Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Enjolras is seated at his parents' kitchen table on his computer when he receives a seemingly innocent text from Grantaire. His dad is currently washing dishes at the sink, and his mom paces around on the phone with her employee. She's rubbing wrinkles into her forehead and sighing with exasperation; it's like she's only seconds away from ripping her curls from her head, but he isn't really processing what she's saying. 

Instead, he pauses his music and opens the message from Grantaire.

Grantaire:

Hey

What's up??

A grin pulls the corners of Enjolras' lips, but he tries to hide it in hopes of avoiding speculation from his parents. Talking to the other always puts him in a better mood, even when he hasn't been upset in the first place. 

Enjolras

nothing really! i'm just 

What is he doing? What will make him seem most interesting?

changing the world

(writing an essay)

Grantaire:

We graduated high school months ago

What are you writing essays for?

Enjolras:

for fun

Oh, he is such a fucking loser. Who writes essays after they've graduated? Nobody, that's who. Now he's ruined any chances of Grantaire wanting to remain friends because all he does is write essays on social issues and really, what even does an essay-

Before he knocks his head on the oak table, his phone buzzes again.

Grantaire:

Sounds neat. 

You wanna hang out?

Enjolras thinks of Grantaire. Him and his- his distaste for academia. The way his lip curls in disgust at the thought of higher education. His hands clenching around a paint brush in the art class that they shared before graduation. Grantaire, who doesn't have any solid set of beliefs. Grantaire, lying in his bed as the sun sets with his black curls splayed across his pillow, hoping that Enjolras will hang out with him. Him. 

And he can't think of a reason to say no. His parents are busy anyways, and it isn't like they'll say no. 

Enjolras:

am i staying the night?

Grantaire:

Fuck yeah!!

Enjolras:

be there in 5!!!!

Grantaire only lives two streets away, so Enjolras doesn't worry about his car keys when he's packing a duffel bag of essentials. (Red fuzzy pajamas, slippers, face wash, toothbrush, and the silver necklace his grandmother gave him before she passed. For good luck.)

"I'm staying at Grantaire's," Enjolras shouts as he makes his way downstairs, ignoring the glare he receives from his mom who's still debating whatever it is business people debate about. It isn't his thing. 

His parents have never actually met Grantaire. It isn't like he's hiding him, but to put it simply, Grantaire is...

A lot. And Enjolras likes a lot. His parents, however, are the complete opposite. His unending tirades on justice have all been promptly ignored by them in favor of kinder tasks than listening to their son, like getting wine drunk before his graduation or making a charcuterie board. His parents would see Grantaire as some insolent boy with no aspirations instead of what Enjolras sees. An artist with a beautiful future and beautiful skills and beautiful paintings and beautiful-

Point is, he doesn't want his parents to meet him. 

(And maybe, a small part of him wants to keep Grantaire a secret of his. Something only he can have. Maybe.)

"Bye," he shouts, and locks the door behind him. His mother ignores him and his father, from his spot on the couch, gives him a small and distant wave. It's awkward, but he's used to it. 

And then he's alone, outside, with the chill of the evening air blanketing him. The sun is beginning to sink over the other houses surrounding, and he follows the winding sidewalk to the end of his street as he avoids the cracks methodically. Golden leaves crunch beneath his feet, and he turns the corner until he's in a different part of the neighborhood. Not necessarily the rich area, but not a poor area. He's almost at Grantaire's.

There's only on home with the porch light on, and it's blinking, on, off, on, before it fizzes out. It's Grantaire's, and just as the bulb dims the door opens his head pops out of the front door. With no worry about anybody else, the brunette shouts for Enjolras from his porch with a hint of enthusiasm. He turns on his phone flashlight so he doesn't trip over any sticks or stones and completely embarrass himself.

"Coming in?" Grantaire asks, in that cursed voice that always sounds just on the right side of flirty. 

Enjolras nods an affirmative and thanks him. "Thanks, man. Um, where are your parents?"

It feels like an awkward question, but maybe Enjolras is just tense. That's it. Instead of being offended or having any adverse reaction, Grantaire just grins his pretty, toothy smile that always makes the world seem like a better place. "Dad's working. Not sure where mom is, I can't be assed to think about it," the brunette pauses before he divulges anything too personal. "Want anything to drink? Juice, water, beer?"

"Juice, juice is good. Beer is nasty."

"Nasty, but it gets the job done," Grantaire jokes, taking out two small bottles of orange juice and handing one over to the blonde. The label reads extra pulp and oh, Enjolras loves pulp in his orange juice. 

“Thank you,” he says, smiling over the rim of the bottle.

“No problem. Wanna go to my room?” Grantaire asks as if Enjolras isn’t beginning to thirst over him. Which is good, Enjolras supposes, that he hasn’t caught on. But still. Potentially sharing a bed with Grantaire?

Enjolras finishes the rest of his juice and smiles at Grantaire. “Sure!” 

He seems certain and he knows that, but the truth is, he’s not. But Grantaire is leading him out of the kitchen, past the living room, and down the hall and into his bedroom. It might be the only carpeted room in the house, but there isn’t any problem with it, so he doesn’t point it out. 

Grantaire’s bedroom, though he’s been inside before, is always a shock to see. There’s none of the same cynicism reflected in his daily behavior. There’s art on the walls, both prints and his own creations, and shelves upon shelves of books. Classics, niche biographies, philosophy, young adult, almost everything except for a bible. His TV and Xbox sit lonely in a corner of the room, almost untouched by anybody.

“So, why did you get an Xbox?”

Grantaire frowns, and reclines onto his bed. “Are you one of those guys who have flamewars over Xbox or PlayStation?”

“No, no. You just never use it, is all,” Enjolras responds. He flops onto the bed beside Grantaire on his stomach and leans on his elbows. 

“Oh, I just don’t care for it. I was thinking of giving it to Eponine’s little brother, but it was a gift to me. So I don’t know,” he admits, shaking his head. “I don’t really care for games.”

“Games can be fun.”

“Get up,” Grantaire says, slapping Enjolras on the back playfully before he hops off the bed. “I’m taking you out.”

The slap didn’t hurt, but Enjolras wishes that his hand could have stayed just a moment longer. “Where are we going?” he asks, startled at the sudden change of plans.

“I’m taking you out. Well, unless you aren’t up for it. Are you?”

He thinks of his parents. They always want to know where he is and who he’s with, and always end up extremely dramatic if he doesn’t give them constant updates on his every movement. It irks him to no end, but... he's eighteen. They can go a little bit without an update. And besides, it isn't like they'll know. So he nods an affirmative and takes the hand Grantaire offers to help him off the bed. It's warm and calloused from years of skilled painting, and he doesn't want to let go, but drops it anyways and smiles at the other.

"Yeah," he confirms ever so eloquently.

And Grantaire, looking as gorgeous as ever, tugs on a pullover and beckons for Enjolras to follow him out the door. 

"Wanna get something to eat?"

Enjolras shakes his head. "I already ate dinner."

"I didn't ask if you already ate. I'm asking if you want to eat something else."

Enjolras' face warms, but before he can say anything Grantaire pulls into the driveway of the local bakery that their friend, Jehan works at. Distantly he realizes that he left his wallet at Grantaire's place, and says, "wait."

"What?"

"I forgot my wallet."

