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Le suprême bonheur de la vie, c'est la conviction qu'on est aimé ; aimé pour soi-même, disons mieux, aimé malgré soi-même
Dread pools in Enjolras’ stomach as he unlocks the door. He quickly discards his coat and his shoes, drops his keys in the little ceramic bowl Joly had gotten for all of his friends when he went to Majorca and puts the paper bags containing too many pastries from a boulangerie that opens earlier than others on the kitchen table.
He walks to the bedroom door, trying not to make too much noise and trying to ignore the breaking of his heart that always happens during this kind of day. He lays a slightly trembling hand on the handle and takes a deep breath.
Enjolras knows what he will find behind the door. Not exactly what he will find, but since this is unfortunately not the first time this happens since Grantaire and he started dating, he has a general idea of what sort of scene awaits him. He also knows Grantaire will probably ask him to leave. But he knows he will not want to leave, he knows in this situation, the only thing he wants to do is stay with Grantaire.
He opens the door just enough to slip into the room. When there’s immediate movement on the bed, he figures Grantaire hasn’t had a lot of sleep since that text in the middle of the night, telling him he most definitely will not be able to make it the next day, with four different apologies for cancelling their plans and a flimsy excuse that Enjolras had no trouble seeing through. Not that Enjolras has had a lot of sleep either last night.
“Christ, Enjolras, you scared me,” Grantaire mumbles and turns his back to Enjolras again, putting distance between the two of them.
Enjolras stands near the door, not moving, not knowing what he’s supposed to do or what he’s allowed to do. Not knowing what he can do.
“How did you know?” Grantaire croaks out after a tense silence. “I mean, I’m assuming you know, or you wouldn’t be here.”
It snaps Enjolras back into motion. He quickly takes off his socks and jeans, and climbs into bed to press his chest to Grantaire’s naked back and wrap an arm around him.
“You don’t apologise as much when it’s something else out of your control. You only do it when you feel like that. Which is also something out of your control, so no apology is ever needed.” Enjolras whispers against the back of his neck and lays a quick kiss there.
Grantaire sighs. “Noted. You should leave. I’m not even sure I’m going to get up today.” His voice is so small, he sounds like he has been crying, and he probably has. Enjolras’ heart breaks a bit more and the urge to wrap his boyfriend in a cocoon of warmth and happiness assaults him.
He wishes he were better at this. He wishes Grantaire had chosen someone better at this. He wishes he weren’t so selfish as to keep Grantaire with him when it’s obvious he needs someone better at providing comfort.
“Do you want me to leave?” Enjolras asks. Because what’s important is what Grantaire wants right now, not what Enjolras wants.
Grantaire is quiet for a few seconds before a “Yes,” that suspiciously sounds like a sob spills out of his mouth.
Enjolras brings his hand to Grantaire’s face and, sure enough, it’s wet with tears. He reaches over Grantaire’s body to take a tissue on the nightstand and wipes his face gently.
“I don’t really want to leave,” Enjolras admits quietly. “I don’t want to leave at all, actually. But if you prefer to be alone, I’ll leave.” He wouldn’t really leave. He’d probably stay in Grantaire’s living room, in case Grantaire needs something. The farthest he’d go is the hallway leading to his flat if Grantaire snaps at him for not leaving.
Grantaire is silent. Enjolras doesn’t really know how things are in his head but he understands that they are complicated. He’s almost sure Grantaire doesn’t want to be alone right now, but that he feels hesitant to demand anything from Enjolras. They have had this fight too many times in a too short span of time.
“Can I stay?” Enjolras ends up asking when Grantaire doesn’t say anything. “Please.” He takes Grantaire’s hand in his and brings it to his lips to kiss his knuckles. Touches are easier than words to him, and it’s close to the only thing he can offer Grantaire right now. So he’s going to be generous with it.
