Work Text:
“Do you have to go in to work tomorrow?” Grantaire mumbles sleepily, draped across Enjolras’ chest. Enjolras hums, and it’s not an answer, not the answer Grantaire is looking for, at least, so Grantaire lifts his head up from Enjolras’ chest to look at him. “Can you not go in tomorrow?”
Enjolras makes a face. It’s a handsome face, Grantaire will grant him that, but it’s Enjolras’ patented But, Work! face.
“Does this mean you can’t stay the night?” Grantaire asks, trying his best not to pout and sigh. His apartment is further away from Enjolras’ office than Enjolras’ apartment is, not by much, but Enjolras is horrible at waking up in the mornings, so he always makes it a point not to stay the night at Grantaire’s apartment if he’s working the next day.
Grantaire tried to fuck him to the point of exhaustion once, but still woke up in the middle of the night to an Enjolras-free bed, and a Went back home, I love you note left behind instead.
“It’s not that I don’t like staying over,” Enjolras says, suddenly serious, propping himself up on his elbows so he can look at Grantaire properly. “You know it’s not that, right?”
Grantaire sighs. “I know,” he says, and he actually does, because the few times Enjolras stayed over, waking up in the morning together was fun, and so was messy morning sex, and making pancakes for breakfast in their underpants. He knows Enjolras doesn’t have a problem staying over, and that the only reason he doesn’t is for convenience’s sake. He’s secure enough in Enjolras’ commitment to their relationship that he doesn’t doubt that at all. “Doesn’t mean I like it when you don’t, though.”
Enjolras bites his lip. “I could stay over tonight, if you wanted me to,” he says, and Grantaire smiles because it’s horribly heartwarming when Enjolras gives in in the name of the greater good that is keeping their relationship strong, but the last time Enjolras had stayed over when he had to go into work the next morning, he had to wake up extra early to account for his trip to go home to change into fresh clothes, and Grantaire knows that he’d been miserable the whole day.
He can't make Enjolras do that again, even if he does want Enjolras to stay over. That would be incredibly selfish. Unless…
“Next time,” Grantaire tells him, and presses his lips to Enjolras’ briefly. “Next time, bring your work clothes over, then you won’t have to go back to your apartment to change. You won’t have to wake up as early, then.”
Enjolras' smile is brilliant. “Next time,” he echoes, and lets out a hum of contentment when Grantaire kisses him again before rolling off him so that he can go back to his apartment.
—
Grantaire's grin goes wide when he sees Enjolras’ overnight bag the next time he comes over to Grantaire’s place.
“Fresh clothes for tomorrow, toothbrush, towel, and the lot. I'm staying the night, and nothing you say can change my mind,” Enjolras tells him, smiling softly, setting the bag down on the ground and wrapping his arms around Grantaire’s waist. “Hi.”
“Hi,” Grantaire says, and it’s stupid how they’re both still stuck in that stage where they can just grin at each other for ages, just happy to be around each other, when they’ve been dating for close to a month now, but Grantaire never wants it to stop, never wants to stop feeling like he’s so ridiculously in love with Enjolras ever.
The next morning, Enjolras’ phone alarm blares loudly, and Grantaire reaches over clumsily to press a kiss to Enjolras’ neck, and doesn’t even feel bothered at getting woken up so early, because when Enjolras gets out of the bed, Grantaire rolls over to his side, and it’s warm and comfortable, and smells like Enjolras. He hears Enjolras start the shower, and briefly goes through the pros and cons in his head before he jumps out of bed and joins Enjolras in the shower.
They end up throwing Enjolras a little off schedule, and he has to rush out of Grantaire’s apartment, but Enjolras is grinning, happy, when he presses his lips to Grantaire’s for a quick peck before he leaves, and really? It’s a great morning, it’s how all mornings should go.
