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“Okay, so. I've found something more important than your club meeting and you're all going to follow me.”
Grantaire stands triumphantly in the center of their cluster of tables at the Musain, grinning. His cheeks are pink from the cold outside instead of their usual sallow darkness, and his eyes are bright despite the bags beneath them. His camera is slung diagonally across his chest, the lens pointing lazily down. Looking around him like he has a secret he wants desperately to share, he arches a brow and gives a leer in Courfeyrac's direction.
“What's more important than a meeting?” Enjolras' arms have assumed their folded position that Grantaire knows he provokes most days, but today he doesn't care. Grantaire rolls his eyes with a laugh.
“Well, for one, lots of things. But this one starts with a 'C' and ends with an 'E'.”
Courfeyrac perks up. “Cake?”
“Nope.”
“Cookie?”
“Yes, Courf, one enormous cookie,” Grantaire deadpans, pulling a face. “Why is it always food with you?”
Courfeyrac bends his shoulders down, contorting himself and affecting an unrecognizable accent that might somehow be French. “I likes the boys and the girls and the delicious gourmet treats.”
“Grantaire, you're wasting time. What is it, so we can all go back to our work.”
“This hanging out that you call work can be done just as well in a cat cafe as it can here in the Musain.”
“A cat cafe?” Courfeyrac's head whips around comically; Enjolras is surprised it doesn't fly off and go rolling under the table.
“Here?” Jehan looks like he might cry from excitement.
“Wait, what? Cats?” Joly turns fully around in his seat, eyes wide. “I heard the word cats.”
“Well, it's about two miles from here, but yes. Here. It's called the Corinthe. It only just opened a week ago.” Grantaire shrugs, then gestures grandly with his camera, imagining himself an explorer. “I went for a walk today and discovered it in my wandering.”
Courfeyrac is nodding enthusiastically. “Enjolras, he's right. This is more important than work.”
“We can do work there!” Bossuet suggests, trying to head off Enjolras' impatient glower.
“Lead the fucking way, R.” Bahorel is already out of his seat and ready to head for the door. Grantaire considers him for a moment before turning to look at Enjolras, his stance defiant but his eyes a little apprehensive, like he's half-waiting for a blow.
“Is it all right with you, fearless leader?”
Enjolras pulls a face. “I don't think I have much of a choice.”
“Calm down, Enjolras.” Grantaire regains his smirk, waving a hand to encompass all the tables and chairs in the upper part of the Musain. “Your projects will still be here when you get back. And you can always give your speeches to the cats if no one else is paying attention.”
An inhuman squeaking sound turns all of their attention to Courfeyrac, who's practically bouncing in his seat. “Why are we still here, let's go!”
Everyone is out the door and into the street more quickly than Enjolras has ever seen. Apparently cats make people more willing to organize than activism. He momentarily allows himself an internal sulk about this realization, just a few seconds to resent the creatures people seem to love more than people. But Joly is literally jumping up and down and everyone else looks so excited, he can't keep it up.
The day is lovely and clear with only a few fluffy clouds overhead, the kind of crisp cold of fall that's punctuated with piercingly warm sunlight. It's obvious why Grantaire had decided to go for a walk this morning. Everyone else seems content to walk and talk with their faces turned toward the sun, cheeks a little flushed from the light wind nipping them pink. Enjolras watches his friends around him.
Grantaire is up ahead with Bahorel and Courfeyrac, the three of them bumping into each other and laughing. Joly and Bossuet behind him are having some sort of intense law-based conversation with Combeferre that Enjolras is only catching snippets of. He can see out of the corner of his eye as Feuilly and Jehan flit back and forth through the group, plucking flowers from nearby yards to make bouquets together.
Grantaire is monologuing, cigarette bouncing at the corner of his mouth as he gestures with both hands.
“Michel Foucault named his cat 'Insanity' and I think maybe he had a point. You know when cats get the zoomies? When they freak out and stare at nothing on the wall for hours on end? When they bite the absolute shit out of the hand that's petting them? Or walk inside only to want to be let out again? Humans do it too, only internally. Cats do externally what we all wish we could do, they act the way we want to act but can't.” Grantaire pauses only to take a quick draw on his cigarette, speaking without exhaling. Enjolras watches the curls that cascade down Grantaire's back, fascinated by the unceasing flow of words. “Not to mention they straddle the line between domestic and wild, little killing machines that we hug and feed, but really they could just get up and walk outside at any given moment. Their nature ignores confinement, ignores whatever power we might have over them, ignores the panopticon of the world that humans live in. They fly easily under the radar. They watch us probably more than we watch them. Have you ever felt like you were being watched, and you turn around and the cat is on the sofa, staring at you? They do nothing all day but sleep and watch the humans around them. Cats probably have esoteric knowledge. Cats probably know that we couldn't live without them. Edward Lear, you know, he gave his cat Foss a bigger funeral than he himself got, all because he couldn't live without his cat who was his only true companion when he got, as he called it, 'the Morbids'. Goya etched a lynx watching over his sleeping artist plagued by nightmares. Cats know things, and they know they know things, which I think is why they tolerate us picking them up and kissing them and generally acting like they're babies. They think we're the babies. As Hippolyte Taine once said, the wisdom of cats is infinitely superior to the wisdom of philosophers.”
