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Most people, if you asked them, could remember the exact day they started seeing in color.
For Enjolras, it was Christmas, 2011. The day he realized he was in love. The day that the swirl of dark hair and the shine of big brown eyes finally did him in. She’d invited him to spend the day with her and her family, since he wasn’t able to take the time to go home for the holiday. And that’s when he realized she’d captured his heart. When finally he saw the actual colors of Christmas. The twinkling lights on the tree, the intricate patterns on the wrapping paper, the vivid green of the evergreen tree.
He could tell it had hit her at the same time. Her eyes lit up as she took in the sights all around her. And then she turned to him, throwing her arms around him and landing a kiss that would’ve made him blush had the rest of her family not gone into the other room to watch It’s a Wonderful Life or something.
As was tradition, they spent the rest of the evening together, walking around the town, seeing the sights for the first time in color. The fact that it was a holiday didn’t deter them at all, merely gave them more to see, what with the city lit up.
By the next Christmas, they were married.
He’d heard about it happening. Everyone had. Seeing in color came with a warning. There was always the chance of the world being plunged into darkness again. In the very literal sense. Not just the effect it could have on the heart and the mind, but actually taking away the light, the brightness. Every child grew up knowing it could happen to them. To be given the gift of color, only to have it taken away. So Enjolras knew it was a possibility.
He just never expected the day to come so soon.
Not six months after their wedding, she was gone. He knew the second it happened. One minute, the world was its usual, vibrant self. He could see the green on the trees outside the window as he worked. The red on the cardinal that liked to look at his reflection in the glass. The rich red leather of his office chair.
In seconds, it was gone. The world returned to black and white, its original state, as far as he was concerned. It was impossible. Unbelievable. It took him at least a half an hour to process what was happening. Something was wrong with his vision. There was no way this was what it was meant to be. It couldn’t have happened.
By the time he got the phone call, however, he already knew. When he answered it, it was with an already hardened heart. By the time he got to the hospital, he had accepted the outcome. Her face was pale, her skin was cold. There was no goodbye to be said. The world was black and white with shades of gray again and he felt every single one of those colors seep from his heart. Truthfully, it felt like he’d never be light-hearted again.
***
For Grantaire, the day he first saw color was much sooner. And, the same as most, he could pinpoint the day exactly. Right down to the time. He had that attention for detail, especially as an artist. At 7:28pm on February 13, 2007, he saw it. Yellow. The color of her hair. It was buried under his nose from where she’d tucked herself close to shield against the cold. Next he saw red, the scarf that she was wearing, against the gray of her coat. Almost immediately, the artist’s world changed forever. Colors he’d heard about and dreamed about but had never dared to use for not knowing what they were, were suddenly available to him. And he wanted to use them all. He wanted to express every emotion he felt in swirls of blue and red and purple and pink. Sunsets and sunrises and everything in between. No longer constrained to black and gray and occasionally daring to try blues. The whole palette was in front of him now and it was all due to a pair of petal pink lips pressed against his cheek.
He bought the ring, planning for the future. They were young to be planning a wedding, and everyone knew it. But the colors were all the proof they needed. They’d found their soulmates and they’d found them young. There was nothing wrong with that. It would simply take more effort was all.
And they were willing to make the effort, too. Loving an artist wasn’t an easy task, but she managed it with grace and with ease. She shared his love of dance, embracing her own love of music. Together, they seemed to make up the whole of the arts. He was known for his cynicism, but with her, his heart was lighter and his smile truer. All it took was one breathy laugh from her and the room changed.
Because of her, he was willing to tolerate hours of cake tastings and appetizer tray samplings and getting papercuts from sending out wedding invitations. Only she could make him willingly get up at the crack of dawn to go look at potential venues and meet with local bands.
All of the wedding planning was exhausting, so he didn’t notice it at first. The way her cheeks grew more drawn. The color that slowly left her face. By the time anyone realized what was happening, the illness had more than set in. It was as if overnight they’d gone from planning the future to praying there would be one. They went from running around town to waiting in hospitals for tests or procedures.