Grantaire shoots him a look that asks, seriously? And Enjolras feels a little exposed because of it. "I'm buying. I invited you."

"Oh," the blonde says blankly. "Thank you."

External Enjolras is the picture of calm and collected, if not a bit awkward. Internal Enjolras is freaking out and screaming because wow, he can pretend that he's on a date with Grantaire! Maybe it seems stupid, but the romantic idealist in him loves the idea of being taken on a cute date and paid for, and that's what matters. Even if it technically isn't a date, and they're just hanging out.

A man can dream.

"No problem," Grantaire says, and they both get out of the car. Enjolras opens the front door of the bakery for Grantaire, and the shorter man smiles at him gratefully which is all he needs.

Jehan is wiping down the display case alone, but looks up from the spill they're dealing with at the ringing of the bell hanging over the door. "Enjolras! Grantaire! What's up?" 

The three all make small talk at the counter while Enjolras orders their coffees and a raspberry muffin for himself, and excuse themselves to a table in a corner to allow Jehan to finish straightening up. Or more like they adamantly dismiss Enjolras and Grantaire with a knowledgable sparkle in their eye.

"I'd like to leave here someday," Grantaire admits as he steals a piece of Enjolras' muffin with a cheeky grin.

"Me too."

Leaving their run down, small town of less than six thousand people seems more like a distant dream at this point. Enjolras isn't even working, but he's taking a gap year, but he can't bring himself to just load up his car and leave like he dreams. He tells himself that he's just waiting for the catalyst, for the emotional neglect from his parents finally taking him to his breaking point, but he knows it won't happen. His patience is too strong for that. He is still waiting. The clock is ticking. Tic, toc, tic. 

"I don't think there's anything for me here."

Enjolras takes a small sip from his iced coffee. "Mm. There's too much in the world to be confined to this town for the rest of my life."

"Why haven't you left?" Grantaire's hair is tied back into a low ponytail with a few stray curls are framing his face, and his pretty green eyes are curious. Enjolras shakes his head.

"I've never found the right time."

It isn't a complete lie. 

"Is there ever a right time to leave? You shouldn't think so much. If you wait for the right opportunity, you're going to be lying in your grave when it comes," Grantaire says with a hint of sarcasm. It's obvious he's truly been putting thought into it, and Enjolras can't help but admire that, as much as he doesn't want the other man to leave.

"You've been planning to leave?" Enjolras asks, trying to mask the sinking feeling at the thought of Grantaire leaving him alone here. Yes, he's got other friends, but none of them are Grantaire. 

"No, no, not planning. You can't plan these things. It takes away all the adventure of it."

"Adventure?" 

He can't be serious. He only wants to leave for the adventure of it all? That can't be it. There's always an underlying reason for needing something, for acting on things. It can't be as superficial as that.

Grantaire, as if he can sense the disappointment radiating from Enjolras, frowns and drinks his coffee. "Not only that, of course, but that's an important part of it. Think, Enj. Have you ever enjoyed yourself here outside of the parties Courf throws every time they get decent grades on their report card?"

No, he hasn't. Courfeyrac is notorious for throwing ragers for every little life event of his. When he first started dating Combeferre. When he passed all of his final exams successfully. When he received his late grandfather's old pocket watch from the 40's. That aside, there isn't anything he's loved doing in his life here. He feels resigned to a life of mediocrity in a town full of too old, too rich people, and he does find comfort in knowing that Grantaire feels the same way.

"...No. I haven't," he whispers, finding a dirty spot on the ground much more interesting.

"There's more to life than what your parents want."

"I know. At this point, I don't even know what they want. We don't really talk."

Grantaire is confused at the statement. "But you live with them?"

Enjolras runs back on his words and clarifies, "As in, we coexist. They're basically roommates by now. I think they want me gone."

It's true. The only time Enjolras ever sees his parents is at dinner, and his parents are silent like they know something he doesn't if they aren't trying to talk on the phone with other business people in the area. There are no conversations, even lackadaisical. As he gets older, they grow quieter. Enjolras, who hasn't grown jaded, grows more frustrated with their behavior. Sometimes it feels more like he's the parent.

"I understand. Um, are you tired?"

He wants to kiss Grantaire so bad. Yes, they're having an intimate conversation about their personal lives and goals but Grantaire looks so damn kissable and it hurts. It's getting late and yes, he's a little tired, so he blames his unfriendly thoughts on the bags beneath his eyes and not the way the brunette's lips curve around every word he speaks. He yawns. "A little bit."

"Come on, then. You can go out to the car, I'm gonna buy a box of donuts for later," Grantaire says as he tucks a hair behind his ear. Enjolras wishes he could do that for him. "Want me to get anything else?"

"You should definitely get two more raspberry muffins. They're delicious," Enjolras says, decidedly not feeling bad about basically telling Grantaire how to spend his money.

Grantaire smiles at him and nods, then hands the keys to Enjolras with utmost care. The jingle of them startles Jehan, who was falling asleep at the cash register with their head in their hand. 

It's still a little cold out, but the heat from the old, black car is strong and warms his cold nose almost immediately. He sinks into the seat like it's his own bed, and shuts his eyes. He isn't sure how long he sleeps, but the feeling of Grantaire's arm brushing against his as he sets the box of donuts in the back seat wakes him slowly.

"Hi," Enjolras dreamily greets, eyes still shut.

"Morning, sunshine," Grantaire replies, backing them out of the parking lot with his arm on the back of Enjolras' headrest. He's heard Cosette gush about the sex appeal of Eponine or Marius backing up the car, and he's never really understood her until now. The sight should be illegal and Grantaire should be tried for treason. And then the nickname. It was said in jest, but still!

His heart is never going to be still. This crush of his will drive him into the ground before he can ever recover from it.

"Not morning," Enjolras supplies, sitting straight in his seat and watching out the window as white lights pass by in a blur. He does this for a few minutes, trying his hardest not to doze off. "How long was I asleep?"

"Not even ten minutes. Does coffee do shit for you?" Grantaire asks, quirking an eyebrow as he stares at the road.

"No, but it tastes good," Enjolras admits. It's true. He only drinks coffee for the sweetness, instead opting for an actual energy drink when he hasn't slept for two days because he's so caught up in his passions. It can't be healthy, but it doesn't happen too often. "I like sweets."

Grantaire chuckles at that. "Your teeth are gonna fall out by the time you're thirty."

"No! I don't eat them that much."

Grantaire clearly doesn't believe that, until Enjolras tells him the only time there's sweet food in the house is whenever Jehan or Courfeyrac bring him something they baked in their free time. The two are interesting in the sense that every Saturday, they spend the night together and bake from seven PM to seven AM. 

"I don't get how 'Ferre, Bahorel and Feuilly deal with them."

"Endless patience, I suppose," Enjolras adds, cringing at the thought of spending twelve hours standing in a hot kitchen with machines constantly running. The output is nice though, and he always ends up with something good at his doorstep every Sunday morning.

As they discuss the best sweets that the two menaces have gifted them weekly (black forest cake for Grantaire and raspberry Danishes for Enjolras), the man on the driver's side pulls the car into his driveway, leaning forward to make sure he doesn't hit their garage door. Enjolras learned awhile back that he doesn't give a shit about what happens to the garage, but he does care about what happens to his car. Which, makes sense. 

