Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

Le bonheur est parfois caché…

Grantaire knew he shouldn’t have gone out tonight.

Courfeyrac’s parties always end in disasters and yes, this particular disaster has nothing to do with Courfeyrac, but it may have to do with the alcohol he asked his older sister to buy them. So still one of the de Courfeyrac’s fault.

Things started out fine. He told his parents that his friends were having a party because they’d like to make the most of their summer, and some of them were going to be gone for the rest of the break so he wouldn’t be able to see everyone for a long time. His parents asked him to be home by one “at most” and told him to have fun. He danced with Éponine and Bahorel. He played a game with rules that seemed to always change with Joly and Bossuet. He made Enjolras scoff and roll his eyes at him because of crude remarks. He had a few beers and some uh, stronger stuff. It was a fun time.

But then arrives the moment he realises it’s almost one and that he needs to take an extended walk back to his building because he smells of cigarettes and is nowhere near sober enough to face his parents. He texts them to apologise and tell them he’s coming back soon, he just needs to help clean up the place a little.

He doesn’t help clean the house. Instead, he excuses himself to the host, who’s very drunk and sucking on the side of Combeferre’s neck. It’s him who tells him to be safe on his way home, and surprisingly, Enjolras does too. Grantaire figures he’s just being polite (ha! Enjolras and polite aren’t things that are put together often) or he’s a bit drunk, because he doesn’t think Enjolras would normally be very bothered by Grantaire being run over by a car once or twice.

He hugs Éponine and kisses Jehan’s forehead before stepping out into the cool night air.

Things are fine for the first five minutes until he hears faint screaming and shouting from above him. He looks up. The screaming coming from the open window on the fourth floor has turned to sobbing and begging. Grantaire feels sick.

“Drop it, man,” a scrawny figure calls him from very far down the street. “We called the police already. They said they knew the woman felt threatened but that they’re not married so she should just leave him.”

Grantaire has heard of cases like that. The police arriving too late because something is more urgent and they don’t have enough people, or ignoring women when they come and make complaints against their partner. He’s seen the numbers Enjolras and Cosette shoved in their faces. Too many people die like that.

“You’re not going to do anything?” He calls back, a little desperate.

The other person, standing next to the scrawny man, shrugs. “We can’t really do anything.”

They don’t care. They just really don’t care. And what are the neighbours doing? Surely if five groups of people called the police, they’d realise the situation is critical. So why is the woman upstairs still crying? God, maybe there’s a child in there too.

Grantaire starts walking away, feeling disgusted by the world and humanity once again. This is what he means when he tells Enjolras everything he says about educating people is pointless. People are bad, always have been and always will be. Changing things would require goddamn superpowers even Enjolras doesn’t have.

He freezes barely three steps away from the building.

He can do something.

It’s stupid. It’s so stupid, he knows that, but he doesn’t have a choice. He has to.

Since as far as he can remember, both his parents warned him against letting the others know about his “special abilities” as they like to call them. Grantaire prefers to call it “superpowers” or “telekinesis” because it’s cooler and makes him sound like the hero he’s not.

The powers manifested as soon as he was born if the tales of him banging various things against the wall when he cried for food his parents tell him are true. He’s learned to control them just fine in the 16 years he’s been in this world for. And he’s very careful because as far as he knows, he’s the only one. Or maybe there are thousands of others hiding just like him. Still, he doesn’t want to risk it and find out whether he’d be treated as a human or as a very special lab rat if the world knew. He almost had a heart attack when Éponine found his vacuum cleaning his living room while he was sitting on his sofa, eating cereals. She didn’t care and ordered him to show him other stuff. He still doesn’t want anyone else to know.

But he doesn’t have a choice right now.

Yes, there are witnesses but they’re far away so they can’t see his face and they’re probably high or drunk (or both) if they’re out there at this time.

Grantaire pulls up the hood of his black hoodie over his unruly hair and looks up again. He makes up his mind when something heavy seems to hit the wall.

Grantaire’s pulse quickens. The glass of the half-open windows starts to vibrate until it shatters with a high sound that makes the shouting inside the flat stop abruptly. A white man, who looks a bit familiar, appears at the window and Grantaire flips him off, making it clear he’s responsible for that. A door is slammed and the man looks back inside. When he turns his attention back on Grantaire, he looks like he could throttle him right here and now.

A woman comes running out of the building but she’s closely followed by the man.

Grantaire reacts on instincts and sends a wooden panel someone didn’t care to throw away properly flying towards the man’s face.

The man’s attention isn’t on the woman anymore, he’s turned fully towards Grantaire and looks ready to end him for good. Grantaire shudders but readies himself for the fight. He has the element of surprise on his side. He uses the wooden panel to shield himself from the man’s fists and sends cans of Coca Cola and Ice Tea to his head to disturb him, as he looks around for something bigger to use. Grantaire is breathing quickly and is starting to seriously panic. He wasn’t planning on fighting anyone tonight and the alcohol is making him a bit sluggish.

He sees a bin someone forgot to take back to their courtyard and makes it fly high and angles it so that the opening is turned towards the ground before lowering it (alright, dropping it) over the man.

He lets out a string of swears from inside and stumbles to finally fall over on the sidewalk.

Grantaire has the time to see the woman has disappeared and the two men from earlier have their phones out before he’s running away as fast as he can, vanishing in the dark.

He stops and leans against a wall when he thinks he’s far enough from the street it all happened in. He tries to catch his breath but the anxiety rising steadily in him does nothing to help. He can’t stop thinking about the men’s phones. He hopes it was to call the police once again.

He decides he’s going to call his mother because he’s having a nervous breakdown in a random alleyway somewhere around Paris.

She picks up after the second ring.

“Maman, I did something stupid,” he admits immediately, between pants.

She sighs at the other end of the line. “It’s okay, Mateo, we knew you were going to drink out there, we’ve been 16 before you. Just come home.”

“No, it’s not that, I did something stupider.” He has to sit on the ground because his legs won’t support him anymore.

“What is it?” She sounds worried.

Grantaire takes a deep breath.

“I used my powers. In the street.” He blurts out.

His mother is silent for a moment. “Did anyone see you?” She finally asks.

He tells her the whole story and she repeats it to his stepfather who asks him where he is and tells him he’s coming to pick him up.

“I think someone took pictures.” He swallows thickly and wills himself not to cry. “Or filmed it. He probably saw my face anyway.”

“It’s okay, we don’t know that.” His mother tries to reassure him. “Even if someone did take pictures, it’s dark, you wouldn’t be recognisable.” Grantaire closes his eyes and hopes she’s right. “I’m proud of what you did. It was brave.”

Grantaire doesn’t feel brave. He almost walked away, and he fled without making sure the man would be punished and wouldn’t get a hold of the woman again. He’s shaking because he’s scared people will find out. He doesn’t feel brave. He feels like a coward.

His parents’ car arrives and slows down when it approaches him. His stepfather gets out, pulls him up to his feet and hugs him before guiding him to the passenger seat.

He tries to joke awkwardly and make small talk but Grantaire rests his cheek against the window and ignores him. He’s too busy making up awful stories of what will happen to him.

When they arrive home, his stepfather gently helps him out of the car and half-carries him inside the lift. His mother hugs him too when they enter the flat. He says he’s tired and would like to go to bed and they leave him be.

He falls asleep quickly but ends up waking up three hours later, gasping for air and extremely nauseous. He rushes to his bathroom and empties his stomach in the toilet bowl. His stepfather comes to check up on him and rubs his back as he retches pathetically. He tells him he’s fine, but his stepfather still stays with him until he’s done brushing his teeth and back in bed.

He doesn’t fall back asleep immediately. He takes his phone to check the group chat and sees that except for drunken selfies and a video of Joly dancing, there isn’t anything else. He checks Instagram, Twitter, local and national press online, anything he can think of. There’s nothing about a man abusing his wife/girlfriend and nothing about Grantaire making things fly with his mind.

He relaxes a little and lets sleep take him.

-

His luck doesn’t last very long.

“You didn’t mention the man of last night was Bamatabois,” his mother says, a worried frown on her face when he comes out of his room around eleven.

“Who?” He rubs his eyes a little and the memories come back all at once. Right. He’s fucked. He pours himself a glass of orange juice.

“Bamatabois. The minstre de l’intérieur.”

He chokes on the juice and it comes back out. He coughs a little and tries to get his airways orange juice-free again, before sending a distressed look to his mother. She looks just as scared as he feels.

“Is there anything about me?” He asks, his voice weak. His mother nods.

“There’s a video but it’s such poor quality you’re barely visible. And Bamatabois is shielding you most of the time.”

Grantaire sits at the table with her and she hands him her phone, squeezing his hand in what is probably supposed to be a reassuring manner. He’s not reassured.

The video is very bad. The men were too far away for his face to be recognisable and it’s so dark it’s impossible to see what he’s wearing. The man (Bamatabois he notes, what a shitty name) and the wooden panel are hiding him from the camera most of the time. But the flying cans and the big fucking flying bin are very visible. And it’s clear no one is using their hands to make them move.

“He saw my face, he could tell everything to everyone.” It becomes hard to breathe as he hands the phone back to his mother. She moves to sit next to him and puts an arm around his shoulders. He allows himself to lean against her.

“The articles don’t talk about him mentioning you. You would only make his case worse by telling people about what you heard anyway. As far as people know you’ve attacked him for no reason.”

Grantaire freezes and looks at her.

“He hasn’t been arrested?” He feels himself get angry when his mother shakes her head. “But the woman already told the police and at least two other people called! It’s not even where he lives, doesn’t that call for an investigation?”

“It’s his flat, he says he uses it ‘to be closer to people and to his supporters’ sometimes.”

“But that’s bullshit!” Grantaire explodes.

“Language Mateo,” she sighs. “I know you’re mad but you did what you could, it’s already so much more than a 16-year-old should ever feel responsible for.”

He leans his head back on her shoulder and stays like that for a long time. He’s disgusted by this man. He’s disgusted by the people who won’t do anything to stop him. Grantaire is willing to bet there are considerable amounts of money involved with the fact that no one reacts to the several cries for help. The world is a terrible place and life a terrible invention.

He spends the day watching the news, fearing someone will somehow know it’s him and reading the debate happening in the group chat to determine whether the video is fake or not. The police don’t care if it’s fake, or if someone in this world is really capable of making things move around with their mind. They just want to arrest him because he attacked a ministre.

Éponine called him when she saw the video. He told her the whole story and she asked him what he was going to do. He said he didn’t know. He lied. He knows exactly what he’s going to do. At first, he thought he wouldn’t do anything but he hasn’t been able to stop thinking about all of this for the whole day. And when Bamatabois was interviewed in the middle of the afternoon to say just how traumatised he was by all of this, Grantaire lost it. He went on and on about how the streets are becoming more and more dangerous, and made it very clear Grantaire’s light brown skin was a very important element, and said no one should ever feel this helpless.

He is going to expose this man and what he does to the world and make sure he can’t hurt anyone else.

He doesn’t tell his parents but he sneaks out every night and walks to the building the fight happened in. He does it for two weeks. The windows have been fixed but there are no signs of life in the flat on the fourth floor.

Finally, on an August Monday, around two, light is coming from the flat and voices are rising steadily from it. There’s no shouting like last time but there’s a sound of something breaking and a weak cry. Grantaire knows he won’t have a lot of time to act before something irreparable happens.

He opens the backpack he brought (he took one that he never uses) and opens it. He gets out the spray paint can and the Christmas garland. When the things are laid on the sidewalk in front of him, he feels very ridiculous. He almost packs everything and goes back home because there’s no point, it won’t work and he’s going to be the one getting arrested. But then there’s a scream and he feels gross for having thought about abandoning this person.

He sets to work as quietly as he can, making a showy arrangement with the garland around the window and decides to call the police with a disposable cell phone as he makes the can fly above the window and concentrates on spraying the paint and writing his message.

He tells them the aggressor of M. Bamatabois is back at the flat, that yes, he’s sure because he saw a spray paint can fly, that he’s probably already inside because there’s shouting and screaming. The police officer asks him to stay where he is and that they are sending someone.

He hangs up and looks around for a place he could hide, but he notices he’s not alone anymore. Someone has their phone out and is openly gaping at him on the other side of the street.

Good thing he thought to cover his face properly this time. He’s never wearing that sweatshirt in public again.

“Hey!” He calls the person. “If you’re filming and you have the footage of our dear ministre abusing a woman, can you make it public?” He enunciates the words clearly, glad to hear his voice muffled and modified by the mask and scarf covering his face.

The person nods dumbly and directs their phone towards the window again.

Grantaire gives them two thumbs up with his gloved hands and runs without trying to know if his plan worked perfectly. He really doesn’t want to risk getting arrested.

He throws away the phone he used to call the police and takes off his hooded sweatshirt to stuff it in his backpack. He also uncovers his face on his way to his building, making sure no one is around to see him.

He can’t help the grin taking over his face as he runs and runs across the city in the middle of the night in only a thin tank top.

The thing is, Grantaire is a coward. He never puts himself in danger to save others like his friends are obsessed with doing. He thinks it’s a waste of energy and that life is shitty anyway, we shouldn’t make it shittier by setting on an endless quest to fix things that can’t be fixed.

But right now, he feels alive and good. He feels alive and the adrenaline pumping in his veins makes him believe he could take over the world. He’s not scared like he was that first night two weeks ago. He wants to do it again, and again, and again.

He goes home instead. He climbs back into his room through the window and strips to his underwear before falling into bed.

He doesn’t fall asleep. He lays awake, still grinning and wondering if for once in his insignificant life, he did something good.

He kind of gets why Enjolras and the others created that little club of theirs. He doesn’t think their posters and dangerous protests will ever change anything, but he understands why they do it. It adds purpose. To yourself. To life.

-

He’s woken up by his mother shaking him and shoving her phone in his face.

“Why did you go back? It’s not a game, Mateo, we don’t know what people would do to you if they found out!”

Grantaire sits up on his bed, panicked, and calms down a little when everything comes back.

Both his parents are in his room, and they look more than worried. They look terrified.

Grantaire takes his mother’s phone and reads the article. He can’t help but smile. The video went viral, the police arrested Bamatabois, he stepped down from his position, the woman is safe, the police officers who ignored her complaints are under investigation.

The whole world knows that, somewhere around Paris, a boy can make things fly around.

Both his parents wrap their arms around him.

“You need to be careful, people are not going to forget about that and they’ll be looking for you.” His stepfather says in a low voice.

“Can I eat something before you start telling me just how doomed I am?” He tries to joke but his mother’s grip tightens.

“You can’t do that again.” She says firmly. “What you did was good, maybe you even saved a life, but you can’t do it again.”