Grantaire never left her side, but it mattered little. Had it been a human opponent, he’d have happily fought for her. He wouldn’t have hesitated to break a nose or bust an eye. But this? This he couldn’t fight. And the day she finally gave in to the sickness that ravaged her body weighed heavily on him. He closed his eyes to kiss her goodbye, to hold her hand in his one last time. When he opened them again, he knew. He knew how broken he was going to be but that didn’t make seeing it any easier.
The hospital room had hardly been a vivid environment anyway. It was meant to be calming and soothing but he’d simply found it dull. Now, it was entirely devoid of color. It lacked light. And it lacked hope.
Once he got to his feet to exit the room, to leave her behind for the last time, he knew. He knew his art would change, his heart would change, even his very approach to life would change. He didn’t want to face the world anymore. The bottle-one he knew in his mind was a jade green even though he could no longer see it-was going to be more accepting of the world as a whole than he would be.
***
“Any other business?” Enjolras asked the group as a whole. When no one piped up with any comments, he nodded. “Thank you for coming. Dismissed.”
Not that that ever actually caused anyone to leave. More often than not, the group lingered, chatting about the meeting, the ideas they’d discussed, or their lives in general. Or, in Grantaire’s case, he simply downed another drink.
“Need a ride home?” Joly asked him as he packed his notepad into his bag.
The logical part of him knew he should say yes. He’d probably had too many drinks to be bothered with public transportation. Busses were unforgiving at that time of night and it would be a miracle if he could figure out the trains in his current state. But the other part of him, the part that didn’t want to inconvenience anyone or ever be a burden on someone, simply shook his head. “No, I’m fine. Are you heading out?”
Joly seemed to be watching him, as if deciding whether or not to believe him. Finally, he nodded. “Yeah. I’ve got an exam early in the morning.” Joly was in med school, actually attempting to do something with his life. Grantaire was exceedingly proud of him, even if he rarely showed it. Joly didn’t see color yet. He’d put so much focus on his studies that he didn’t notice any of the men or women in his life. No one was overly concerned yet. The day would come for him, and he’d have success to back it.
“Go,” Grantaire urged, finishing the drink in his hand. “I’ll be fine. Promise.”
It was a promsie he wasn’t entirely sure he could keep. With his head in a fog the way it was, he wasn’t even entirely sure which way was home. He’d had too much and he knew it, but he couldn’t help it. The meetings were so...pointless. He went because Joly asked and his friend was extremely difficult to say no to. But they all talked with so much hope and optimism for things that could never be. They acted as if, just because they willed it, the world could possibly be a less cruel and more inviting place. Like discrimination and bigotry and hate would suddenly stop just because they asked it to.
And Enjolras... If ever there was a more infuriating man, it was that one. He was impossibly attractive, not that anyone could possibly tell under that cold gaze he had. The only time his face changed expression was when he was speaking of the future he was fighting so desperately for. Admittedly, there was something about the way he could spin words. If he allowed himself to listen for too long, even Grantaire almost felt a spark of hope. An urge to change the world around him. The blond spoke with passion and urgency, stirring the hearts of those around him.
Now, though... Grantaire’s eyes drifted towards him. He was surrounded, as he often was, with the fellow members of the little organization. It was an oddly mixed group. Mostly Enjolras’ university friends-it was where he’d met Joly, after all-and a few of their friends. The reason Grantaire was there. Enjolras stood tall, resembling a statue with his settled face. A marble statue. That’s what he looked like. One of the Greek’s works. He was obviously taking in every word around him, but he was no longer speaking. As if he could only do so for speeches and everything else was useless.
Rather pompous, actually.
Instead of inserting himself into the conversation in any way, Grantaire simply eased himself out of the booth he’d found himself in and headed towards the door. Watching the statue had given him some time to let his head clear. The train station wasn’t far. He could figure it out easily enough.
He’d missed a turn somewhere. This wasn’t the right street. It wasn’t even the right neighborhood. Why had he gone for that last drink? He’d obviously had enough. All right. Easy enough. It had been a while, he’d had some time to sober up. He just had to focus.
