Work Text:
Grantaire set the steaming mug down between open books and barely organised piles of paper, and picked his way past Enjolras’ mess to sit in an armchair. He yawned, curling his hands around the coffee, and inhaled deeply, letting the warm smell wake and warm him.
“What’re you working on?” he asked, not expecting a response. When Enjolras was working, he tended to zone in, and pay little attention to what was going on around him.
“Essay. Coursework,” he answered after a pause, frowning at his laptop screen. He hadn’t moved for hours, his chaos spreading slowly over the floor, and Grantaire had almost left a few times before he realised his own apartment was empty and cold, and even sitting in silence with his boyfriend was better than sitting alone.
“Yeah, I’d worked that out,” he deadpanned, taking a tentative sip of the coffee. “About what? I made you coffee, by the way.”
“I know. Thankyou,” he added, finally looking away from the screen to try and find it. Behind his glasses, his eyes squinted, like he was having trouble focusing on something that wasn’t a computer screen, and he blinked rapidly. Rather than helping, Grantaire just let him look until he found the coffee hidden behind a thick book Grantaire had no interest in reading whatsoever. “It’s a criticism of the way the law treats drug crimes, especially focusing on personal use and addiction.”
Alright, so maybe he should read that book.
“Huh,” Grantaire said.
“It’s due next week, I’m almost done,” Enjolras said, setting his laptop down on the floor beside him and throwing his glasses onto the sofa beside him. He settled back with the coffee between his hands, the sleeves of his hoody pulled down over them to prevent burning his sensitive palms. Funny, Grantaire didn’t know Enjolras owned a sweater.
“Almost done? So you’ve written a third of what you’ve planned, realised you’ve got too much to say, and are panicking about what to cut to meet the word count?” Grantaire posed, smirking.
“I- yes,” Enjolras yawned and pressed the heel of his hand into his eyes, rubbing at them. “What time is it?” he asked, tugging at the neck of the jumper, and Grantaire spied a small tear between the fabric and the zip he was sure he recognised.
“That’s my hoody,” he blurted out. Something about Enjolras in his clothes made his breath catch in his chest, and he felt light-headed. “You’re wearing my hoody.”
“Um…” Enjolras’ eyes widened, glancing down at the black hoody. “You left it at mine. It’s soft, I… didn’t think you’d mind. Sorry, I should have asked,” he said as he started to unzip the jumper, sitting up as though to take it off.
“No, I didn’t mean- I don’t mind. I just… didn’t realise I’d lost it,” he said, reaching a hand out to Enjolras to stop him from taking it off. “I was just surprised. I like it.”
Enjolras’ eyebrow almost hit the ceiling.
“Like it?” he asked, still holding the zip between his fingers.
“Not like- Well perhaps a little like that, but not- It’s just nice. Wearing each other’s clothes, it’s very… teenage couple-y.” Grantaire could feel heat in his cheeks, and he laughed, shaking his head.
“I never was in a teenage couple,” Enjolras said, his hands going back to the mug as he took a sip, tucking his feet up on the sofa beside him.
“No?” Enjolras shook his head. “You didn’t miss much. Terrible kissing and trying not to get caught by your parents.” Grantaire grimaced. “Adult couples are way better.”
“Do you want this back?” Enjolras offered, but Grantaire shook his head.
“No. Keep it. I like it.”
“Really? Why?”
“I don’t know, Enjolras, it’s oddly cute, it’s far too big for you, there’s something nice about seeing someone you care about wearing your clothes. There’s probably some psychologists out there who know why, probably something about protecting you against the cold or some bullshit territory thing. It’s just cute. Keep it on.” Grantaire blushed, and hid it behind taking a sip of coffee.
“Okay,” Enjolras grinned. For a moment, he seemed to think about something, then he stood, stepping daintily over his laptop and coming over to stand in front of Grantaire, his mug still cradled in his hands. “Move your hands.”