Grantaire turns his head towards him slightly, making eye contact with Enjolras for the first time since he arrived, and nods jerkily. Enjolras smiles and kisses Grantaire’s wet cheek. He trails kisses on his jaw, down his neck and on his shoulder. He tightens his embrace to bring them closer to one another and throws a leg over Grantaire’s. He rubs circles on Grantaire’s hand with his thumb, until at last, Grantaire fully relaxes against him and stops being so closed off.
“I don’t even understand why it started,” Grantaire mutters unexpectedly. He doesn’t usually talk when he’s like that, or he does, but it’s to answer a question. “You know, sometimes I can kind of pinpoint the moment something goes wrong in my brain and makes all hope and will to live fully disappear from my system, but this time? I have no idea what triggered it. I was eating dinner and thinking about nothing in particular and somehow, I ended up in bed at 21h, I haven’t moved since then and I barely slept.” He sniffles and brings a hand to his face. “And I have no idea how long I’m going to be like that. I could spend the next week crying and doing absolutely nothing.”
Enjolras squeezes his hand and kisses his neck. “Don’t think that far ahead, you don’t know what will happen so let’s focus on right now. You think you can get some sleep?” He asks. It’s early. It’s so early there’s barely any light filtering through the old curtains of Grantaire’s bedroom. And he knows Grantaire doesn’t sleep well when he’s like that. It would be good if he could get a few hours.
“I don’t know,” Grantaire answers quietly.
“Do you need me to get you something from the kitchen?” Enjolras asks tentatively. Grantaire nods after a few seconds and tells him where he keeps the pills. “Be right back,” Enjolras whispers and quickly goes to the next room to get him a glass of water and the bottle he’d described.
Grantaire thanks him and avoids his gaze as he swallows the pill and settles back under the covers. He just stares at the ceiling, eyes wide open, dark circles visible beneath them. Enjolras takes his hand again, waiting to see if he’s allowed to stay or not. Grantaire shifts slightly, moving just a bit closer to him, so Enjolras presses their sides together, then drags him half on top of him, chest to chest and holds him the best he can, an arm around his waist and a hand buried in his hair.
It’s usually the other way around but it feels right to hold Grantaire that way at this moment.
It’s an eternity until Grantaire’s breathing, warm puffs of air crashing against Enjolras’ neck, becomes regular and Grantaire is asleep. Enjolras relaxes a little, relieved Grantaire will get rest and a break from the complicated things happening in his head.
Enjolras puts his forehead against the top of Grantaire’s head and wonders what’s it like inside. What Grantaire doesn’t say, what Enjolras could help him with, how he feels and why such a beautiful mind plays such dirty tricks on the man he loves. Enjolras would like to understand better to offer more support.
Grantaire tried to explain how it was like once, when Enjolras had asked him. He’d said that he always feels more or less like that but sometimes, everything becomes too much. Staying awake is torture because he is subjected to every bad thought passing through his mind, but sleeping is impossible because of the bad thoughts and constant churning of his stomach. Doing nothing makes him feel even worse but there is no energy or will left in him to do anything, simply “what’s the point?” playing on loop in his mind. He can be crying and feeling overwhelming distress one minute and close to nothing the next, just emptiness and dull longing for something he couldn’t name if he tried. If there are people around him, it irks him and makes him feel like an unnecessary weight on their shoulders, but being alone makes it all feel more unbearable.
He said it feels like being a ghost. There but not really. With the pain of an alive soul and the strength of a dead body to fight it off.
He said in those moments, he wished he could turn himself off and stop existing for a few days.
Enjolras did his research, theoretically, he knows how it goes and what he should or absolutely shouldn’t do. But everyone is different. There’s no universal and magical solution. No one acts or feel the exact same and so the internet hasn’t been much help.
Observing Grantaire and how their friends act around him helped more.
What Grantaire needs during these bad days are reassurances and distraction. The distraction, Enjolras can provide easily. Sometimes he reads to him or he tells him about his day, his week, the latest of Courfeyrac’s antics, he tries to offer him something else to think about or white noise to drown the anxious and sad thinking in his mind. Sometimes he rubs his back or plays with his hair as Grantaire rambles about everything he’s thinking, and he tries to offer him a way of getting it all out.