"You wanna just go to sleep?" Grantaire asks, grabbing the donuts from the back seat and getting out of the car. 

Enjolras denies it, as heavy as his eyes feel. "Let's watch a movie. You have Netflix?"

"We are not watching Pride and Prejudice again."

"Pleeease?"

Enjolras gets his way. 

As Mr. Darcy rambles on about Elizabeth's inferior birth and whatnot, and they almost kiss Enjolras is leaning on Grantaire's shoulder, which is still covered in the fluffy hoodie he'd worn earlier. They're both sporting stomachaches because of the donuts, and the couch is a little uncomfortable, but Enjolras is close to Grantaire which cancels out everything else. He can't even focus on the movie.

It makes him miserable, how much Grantaire distracts him from reality. For at least five hours of his day, the man occupies his mind at no charge whatsoever. How fair is it, where he's always thinking about the warmth of his affection, or how his arms flex when he invites Enjolras over while he's working on his car, or the little notebooks of poetry that he allows Enjolras to look through, while he probably doesn't affect Grantaire's focus at all? 

They argue, of course. Everybody does. And though they're good friends, what if Grantaire doesn't like his stubbornness and blind faith that always shows during these scuffles? It sucks. But he knows he'd go anywhere Grantaire went if he could. This is his last thought before he falls asleep with powdered sugar on his cheeks, rubbing off on Grantaire's black hoodie.

"Enj?"

"Mm?"

"You awake?"

"Mmno."

He snuggles in closer to Grantaire until he feels arms lifting him off the couch, which is just pleasantly surprising. Not life changing, or anything. Not at all. "Let's get you to bed," the other man whispers, allowing Enjolras to wrap his legs around his waist like he weighs nothing. 

Grantaire's arms are warm and he wants to remain in them forever. This, of course, is impossible, and the brunette groans as he sets Enjolras on his queen sized bed and tucks him in beneath the comforter.

"G'night, 'Taire."

"Goodnight, Enj."

Enjolras wakes at around six AM to heavy shouting coming from the halls, and it sounds like Grantaire is yelling at another man who is passionately screaming back. It's most likely his father, who he's never met before. It's not at all comforting to be awoken by any loud noises, and he's a little worried about what will ensue if he leaves the bed.

A loud bang on the wall startles him, though, and he climbs out despite his nerves and shoves his hands in the pockets of his sweatpants. He's sure there's a hole in the wall.

"It's not my fault you don't know how to pay your fucking rent!" Grantaire shouts.

The man responds, "Maybe if you helped pay it!"

"You've had this problem since I was a kid! We're always moving from place to place because you can't manage your goddamn money. I'm not sure how we haven't been put on a rental blacklist because of you. You've never even been able to take care of your own fucking son."

Enjolras stands awkwardly still, and heavy footsteps approach the bedroom. Grantaire slams the door open clutching his fist tight, and unaware that the blonde was awake, flushes at the sight of him standing in the middle of his clean bedroom. "Um. Hey."

"Hey. You... you okay?" Enjolras asks.

"Yeah. God, this is embarrassing. How much of that did you hear?" 

He's running around his room, clearly frazzled as he searches for something, which Enjolras isn't sure of until the brunette pulls three black duffel bags out of his closet and throws them on his bed. 

"Well... I know your dad's not paying the rent. And that one of you guys punched the wall."

"That was me," Grantaire sighs, and Enjolras takes note of the scratches and bruises all over his left hand. He holds it in his own and feels immensely guilty that he didn't do anything to stop them, to intervene. He just stood there like a fool and listened. 

"I'm sorry."

"For what?"

"Not doing anything," Enjolras says with a frown. He wants to kiss every white mark, every scar that lines Grantaire's warm hands. They're so red. But he doesn't, because he's too afraid.

Grantaire shakes his head and forces his hand out of Enjolras' grasp with a pained look on his face. "Not your fault. It would've happened even if you weren't here. Glad you were, actually."

"Really?" Enjolras wonders, hopeful.

"Really."

"Come and stay at my house," he blurts out. "My parents won't care. It's a big place."

Digging through his dresser, Grantaire says a clipped no. "I was just gonna stay at a hotel or something."

"Why would you do that when I have three guest bedrooms?"

"No, Enjolras. I'm leaving. After I drop you off, I'm driving the hell away and never coming back. I can't stay here," Grantaire says with a pleading look in his eyes. Drop it, they say, and Enjolras does. 

Grantaire is leaving.

They were just talking about it last night, but Enjolras didn't expect it so soon. It seemed so far away. He feels like a little boy, thinking, I don't want you to go, but he can't help it. There is no world without Grantaire, and he's known it ever since they met a few years ago as sophomores. They were only fifteen and sixteen, and now, even without much time having gone by, he's devastated. He doesn't even feel it until it starts, but he's crying like a baby because he can't stand the thought of his crush of many months and one of his best friends leaving him.

"Enjolras? You okay? Oh, shit-" Grantaire turns away from his dresser and takes Enjolras in his arms, and it doesn't make everything okay, but it is a bit better. He's warm, and a bit shorter and muscular and he loves being held by Grantaire. He's decided that this is the best feeling in the world. Sniffling into his neck with his arms around his waist. Name something better, he'll wait.

But he can't stop crying. He feels so selfish.

"I'm gonna miss you," he sobs.

"I have to leave."

"I know." Enjolras clings tighter to Grantaire's t-shirt and unabashedly wipes his nose on it. "Let me help you pack."

"You don't have to do that."

"Technically, no." But it'll give me more time with you before you leave. "But I feel like it."

After about an hour of throwing different clothes into Grantaire's bags, they're finished and have large water bottles in hand, watching cat videos on Enjolras' phone. Of course, Enjolras isn't paying attention. Grantaire is too cute in his ragged t-shirt and sweatpants to ignore! It's also difficult to focus on anything, because he's still stuck on the fact that the other man is leaving town.

He tightens his hold on Grantaire's arm in a subtle way in some feeble attempt to find comfort.

It doesn't work.

"Let's invite the guys over to my place tonight. A going away party. I doubt my parents will be home."

"Celebrating the fact that you're finally getting rid of me?" Grantaire smirks, handing Enjolras his phone. 

"No, no. Just... so you can see everyone one last time. In case you never come back." He doesn't mean for it to sound so soft. Fragile. Enjolras doesn't like seeming vulnerable, even to his friends. This is only something Courfeyrac has seen.

Grantaire giggles. "You make it sound like I'm dying."

"It feels like you are."

"Text Courf. Tell 'em to bring drinks.

"No alcohol," Enjolras chides. "Are you gonna leave after?"

Grantaire plays with the string of his sweatpants and it seems almost nervous. Enjolras can feel the tension in the air, thick enough to cut with a knife. He wants to hold Grantaire, tell him he cares for him, and save him from everything. Nobody should have to deal with what he has, and he feels so inadequate for being unable to do anything about it. 

"Yeah," Grantaire says, crossing his arms as if he's trying to hug himself, and Enjolras tries to ignore the ache in his heart. It's hard to will himself not to cry again.

"I'll text everyone, then."

bad goat alert

scary leaderman

guys!!!

come to my place tonight i'm hosting a going away party

coof

WHAT WHO'S GOING AWAY

ENJORALS????

hairbrush

Who's leaving?

oh phooey

Deets

scary leaderman

it's a long story but grantaire

it's not my place to explain

i'm sure he will at my place anyways.

coof

did u get hired to work on a prank show

are we being punked

john quinones???? what would i do

jeans

He's leaving?