It was in the middle of that focusing when he heard a familiar voice. One he certainly hadn’t planned on hearing. One he almost wanted to groan at hearing. Instead, he looked up. “What?” Very eloquent while in the process of sobering up.
“I said,” Enjolras began again, speaking out the passenger side of his car, “did you need a ride anywhere? Since I’m here and all.”
In some ways, the blond orator was the last person he wanted to see. Especially when he’d only just been having some rather negative thoughts about him. On the other hand, he couldn’t deny he could use the help. “You don’t mind?” he asked, given Enjolras rather seemed like the sort who’d be put out driving a relative stranger home.
He heard the door unlock and Enjolras shook his head, straightening back up in the driver’s seat. “No, not at all. Hop in and point in the right direction.”
Grantaire took him literally. He got in, fastening the seat belt with some difficulty before pointing. Legitimately pointing to the left. “That way.”
Enjolras laughed, and Grantaire realized it was a sound he’d never heard before. He liked it. It wasn’t some twinkling laugh like one might have expected, or a big hearty guffaw either. It was somewhere in the middle. A genuine, heartfelt sound. Grantaire longed to paint it. Painting sounds was easier with color and he didn’t trust himself to blend them on memory. So he wouldn’t try. Not that night, possibly not ever. “Very helpful,” he said simply, and put on his left turn signal. “What part of town?”
He’d had some time to sober up, so getting the man to his apartment wasn’t that difficult. He wasn’t that far away, really, it just wouldn’t have been pleasant trying to walk in his current state. “You really didn’t have to do this,” Grantaire commented a few minutes later as they rode through an open stretch.
Beside him, Enjolras shrugged. “I don’t mind. I would have just gone straight home anyway. Probably watched some news channels or something and gone to bed. Better to help out a friend.”
”We’re suddenly friends now?” Grantaire asked, the cynical edge of his voice peeking through. Why did he do that? It was never intentional. Things like that just came out sometimes. He really needed to stop.
To his credit, Enjolras took it in stride. “I’d like us to be. We spend enough time together, don’t you think? You don’t speak up much, but I know you’re there for every meeting. It would only make sense that we should become friends.”
If he thought on it long enough, if he truly allowed himself to believe it, Grantaire would have had to admit that a warm rush went over him at that. His list of friends was short. Quality over quantity. But that didn’t mean there wasn’t room for another. “Do you really believe all of that stuff you spout off?” Or he could go ruining any potential chance of friendship within the first five minutes.
Again, though, the blond man seemed to let it wash over him. “I do,” he said simply. “I always have. No one should fear being themselves. No one should live in poverty simply because they can’t afford the same opportunities I’ve had. It’s bothered me my whole life and now I feel like I’m at an age where I can actually do something about it.” He pulled up to the complex Grantaire had directed him to. “These seem so...cookie cutter for you. I expected... I don’t know. Mismatched apartment buildings in varying colors.”
Grantaire’s head whipped around. “You can see colors?” He hadn’t meant to be so blunt. It just seemed to come out.
But because he’d turned to face the other man, he was able to watch as the stone expression set in again. “No,” he said shortly. “I... Remember these. That’s all.” Swallowing hard, he put the car into park. “Can you get yourself upstairs safely?”
Obviously Grantaire had touched a nerve. He felt guilt run through him. Guilt he would happily kill just as soon as he got inside and found the whiskey bottle. “Yeah. Thanks for the ride.”
It wasn’t even until he was upstairs that he realized he’d noticed something. Enjolras’ scarf. It was red.
***
He stepped back from the podium, as if he hadn’t just woken up a city. As if the people hadn’t received his words with thunderous applause and chanting and cheers. If he looked too proud of himself, it might seem a bit cocky. Cocky was the last thing he wanted to be.
But he couldn’t help the pride that ran through him. His smile may have been tapered but his eyes sparkled with pleasure.
