Work Text:
And you won't remember
But I carried you home
You sat in the shower
While I washed off your clothes
But isn't that what friends are for
Even if we used to be more?
Like lovers or partners in crime
And you were still mine
It was one AM on a Saturday when Grantaire was standing in Enjolras bathroom, his sweater covered in dirt and wet stains and his back cold from sweat. His hands had started to shake the moment he opened the tap of the sink, letting ice cold water run over Enjolras’ once white shirt and the torn jeans. The water running down the drain was red, shockingly bright. The cold water made his hands ache, but he kept on rubbing at the stains, desperately trying to get rid of the dirt and blood. Like it could undo what had happened.
The adrenalin started to fade and all the emotions of the situation came rushing into him. He tried to keep his breathing normal, tried to concentrate on what he was doing. He cast a glance at the shower to remind him that Enjolras was safe, that he would be okay.
Enjolras was sitting there with closed eyes, his back against the wall.
Grantaire looked back at the clothes. It was a lost cause. With a lot of good will one could call the jeans “fashionably torn” but the white shirt would probably never be white again. He wrung them out and let them hang over the rim of the sink, slowly dripping water on the floor.
Grantaire crouched down next to Enjolras who was still sitting with his eyes closed. His one hand pressed a towel against his forehead. The other lay limp in this lap. Grantaire had already put anti-septic on his grazed knee and the cut but it had still been bleeding. He should have brought Enjolras to the hospital. But even a half-conscious Enjolras was very convincing. And now he was barely awake in his own shower.
“How do you feel?” Grantaire tried to sound casual.
Enjolras didn’t answer.
“Hey, talk to me. How do you feel? Are you nauseous?” He touched Enjolras lightly on the shoulder. He had heard that it was important for people with potential concussions or head injuries in general to stay awake for a few hours after the incident.
Enjolras half-shrugged, “’m okay. Head hurts. Not feeling sick.”
“Okay, that’s good.” Grantaire sat down opposite Enjolras. “Let me look at the cut again.”
Enjolras let his hand drop into his lap, showing his whole face. One half was starting to show signs of bruising. A purple streak on the proud cheekbone, a yellow taint on the chin, and the lip was swollen. The cut had stopped bleeding. It looked like a clean cut and Grantaire really hoped that it wouldn’t scar. He stood up and grabbed the spray bottle with the disinfectant from the sink and turned back to Enjolras. He was looking at him with half closed eyes and a look on his face that was almost completely void of any emotion.
“It stopped bleeding. I’ll disinfect it once more, okay?”
Enjolras only nodded a little and closed his eyes again. Grantaire felt his heart clench at the sight in front of him. The strong, impeccable, determined man that could move mountains with just a gesture of his hands was sitting in front of him like a wounded animal in a cage.
He sprayed the wound and flinched almost as much as Enjolras did when the alcohol hit the open flesh. He waited a little, dried the skin with a piece of toilet paper and put a band-aid over the cut to prevent hair or dirt from going in there.
He knew that Joly could have done more, that a doctor at the hospital would have been better but this was all he could provide.
“Tell me something, Enjolras.” He pulled his knees up and watched the other man frowning at him.
“Why?”
“I need you to stay awake a little longer. Just, tell me something.” Grantaire wanted to beg Enjolras to stay awake, to talk to him, to be ok but knew he had to appear calm.
Enjolras was looking at him with a thoughtful expression, his eyes opening a little more.
“What do you want me to tell you?” For someone who could spontaneously speak off the cut for thirty minutes about political issues, it really was funny how bad Enjolras sometimes was at talking.
“Tell me how you met Combeferre.” Grantaire wasn’t sure why he picked this topic, but he could see one side of Enjolras lip move into a smile.
“We met in school. I transferred two years before graduation. My parents had to move for a job. I didn’t know anybody. On the second day I got into an argument in history class. A classmate was talking stupid shit about slavery. The teacher seemed to be very uncomfortable with the way I talked back because it seemed it wasn’t like he wanted to treat the subject. What does historic distance even mean with a topic that still brings so much injustice in our time? After that, Combeferre came up to me and told me he liked what I said but that I should get my sources straight and handed me a book. It was on critical historical research. Told me I could give it back to him after the weekend.”
Grantaire had to grin because it was such a Combeferre thing to do.
“And Courfeyrac?” Grantaire knew that story, actually. But he wanted to keep Enjolras going.
“He just popped up one day and we couldn’t get rid of him.” The dryness of Enjolras voice made Grantaire laugh.