He nods. It’s not like he was planning on starting a superhero career after all. But then he remembers how great he felt last night and he’s not sure he can keep his promise.

Éponine comes to his flat to yell at him and his stepfather nods approvingly. But she also tells him it was pretty funny that he wrote “Criminel gratuit, servez-vous!” on the building and that kind of ruins it all.

They spend the day together, watching journalists lose their mind over the two videos and Mme. Bamatabois talking harshly about her husband and announcing that she’s already filing for a divorce.

The group chat of their group of friends is going crazy just like everyone else and Grantaire feels just a bit stressed by all the attention. Maybe people can still be convinced they were fake videos. He hopes this mania doesn’t last too long, but discovering someone can move objects without touching them counts as something pretty major.

He does nothing to calm things down because a week later, he decides he wants to do it again.

One minute he’s in his bed, staring at his ceiling and the next he’s getting dressed the same way he was the night everything happened and he’s climbing out of his window.

He walks around aimlessly, hiding when people pass him.

He doesn’t know what he’s looking for exactly until he finds it. Or hears it.

Slurs are being shouted in an alleyway not too far from him, and he runs over there without thinking.

A boy is on the ground and four other people are above him. Grantaire makes the garbage bags that are lying around fly to their heads and they all abandon the boy to turn towards him. He keeps them busy until he sees the boy flee the scene and makes them all trip over stuff he finds lying around, and runs away.

He goes home, breathing quickly and grinning madly.

A guy managed to hit him and he has a nasty bruise on his side. His parents don’t have to know.

Except they find out about his activities when a video of him tying up a racist who attacked a girl with a rope to a tree comes out two days later.

He’s never going to convince anyone it was all fake.

“I’m careful I swear,” he assures them when his mother threatens to lock him up in his room until he’s 18. “No one can recognise me.”

“You can get hurt without anyone recognising you. You did get hurt.” She gestures towards his face, where the cut on his cheek is being cleaned by his stepfather. He winces at the sting of the antiseptic.

“This is the first time I do something good.” He says earnestly and looks at his parents. “I’ve been doing better and you know it. You’ve seen it.”

His mother sighs and Grantaire knows she can’t admit otherwise. His stepfather chuckles nervously.

“Can’t you have a less dangerous hobby?” He tries to joke and puts the antiseptic back in the first aid kit.

“I have a less dangerous hobby, in case you haven’t noticed the thousands of supplies I’ve accumulated over the years, but art doesn’t stop my brain from being fucked up.”

“Language,” his stepfather sighs as he sits next to him.

“A therapist would be more help.” His mother looks him in the eyes.

They’ve had this argument too many times already. Grantaire knows he’s not exactly okay and his parents know it too and they’ve talked about it. But maybe, just maybe, he can get better with time. He doesn’t even know what’s wrong with him. What would he say to a therapist? What would a therapist say to him? “Sorry, but what you’re experiencing has nothing to do with an illness of any sort you’re just a pretty fucked up guy and a lost cause. Sixty euros please.” Grantaire can figure this out by himself.

“I’ll only do it for one hour per night.” He tries.

“No, you stop right now. Life isn’t one of your American movies Mateo.” She says firmly.

“Every two nights?”

“You stop when school starts again.”

“Only on weekends.”

“No,” she stands up. “You stop playing superhero on Tuesday. Forever.”

“I’m going to be 17 in like six months, can you not trust me for this one thing that’s good for me?” He raises his voice, he used to never fight with his parents, but the last two years have been so complicated for him his relationship with them has degraded a lot. He feels bad about that, but he doesn’t know what to do.

“It’s not you who we don’t trust, it’s the people who might hurt you.” His stepfather squeezes his shoulder. “Everyone is talking about you and looking for you. You do realise that finding out someone can move things around with their mind is big news for some people.”

“But I really am careful! You seem to forget just how much of a coward I am. I don’t go around screaming for cameras and people. I’m never alone with more than five people.”

“You know what, fine.” His mother sits next to him again and he feels his stepfather tense behind him. “On some conditions.”

Grantaire nods eagerly.

“You tell us beforehand where you’re going.” She holds up a finger. “No more than an hour and not every night.” A second finger. “You talk to us.” He rolls his eyes at that but doesn’t protest. She takes a deep breath. “And we find you a therapist.”

His heart sinks and he closes his eyes. He makes a big show of letting himself fall backwards on his sofa with an exaggerated groan, but he is really bothered by this. He doesn’t need someone to tell him he’s too broken he can’t be fixed, he knows it already and he’s made peace with it.

“Something to add, Rémi?” She asks above him.

“Uh no, it’s fine.” His stepfather speaks up.

Grantaire weighs the pros and the cons and decides that he can go through one or two appointments and tell his parents about his day if it means he can feel that new kind of thrill again.

“Okay, we have a deal.” He shakes his mother’s hand who smiles and huffs out a laugh before kissing his forehead and leaving for work with one last squeeze of the hand.

“I have writing to get back to.” His stepfather announces as he ruffles his hair and then leaves him alone in his living room.

He stays there, staring at the black screen of his TV, thinking about things he won’t remember afterwards for at least half an hour, before he decides Netflix has more to offer than a lifeless screen does.

-

Grantaire squeezes past the hundreds of sweaty other teenagers to access the lists pinned to the wall and finally know in which class he is.

He grins when he sees Bahorel squinting at the sheets of paper. He puts both hands on his shoulders and makes him jump and yelp in a very un-Bahorel way.

“I swear I’m going to punch you in the face without meaning to one day.” He says with a hand over his heart and the other fist-bumping Grantaire.

They find the right list and see that they’re in the same class and with most of their friends too. Feuilly and Marius are in another because they chose a special option with languages (which basically makes them part of the school elite) and Cosette, Joly, and Éponine aren’t with them either but the three of them are in the same class.

On their way to the room they’re supposed to go to, they run into Jehan who fusses over his healing cut.

“Where did you get that?” A cold and clear voice he knows very well asks as he’s batting Jehan’s hands away from his face.

“Hello to you too, o radiant Apollo, how was your summer? Had fun in that big mansion your parents have in Monaco?” He smirks at Enjolras who keeps glaring at him, his face barely twitching at Grantaire’s taunting. Grantaire sighs. “I tripped and fell on my coffee table.” He lies.

Enjolras raises a perfect and very judgemental eyebrow, but before Grantaire can worry about being believed, the squeaking of shoes is heard behind Enjolras. Suddenly Courfeyrac is colliding with Enjolras’ back making the both of them fall.

“Can’t you greet people like everyone else and not like an overly excited puppy?” Enjolras snaps at him and gets up without offering Courfeyrac any kind of help.

“Someone’s grumpy today.” Courfeyrac grins at him. “Bonjour à tous,” he says solemnly but hugs them one after another.

They step inside the room where the teacher tells them to find a seat. Grantaire immediately moves to the back of the room with Bahorel and Jehan, while both Enjolras and Courfeyrac sit at the second row where Combeferre is already seated and reading something.

The teacher clears his throat five minutes later and introduces himself as M. Lamarque, their history teacher. Grantaire zones out when he tells the usual beginning of the year speech and gives them all the paperwork they have to fill and that makes his mother grumble and sigh every year.

But he’s very present when he gives them their schedule. Because holy shit, he wasn’t aware that there were going to be so many hours spent sitting in a room pretending to care about what is being said with thirty other students. His schedule seems much more packed than last year. He’s got four hours of art at least, and he’s with Jehan.

“Why are there days when we have to be here from 8h to 18h, and then there’s Friday with like 3 hours and a half of class? When do I find the time to like, live, on days when we’re here for ten hours?” Bahorel complains loudly.

“I’m not responsible for your schedules but you know it’s very complicated to make up schedules that fit for everyone, students and teachers so yes, you have free periods sometimes in the middle of the day, and yes you have days when you have to spend 10 hours here. This is preparing you for adult life, so you need to get used to it. Some have it much worse you know?”

Enjolras stands up suddenly and Grantaire can’t help but smile widely.

“No,” he enunciates clearly and Lamarque sighs a resigned sigh. “The mental health of minors is neglected and telling us we have to get over how many hours we’ll have to spend here doesn’t help in the slightest. Besides, we’re only seeing the hours of class but what about the homework we’ll have to do after having had 7 to 9 hours of class? Some people in this classroom can’t get home until 19h and then don’t have good conditions to work at home. Not everyone can handle pressure well. Putting so much pressure on teenagers and telling them to shut their mouths when they say they don’t feel capable of keeping up the rhythm is not a way to ‘prepare us for adult life’. It’s ignoring us when we tell you we need help and acting surprised when we break, and it needs to change. And it can change. So maybe schools should focus on teaching their students useful things as well as taking into account their wellbeing instead of stuffing as many hours as they can in their schedules, only to have them repeat what they want them to repeat like well-trained parrots.”

Musichetta whoops and Bahorel claps loudly. Grantaire grins and stares at Enjolras’ confident posture, chin high, eyes never leaving Lamarque’s. He’d missed those outbursts during the summer.

“Thank you Enjolras for this very thorough and biased analysis of our educational system but though I agree it is a bit flawed, I still can’t do anything about your somewhat packed schedules,” Lamarque says calmly and Enjolras sits back down with a huff.

The rest of their time with Lamarque is spent explaining what exams they’ll have this year, so Grantaire stops paying attention again because he doesn’t want to think about exams in September.

He has two hours of economy and social sciences next and is truly relieved to see he shares the class with Enjolras. The whole reason he chose it last year was to have more chances to be in his class like the pathetic lovesick teen that he is. Because otherwise, he finds the subject frankly boring and it’s based on outdated notions, really.

He sits with Bossuet and spends the time playing with Enjolras curls with his mind instead of paying attention. He makes them fall into his eyes and tickle his cheek, imagining what it would be like to have the right to do it with his hands and feel the golden locks instead of just seeing them. He stops when Enjolras ties his hair in a ponytail with an annoyed sigh and goes back to taking notes without sparing Grantaire even a glance.

“You’re staring,” Bossuet whispers and gets a nasty glare from M. Blondeau.

“Have been for a while.” He whispers back and doodles in the margin of his paper sheet (on which he has written approximately ten words).

Bossuet sighs but leaves him alone. Grantaire may be a pathetic lovesick fool pining after a guy who hates him and has never bothered to hide his disdain for him, but Bossuet is pining after two people. Sure, they obviously like him back, both of them, but he doesn’t believe that, so it makes him just as much of a fool as Grantaire. Except his story won’t end with his heart being broken.

The whole group can eat together because they have the same lunch period so they reunite with their friends the school administration has oh so cruelly put in other classes.

It’s nice to be with them, listening to Jehan’s poetry and Marius’ retelling of his trip to Italy.

It’s nice until Courfeyrac opens his big mouth.

“Okay it’s all very great but you know what’s better?” He asks gravely.

“The thriller movie that was on TF1 last night?” Joly tries.

“No, I mean yes, it was a pretty cool film but that’s not what I was thinking about. I was thinking about the actual superhero we have here in Paris!” He slams his hand against the table in excitement and Grantaire wants to leave.

“What? You actually believe these videos were real?” Éponine raises an eyebrow at him but Grantaire sees the corners of her mouth twitching.

“Obviously they were real.” Courfeyrac rolls his eyes. “Combeferre agrees with me.”

“I just said that since we have a man—”

“An arsehole!” Enjolras cuts him off and stabs his lasagnas with his fork. “An arsehole who still managed to become a fucking ministre even when several women made complaints against him!”

Combeferre stares at him and starts talking again when he’s done yelling. “Well, he said things were flying around and you can’t exactly photoshop real life.”

Grantaire can only watch in horror as his friend openly discuss his secret activity that became a public and very important thing. He wants the floor to swallow him.

“He should have a very catchy hero name. Like in movies.” Courfeyrac concludes and Grantaire does not agree with this statement.

“We don’t actually know if they’re a ‘he’.” Jehan quietly points out.

“Anakin Streetwalker!” Joly offers excitedly.

“No, what about Telekinesiser?” Cosette says.

"Way too many syllables," Musichetta snorts

“The Bigot Fighter, punches sexists and neutralises racists,” Bahorel says in a ridiculous voice.

"You guys are so bad at this it saddens me greatly," Éponine says shaking her head.

There seems to be no end to the discussion and the more it goes on, the more he can feel fear rise in him again. But then Enjolras basically says that whether or not this person can make things move from a distance, they’re great and they should keep up the good work the police don’t care to do. And Grantaire has to go to the bathroom to nervously laugh for five whole minutes. He’s not going to stop doing what Enjolras think is great, and he hates himself a little bit for that.

-

“Hello Mateo, I’m Doctor Myriel you can take a seat. You too Madame Grantaire.” The therapist gestures towards the chairs opposite him.

“Call me Grantaire,” he says curtly. “Please.” He’s feeling quite uncomfortable, and his leg won’t stop bouncing. His mother takes his hand but he pulls it back. It's clammy and disgusting and he doesn’t want her to feel just how scared he is to be here.

“Alright, well then, Grantaire, can you tell me a bit about yourself and why you’re here?” Dr. Myriel says kindly.

“Um,” he sends a distressed look to his mother who looks as clueless as him. “I don’t really know what I’m supposed to say here.” He admits.

“You’re not supposed to say anything, you can tell me whatever you feel you need to tell me. Would it be easier if it was your maman who spoke for a bit?” He asks kindly.

“Sure,” Grantaire shrugs. It’s not about it being easier or harder he really has no idea what he could say.

His mother clears her throat and explains just how much of a disappointment Grantaire is. She doesn’t actually say that, but that’s what he hears anyway. She tells him that he’s not talking with them as much, that he gets these days where he just kind of stops living and cries all day long or rants about the meaninglessness of life, and that he can’t sleep.

“Yeah, you forgot to talk about how poorly I handle school.” He says drily. He’s been in première for two months and a half now and this has not been a very fun time.

“Your grades aren’t exactly my priority.” She looks at him earnestly.

“They’re not?” He asks genuinely confused. She wasn’t very pleased by his latest French test.

“No, they’re numbers, and your wellbeing is more important than numbers. I’m not telling you to stop doing your work,” she warns and Grantaire can’t but smile a little. He would have used it against her without a doubt. “I’m just telling you focusing on feeling better about yourself is more important.”

Dr. Myriel types something on his laptop.

“What about your family situation? Who do you live with, Grantaire?” He asks.

“My mother and my stepfather. No siblings.”

“Do you still see your father?” Dr. Myriel's voice is careful and Grantaire huffs out a laugh.

“It’s not a sore subject, it’s okay. I don’t know where he is because he left when I was three and I never saw him again.”

Myriel nods and types something else.