Grantaire did, and Enjolras sat across his lap, feet over the arm of the chair, Grantaire’s arm around his back. Enjolras leant sideways against his chest, and he took a drink.
“How did you not spill any of that?” Grantaire asked.
“Practice. I am skilled with a cup of coffee. Now,” he said, business-like, resting his head against Grantaire’s shoulder. “Elaborate on how cute I am.” He said it with such a seriousness in his tone that Grantaire couldn’t help but bark a laugh.
“Seriously?”
“Absolutely.”
In lieu of answering, Grantaire turned his head and kissed Enjolras, catching his lower lip between his own and just lightly touching his tongue to him before pulling away. A slight flush sat high on Enjolras’ cheeks, and he blinked, smiling.
“Hmm,” he hummed. Grantaire rested his coffee on Enjolras’ knee and raised his eyebrow. “Expand on that,” Enjolras challenged. And Grantaire was never one to back down from a challenge. He set his mug down, and took Enjolras’ from him, and leaned in to kiss him again.
The coffee went cold.
~
“Here,” Enjolras said, holding out a dark red knitted sweater to Grantaire. He regarded it with confusion.
“I’ve got a jumper, I’m fine,” Grantaire said, pulling on his boot.
“I know. But you’ve got your jumper. This is my jumper.” Enjolras waved it at him, and Grantaire straightened up.
“You’re really no good at this, are you?” he teased, but Enjolras’ face fell infinitessimally, the arm holding the jumper faltering. “Give it here, you fool,” he corrected with a smile, pulling his own over his head and chucking it back towards the stairs.
Enjolras’ sweater was far softer than his own, probably worth more than every jumper he owned put together. And it was a cable knit, something Grantaire knew Enjolras would pull off far better than he ever could. But as he pushed his arms in and pulled it over his head, he breathed in, and was surrounded in Enjolras - his washing powder, his flat, his smell. It didn’t matter that it didn’t suit him.
As he pulled it on, though, he came across another problem.
“You didn’t think this through,” he said, looking up at Enjolras as he held his arms out in front of himself to prove his point. The sleeves ended inches from his wrists, and though it wasn’t terribly stretched, it was clear the jumper was for someone shorter and slimmer than Grantaire.
Enjolras frowned, pouting. “Maybe I have something bigger,” he said, before disappearing back to his bedroom before Grantaire could stop him.
“Enj… We have a film to get to, we’re going to be late, come on, it’s fine,” he called after him.
“We’ll miss the trailers, it doesn’t matter,” replied Enjolras from the other room.
“I like the trailers,” Grantaire grumbled, tugging at the hem of the jumper to try to get it to fit better.
Enjolras returned quickly, though, holding out a chocolate brown sweater. Grantaire rolled his eyes, but obediently pulled off the maroon jumper, and pulled on the brown one. Somehow, this one smelt even better.
“It’s not clean, but I only wore it one day, it should be okay,” Enjolras said. That explained the better smell, Grantaire thought, hesitating and breathing him in before pulling it down. Though it was still snug, the sleeves fitted, and he didn’t feel quite so constricted.
“It smells fine,” he said, and Enjolras’ smile dazzled him, taking his breath away. “Does it look okay?”
“I understand exactly what you meant,” Enjolras said, stepping closer to check the label wasn’t poking out of the neck. Grantaire’s confusion must have shown. “You wearing my clothes. It looks good.” Enjolras reached up and pressed a soft kiss to Grantaire’s lips, one he had barely a second to respond to before Enjolras pulled away and pressed his face to his neck, arms looping around his neck.
“Alright, I guess I’ll keep it on,” Grantaire mumbled into Enjolras’ hair, his arms resting around his waist, a smug smile on his face.
“Good. Now come on, we don’t want to be late,” Enjolras said after a long moment just wrapped up in him. He stepped away and took the black hoody from a peg by the door.
“Late- And people think I’m the dick in this relationship,” Grantaire muttered, without any real malice. Enjolras just grinned, zipping up the claimed hoody.