The city councilman took the place Enjolras had just vacated, and he fell back into line with the other speakers. From there, he could survey the crowd in front of him. Just as they’d promised they’d be, the Amis stood near the front. Combeferre gave him a subtle thumbs up when he met his eyes and Enjolras merely nodded his head, though he wanted to shoot a huge smile right back. They’d all worked for this. They deserved the recognition, and he’d make sure they got it if this went anywhere. Courfeyrac stood beside his friend, tearing his eyes away from the councilman long enough to give Enjolras a reassuring smile. They were all there. Joly, Feuilly, Marius. Even little Gavroche stood tall and proud, taking in every word being spoken around him.
Then there was the surprise face. The dark curly haired man who remained an anomaly to Enjolras. Grantaire, despite saying outright he barely believed anything Enjolras was talking about, had bothered to show up. It was only years of public speaking and practice at not actually displaying emotions that kept Enjolras from showing his shock.
When the event ended, two speakers later, the crowd scattered and Enjolras stepped off of the staging area to find his friends. He received the round of high fives, the pats on the back, even twirling Gavroche around in a moment of levity. When he met Grantaire’s eyes, he held his breath. The man was known for being cynical, after all. For taking all of Enjolras’ ideas and dismantling them one by one. For throwing counter argument after counter argument at him. When Enjolras had said he wanted him to speak up more, that hadn’t entirely been what he’d meant.
But he simply received a small smile. “You did a good job up there.”
The sigh of relief was audible, but he couldn’t help it. It was one thing when Grantaire argued against him in a meeting. Here, though, anything he threw at him couldn’t be retroactively brought up to the audience. “A few of those ideas were yours,” he reminded him. The group around them seemed to fall quiet, watching them. They were likely either waiting for a fight to break out or for Grantaire to throw Enjolras under the figurative bus.
Instead, to everyone’s surprise, Grantaire smiled. An actual genuine smile. “And you countered them well. I’ve got to admit, I’m surprised.”
Enjolras laughed. It was a rare sound, as evidenced by the stunned faces all around him. But he couldn’t help it. The others, for the most part, acted as ‘yes men’. They tended to agree with Enjolras’ points, usually only adding to them. Grantaire was the only one who pointed out the flaws, the arguments that Enjolras’ opposition would bring up. With his help, Enjolras could be ahead of the game, prepared for the arguments and the protests that were to come. So yes. He laughed, especially at the praise from the ultimate cynic. The non-believer, as it was. “Thanks.” Because really, what else could he say? Anything else would sound like some gushing outpouring of emotions. And that definitely wasn’t him. “Hey, why don’t we all do dinner?” They could use the relaxation time. They deserved it. Combeferre flung an arm around his shoulder, Gavroche practically skipped at his side telling his favorite parts of the other speeches.
And Enjolras could almost forget the fact that he’d only just realized the flowers next to the podium had been purple.
***
”You’re back again?”
“Shut up.”
Joly laughed. Pulling up the seat across from his friend, he wore a smug, knowing smile. “Can’t shut up when I’m right, you know that. If I didn’t know better, I’d say you were getting into these causes.” His eyes glanced up to where Enjolras was speaking to a group of older men in suits. “Or perhaps the leader of the causes?”
At that, Grantaire’s eyes shot up. “What?”
Lifting his hands in a mock surrender, Joly nevertheless kept grinning. “Look, I call ‘em like I see ‘em. And you still fight me to this day on the right and wrong of even bothering with these protests. So I figure, as your very closest friend in the whole wide world, that there has to be some other reason you keep tagging along. It’s no longer the drinks at the bar, because we don’t always meet there anymore. It isn’t the joy of my company, because you get that any time you want. Humor me here. Is it a very tight rear end in extremely well tailored slacks?”
Grantaire felt his face burning and his eyes darted from side to side, desperately trying to see if anyone had overheard the insanity of the conversation. “Joly, stop. Stop while you’re behind because you don’t know what you’re doing.”
”Look, we established long ago that you’re bi. I think it’s safe to say you’re allowed to check people out.”