“Okay one last question before I ask your mother to leave so we can speak just the both of us. Have you ever been a victim of bullying of any sort? Anything counts, even if you don’t think it does.”

Grantaire stops breathing. That’s not how he wants to come out to his mother. He’s silent for too long it’s too late to lie now.

“Well, you know how 13-year-olds are.” He chuckles weakly and his mother grips his arm. He doesn’t turn to look at her.

Dr. Myriel looks between him and his mother and types something else before asking his mother to leave. Grantaire feels even more on edge alone with him.

“Before we talk a bit more, I want to assure you that I won’t be telling anything to your mother that you don’t want me to. You decide what you want to share with the others, if you want to share anything.” He looks Grantaire in the eyes and Grantaire nods jerkily. “Can you tell me a bit more about how 13-year-olds are?”

“Stupid, mostly,” he looks down as he speaks.

“What are they stupid about?”

Grantaire doesn’t answer for a while, he stares at his hands in silence. He doesn’t know this man’s opinion or values, he doesn’t know if it’s safe to tell him who he is.

He looks up again and the kind face of Dr. Myriel makes the decision for him.

“Sexual orientations. 13-year-olds are stupid about sexual orientations.” His voice shakes a little and Myriel types something.

“You didn’t tell your mother about what they did?” Grantaire shakes his head. “And have you ever talked about sexual orientations with her?” Grantaire shakes his head again. “Do you talk about it with other people than your parents?”

“My friends know I’m bisexual.” But that doesn’t really count because most of them are queer anyway.

“Do you feel the need to tell your parents?” Myriel asks gently.

Grantaire thinks about it a little. On one hand, he doesn’t think they’d react badly because they’ve never had a problem with what he says about his friends but, Joly’s parents never had a problem with it until their son came out as trans. He’d like to tell them, just so they could know this about him, so he could stop feeling like it’s a dirty secret. But what assures him they won’t react badly?

“Sometimes,” he says honestly. “But I wouldn’t know how. I’d probably start crying.”

Myriel chuckles. “You can cry, it’s a very intense moment for some people. It doesn’t have to be a grand announcement, straight people don’t organise a big thing to tell their family they’re straight. But I think that if it’s something you think about a lot and that plagues your mind, getting it out would be a good start. It won’t magically evaporate all of your problems but it’s one thing you can take off your mind at least.”

“What if they react badly?” Grantaire can’t help but ask.

“You think they could?” Myriel’s face is painted with worry.

Grantaire shrugs. “I don’t know if they could. I don’t think they would but it’s still a possibility.”

Myriel nods and types something. “It’s your decision to make, you’re the one who can decide what’s best for you on that front. If you decide to do it, I can offer your parents an appointment with or without you to explain to them it’s completely normal and help them come to terms with it. Some people need it.” His eyes are sad, and it makes Grantaire a bit sad too.

The appointment is over soon after and the ride back home is awkward. He knows his mother is glancing at him all the time and resisting the urge to ask him a million questions. He’s grateful that she doesn’t do that.

He thinks about what Myriel told him and realises just how much he wants them to know. He can’t stop thinking about telling his parents afterwards. He makes up all kind of scenarios of how they could react and how he could eloquently tell them. He wants to do it, he does. And he thinks maybe he’ll feel just a bit better if he does. He tells himself he trapped an ex-ministre under a bin, he can tell his parents he likes more than one gender.

That does nothing to ease his nerves.

“I need to tell you something.” He blurts out in the middle of dinner. “No, I want to tell you something.”

His stepfather nods encouragingly and his mother fixes him with a calm and grounding stare.

He takes a deep breath to calm himself a little but he’s shaking and it can’t have escaped their notice.

“I, uh, it’s no big deal really, I, um,” he looks down and swallows around the lump in his throat. “I like boys. And girls. And people in-between. All of that. I’m bi.” He finishes lamely, his voice faltering with each word. So many speeches written in his mind, all for nothing.

His mother sighs loudly. “You scared me I thought you were going to tell us something bad happened.” She does look relieved when Grantaire looks up at her. He feels the tension slowly leave his body and he feels like crying in relief. “Did you think you couldn’t tell us?” She asks gently and takes his hand. He lets her.

Grantaire shrugs. “I don’t know, we don’t discuss that kind of thing a lot. The therapist said he can talk with you if you need to, I don’t know, come to terms with it.”

His stepfather takes his other hand and smiles at him. “I didn’t need an appointment to accept that you can make things fly around with your mind, I think that I’ll be fine with you not being only into girls.”

Grantaire lets out a watery laugh and moves to hug them both. He feels a bit lighter.

His mother ruins it. “You know you also need protection with boys. There are other risks than getting your partner pregnant.”

“Maman!” He groans and moves away from them.

“No, this is important—”

“Yes, I know, let’s just not talk about it, please.” He cuts her off and goes back to his seat to busy himself with his spaghetti. His mother doesn’t look convinced and his stepfather much too amused.

He can’t bring himself to really care. The therapist idea wasn’t so bad after all.

He doesn’t go out that night, he stays home and watches a movie with his parents.

-

“We need something that’ll make them listen to us. Something so big they can’t ignore us.” Enjolras says loud and clear in the café.

Grantaire was half-falling asleep on his chair but he’s awake now. If Enjolras thinks anything can make the people up there listen to a bunch of 16-year-olds who tell them the educational system is shit, he’s delusional and Grantaire has to tell him so.

“Nothing will make them listen to you. They don’t listen to teachers, who are also treated very poorly by the way,” he looks at Bahorel. His mother is an elementary school teacher and the job isn’t exactly ideal. She’s scorned by parents and by her own bosses. “They are not going to listen to teenagers shouting they don’t feel well. Even if we have colourful signs.” He smirks as Enjolras visibly prepares his response.

“We’re not going to give them a choice.” He says.

“Oh yeah? And who are you counting on to join your little revolution? I don’t know if you’ve noticed but the people who feel alright are unconcerned with the others, and the people who feel unwell will be too busy taking care of their own problems.”

Enjolras smiles triumphantly as if he’d prepared for this argument. That doesn’t reassure Grantaire.

“Which brings me to something else I wanted to discuss.” His eyes are alight with excitement and he’s so beautiful Grantaire hurts. “We have someone right here in Paris, who lycéens are obsessed with. If we ask him to show his support for the cause of the mental health of teenagers and reforming school, you can be assured people will come.”

Oh no. Oh no, no, no.

Courfeyrac gasps and Jehan squeals.

“Oh my god you’re talking about our local Superman, right?” Bossuet says.

So the phenomenon of him going out to punch bad people for fun has gotten out of hand. It’s almost Christmas break so it’s been about four to five months since he started it. And no one can be convinced it’s all fake because there have been a lot of witnesses to him moving a whole car (with great difficulty, he was sweating so much, it wasn’t funny at all). Like a lot of witnesses. And there have been more videos. It’s getting harder not to be noticed whenever he goes out but the thrill he gets out of it is enough to convince him to keep going. And he needs it with school being sucky and their teachers repeating him he’ll never be any good.

There’s a forum dedicated to finding his identity. The guesses are so funny, Grantaire has already wasted too much time on it.

Right now, Enjolras is being anything but funny.

“You want him to sponsor us?” Combeferre asks Enjolras.

“Basically,” he nods. “Just think how much more credibility we’d get if someone everyone loves tells the cameras he thinks it’s important. And how much more impact.”

Everyone is talking excitedly about Enjolras’ plan now and Grantaire has to step out. Éponine joins him, already laughing uncontrollably. He joins her in the manic fit of laughter and they stay like that for ten minutes until they decide to go back inside.

They’re all still jumping up and down and screaming excitedly when Éponine and he come back. Bahorel elbows him in the ribs to get his attention and point to the barista, but Grantaire is too busy wincing at the big bruise he just nudged to see what he wanted to show him.

“You alright?” Bahorel asks worriedly.

“Yeah, I just fell when I was going up the stairs in my building yesterday.” He lies with ease. It’s not like it’s the first time he has to do it.

“Sorry man, want me to kiss it better?” Bahorel grins wickedly and makes big “mwah” sounds as Grantaire snickers and shoves him away.

When Bahorel leaves to get himself another disgustingly sweet coffee, Grantaire turns his attention to his sketchbook. He jumps when someone next to him clears their throat.

He looks up only to find Enjolras looking fiercely back at him, sitting in Bahorel’s seat.

“Uh,” he says very eloquently. “Can I help you?”

“You already said you fell down your stairs two weeks ago.” He says in a low voice.

A chill runs through Grantaire’s body.

“Yes well, my stairs are slippery.” He tries his best not to show just how panicked he is on the inside. He’s doing alright he thinks.

“You should know better and be careful then.” Enjolras’ eyes never leave his face and he’s starting to sweat a little.

“You know how clumsy I can be.” He tries to sound confident but even he can hear just how weak his voice is.

“I don’t, actually.” Enjolras’ voice is perfectly even. He sees Enjolras open his mouth and he stands up abruptly, cutting him off before he's started.

“As interesting and enlightening as that conversation is, I have to go.” He leaves without looking back.

His heart is hammering in his chest as he takes a long walk to go back home. No one can find out about who he is. And certainly not Enjolras. He needs to be even more careful than he already was.

He doesn’t go out that Friday night. Nor does he the next weekend. He lets Christmas break pass and then a week after that. He never stops thinking about what horrible things would happen.

And Enjolras never stops watching him. He gets a break with the holidays but Enjolras’ scrutinising gaze comes back after and he doesn’t want to risk it.

But then people start making all kinds of crazy theories and he needs to put a stop to them. Also, he misses it.

He tells his parents and climbs out of the window to avoid being seen right down his building.

It’s a cold night but he feels better already. This past month has been hard on him. The teachers kept sending them emails to remind them just how soon the first exams would arrive and he got Dr. Myriel typing furiously on his laptop like he never had before when he answered the question “Can you describe yourself in three words?” by “insignificant and disappointing”.

He prevents a drunk man from being run over by a car, gets a woman away from two guys and helps a cat stuck in a tree. That one is a first.

He’s on his way back to his building when he hears someone running behind him. He turns around and sees Enjolras. He has several questions. 1) what the fuck is Enjolras doing out at one in the morning on a school night? 2) why is he running towards him? And 3) seriously why is he running? He’s not really into sports and the way he’s wheezing when he reaches Grantaire proves it.

“Where have you been? I’ve been looking for you.” He says between pants.

Which makes many more questions arise because he’s not supposed to know Enjolras when he’s fighting crime. Unless Grantaire’s overthinking brain was right all along and Enjolras knows it’s him. That makes a wave of nausea overcome him.

“Do we know each other?” He tries.

Enjolras shakes his head. “No. I’m Enjolras and I need your help with something. We have this club with friends and this year we’d like to address just how neglected the mental health of students and school staff is. Among other school-related stuff.”

Grantaire is glad Enjolras can’t see him smile right now.

“And we’d like to organise something but if we want people to listen to us, we need your help. You’ve surely noticed but you have a lot of influence on young people and adults, and your explicit support would mean that the issue would be taken much more seriously.”

Right. Since he’s spent the past month analysing every one of Enjolras stares and glares and wondering whether it was because he knew, he forgot about the ABC club and their obsession about getting hero Grantaire’s support. Also, Courfeyrac was whining loudly about his disappearance and making frankly disturbing comments about his thighs that neither Combeferre nor Grantaire appreciated.

He takes a deep breath.

“No.”

Enjolras’ jaw drops and Grantaire almost bursts out laughing. Until it’s anger and not surprise that takes over Enjolras’ face.

“Why?”

“Because unless you don’t know that, to the eye of the law I’m a criminal who attacked several people with my face covered, so I don’t exactly want to make myself noticed any more.” He says half-truthfully and starts walking away, in the opposite direction of his building.

Enjolras follows him.

“This is important.” He says firmly and Grantaire doesn’t even have to look at him to know what face he’s making.

“I know,” he says.

“Then help us.”

“Again, no.”

Enjolras huffs. “I’m going to ask you until you say yes. I’ve been told I can be very stubborn.”

“Wouldn’t have guessed.” Grantaire snorts. Enjolras leaves him alone after that but Grantaire takes his time before going home, making sure he’s not being followed.

Their friends go crazy when Enjolras tells them about their encounter. But there’s something about the situation that irks Grantaire badly. Because Enjolras keeps saying “I’m sure he’ll come around, he’s a good person, I just have to explain the stakes a bit more, he’s a great guy blah blah blah” but Grantaire is anything but great. So he provokes Enjolras and they get into a big fight that has them shouting in the middle of the hallway. That has Enjolras shouting just how useless Grantaire and his input are.

“Why do you always do this when you know it’s always going to end that way?” Musichetta asks him when Enjolras has been dragged away literally kicking and screaming by Combeferre and Courfeyrac. “You know you could get along if you tried.”

“No, we couldn’t.” He snaps. Because it’s the truth. Enjolras wouldn’t even notice him if he wasn’t so irritating. He’s nothing to him.

“Yes, you could.” Joly pipes in. “He doesn’t hate you, you know. If you just tried to be a bit friendlier, you guys could, um.” He stops talking, his cheeks colouring a bit. He looks around their friends that are still here and not out to calm Enjolras down.

Grantaire laughs self-deprecatingly. “Honestly, Joly,” he shakes his head. “Seriously who here, isn’t aware I’m pathetically in love with Enjolras since I met him?”

Marius raises his hand but Cosette makes him lower it quickly.

“See?” He looks at Joly again. “And he probably knows it too, which is part of the reason why I’m so sure what you’re saying is bullshit.”

He stomps away and Éponine follows him. “I really don’t think he knows.” She tells him when they arrive in a quiet and empty staircase.

“We don’t talk about you and Cosette, we don’t talk about me and Enjolras. That’s the deal.” He says without looking at her.

But her uncharacteristic silence makes Grantaire turn to look at her because she should have snapped at him already. The already dark skin of her cheeks is darker and her eyes are a bit sad.

“What?” He asks warily.

She offers him a tentative smile. “I wanted to tell you when you were feeling a bit better but,” she pauses and presses her lips together. “We’re dating.”

Grantaire gasps and a grin breaks across his face. He laughs happily.

“Ponine oh my god, since when?”

She smiles confidently. “We saw each other over Christmas break and we, uh, talked.”

“Mhm, I think you did more than talking.” He wiggles his eyebrows and cackles as she punches his arm repeatedly.

He’s happy for Éponine, she deserves love and Cosette is good for her. He tells her so but she insults him and tells him he has class in five minutes.

His mood is ruined when he sees Enjolras among the other students of the social sciences class. He spends the two hours making Enjolras’ pens fall off his desk and tugging at his hair. He still wishes it were his hands and not his mind.