It's so sudden.

scary leaderman

you aren't being punked why would i lie about this

i know it's sudden but he's set on it

so just come over later

please

hairbrush

Does 7 work?

coof

holy shit

yes 7 works :/

i'll bring soda

jeans

7 works.

oh phooey

Yep

booboo

yep yep 7 works

scary leaderman

okay great i'm gonna help him finish packing

The only one who knows how far his feelings for Grantaire reach is Courfeyrac, who he's known since they were kindergartners. It was almost natural when he discovered it, only a day after he'd realized it four months ago, a month before they graduated.

("Do you like Grantaire?"

"No, why?"

"Instead of arguing with him at lunch, you sat at the table and stared at him the entire time."

"Go bother Jehan about their three-way relationship! It's probably more interesting."

"You do!")

He knows at the house, he's going to be pulled aside and lectured about how he needs to confess his feelings so that he doesn't wallow in misery or whatever dramatics Courf chooses to use at the time. Just thinking about it makes him miserable. There aren't many things he's afraid of, but being open about his feelings to anyone but Courfeyrac and Combeferre is at the top of the list. He shivers.

"Well, everyone should get there around seven. Do you want to leave soon?" Enjolras asks.

"Hell yes."

"Do you have toiletries and all that?"

"Yes, Enj. I've got everything. Worried about me?" Grantaire asks, fluffing Enjolras' blond hair.

"Yes, I'm worried about you. Going off to God knows where alone."

"You never go halfway, do you?"

The words are fond unlike anything Enjolras has ever heard in another's voice. It's the voice of a sinner seeking redemption. He's right. He never does go halfway, and he especially can't now. "I don't. And I won't stop now," he says.

"God. This is the last time I'm gonna sit in this room. Fuckin' weird." Grantaire looks around and takes it all in. There isn't much of anything, no extravagance like Enjolras' own. It's gray walls, a dresser, bed, and the closet. The window is open and dust is floating in the sunbeams that flood the room which shine on the left side of Grantaire's face. Even if Enjolras wasn't totally in-like with him, he'd think that this is one of his most beautiful moments.

He's like a painting. It's a shame that he's the artist.

"I mean, it's only been my room for three months, but... still. I'm leaving it."

"I'd give that whole you don't have to do this spiel. But I'm not going to, because you do, 'Aire," Enjolras says. 

"I know. I know. Thank you."

"For what?"

"Not trying to discourage me. Any of the other guys would have tried to convince me otherwise. Will try. I appreciate it more than you'll ever know," Grantaire says with a smile. 

Enjolras nods. "I'm trying my best to be rational. You aren't going to be happy here, and I'd like you to be even if it means leaving."

When they've run out of words and the air is still dusty, Grantaire hums an almost-familiar song, something he's heard in piano classes before but never put a name to. Enjolras leans in closer until he's using the other man's arm as a pillow and his free hand is scratching at the blonde's scalp like his parents did when he was still a child, still theirs. He could fall asleep like this if he weren't so on edge.

"Tired?"

"No," he lies. 

"Do you wanna get going to your place a bit early? We can get something to eat on the way there."

Enjolras wants to stay where they are and never let go. Grantaire's hands belong on him and he's warm, and he doesn't want to feel cold when they leave. But still, they have priorities. "Let's just finish the donuts when we're there."

"You need to eat real food, come on. I'll take you to get breakfast."

Grantaire pays again, despite Enjolras' insistence on at least splitting the tab. He has access to the money his parents allow him and more and knows that; why can't Enjolras pay for anything? "You should be more selfish," he says, cutting into his runny eggs with the tines of his fork. Grantaire sits across the booth with a stack of three pancakes, chewing quietly.

He swallows. "Only if you start being less selfless." 

"I just wanted to buy for once. You're... going away. Might as well not make you spend all your money."

Grantaire kicks at Enjolras' feet beneath the table as if that makes no sense to him. Enjolras kicks back mirthfully. 

"I won't be worried about it until it happens. I've saved more than anybody else even knows. I'm not helpless, Enj," the curly haired brunette sighs, resting his head on his hands and staring. He's visibly nervous. His hands are trembling and his breaths are shakier than a back road. "Just worried about what the guys will say."

"They'll understand-"

"What if they don't, though? They don't know about the situation. They'll think it's unreasonable, or something."

"They're smarter than that, 'Aire. You know it. Of all the things you should be stressed over, that's probably the bottom of the list," Enjolras says, and finishes the last bite of his egg. He watches the way Grantaire almost relaxes, takes a bite of his pancakes, and bangs his head on the table like he's rethinking everything he's done in his life up until now. He knows making friends was never in Grantaire's plan, much less them becoming the only people he cared about, so it's obviously going to be difficult. Enjolras understands, slightly.

He'll miss seeing the way Grantaire's green eyes light up when he sketches at the park near Enjolras' house, and the way they'll argue and argue with each other until Bahorel and Combeferre tell them to shut up, or even just the way the shorter man's hair sticks up and around the place after he wakes up. He never even got to tell him how he feels. It's an extremely underwhelming time.

It's silent as Grantaire finishes up his food, handing the sausage links to Enjolras before they leave, who finishes them gratefully. 

Grantaire debates pulling the roof of the car down before being hit with a chilly gust of wind and deciding, no, and starts the car. Enjolras crosses his legs in the passenger side and turns on the radio, skimming through channels of shitty honkey tonk country and pop music before finding, of course, a folk music station. It's so Enjolras, and he clearly enjoys the music, so he says nothing as the man sings along to the staticky music beside him.

Enjolras doesn't feel the loving side eyes that Grantaire shoots at him, doesn't feel much of anything except for a strange aching from somewhere deep inside him.

Courfeyrac busts through Enjolras' front door at 6:47 PM, dragging along Combeferre, Jehan, Bahorel, everyone, really, and in typical Courfeyrac fashion throws himself into Grantaire's arms dramatically. Or not, depending on who you ask. All the others look a little sheepish since it isn't seven, but Enjolras feels much more comfortable knowing they're all together. They almost feel unbreaking.

Feuilly has two boxes of soda in his hands, Coke and Fanta, for the people who don't like dark soda. (Jehan, Courfeyrac, and Enjolras. Picky assholes.)

Courfeyrac's van is parked outside, and Enjolras leads everybody to the living room so they can situate themselves on the couch. It normally wouldn't fit all nine of them, but Jehan is seated in Bahorel's lap and Eponine is seated on the furthermost left arm of it. It's so strange to be all together for a change; ever since graduation, they haven't seen much of each other. 

"So, what's the deal?" Eponine starts, breaking the silence between them. "We need details, 'Aire."

"Can I finish my soda?" Grantaire jokes, or makes the attempt. It comes out clipped and forceful, and the can isn't even opened. 

"It's his dad," Enjolras starts, shutting his mouth as soon as the words come out. Grantaire shoves him with his free hand and scowls. "Sorry."

Out of the group, Eponine is going to be the most sympathetic. Her own parents aren't the greatest, but Enjolras can still see how much the idea of Grantaire leaving is affecting her. Grantaire is the only one that she's able to relate to on a personal level. Even Marius and Cosette, her partners, don't know the extent of it.