The reassurances though, it’s harder. He knows Grantaire’s self-esteem is poor, to say the least. All their friends are great at making him feel better. They compliment him, they’re honest and they give him love through actions and well-woven sentences. Enjolras can’t do that. He thinks like their friends, feels like them, but he can’t get the words out. Not because he’s ashamed, but because it’s not the kind of words that come easy to him.
It’s because of the irrational fear that had gripped the first time he realised he might have feelings for Grantaire. It’s because of the irrational fear that if he opens the door of that marble façade he built to keep his enemies far and his goals close to his heart, what he hides inside could be used against him. It’s because of the irrational fear that because he never says those words to anyone, it’ll come across as ungenuine to Grantaire, making everything worse in the end.
So he shuts up and lets the others do it much better than he ever could.
He can offer him the physical affection he needs. It’s good, but not good enough for him.
Enjolras doesn’t fall asleep. He can’t. His mind is wide awake and looking for something he could do, anything, to make this better, more bearable. He doesn’t know and he feels so useless. He doesn’t like feeling useless when something or someone important is on the line.
Maybe regular medication would help. But Grantaire has only agreed to see a psychiatrist a short time ago, maybe the doctor needs more time before he can prescribe him anything. Or maybe Grantaire doesn’t want to try antidepressants or stronger anxiolytics. Enjolras doesn’t how he could broach the subject, or even if he should broach the subject. It’s Grantaire’s business and his decision to make in the end.
It’s not what Enjolras should be thinking about right now anyway. It’s thinking too far ahead. He needs something to help right now.
He sighs and lets his eyes wander around the room. He looks at the pile of unread books Grantaire sets aside in favour of re-reading his favourites, he looks at the artwork on every wall, remembers the stories behind each of the sketches and canvases, he looks at the curtains covering the open window that’s letting in the grey light, the wind and the sounds of cars and chattering from the busy city, he looks at the post-its littering his nightstand, desk and floor, covered in ideas he most-likely had in the middle of the night and had to write down before he forgot them.
Enjolras notices some of his own things mingled with Grantaire’s. Forgotten here or left on purpose.
The room doesn’t give him an answer but its Grantaire-ness makes him smile. Something warm unfurls in his chest and spreads over his whole body. He has no doubt of what he should do when he looks at Grantaire’s untroubled, sleeping face. Even if it won't magically cure him and fix all his problems, Enjolras’ words of love could help. For now, they could maybe soothe him just a little bit.
But how do you tell someone you would call them your soulmate without hesitation even though you scorn anyone else talking about soulmates as something real? How do you tell someone they’ve become such an important part of your life that just the thought of losing them makes it hard to breathe? How do you tell someone their smiles make your heart skip a beat every time without exception? How do you tell someone they’re so bright they make everything you thought was important almost insignificant when you’re with them? How do you tell someone you can’t talk or think about them without a smile tugging at your lips? How do you tell someone they’re so talented, witty, smart, warm, just so perfect in every way that they render you speechless and make you scared like you’ve never been before?
How does Enjolras tell Grantaire he loves him when he’s never even felt that kind of love before he came into his life?
There’s this endless supply of affection and admiration and love for Grantaire that just won’t make its way up his throat and out in the open through words.
Enjolras doesn’t know why it feels urgent suddenly, that he tells him everything. There have been worse times than today and yet, he needs to find something. He feels sick of being useless at the times Grantaire needs him most.
His eyes fall back on the organised mess atop Grantaire’s giant desk taking up the little space that isn’t taken by the bed. The black pen on the corner of it glares at him and something slowly starts to assemble in Enjolras’ mind. Pieces slotting together while others are discarded and forgotten.
He should write. He should write it all and let Grantaire have physical proof of everything he can’t say out loud (yet, he will, he wants to). He mentally scratches the idea of a letter. He needs immediate effect and chances are once he’s started writing everything down, he won’t be able to stop. He’s not exactly certain Grantaire will have the energy to read a wordy 18-pages-long letter.