He’s stuffing his pencil case in his backpack, thinking about how he’s going to spend what's left of his Wednesday afternoon reliving the fight and daydreaming about shouting that he, the walking disappointment, is Enjolras’ perfect superhero. Someone taps his shoulder.

He turns around and has Enjolras’ face centimetres away from his. He stumbles backwards and Enjolras steadies him with a hand on his arm. Grantaire wants him to keep it there. Instead, he shakes it off violently.

“I said things.” Enjolras says not looking at Grantaire. “Things I didn’t mean.”

Grantaire narrows his eyes at him because is Enjolras seriously trying to apologise to him about telling him he could be dead and be as helpful as if he were alive (not exactly like that but Grantaire got the idea)?

“You just get on my nerves!” He says angrily when Grantaire doesn’t say anything for a while. “I don’t understand how you can be so irritating, I don’t understand how you can make such good points when you talk about something you don’t even believe in, and I don’t understand why you keep coming to the meetings when you don’t even think for one second that what we do matters! I don’t understand a single thing about you and it frustrates me!”

Grantaire nods. “You done?”

“No,” he grabs his arm again before he can escape the now almost empty classroom. “I’m sorry. For what I said, I really didn’t mean it.”

Grantaire can only find earnestness on his face (with underlying awkwardness). He’s about to make a stupid joke and ruin the moment when Enjolras’ eyes narrow and he looks at Grantaire’s neck. Grantaire instinctively brings up his hand where he knows is a mark from yesterday fight with the two guys who were assaulting a woman.

Enjolras’ eyes go wide and his grip tightens on Grantaire’s arm. Grantaire pulls his arm away and walks out of the room trying not to show the panic he feels. He doesn’t think there are any videos of last night so how would Enjolras know what he’s up to?

His worry isn’t eased in the next weeks. At all.

All of Enjolras’ attention is on him, all the time. And he talks to him for other things than yell at him, it’s doing things to Grantaire’s head. He doesn’t let him get too close because it’d make hope blossom in his heart and he doesn’t need that.

But what really worries him is that he asks him about every bruise and every cut and every wince. Grantaire would be sure he knows if Enjolras didn’t find him every two nights to talk to superhero-him into helping for their “project”. Project that Enjolras has never mentioned to his friends and has never explained what it actually was to Grantaire. And he never acts as if he knows who he is then.

Grantaire keeps telling him no. Partly because he actually doesn’t want to be involved in this, mask or no mask, but also because knowing Enjolras looks for him at night to talk to him does something to his cold heart. Also, Courfeyrac refers to Enjolras' midnight strolls with him as dates so there’s that.

“You’re really obsessed with me, aren’t you?” He teases when Enjolras appears in his vision.

“We need your help,” Enjolras says sternly like he does every time.

“Mhm, no I think you’re obsessed with me.” He walks alongside him in a street he deems dark enough that they won’t have any problems.

“You’d just have to repeat what we tell you to say.” Enjolras ignores his comment.

“Oh my god, are you in love with me?” Grantaire pushes.

“We can just take a video and have it posted on whatever social media account my friend created for Les Amis de l’ABC.”

“Don’t get me wrong, I’m flattered, but I’m a very busy guy, I can't date.”

“You wouldn’t be putting anyone in danger, and you could keep doing your things.”

“Maybe I can make time for you, though, if you don’t think you can live without me.”

“For fuck’s sake!” Enjolras yells and makes Grantaire jump. “I already like someone so shut up and tame your oversized ego, I just need you to show people you care about this cause! This is important, you know? I have friends who can’t access therapy because their parents won’t let them, and the school counsellor is literally here on Friday mornings every two weeks! And the budget of the éducation nationale isn’t even entirely spent when there are so many things that could be done with that fucking money! So please just help us out!” He’s breathing heavily when he’s done. Grantaire isn’t breathing. It’s not the first time Enjolras loses his temper with him as a hero. That’s not what makes Grantaire’s heart sink.

“Who’s it?” He asks in what he hopes is playful enough and not desperate like he feels.

“What?” Enjolras looks at him confused.

“Who do you like?”

Enjolras closes his eyes and his pale cheeks colour a bit.

“That’s all you got out of what I just said?”

Yes. Yes, it’s all he got out of Enjolras’ tirade. And it’s all he can think about, now. He observes Enjolras about as much as Enjolras observes him after that. He spends his literature and philosophy class making a list of the potential people Enjolras could like. He wants to hate them all but there are Combeferre and Feuilly on the list and he loves them. They’re too great for him to hate them. He can, however, glare at the guy who Enjolras was paired with for a geography assignment a while back.

-

The first exams come and go at the end of February. And though Grantaire was pretty confident he was going to royally screw up and fail, he did alright. And his grades have been doing better lately. Not excellent but enough to have his bac. And that’s enough for him. He just needs to keep it up.

He’s having a particularly good day today.

Until he walks to the bathrooms no one ever uses to find some peace and quiet to draw, and finds instead a crying Joly.

“Hey,” he sits on the floor next to him and takes his hand. Joly immediately leans against him.

Grantaire lets him cry on his shoulder until he calms down a little. He offers him a tissue but Joly shakes his head and takes one from his own bag with an apologetic look thrown at Grantaire.

“Sorry I ruined your shirt.” He says when he’s blown his nose.

“It’s okay,” Grantaire smiles.

They both sit in silence for a few minutes.

“I feel so stupid.” Joly sighs. “I had a breakdown because of a school bathroom.”

“I mean,” Grantaire looks at him. “You have a lot going on, with your parents being dicks, the stress of the exams, class finishing late, the school being not very accessible, your leg acting up sometimes, your stubbornness not to ask Bossuet and Musichetta out, the teachers telling us we need to determine our future right fucking now. Maybe the dirty and gendered bathrooms were the last straw. You have nothing to feel stupid about.”

Joly laughs. “You know I don’t technically have the right to go into the boys’ bathroom? And I have to use the girls' changing rooms for PE. Éponine and Cosette always stay close but it just sucks so much you know. Everyone is telling me this is something I’ll grow out of and they don’t care if I’m not okay. I talked to teachers about it, but they said they couldn’t do anything. Enjolras wants me to address higher authority but they won’t care, I just know they won’t.” He sniffles and tears run down his face again.

Grantaire starts crying a bit too because Joly is the happiest person he knows and seeing him sad because people can’t act like decent human beings breaks his heart. He hugs him and Joly leans against him again.

Grantaire lets a few minutes pass like that. He sees a cleaning lady leave a room of supplies without locking the door and gets an idea. He gets up and smiles at Joly when he sends him a questioning look. He rummages through the tiny room and finds wipes to disinfect surfaces. He lets out a triumphant noise and takes to box back to Joly who looks even more confused.

“You go in there,” he gestures to the boys’ bathroom, “you use these to clean anything you need to clean,” he shoves the wipes in Joly’s hands, “and I watch the hallway to make sure no teacher is around. And if someone does arrive, I’ll make them go away before you come out of the stall.”

Joly breaks into a radiant grin and hugs Grantaire tightly. He looks around one last time and enters the bathroom. Grantaire sees him use a wipe to open a stall and then focuses on the hallway. A girl passes him without even sparing him a glance and when Joly comes out and uses his hand sanitiser, the hallway is empty again.

Joly hugs him again. “Thank you,” he mumbles into his shoulder. “I’m still angry but I feel better thanks to you.”

“Do you want to come with me to throw rocks at a wall?” He asks. Joly pulls back and looks at him questioningly. “When I’m angry about something I go behind the school where there are rocks on the ground and I throw them at the wall.” He explains. He hasn’t done it much this year, but last year, this was his favourite activity. And he did it using his powers mostly. It was more fun.

“Sure,” Joly says and they go.

They end up throwing the biggest rocks they can find and shout about what pisses them off for thirty minutes.

“I like two people who don’t like me back!” Joly yells as he throws a rock at the wall.

“My friend won’t realise the people he likes definitely like him back!” Grantaire yells and throws his own rock.

“Grantaire doesn’t know what he’s talking about!”

“Joly should just ask Bossuet and Musichetta out!”

“Grantaire should talk to Enjolras like normal people do!”

“Joly should leave me to my pining to focus on his great love life!”

“Grantaire should tell me if he’s sure me asking out the most wonderful people in the world won’t result in a big humiliation and heartbreak!”

Grantaire doesn’t throw the rock he has in his hand. He turns to look at Joly instead.

“I can assure you, that if you act on your feelings, the only thing it will result in is a sickeningly sweet love story.”

Joly looks at him, frowning. “How could you possibly know?”

“Okay so I’m not supposed to tell you this, but I can’t take it anymore so. I’ve had very similar conversations with Bossuet and Musichetta. So tomorrow, you put on your leather pants, you talk to them and skip the ABC meeting to do your stuff.”

Joly smiles and rushes to him to wrap him in a hug. “Thank you, you’re the best, R.”

He’s really not.

That night, when Enjolras goes on about the pressure that’s hard on both students and teachers, Grantaire sees Joly crying in an empty hallway again, and he cuts him off.

“I’ll help.” He tells Enjolras who smiles so radiantly it almost blinds him.

“Thank you,” he says. “I’ll tell you more about what you’ll have to do when I’ll have discussed it with the others.”

Enjolras announces the news to the others the next day at the meeting and they all cheer except Éponine who follows him to the counter to order coffee. She asks what changed his mind and he tells her it’s just speaking a bit, it’s easy, and Enjolras will leave him alone at night now.

“Just admit it, you also want him to be with us so you can take off that hoodie of his and lick his abs,” Courfeyrac says when they come back. Grantaire chokes on nothing and he wants to walk away already.

“Don’t you think this joke is getting a bit old?” Enjolras rolls his eyes.

“No, I really don’t think you being obsessed with a mysterious vigilante and spending your nights with him will ever stop being hilarious.”

Enjolras shakes his head at him and ignores everything else he says.

Grantaire wants to smack him for every sexual comment he makes. But he doesn’t because Enjolras already thinks (knows) something is up with him and that would just make him even more suspicious.

-

“What are we doing for your birthday?” Bossuet asks him in the middle of lunch on Thursday.

“Uh, nothing?”

He hasn’t really thought about it but he figured he’d do like the past few years, eat at a restaurant with his parents and spend the next day with Éponine. And have Courfeyrac and Joly sing happy birthday in his ear all day long.

“What do you mean ‘nothing’?” Courfeyrac cries out. “There needs to be a party!”

Grantaire snorts. “Not sure my parents would like that.”

“Why?” Enjolras asks, frowning. Jesus, since when does he care to react when Grantaire opens his mouth?

“Because I live on the third floor with neighbours down and upstairs and that my flat is not big enough to host a dozen of rowdy teenagers, Apollo.” He smiles tightly at him and the tips of Enjolras’ ears become pink. Grantaire thinks it’s unfairly cute and he wants to paint him like that.

“You have so many rich friends with cool places, take advantage of them!” Éponine snickers and kisses Cosette’s cheek when she mutters she hopes she’s not dating her for her money.

“Yeah,” Feuilly smiles, “and Monsieur de Courfeyrac is always so happy to have his son invite his nice friends over.”

Courfeyrac’s eyes widen. “Oh no, my house isn’t an option, he’s still mad about the one back in July.”

They laugh at Courfeyrac’s terrified face and talk some more about what they want to do for Grantaire’s birthday, without ever actually asking Grantaire. He watches them fondly. They’re an odd group but they work.

They all jump a little when the table moves suddenly and they hear a sharp “ow”. Everyone looks at Combeferre and Enjolras. They’re looking intensely at each other like they sometimes do. Grantaire suspects they can read each other’s mind and Jehan agreed with his theory when he told them.

Finally, Enjolras clears his throat and looks at Grantaire.

“My parents aren’t around because of work so I can lend my house for a potential party.” He says, eyes never leaving Grantaire.

Grantaire raises his eyebrows and can’t help the smile tugging at the corners of his lips. Enjolras scowls as Courfeyrac gasps and squeals in excitement because Enjolras’ place is apparently awesome. Grantaire wouldn’t know, he’s never been.

The next day, when he goes home after the weekly ABC meeting and the inevitable and tenth happy birthday singing of the day, his parents greet him at the door with confetti and birthday hats. He groans and tells them they’re embarrassing but he knows he’s smiling like an idiot.

It feels like their relationship has gotten much better since a few months and he’s glad. People say teenagers hate their parents but Grantaire’s parents are great, and he loves them for that. He doesn’t like fighting with them.

They go out to eat at a restaurant and they give him his presents when they’re back home. He gets money from his grandparents, a shirt that says "I'm bisexual, but I hate everyone, so call me byesexual" from his stepfather (it made him burst out laughing and made his mother shake her head at his stepfather) and big canvases and good-quality paintbrushes from his mother.

He goes to bed feeling happy and without the need to run around the city. That’s new.

His Saturday is spent keeping up with what is being said in the group chat about tonight’s party. He thought maybe Enjolras was joking but it turns out he was very serious and everyone is discussing who brings what, and what time do they come, and what are they going to do. Grantaire tells them not to put so much effort into that but they tell him this is very important and go back to their planning.

It makes Grantaire feel all warm in a way he hasn’t in a long time.

His stepfather drives him to Enjolras’ place and tells him to have fun (and to remember he has school on Monday).

He’s attacked by Jehan singing happy birthday already and dragging him to Enjolras’ giant living room. They decided spending the night there would be better so there are mattresses and covers and too many pillows in a corner of the room.

The ones that are already here greet him with a hug and a happy birthday. He reminds them it was yesterday and that they already told him many times, but they ignore him. Enjolras offers him a tight smile and waves awkwardly at him. Next to him, Combeferre shakes his head and Grantaire agrees, he shouldn’t have volunteered his house if he doesn’t like having Grantaire around. Though it would have been a real shame if there hadn’t been a party and he couldn’t have seen the tight jeans Enjolras chose to wear tonight.

The others arrive soon enough and Courfeyrac triumphantly gets a frightening amount of bottles of beer out of his bag. Bahorel laughs and gets out two bottles of vodka that makes Marius wince.

They put on music and order pizzas and drink and dance and sing and laugh, and it’s perfect.

“And it’s like, what if we don’t want to go to a prestigious school you know? Or even just study after the lycée. Like, what if I just want to take jobs where I find them and live in a tiny flat with a friend? What if that’s what makes me happy?” Bahorel rambles on Enjolras’ sofa, his head next to Grantaire’s.

“Well, then you do just that.” Grantaire smiles at him.

Bahorel huffs. “Yeah but like, people will always tell me I’ve wasted my life.”

“But you will know you haven’t because you’re happy.”

