Work Text:
Grantaire is halfway up the steps when he hears a thump and a string of curses from what he guesses is probably the kitchen. There's a moment of blinding, oh-shit-the-owner-is-home panic before he realizes that's probably not the case, and then he's just confused.
Is this really happening? Is someone else seriously breaking into the same house at the same time? This is the kind of thing that he feels can only happen to Bossuet, if Bossuet were the type to, you know, break into houses. But no, it truly seems to be happening to him. He'll have to share the story later.
Much later. Grantaire shelves that thought and darts silently the rest of the way upstairs, because the cursing has stopped but the second intruder is practically stomping through the house and, jesus christ, turning on lights.
You know what, no, he cannot ignore this, something has to be done.
He creeps back to the ground floor and into the living room, stops about five feet behind the other person, and allows himself a moment of dramatic pause.
"Is this what you're going with, really?" He asks, just as another light is clicked on.
"Fucking christ holy fucking-"
Grantaire is too busy being amused to avoid the strike that catches him right in the nose.
He really should have seen that coming.
------
Grantaire doesn't black out, luckily, but things go rather fuzzy around the edges, and he definitely falls on his ass.
The carpet is really nice; he spends a long moment rubbing his hand over it while he listens to his attacker rummage around in the kitchen.
"Are you okay?" The guy asks, suddenly crouched in front of him.
"What...? Yeah, yeah I'm fine," Grantaire says, before sitting up and nearly passing out, "Jesus that was a nice punch, I think you broke my nose."
"I'm sure you'll be fine, and I called someone over to look at it. First, though- what the fuck are you doing in my house?"
Grantaire freezes.
------
"You were...breaking in to leave something?" Apollo asks incredulously.
The man's name probably isn't Apollo, but that's what Grantaire has decided to call him, in the privacy of his own mind. When his vision had cleared enough to really look at the guy, he'd been backlit by the glow of a lamp, blond and beautiful and terrifying. Grantaire thinks the name would suit him.
He's still blond and beautiful, sitting across the kitchen table, but no longer quite so terrifying, despite the utility knife he hasn't let go of even once.
"Yes," he says, and then with a smirk, "And you were breaking in because?"
"None of your business."
Grantaire shrugs, decides not to question the guy with the knife and a wicked right hook.
"Fair enough, I suppose. Hey so," he says, before Apollo can ask just what he'd been planning to leave behind, "why haven't you called the police? Seeing as how I did break into your house and all."
Apollo grimaces, and even that is gorgeous.
"Are you kidding? The cops around here are... You broke into a house in the middle of a rich white neighborhood- you probably would've been shot and killed "resisting arrest"," he even does actual air quotes around his words, features twisted in disgust.
Grantaire doesn't even know how to respond to that.
A knock at the front door interrupts his stunned silence.
------
When Enjolras returns to the kitchen with Joly trailing along behind him, he's not really surprised to find the man gone. He was not, however, expecting his coffee to also be gone, with a hastily scribbled note resting beneath the now-empty cup.
"It appears I did steal something after all," he reads, "Allow me to buy you another to make up for it."
And below that, a phone number.
He can't help but smile.