Work Text:
The ABC Cafe shut at least an hour or two ago at this point. Enjolras had been organising everything for their rally next week and somehow, a summer evening turned to night time and everyone slowly ebbed out of the Cafe and disappeared home. By now the only thing lighting up the meeting room was the blue glow from Enjolras’ laptop.
He let out a long breath and wiped his eyes when he finally looked up from his work. He checked the time. 11:12 PM. Combeferre’s stern yet comforting voice in his head telling him to stop working and head home. There were keys sat next to the pile of pamphlets on his table. He assumed that he’d agreed with the owner hours ago to lock the doors after he leaves. For the second time that night he tried and failed to drink out of his empty coffee cup.
Ping!
That's got to be from Combeferre.
Combeferre: So help me if you’re still at that Cafe…
Bingo.
Enjolras: I was just leaving….
The grey dots of judgement simmered as he shut his phone briefly, to finish up the last of today’s notes. Soon enough, two ‘ping!’s.
Combeferre: As long as you’re home before you pass out
Combeferre: Also don’t forget to give those pamphlets to R, he said he was working on making a poster version
Enjolras: I’m not going to R’s at this time of night.
Enjolras: He’s probably tired.
Excuses again, Enjolras, he thought to himself. He knows rationally that Grantaire is up at all hours of the night, and eleven PM was nowhere near ‘late’ for him; but he just felt very awkward when it was only the two of them. He hardly knows how to speak to him without the two of them butting heads about basically everything.
Combeferre: Courf just told me he saw R at the Lounge tonight so he might still be there
Enjolras grumbled to himself. No getting out of this now.
The owners of the ABC Cafe had also bought over the property beneath to open as an entertainment bar for the nightlife consumers. It was aptly called the ABC Lounge. Enjolras never really goes there, spending most of his time in the meeting room at the back of the Cafe. On occasion, the whole group will go to the lounge, for birthdays and such, but other than that, the vague stench of urine and alcohol is enough to put Enjolras off going there.
This is not, however, Grantaire’s view. He says he likes that it smells. “Gives it character,” he’d remarked, smirking at Enjolras, raising an eyebrow at him, practically goading him into another long-winded petty argument. Enjolras winces as he remembers how he’d ended up, yet again, getting caught up in his anger and shouting bloody murder at Grantaire about his binge drinking habits and how he doesn’t look after himself properly.
He doesn’t even know why he cares so much. All Grantaire ever does is wind him up. Enjolras gets so frustrated with him because Grantaire is so seamlessly, blatantly intelligent and will forever downplay his own talents. Enjolras can see through the cynic act. He’s not as obtuse as everyone seems to think he is. He knows that at his core, Grantaire has a heart of gold (at least when it comes to every other member of the group) and covers it all up with rowdiness and alcohol.
And it’s not as if Enjolras can just tell him. Those nice things. Of course, it would be good, if he could have pleasant conversations with him.
He checked the time again. 11:34PM. He’s procrastinating now. Those pamphlets are burning a hole in the table. He closes his eyes and sighs again, finally shutting his laptop and putting everything away in his bag. He grabs the pamphlets and keys and makes his way outside.
After the door’s locked, he follows the noise of the Thursday night bar-goers down the dingy basement stairs. Outside the door, the chalk sign reads:-
STAND-UP COMEDY!
TONIGHT !
8PM -12AM!
and scrawled at the bottom of the list of performers was Grantaire’s signature - R.
Enjolras has seen it before at the bottom of his paintings. It's not his fault if he's memorised everything about this singular initial. So, okay, he has a photo of it saved in his phone. Several, even.
He shakes himself out of his thoughts and steps into the stench of the Lounge. Everything seems to be coming to a close, but as Enjolras enters further in and nearer to the source of all the noise and laughter, his heart nearly stops as he sees just who is flailing around on the stage.
In all honesty, he should've expected this after that chalkboard. He didn't know that was happening right now. He didn't even really take in that Grantaire's signature meant he was trying his hand at stand-up. He's far too tired to be amongst all this.
Enjolras goes to turn away, back to the fresh air, when Grantaire’s sardonic tones come through the speakers after a wave of laughter settles.