Bahorel laughs. “You’re so wise R. I love you, you know? We all love you so much here and we know you weren’t really okay but you’re doing a bit better now and it’s so good to see you like that. We don’t really know how to help but if you need anything, all you have to do is ask.” He rolls on the floor and hugs Grantaire whose eyes are starting to well up with tears.

“Ew, are you guys making out?” Musichetta calls from where she’s dancing with her boyfriends. Grantaire is so happy for them and he’s not the only one because when the three of them announced they were together, Jehan cried with happiness.

“Oh yeah totally,” Grantaire tells her and Bahorel makes exaggerated suction noises against his cheek. Grantaire laughs and stops abruptly when he sees Enjolras glaring at them much more angrily than he usually does when Grantaire is being stupid. “Calm down Apollo, we’re just joking around. No one’s doing anything dirty in your house.”

Enjolras blushes and looks away as Bahorel rolls off Grantaire.

“Come on, let’s get back to dancing that’s too much serious talk for one party.” Bahorel gets up and helps Grantaire stand up too.

They dance like drunk teenagers, so it can’t really be called dancing, but they have fun. Grantaire even manages to surprise a laugh out of Enjolras when he grabs him by the arm and dips him. He can’t take all the credit for that, it’s also and mostly due to the alcohol in both their systems.

The music stops abruptly.

“Oops, sorry,” Bossuet apologises sheepishly. “I hit a button I didn’t mean to hit.”

“No that’s great, I think it’s time we calm things down a bit anyway,” Combeferre says like the reasonable person that he is.

They all whine and groan but Combeferre ignores them. Courfeyrac whispers something in his ear that makes him smile and he puts on music again. But very slow and calm music.

Grantaire is about to complain to Éponine, out of habit but he barely has the time to open his mouth before Cosette is tugging her girlfriend up and they’re swaying together to the rhythm of “Imagine” by John Lennon. And Éponine is so obviously trying not to smile it’s endearing. Grantaire can’t ruin that with his bitterness.

Soon, everyone is singing softly and very off-key and they’re all dancing. Even Marius has been dragged on the dancefloor by Jehan. Well, they’re not all dancing because Grantaire is sitting on a chair next to Enjolras, watching his friends be amazing.

“We look a bit stupid,” Enjolras’ voice makes Grantaire turn to look at him. “We’re just sitting here while they’re having fun.” Enjolras is fidgeting with the hem of his shirt and he looks very awkward. It’s weird seeing him like that. He’s always so confident and sure of himself, always tackling problems without thinking of the consequences, always assuming things will eventually turn out for the best.

Right now, he’s looking carefully at Grantaire as if he doesn’t really know what he can do. Like he wants to do things right with him. And yeah, maybe it’s related to the fact that Enjolras drank and that he’s a fucking lightweight but still, it makes Grantaire feel fuzzy inside.

“I guess we do look a bit pathetic like that.” He smirks. “Want to join them?” He stands up and offers a hand to Enjolras.

Enjolras nods and takes his hand, smiling at him.

Grantaire joins the singing but Enjolras doesn’t. Enjolras is also a terrible dancer but Grantaire doesn’t care because his cheeks become pinker and pinker whenever he stumbles and steps on Grantaire’s feet. And he’s never been so close to Enjolras when neither was yelling at the other.

It’s very nice.

They all stay like that for three more songs. Then Combeferre declares that four in the morning is a good time to go to bed. They move the mattresses and the pillows to the middle of the living room, and they’re all ready to settle into a big pile of drunk and happy teenagers when Joly gasps dramatically.

“We forgot to give the presents!” He says and rushes to the hallway with Jehan and Cosette.

Grantaire wasn’t expecting presents.

The three of them come back with their hands full of cards and more or less well-wrapped boxes. They dump everything on the table and grin at Grantaire. He’s speechless.

“I’m sorry but can I open them when you’re not around? I’m really drunk, and I’m already this close to crying.” He admits.

They all laugh and tell him it’s fine, he can do whatever he wants with the presents.

When all of his friends are snoring softly and Jehan is muttering something unintelligible under their breath, Grantaire is still awake and staring at the ceiling, smiling like an idiot. A drunk idiot. He gets up and looks for the bathroom because he needs to pee.

“It’s the last door down the hall,” Enjolras whispers from where he’s squished between Courfeyrac and Feuilly.

Grantaire gives him two thumbs-up and follows his directions.

When he comes back, Enjolras is still awake and has gotten up to rummage through the pile of presents on his coffee table.

“Stealing’s bad,” Grantaire slurs and makes Enjolras jump a little.

“I’m not stealing anything,” Enjolras whispers and grabs something before turning around. “Here,” he gives Grantaire a perfectly wrapped box. “It’s from me, I’d like it if you opened it now.” He whispers, his eyes never leaving Grantaire’s.

“I wasn’t expecting anything from you.” He says honestly, because he wasn’t. This is a big surprise. “The crying bit wasn’t a lie you know. I don’t think I can keep my emotions at bay very well.” He can’t seem to shut up either.

“I don’t mind,” Enjolras shrugs.

Grantaire raises an eyebrow. “You don’t mind me crying?”

“No, I mean, I don’t want to see you cry but it’s not a problem if you do. Well yes, it’s a problem if you cry because you’re sad but—” Enjolras cuts himself off when he looks at Grantaire’s grin. Grantaire is proud to be close to the only person who can make Enjolras be at loss for word. “Just open your present Grantaire.” Enjolras orders with a sigh.

Grantaire does as he’s told and carefully unwraps the present.

He gasps softly when he sees the arrangement of so many colours of oil paint. Paint he knows is very cool but very expensive.

“Apollo, this is,” he looks up to find Enjolras wide-eyed and if it were anyone else, Grantaire would say he’s worried. “This is worth more than like, my whole self.”

“Do you like it?” Enjolras whispers.

Grantaire can’t calm down his heartbeat or the butterfly battalion in his stomach. Enjolras just doesn’t understand what he does to Grantaire.

“I love it,” Grantaire says, not even trying to conceal his grin. And because he’s drunk and happy, he thanks Enjolras as he would any other friend. He hugs him and kisses his cheek. He quickly pulls back, though, because Enjolras tenses against him and the last thing he wants is to make him uncomfortable.

Grantaire puts the paint back on the coffee table and the both of them join their sleeping friends again.

They end up lying close to one another but Enjolras doesn’t complain so Grantaire doesn’t move. He falls asleep quickly, thinking about the wonderful painting of Enjolras he’s going to do when he gets home.

The next day, the headache is horrible, but he’s comforted by the fact that he’s not the only one feeling like that. And he felt so happy last night he can’t bring himself to regret anything.

-

In April, he’s stressing about the next exams that are coming their way and he can’t stop the memory of Enjolras yelling at a police officer named Javert, who came to visit their school and ask them if they have any clue who the “disruptive and dangerous individual wandering the streets of Paris at night and committing crimes in the name of justice” is.

Enjolras stood up and shouted that, at least, he took people who felt threatened seriously and that he wouldn’t be doing that if the police did their job and listened to the people. Grantaire wouldn’t have been surprised if he spit in his face at the end of the speech. Lamarque wasn’t exactly happy about Enjolras’ outburst but Grantaire can’t stop seeing Enjolras so impassioned while talking about him. And he hates and loves it at the same time.

So he decides to stay out a bit longer on a chilly Wednesday night.

He shouldn’t have.

He gets into a big fight with a man much stronger than him and manages to get the boy he was attacking out of his reach but not without being punched right in the face before.

He stumbles into his flat and tries to be quiet enough to go to bed without his parents seeing the ugly bruise he’s sporting right below his eye. But they're already waiting for him so it’s no use.

“You’re stopping everything.” His mother says as she inspects his face. “And you stay home tomorrow to get some rest.”

Grantaire sighs. “We had a deal, I go to your therapy and I can get my adrenaline shot from time to time.”

“Yes and look where it’s got you! I shouldn’t even have allowed it at all, you told me you’d be careful.”

“I know, I’m sorry.”

She kisses his forehead and sends him to bed. His stepfather comes to see him in his room and tells him the same thing his mother said. They want him to stop. But they don’t understand it’s the only good thing Grantaire can do. He’s not much when he’s Grantaire but he’s a lot when he’s the guy kicking bad people in the street.

He spends the next day thinking he should revise for the exams, without ever actually doing it, and giving his feedback to his stepfather about the book he’s writing. The others send him texts to ask if he’s okay and he tells them he’s a bit sick except for Éponine, to whom he tells the truth.

His mother comes home around 18h and she tells them about her day and tells Grantaire he could have at least gotten dressed. Grantaire doesn’t exactly see the point of staying home to get rest if you have to put jeans on.

He’s just getting up to go to the bathroom when a buzz comes from the intercom. His mother answers.

“Hello, I’m here to bring Grantaire the work we did today.” Enjolras’ voice comes from the speaker. It’s distorted but trust Grantaire to recognise his voice no matter the circumstances.

Grantaire panics and makes big gestures to tell his mother to not let this person in here. But she doesn’t see him and buzzes Enjolras up.

“Tell him I’m very sick and very contagious and that he can’t see me!” He says with urgency.

“Why?” She asks.

“Because I look like shit and I don’t have trousers on!”

She sighs. “Oh, I see,” she says. But she doesn’t, she really doesn’t see.

He rushes to his room and closes the door behind him.

He starts pacing. He doesn’t understand what Enjolras is doing here. They have like two classes in common that day and doesn’t get why he would bother to waste thirty minutes of his life after school (which already ends at 18h) to bring Grantaire work he won’t even glance at until this weekend. And sure, they’ve been doing fine but they’re not exactly best friends either.

Seconds later there’s a knock on the door of his flat and he stops moving to listen to what’s happening.

“Where is he?” Grantaire snickers at how aggressive Enjolras sounds.

“He’s in his room but, wait, he’s not feeling very well maybe you should just give me the things you brought, and I’ll give it to them.” His mother says gently and Grantaire loves her.

“Mhm, there is some stuff I need to explain in person so it’s better if I see him.” Enjolras insists and Grantaire wants to scream because neither of his parents stands a chance against him if he sounds like that.

And he’s right, his mother breaks after another minute of polite arguing and the door of his room opens. He sends her a look that he hopes convey just how betrayed he feels but she just smiles.

The minute the door is closed again, Enjolras strides towards him and Grantaire think he’s going to punch him but instead, he gently takes his face in his hands and angles it sideways to look at the bruise below his eye.

“How the fuck did you get that?” He asks in a low voice.

“What the fuck are you doing here?” Grantaire asks back.

“Answer my question, Grantaire.” His eyes are just so blue and his face is so close to Grantaire’s, it’s a bit too much to handle.

“You’re in my room I think I’m entitled to know why.”

“Fine, I brought you what you missed in class today. And yes, Jehan gave me what they did in art and literature. Now answer my question.” He gets out through gritted teeth.

Grantaire has seen Enjolras this angry before but not with his face mere centimetres from his. And it’s a bit of a turn on. He gets Enjolras’ hands off his face before he does something stupid like kissing him.

“I fell and hit a door handle.” He tells him evenly.

“That’s bullshit,” Enjolras brings a hand to his cheek again but Grantaire bats it away. His heart is beating so fast he’s scared he’s going to have an attack right there. “What really happened?”

“Look,” Grantaire smirks and puts on a mask of confidence he doesn’t feel. “That’s what happened, now if you wanted to get your hands on me you should have just asked.”

Enjolras doesn’t even react. He’s disappointed.

“This is serious Grantaire. Don’t think I’m going to drop the subject like that.”

Enjolras knows. He has to, there’s no other option. But then why did he bother acting as if he didn’t know it was Grantaire all those nights they walked together?

“Just give me the papers you have to give me and go.” Grantaire sighs.

Enjolras makes a point of explaining everything very thoroughly and very slowly and Grantaire knows he’s doing it on purpose.

There’s a knock on the door of his bedroom. He lets out a relieved sigh. His smiling stepfather’s face appears in the doorway.

“Enjolras, do you want me to drive you back home,” he says gently and Grantaire mentally begs Enjolras to say yes. “Or would you like to stay and eat dinner with us? We can drive you back after that if you want.”

Grantaire shakes his head at his stepfather but it’s too late.

Twenty minutes later, Grantaire is sitting at his table (having put on jeans in the meantime), hyperventilating as Enjolras glares at his parents and his stepfather tries to make awkward small talk.

“He’s clumsy these days, isn’t he?” Enjolras says with a fake fond voice. Grantaire stops breathing. “He keeps tripping and falling in the stairs, or on a door handle.” He looks at Grantaire. “That’s a pretty bad bruise you know?”

His mother’s eyes widen and she sends him a questioning look. He stands up abruptly.

“Do you want something for dessert, Apollo?” He asks with his voice high. Enjolras shakes his head and glares some more at his parents.

He goes to the kitchen and his mother follows him.

“Does he know?” Her face is full of worry and yes, Enjolras would never reveal to the world who Grantaire is if he knew because he’s all about ethics and shit, but she doesn’t know him.

“I don’t know,” he answers truthfully. She breathes shakily. “But he won’t do anything about it if he does, I promise he’s not like that.”

She doesn’t look convinced but she doesn’t say anything about it. When they arrive back at the table Enjolras is still glaring at his stepfather who looks deeply uncomfortable. It would be so funny if it wasn’t such a tragic situation.

Grantaire’s mother drives Enjolras back to his house and Grantaire steps out of the car to walk him to his door and settle this once and for all.

“Do you want to spend the night here?” Enjolras asks when he has opened his door.

Grantaire’s brain stops working. He remembers having a dream that started a similar way and ended with him and Enjolras in a bed. And this is not the time to think about something like that.

“Why?” His voice is an octave higher than it should be but Enjolras doesn’t seem to care.

“Look,” he fixes Grantaire with his blue eyes, determination clear on his face. “You don’t want to talk about it for the moment, fine, but don’t stay somewhere you won’t be safe.”

“What?” Grantaire has rarely been this confused in his life.

Enjolras sighs. “I know you probably don’t want to hear this, but this is serious, and it needs to be addressed Grantaire.” Enjolras’ slender fingers wrap around his wrist. “Your parents are violent and abusive and it needs to stop.”

What the fuck?

“What the fuck?” He blurts out.

“Things can get better. Just look at Éponine and her siblings, they’re okay now and safe.” Enjolras grabs his other wrist when Grantaire tries to move back.

A realisation strikes him.

“Is that why you were suddenly paying attention to me?” Grantaire snaps as he manages to pull his hands out of Enjolras’. “Because you thought I could become one of your little causes?”