A few steps behind, Enjolras frowns, watching the speech in front of him. Jehan appears at his side, smiling a little, eyebrows raised.
“Enjolras? You okay? You look confused. Like you're trying to work out a puzzle without any clues and not all your senses.”
Enjolras shrugs, bending his head toward Jehan as the poet reaches up to tuck a plucked flower behind his ear. “I've never seen Grantaire like this before. He's so...up. Not like when he argues with me at meetings. He's energetic and stuff.”
“He's been feeling pretty good lately.” Jehan purses his lips thoughtfully. “I think it's rare for him, and he's trying to make the best of it. That's what I do sometimes.”
“How do you know all this? You and he seem like such good friends.”
“We've had two semesters of art history together. Plus his dorm building is next to mine, so we walk to and from class together.” Jehan knuckles his shoulder, digging in so Enjolras flinches away, rubbing at his arm and frowning indignantly. “Things are good for him right now, so be nice.”
“I'm trying. I do like him just fine, you know. If I didn't, I'd make it known. I just don't like the way he challenges me all the time.”
“Enjolras. You know what I mean.”
He can't keep eye-roll from escaping. He's not that much of a hard-ass, is he? “Okay, okay, I won't harp or burst any bubbles or talk too much about work while we're supposed to be having fun. I do listen to Courfeyrac complaining all the time, you know.”
Jehan nods sympathetically and pats him on the shoulder. “You know, I think his arguing is good for you,” he says, before breaking into a trot to catch up with the group and yell “Piggyback!” as a warning just before leaping onto Courfeyrac's back. Enjolras stares after him, surprised and a little put out. How can someone so ornery, so pessimistic, be good for him? Grantaire seems like a lovely person, if sad, when he's not in the meeting, but Grantaire in the Musain is like a sniper of ideas and positive outlooks. Still, the smile that's on Grantaire's face now seems bright and carefree and really, Enjolras has to admit, he is a nice person.
Bossuet and Joly take Jehan's place and they watch the swaying group wobble from side to side before them as Courfeyrac struggles to keep Jehan balanced and Grantaire and Bahorel laugh on either side of them, snapping pictures on their respective camera and phone.
Enjolras can't believe they're walking two whole miles from campus just for a cat cafe, but when he looks around at the excitement on his friends' faces, he can't help but feel a grin coming on himself. He does like cats, always has, at least more than dogs. Dogs are people-pleasers, always willing to follow whatever you tell them to. Cats think for themselves. They'll love you if they want to, but not before.
His own internal monologue on cats is interrupted by a cry of delight as the cat cafe itself comes in view and Courfeyrac drops Jehan to the ground in excitement.
They all pile inside, a bit surprised at the lack of customers, but an employee explains that they wanted to open quietly so that the cats aren't overwhelmed with too many customers all at once. Grantaire immediately feels guilt curving his shoulders inward, but when he opens his mouth to apologize, she's already reassuring him that no, it's not about the size of their group. The cafe just doesn't want such a huge turnover of overly excited customers that their cats get freaked out or burnt out before they can get socialized and the employees can figure out a good working rhythm.
“Makes sense to me,” Combeferre shrugs as they follow the barista to the larger tables tucked into the back of the cafe.
Cats are already lounging about in the room, sprawled on cat trees and pillows or rolling around on the floor. Courfeyrac forgoes the chairs and public decency entirely, plopping himself on the floor and reaching out to let a cat sniff his knuckles. The others sprawl into chairs in much the same way as the cats surrounding them, all grinning and cooing and laughing. Even Enjolras, who, Grantaire notices with a grin, is petting a big black cat as it sniffs his shoulders and neck curiously.
“Grantaire, this place is the best!” Courfeyrac exclaims from his place on the ground, where two cats are inspecting his shoes with interest.
