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“Ugh, fuck,” Grantaire curses as his phone practically flies out of his hands by its own volition. He bends to pick it up as Enjolras looks up from where his face is practically buried in his sheet music.
“Having trouble there?” he asks, blue eyes twinkling with mirth. Fucker.
“Darling,” Grantaire whines. “Why are my hands like this?”
Enjolras pretends to consider it, tapping his chin with a long finger. “What, you mean talented? Beautiful? Incredible?”
“Clumsy.”
Grantaire stands up and stretches and mutters another quiet “fuck” when he drops his phone again. Enjolras makes a sympathetic noise and sets both his music and his cello down before picking Grantaire’s phone up this time. The little crochet bee charm sways back and forth.
“Thank you. I love you.” Grantaire accepts the phone and proceeds to occupy his boyfriend’s lap. He presses his lips to Enjolras’s cheek to properly express his gratitude. In return, Enjolras takes his right hand and drops a small kiss into the palm before folding his fingers down around it. Grantaire blushes and holds onto the kiss.
“I love you more,” Enjolras replies cheekily.
“Like hell you do,” Grantaire says with a huff. “You’re always telling me what notes my screams are.”
“Because I love you,” Enjolras replies. His eyes shine like they always do after a particularly successful performance or after they make tender and heartfelt love, and Grantaire is reminded once again why he loves this ridiculous man… more.
Instead of carrying on and trying to argue with his boyfriend, Grantaire leans forward and kisses him. Enjolras immediately kisses back, smiling against his lips and chasing them when Grantaire pulls away. His arms wind themselves tighter around Grantaire’s waist, holding him in place even while he laughs and laughs at Enjolras’s pouting face.
And then his phone decides to fall out of his hands yet again.
“I can play piano!” Grantaire exclaims as he and Enjolras walk down a busy street hand-in-hand.
Enjolras gives him a bemused look. “Yes? I’m aware? And you play it very well, my love.”
“And yet I keep dropping things!” Grantaire clings to his boyfriend’s arm and even tighter to his book bag.
“You have yet to drop my hand,” Enjolras replies. “That has to count for something, right?”
“My fingers are, like, selectively useless,” Grantaire declares. He flexes his left hand for emphasis. “I can play piano and type shit and hold your hand, but everything else just flies out of them!”
“Well, I think that’s all they really need to do. The real question is, are you holding my hand, or am I holding yours?”
Grantaire turns to gape at Enjolras, blue eyes narrowing. “Why, you-”
Enjolras laughs and ducks his boyfriend’s swat. Because he is a coordinated motherfucker when he wants to be, he catches Grantaire’s hand and pulls him into his arms in the middle of the bustling street. Grantaire’s breath hitches as Enjolras bends to kiss him.
Goddamnit, Enjolras.
“Please hold this.”
Enjolras takes the binder stuffed full of sheet music without complaint. Grantaire inwardly grins. If his boyfriend holds his stuff, then he wouldn’t have to worry so much about dropping it! He’s such a genius sometimes.
“Anything else?” Enjolras jokes. How dare he look so attractive doing absolutely nothing at all? Except he is doing something. He’s carrying Grantaire’s very important sheet music. And looking fine as hell while doing it.
Grantaire realizes that he should stop sighing like a lovestruck maiden at his boyfriend, but Enjolras loves him, so he has no grounds to stand on if he calls him out for it. Enjolras is the best.
“Um,” Grantaire considers, looking around. He makes a triumphant noise as Marshmallow sneaks by, entirely noticed, and picks her up. “Hold her too.”
“Gladly.” Enjolras takes the proffered cat and makes a few cooing noises at her. “Who’s the cutest and smartest kitty in the whole wide world?”
Marshmallow meows and tries eating his hair.
Grantaire loves them both a ridiculous amount. Head empty, heart full of so much love for Enjolras and Marshmallow. He goes back to sorting through his bookshelves in search of the score to one of the pieces he’s planning on learning. The thing is, his bookshelves are ridiculously tall, and he himself is on the shorter side, which results in his need for a fucking stool to stand on.
Pushing Tchaikovs-bee to the side, Grantaire reaches for the sheet music for Tchaikovsky’s first piano concerto. Unfortunately for him, the book is wedged way in there, so he has to tug insistently at it. And then he tugs a little too insistently, dislodging both the book and himself. Grantaire wobbles on the stool, clutching the sheet music to his chest and squeezes his eyes shut. The Tchaikovsky is a Henle edition, so he won’t risk ruining it.
“Jesus fuck, R! Don’t give me a heart attack like that!” Enjolras exclaims a moment later, so Grantaire cracks open one eye to look at him in wonder.
“Where’s Marshmallow?” he asks from his place in his boyfriend’s arms. He kicks a leg up to cross it over the other, settling more comfortably in Enjolras’s hold.
Enjolras huffs. “I had to set her down, so I could catch you, dumbass.” He pinches Grantaire’s butt for good measure, causing him to yelp and nearly slip out of Enjolras's arms. “She’s on the chair.”
“Oh. You’re a blessing to both human and cat… kind.” Grantaire pats his boyfriend's cheek, silently asking to be set down but not before kissing him sweetly for catching him.
“Only you would be so reckless,” Enjolras grumbles, “and care about the cat first before yourself.”
“I maintain that Marshmallow is the one that brought us together, sweetie,” Grantaire replies. “I would be so sad if you dropped her.” He lets his facial features form a wide-eyed and pleading expression, one that he knows Enjolras is far from immune to. “But I still think you should hold me.”
Expelling a breath through his nose, Enjolras pulls his boyfriend back into his arms and hugs him. Grantaire makes a happy noise and burrows into the warmth, content with the knowledge that regardless of how clumsy he is, his Enjolras will always be there for him.
Suffice to say, this little habit of shoving items into Enjolras’s hands because he can’t trust himself to hold onto them carries well into the next few years. Grantaire trusts his boyfriend with his life and sometimes dares to fling himself at Enjolras, knowing that he would be caught no matter what.
Enjolras never disappoints… unless he’s holding his cello, but Grantaire has enough common sense not to pull a crazy stunt during those particular moments.
When it comes to Enjolras’s trust, Grantaire doesn’t doubt it one bit, which is why he purchases a coat with pockets secure enough for one thing in particular to wear on their next date. There is no chance he’s letting this opportunity slip through his fingers. Both literally and metaphorically.
“Here, Enj, my love,” Grantaire says absently, placing the ring box in his boyfriend’s hand. “Hold this for me, please?”