It’s the weekend and he doesn’t have any art classes scheduled for Saturdays, and he decides on doing the laundry, mostly because he got sauce on his favourite green hoodie, and it’s a staple piece of clothing for his everyday wardrobe so he has to make sure it’s relatively clean before they go out for dinner that night. He finds his hoodie on the floor of his bedroom, next to the shirt Enjolras was wearing last night, and oh, Enjolras must’ve been in such a hurry that he didn’t think to take his clothes back.
He throws it in the washing machine together with his clothes, and later, when it’s out from the dryer, he irons it and hangs it up with his own clothes before he realises what he’s doing.
He checks his bathroom — Enjolras’ toothbrush is next to his and Enjolras’ towel is on the towel rack, and the whole thing just makes Grantaire feel warm and tingly everywhere, and that’s when he gets the the idea of Enjolras moving in with him. The thought feels right, even though they’ve only been dating for a little more than a month now, and Grantaire doesn’t really shake the thought out of his head until Enjolras calls and asks if he’s ready for dinner.
—
He blames Joly and Bossuet and the fact that 95% of their movie nights end up with them watching Inception for the fact that he cannot get the idea of Enjolras moving in out of his head. For how Cobb was completely messed up in the head, he was right when he said that once an idea has taken hold of the brain, it’s almost impossible to eradicate.
“How did the both of you decide it was the right time to move in together?” he asks Joly and Bossuet one night.
Bossuet snorts. “We roomed together in college, started dating, and then just never stopped living together. There wasn’t a defining moment.”
“Same with Musichetta,” Joly says with a shrug. “We were staying with her long before we started dating her. We don’t really have experience with asking people to move in with us.” Joly grins. “Are you thinking about moving in with Enjolras?”
“Thinking about asking him to move in,” Grantaire corrects, and then groans. “We’ve only been together six weeks. That’s definitely too soon, right?”
“Doesn’t he already stay over at your place most nights?” Bossuet asks, and at Grantaire’s nod, continues with, “Does he have his own drawer?”
“Drawers,” Grantaire tells him. “I’ve been kicking his clothes under the bed every night after he goes to bed so that he doesn’t have the time to look for them the next morning and leaves them at my place instead. I’m pretty sure he’s got more clothes at my place than I do.”
Joly laughs. “Are you doing his laundry?” he asks, gleeful. “It took Bossuet and I three months before we started doing each other’s laundry. Just ask him to move in. I’m pretty sure he’s not going to say no.”
Grantaire groans and hides his face behind a cushion. “What if he does?” he asks, voice muffled.
Bossuet pats him on the shoulder in a gesture of comfort. “But he’s already sort of moved in, hasn’t he?” he asks, and Grantaire lets the cushion drop from where he’s holding it to his face because oh, oh, why didn’t he think about it? Bossuet is a fucking genius.
“Oh, no, that’s your I’m going to do something fucking stupid face,” Joly says. “Stop whatever it is you’re thinking.”
But it’s not something really fucking stupid; it’s genius.
Enjolras can’t say no to moving in with Grantaire if he has already moved in with him. Grantaire will just have to keep making Enjolras come over, make Enjolras so comfortable and so happy and so at home in his apartment that he’ll never want to leave.
Grantaire can do that. He’s realised that he’s really good at making Enjolras do things Enjolras normally wouldn’t do.
“This is a great plan,” he says, and then presses a loud, wet kiss on both Bossuet and Joly’s cheeks. “Thank you.”
“We want nothing to do with this!” Joly yells after him as he leaves their apartment.
—
“Do you want me to call for takeout?” Enjolras asks, pressing a kiss to the top of Grantaire’s head as he walks by him to go into the kitchen to pour himself a cup of water.
Grantaire shakes his head. “I bought some groceries, thought I would try to cook us dinner tonight.”
“What’s the occasion?” Enjolras asks.
