it wasn’t so hot I’d just cuddle you until you slept but right now it doesn’t matter how beautiful you are.”
With an exaggerated sigh, Enjolras set down the menu and looked directly at Grantaire. His mouth twitched with the evidence of a grin trying to be suppressed. “I surrender. Fine. But tomorrow it’s supposed to be cooler and I am going to finish my thesis paper.”
Grantaire grinned with his victory and leaned over, hand taking Enjolras’ as he pecked his lips with usual devotion. “You can’t resist me.”
“Unfortunately.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Nothing. Shut up and eat your ice cream.”
“Enjolras, you’re mean!”
“You’re just soft.”
“Mean.”
“Shut up, Grantaire.”
“I love you.”
“The ice cream is melting.” Enjolras swiped a spoonful of liquidy mint chip with an offended look from his love. “I love you too.”