And he did. Often. Commitment was a no-go with him. Nothing more than a few dates here and there, a couple of fantastic nights, and then on to the next conquest. It never stopped the emptiness inside of him, so why should he bother fighting for anything more? And Joly was right about another thing. It didn’t matter, male or female. Grantaire was still an artist, even if he couldn’t help feeling like his work had declined since the loss of colors. Beautiful things pulled him in. Even if he couldn’t grasp their colors, he could still appreciate the lines and the curves. Oh so many curves. Like curves in extremely well tailored...
Wait. That wasn’t the point. “I like being around you guys. Is that so hard to accept? I can be around you less if that’s what you’d prefer?”
Joly was obviously gearing up for a counter argument when the subject in question made his way to their table. “Hey, guys, I’m about to get started. If you wanted to join us?” The question was clearly directed at Grantaire. He knew Joly would come, that wasn’t up for debate. But for Grantaire to do so would be a feat.
He didn’t believe a word that came out of the man’s mouth. A brighter tomorrow, better living for the poor, healthcare for everyone. It was a fantasy world he was creating. Grantaire had painted pictures more realistic than that. Yet he found himself getting to his feet. “Yeah, we’ll be right over.” And he blamed Joly entirely for the way his eyes drifted as Enjolras walked away towards the next table. His cheeks heated up all over again as he felt rather than saw Joly’s amused expression.
“Extremely well tailored,” Joly murmured with a sly grin as he, too, got to his feet to join Grantaire with the rest of the crowd.
“Look,” Grantaire began, the embarassed expression evident on his face. “Just because I’m going over there doesn’t mean I’m easily swayed by a pair of big blue eyes.” The words were out of his mouth before he even realized what he was saying. Before he realized what he’d seen.
Joly caught on, however. “They’re blue, are they? I thought you didn’t see color anymore. Not since...” His voice drifted, cut off by the death glare the brunet was shooting him.
***
It wasn’t any of his business and he knew it. It didn’t stop him from pausing at the bar on his way back to his table. The familiar face drew him, the drink in his hand shouldn’t have swayed him given whose it was. But it did make him stop. “Why? If you don’t mind my asking. Why is it you drink so much?” Enjolras held his breath, knowing he’d overstepped his limits. That was a ridiculously personal question and he barely knew the man.
But Grantaire surprised him, as he so often did. He looked up from the glass in his hand, giving it a swirl before he answered. “To forget. There’s a lot on my mind and I don’t always want to think about it. A couple of drinks usually does the trick.”
If he was more bold, more impersonal, if he even knew the man better, he’d have asked what he was trying to forget. But he didn’t really need to. He knew how that felt. “I get it,” he finally said quietly, almost unheard over the loud music of the bar. “You probably think I don’t. But I do.”
The skeptical expression on Grantaire’s face wasn’t new to him, but the scoffing laugh was. “You? Mr. Never Does Anything Wrong? Do you even drink?”
Enjolras’ lips tilted on one side, a half-hearted smirk. “Do you think?” he asked, holding up the drink in his hand. It had, after all, been the whole reason he’d gone to the bar. “I just don’t drink enough to dull things. I...” Why? Why was he pouring his heart out to this man? This foolish drunkard who was more likely to mock him than be sympathetic. “I work to forget. If I do enough, if I have enough projects... I can forget that way. Or at least dull the memory.”
”Of?”
Enjolras didn’t answer. He climbed on the stool next to Grantaire uninvited, sipping at his drink. The sour taste filled his mouth, the sense heightened by the lack of color in his vision. He’d noticed that, during the time he could take in the colors around him. The vibrancy of the blues and reds and greens seemed to dull other things. He’d been without color for so long that everything else seemed heightened again.
He felt Grantaire’s eyes on him, but he didn’t give him the courtesy of looking back. Because he was starting to like what he saw when he did and that didn’t feel right, either. It was too soon. He couldn’t be trying to move on already. Besides. He wasn’t attracted to guys. At least, he never had been before. Why start now? “You’re not the only one with things they’re running from,” he finally answered, glancing just slightly to his left. He wasn’t crazy. It was just the slightest hint of color in his far too black and white world. But there they were. Bright blue eyes looking back at him.