“Don't thank me, thank the people who made it. And then thank the Japanese, who invented cat cafes in the first place. And then thank the ancient Egyptians, who had the good sense to worship cats as little gods, as if they're anything else.” He grins at Enjolras and arches a brow, gesturing to the room at large. “You could add animal welfare to your plate, Enjolras. Start off with the little kitties and butter everyone up with furry friends before you come bursting forth with revolutionary fervor proclaiming that we must protest this and that.”
“You're impossible, Grantaire.” But Enjolras is smiling, and a cat is winding its way round and round his legs, so nearly any authority he might have had is sapped away into nothing.
“True, but I gave you all this.”
“You just said not to thank you,” Courfeyrac reminds him.
“I like being humble and taking all the credit.”
Everyone soon falls back into their own conversations, and Grantaire joins Courfeyrac on the floor as they dangle little feathers on sticks in front of various cats who flit back and forth in front of them, dodging and chasing the colorful prey. He snaps a few photos of tumbling kitties from various angles until he's satisfied with the shots. A cat finds Grantaire's long hair irresistible, batting at the curls that reach past the middle of his back, catching his tangled ends and pulling. He puts the cat on Courfeyrac's lap and sweeps his hair over one shoulder so he can see any potential hair-pullers coming. Similarly, the frayed ends of Jehan's jeans are free game for attacking.
Grantaire finds himself laughing out loud as multiple animals climb Bahorel, who's trying his best to become as tree-like as possible and not knock anyone off any of his limbs. His quiet, barely audible whispers of “Ow, ow, ow, shit” as claws dig into his skin send most of the group into fits of giggles.
“I have a cat like this back home,” Jehan is saying to Feuilly. “Black and white, with a little moustache just like that. His name's Spike. Don't ask me, I was like eight when I named him. He's almost thirteen now.”
Enjolras is still trying to work an actual agenda into this outing.
“But here's the thing,” He's expounding to Combeferre, tapping emphatically on the tabletop, “People are more likely to help shelter animals like these ones here than they are willing to help actual human beings in need. It's like they humanize animals and dehumanize humans. This isn't helping. They're cute and all, but it's like—”
Combeferre slings an arm around Enjolras shoulders. “Enjolras. I know. We've talked about all this before, you know. Look at them, let them have their fun. You already do enough to try and get people to help people. Relax. Live a little. Look at Feuilly! You know he of all people cares so much about the plight of others. But he's still enjoying this.”
Indignant, Enjolras opens his mouth, but catches Jehan's disapproving eye and snaps it shut again. After a moment of watching his friends laugh and the cats roam around from person to person, he's smiling to himself. When a ginger cat jumps up on the table and bumps its head against his chin, he grins and scratches it behind the ears.
At some point they actually do go and get food and drinks from the cafe part of the cafe, but it's all distractedly consumed as they anticipate playing with the cats some more. Someone mentions they've all been animal-starved for ages since pets aren't allowed on campus, and everyone agrees with renewed fervor to try and pack in as much furry cuddling as they can.
Grantaire can feel his grin starting to creak. Unconsciously, he's retreated back into a corner table to watch his friends laughing. It's not terrible; he's still smiling, but the world is starting to flatten out. The blood that's been pumping in his ears is turning into a fog that clouds his brain a little, muddying his good mood.
It's not like he didn't expect it. It's just that he was hoping it would take a little longer than this.
He's having fun. He is. He's been feeling great for a couple days now and taking advantage of it. But now it just feels like the fun is dampened by the knowledge that everything is going to be shit again tomorrow. It feels like all his friends are smiling and laughing and playing with kittens and they're all carefree and he's stuck here with the knowledge looming over him that tomorrow he's going to wake up feeling like he's stuck in tar and his ribs are full of half-numb snow and the world is too much. He knows it's not necessarily true, that everyone else has things they're dealing with, that his friends have their own stresses with school and work and family and things, but it feels like their problems are normal, everyday stresses. It feels like he should have such an easy time, that he should be happy or at least content, but instead he's falling backward into a slump as he watches his friends smiling. He shakes his head and focuses on everyone else's good moods, trying to psych himself out.
Enjolras is looking at him a little oddly, with a strange, ponderous expression, and he ducks his head, pasting a smile on his face through the wad of cotton that has balled itself up in his brain.
A barista comes in to tell them that it's 5:45 and the cafe will be closing in fifteen minutes because it's Sunday. They all chorus out a 'thank you!' and begin wrapping up, saying goodbye to the cats they've now spent hours with and getting in a last round of nuzzles and cuddles and generally high pitched baby-talking.
“This was so great,” Jehan gushes. “Grantaire, you're the best.”
“Seriously! I'm so glad you found this place!” Courfeyrac is smiling hugely, and has attached himself to a grey tabby who is equally attempting to permanently live on his lap.
