Work Text:
The Les Amis sat on the luscious grass outside the university. It was a very hot day, too hot to sit in one of the stuffy unused classrooms where they usually met for lunch. So they moved outside. It had been Jehan’s idea, seeing how he was quite the romantic (this caused a few loveable teases from the others at times), liking to read and write poetry outside while looking at flowers. And so they were all sitting in the shade of a circle of trees in a park, amongst the small patches of daisies that grew here and there, feeling the slight summer breeze.
Boussete was sitting against a tree, positively beaming and chatting with Joly, law and medicine books on their laps. Feuilly was also with them, half laying down on the grass and occasionally interjecting with a witty comment. In the middle of the circle a large blanket was laid out. Foods, books, a bottle of wine and plastic cups were strewn across it. Marius was near it, across from Feuilly, Cosette perched on Marius’s lap, curling one of his stray hairs around her finger.
Under the shadow of the largest tree, rested Combeferre, Courfeyrac, Bahroel and Enjolras. Jehan was between them and Grantaire, quietly reading a book of classical literature and running his fingers through the blades of grass.
Grantaire sat slouched against a trunk, carefully observing his friends with a slight admiration in the haze of the summer heat. He loved his friends. He loved watching them tease each other (especially Marius), laughing, fooling around and smiling when he told jokes. But being with them was bittersweet. It was amazing, but also hurt. He wanted to feel like he was part of the group, which he was, but then again, there was always a feeling that he wasn’t. Grantaire worried that he wasn’t good enough for them. Was that how he felt? He wasn’t sure how to describe it. But he lived for the moments that he was with them, he made them happy, and they made him feel slightly less lonely in return.
In short, Grantaire felt guiltily, impossibly and immeasurably grateful for them.
He was snapped from his summery thoughts by a loud screech! It was Marius! He had been leaning over to get some food, when Boussete had got up, tripped over him, dropped his very heavy books on top of his head, making Marius faceplant a bowl of salad. A courgette covered, disgruntled Marius was now looking at a very apologetic Bousette who was trying (and failing) to hide his amusement, while the others were in stitches. Cosette leant in and picked a bit of food off his face.
“Thanks Courgette” Marius said, abruptly realizing his mistake “I meant Cosette! I meant Cosette!”
That only made them more hysterical than before. Marius turned bright red in embarrassment.
“Romeo forgot his Juliet! “Romeo, Romeo, where art thou Romeo?’ “Alas I haven’t a clue, who are you?”” Grantaire said grinning, making everyone laugh even louder. Cosette was giggling on the ground beside Marius, who was trying to cover his laughter with his hands.
Even Enjolras was smiling.
Grantaire watched him, and his own smile grew and then faded a little. Watching Enjolras smile was a rare sight. He was usually either cold and serious around Grantaire, or fiery and passionate when talking about his beliefs. To see him in-between the two was like finding a silver needle in a haystack, hard to find, but shining. That didn’t mean that Enjolras didn’t love people. Hell, sometimes he loved other people a little too much. They were alike and yet so completely different. Enjolras, unlike Grantaire, believed in humanity, that he could change the world, whereas Grantaire only believed in one thing. But like him, Enjolras loved his friends.
He marveled at the way the light through the trees shone on Enjolras. The slight breeze rustled the leaves ever so slightly, as though they themselves were in shy, amazed awe at his existence, cautiously observing, but never touching. The warm sunlight glazed and made patterns on his blonde hair.
The dark haired man sat in his own corner of the universe, wondering at the bright, fierce star he thought might be the sun. If Enjolras was the sun, then he must be the moon, or Pluto, Grantaire thought. He was tiny, miniscule in comparison. Only ever on the edge, to get close was an exceptional occasion, one that nearly burned him. Getting insulted by Enjolras was like a punch to the gut, but he tried to wave it off and laugh. Arguing often happened between them. Enjolras got annoyed by it; Grantaire did it to see the face Enjolras had when only Grantaire irritated him. That was why Grantaire argued with him. Well that, and to try and strengthen one of the only things he cared for.
Grantaire chuckled at some remark someone made about something, his eyes still on Enjolras, who was in deep discussion with Combeferre.
Enjolras must have noticed he was being watched, because he looked at him, frowning slightly.
Grantaire hesitated. He was unsure what to do. Had the Medusa just turned him into stone? But surely Enjolras was Hercules and he himself was Medusa? He cast his eyes down hastily. Enjolras turned back slowly to his conversation, while Grantaire suddenly became very interested in the grass.
“Hey Courf!” A voice shouted cheerily behind them. A small boy came running up to them, laughing, and wrapped Courfeyrac in a big hug from behind.
“Gavroche!” Courferyac exclaimed, in an explosion of happiness and rolling him over playfully. Enjolras wiped a stray hair from his forehead and, oh god, Grantaire was captivated again. He gazed at how bright he was,delicate and gentle like gold leaf, but sleek and strong like its solid form. Jehan gave him a slight, perceptive smirk and then returned to his reading.
The others frolicked around in the summer.
Meanwhile, Grantaire settled under his own tree, observing.