The sight was enough to set him thinking. “Hey... Let me buy your next drink.”
What the hell was he thinking? Why had he even asked? And then he knew exactly why. The bright smile that lit the ordinarily dark and bitter face. That smile did something to him. Something he hadn’t felt in a very long time. “Seriously? You’re buying me drinks now? Leader of the social revolution is buying a drink for the cynical drunk?”
If it hadn’t been for the smile, he’d have backed down. It felt like a rejection verbally, and Enjolras wasn’t that skilled at responding to such things. But it didn’t feel like Grantaire’s usual mocking smile. And he was quite familiar with his mocking. “Yes, seriously. Or... If buying the cynical drunk a drink is too mainstream for you, we could always do dinner.”
There it was. Another little shot of color. But the reddening of Grantaire’s cheeks was unmistakable. Maybe it was the drinking. But Enjolras didn’t think so. He really believed it had everything to do with the fact that he’d just had the guts to ask the man out. And the thought filled him with a warm feeling, a little burst of happiness that ran through him, starting in his stomach and stretching out to his limbs. “Am I hallucinating? Did you just ask me to dinner?”
“Sure did.” Why, he wasn’t entirely sure. A glance over his shoulder showed Ferre and Courf watching him, clearly wondering what the holdup was. And why he’d paused where he had. To be honest, when they asked, he wouldn’t even know what to say. But he couldn’t help the compulsion. “Is that a no?” And there was a teasing to his voice as he asked. Which was new and entirely different. But not unwelcomed. He’d almost missed it. Even with his closest friends, he rarely teased and let loose.
Grantaire seemed to still be sitting in shock and Enjolras started to stand when he finally spoke. “No, I didn’t say that,” he answered quickly. “I... Yeah. I mean, if you really want to. Yeah. I’d like that.”
Enjolras reached into his back pocket, pulling out his wallet. Grantaire looked confused until a card slid towards him. The business card had the essentials, but most importantly his phone number. “Give me a call when you’re free, we’ll set something up. I’ll come pick you up. If you want.” For someone who’d sounded suave and self-assured only seconds ago, he was already feeling the nerves set in. The first time he’d asked someone out since he’d become a widower and it was him. Not just a man, though that part was new and different. A man who many viewed as beneath them. The one who mocked the things Enjolras held most dear.
And he found he couldn’t stop the building feelings if he tried.
***
”You really didn’t have to buy my dinner.” Grantaire flipped on the lights to the apartment as he got the door opened, mentally hoping he’d not been stupid enough to leave the place a disaster. He knew it was passable, but this was Enjolras. The man looked like in his spare time he ironed. He was likely the sort of guy who organized his sock drawer and Grantaire was just grateful if both socks matched.
Which they did, that day. Grantaire found as he’d been looking at the ground during dinner that he could actually see the color in the patterns of his socks. And that was still new. It didn’t make sense. It wasn’t something he’d heard of before, someone starting to see colors again after a certain length of time. But he supposed it was possible.
There was another theory, of course. But he didn’t want to believe that. It would hurt too much if he was wrong. Even if the way Enjolras was looking at him just then filled him with a feeling he hadn’t felt in a very long time. Even if he had impulsively asked if he wanted to come upstairs for coffee. Not a drink, though he had plenty on hand that he could offer. Just coffee. Between...friends? No. He couldn’t even convincingly say that any longer. Friends didn’t take each other out for dinner. Especially not at nice Italian restaurants.
“Yes I did,” Enjolras argued, slipping out of his coat. There was something alluring about the way he did it. Then again, Grantaire had found lately that everything that man did was sort of alluring. “I’m the one who asked you out. It was only right.”
Dammit. He was blushing again. Enjolras was literally the only one who could bring that out of him. The first since...well. Again, the idea hurt too much. What if he was wrong? What if that wasn’t what this was?