“Who here has ever used ‘causing an argument’ as a means of getting someone's attention?” Enjolras felt himself freeze as Grantaire briefly looked around the audience. “Okay, small show of hands here and there ...So, I don't mind telling you, I definitely have - and I've sort of run it into the ground with the person I’m, like, ‘in love with’ or whatever.” He rolls his eyes and waves a hand flippantly, which receives another chuckle amongst the crowd. “So far, it’s made him, mm, well, basically hate me. Which isn’t ideal.” He said with a smirk nearly reaching his eyes. But not quite.
There's a hum of laughter across the room before Grantaire launches into naming various incidents in which he and Grantaire have fought.
“...who should sit where on movie night, whether or not the window should be open past 6PM, which leaders of France actually cared about France, who should play as Princess Peach in Mariokart…”
Enjolras’ brain is, for lack of a better term, short circuiting. First of all, Graintaire looks so comfortable up there with the microphone. He's used up most of his fingers listing off their dumb arguments. One had to wonder if Graintaire was actually paying that much attention, or keeping track otherwise.
“...which way spoons should be kept, my drinking… Are you getting these down?” He asks an audience member suddenly. “Okay, where was I? Oh yeah, which holiday is the least capitalist... ”
The truth is that Grantaire laying out all their arguments together was a real eye-opener for Enjolras. They actually did spend a lot of time in each other's company. Okay so, arguing, but they knew a lot about each other, somehow. Could see through each other's bullshit.
Having said that, Enjolras will always win the Princess Peach argument. It's barely an argument with his long golden curls.
“... so in total that makes…” Graintaire adds them up in his head. “28, ahem, debates in the last two months. I'm as surprised as you are that we even spend time together. Same friends, you know. So I urge you to take these qualms and turn off the love of your life, for the rest of your life! Otherwise, take them home and don't ever use them, for a more desired effect.” He smiles brightly giving ironic jazz hands to the whooping and clapping of the audience.
“I've been R, with one letter, goodnight Paris!” He shouts over the last applause. Enjolras sees him turn and walk off the stage to the small green room to the left.
Enjolras has been leaning against the back wall near one of the speakers. He's been squeezing the pamphlets so hard that the top few have bent slightly out of shape.
The bar’s lights go up slowly and it starts emptying of people. He’s still just standing there.
In love with him. Arguing. Because Graintaire loves him, he argues with him? Maybe it's not about Enjolras.
His inner Combeferre is giving him the stink-eye for trying to ignore the facts he’d just been first-hand witness to; Princess Peach coming first in line.
Sooner or later he has to move. He also has to give the pamphlets to R.
Willing his legs to walk through to the green room, he finds himself at the door. He knocks gently.
Just give him the pamphlets, Enjolras tells himself.
It was becoming increasingly difficult not to think about Grantaire on that stage. Baring his soul.
The door opened revealing a tall, lanky, dark-haired man. Enjolras blinked owlishly at him as the guy looked him up and down.
“R.” He calls behind him, not looking away from Enjolras. “It's for you.” He continues, passing by Grantaire’s smaller frame back into the room as he comes to the door.
“Oh my god.” Enjolras can see Grantaire's eyes fill with dread as he realises who’s at the door. “When did you get here?” He asks quickly, shutting the door behind him, making the corridor feel even smaller.
Enjolras breathes deeply.
“I just got here. I was working late. At the Cafe.” He decides on. He can't bear that stricken look on Grantaire's face. He much prefers the look of relief he's seeing now.
“Right, right. Of course.” Grantaire says, seeming to unclench, somewhat, “So, what… brings your luscious goldie locks down here?” R raises an eyebrow and folds his arms.
“I…um...” What is he even supposed to say? He's not the one who does feelings. Jehan does feelings. Combeferre does feelings. Not him. Enjolras bad at feelings.
“Cat finally got your tongue, Apollo?” Grantaire teased lightly, leaning towards him (which absolutely didn’t help) after a minute of Enjolras stuttering under his breath.
“Uh, Combeferre told me where you were. Here’s the pamphlets.” Enjolras says in a rush, suddenly thrusting his arm at Grantaire’s chest. “For your poster… thing. That you’re doing.” When Grantaire's rough fingers accidentally brush his hands in trying to grab the pile of pamphlets from him, Enjolras whipped his arm back so fast that a fair few fell onto the floor between them.
“Um… Are you sure you're okay?” Grantaire says, leaning down to pick them up.
“Yeah, sorry.” They share a long uneasy look as Grantaire stands back up-right. “Okay, well, good night.” He says, turning on his heel and pretending he didn't see the suspicious looks R gave him as he rushed through the Lounge and up the stairs.