“Come on. Tell me.” He kicked Enjolras foot lightly.
“He switched schools as well and only came to us in the final year. I had a…a discussion with another pupil who had some very conservative views on same-sex marriage. I may have shouted, he may have threated to – quote – kick the homo out of me. I was curious if that coward would do it. And when he tried to throw the first punch, Courfeyrac was suddenly next to me and caught the guys hand and had him on the floor in a second. It was pretty impressive, actually. Don’t tell him I said that.” Enjolras opened his eyes again and tried to raise one eyebrow but instead made a hissing noise. He had tried to move the bruised part of his brow.
Grantaire raised his hands, “Hey, my lips are sealed.”
Enjolras shifted and tried to sit more upright. Grantaire looked at his watch. It had a crack in the glass. But it still worked. Almost two hours had passed since they made their escape. He could feel his muscles becoming sour and wondered how Enjolras must feel.
“Do you think you can stand?”
“Want to re-enact that scene?”
“Funny.” Grantaire pushed himself up and held his hands out for Enjolras, “But I think you can go to bed now.”
Enjolras nodded but when he tried to push himself up his arms trembled. Grantaire caught him before he could slide down the wall again and hoisted him up. He slung one arm around Enjolras back and with the other he held Enjolras arm that he had put over his own shoulder.
They were slow and Grantaire felt like he was carrying all of Enjolras weight. He let him slip slowly onto the bed and made sure that his head was safely propped up on his cushion. He then walked into the kitchen and returned with a glass of water that he put on the bedside table.
Enjolras looked like he was sleeping already and Grantaire wasn’t sure if he should say something.
“Get well soon, will you?” He whispered, not knowing if he wanted Enjolras to hear him or not.
“I try.” Enjolras mumbled. “Thank you, R.”
Grantaire knew he should leave but he couldn’t. Maybe it was the use of his nickname, maybe it was the way Enjolras features had gone soft like Grantaire had only seen them a few times before. Maybe it was the same force inside him making him stay that had made him step into action earlier.
Grantaire sat down on the armchair in the corner of Enjolras bedroom. The streetlamps cast light and shadow into the room, dimly illuminating it. He could see Enjolras’ hair reflecting the little light.
He knew rather than he felt that he was tired, but he knew, too, that he would not be able to find sleep that night. He had send a message from Enjolras phone to Combeferre telling him – as Enjolras – that he was okay and they needn’t worry. Then he had sent a similar message from his own phone to Jehan, as himself this time. His hands started to shake again and one single sob escaped his lips. He put his face into his hands.
He had never felt like that: so very scared and so very present. Had never moved with such a precision. He had only had eyes for the head of golden hair.
He let go of the breath he wasn’t aware he had been holding. He did three very conscious breathing circles: breath in, breath out, in, out, in, out.
Feuilly would be so happy to know that his yoga technics actually did Grantaire some good. But Grantaire wasn’t sure if anybody would know about this. He was almost certain that Enjolras was not concussed but he felt like Enjolras would most likely not remember this.
Maybe that would be for the better.
Grantaire looked at the silhouette of Enjolras again. It felt like a lifetime ago that he had slept in that same bed next to him. But, in reality, it had only been six months.
Six months of pretending everything was the same. That nothing had changed.
Lately, it had almost felt like that.
Almost, because Grantaire would never forget how it feels to touch Enjolras warm, soft skin. Would never forget the taste of him, he way he moves, the way his voice sounds while telling dirty nothings. He would never forget how it felt holding that golden man in his arms. Like he was his.
But he could pretend to be just a friend again. Someone in a group of many friends. He wondered if it was the same for Enjolras. He had told Grantaire it would be better for them to not continue what they were doing. That he felt like he wasn’t ready. That it would be safer for them to not be more than friends. For Grantaire, those words had felt like blows to his solar plexus.
At first, he thought it was easy for Enjolras – but, sometimes, he caught Enjolras eyes lingering on him. In those moments he hoped that Enjolras remembered, too.
And now he was sitting in a dark room at two AM, watching said man sleep. After having felt like his world was on the edge of collapsing, like it would end if he could not save him.
When Enjolras had started to breath evenly, his body relaxed and the sky turned into that certain shade of grey that meant the sun was about to rise, Grantaire left the apartment.
He wandered through the city, he welcomed the fresh air. It cleared his head a little. His shaking hands were buried in the pockets of his jacket. At his flat, he didn’t bother showering, he just got rid of his dirty clothes and collapsed into his bed.