“Yeah, I really think this was a good idea,” Enjolras adds, sounding genuine. “It's relaxing and nice. I really had fun. Thank you, R.”
“Hey, no problem,” Grantaire ducks his head under the attention, smiling a little. “Seriously. You all would have found it eventually.”
“Yeah but this way, we get the kitties all to ourselves,” Bossuet points out as he straightens his jacket despite a kitten batting at the tie of his hood.
They all thank the staff and leave the biggest tips they can manage as they reluctantly put on coats and say goodbye to the cats. Outside, Joly makes a whining noises and reaches grabby hands towards the window emblazoned with the Corinthe's name.
“Ugh, I just want to take them all home! Or just one! I want one so bad.”
“Joly, where are you going to put a cat in a dorm room?” Bossuet points out. “And anyway, they're not allowed on campus.”
“Fine, I'll wait till we're living off-campus, then I'll get a cat. Or five. But still!”
“Combeferre and I could take it. We live off-campus,” Courfeyrac offers with a slightly scheming look in his eye. Joly pulls a face.
“Courf, I love you, but you'd accidentally kill a cat.”
“Hey! I love cats!”
Combeferre pats him on the shoulder, trying hard to look sympathetic and failing miserably. “He's right, you know. You'd get drunk and accidentally feed it something you weren't supposed to, or lock it in a cupboard or something. You've got good instincts with humans, not animals.”
“I hate you all,” Courfeyrac pouts. “I'm gonna go walk with Bahorel and Feuilly.”
They watch him exaggeratedly speed-walk ahead, catching up to the pair and slinging his arms over their shoulders in an overblown show of friendship. Combeferre shakes his head with a smile.
In a somewhat organized cluster, they begin the two mile trek back to campus. It's like a game of conversational musical chairs with people moving forward and back through the group as different subjects crop up or peter out. Everyone is talking over each other and it's like there was never any interruption to the flow of debate and conversation.
Grantaire ends up in the middle of the group, Jehan quiet and thoughtful beside him. He puts his head down to avoid any eye contact that might provoke that over-used “Are you okay?” question he's so damn tired of hearing.
Realistically, Grantaire knows that being out all day and doing things is going to take a toll. He knows this like it's a fact someone told him once in passing. He knows this like something you would apply to a fictional character or someone you've never met. He knows this, but he still feels like he shouldn't be this tired. He should be stronger than this. It shouldn't be this hard to go out and have fun with his friends, to actually enjoy himself. Realistically, he knows he's going to be exhausted but he still feels like shit when it hits him, because he's not even twenty-four and after a day hanging out with his friends and some cats, he feels like hibernating for at least a week. He was feeling good yesterday, and the day before. He was feeling good this morning. Really good. Why can't he be feeling good now?
Because there's fog in his brain and he just wants to lie down on the sidewalk and go to sleep. Only a quarter of a mile to go before they get back to campus and he can hole up in his dorm and talk to no one and see no one. He plasters a smile he only half-feels on his face. It was fun, all this, but now he's exhausted.
It's a bit like he's watching his friends on mute, or maybe like being somewhere really loud where he can't hear anything distinctly. He can see their smiling faces, and he knows he likes being around them, and he knows the outing was fun and nice and he should be happy, too, but he can't quite connect. He got the moment of happiness and now it's all sliding away from him. He shakes his hair down over his face and grips at his elbows, staring off into middle distance as he walks with his friends around him.
Bossuet and Joly peel off ten minutes from campus. “We've got a date with Musichetta tonight,” Bossuet grins. “We're going over to her's and then going out. See you guys!”
“Thanks for finding that place, Grantaire.” Joly claps him on the shoulder.
He's left with Jehan and Enjolras on either side of him, watching Bahorel and Courfeyrac annoy Feuilly up ahead.
“That was fun,” Jehan says. “You should go for walks more often, maybe you'll find more treasures.”
“Maybe,” Grantaire shrugs. “I dunno.”
“I think it would be good for all of us to do some exploring,” Enjolras suggests. “Maybe we should look up other interesting things to do. Could be fun as a group. Not—not for like, meetings or work or whatever. Just because we're all friends, you know?”
Grantaire's tired brain only slightly notices that Enjolras has just called him a friend. It slides through him and tucks itself away to be properly noticed and ruminated on later. But for now he just nods.
“The student union building has pamphlets and things for that,” Combeferre informs them, turning to walk backwards and talk, “But maybe we'll find less crowded or more interesting places just from exploring ourselves. Suggest it to Bossuet and Joly later, they like wandering around, too.”
Grantaire tries not to sigh in relief as they head across campus towards his dorm building. It's not that he doesn't like hanging out with Les Amis, but he's much more drained than he wants to be.