He’s decided that to make Enjolras want to move in with him, he needs to be able to provide Enjolras with something more than just Thai or Chinese takeaway every night. He hasn’t cooked in ages, hadn’t saw the need for all the fuss when he could just get takeaway, but it’s something that he’s good at. No-one’s ever had anything but compliments for the food he makes. He’s going to blow Enjolras away with his amazing culinary skills, and keep luring him back to his apartment with the promise of delicious home-cooked dinners. He can do this.
“Joly thinks we’re killing ourselves with malnutrition,” Grantaire lies, and gets off the couch to go join Enjolras in the kitchen. “He made me swear I would start to cook more.”
“You’ve never cooked dinner for me before,” Enjolras says with a small smile.
“You’re in luck, then. I’m a very good cook,” Grantaire says loftily. “I will make you the best mashed potatoes and lamb stew you’ve ever had.”
Enjolras grins at that. “I’ll hold you to it.”
“You can hold me however you like,” Grantaire says, returning his grin, and laughs when Enjolras catches his hand and tugs him in close. “How’re your kitchen skills? I refuse to be the only one doing all the work.”
“A tiny bit of Combeferre’s soul dies every time he has to eat something I cook,” Enjolras says with a resigned sigh. “But I’ve been told that I am handy with a knife. I could help with the prep, maybe peel potatoes for the mash?”
“If you do well, I’ll even let you help with seasoning the mash,” Grantaire tells him, reaching up to press his lips to Enjolras’. “I don’t just let anyone season my mash.”
Enjolras scrunches his nose. “Is that a euphemism?”
Grantaire laughs and pulls away from Enjolras to root through the fridge for ingredients for their meal. “How would that even work?”
“It’s you,” Enjolras says, working on folding his shirtsleeves up to his elbows. “Everything works as a euphemism for you.”
Grantaire rolls his eyes. “I am not talking to you now in favour of cooking,” he tells Enjolras fondly. “You are too ridiculous to talk to.”
“You love me when I’m ridiculous,” Enjolras says, and he’s grinning when he goes to rinse the potatoes. Grantaire’s heart does a weird flutter.
“I love you, period,” Grantaire says, because Enjolras is his boyfriend and he can afford to be a sap to his boyfriend, and presses a kiss to the back of Enjolras’ neck just because he can.
—
He keeps up with doing Enjolras’ laundry and putting them in Enjolras’ drawers when he’s done folding them, and he never really liked doing his own laundry before, but it’s a lot easier for him now because whenever he sees Enjolras’ clothes all mixed up with his, he has to pause for a moment and grin to himself.
His plan is working great; he stops having to text Enjolras to see if he wants to come over after work for dinner because Enjolras does it automatically now, even stops coming over with overnight bags, and Grantaire is quite sure that Enjolras doesn’t even consciously realise that he’s stopped because all his clothes are now in Grantaire’s apartment.
He has a brief moment of panic where he thinks Enjolras has figured everything out when one Sunday afternoon, when they’re just reading quietly on the couch, Enjolras comments that he hasn’t had to do his own laundry in a really long time because Grantaire is washing all his clothes.
“You hate doing the laundry,” Grantaire says, trying for casual, “and I have more free time than you do.”
Enjolras puts the newspaper away and shuffles closer to Grantaire, hooking his chin over Grantaire’s shoulder when Grantaire leans into his touch. “It just doesn’t seem to be a fair allocation of work.”
Grantaire smiles. “I don’t mind,” he tells Enjolras honestly.
“I do,” Enjolras says, but before Grantaire can say anything, continues with, “I was thinking we could do alternate weeks. You did the laundry this week, I can do it next week. I’ve been taking the trash out this week, next week we can swap.”
Grantaire’s smile grows into a full-fledge grin, and he’s happy that his back is to Enjolras right now, because he’s pretty sure that in a few seconds, he’ll start looking maniacal from grinning so hard. “You’re saying you want a chore wheel,” he says.
“Oh,” Enjolras says. “A chore wheel! That’s a great idea. We should do that.”