"Yeah," Grantaire begins and shoots Enjolras a sharp stare. "I can't- I can't handle my dad anymore. I can't stay here. It isn't going to be good for me if I do."

And the sinking feeling returns, and it must be clear, because Courfeyrac pulls him out of the room silently once Grantaire tries to change the subject and onto the front porch. The concrete is a little cold on his socked feet. "What?" Enjolras asks, voice cracking like he's a thirteen year old again.

"What the fuck are you doing?" Courfeyrac asks, tossing his hands in the air.

"What do you mean?"

The shorter frowns. "You haven't told him how you feel!"

"Does it fucking matter?" Enjolras asks with a whisper-shout. 

Courfeyrac shakes the other by his shoulders. "Enjolras! You looked fucking miserable in there. If I wasn't so upset, I'd laugh at you! You need to tell him before he leaves. You're not some superhuman. You're going to regret it no matter what you try to say."

Enjolras shoves him off harshly, but breathes a small apology to the shorter man. Courfeyrac nods, though still visibly disgruntled and shaking at the blonde's inability to communicate. 

"He's leaving, Courf," he says, defeated. "It's pointless."

As soon as the tears begin to pool in Enjolras' eyes, Courfeyrac whines a tiny no, no, and drags him into a crushing hug that says to him, you can cry. So he does cry; silent, broken sobs that rack his whole body, make his hands shake against Courfeyrac's back and tighten in the shirt on his back. "It isn't pointless, babe," Courfeyrac mutters, rubbing circles into Enjolras' back to ground him. 

"He doesn't even feel the same," Enjolras sniffles.

Courfeyrac chuckles. "Okay, sure."

"What the hell does that mean?"

"Nothing, nothing." He pats Enjoras' head softly, scratching at his scalp in a successful attempt at comfort until his eyes light up with the uniquely Courfeyrac look that usually entails a horribly bad idea. 

"What?" Enjolras asks.

"Go with him."

"Wha- Courf! I have a crush on him. We're not like, Patroclus and Achilles, or something. I'll live."

Enjolras vehemently denies it, but it isn't horrible. In fact, he's genuinely considering it. Just for a second. Courfeyrac perks up like a dog, reading Enjolras like an open book, because everybody can. It's horrible. "You're considering it!"

"You're being unrealistic!" He doesn't pin on the and so am I that's left unsaid.

"Oh my God, whatever, E! Just... stop looking like a kicked puppy. I'm going back in."

Courfeyrac slams the door of Enjolras' house in his own face, and he jerks at the banging of it against the frame. Inside, a few people ask what's wrong but there isn't a response from him, which Enjolras is thankful for. He never loses his composure around anybody. Why does he have to be so dramatic over a guy he only met a fews back? It isn't like they'll be in each others' lives forever.

Enjolras sure can dream, though. That's who he is. The dreamer. The idealist. The one who needs to be weighed down lest he fly away from the surface of the Earth. He doesn't even know if Grantaire will let him join.

But he doesn't want to be the only single friend. That's something he and Grantaire always had in common. When there was a boyfriend (or girlfriend, on Grantaire's side), it would fizzle out within weeks and they both came to the conclusion that dating was pointless. Grantaire once told Enjolras it was too much effort. Too much wondering about what type of chocolate they like, if they prefer pink or red roses, what their parents think about their child's boyfriend.

Well, at least if it were Enjolras, he wouldn't have to worry about chocolate. He loves all chocolate, but he'll pass on pink roses. He prefers red.

A lot of time passes on that lonesome porch in the cold. That's all Enjolras knows because his phone is inside and so is Grantaire, so. No, thank you. Not now. A lot of time passes, and he's told how much when said man steps out onto the porch with a vanilla Pirouline in his hand stolen from the pantry. "Helped yourself?"

"Yeah. Uhm, I wanted to ask..."

Enjolras' heart pauses. "What?"

"Are you okay?"

"You know what's wrong," Enjolras sighs, rubbing his temples. Grantaire takes a bite of the wafer stick. "Stop- stop acting like you don't. You do."

"Look. I didn't know it would bother you, anyone, this much. God, Baz has already tried convincing me to stay! You think this is easy?"

Taking a step back from Grantaire, Enjolras frowns gently. "I never said it'd be easy, 'Aire. You're putting words in my mouth."

The shorter man is clearly struggling with the whole situation. His eyes dart in a back-forth sort of way between Enjolras and the hedges in front of the porch while he bites his lip raw. Enjolras wishes that were him. Grantaire shifts uncomfortably on his feet, but moves a little closer to Enjolras.

"It's getting late, Enj. I guess I should..."

"Stay a little longer. Please," he begs, grabbing him by the wrist until he comes to his own senses, and flinches away like Grantaire is a hot iron. "It's only eight."

Grantaire caves. "Until nine."

"Until nine. Then, I'll... I'll let you be on your way. Promise. Let's go inside before we start fighting," Enjolras quips, nudging Grantaire's firm shoulder in a completely shitty attempt to forget that he's not going to be seeing him for a long time. It just reminds him even more. 

Grantaire holds open the door and bounds in behind Enjolras, who throws a smile on his face, even though everyone knows just how fake it is. Jehan is judging him from their spot sprawled across Bahorel and Feuilly's laps with an unsatisfied look playing across their features. The three all look like dissatisfied parents and the tension in the room is thicker than Grantaire's arm muscles in the summertime. God, Grantaire's muscles in the summertime...

"Shall we all play a game?" Courfeyrac shouts, breaking through the small conversations occurring.

"Truth or dare!" Jehan and Bahorel reply in unison, throughly silencing anyone with a different opinion. Feuilly clears his throat and nods.

They all gather in a circle with childish giggles, like they're seven and someone's mom is going to yell at them to shut up if they make a peep. Enjolras, in his good eighteen years of life, has never played truth or dare, much less with everybody around him. Love Shack by the B-52's plays from the tinny speakers of someone's phone and Courfeyrac spins an empty Pepsi bottle to determine the first people to go.

Grantaire sits leaning into Enjolras with an ice cold water bottle in front of him dripping condensation. 

Jehan asks, "Truth or dare?" to a tired looking Combeferre.

"Truth," he says, drawing groans from the entire circle.

"Boring!" Courfeyrac says.

"Okay, whatever. Alright. Besides Courf, have you ever kissed anyone in this room?"

Instead of seeming jealous, the boyfriend in question seems interested and a little flushed. Combeferre avoids eye contact with everybody save for Feuilly, and the whole room is promptly reduced to excited screams especially from Courfeyrac, who shakes Combeferre and begs for details. 

The next few questions and dares are served in the same fashion. Some exciting secret is revealed, and so far Enjolras has learned that Bahorel and Jehan have a thing for getting it on in public, Eponine once shoplifted a box of cereal bars, and a few more things he never cared to know but definitely interest him. And then it's all on him, and he isn't a boring bitch, so he picks dare which may be the worst decision of his life.

Bahorel, being Bahorel, says, "Okay. I dare you to sit on Grantaire's lap for the rest of the game."

And again, he isn't a boring bitch, so he nods with defiance and an air of completely false confidence as he scooches onto the other's thighs. Deep down, though, his stomach is twisting and wow, Grantaire is so muscular and warm and he can't help but wrap those arms around his waist. Grantaire looks up at him with a goofy smile that's enthusiastically returned. Enjolras doesn't pay any mind to the hollers from everybody; Grantaire's seafoam eyes are too pretty.