“This is where I leave you,” he announces as they draw closer to his building.
“You don't want to get dinner?” Feuilly asks.
“Nah, I'm good. I'm kinda tired, and I'm not hungry yet. I might grab something later to bring back and eat here.”
“Well, see you later then.”
“Thanks again, man.” Bahorel claps him on the shoulder, and Jehan yanks him into a hug before they all wave goodbye and head toward the dining hall.
Grantaire drags himself inside and upstairs to his room, flopping down on the bed fully dressed and clumsily toeing his shoes off. He lies there for a long time without moving.
Behind a layer of cotton, the world throbs slightly, then settles. Grantaire rubs at his eyes and wraps his duvet around his shoulders, setting his laptop on his knees. He just needs something stupid and mindless for a while; he knows he won't be able to sleep yet, but his brain just needs to check out and recoup from all the socializing. He surfs Youtube for a few hours, coasting. When his empty stomach makes itself known noisily, he brings food from the dining hall back to his room and lays in bed, picking at his dinner and watching mindless bullshit.
He's kind of okay with this. The coasting. The not-spiraling, the not-freaking out, the not-empty-but-not-full. He's been feeling pretty good lately, and even after expending all his social energy, he doesn't feel like dying. The world is flattened out and exhausted, but other times that's made him fall down a pit, to stare numbly at the wall and claw at his arms to feel fucking anything. Now he's tired, but he can still think, and he's hungry, and he doesn't feel like crying, and tomorrow he might be worse but right now he's okay.
Sleep comes late but he staves off spiralling with the distraction of the internet. Turning up his music and pulling up Wikipedia, he settles himself down. If he just inundates his senses with things he can consume with little effort, he can ignore the little thoughts that are trying to eat away at him. He falls asleep in front of his computer, eyes fluttering closed while surfing Wikipedia despite the music blaring in his ears.
It's one-thirty in the afternoon when Grantaire wakes up, feeling sluggish but not bad, and starving. As he stumbles into some sweatpants and a paint-stained Green Day shirt, he takes stock. He's tired and feels a little like he's mentally listing to one side, but he can get out of bed, and he's hungry, and he's glad he took his friends on that little adventure yesterday because he thinks maybe he could do it again. Not any time soon, he decides, since it's probably better to go back to coasting this new plateau of feeling sort of good and being able to get things done and not feeling like absolute shit. But maybe sometime in the future.
The dining hall has cleared of the majority of the lunch rush, so Grantaire is able to get food fairly quickly, which he quietly checks off as another good thing, despite his exhaustion and sleeping in. Coasting.
“Grantaire, come sit with us,” Jehan waves at him from his seat with Enjolras and Courfeyrac just a little ways away as he wanders through the sea of tables. He edges his chair to one side as Grantaire steals one from another table and joins the group. “Good morning, how're you doing?”
Enjoras laughs. “Morning? Jehan, it's almost two in the afternoon.”
“And I just woke up, so he's right.”
“You've still got sleep lines on your cheek. And really, how are you doing?”
“Oh.” Grantaire scrubs at his face with a sleeve and shrugs. “Eh, I think I kind of burnt myself out yesterday walking all morning and then at the Corinthe and stuff. I'm tired but I don't feel as bad as I expected, so that's nice. Um. Yeah. How are you guys?”
“We're good. Courfeyrac's been regaling us with the lecture he had in his English class this morning about actual government conspiracies. He's going to become one of those woo-woo freaks that put tin foil on their heads and think everyone's out to get them.”
“Everyone is out to get us,” Enjolras intones, and it seems like he's only half-joking, so Courfeyrac rolls his eyes.
“It's interesting. Like, the stuff he told us about in class is all older, like from the sixties and eighties and shit, but it's real, it's been proven true, which is crazy. Imagine the sort of things the government can get up to now, with the internet and tighter security and photoshop and stuff. It's wild!”
Grantaire half-zones out, letting the conversation between his friends wash over him. At some point, Jehan uncaps a sharpie and pulls Grantaire's hand over to him on the table, starting a swirling doodle that works its way toward his elbow. Without even stopping his excited monologue, Courfeyrac offers him a cheesy breadstick, grinning when he takes it and nearly melts in pleasure when the cheesy is all melty and soft. Even Enjolras looks at him with a sort of gentle smile, a warm streak of sunlight to bask in. It feels nice, even though it's not as amazing and happy feeling as yesterday, it's still good. He's tired, but these people are here for him to sit with and distract himself with and be with, and he's got good food, and Jehan is drawing on him, and for once he's not so terribly worried about when it will start all going downhill again.