Enjolras visibly recoils but Grantaire doesn’t care. He’s angry and hurt because for once in his life he thought maybe the guy he’s been crazy about for more than a year stopped seeing him as nothing more than the dust beneath his boots.

“No Grantaire—”

“Don’t,” he cuts him off. “You never gave a fuck about me until what? Two months ago? A bit longer? Don’t deny it you know it’s true.”

Enjolras shakes his head. “It’s not,” he says uncharacteristically quiet. Grantaire is too angry to dwell on it.

“And how could you possibly believe they’re abusive when you’ve seen what they’re like? My mother drives me to therapy every two weeks and my stepfather is—”

“Your stepfather told me to back off your business or one of us would end up getting hurt, excuse me for finding that a bit suspicious.”

Grantaire groans. He’s right in a way. If Enjolras knew what he does at night, one of them could get hurt. But it does sound threatening when you don’t have the whole story.

“Look, they’re great, okay?”

“That’s not how it works. There’s no logic to this kind of thing.”

“I’m not being abused,” Grantaire says firmly and walks back to the car, ignoring Enjolras calling his name behind him.

His mother asks him what they talked about for so long and he tells her he’ll explain everything to her and Rémi when they get home.

They look horrified when he tells them what Enjolras thinks is happening to him. His stepfather apologises and hugs him while his mother caresses his hair. He goes to bed quickly after that.

He gets up a bit earlier to steal his mother’s make-up and cover his bruise to avoid people making awful theories like Enjolras. He discovers make-up can do wonders and wow, he should use it more often when his acne decides to be a bitch.

He goes to school in a better mood than he was yesterday. Mood that is ruined when he sees Enjolras stride towards him. Thankfully, their French teacher arrives quickly and Grantaire can enter the classroom and pretend he’s carefully listening to what she’s saying about Molière. He’s definitely not feeling Enjolras glaring at him from the front row. Nope.

He’s careful not to end up alone with Enjolras, and when their last class of the day, history, ends at 15h he rushes out of the room and stays close to Bahorel as they walk to the café Musain to wait for the others who aren’t in their class.

It feels as if Enjolras never stops looking at him, always trying to catch his eye. It’s disturbing. He does his best to focus on the conversation Bahorel is holding for the both of them.

The others arrive after a while and Enjolras starts talking. He tells them a lot of students in France agree with what they’re saying, that school just doesn’t care enough for how teenagers feel, deeming their emotions too strong and their opinions unreliable. Student groups from Marseille, Toulouse, Brest or Strasbourg have contacted him to tell him they’d be happy to repeat any action they’ll make in Paris in their city. Even people in smaller cities and more rural areas have started to be interested. It turns out posters and Instagram posts can make things happen. The issue has been addressed more often in the media lately. It’s slowly growing and it feels like it will catch and spread like wildfire.

And it’s Enjolras who sparked the flame.

He assures them even more people will start listening to young people when they “do their thing” and Paris’ hero will join them. Grantaire had almost forgotten about that part of his life. And he still has no idea what Enjolras is planning.

“I’d like to talk about something else today before we end the meeting,” Enjolras announces when the cries of excitement have calmed down around the tables. “We should ask the school to have a campaign to warn against abusive households. It’s an issue that’s addressed when children are younger, but is a bit forgotten when they’re seventeen.”

Enjolras goes on and on but Grantaire just shakes his head and goes to the bathroom. He checks all the stalls and makes a ball out of toilet paper, to throw it against the tiled wall with his powers. It’s not as satisfying as rocks but he does it again a few times and calms down enough to go back to the main room.

He’s greeted by Enjolras’ frown the second he steps out.

“You hid the bruise.” He states.

“Such great observation skills.” Grantaire tries to escape but Enjolras blocks his path.

“We don’t have to talk about it. For the moment. You can just stay at my place and away from them.”

Grantaire loses it.

“For fuck’s sake Apollo I am not being abused! Stop trying to make me into a victim!” He throws his hands in the air. “I don’t know why you care, anyway, we’re not even friends.” He adds coldly because he needs to remind himself. Enjolras never actually cared about him.

Enjolras nods slowly and repeatedly.

“Yeah,” he says in a low voice. “Yeah, that’s fair. You consider Joly a friend, right?” Enjolras blinks rapidly at him, his features twisted into the angry expression Grantaire knows so well.

Grantaire sighs. “Yeah, but what does that have to do with—”

Enjolras calls Joly over while taking a tissue and wetting it with a water bottle he had in his bag.

“What is it?” Joly asks cheerily when he arrives where they're standing.

Enjolras grabs Grantaire’s face and wipes away the make-up before Grantaire can do anything. When he manages to push Enjolras off him, Joly is gaping at them.

“Take a look at that, would you?” Enjolras dumps the tissue into the nearest trash can and leaves the café without looking back.

“Who did that?” Joly whispers.

“No one. I fell down and hit a door handle.” Grantaire reassures him. Joly looks worried but he doesn’t insist.

They walk around together for a bit and when Grantaire goes home, he has a lot of missed calls from Éponine. He calls her back and tells her the whole story. She manages to make him feel better but he doesn’t want to keep her from her life, so he lies and says he has some stuff to do.

He’s extra careful not to get too close to people that night when he sneaks out of his flat. He doesn’t want anyone calling the police on his parents when they’ve done nothing wrong. They don’t even know he’s out tonight. He technically doesn’t have the right to be but that doesn’t stop him.

He’s about to call it a night when he sees Enjolras appear on the corner of the street and walk towards him with purpose. Grantaire almost runs away.

“I need your help,” Enjolras says grimly.

“I already agreed to help you with your stupid students’ uprising. I’m still waiting for you to give me instructions by the way.”

“I need your help with something else. Follow me.” He orders.

Grantaire sighs but follows him anyway.

Enjolras leads him to his own building and points to the third floor, Grantaire’s flat.

“I need you to keep an eye on this flat.”

Grantaire wants to scream. Enjolras’ stubbornness has always been a bit funny but right now, it’s making things very difficult.

“Why, anyone special in there?” Grantaire is such a masochist, sometimes he hates himself. Well, not just sometimes.

“A friend,” Enjolras says as he paces. Then he freezes. “Well, no, not a friend I guess.”

And because Grantaire never really had any self-preservation instincts he can’t help but press the issue. He already knows how Enjolras feels about him, he scorns him, looks down on him, but maybe he can finally squeeze any lingering hope out of his system if he hears Enjolras say stuff about him to someone who he thinks isn’t Grantaire.

“Oh, I get the feeling there’s a story there.” He says in a teasing voice.

Enjolras glares at him. “Yeah? Well I get the feeling it’s none of your business. I just need you to watch the flat and make sure he doesn’t get hurt.”

“What if I refuse?” Grantaire asks.

The fury in Enjolras’ eyes seems to grow even more. “Listen, I don’t think you understand how important that is. A boy is coming to school with bruises and cuts all over him. Has been for months. And he refuses to let me help. To let anyone help. But you can make sure he stays safe, and you better do it because I swear if you keep—”

“Okay, okay,” Grantaire lifts his gloved hands and cuts Enjolras off, whose voice was rising with every word. He doesn’t want people to take notice of them. Also having Enjolras feel so strongly about Grantaire getting hurt makes something flutter in his chest and that’s never good. “I’ll watch the flat.”

Enjolras visibly relaxes. “Thank you,” he says.

Grantaire waits a long time after Enjolras disappears out of his vision, to make sure he won’t see him climb the wall and get into the building.

His parents don’t seem to notice he was gone so he can at least relax about that.

He makes a fatal mistake a few days later though. He’s fighting with a man who he found threatening a boy with a knife. He makes the knife fly out of his hand manages to get the boy to safety but the man still grabs his arm. For a split second, he’s terrified he’s going to yank his hood and scarf and mask away and reveal who he is to the world. But he manages to get away by knocking a shoe that was lying there against his temple.

Of course he ends up with a bruise on his arm. He hides it with long-sleeved shirts but Enjolras notices anyway because three nights later, he’s furiously walking towards him.

“You said you’d keep him safe.” Enjolras gets out through gritted teeth. “You told me you’d keep an eye on the flat and make sure he wouldn’t get hurt again.” His hands are balled into fists and he looks like he wants to punch Grantaire. The irony of it almost makes Grantaire laugh but he knows better than to do so.

“I did,” he lies.

“No, you didn’t!” Enjolras shouts and Grantaire reflexively looks around to see if anyone is coming their way. “If you did, there wouldn’t be a huge fucking bruise on his arm and another one on his side!”

Grantaire doesn’t know what to say. He wants to know how Enjolras knows about the bruise on his side and he remembers they had PE today and he must have seen it in the changing rooms. He feels a bit stupid for being so careless.

“Look I’m sorry, but are you sure it’s related to what’s happening in his flat?” Maybe he can throw Enjolras off like that. He doesn’t listen to Grantaire when he knows it’s him but maybe if he thinks it’s a great guy talking to him, he’ll listen.

“I don’t see what else it could be,” Enjolras mutters. “Just don’t let it happen again.” He fixes Grantaire with a pleading look. “Please.” He adds quickly.

Grantaire nods dumbly.

When he gets to bed, he can’t stop his thoughts and emotions from swirling around in his head. Maybe Enjolras does care about him. Maybe it’s not related to the need he feels to always be good and save everyone. Maybe it’s related to Grantaire.

Oh, that’s a wonderful thought. He clings to it for the moment, because a voice at the back of his mind is repeating that it won’t be long until his hopes are crushed and he is left with only the memory of Enjolras’ anger as he talks about Grantaire being hurt.

And he’s right, Enjolras stops talking to him (both versions of him) altogether.

-

“Remember when Lamarque told us about the barricades?” Enjolras asks with a small smile.

He announced at the beginning of the meeting that he was going to tell them what he had been thinking about to make people listen to lycéens. And Grantaire is not reassured by the start of his explanation.

“It was an effective way for people to protest in Paris. And I think it could be an effective way for us to be bothering enough they can’t ignore us.”

Grantaire snorts.

“So what?” He says loudly. “You want to throw furniture on the very wide streets of Paris to block them and annoy people into listening to you? No one will come, Apollo, you’re talking about that a month and a half before our French exam. They’ll want to be revising, not waving signs behind a pile of whatever it is you want to build your barricade with.”

Enjolras turns his attention on him. They haven’t really talked since Enjolras exposed his theory about Grantaire’s parents. And they haven’t really talked with Grantaire as not-Grantaire either. He’s been really careful not to get hit. Because of Enjolras and because his parents don’t know he’s kept going out. Things are a bit stressful lately.

“It’s not going to be an actual barricade, we’re just reusing the concept. As for your other point, we have the support of someone very influential, if he shows up, the others will too.” He says calmly. Too calmly. He’s been talking to him like that for a month, ever since they fought in the Musain. Grantaire doesn’t like it.

“Great, students show up and they scream about how fucked up school is. You really think anyone will be willing to listen to you? They’ll dismiss you because you’re teenagers and they’ll tell you to go back to your revising instead of complaining because you think you have too much work.” He says with a smirk. He hasn’t managed to get a real reaction out of Enjolras in so long he misses it.

“If we block strategic locations they’ll have no choice but to take notice and listen. And we won’t be complaining about having too much work, we’ll be pointing out the flaws of the school system for them to make it better.” Enjolras’ fists are clenched and Grantaire feels a bit of satisfaction seep in his mind. Maybe he can coax something out of him.

“Right, because you think they’ll just listen? You think you’re going to disrupt their tranquil lives and you’re just going to get away with it? You’ll all be painted as thugs, as stupid and rebellious teens. And if one thing goes wrong, they won’t hesitate to use violence you know that. They’ve done it before. You could probably get away with your fair skin but the others, mhm, I doubt it. Oh, I can already see the newspapers the next day: L’ordre règne à Paris.”

Enjolras stands up suddenly. “Leave,” he says coldly. Grantaire can feel his mouth go slack.

“Enjolras—” Combeferre puts a hand on his arm but he shrugs it off violently.

“I said leave, Grantaire!” He shouts and Grantaire feels it go right into his heart.

“As you wish, your majesty,” he says as he bows because he knows it will piss Enjolras off. He keeps his bitter smirk as long as he can, but he can feel his mask of confidence slipping. Enjolras never asked him to leave a meeting. Never. He should have known it was coming, especially when Enjolras spent the last month ignoring him.

People protest as he leaves the café. Some of his friends go after him but he tells them he’s fine and sends them back in. Éponine and Cosette stay, though. They refuse to leave him and he’s secretly grateful.

“He just wants you to believe in him, you know?” Cosette tells him softly as they’re sitting in her huge garden. Éponine snorts from where she has her head on her girlfriend’s lap and Grantaire smiles crookedly at the irony. “What?” Cosette asks.

“I do believe in him.” Grantaire turns to look at her. “He’s kind of the only thing I believe in.”

Cosette sighs. “Did you ever tell him?”

Grantaire shrugs and turns his attention to the couple walking down the street. He hates himself for having been stuck on the same guy since the beginning of the lycée. He probably didn’t miss out on much considering how he looks but still, with other people he could hope. Enjolras is too far out of his reach for hope to be on the table.

“You should tell him,” Cosette says firmly after a while. “About how you feel.”

“Uh, how about no?” He looks at her incredulous. “Have you lost your mind or do you just want me to be so humiliated I can’t set a foot out of my room?”

Éponine hits him on the head. “Talk to my amazing girlfriend in a respectful tone, arsehole.”

“Little shit.”

“Bastard.”

“Scumbag.”

“Dickhead.”

Cosette clears her throat and Éponine smiles up at her innocently.

“I still think you should do it,” Cosette insists. She doesn’t seem to have understood just how much of a bad idea that is.

“Sure, I’ll think about it,” he says and then proceeds to wipe the suggestion off his mind.

They spend the rest of the afternoon together and Cosette’s father insists that both Éponine and Grantaire stay for dinner. Grantaire feels like he’s intruding for the whole evening. The three of them are just really perfect so Grantaire claims his parents asked him to go home early so he can leave them alone.

He tells his parents he’s really tired and locks himself in his room before stripping to his underwear and sliding under the covers without ever switching the lights on. It had been quite a long time since he felt as miserable as right now. It’s like the months of working in therapy, all the progress he’s made through so many difficulties, has been destroyed with a few words from Enjolras.

But it’s not really true.

He was doing better but it’s not just Enjolras pushing him away that sent him over the edge. It’s everything he’s been trying to ignore. The pressure of determining his future when he has no ambition and no skill, his friends who all seem to have their lives together, the past month during which he and his parents stopped being close. Again. He feels so fucked up. And playing superhero can only distract him from his troubles for so long.