He doesn't hear Grantaire’s quiet, “Yeah, night.”
The short walk home never felt so fast.
--
Enjolras bursts into the silent flat, with wide eyes. The door slamming as he tries to rush to his room.
“Christ, Enj, you look as if you’ve seen a ghost.” Courfeyrac says, stopping him in his rampant flurry.
An overwhelming wave of tiredness suddenly washed over Enjolras as his roommate softly grabbed onto his arm in their narrow hallway. Still with a scared, far-away look he just said all he was thinking:
“Grantaire’s in love with me?”
Courfeyrac’s eyebrows vanished under his thick fringe as surprise took over his face. He pursed his lips and let out a long breath.
“Okay,” he said brightly with a clap of his hands, leading Enjolras to their kitchen table. “Why don’t you start from the beginning?”
--
“So what you're telling me,” Combeferre started, having joined them mid-freak out, “is that Grantaire doesn’t know, that you know, he's in love with you. And, he doesn’t know that the feeling is mutual, either.”
“Well I couldn’t just tell him!” Enjolras states with frustration written all over him, petulantly crossing his arms.
Combeferre rubbed his eyes beneath his wire-frames. “It is way too late for this.”
“Come on, Combeferre, he’s new to all this.” Courfeyrac said sympathetically into his coffee cup.
“That doesn’t change the fact it’s late.”
“I honestly thought he hated me until tonight.” Enjolras said, quieter this time, staring into his own almost-full mug. “We just… fight so much. That’s not exactly the foundations of a great relationship.”
“Woah, first of all, it is so weird seeing you doubt yourself.” Courfeyrac said goodnaturedly, patting his friend’s shoulder. “Secondly, if you want my advice, I say: if you and Grantaire both have feelings for one another, then why not go for it? It’s a sitting duck at this point.”
Enjolras stared pensively at his hands.
“And maybe it will get rid of all the sexual tension.” Courf mumbles into his mug taking another sip.
“What!” Enjolras squeaks, cheeks red and burning hot.
“What? I didn't say anything…” Courfeyrac says with the tiniest hint of a smirk as he rests his mug on the table again.
There was a light snore across from them, where Combeferre had laid his head on the table. Enjolras couldn’t help feeling bad for making his friends stay up and talk with him. Courfeyrac smiled softly at Combeferre’s calm sleeping features.
“Maybe try and sleep on it,” he went on with a yawn, “Either way, I’m gonna go lug this one to bed.” He jabbed a thumb at Combeferre, shaking him lightly. “Come on, early bird.”
“Yeah, I think I will.” Enjolras said resolutely. “And thanks again for talking to me about this. I know you both have plans tomorrow.”
Ferre grumbled a response as Courf led him back to his room, throwing Enjolras a “What are friends for?” as the kitchen door shut.
“Sleep on it.” Enjolras repeated to himself as he was left to his own thoughts.
--
In getting ready for bed, Enjolras made the mistake of checking his phone before lying down. Sitting in his inbox was (1) unread text from Grantaire. From twenty-five minutes ago. Out of everyone who texts him. For fucks sake. Enjolras was supposed to be sleeping on it.
When he’d eventually mustered the courage to open it, it read:
R: hope u got home ok?
Enjolras decided he was going to face this head on, and replied:
Enjolras: Yes
His brain was slowly catching up with his actions and he suddenly slapped his forehead. This is exactly why he doesn’t do feelings. He does things like this. “YES”?! What was he even thinking? Grantaire is going to think he’s inept, and never speak to him again and then he’s going to stop coming to meetings and-
PING!....PING!
R: cool just making sure you didnt die on the way home or smth
R: u seemed kinda spooked when u spoke to me so i was jw
And after a few minutes of Enjolras just staring at these messages, no clue how to answer, another two PING!s.
R: i shouldnt have said anything, dont worry see u at meeting tmro
R: night
Enjolras’ head hit the pillow, his eyelids getting heavier and heavier, begging to go to sleep, when he sent back:
Enjolras: Nightx
His eyes were shut before he could account for the implications.
--
The next day, one hour before the meeting is due to start, Enjolras was well and truly, frazzled.
He couldn't believe how much of an idiot he'd been. His phone sitting guiltily in the middle of the kitchen table, surrounded again by Enjolras, Courfeyrac and Combeferre.
“Maybe he didn't notice?” Courf offered into the silent room.