"Is this okay?" Enjolras asks.

"Obviously," Grantaire supplies, holding Enjolras tight like there's a space reserved specifically for him. There's a hand resting on his stomach, and he spends the entire game wishing it would move a little lower, just a little.

On Grantaire's first turn, he chooses a dare. Enjolras fist bumps him for his bravery, but he just knows it's going to involve him because Courfeyrac is asking the question and Courfeyrac is... himself. 

"Okay, Grantaire. I dare you to... kiss Enj. Just on the cheek, because our boy's a lip kiss virgin."

"Courf!"

"What?" 

"Shut the fuck up!"

Grantaire frowns, but puts his lips by Enjolras' ear and whispers, "If you're actually uncomfortable, tell me."

The words said so warmly make Enjolras shiver, but he shakes his head, because Grantaire's lips on his skin? Sign him the fuck up. He just hopes he doesn't look as dumb as he feels, especially now that Grantaire knows he's never kissed anyone. His mouth drops open a little bit when the older kisses him, and it's just on the cheek, but his lips are so soft on him and he wants so much more than that.

Maybe he's struck a little dumb, so what?

"Next!" Joly shouts, having stripped down to his underwear at the request of Cosette's dare. Grantaire asks the fated question to Cosette, "Truth or dare?"

And the air clears after that. By the time thirty minutes have passed, Enjolras recognizes that he could get out of Grantaire's lap without anybody noticing. They're all too busy rolling on the floor and eating horrible snacks, but there's something comforting about being there. He's not going to leave him until he absolutely has to, even if he's completely exhausted. It's been a long day.

"I'm tired," Enjolras sighs into Grantaire's neck. He smells like the forest, but not the tacky Old Spice type. Like it's artisan and uniquely him. 

"Want me to get you to bed?" Grantaire asks, rubbing up and down the back of Enjolras' old t-shirt.

"No," the blonde says, clinging to him, infantile. "Stay."

"Enj. I have to go."

The words have the room going silent. Courfeyrac looks up from his place on Combeferre's chest, Joly and Bossuet sigh, and Grantaire looks at the roof instead of any of his friends. He doesn't want to see their faces, doesn't want to see them, can't handle it. All the past few years, all ending like this. It was going to hurt. It was going to hurt. Still, he didn't anticipate how much it would.

Enjolras is unable to say the same. It's so different when it's reality, though. He doesn't want to lose Grantaire.

"I'm coming with you," he blurts.

"Enjolras, what the fuck?" Grantaire asks, tugging the younger off his feet, and out to the dimly lit patio out back despite the questions from the people around them. Now that they're alone, though, Enjolras has nothing to say. 

"What?" he asks.

"Why did you say that?"

"Because... I want to leave, too."

Grantaire laughs incredulously. "Enjolras. You haven't put any thought into this. I have no problem with it, but is it really what you want? With me?"

"Yes, Grantaire! You know that this is what I want. Unless you actually don't want me with you, let me come. Let's do this thing." Enjolras' stomach twists as Grantaire contemplates what exactly this would mean for their friendship. It isn't fun being cramped in a car with somebody, and it probably won't be easy, but it'll be worth it. They can worry about the regrets later on.

"Okay," Grantaire starts, resolute. "Pack your bags, tell everyone goodbye and leave a note for your parents."

Chapter Text

Grantaire probably thinks Enjolras a madman, and he accepts it. 

"Can't believe you're fucking doing this," Grantaire says out the window while Enjolras throws his last bag into the trunk of the convertible.

"Me neither," Enjolras replies with a terse smile as he hops into the car, slamming the door a little too loud. "Oh, I brought like, five bottles of wine from the cellar, but only for when we stop. Figured you'd like that."

Enjolras knows he stinks of privilege when he mentions his wine cellar, but the smile Grantaire gives is completely worth it. "Sure your parents'll be okay with that?"

"They won't notice a thing," he says, inclining over the center console. "Alright. Let's get out of here before I start having second thoughts."

"You brought all your medicines?"

"Yes, 'Aire." 

All their friends wave from the porch, but Courfeyrac is smiling with one hand over his chest despite how skeptical he was while helping Enjolras pack.

("I think you're completely mad for this, Enj," Courfeyrac sighs.

Enjolras throws a pair of slacks into his suitcase. "I know. Don't make me rethink it.")

"Wallet?"

Enjolras slaps the pocket of his jeans.

"Left the note on your bed? In clear sight?"

"You know, this is oddly reminiscient of the time a certain someone told me not to worry about them."

"Shut up, you know I'm only looking out," Grantaire chides and ruffles Enjolras' hair before moving to pull out of the driveway. Enjolras' car sits empty next to Grantaire's, red matte finish glowing under the light above the garage door. They're leaving. He isn't sure how long they'll be gone, but he has no doubt in his mind that this is what the two need. He loves their friends, of course, but they get it. If they were in the same position with the same chances to be taken, they'd do it too.

Of course, he and Grantaire are the only ones with issues as deeprooted as theirs.

It's comforting to know that they share that, though. It makes him feel like there could potentially be more to this than his blind idealism and Grantaire's unending faith in him.

He looks back on his too-large house while Grantaire takes them away; they'd cleaned up before they left and distantly he can see everyone walking to their own cars. Courfeyrac with Combeferre, Jehan and Bahorel to Feuilly's, and Joly and Bossuet to their own. It leaves him feeling a little empty, but Grantaire pipes up before he can get too far inside his own head.

"I'm gonna warn you now, Enj, this is not gonna be all good, happy times."

"I know." Grantaire looks pretty beneath the luminescent white street lights.

"Have you even slept in a car before?"

"Well, no... but I've read books," Enjolras says, before realizing that books are wildly different.

Grantaire swears. "Fuck. You're in for a rude awakening, then."

"I'll be fine," Enjolras sighs with a quick roll of his eyes. "I'm capable of taking care of myself, and I'm sure sleeping in here isn't bad. The seats are comfortable."

Still, though, he feels doubts. Now, if he does something he regrets, there's no way to avoid Grantaire. No friend's house he can escape to to rant about how pretty his seafoam green eyes are. It's just them, the car, and everything they have packed inside. "Okay. You are definitely going to suffer."

"I'm not! Stop saying that."

Grantaire smirks, and they're leaving the neighborhood Enjolras has known his whole life. He expected it to have been more momentous, more tears, but he doesn't feel much of anything except for excitement. The wind is cool as it blows into his face pulling a laugh out of him, but Grantaire his his own tied back so that he doesn't crash into anything. It's late and they're both tired, but he imagines that they'll drive for at least an hour before they stop.

"So, do we know where we're headed?" Enjolras asks, kicking his feet out the window and slumping in the seat, stretching to look up at Grantaire.

"So long as it's decent, wherever the road takes us, Apollo."

The first time Grantaire stops, he pulls to the side of the empty, dark highway. Enjolras, who has never been on a roadtrip before, naturally sits up with panic alight in his eyes, regrettably awake from his dozing. "What's wrong? Is the car- is it-"

"Relax, Enj. I'm just putting the roof up." Grantaire says, shivering as he steps out of the car and to the back, where the top is folded and swaying gently. Enjolras straddles his seat as he watches the process, and totally doesn't stare when Grantaire's shirt lifts while he reaches over the top of the car. The temperature change is drastic, and Enjolras never even knew how cold it was until now. 