No, he needs something quicker to achieve. Ideally, something that could serve as a distraction too. If so, then not something that requires too much energy. Enjolras’ mind is back in full vigour again, thinking about multiple things at once, remembering things about Grantaire, planning, and when Grantaire wakes up hours later and squints confusedly at him before rolling off him with a muttered apology, Enjolras is 100% ready and full of excitement and fear.
“You should have gone back to your flat,” Grantaire’s voice comes raspy from when he’s hiding from Enjolras again. “It’s fucking late, I hope you at least ate something.”
“I didn’t,” Enjolras didn’t have time to feel hungry, he was on a mission. Kind of.
Grantaire turns to look at him and frowns. He looks more tired awake than he did asleep. “Christ, Enjolras, just go, do your thing, maybe you had like, plans, go on with your day, eat, don’t waste your time here with me, seriously.”
Enjolras stops him before he can turn around and pecks him on the lips. “My plans for today were spending the whole time with you. So unless you truly want me gone, I’m staying.” Grantaire looks away and clenches his jaw. Enjolras runs a thumb over his stubbled cheek. “I brought pastries. A lot of pastries.”
“I’m not hungry,” Grantaire says curtly.
“There are almond croissants,” Enjolras tries. Grantaire doesn’t look at him. “I can get plates and we can eat them here.” He insists. “I promise I’ll change the sheets myself if we get anything on them.” He adds almost pleadingly when he hears Grantaire’s stomach growl.
Grantaire sighs. “You’re exhausting.” He drags himself out of bed and he looks like it pains him. Enjolras wants to rush to him and help him to wherever it is he wants to go, but experience has told him it will only make Grantaire snap at him or make him cry and go into a self-loathing rant. So he just sits up and waits until Grantaire returns from his bathroom trip, sniffling and wiping his eyes before crawling back under the covers.
Enjolras’s fingers wander to Grantaire’s curls and he watches as his uneven breathing calms down a bit. He leans a bit in the touch so Enjolras presses harder against his scalp.
“Alright, bring the food,” Grantaire finally mumbles, still not looking at Enjolras.
Enjolras grins and kisses him a few times on the cheek, nose, lips, brow, before he gets up to get them both plates and the three paper bags, balancing everything in his arms the best he can and using his foot to close the bedroom door behind him.
Grantaire is already sitting up, his back resting against the wall with a pillow to make it more comfortable. He’s looking at Enjolras with sad eyes. It makes Enjolras’ smile falter.
“You can’t—” Grantaire breaks off as tears start rolling down his cheeks. He lets out a frustrated “for fuck’s sake” and turns around to get a tissue to wipe his face. Enjolras climbs on the bed and sits shoulder to shoulder with Grantaire, mimicking his position. He sets the plates and the food aside for the moment.
“Enjolras, you don’t have to, like,” Grantaire sighs and looks down at his lap. “You don’t have to stay. I know it’s like an instinct for you to help the poor and weak people, and you have this sense of duty because we’re together but really, I’ve been through this without you before, I can do it again.” He looks up at Enjolras. “You probably have more important things you could be doing right now.”
Enjolras almost lets out an indignant sound. He’s not here because of an instinct or a stupid sense of duty, he’s here because he cares for Grantaire. And what on Earth could be more important? He takes a deep breath and hands Grantaire a plate. “I really don’t. Now, do you want a croissant or that weird sugary thing I took because it looked like something you might like?”
Grantaire looks sad again when Enjolras looks back at him. He tips forwards and rests his forehead on Enjolras’ shoulder. Almost instantly, quiet sobs escape him. Enjolras doesn’t say anything, just turns his body a little to better wrap his arms around him and bring him impossibly closer.
“I’d like the weird sugary thing, please,” he eventually says against the fabric of Enjolras’ shirt.
Enjolras kisses the crown of his head and puts the pastry on the plate resting on Grantaire’s thighs.
