Work Text:
“What are you doing here?”
“This is kind of my apartment,” Grantaire says slowly, pressing the mute button on the TV remote and looking up.
“It’s Halloween,” Enjolras says expectantly.
“Yes,” Grantaire deadpans. “And?”
“Why are you here?”
“See, I ask myself that a lot, and I end up just spiraling into an existential pit of despair, so –”
“R, no,” Enjolras groans, a hint of fondness in his voice. “Like, why aren’t you out somewhere?”
“Oh!” Grantaire says brightly. “Well, there’s kind of a 24-hour horror movie marathon on, and I haven’t seen most of these since I was a teenager, so why not distract myself from destroying all my progress with the copious amounts of alcohol pervading every party around by reliving the many nights spent alone in my teenage years?”
Enjolras opens his mouth, presumably to say something, and promptly snaps it shut.
“Now, are you going to join me in the movie marathon or not? It’s only five hours in and it’s the best part of Halloween.”
“It is not!” Enjolras exclaims. “Halloween is about way more than horror movies!”
“If you say so, Ange,” Grantaire smirks, letting himself flick his eyes up and down Enjolras where he stands indignant in Grantaire’s apartment door, bag dropped on the ground next to him in his righteous haste to convince Grantaire of Halloween’s many attributes.
He would swear Enjolras blushes.
“Sit down before you get too upset to stand still,” Grantaire offers, his mouth curling as Enjolras sputters, and he pats the empty spot next to him on the couch, fully expecting Enjolras to reject it and deposit himself in the recliner closer to the TV. Instead, Enjolras huffs over and flops onto the cushion, tugging the fluffy throw blanket over his crossed legs as he formulates an argument, lips moving silently, and Grantaire snickers.
8 hours later, he and Enjolras are still sprawled across the couch. They’ve migrated through a series of positions throughout the last few hours, and they’ve ended up with Grantaire perched in the middle of the couch with the majority of the blankets as Enjolras hangs upside down, his hair pooling on the carpet and his face steadily turning redder by the second. The TV’s been paused at some point, and Grantaire is watching Enjolras with amusement. According to Combeferre Enjolras acts drunk when he’s tired, and Grantaire hadn’t believed it until now.
“It’s Halloween, R,” Enjolras drawls, his finger drifting up and tracing through the air. “Halloween is for...Halloween-ish things, and Halloween only happens once – wait, why doesn’t Halloween happen more often? Halloween is pretty flipping cool –”
Grantaire snorts. “Flipping?”
“Shu’up,” Enjolras mumbles, lazily flicking his wrist at Grantaire.
“Are you drunk, E?”
“No, no, I’m just tired –” Enjolras heaves a gaping yawn, heaving himself right-side-up, stretching like a cat and proceeding to drape himself over Grantaire’s lap. Grantaire stiffens underneath him, and Enjolras starts to drag himself up before Grantaire tentatively runs a light hand over his hair and Enjolras practically purrs, flopping back down. “Plus,” Enjolras muses, “I really like Halloween.”
“I swear, Ange, if you say Halloween one more time –”
“You’ll kiss me?” Enjolras says lightly, lifting his head from Grantaire’s lap and letting a whine slip out as he accidentally dislodges Grantaire’s hand from where it was buried in his hair. His hair is mussed and sticking up, the dim light of the TV glinting off of his eyes and his lips parting slightly as his sharp, completely alert gaze flickers across Grantaire’s face. Grantaire feels his jaw working furiously as he scrambles for something to say.
He can’t look away from Enjolras’s mouth; it’s petal-pink and Grantaire feels his own lips part in a tiny gasp as Enjolras’s tongue flicks out to dart across his lips. Grantaire’s eyes flit back up to Enjolras as he feels him tense, and Enjolras clambers off Grantaire’s legs as he starts rambling. “Nevermind, guess I was more tired than I thought,” he laughs nervously, turning and bending to grab his bag, “I’ll just – go, yeah, that’s a good idea – hope you have a good Halloween –”
Grantaire stands up from the couch, still mentally reeling, and curls his hand around Enjolras’s elbow, tugging him up to face him as Enjolras’s head whips around. Enjolras’s eyes are wide and almost desperate, his nose turning a bit red and ears flushing, and Grantaire gives a sigh as he tumbles forward, stretches to his tiptoes, and presses his lips against Enjolras’s.
Enjolras practically gives way against Grantaire, letting out a little moan and winding his hand around the back of Grantaire’s neck as Enjolras threads his fingers through Grantaire’s hair. Grantaire’s floating, drifting out of his own mind, but comes crashing back down as Enjolras gives a small bite to Grantaire’s lower lip and he gasps.
Grantaire slides an arm around Enjolras’s back, drawing him closer, and suddenly finds himself smiling uncontrollably against Enjolras’s mouth. Enjolras tastes like those fancy pumpkin coffees he claims to abhor and he smells like that first breath of fall air where it’s crisp and cutting as it winds its way inside your lungs, and Grantaire runs his fingers across Enjolras’s scratchy-soft red sweater as he pulls back reluctantly.
Enjolras huffs out a tiny sigh when Grantaire leans back, and Grantaire’s eyes run over Enjolras’s face, taking him in. His lips are kiss-swollen, his freckles standing out in sharp relief against the blush spreading across his cheeks, and his eyes are screwed shut, eyelashes quivering. “Enjolras?” Grantaire ventures tentatively. Enjolras’s eyes snap open.
“R,” he breathes, and then he’s twining his arms around Grantaire’s neck and clutching him in a hug. Enjolras gives a shaky laugh, squeezing him a touch too tight, and Grantaire’s filled with relief at the thought that Enjolras was just as nervous as he was.
“E, if I’d known you loved Halloween –” Enjolras leans down and pecks the tip of his nose, and Grantaire blushes “– loved October 31st that much I would’ve dressed up,” Grantaire says dryly as Enjolras pulls back. Enjolras snorts, swatting his arm, and looks at him and just smiles.
Grantaire gasps, a terrifying thought occurring to him. “No matching couple costumes,” he demands gravely.
“No promises,” Enjolras grins.