Even if he could make out more of the color in his living room than he had since the day he’d moved in. “Have a seat,” he offered, taking the taller man’s coat. Not too much taller. Only an inch or two. Just enough so that if Grantaire tilted his head just slightly... Thoughts like that had been dominating his head lately. And that felt...off. Not wrong. Just definitely different. It was like starting over. Which wouldn’t have been so bad if it weren’t for the fact that it was this guy. This man so completely different from him. He was gorgeous and successful and the only thing Grantaire had going for him was mediocre art.
Which was the wrong attitude to have and he knew it. Not if he wanted this to go anywhere. And he found he did. Shaking himself out of his ordinarily bad mood, he made his way to the kitchen. “Let me guess. You take your coffee black?”
Though he’d invited the man to take a seat, he found the voice much closer. Enjolras had followed him into the kitchen. “I’m really hoping you’ve got milk,” he countered, grinning. “And sugar. I’ve been accused of actually only enjoying coffee flavored sugar milk.”
Grantaire’s nose turned up in distaste. “Really? That’s awful. Why?” He popped a pod into the machine, grabbing for two cups and pushing one into the blond’s hand. “You’re going to have to make that mess yourself. That’s just...” A visible shudder went through him, and Enjolras laughed. And a shudder went through him for a whole other reason at that sound. He really, really liked that laugh.
“We can’t all be as naturally sweet as you,” Enjolras countered. Within seconds, Grantaire found himself backed into the counter. He didn’t even hear the moment the carafe filled, he was too focused on the sound of his heartbeat pounding in his ears. It was a sound he hadn’t heard in a very long time. And when he heard the hoarse sound of Enjolras’ voice, he got the feeling he hadn’t, either. “What are we doing here, Taire?” he asked softly, his forehead coming to rest against Grantaire’s.
For a brief moment, his eyes closed. The intensity in the other man’s was nearly too much to look at directly. But he had to open them again. Partially because he needed to be reminded that he was there. And also because he was still so surprised at just how blue Enjolras’ eyes were. They shouldn’t have even been possible. But there they were. “I don’t know,” he murmured back, shaking his head slightly, those impossibly soft curls of Enjolras’ shifting against his skin. “I really don’t. But I like it. More than... Well. More than I’ve liked anything in a really long time.”
And his eyes closed again as Enjolras’ lips met his. And it just felt...right. He allowed himself to give in to the kiss, one hand reaching up and threading into hair that was, in fact, every bit as soft as he’d thought. The other rested against Enjolras’ chest, feeling that his heart was beating just as quickly as Grantaire’s own. And when his eyes opened...
“You’re... I...” There was no other explanation, and yet he couldn’t wrap his head around it. He almost didn’t want to. If this was wrong, it was a very cruel trick of fate. And if it was right, it meant everything was right in the world again. His embittered heart had a hard time accepting that.
But the fact was, he saw clearly. Everything. Right down to the color of the lips so recently pressed against his. The swirl of blue in his eyes. The deep green of the sweater he wore. “I don’t understand,” Enjolras whispered, obviously every bit as shocked as Grantaire. “I thought... I didn’t think it would ever... Not again.”
Despite his own shock, his worries and fears, Grantaire couldn’t help but smile. “You, too, huh?” The unspoken subject between them. That they had both been here before. And that, in a way, was terrifying. But he found he was also slightly comforted by it. “Guess this makes you all mine now.”
Ducking his head, Enjolras laughed. The sound was softer than before, obviously still taking it all in. “Is that what it means? I’d nearly forgotten.”
***
They held off the wedding at Enjolras’ request. He’d rushed it before. There was no reason to this time. And once it had been explained to him and he learned why Grantaire wanted to so badly, he spent at least a week reassuring him that he wasn’t going anywhere. They both had their reasons for wanting to wait and wanting to hurry, and it was a difficult medium to find.
Once they did, though, once they worked out those differences that had always lingered between them, it became more and more obvious why the world had chosen them for each other. They completed each other. They didn’t need to be identical to be right together. They simply needed to be two parts to a whole. And the universe apparently agreed.