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- The first time he sends a bouquet, it’s a white bouquet of orange blossom and daisies. Nothing too fancy; the daisies are for hope, because he will always hope - it's perhaps his darkest secret as a pessimist, after the fact that he is irrevocably in love with Enjolras - and the orange blossom is a snide dig at Enjolras’ chastity, because Grantaire is not above that sort of shit, even when he’s trying to be secretive and romantic. And really, if Enjolras will insist on being so pious, then he's asking for at least a bouquet of orange blossom, if not straight up sprigs of Queen Anne's Lace.
Enjolras comes into the meeting that evening and can’t stop sneezing. Grantaire shrugs and figures he’s picked up a cold on the Metro. He doesn’t mention the flowers. Not that Grantaire expected him to, of course. - The next time he sends a bouquet, it’s two weeks later and Enjolras has only just stopped sneezing. Grantaire makes sure to include plenty of peonies for good health, and then brightens the whole thing up with some hydrangeas for perseverance, even though Enjolras only had a cold (although he’d steadfastly refused to miss a single meeting, and Joly had started to look faint every time they breathed the same air).
Enjolras must have the immune system of a Dickensian orphan, because he instantly develops yet another cold.
Grantaire makes a bouquet of different coloured gladiolus flowers for his strength of character. He’s sure he imagines it, but despite the sneezes and watering eyes, Enjolras turns up to the next meeting grinning. - At Christmas, he plays it risky and sends roses (red and white) and holly. It should look ridiculous, but roses are already soft and thorny, and Grantaire thinks that sometimes the things that shouldn’t work together are the things that are the most beautiful. It’s not only the sharpness of the holly sprigs that make it dangerous; it’s the fact that the bouquet literally proclaimed his desire to settle down and build a home with Enjolras, and proceed to have passionate rendezvous on every available surface. Well. He might be reading between the lines a bit, but they’re his lines to read between. No-one else will read them.
And besides, it’s not like Enjolras understands the language of flowers, even if the worst happened and he discovered who’d been sending them. He’d probably just think that Grantaire was crazy (he is) or joking (he mostly isn’t). - Enjolras turns up to the first meeting of the New Year with a sprig of bright yellow nasturtium in his button hole, and Grantaire nearly chokes on his wine. Combeferre frowns, and Enjolras seems inordinately pleased with himself, telling them that he found it on the pavement outside the florist near his apartment. Jehan goes a bit misty-eyed at that, like the father of a prodigal son, and Grantaire has to dig his nails into the palms of his hands to stop himself from bursting into hysterics.
Enjolras is even more patriotic than normal that meeting, even though his eyes are watering the entire time. Grantaire just wants him to take some vitamin C. - Grantaire receives an order for a hundred snapdragons in January, to be delivered in time for Valentine’s Day. He snorts in amusement as he sources them. The person ordering them clearly hasn’t done their research. He sincerely doubts that they’re intending to send their loved one a hundred flowers that mean ‘stop being presumptuous’.
He cuts the stems a little more violently than necessary, allowing himself to hope for just a moment their Valentine’s Day is even worse than his.
Then he feels horribly guilty and throws in fifty tiny bouquets of stephanotis, for good luck. - It’s not often that Grantaire wakes up and wonders if he’s sleep-walked into a parallel universe, and yet that’s exactly what happens on Valentine’s Day, because his workshop is covered in flowers. And yeah, OK, it’s a florist, it’s usually pretty full of them, but this - this is something else. There are garlands of white tulips (forgiveness?), even whiter tuberose (pleasure, although for what, Grantaire has no idea), forget-me-nots and sprigs of lilac strewn liberally about the floor (and Grantaire doesn’t feel the blood rush to his head at the thought of first love, he doesn’t, he doesn’t) - and then Enjolras clears his throat, and he’s standing there amongst this hideous cacophony of forgivenesspleasurefirstloveforgetmenot, and even though he’s just a man in a red coat in a shop full of meanings he is the brightest thing here, all halo and pride, with his hands behind his back.
Grantaire thinks of a thousand things he could say - wouldn’t a yellow chrysanthemum be his best hope? - but if he’s honest with himself, the only thing he can really think to say is - no, he’s got nothing. Just really sweaty palms and the quietest noise he’s ever seen.
And when Enjolras finally takes his hands away from behind his back and shyly presents Grantaire with the single sweet pea flower, there doesn’t really seem to be very much else to do but make good on the roses. - (Enjolras later tells him with a quirked lip that the tulips were to offer forgiveness for the months of hayfever, and Grantaire laughs until he has a stitch in both sides)