He sobs quietly in his pillow and feels so pathetic. So, so pathetic. He doesn’t understand why he’s like that. Why others do just fine and he can’t even begin to believe he’ll ever be able to be alright. Why his friends still put up with him when they could spare themselves the trouble and spare him the hurt. When they’ll inevitably realise just how hopeless he is and all leave.

He doesn’t sleep much that night. He’s not even asleep when there’s insistent pounding on his door and his stepfather calling his name. He fights with himself and manages to get up to unlock the door before walking back to his bed and burying his face in his pillow again.

His stepfather immediately steps in and Grantaire can’t help the groan that escapes him when he switches on the lights. He sits on the bed and makes him sit up to hug him more easily. Like he has done so many times in the past. Grantaire doesn’t push him away or asks him to leave. He doesn’t have the energy to do so.

Instead, he slumps against him and lets himself cry in his shirt like a child.

“I’m so sorry,” he chokes out. “I’m so sorry you’re both stuck with me as a son. I don’t know what’s wrong with me. I’m trying so hard to be better but I can’t. I’m just too messed up.”

His stepfather hugs him tighter. “Nothing is wrong with you Grantaire. You’re sick but illnesses can be treated. You’re not 'messed up' and we love you, you have nothing to apologise for. We’re here for you no matter what.”

Grantaire has a hard time believing him but he doesn’t say anything. He just keeps crying until he feels numb and he can breathe better. They stay like that a bit longer and they don’t even move when they hear the door open and slam shut. His mother calls them and steps into Grantaire’s room when his stepfather calls back.

“Oh mon grand what happened?” She takes his face into her hands and if Grantaire hadn’t already used every drop of water in his body he would cry again.

“I’m never going to get better, am I?” He says in a raspy voice he barely recognises as his.

“Of course you’re going to feel better. Things are so hard for you these days but it doesn’t mean it’ll stay that way forever. There are so many things to be found in the future and the unknown.” Her eyes are so sad and yet, Grantaire can’t find any signs that show she’s lying about this. She really believes this. “And you’re not alone, Mateo. We’re here, Doctor Myriel is here, your friends are here. You can and you have to lean on us whenever you need to.”

“But you can’t spend your whole life supporting me because I can’t stop feeling like shit.” He closes his eyes.

“We can and if that’s what you need, we will.” His mother says firmly.

“But you will feel better. These things aren’t straightforward but that doesn’t mean there’s no end to it.” His stepfather says softly and rubs his back.

They both hug him before making him get up and take a shower and get dressed. He would have stayed in bed all day if he could but sadly it isn’t an option.

The appointment with Dr. Myriel this afternoon is spent with Grantaire rambling and rambling about how it just feels like this is an endless cycle that he can’t get out of no matter what he does because the problem is himself. He also mentions Enjolras which is something he usually tries not to do. They end up talking about medication and they call Grantaire’s mother in to talk about it to her.

It scares Grantaire a bit, but he figures at this point, it can only do more good than hurt.

They decide to take their time to think about it and do some research on their side. Myriel assures them they can ask whatever questions they need and they leave soon after.

When Grantaire arrives home, he checks his phone for the first time since last night and finds that several people have tried calling him and sent him so many texts it could be considered harassment.

Nothing from Enjolras.

It’s not like he expected it but still.

He spends his Sunday doing the minimum of homework required of him. He also keeps telling himself he’s totally going to start revising for the big French exam in June all the teachers are going on about, and then not doing it.

He dreads going back to school on Monday. He dreads facing his friends when he still feels like a mess and like there’s a constant monologue of negative thoughts going on in his head. He dreads facing Enjolras and his hard and impassive features when he feels so soft and fragile. One day, they’re going to collide and while Enjolras will stay intact, Grantaire is going to shatter into thousands of bits. Sometimes it feels like he already has.

But the dread he feels doesn’t change the laws of time and Monday arrives anyway.

He acts like nothing is wrong and gets lost in thought as he contemplates how scarily relatable some of Baudelaire’s poems are. “Pour ne pas sentir l’horrible fardeau du Temps qui brise vos épaules et vous penche vers la terre, il faut vous enivrer sans trêve.” Honestly? Mood.

It’s barely ten when his dreams of a peaceful and uncomplicated day are shattered. When their French teacher tells them to take a five-minute break between the two hours they have with her and Enjolras stands up so fast he scares Musichetta sitting next to him. He strides towards the back of the room before Grantaire can escape and Bahorel leaves him alone with a whispered “putain, bonne chance frère”.

Enjolras steals the chair from the guy sitting in front of Grantaire and positions himself opposite Grantaire. He has that expression. That expression that is so scary and yet, so beautiful Grantaire can’t bring himself to look away.

“I am very sorry,” Enjolras says with a steady voice. “I’m sorry for how I treated you on Friday. I had no right to talk to you like that and ask you to leave. I don’t understand why you keep coming to the meetings because you don’t believe in anything, and certainly not progress but that doesn’t mean I had the right to talk to you like that.” He takes a deep breath that is barely shaky. “So. I’m sorry.”

He just keeps staring at Grantaire with an expectant look on his face. Grantaire can’t offer him anything, he doesn’t know what to say.

“I don’t believe in nothing.” He ends up blurting out. Enjolras frowns but doesn’t say anything back. “I believe in you.”

Enjolras’ eyes widen and his cheeks become slightly pink but he quickly puts on a neutral expression.

“Well then why do you keep saying I’ll get myself and the others injured or killed with everything we do?” He asks.

“Because it’s the truth.” Grantaire looks him in the eyes. “You may be different from everyone else, and your stubbornness could get you somewhere, but the rest of the world isn’t like you think it is. If you keep being this foolish you’ll end up crushed and repressed and Apollo,” Grantaire leans back on his chair. “If that happens, I won’t go to your funerals.” As if Enjolras would want him there.

Enjolras disdains him, he can’t forget that. The best he can do to protect himself is pretend he doesn’t care. He’s good at pretending anyway.

But there is hurt on Enjolras’ face the second the words leave Grantaire’s mouth. He can’t bring himself to regret them. He may have hurt Enjolras’ pride with all his talk of him never succeeding but he needed to hear it, and he needed to have Enjolras hear it. Maybe have him stop this madness though he knows he doesn’t have that power over him.

“Why do you keep doing this?” Enjolras whispers. Anger and pain are duelling in his eyes.

Before Grantaire can say anything and make things worse, the teacher asks people to go back to their seats so they can resume the class.

Enjolras doesn’t try to talk to him after that and Grantaire does nothing to attract his attention like he normally would have. He doesn’t even make his pens fall off his desk. Things are the same for the whole week and he decides against going to the meeting, even if Jehan insists he should come.

He hasn’t gone out at night for the whole week either. But he needs a distraction after skipping the meeting so when his parents have finally gone to bed, he slips out of his window in his usual clothes and wanders in the streets.

He gets hit by a man who was trying to break into someone’s building, but he doesn’t think it will bruise so no one will know.

He goes out again the next day and this time, after he’s attacked a racist by throwing gravel at him, Enjolras finds him. Grantaire’s first instinct is to run away, but then he remembers this better version of himself is on speaking terms with Enjolras.

Enjolras is brief in his description of what he needs Grantaire to do which is basically stand there and look pretty (even the pretty part he can do with his face covered). He answers his questions curtly and tells him he better really show up. He’s about to leave when he turns back to him and asks him if he’s still watching the flat he asked him to keep an eye on (his own fucking flat). Grantaire nods and expects Enjolras to tell him he can drop it and stop doing it. Not that he was actually watching his own flat.

“Good,” Enjolras clears his throat. “Keep doing it, then.” And he leaves.

And Grantaire is lost. Why on earth would Enjolras want Grantaire to be safe (from an imaginary danger, but still) after everything he pulled?

-

The date of their little protest is set a Saturday at the beginning of June which is something Grantaire thinks is stupid. Other than the ridiculously dangerous side of it, putting it at the beginning of June when the biggest exam of the year is like two weeks and a half away is just stupid. No one is going to show up and they’re going to get dissolved by the police so quickly and it’s going to be awful.

But he told Enjolras he’d be there anyway.

And that’s how he finds himself putting on too many clothes in the middle of a June afternoon and walking as the alter ego he created in broad daylight. It’s horrible. First of all, he’s suffocating under his hooded sweatshirt and the scarf and mask covering his face. Then, there are just so many people and they obviously recognise him. It’s a miracle if he doesn’t get arrested before arriving at the protest.

He arrives at the place he was asked to come to and Courfeyrac is the first to see him. Then Éponine looks at him but doesn’t show any sign of recognition. Bless her and her poker face.

“Oh my god, he actually came how did you do that, Enjolras?” Courfeyrac says shaking Enjolras violently.

Enjolras ignores him and looks around the not-too-busy street a bit more before turning to face Grantaire.

“We’ll start right away.” He commands.

They all snap into action except for Jehan who’s recording it all. Since Bahorel doesn’t live too far away, they apparently used his backyard to store the things they wanted to use. Grantaire wants to shake his head when he sees everything. He wants to tell them it’s stupid and all they’ll do is annoy some people and amuse others (also Bahorel’s mother is going to kill her son because the table he just put in the middle of the street probably had an actual purpose). But he shuts his mouth and makes the bins float to place them on the sidewalk and the road.

It’s not long until the videos Courfeyrac and Jehan took and just posted on every social media that exist attract people. And somehow, Enjolras was right and most of them seem to be their age.

The attention is also brought on them because some people would like to walk on the street but a group of delusional 17-year-olds behind a bunch of bins trash bags (and a fucking table) are blocking it.

When he deems there are enough people, Enjolras gives his speech. Combeferre is the one recording everything this time. Enjolras is smart about it. He declares before he starts that he’s addressing their government but that this issue should concern everyone. He quotes figures their government paints as heroes and uses their words to show he’s educated and that they're on the same side, but that things do need to change. He tells them the truth of how hard it is for some people to even go to school. He doesn’t limit himself to students, he reveals how badly teachers are treated. He doesn’t limit himself to Paris and tells them about the people he’s been talking with in other big cities or small villages. He doesn’t limit himself to the lycée and talks about the younger people. He speaks up to defend everyone with baffling earnestness.

And Grantaire can only listen and feel himself become someone next to him.

He fucks up in the last sentence though.

“If you listen to us, the first people who are concerned by all of this, and make schools into a better institution taking into consideration how we feel, you make us into people willing to help you build a brighter future for this country, hand in hand with you. But if you don’t do anything and keep ignoring our struggle and dismissing us as too young to know what we’re talking about, you make us into an angry mob that will only want to tear down and destroy the system sooner or later.”

And then it’s a bit of a blur. The policemen that were sent to the street and were until then only watching to make sure things were going fine, yell about Enjolras threatening democracy and the Republic and they seemingly receive orders to end it all. And all the teenagers Enjolras was so sure would come to help them, and who seemed so charmed by Enjolras’ speech, flee the scene so quickly it’s as if they were never here.

Enjolras shouts that they did nothing wrong but it’s no use. The protection their makeshift barricade provided is stripped away from them when the policemen shove the bins and bits of furniture away to open the passage again.

Enjolras tells the others to go and find somewhere they can be safe, Grantaire doesn’t hear it all. He’s panicking a bit because he can’t exactly run away from his friends, even if they don’t know they’re friends with him when he’s like that, but if he stays, he’ll probably get arrested for having attacked so many people. Bad people yes, but he’s attacked them all the same.

He sees Éponine take Cosette’s hand and run away with her. He sees Feuilly and Jehan trying to drag Bahorel away from the scene before he does something stupid and makes things worse. He sees Marius frozen on the spot. He sees Joly and Musichetta helping Bossuet up after he tripped and fell down. He sees Enjolras still standing and only moving enough to be out of reach but not fleeing like he should be doing. He sees Combeferre being cornered and Courfeyrac being shoved violently with a shield when he tries to help him.

That shakes Grantaire a little and he reacts on instinct, sending everything he can flying towards the policemen until they stumble and leave his friends alone. They send him a grateful smile before grasping each other’s hands and running away too, taking Marius with them.

Before Grantaire can turn around and look for Enjolras, something hits the side of his head. Hard. He lets out a choked cry as all the air leaves his lungs when he falls down on the concrete.

He’s sure he’s going to die but the universe won’t have it that way. Enjolras won’t have it that way. Grantaire’s head is spinning and his vision is very blurry, but he still sees Enjolras giving up on his attempts to reason and argue with the policemen trying to arrest him, to run and drag him towards a very narrow alleyway between two buildings, at a surprisingly quick pace.

Grantaire groans as Enjolras drops his upper body on the ground, behind a pile of rubbish that hides them. Enjolras shushes him and waits. When they don’t hear the police anymore he turns towards him and gasps.

“You’re bleeding,” he says as he obviously tries to keep a calm voice not to freak him out. Grantaire freaks out.

“What? Where?” He slurs. His head and his back hurt so much he feels like he’ll never get up again.

“Your head,” Enjolras says and places his hands on his hood. Grantaire bats them away.

“Don’t,” he says weakly. “You can’t know.”

Enjolras sighs. “I won’t tell anyone, seriously, I don’t even care but I can’t leave you bleeding out here, and I can’t help you if I don’t take this off.” He gestures to his mask and scarf.

“No, seriously,” Grantaire tries to sit up and fails miserably. “You can’t know who I am.”

“I don’t care who you are,” Enjolras repeats and brings his hands to Grantaire’s face.

“You’re going to be so disappointed.” Grantaire closes his eyes.

“For fuck’s sake, you need to stop thinking you’re that important! I do not care who you are, I can’t be disappointed when I don’t even want to know who you are, because I don’t—”

Grantaire screws his eyes shut tighter as Enjolras removes the scarf, the mask and the hood and falls silent.

“Okay, maybe I do care a bit about who you are.” He says quietly.

Grantaire opens one eye and finds Enjolras with an absolutely horrified expression.

“Told you you’d be disappointed,” Grantaire mutters and that seems to snap Enjolras back to reality.

“Oh my god, you are bleeding,” he screeches in a very un-Enjolras way and Grantaire wonders if he also got hit on the head.

“’S okay, Joly says headwounds bleed a lot, ‘s normal,” He slurs and closes his eyes again.

“We have to go to the hospital, come on.”

“No, I can’t, they’ll know it’s me, just,” Grantaire waves him off. “Just, like, go and I’ll go home when I feel a bit better.”

Enjolras makes a frustrated noise and makes Grantaire sit up to take off his sweatshirt. It would be a perfect occasion to make a joke but he just doesn’t have the required energy right now. Enjolras presses the scarf to the side of Grantaire’s head and tells him to hold it there, before sliding an arm around his waist and attempting to lift him. Most of the work is done by Grantaire considering Enjolras is built like a stick.

