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Enjolras opens his umbrella as soon as they leave the museum. It’s raining heavily, and the time it takes for him to battle with the broken latch is almost enough to soak them both. He sighs in relief when he finally holds it over Grantaire, immediately stepping closer to him on the steps of the museum. The bent umbrella rib is shaking in the strong wind, they get sprayed on their left, but it’s better than nothing.
“You should probably replace it soon,” Grantaire points out. There’s no one around them; everyone seems to have elected to stay inside the museum in hope the rain will let out. Grantaire loosely wraps a hand around Enjolras’ waist.
“I know. I just keep forgetting. Other things on my mind,” Enjolras says with a sheepish shrug.
“I know, I know, the gay agenda is a busy one.” That earns him a half-hearted elbow in the ribs. “Hey! Sorry, I meant that the Avengers’ planner is already full,” Grantaire says, a cheeky grin on his face.
“I was talking about you!” Enjolras protests, jabbing a finger into Grantaire’s chest. His gesture loses some of its impact when Enjolras’ hand unfolds to rest against his shirt, seemingly unable to resist giving Grantaire’s heart a little pat.
Grantaire’s cheeks feel warm, and he splutters; he’s still not used to it — Enjolras’ undivided attention, his unquestionable affection. They’ve been dating for a few months, now, but it’s still odd and widely unbelievable to Grantaire that someone like Enjolras could want him. Enjolras never lets him doubt for long, however, and Grantaire should have known that his earnestness would translate even to his love life.
“Did I just find a way to shut you up when you’re being purposefully contrary?”
“Tss, you love it,” Grantaire says, because he is, indeed, a contrary person.
“I really do.” Enjolras smiles, then beams when that does shut Grantaire up once again. Grantaire would kick himself for handing Enjolras his kryptonite on a silver platter, but he’s feeling a little breathless from Enjolras’ honesty. Enjolras starts again: “Shall we go? I don’t really feel like standing in the rain for hours. Never understood why films try to make it seem romantic.”
“That’s because the straights are dumb. They’ll try to make anything romantic, from sharing a milkshake to abusive bullshit.”
Enjolras snorts, but he schools himself quickly enough. “Come on, don’t make generalities.”
“Okay, okay, but if we ever go get milkshakes, don’t ask me to share mine. I don’t share my milkshakes.”
“Not even a sip?” Enjolras ventures.
“Maybe a sip, but only if I get one of yours in return.”
“Fair’s fair. Can we go, now?”
“Ah yes, sure,” Grantaire says. He easily gets carried away with rambling. “I’ve got stuff to make soup at home, and our dear Musichetta-Bossuet-Joly sandwich are going out on a date, if you want to come over?”
“I’d love to.”
Grantaire releases his grip on Enjolras’ waist, and they get moving. With one hand, Enjolras holds the umbrella; with the other, he squeezes Grantaire’s hand. Grantaire’s brain short-circuits for a second, but cold water sprays from the broken side of the old umbrella and brings him back to reality quickly enough. He holds the rib in place as best as he can, but his whole left side sticks out and he still gets wet.
The broken umbrella has very little to do with it, to be entirely fair. Had it been brand new, it’s likely Grantaire would still be half under the rain. Grantaire is wide . His shoulders are naturally broad, made even broader with muscles, his chest is large, and his stomach just as much, all soft and chubby under the wall of muscles his many active hobbies have gifted him. As a kid, his physique, along with his relatively small head and short stature, earned him the moniker of “seal” by his older brother —never mind that he, much like the rest of Grantaire’s family, is similarly built. The nickname stuck, and even his parents still use it, but it doesn’t bother Grantaire nearly as much anymore, especially not since he found out quite how much Enjolras likes the sight of him.
That is to say, Enjolras’ umbrella isn’t especially small, though its scope has obviously been reduced by age and poor condition, but Grantaire never would have fit entirely underneath, not while standing comfortably by Enjolras’ side. It’s somewhat bearable, at first, but the rain is wild and seems to get even heavier. It’s also getting colder by the minute. His nose feels chilly, and his whole body starts to shiver just as his left shoulder is getting drenched. His hair and ear, too, are dripping, and he has to blink with his left eye to avoid being blinded.
They don’t make it very far before he asks to stop, chilled to the bone, looking like half of a wet dog.
“Sorry, can we stop for a second?” Grantaire asks.
“Of course,” Enjolras says, turning towards him, only dropping Grantaire’s hand to squeeze his biceps. Finally facing him, he realises Grantaire’s predicament. “Shit, you’re soaked already.”
“Yeah, the rain’s cold as fuck, as well.”
“I’m sorry, I didn’t realise.” Enjolras seems embarrassed, but Grantaire is quick to reassure him.
“It’s alright,” Grantaire says. “I wouldn’t have an umbrella at all, if it weren’t for you. Half wet is better than entirely drenched,” he jokes. It’s true, he hasn’t owned an umbrella in years. Only Enjolras is enough of a nerd to have one. Had he not had this date with him today, he would have likely ran under the rain with Bahorel like a fool after their class and changed his sticky, wet clothes once he got home.
Enjolras shakes his head. “I don’t want you to walk in the rain while I’m all dry.”
“Ever the equalitarian. Should we both be half soaked, then? Take turns to be fully under the umbrella while the other is getting an impromptu shower?”
Enjolras clicks his tongue like he does, sometimes, when Grantaire is being gratuitously argumentative at meetings. “Or we could squeeze tightly and walk closer?”
Grantaire’s mouth opens dumbly. Enjolras really is getting good at this, and from his coy little look, it seems he might have guessed it.
“It’s going to be a very tight squeeze. I’m um… large.”
“I know.” Enjolras smirks. Grantaire splutters, and Enjolras’ eyes widen. “Not like that! I mean, yes, that too, but that’s not what I meant! I just like your shoulders and, uh, your whole body.”
Grantaire snorts, though he is every bit as shell shocked as can be expected. “Huh, thanks?”
“You’re welcome,” Enjolras says, before wincing at his own awkwardness. “Alright, let’s squeeze tight.”
Tentatively, Enjolras reaches out, his arm folding around Grantaire’s wet shoulder, slow enough that one might think Enjolras is scared that Grantaire will bolt. Grantaire freezes for a second, unsure; there are people on the street, now, hurrying along to find shelter. Enjolras doesn’t make a secret of his aversion for gratuitous PDA. If prompted, he’s more open and earnest with his feelings than most. When Grantaire is being self-deprecating during a meeting, Enjolras is quick to shoot it down with a “this is wrong, you’re lovely, you’re smart, you’re talented”, or whatever aspect of himself Grantaire might have attacked. Nevertheless, he is not and likely never will be the sort to make out in public, nor indulge in anything much more physically affectionate than hand holding. Physical shows of affection, Grantaire has found out, are something Enjolras is more than generous with —one might even call him ‘cuddly’— but they very much belong to the private sphere.
Enjolras looks at him expectantly. “You said ‘tight squeeze’,” he says, serious.
Grantaire blinks, and when Enjolras’ grip around his shoulder doesn’t loosen, he himself reaches out and wraps his arm around Enjolras’ waist. It isn’t much different than the hold he’d had on the museum’s steps, but this, walking around people, so closely tangled with one another as if scared they might drift apart in a few strides — this feels much more intimate, somehow. This feels like… boyfriend stuff .
“Better?” Enjolras asks after a couple of metres in which they find a pace that fits the both of them.
The rain is still pouring down, attempting to drown Paris whole, but Grantaire doesn’t feel the spray anymore, he can keep his left eye open and his entire right side is feeling so very warm , now. He cannot help smiling. “Much better.”