Enjolras and Combeferre’s equally unimpressed glares stopped that line of thinking immediately.
Eventually, Combeferre gave a sigh and said, “You know, this could be a step forward for you two.” Enjolras ran his hands through his hair for the fiftieth time today. “I’m serious, you've never texted goodnight before, and, the kiss could've been a typo -since you insist on keeping your feelings to yourself.”
“It was a typo!” Enjolras insisted again.
“But maybe you did mean it. Subconsciously.” Courfeyrac suggests, raising his eyebrows at the flush on Enjolras’ face.
“Courf, don't tease him.” Combeferre says with an easy smile and a light slap to Courfeyrac arm. “Either way, Enj, you have to see him at the meeting, so maybe just talk to him?” He said tentatively.
“Text him now!” Courfeyrac said, practically shouting with glee at his own impulsive idea.
“What?” Enjolras felt butterflies erupt in his stomach. “Absolutely not. No. I am not doing that.”
“Okay. It is done.” Courf dropped the phone back onto the table before Enjolras screeched in absolute horror:
“WHAT?! Give me that!”
Enjolras snatched the phone as it opened to his messages. Just before he read it, he pointed menacingly at Courfeyrac and whispered:
“You will pay for this violation.”
He looked back, it read:
Enjolras: Hey r, hope your still coming to the meeting?
Enjolras locked his phone for a moment, closed his eyes and held it to his forehead, stress radiating from him.
“A year.” He said.
“Come on, Enj, it's not that bad…”
“Your fingerprint privileges are revoked for a year!”
Ping!
Enjolras felt another swoop in his stomach. A response. Grantaire is going to think he doesn't know basic grammar. He dreads the thought.
“What did he say?” Courf shook Enjolras’ arm in excitement, unfortunately immune to his scary face after so many years.
Grantaire: yea i said i was going last night ?? don't worry i sorted ur posters haha
Enjolras would have broken his phone in two if he gripped it any tighter. Completely lost on how to reply.
“You could just tell him you saw his set.”
Enjolras groans.
--
Soon enough, after much convincing, and Combeferre having to physically take Enjolras’ phone from his hands to stop him staring at the messages from Grantaire, the trio manage to successfully arrive at the Cafe.
They ended up being slightly late for the meeting which Enjolras would, under regular circumstances, absolutely condemn. However, this is an off-day. On this occasion, he is willing to admit that maybe, he was being dramatic, when he decided to empty his entire wardrobe onto his floor to decide what to wear. Half an hour before the meeting was to start.
So they were fifteen minutes late. And he was wearing the red jacket he wears literally every other day.
Everyone was already gathered in the back room. As the three entered, conversation died down suddenly.
Looking around the dimly lit room, he saw most of his friends conspiratorially surrounding one table and saw Grantaire hastily putting his phone away in the middle of it.
Before Enjolras could say a word, Grantaire, with a panicked smile, blurted:
“The latecomers!”
The silence following that was tense, to say the least. They all seemed to be caught in this awkward tableau in which Grantaire and Enjolras are both staring past one another as everyone spreads to their usual tables again.
Enjolras, with a deep breath, shut his eyes to briefly collect himself. After opening them again, he said curtly: “We best begin as soon as possible, then.”
As he moved further into the room, he pretended he didn’t see Grantaire shrivell at his clipped tone.
-
Well that was something, Enjolras thought, briskly tidying away his notes for the meeting and holding onto hope that he could high-tail out of there, so he doesn’t embarrass himself further.
Throughout the whole meeting Grantaire hadn’t said a word. Enjolras didn’t realise how much dead air Grantaire’s rebuttals managed to fill, until it really was dead air. He can't even remember the last time they had a meeting without at least one spat between him and Grantaire.
Worryingly, more than once, Enjolras had to ask if anyone had anything to add. When he would sneak a glance in R’s direction he saw him limply gesticulating in whispered conversation with Eponine, sometimes he was reaching for another swig of his wine. However, Enjolras found that he could tell when R’s eyes were on him, but he could never catch him, only saw him look away easily. Perhaps he’s just imagining things to make himself feel better.
As he was so deep in thought he was startled by a looming presence appearing next to his table in the form of a short, dark-eyed woman.
“Hello?” He asks tentatively, turning his head to face her.
“A bone. I’m here to pick one.” Eponine states, crossing her arms menacingly. “You need to explain yourself. You can’t hide from me, and Grantaire’s head is all fucked up now, so you,” she prods his chest, “better tell me what the fuck you’re doing.”