“Can you walk?” Enjolras asks him. Grantaire nods and they get out of their hiding spot. The police have left already, having more important things to do than deal with a criminal who does their job and teenagers who only yelled angrily behind a pile of trash bags and furniture (and disappeared in about five seconds).

They do their best to look normal in the crowd of people they enter when they arrive in a busy street. Miraculously, they make it to Grantaire’s building, without Grantaire collapsing or either of them getting arrested.

They use the lift because Grantaire can’t even begin to think about using the stairs. They’re greeted by both his parents’ whose faces fall when they see the state he’s in.

The three of them walk him to his room and lay him on his bed. His mother coldly questions Enjolras, who answers as coldly. He doesn’t leave, though. He should leave.

His stepfather cleans the wound and bandages it.

“You should get some rest, we’ll leave the serious talk for later.” His mother says.

Grantaire doesn’t feel like sleeping but he doesn’t feel like having to face his parents’ anger and disappointment just yet.

They all leave and he lays half-awake on his bed for hours. He takes his phone to answer Éponine‘s worried texts and check on everyone else, saying he saw the videos and wants to make sure they’re alright. They’re all okay. Grantaire feels calmer.

A knock comes at his door around 18h and the door is opened before he can tell them they can come in.

Enjolras stands in the doorway with his stepfather. He looks extremely uncomfortable and Grantaire doesn’t understand why he hasn’t left yet.

“He’d like to talk to you a bit if you feel well enough to do so.” His stepfather says softly.

Grantaire wants to shake his head and tell him he doesn’t want to face Enjolras ever again. He doesn’t want to see the clear disdain he feels for Grantaire. Or worse, he doesn’t want him suddenly paying attention because he thinks Grantaire is all about justice and noble values. Because he’s not.

He nods anyway and Enjolras offers him a quick smile before walking in like he owns the room and sitting on the bed.

The door shuts and they’re left alone.

“Feeling okay?” Enjolras asks quietly.

“Yeah,” Grantaire answers without looking at him.

They’re silent for a while and Grantaire decides it’s too much and he just needs to ruin it.

“So, are you embarrassed yet?” He says jokingly and too honestly at the same time. Enjolras looks at him with a puzzled expression. “You know, you’ve admired a guy for months and told everyone he’s amazing and he turns out to be me, that’s pretty embarrassing.”

“What?” Enjolras frowns.

“I mean, you looked pretty horrified when you found out it was me and I don’t blame you. I was the worst option you could have imagined. You probably didn’t even consider me an option, and—”

“I was horrified because I thought you were going to die!” Enjolras cries out. “You were bleeding so much, Grantaire, I thought I was going to lose you for real.”

Grantaire thinks he fell asleep and is currently dreaming. “Why would you care?”

Enjolras stares at him for thirty seconds before he shakes his head. “You can’t possibly be asking me that. You can’t be serious.”

“Oh, I’m very serious, why on earth would you care if I, Mateo Grantaire, died today?”

“Because you’re my friend!” Enjolras explodes and stands up. Grantaire’s mouth goes slack with shock. “You don’t consider me as such, fine, you have the right not to, but I do. And I care about you, and—” he breaks off and takes a deep breath. “I think you should know I have feelings for you. Have had for a while now.”

Yeah, he’s definitely dreaming. Or he’s dead. Or the headwound did more damage than everyone thinks it did.

He can’t say anything. Everything sounds stupid in his head. He wants to ask Enjolras why he’s saying that, he wants to know if this is a bad joke, he wants to know if Enjolras is talking about Grantaire-Grantaire or about Better/Superhero-Grantaire, he wants to ask him so many questions.

“I love you,” is all he can blurt out in the end. He feels his cheeks heat up.

“But you hate me,” Enjolras says quietly.

“I really, really don’t,” Grantaire says as his brain screams at him to just shut up.

Enjolras sits on the bed again. “Why didn’t you ever say anything?”

“Because you’d never return the feelings and I’d end up humiliated.”

Enjolras smiles shyly and takes his hand. Grantaire’s heart is beating so fast it feels like it’s going to beat out of his chest.

“I just told you I feel the same way, didn’t I?”

Grantaire panics and jerks his hand out of Enjolras’ grasp.

“But you don’t,” he tells him. “You think you feel the same way because you think I’m good but I’m not. When I go out at night and am all cool superhero, that’s not me Enjolras. I’m the guy who disrupts meetings and has no future.”

Enjolras shakes his head and takes his hand again, gripping it tighter when Grantaire tries to pull it away.

“I liked you before you started doing,” he gestures vaguely with his other hand, “this. I like you.”

“But why?” Grantaire asks because really, he needs to know what this is all about.

“Why not?” Enjolras counters.

“I can give you a very long list of reasons why not. Number one: my face. Number two—”

“What’s wrong with your face?” Enjolras cuts him off and that startles a laugh out of him. Until he sees Enjolras is very serious.

Grantaire sighs. “Forget it,” he says. Enjolras frowns but doesn’t press the issue. They’re silent and Enjolras is still holding his hand. Suddenly, he remembers something. “Oh my god,” he looks at Enjolras. “I’m the guy you like?”

Enjolras looks at the side of his head. “Yes, I just said that.”

“No, I mean that time you told me but not-me you already liked someone. Was that me?”

Enjolras’ cheeks colour a little and he nods.

“I thought it was like, Feuilly or I don’t know,” Grantaire mutters.

“Feuilly?” Enjolras asks incredulously. “How did you come to this conclusion?” Grantaire opens his mouth because he has proof that it makes sense but Enjolras speaks before he can get the words out. “No, never mind. We have to deal with more important matters.”

Grantaire expects the worst. But once again, Enjolras proves him wrong.

“First, are you interested in having a relationship with me?” He asks. And of course, he has to phrase it like an old man, and of course Grantaire finds it adorable.

“Pretty sure I told you I love like, five minutes ago.”

“Is that a yes?”

“Yes!” He doesn’t understand why Enjolras would want to go out with him but yes, he does want to.

Enjolras smiles brightly and Grantaire’s heart flutters.

“That’s,” Enjolras swallows and ducks his head. “That’s great. Now, can I kiss you?”

Grantaire’s brain short-circuits and he almost excuses himself to hide and scream or squeal like a loser. He doesn’t do that, as a matter of fact, he just nods very eagerly.

“I’ve, uh,” Enjolras clears his throat and straightens his back, looking Grantaire in the eyes. “I’ve never done this. Kissed someone. Or been in a relationship.”

Grantaire knew that already but he doesn’t say so. It’s not like he has much more experience in either field, except for a few spin-the-bottle games and extremely short and feelings-less relationships in collège.

He smiles and hopes he looks reassuring and not like the maniac he feels like. He tugs on Enjolras’ hand to get him to come closer and Enjolras does. He brings his face close to Grantaire’s and looks at him with wide eyes. Grantaire would like to be able to soothe him but he’s freaking out himself and if he opened his mouth it’d be to scream.

Grantaire brings a hand to Enjolras’ soft cheek and sees Enjolras' eyes flutter close. He brings their lips together and stops breathing altogether. He feels giddy and excited and when he draws back after a short time, Enjolras chases after him.

“When I asked if we could kiss I was talking about an actual kiss, not whatever that was,” Enjolras says in a low voice, his face so, so close to Grantaire’s.

Grantaire can’t stop the laugh that escapes him. “I’m trying not to rush you.” He explains.

Enjolras huffs and moves. Before Grantaire can ask him what he’s doing, Enjolras straddles his thighs, putting both his hands on Grantaire’s shoulders.

“We’ve lost enough time being stupid there’s no need to take things that slow,” Enjolras says and gets close to Grantaire again. He stops abruptly. “Unless you want to.”

“Uh, no, it’s fine, it’s perfect,” it’s amazing, it’s great, it’s heaven.

Enjolras smiles and kisses him again, moving his lips against Grantaire’s this time. Grantaire dares to bring his hands to Enjolras’ hips and he gets a pleased noise in return. This is so good he could cry.

He feels bold enough to lick Enjolras’ lips. Enjolras gasps but doesn’t move away so Grantaire kisses him deeper and wraps his arms more securely around his waist. Enjolras sighs and pushes his hands in Grantaire’s hair.

Grantaire’s heart is going to explode. It’s all so good and perfect and he can’t help but sigh and smile a little in the kiss as Enjolras’ tongue brushes his.

The door opens.

“Oh, sorry, I just wanted to see if you were alright. You are alright, admittedly.”

Enjolras jerks back and scrambles to sit on the bed instead of on Grantaire’s lap. He looks beautiful with his pink cheeks and his red and wet lips, and Grantaire would tell him so if his mother wasn’t standing in the doorway of his bedroom.

“Maman!” His voice cracks.

“I’m leaving, I’m leaving,” she doesn’t close the door completely and Grantaire hates her a bit for that. He uses his powers to close it.

Enjolras looks at him and they burst into helpless laughter. Grantaire gestures for Enjolras to come closer and he positions himself the same way he was before his mother interrupted them.

“I can’t believe this is happening. I’m probably lying unconscious on the street and this is all made up.” He babbles nonsensically as Enjolras noses his jaw.

Enjolras huffs out a laugh and kisses him again.

When Grantaire’s parents ask Enjolras if he told his parents where he was and Enjolras tells them he’s been living alone for weeks because they’re away for work, they insist that he stays to eat dinner and that he stays the night too.

And after a very embarrassing conversation with his stepfather as his mother puts a mattress on the floor of his room, they switch off the lights and lie there in silence.

It isn’t long until Enjolras abandons the mattress on the floor to slide in bed with Grantaire. He presses his face against Grantaire’s neck and lets Grantaire slide an arm around his waist. Grantaire thinks their position should be reversed because Enjolras is taller than him and his feet are probably close to dangling off the end of the bed but he’s so comfortable, and Enjolras isn’t complaining. So he doesn’t say anything.

Enjolras confides in him in the darkness the room provides. Whispers about how he’d been hoping Grantaire would come anyway at the protest, even if they’d been fighting. Whispers about how no one followed the movement. Whispers that he was scared. Whispers that he loves him.

“You don’t have to say it just because I said it earlier,” Grantaire tells him. He doesn’t voice the doubts that are already writhing in his mind, but that doesn’t mean he doesn’t feel them.

“I’m saying it because it’s true and I want you to know.” Enjolras says and kisses his collarbone.

He relaxes a little and plays with Enjolras’ hair. With his hands, not his mind this time. Which is a significant improvement.

They fall asleep like that and Grantaire is assured this is not a dream when he’s greeted by Enjolras’ blue eyes in the morning.

It’s perfect.

Until Grantaire’s shitty brain catches up and tells him to give Enjolras an out before it’s too late.

“Hey, uh,” he clears and throat and Enjolras gives a close-mouthed kiss on the lips, and okay, he almost forgets where he was going with this. But no, this is important. “I think there are like, things you should know about me.”

“Are you going to tell me you have superpowers and are actually the guy who’s been wandering the streets of Paris at night for months? Because I’m pretty sure we’ve had this conversation already.” Enjolras jokes and smiles fondly at him.

Grantaire can’t help but smile back like an idiot. He needs to get on with it before his cowardice pulls him back.

“No,” he chuckles. “Other things. Like, mental health things. I’m not in the best place, and I was diagnosed with depression. I wasn’t going to tell you guys because you all have other stuff to deal with, but I just wanted to give you an opportunity to get out of this relationship if you wanted to. I’m not going to be the easiest person to date.” Grantaire can’t bring himself to meet Enjolras’ eyes.

He feels hands cup his face and turn him towards Enjolras’ determined face. God, that face is going to be the end of him.

“Thank you for telling me. For trusting me enough to tell me.” Enjolras says earnestly. “But if you’ll still have me, I’m not going to leave. I can assure you I would never put myself before your mental health so if you think it’s better that we don’t get together for the moment, or ever, I will respect that. But I’m not going to leave because things are difficult. And since when have things been easy between us, anyway?”

Grantaire lets out a watery laugh and pulls Enjolras into a kiss. They pull back quickly though, because morning breath, and laugh and hug and it feels like Grantaire’s heart is going to explode with all the love he feels right now.

-

Their friends find out about their relationship on Monday because Courfeyrac notices a hickey half hidden by Enjolras’ shirt collar and tells, well, everyone.

They’re all very supportive and their enthusiasm almost makes up for the money Grantaire sees them passing around during the day. Almost.

He also learns that Combeferre knew about his nocturnal activities. It doesn’t surprise him as much as it probably should, but that's because Combeferre knows everything anyway, and he trusts him to keep it a secret.

His parents and he agree on some other rules to let him run outside at night. He agrees it was not the best idea to begin with, but he still feels like it’s the only thing he’s good for. So until he can live without doing it, he can do it on some nights and when Enjolras is around to make sure he doesn’t get caught. Grantaire’s parents have a seriously distorted vision of Enjolras and see him as a very responsible and rather level-headed boy, when really, Enjolras is probably the most impulsive person Grantaire has ever met.

But he lets them think whatever makes them feel better.

Later that week, he’s sitting in the hallway next to the classroom door, trying to finish his economy homework as quickly as he can, ideally before Blondeau opens his door to let them in and start the class. He knows Blondeau knows he doesn’t really like this class, and he knows he’s going to be asked so many questions about this assignment he didn’t do.

He feels someone tap his head. He looks up to find Enjolras smiling down at him.

“I would get up and kiss you, but I really need to finish this before Blondeau sees me,” Grantaire says apologetically.

Enjolras huffs out a laugh and is the one to crouch next to Grantaire to kiss the corner of his mouth. That’s not something Grantaire will ever get used to. His breath catches every time. Every. Time.

“He’s really the only one still giving us homework,” Enjolras says as he sits next to Grantaire and leans his head on his shoulder. He’s making it so much harder to concentrate and he probably knows it. “The others let us revise for the French exam.”

Grantaire hums. He has not started to revise for the said exam and probably should because it’s in a week and a half.

He ends up finishing the homework early enough that he has time to make the other students starting to arrive and the teacher uncomfortable, by kissing Enjolras and whispering stupid things in his ear.

He even manages to get a few giggles out of him when he makes all of Blondeau’s pens and chalks fall off his desk and out of view so he grumbles and spends the better part of the lesson looking for them rather than teaching.

“Man, you two are so disgusting,” Bossuet mutters when he catches them smiling knowingly at each other from across the classroom.

“Shut up,” he playfully punches his arm and gets a snicker from him.

But he can’t really be annoyed by this kind of comment when it means Enjolras comes to him at the end of almost every lesson to take his hand and rant about this thing or another to him.

It’s novel and scary and unexpected and it makes him incredibly happy.