Surprisingly, his dreams weren’t populated by screaming men and blood. He dreamed nothing, his mind washed clean by exhaustion.
He woke up in the evening, showered and checked his phone. Then he went back to bed and slept for twelve more hours.
*
The next day, they had a meeting at the Musain.
Grantaire entered the backroom shortly before the meeting was due to begin. He slipped into a seat in the back next to Joly, who looked at him with concerned eyes but said nothing except for a short greeting.
Grantaire’s eyes were fixed on Enjolras, anyway.
Enjolras was standing at the front, speaking to Combeferre. Half of his face was covered in a bruise that looked painful and Grantaire hoped once again that it would not leave permanent damage. The cut on Enjolras forehead was taped together with medical tape.
“Looks bad, huh?” Joly leaned in now. “I wanted to drag him to the hospital when I saw him yesterday but he refused. Stupid idiot. But he had managed to clean it in the night and beside the tape, I couldn’t do much more. How have you been, R?”
Grantaire had felt an immense flush of relief when Joly said that Enjolras was alright. It stopped the guilty feeling in Grantaire stomach for not having brought Enjolras into the ER that night.
“Oh I’m fine. I was just exhausted. No bodily harm. What about the others?” He whispered back, Enjolras and Ferre were still talking between themselves.
“Bossuet has grazed hands because he fell, that clumsy fool. Bahorel has bloody knuckles, and what I at first thought was a broken nose but it turned out alright. Courfeyrac twisted his ankle but is alright as well. Combeferre broke his glasses. Feuilly and Éponine are perfectly alright. Marius bruised his hip by running into a bollard, Cosette is fine and I am too.”
“Good. So Enjolras took the most?” He hoped to sound casual, he had seen what had happened after all.
“Looks like it. We don’t know what happened, though. He wouldn’t tell –“ Joly was interrupted by the man in question clearing his throat.
“Alright let’s start! Good turn out at the protest the day before yesterday! Before it started to go south it really was a good thing. Those right-wing arseholes and hooligans who had nothing to contribute but violence show how important it is to raise awareness of the issues of social equality for everyone. We still have a long way to go before everyone understands that equality and justice are not just for those inhabiting their own little bubble. It is a scandal that the police stood by for too long, just letting them yell abuse at us. It is a perfect example of how silence equals violence. How not acting can lead to oppression and more violence. We must bring that to the attention of the broad public. But, right now, I actually don’t want to talk about that. It’s on the agenda for the next meeting. Right now, I just want to apologise to you for how the protest turned and some of you got hurt. I wish I could have prevented that.”
“Stop that, Enjolras! It’s not your fault. We all knew what could happen,” Courfeyrac’s voice was unusual cutting. He looked at his friend with a serious expression.
“Yeah, those pricks are to blame! I wish I could have landed a few more punches to be honest.” Bahorel slammed his fist onto the table and others from the group voiced their agreement.
“Thank you. I know you are all as passionate about our issues as I am. But I never want to put you in danger. Too many of our activities had a tendency to turn violent in the past months. We need to be more careful in the future.” He looked at them with a fire in his eyes that was so characteristically Enjolras that Grantaire’s heart gave a little extra jump.
“Well, none of us look like their face had intimate contact with the pavement.” Éponine interjected with raised eyebrows.
“Yes, what happened to you, E?” Cosette asked with a carefully even voice. Her eyes scanning Enjolras face. “You disappeared and we were really worried until you texted Ferre.”
“It looks worse than it is. I just fell at a bad angle.” He gave her an assuring smile that Cosette tentatively returned.
“We need you to be more careful, too.” Joly leaned forward to give his words more emphasize. “As I said, you luckily managed to patch yourself up. But, in the future, let us help you, ok?”
“I promise.” Enjolras nodded, and when his eyes left Joly’s face they stayed on Grantaire for a second.
After that, the meeting was ended early and they all just chatted and caught up on what had happened at the protest.
Grantaire was listening to Bahorel who told how a guy hit him square in the face while another one held him from behind – and how that ended badly for both of them.
It had been a big protest. It had started in the afternoon with families and other students joining the march. The rally at the end had lasted longer than expected and then the “counter-demonstrators” had appeared and started yelling. At first, it had been just shouting of insults and other rubbish. But then it had started to heat up. The police had stood by, observing the situation. They had still hesitated after the first bottle had been thrown from some guy with a very neat side-parting. When they moved, it had only brought more violence because they had not been able to separate the two groups. That had been the moment L’Amis had been divided into groups. It had been the most natural thing for Grantaire to look out for Enjolras. He had tried to get through to him, but it had been difficult and Grantaire had a little shouting match with an obvious neo-nazi himself. When he had found Enjolras again after almost fifteen minutes it was just in time to see someone pick up a turned-over street sign and swinging it against Enjolras who was shouting at a policeman who was roughly handling a protester who was already on the ground.