They try to talk, have a conversation that isn’t too serious, but it takes approximately two minutes for Grantaire to find a way to make a self-deprecating comment or two and for his eyes to get shiny again. Enjolras needs to distract him. He’s going to put the planning he did this morning to use.
“Would you like to play a game?” He asks between two mouthfuls of his pain au chocolat. “When we’re done eating, um," he takes a quick look at the clock, "lunch.”
Grantaire eyes him dubiously. “What kind of game? You know, I, I appreciate you helping and staying and all that but,” he looks away, “I don’t think I even have the capacity to do anything else than lay there and despair over the world and over how pathetic I am. And wonder about when you’ll leave.”
Enjolras isn’t sure whether Grantaire is talking about his flat or their relatively new relationship.
“You wouldn’t have to do much. It’d just be to keep your mind occupied with something.”
“I’m listening,” Grantaire says, still looking a bit wary.
“When I was a kid and I was bored, my father would trace words on my arm with his finger and I had to guess what it was.” He explains as he gets up and moves to Grantaire’s desk. He picks up a black felt-tip pen and walks back to the bed. “It doesn’t require much energy, but you could concentrate on something.”
Grantaire blinks at him. “You want to write on my arms?”
Enjolras nods. He starts feeling unsure when Grantaire doesn’t say anything. “Or you can go back to sleep. Or we can just talk like we just did. Or I can leave if you need to be alone for a while. Leave the room I mean, I won’t actually leave your building, sorry.” He offers him an apologetic smile.
“You’re going to give me skin cancer with this thing,” Grantaire says with his mouth full, nodding towards the pen in Enjolras hands.
Enjolras scoffs. “Oh, so tattoos are fine but a pen with ink you can probably wash off with just water is dangerous?”
The small, amused smile he receives in return makes Enjolras’ heart flutter in his chest. It’s the first time Grantaire smiles since he’s arrived.
“Alright,” Grantaire agrees with a shrug and a yawn. “I don’t see why not.”
They finish eating and it is clear Enjolras will have to change the sheets considering the amount of sugar and crumbs that have found their way on the bed. But he doesn’t care. He puts the plate on the floor and the mostly empty paper bags with them, swapping them for the black felt-tip pen he brought earlier.
Grantaire is about to settle back into a lying position when Enjolras stops him. He makes him sit between his legs, his back to his chest, and rests his chin on his shoulder.
“Comfortable?” He asks with a kiss on the cheek.
“Very,” Grantaire sighs.
They stay like that a bit, in silence, kissing for a few seconds sometimes. Enjolras takes the pen when he sees tears well-up in Grantaire’s eyes. He takes his hand and tests the pen on his skin, drawing a circle and then feeling brave enough to doodle a wobbly heart. It makes Grantaire huff a quiet laugh, so he doesn’t regret anything.
“Close your eyes, no cheating,” he says when he writes the first letter on the back of Grantaire’s hand.
“Yes, chief,” Grantaire says with a slow, mock salute.
Enjolras rolls his eyes and slowly writes the letters. He glances at Grantaire at times, sees him silently mouth each letter as Enjolras writes them and sees his lips twitch when he guesses the word.
He starts with neutral enough words like “artist” or “friend” or “dancer” or “brother” or “musician”. He moves from the back of his hand to his forearm, up to his elbow and a single one around his bicep on the silver of skin that isn’t already covered in ink.
Grantaire guesses most of them and seems content enough with the activity. He offers a comment sometimes, sign that he’s getting out of his own head and not so stuck in that endless cycle of dangerous thoughts and terrible feelings (though Enjolras can’t help but notice the obvious exhaustion in his features, the glassy edge his eyes get sometimes, the tensing of his shoulder when he’s been resting more weight than before on Enjolras).
Enjolras decides as he moves to Grantaire’s left arm, that it’s time to introduce another kind of word. Grantaire frowns and opens his eyes when Enjolras is halfway through writing “generous” around his wrist. He ignores the indignant squawk Enjolras lets out as he slaps his hand on the word to hide it and looks at him.
“Wait, you had a kind of pattern, are they random words now? Is there a new theme?” He asks confusedly.