Enjolras turns and quickly assesses the bustling room, certainly not the place for this. He catches sight of Grantaire leaning back onto Jehan’s shoulder with eyes shut, grasping his bottle of wine with two hands, he turns back to Eponine.
“Not here.” Gesturing for her to follow him outside.
The cold air hits them both immediately as orange light blankets the street. “Okay, now explain what those texts were about.”
Her piercing mother-bear stare isn’t enough to throw Enjolras off. Usually. But on this off-day, he blurted: “No one told me he did stand up okay!” before he could think about the consequences of that revelation.
“What?” Her arms fell to her sides, incredulous. “Oh my god. So you did see his routine.” A look of understanding took over her features as she took in Enjolras' flushed complexion and his restless stance.
“Parts of it.” He says, feeling tense all over, staring at a spot on the ground, away from her knowing gaze.
“The… argument part?” She asks with a smirk creeping onto her face.
“Oh, the part about him being in love with me? Yeah, I did in fact see that one.” He rolls his eyes and he’s painfully aware that he’s lashing out because apparently, today, he has mentally reverted to his eleven-year-old self.
“Christ, he is such a moron,” She laughs into the street, fondly. “How did you know it’s you anyway?”
“Princess Peach.” Is all he says and Eponine lets out another burst of laughter. “And everything else about it.” He mutters after.
“I literally told him that routine was a stupid idea, and he comes in moping about weird texts.”
“Did he specify if the weird texts from him or from me because it was him who-”
“Both of you, actually. You’re both morons.” She says resolutely, rolling her eyes.
“Well, he texted me first-!”
“Because you were acting like a freak!”
“Wouldn’t you be too! If the person you thought hated you, actually ended up returning your supposed ‘unrequited’ feelings, wouldn’t you be freaked out?” Enjolras’ eyes widen as he covers his mouth. Eponine isn’t meant to know that. That’s rule number two, right below: Grantaire cannot know that.
Shit, he thinks.
“Shit.” He says out loud. “Don’t say anything to him.” Enjolras pleads with a whisper.
Eponine’s fury is back in a flash. “You’re saying,” her voice is getting steadily louder, “You know that you’re in love with him and you never fucking told him!” She ends up shouting, “After everything he’s been through-” Taking a fistful of Enjolras jacket, bringing them nose to nose, Enjolras’ face wide-eyed and tense, Eponine’s other fist recoiling back to punch - but it never comes.
“Woah, woah! Ep, stop! What the hell are you doing?” Grantaire pulls her away with an arm around her middle as she takes a swipe at him, and Enjolras has never in his life felt more appreciative of his unbruised face.
Eponine shakes him off and pushes Enjolras away roughly. He breathes out in relief and realises he’s in a slight daze from the adrenaline and it’s through muffled ears he hears a quiet, yet urgent, “I told you to leave it alone, Ep!”
“He did see your gig, you idiot!” She retaliates loudly, obviously completely over the situation. With yet another eye roll she goes on, “Speak to him.” She points back accusingly at Enjolras and stomps inside. The whap of the closed door hangs ominously in the cold air.
The silence in the street is unbearable. They’re at least a metre apart. Both not looking at the other. Enjolras’ gaze is stuck on the pavement near the entrance to the cafe.
“So, you saw…” Grantaire starts but fizzles out quickly, words failing him for once. When Enjolras glances at him he can see Grantaire’s has his face scrunched in what looks like mortification beneath one hand. He scrubs the same hand through his dark ringlets uneasily.
“Only the very end…” Enjolras is trying to be comforting.
“That’s, that’s the worst part.” He sees him groan in frustration and curl into himself and away from Enjolras.
Enjolras takes a step toward Grantaire, cat’s out of the bag now anyway. He puts on his bravest face and asks, “Do you really cause those arguments to get my attention?” The question has been bothering him since he heard it.
“Shut up, oh my God. Don't talk about it!” R whines and swats a hand in Enjolras’ general direction, clearly thoroughly embarrassed. He whips around to explain himself, “That’s- It’s not to get- I’m not wrong, most of time-” Enjolras raises his eyebrow a fraction. “But it's- I just…”
Grantaire is floundering under Enjolras’ gaze. Clearly it’s not just Enjolras’ off-day.