It had been like time had slowed down because Grantaire saw everything in great detail, saw the contorted face of the guy, saw Enjolras turn at the scream. His golden hair shining in the sea of dark-clothes people. Grantaire felt something drop through his stomach and he dived forward. But he hadn’t been fast enough. He heard the metal coming into forceful contact with Enjolras head. A sickening sound. He had pushed the man away, forcefully enough for him to stumble and fall. Enjolras had been lying on the concrete and it felt like no weight at all when Grantaire had picked him up and started running away.
“Dude, are you okay?” Bahorel was staring at Grantaire, who realised that he had been lost in his own thoughts.
“Yes, sorry. I wish I could have seen you handling those two, to be honest.” He hoped his grin was convincing enough to avoid more questions.
“What had happened to you, anyway? You just disappeared,” Courfeyrac, who was sitting next to Bahorel, asked.
Grantaire’s mind tried very hard to come up with a good answer.
“Oh well, you know me. Normally, I am the centre of a party. But this time I just got lost, I guess. I wanted to see if you guys were okay but I couldn’t find you.” He shrugged and gave his best self-deprecating grin.
Courfeyrac huffed out a laugh and shook his head. “Oh well, better for you. I would have been happy without a twisted ankle.”
After one more hour everyone slowly got up to go home. In pairs or in little groups they left until Grantaire, who had been to the loo, thought he was the last one. He picked up his jacket from the bench and turned to leave as well when a voice stopped him.
“Hey, wait a minute, please.”
He turned around to see Enjolras leaning against a table at the other side of the room. He had his arms crossed in front of his chest, a pensive look on his face.
“What’s up, chief?” Grantaire stuffed his hands in the pockets of his jeans, trying to look casual.
“What happened Friday?”
“We had a rally, remember? Or have you lost your memory when you fell?” It was scary how easy it was for him to get that mocking tone into his voice. It had been a defensive tactic for too many years.
“Stop it. Be serious. I do remember the rally and I do remember the police guy beating a protester but then it gets hazy. But I am sure you had been there. So, tell me.” Enjolras voice was sharp, his eyes digging into Grantaire’s.
Grantaire pulled his left hand out of the pocket, combing it through his hair until he realised that it was shaking again. He clenched it into a fist at his side.
“Grantaire…” Enjolras voice was far closer now. When Grantaire looked up he saw that Enjolras had taken a few steps towards him. He averted his eyes again.
“I carried you home.” Grantaire was speaking to the floor, concentrating on a dark spot on the wood. “You were unconscious, came around halfway, forbit me to bring you to the hospital so I took you home. Patched you up.”
As he looked up, he saw Enjolras shutting off the emotions that had been on his face a second before. Enjolras made a movement with his hand but seemed to not know what he wanted to do so he crossed his arms again.
“Why?”
“Why? Jesus fucking Christ, Enjolras! A bloke hit you on the head with a street sign, you were bleeding all over the place, laying at the feet of someone who looked like he wanted nothing better than to stomp on you face. I am sorry, should I have let you get trampled to death? Next time then!” Grantaire shouted the last bit.
What the hell? Was Enjolras really that desperate to get rid of him that he didn’t even want his help?
“No, I don’t mean why did you take me out of there. Why didn’t you stay?”
“What?” Grantaire was staring to wonder if maybe Enjolras’ brain had been damaged after all.
“I…I mean: When I woke up I felt like you were there. I remembered talking to you. But you weren’t there and I was wondering…wondering why you left.” Enjolras was clasping his hands in front of him, looking like he tried not to show how agitated he was.
“Well, what do you think?” Grantaire asked defensively. A dick move, but really, what was Enjolras thinking?
“I don’t know. I thought maybe I imagined it. Or maybe you had an appointment.” That made Grantaire snort because it was such an obvious lie – and it made him angry.
“Fuck you, Enjolras! I left because you told me to. Not that night but six months ago. You said you didn’t want me that close. That you wanted to get out of the thing we had going on. You pushed me away and, believe it or not, I actually possess the human decency to accept a no and not force myself on someone.”
“I…” Enjolras stared at him with wide eyes. An expression, Grantaire had not yet seen on him. “I am sorry.”