Time to come clean. “They’re all words that remind me of you. That describe you.” Enjolras admits quietly.
Grantaire doesn’t pull away or laugh or say anything more than a soft “oh”. He closes his eyes again but this time the furrow in his brow doesn’t look like it’s because he’s concentrating but rather because he’s troubled.
Enjolras finishes writing his word and Grantaire says the word quickly before his lips close and set in a fine line again. It doesn’t discourage him. Grantaire hasn’t told him to fuck off so he keeps going. He writes “witty” and “thoughtful” on his forearm, “wild” and “kind” on his hand, “sweet” and “intelligent” curling around his arm.
Grantaire relaxes a bit but still scoffs or scowls at some words.
Soon, Enjolras has a problem. There isn’t any room left on his arms but he has a lot more to say. Or rather, write.
“Can I write some more are you tired?” He asks. From where he is he can still see the feelings battling on Grantaire’s face. The sad eyes underlined with a pleased flush on his cheeks above the angry line of his mouth.
“There’s no room on my arms anymore.” He says not looking at Enjolras or at his arms.
Enjolras slowly moves from behind him and gestures for him to lie on the covers. Grantaire does without a word and Enjolras kneels beside him. He pokes his stomach with the pen and asks, “Here?”
Grantaire swallows and finally, nods and drops his head on the pillow to stare at the ceiling as Enjolras starts writing a dozen of words again.
He makes him blush when he writes “strong” above his bellybutton, makes him cry a little and shake his head when he writes “great” and “wonderful” on his ribs, and makes him shake with laughter when he writes “has a nice butt” just above his boxers.
“It’s a whole sentence, Enjolras. I’m pretty sure that’s against the rules.” He manages to get out between giggles. He reaches timidly for Enjolras’ arm, tugging a little to make him come closer.
Enjolras grins and kisses him, bringing his own hands up to Grantaire’s cheeks.
“Sure, but they’re rules I made up and it made you laugh so that’s a win for me anyway,” Enjolras says breathlessly when he pulls away.
“You’re so ridiculous,” Grantaire says with a pained expression as he runs his hands up and down Enjolras’ sides. “I don’t understand why you’re still here, with me.” His voice cracks and Enjolras’ heart cracks with it.
“Can I write two more words?” Enjolras asks quickly, eager to have Grantaire’s mind stirred away from the terrible and hurtful things he’s telling himself. “Just two. They’re very important.”
Grantaire looks defeated but nods anyway. His eyes widen in alarm when Enjolras presses the tip of the pen to his right cheekbones.
“What are you doing?” He grabs his wrist to stop him.
“Please?” Enjolras pleads.
“Fine, god, don’t make that face,” Grantaire grumbles and lets Enjolras’ wrist go.
Enjolras doesn’t know what face he was making but he’s thankful for it. He’s nervous about the word he scrawls in big letters on his right cheek, across his nose and finishing on his other cheek. He’s nervous because Grantaire says it all the time to him and Enjolras can never find the right timing to say it and not say it back in a mechanical way. So he’s never said it. Ever. Thought it, often, but never told him to his face.
Enjolras puts the cap back on the pen and fidgets with it as he waits for a reaction, his cheeks burning.
“Beautiful,” Grantaire guesses. His voice is faint and he’s blinking rapidly, looking at the ceiling. “It doesn’t fit me. At all.”
“It does,” Enjolras says softly. “Grantaire, look at me.” He brings a hand to Grantaire’s face and they lock eyes. “I know I never say this kind of thing, I don’t know how to do it, but it’s true, it’s all true. I mean all of it. You are beautiful.” He adds in a fit of courage.
Grantaire is looking at him as if he’s searching for something he can’t seem to find on his face. Enjolras is scared. He’s not scared often but feelings, baring your soul to another person and letting them decide what they’ll do with it, it’s terrifying. Grantaire could decide he doesn’t believe Enjolras, he could tell him he’s stupid for thinking so, he could make him go. He could do anything.