"Need a blanket?" Grantaire asks, and Enjolras didn't even notice that he grabbed one from the trunk, but that doesn't mean he appreciates it any less. It's thrown at his face and pulls at his hair. He tugs it off and lays it over his shoulders. 

"Thanks."

"'Course, man. Should we stop at a hotel at the next exit?"

Enjolras rubs at his neck and pulls his feet off the seat. His entire back hurts and he grunts, pulling a guffaw out of Grantaire. "Yeah. I'll pay for it, just tell me where."

"Nowhere special. Just a Motel 6, or something."

"...Motel 6?"

A car whizzes past them at probably ninety miles an hour. "You don't know what a Motel 6 is, do you? Oh my God, that's so classist," Grantaire chides, a small smile betraying his words. "It's where you stay on like, your grandma's funeral, or a relative's wedding. A budget motel, basically."

Enjolras blanches, worried that he actually was being classist and oh, what if he actually did offend Grantaire? He knows it isn't his fault how he was raised, but he's trying to unlearn everything and Jesus, he's only eighteen and Grantaire is a really good person-

"Enjolras."

Grantaire is such a good person, and he's letting Enjolras run away with him, but what is he running away from? He's only doing this because of some stupid, childish crush, while Grantaire has an actual, valid reason. All Enjolras is doing is disobeying his parents, who don't really care whether he's gone or not. What is all this for? Grantaire is selfless, as much as he wants to deny it, and Enjolras has left all of their friends behind for the meager hopes that someday, it'll all be worth something. 

He can't breathe, his throat constricting, and they're almost at the exit that leads to the closest motel, but they're pulling back to the side of the road and there's a warm body on his, holding, holding him as he struggles to regain himself. He's so confident until it comes to Grantaire. He doesn't know if he can do this. Grantaire's since moved the center console up and the arms that wrap around his waist from the side try so hard to ground him.

Enjolras, shaking, cold, buries his face into the stubble on Grantaire's neck. A hand rests on his neck and he shivers, not from the cold but the comfort. He isn't sure how it comes so naturally to the older.

"Need anything?" Grantaire wonders.

"No, just. Stay," Enjolras whispers, and clings tighter. 

"Okay. Okay. You'll be okay."

It doesn't subside for another five minutes. He never imagined that Grantaire would have to see him like this, though he supposes it was only a matter of time. It's hard to push it to the back of his head.

"Thank you," he says.

"Of course, Enj. Listen, if... if you want to go back, it isn't too late."

The hand is still on his neck, rubbing into the tense knots there. They're the hands of angels. He's probably going to die tonight, and it hurts but it feels so good.

"No. I mean, I'll be fine. You don't have to worry that much."

Grantaire slides back into the passenger seat and slowly takes his hand away from Enjolras, who curses everything that it wasn't there just a moment longer. "Just let me know, okay?"

Enjolras nods, hiding his red face in his hands, and slumps in his seat as they leave the highway.

"I'm sorry about earlier," Enjolras says as he scans the keycard inside their door. His phone buzzes in the pocket of his pants, probably a text from Courfeyrac or Combeferre. Grantaire steps inside first, throwing the bag he holds on top of the bed. 

The bed.

As in, one bed.

Which, Grantaire doesn't seem to have too much of a problem with, if the way he flops onto the queen mattress without any grace or preamble. And Enjolras wouldn't either, if he wouldn't have given his entire left leg just to kiss the other boy. And if Grantaire didn't sleep without a shirt.

"There's one bed."

"Yep, small motel, not that much of a selection. I bet everyone here's either trucking or-"

Before Grantaire can finish his rhyme, they're interrupted by a raucous moan from the other side of the drywall. "Nice," Grantaire whispers with a shake of his head. "Uhm, wanna order food in here? They have menus. Not any of your fancy, like, Bellagio shit, but it works."

"It's not my-"

"I know, I know, you can't control the class you were born into, blah blah, read the Communist Manifesto for fun. Remember, your superlative was Most Likely To Get Into A Fistfight With Most Likely To Be The Next Bill Gates?"

"Still proud of it," Enjolras says, reminiscing on how much he disliked the guy they voted for The Next Bill Gates. A total asshole, who didn't understand the flaws of capitalism and posted Joker quotes on his Instagram story because he "related to the Joker on a personal level," whatever the hell that means.

Grantaire tosses the menu at Enjolras and sits on the desk, while the blonde lies on the covers, twirling his hair in one finger and scrolling on his phone when it hits him in the face. "Thanks."

"No problem, I'll pay. Who you texting?"

"Just Courf. They're wondering how it's going."

Grantaire laughs but doesn't say a word while Enjolras eyes the menu disapprovingly. 

"What?" The elder asks, sidling up next to Enjolras who's now sitting up hunched over.

"Nothing... Nothing sounds good."

"No big deal. Want me to choose for you?" Grantaire asks, and Enjolras is sure he's oblivious to how much that means to him. It's nice to have the decision taken out of his hands. It's difficult from time to time, being stuck in his head so much, expected to make every single choice on his own. No help from his parents on much, it overloads him. He's already done enough thinking.

"Yeah."

"Alright. I'm gonna call in the order."

Enjolras hums an old Broadway tune instead of attempting to complain about the prison-industrial complex, or rave about a new book he's read that he really thinks Grantaire would like, as he stares at the popcorn ceiling. He's since tuned out whatever Grantaire is saying on the phone because he's drained and it's sometime in the morning, but he doesn't care to check how early it is. 

Now that he's as relaxed as he can be, it hits him that he's really doing this. He has a tendency to only realize the gravity of his actions after it's too late to reverse them. He's on a road trip to God-knows-where with the one he's halfway in love with, four hours away from home and no where else to hide if he makes a huge fucking mistake. Sometimes, he likes Grantaire so much it's difficult to contain his thoughts. Not that it isn't in the first place, but he makes everything so hard.

Literally. 

Enjolras rolls onto his stomach and eyes the other boy discreetly, taking a strong appreciation of the way his thighs stretch the fabric of his jeans as he thanks the receptionist with his hip cocked. The only thing preventing him from worshipping those thighs is his glorious self-restraint. But God, those thighs. What he wouldn't give to be in between them.

"Good now?" Grantaire asks, setting the old phone on the nightstand. 

"Yeah. Pretty good, just tired and hungry. What'd you get?"

The flimsy red blankets puff up as Grantaire drops onto the bed beside him, legs dangling off the side of it. "Just burger and fries. Felt like being simple tonight."

"Awesome."

"So, Enj, first time in a normal person motel. Do they have vending machines at the Trump Tower?"

Enjolras stiffens, defensive. "I have never and will never-"

"I know, man. I just wanna get a Monster and you're gonna stay here and wait for the food. Sound good?"

Enjolras, like normal, finds himself wanting to listen to Grantaire. "Okay. I'll stay here. Be careful."

Grantaire doesn't know what the fuck to do. His mind is a constant stream of the word fuck and he has Enjolras at his side barraging him with different questions about cheap motels and classism, and it's so hard being in such close contact with him when he can't do a thing about it. There's no way Enjolras wants him. He's everything perfect about humanity; gorgeous, intelligent, and so idealistic it hurts! How can one eighteen year old be the embodiment of everything good in the world?