“What for?”
“For this.” Enjolras raked his fingers through his hair and winced a little when he touched the bruised skin. “Don’t you realise that this is the reason why I ended it? This – “ he gesticulated at his face – “ is the reason. What we are doing can be dangerous. It is dangerous. I cannot stand you being in danger and potentially getting hurt because of me! Can you not remember what happened that time six months ago?” Enjolras was speaking louder now. “At that protest? You literally jumped in front of me and took the blow of the water canon! You had chipped rips for god’s sake. Because of ME! I could not let you get hurt because of me, for me. I hoped you would stop. Would not feel the need to protect me if I told you no. I wanted to keep you safe!”
The anger in Enjolras voice had vanished and it had turned almost into pleading.
“That’s stupid! You must know that I would not have stopped coming to the protests.”
“But why?! You said you think that most of the time protest isn’t doing much. Why do you still go?”
“Are you fucking kidding me?! I’m maybe not believing that the protests can change the world, but I’m pretty damn certain that you will change it. I believe in you, asshole! Even if I don’t get to love you the way I thought, for a second, that I could, I’ll still make sure that you will not be harmed. That you will not martyr yourself for the cause! I will not let you die at a stupid protest!” Grantaire could feel tears rising in his eyes. Voicing his fear loosened something inside him. How could Enjolras not understand? How was it possible that he could not see it?
“I want to keep you safe. I need you to be safe…” Grantaire’s voice broke and he angrily wiped the tear away that had escaped his eye.
Enjolras looked like he had been slapped. He opened his mouth, but no sound came out.
“Please, Enjolras. I accepted that you only want friendship. But, please, don’t pretend like you don’t know why I am doing this. That you don’t know how I feel for you.”
Suddenly, Grantaire felt tried. He had slept for almost 24 hours, but there was a tiredness in this bones that had been there for six months now. He wanted to lie down, let the world rush by and not be a part of it for some time.
“Do you?” Enjolras voice was a whisper. The only time Grantaire had ever heard him whisper had been in very different circumstances.
“What?”
“Do you know how I feel?”
The question stunned Grantaire. He had always thought that Enjolras tells the world how he feels just by the way his fiery eyes shine or with the tone of his voice and – of course – by the statements he makes in his speeches.
“I did it all out of the same reason you just named. Grantaire, can’t you see I did it out of…out of love?”
“…what?” Grantaire wasn’t sure his voice worked. Wasn’t sure he had said the word. Wasn’t sure he wasn’t hallucinating.
“I love you too much to let you get hurt. I love you so much I rather hurt myself than risking your safety.” Enjolras face was softer, younger, more vulnerable than Grantaire had ever seen it.
But it made no sense. How could he love him? Had they not been nothing more than friends who – by chance and a few drinks – ended in bed together? People in the same group of friends? Only partners in crime in fighting social injustice? Acquaintances through mutual friends?
All Grantaire could do was shaking his head in disbelief.
“And it hurts, Grantaire, every single day. I think about you, us, every single day. And every single day I hope I made the right choice.”
“No” Grantaire shook his head. “What made you think it was the right thing to do? Why, fuck, why didn’t you talk to me? Why play pretend? Why lie, Enjolras?”
Enjolras had said he loved him. That he still loves him. But something in Grantaire rejected it. Something tried to find a way to deny what he had just heard.
It could not be true.
“Because I was afraid, I guess. I wasn’t sure what the whole thing meant to you.”
Grantaire wanted to laugh. Wanted to throw a punch against the wall. Wanted to scream. How could Enjolras doubt his feelings?
But then he saw him. He saw Enjolras standing in front of him. Their marble leader, his Apollo, the most perfect human being he’d ever seen – and he looked small, soft, insecure, scared.
Grantaire’s heart stopped for a moment and his hand stopped shaking.
“Maybe I took it for granted, maybe I thought you must have known. Enjolras, I adored you the second I saw you and then I started to love you. I was afraid I would destroy what we had by talking too much. I have a tendency to talk too much. As you know. And so I just – I kept quiet. But I loved every second of it. I loved you. Every second of every god damn day, I love you.”
They stared at each other. Blue looking into honey coloured eyes. And even though Grantaire could still feel the now dried spots where the tears had run down his face, he could also feel something bubbling inside his belly. A feeling he hadn’t felt in six months.
A smile started to spread across his face. It was mirrored on Enjolras.
“Well, let’s keep each other safe then? Together?”
Instead of answering, Enjolras closed the space between them and kissed Grantaire.