He doesn’t do any of those things. “Didn’t you have one last word you wanted to write?” He says instead.
Enjolras nods, ignores his racing heart and brings the pen high on Grantaire’s chest, a few centimetres below the dip of his throat, and he writes carefully, with prettier letters than for the other words.
Aimé. Loved.
Enjolras watches Grantaire’s Adam’s apple bob as he swallows and avoids Enjolras’ gaze. He guessed the word, it’s evident. He brings his hand to lightly touch the letters in his skin, but he doesn’t say anything.
Enjolras covers his hand with his own and breaks the tense silence.
“Not just by me you know.” He says while trying to catch Grantaire’s eyes. His heart is beating so fast, but he carries on because Grantaire needs him to be open for once. He needs to know how important he is. “Everyone loves you. Our friends love you, your parents love you, your siblings love you, your colleagues at the restaurant love you, even your teachers love you.” Grantaire is finally looking at him, his eyes full of uncertainty. Enjolras takes a deep breath. “I love you.”
It’s not really how he imagined saying it for the first time. Maybe it was a bad idea to do it when Grantaire is in a bad place, but at the same time, it feels right to tell him. He needs to know Enjolras loves him even when he’s at his worst, and loves him just as much when he’s not.
“Why?” Grantaire blurts out, eyes wide, and immediately a blush rises on his cheeks. “You don’t have to answer that, sorry.”
Enjolras shakes his head. “Because you’re you. Because of everything I’ve written on you and never had the nerve to say out loud. Because you’re perfect.”
Grantaire has started crying again, tears roll on his cheeks and his breathing is uneven as he sits up and reaches for tissues. He blows his nose and wipes his face. Enjolras panics a little. He hugs him from behind and kisses his neck.
“I mean it,” he says almost desperately. “I love you,” he repeats quietly, shyly, against Grantaire’s skin.
Grantaire sags against him and relief washes over Enjolras. He’s not pushing him away.
“I believe you,” Grantaire sobs. “I can tell you’re not lying but I just,” he chokes. “I don’t understand.”
“There’s nothing to understand,” Enjolras says.
They lie in bed, wrapped in each other’s arms, Grantaire quietly tells him about everything he’s worried about and how he feels like the only future that awaits him is a sad and lonely one, and Enjolras quietly assures him that nothing of the sort could ever happen. That he’s not alone. That he’s going to get better. That he’s loved.
When it starts being dark outside, Enjolras asks him if he wants to get up to take a shower.
“I can help if you want.” He proposes.
Grantaire turns his head towards Enjolras and winces. “I’m really not up for sex right now. I could have a breakdown in the middle of it and that’s not very sexy.”
“For goodness’ sake, Grantaire, I meant literally help you get up and wash your hair.” Enjolras sighs.
Grantaire laughs and kisses his cheek. “Thank you, I’d like that.”
“And then we can order something to eat so we have something a bit more filling than croissants in our stomachs,” Enjolras says as he sits up and stretches. “We can eat it here if you want.”
“No, I’m,” Grantaire frowns. “I’m getting up. It’s really late but you know, at least I’ll have gotten up today. That’s like, a small victory, right?”
Enjolras surges forwards and kisses him. “Yes, it is.” He confirms.
As it turns out, the ink of the pen cannot be washed off with just water. Or shower gel. Grantaire complains about it when he scrubs his arms while Enjolras is behind him washing his hair.
When Enjolras is ordering pizzas, he catches Grantaire looking at the faded letters on his left arm, a probably involuntary smile playing on his lips.
Maybe Enjolras can’t write him poems like Jehan, or rationalise his every thought like Combeferre, or pump energy back into him like Bahorel, or force him out of his bed like Éponine, or make him laugh like Joly and Bossuet, or cook him delicious things like Musichetta, but he can bring him pastries in bed and he can love him. He can love him and his quirks and his flaws and all of him, unconditionally.
And like everyone else, he can make him feel loved, in his own way.
It’s not perfect, but it’s the best he can do, and right now, it’s enough.