“And, please, it’s not as if you’d notice me without the arguments.” He adds colourlessly, looking at his worn shoes. Grantaire’s despondent dark brown eyes flick back to Enjorlas in a silent plea. “Look, I’m willing to just ignore this whole thing-”
“I don’t want to ignore it.” Enjolras says with an unintentional urgency .
If possible, Grantaire's face falls even more. “I get it. Okay. I understand,” his shoulders rounded out as he stepped backwards in the direction of the cafe. “I’ll just get my stuff-”
“That’s not what I mean, Grantaire. Hear me out.” Enjolras huffs and without thinking, he reaches to take a hold of Grantaire’s fingers. “I can’t stand all this running away.”
Grantaire looks down at their hands, panicked and frustrated now. “Well, just say whatever it is then, because that routine is just what my therapist told-”
“You're not the only person with feelings here, okay!” Enjolras inhales and composes himself again. Why are they always shouting at one another? He goes on more calmly, “I didn’t know how to react when I saw your show because… because I never thought you would… not hate me.” Now that the words were pushed out of him, as he squeezed R’s warm hand, he felt a weight lift inside of him. “It was a lot to take in.”
“Wait a second,” R’s brow furrows. “Hate you? You thought I hated you? You should know by now, that if I hate someone I actively do not speak to them.”
“Well, I certainly didn’t expect what I heard.” Enjolras inspects one of his own fingernails. “And your theory’s off.” He adds nonchalantly.
“Excuse me?” Graintaire's brow furrowing.
“Your theory. From your show. You said your method would ‘turn off the love of your life, for the rest of your life’.” Grantaire winces at the reference. “It didn’t.” Enjolras admits to the street, flushing and glancing away from him quickly. Grantaire’s ears probably had to strain to hear him, and by the look on his face, he did.
Grantaire stares and stares at him with wide eyes catching the orange of the streetlight. He seems… frozen? Broken? Great. He’s broken. It’s not until he utters “Didn’t?” that Enjolras realises he can see Grantaire's breath in the cold air again.
“I guess what I'm saying is: somehow, after all of our… debates, over the important and pointless, I still…” Enjolras squeezes his eyes shut to prepare himself, then tries to look at him properly, “I still find you, to be, charming.” He says it as carefully as he can, Grantaire's spooked face unchanging. “And I know you’re never going to let me hear the end of this but, I, sometimes, do like the way you challenge me.” Enjolras looks into the sky, briefly, before he amends, “but only because no one else is as stubborn as you.” He breathed. “Or as smart. ”
“Was that a compliment in there?” Grantaire asks with a smile, a weak attempt at his usual mask. He still has that scared-doe look in his eye, but he shifts his hand in Enjolras’ to a more comfortable position; and Enjorlas can see the beginnings of blush creeping up his neck. It’s then that he notices how close they’re now standing.
“‘Stubborn’ is a keyword.” Enjolras adds with a fond roll of his eyes. Being nice is hard.
After a beat, Grantaire deflects again, “So, was my charm part of the reason for that text?”
“Oh, don't talk about that.” Enjolras flushes.
“Now who's embarrassed?” Grantaire’s eyes sparkling the way they do mid-argument. “You sent me a kiss.” he chuckles and he nudges his shoulder into Enjolras’ fondly. Raising his eyebrows like he’s impressed or something.
“Very observant, Grantaire.” Enjolras rolls his eyes and leans down to place a kiss on R’s cheek. “Now you got a real one, so shut up about it.” He smirks a little, feeling good about wiping the smug smile off of R’s face and starts to lead them back into the Cafe. He feels a tug on his hand.
“That wasn’t a real one.” Grantaire says casually, running a hand through his hair. “Just, technically.”
Enjolras pulled Grantaire closer and pushed them both up against the wall of the Cafe. Grantaire seemed a little surprised and winded, he looked up through his lashes at Enjolras’ asking gaze. Answering with a subtle nod, their lips met for the first time. Sparks flying in their stomachs and behind their eyes as their hands roamed over each other.
Enjolras broke the kiss after a while of getting to know one another. “I can’t believe it, I’ve finally found out how to shut you up.”
Grantaire, still working through his own disbelief, has a glazed over look on his face. “I can’t believe it, full stop.”
“We should probably go back inside...” Enjolras trails off, “So they know we haven’t killed each other.”
“Let them wonder.” Grantaire says with a tiny smirk, pulling Enjolras back in by the collar.