“Okay,” Grantaire says happily, and then turns his head so that he can press his lips to Enjolras’ quickly before drawing away. “I’ll get my art stuff out, we’ll make a chore wheel now.”
They stick the chore wheel onto the kitchen wall when they’re done with it, and every time Grantaire sees it, he feels his heart grow three times its size because fuck, you don’t do chores at someone else’s home you’re not staying in, this is the height of domesticity, he and Enjolras are being domestic, this is fantastic.
—
Grantaire doesn’t really start thinking of his plan as a success until one day, when they’re out at brunch with Marius and Cosette.
Enjolras leans in close to him and says, “I had a migraine this morning, and it’s not going away, would you mind if I went home instead?”
“Of course I wouldn’t mind,” Grantaire says, and then frowns. “You idiot, how long have you been in pain?”
“It’s not painful, just really uncomfortable,” Enjolras says, but his grimace tells Grantaire otherwise.
“Are you in pain, Enjolras?” Marius asks from across the table, looking concerned. “Are you alright?”
“It’s just a migraine,” Enjolras tells him, and tries to smile. “I’ll be fine, but I’m going to have to tap out and head home now.”
“I’ll come with,” Grantaire says, and Enjolras turns back to him.
“You don’t have to, you can stay and hang out with Marius and Cosette. I know you’ve all been wanting to catch up for some time now.” He smiles at Grantaire. “And I’ll just be in bed, sleeping it off anyway. You can still cuddle me when you get back home, it’ll still be the same.”
Home.
Enjolras’ said that he was going to head home, and Grantaire had assumed that he meant that he was going to go back to his own apartment, since it was only a few blocks away from the diner they’re at, but Enjolras said home and he meant Grantaire’s apartment.
“I’ll come with,” he repeats firmly, and then turns to Marius and Cosette. “I’m sorry we’re both ditching you.”
Cosette waves off his apology. “Get him home, tuck him in bed, and make him some tea. He’ll feel a lot better after.”
“I’ll go get the check,” Enjolras says, and when Marius starts to protest, Enjolras just rolls his eyes and gets out of his chair. “This one’s on R and me, you can get the next one.”
Grantaire bites down on his urge to fan himself. Enjolras said that brunch was on them even though he’s paying for it on his own, and just, Christ, how does he even begin to process this?
“So, home, huh?” Cosette says as soon as Enjolras is out of hearing range, because of course Cosette is astute enough to pick up on that. “Did Enjolras move in with you?”
Grantaire laughs, and then keeps on laughing, because oh god, Enjolras really did, didn’t he? Grantaire’s plan actually worked. He’s never doubting his own genius again.
They take a cab home (home!) and Grantaire insists on helping Enjolras undress and then push him gently down onto the bed.
“Cosette said to tuck you in bed,” Grantaire says with a grin when Enjolras huffs out an amused laugh. “I’m following her orders, don’t look at me like that.”
“I’m not complaining,” Enjolras says, and shifts around a little so he’s comfortably pressed against Grantaire. “Stay with me?” he asks, eyes already slipping close.
Grantaire presses a kiss to Enjolras’ forehead and slings an arm across his waist. “Of course. Where else could I possibly want to go?”
“I really love you, R. You’re too good to me,” Enjolras mumbles, and Grantaire smiles and rubs soft circles on his back until he falls asleep.
—
Grantaire is nothing but cautious when it comes to declaring his plans a success because he knows that things can get messed up at the very last minutes, and that he is amazing at messing things up even when he tries not to, but then Enjolras calls him one afternoon, just as he’s letting the kids from his art class out, and says, “The landlord wants to know if we’re alright with paying our rent a week early this month.”
Grantaire leans against the wall of the art room and giggles helplessly when he ends the phone call with Enjolras.
Their rent for their home that Enjolras is staying in.
If he pushes off the wall and does a little victory jig, then well, he really does kind of deserve it.