He never even really wanted a Monster. He could have bought one when they woke up. 

All he really needed was a break, but now he feels a gnawing at his heart for leaving Enjolras alone in the room after a panic attack. He's recovered from it like normal, but there's something about him that just looked... vulnerable. 

It could be the toll of his first road trip, Grantaire thinks as he shoves a five dollar bill into the machine. And then he thinks of the way his hair went puffy after his nap in the car, how refreshed he seemed when his hands were pressing into the back of his neck like some stray cat. He doesn't want to focus on the beauty of his reactions, not at all, not now.

He isn't going to survive the trip. Not with Enjolras riding shotgun.

The vending machine is old, the buttons yellow and waterstained, and it doesn't dispense any of Grantaire's change. He ends up jamming the button in his desperate attempt to get his two dollars back. It's not worth it, he thinks, and bangs his head on the glass as it dispenses his drink. 

The hotel room is suspiciously silent, the sound of his shoes hitting the wall as he kicks them off. A gasp comes from across the room where Enjolras is sitting in a ratty green armchair, knees to his chest while he plays on his phone. Grantaire wonders if he's updating Courfeyrac or dealing with his parents. It isn't his room to pry.

"I need to go take this. Food's here," the blonde says.

"Go ahead. Want me to wait for you?"

Enjolras shakes his head. His ringlets bounce and Grantaire nearly dies as he watches him trail out of the room with a blanket thrown over his shoulders.

Enjolras has tactfully made sure that he's at the ground level of the motel at the edge of the parking lot. Just in case Grantaire hears. Their room is on the second floor, and he's sure he doesn't have to worry about anything. He adjusts the blanket and dials Courfeyrac's number, stomach twisting in knots for probably the thirtieth time that night. 

"Hello?" Courfeyrac mumbles into the speaker, groggy.

"Courf. Help."

"What? Were you kidnapped?"

"No! It's just- Grantaire," Enjolras says. "It's weird being around him so much. And then, our motel it... it has one bed. I don't know what to do! How do I handle this?"

Enjolras can hear Combeferre's muffled snores and the rustling of sheets, most likely Courfeyrac leaving the bedroom for his porch. "Have sex with him, obviously."

"Courf! Seriously. He's already had to calm me down once, I can't even imagine that."

"Are you regretting it?" Courfeyrac asks, and Enjolras doesn't think so. He voices that.

He can't be regretting it. Sure, he has cold feet, but it happens to everybody with new developments in any situation. It isn't the exciting, energy packed road trip he sometimes fantasized about when he couldn't sleep, but it doesn't matter. He's with Grantaire, who's everything Enjolras could ask for in a friend. Even more in a boyfriend, but he doubts that'll happen. He voices all of this to Courfeyrac, who sighs.

"Just talk to him, Enjolras. It'll make everything so much easier."

"I can't! He's the one person I can't talk to," Enjolras shouts, clutching the blanket tighter. God, it's cold.

"Enjolras. Babe. You're going to regret it if you don't. Anyways, where are you guys?"

Enjolras pulls his phone from his ear and checks his location on the weather app. "Um, somewhere in Pennsylvania. Not too far from Gettysburg."

"Jesus. Making progress?"

"Yeah, but, um, one more question."

Courfeyrac hums.

"What do I do about the one bed?"

"So, if you're not gonna let him in your guts, just sleep as close to the edge as possible."

It won't do anything. Enjolras can fall asleep on his stomach in the center of his bed, and wake up the next day slumped halfway over his nightstand. "I'm screwed," he says.

"You really are. Listen, I'm exhausted, but call me tomorrow when you can. Be careful. Love you, Enj."

"Love you too, Courf. Bye."

Enjolras glances back towards the room, where the curtain is pulled open completely with Grantaire behind the window. He's changing out of his shirt and he doesn't mean to stare, but wow. It's a fuzzy image through the old glass, but he sees enough to remember just how much he enjoys the sight. 

They meet eyes through the window, and Enjolras is quick to smile and take himself up the stairs. He twists his blanket tighter over his shoulders, and knocks on the door to signal he's there since he'd forgotten the key. The warmth of the hotel room and Grantaire's gaze are on him faster than he can comprehend, and he doesn't exactly know what to say, so he just blurts out, "Courfeyrac called. Said hey."

"Tell him I said 'sup. Actually," Grantaire takes out his phone and, most likely, texts him himself. In that moment, Enjolras turns his back and does what he can to compose himself and his flushed cheeks. Grantaire's just sitting there, chest out, like it's nothing! It is something. Something Enjolras really can't handle. He's so composed, so well spoken, but Grantaire keeps on messing that up. (Is that a tattoo?!)

Enjolras, like a functioning human being, hides his contempt and appreciation for a shirtless Grantaire in his bowl of chicken strips and fries. They've gone cold but are better than nothing, and he dips a piece of chicken in the small cup of ranch by the set-up. 

"Food alright?" Grantaire asks, walking over to sit on the desk, right in front of Enjolras.

"Better than nothing," he says, backtracking on his statement when he realizes how snobbish it sounds. "I mean, not to say that they're bad. They're good, I'm just. You know, tired."

Grantaire laughs breathily. "You are a fucking mess."

You're the only one who sees me like this!

"Am not."

"Are too. Let me say that it's delightful knowing that you aren't as perfect as you come across as."

Enjolras drops a chicken strip back into the bowl and frowns. "That may have been the panic attack, yeah. I'd like it if we could get past that?"

"No, no, it wasn't that!" Grantaire waves his arms around. "It's just... I've never seen you drool on a car seat. Or you lose your shit over a bag of gummy worms. It's been enlightening," he says, slowly walking to Enjolras and rubbing up and down his back. He leans into the touch with a low sigh, eyes heavy. Grantaire's hands are warm, calloused, completely unique compared to any of his other friends but in an amazing way.

"Okay," Enjolras whispers, shutting his eyes. 

"What do you want to do about the bed?"

"Just sleep with me. Fuck, not - not like that. You know what I mean."

"Awesome," Grantaire says. It doesn't sound like a lie.

It is not awesome, they both learn. 

However, Enjolras was so exhausted that he was able to fall asleep upon impact with the bed, all the way on the left side. That was at the beginning of the night, but he's abandoned any reservations subconsciously and is starfished halfway on Grantaire, long limbs stretching across his torso and thighs. Grantaire also learns that no matter what, Enjolras drools in his sleep. It doesn't matter if his face is smashed onto a car window or a pillow, there will be drool. It's gross and adorable.

Grantaire is fucking ruined for anyone else.

It's three AM and he's admiring a drooling, snoring optimist that he's half in love with. How embarrassing is that? Courfeyrac would be rolling.

Enjolras' hair is obscuring his face, and he's probably a little too warm and a little too close, but the elder only tucks the hair behind his ear, letting his hand linger on that soft skin. It beats him how someone can be so perfect, but so messed up. How someone can deal with so much, but still see the best in other people. How someone like Enjolras can be real.

The moon colors Enjolras' frizzy bed hair a type of sky blue. He's like something crawled out of a rococo portrait despite it. How does he do that?

Instead of waking him to ask for an answer, Grantaire pulls Enjolras closer and wraps his arms around Enjolras' waist. He'll deal with everything in the daylight.