Work Text:
1.
He makes his way to Grantaire’s apartment without trouble. It’s been a long time since the last time he was here, but he’s made the trip enough times in his dreams that there’s no way he can forget the way. He climbs the steps up to Grantaire’s apartment, two at a time, because he’s late, he’s a few years late, and he doesn’t want to have to wait any longer to go home to Grantaire.
He knocks, and feels nervous for the first time when he hears a shuffle from inside.
Grantaire is not on the other side of the door when it’s finally opened, and oh, Enjolras hadn’t expected this, hadn’t expected that maybe he wouldn’t find Grantaire, that maybe Grantaire’s left.
The ache in his chest intensifies.
“Does Grantaire still live here?” he asks quietly.
The man at the door, tall, dark-skinned, bespectacled, not Grantaire, stares at him for a moment, looking genuinely surprised, before he schools his expression into something more neutral. He steps to the side, and gestures for Enjolras to go in.
“You’re Enjolras, aren’t you?” the man asks.
Enjolras starts at that. “Yes,” he says, and wonders if he should ask how the man knows his name. He opts not to, because it’s not so inconceivable that if the man were a friend of Grantaire’s that Grantaire would’ve mentioned him.
“I thought so,” the man says. “I’m Combeferre. Take a seat, would you like some tea?”
Enjolras nods, not really knowing what to say. He watches Combeferre as he puts the water to boil, as he opens the cupboards to get the tea and sugar out. He looks at ease there, looks like he knows the place, is welcome there, and it hits Enjolras very suddenly that Combeferre might be more than a friend to Grantaire.
He doesn’t dare to ask.
Combeferre brings him a mug of tea, and sits opposite him. The silence between them is awkward, strained. Combeferre’s eyes are very knowing, and Enjolras wants to shy away from Combeferre’s gaze, but he doesn’t deserve that kind of mercy, frankly. He hadn’t done right by Grantaire seven years ago, and Combeferre is right to judge him for it, to be angry at him.
Combeferre breaks the silence between them finally by saying, “He should be back soon. He had to take one of his paintings to the gallery.”
Enjolras nods and sips at his tea. They don’t speak anymore, and it remains silent until Enjolras hears keys jingling in the lock, and then a burst of tired laughter as the door opens.
Grantaire comes in, balancing two boxes in one hand, not looking at them in favour of trying to pull his key out of the lock.
Enjolras’ breath catches.
“Okay, I know I said I wouldn’t,” Grantaire says, eyes still trained towards the lock, frowning a little in concentration. “But I passed by the bakery and it smelt amazing, so I thought to go in and say hi to Cosette, and in a stroke of luck, a new batch of croissants came out of the oven, and I just had to get some, and they still had the eclairs that you loved so much, so I got like half a dozen of those too-” He finally manages to close the door and turn to face them. He freezes the moment he sees Enjolras, the boxes of baked goods falling to the ground.
“Enjolras,” Grantaire breathes, shaky. His face has gone all pale now, and he’s starting to look a little faint.
Enjolras is just about to make a move towards Grantaire, but Combeferre is already there, taking Grantaire’s face into his hands, telling him to relax, breathe with him, there’s a love, it’s all going to be okay, just breathe.
Enjolras looks away, not only because it’s obviously an intimate moment between Grantaire and Combeferre, but also because it’s painful to look at, to have his fears that Grantaire has moved on without him confirmed.
It takes awhile for Grantaire to calm down, always has when he gets a panic attack, and Enjolras remembers that it used to be him who held Grantaire in his arms, who pressed his lips to Grantaire’s brow and assured him that things were going to be okay, who held Grantaire’s hands to stop them from shaking.
Grantaire sits down beside Combeferre, opposite Enjolras. He doesn’t speak.
Enjolras clears his throat. “Sorry, I shouldn’t have dropped by just like that. I should’ve called ahead, or sent you an email, or-” Kept in touch, he doesn’t say. The words ring out loud between them, though.
Grantaire reaches out to lace his fingers through Combeferre’s, and squeezes tightly. Enjolras tries to stop the clenching feeling in his chest from intensifying to no avail.
“When did you come back?” The question isn’t from Grantaire, who still seems to be processing, but from Combeferre instead.
“Just now,” Enjolras answers, and feels stupid now. He still has his duffel bag with him, and he looks like he’s been on a plane for way too long. He refuses to lie, though, not to Grantaire. “I took a cab straight from the airport.”
Grantaire’s lower lip trembles. Enjolras only notices because he’s looking for signs that Grantaire is overwhelmed, that this was a bad idea.
“Why did you- Why are you-” Grantaire shakes his head. “I’m sorry. I can’t do this now.” His voice cracks in the middle, and his eyes look wet.
Enjolras had thought that his coming back —coming home— would make Grantaire happy, but it’s obviously not what’s happening now. He doesn’t have the time to think of what to do, though, because Grantaire is still not looking at him, and Combeferre is still there, next to Grantaire and holding his hand, and Enjolras-
He’s an outsider here.
He swallows and nods. “I understand,” he says, and then gets up from the couch. “I’m staying with Courfeyrac.” And Christ, Courfeyrac doesn’t even know that Enjolras is back. He would have to impose, though. He’d made no other arrangements before coming back here. He hadn’t thought that he would need to. He’d thought that he’d still have Grantaire. “I’d like to catch up, whenever you want to.”
He picks up his bag, and turns to walk to the door. His hand is on the doorknob when he turns back to look at Grantaire again. “It’s good seeing you again, R,” he says quietly, and resolutely doesn’t look at Combeferre. “I’ve missed you.”
2.
Grantaire still looks shaken after Enjolras has left, and Combeferre leads him by the hand to the bedroom that they share, Grantaire tucking himself to Combeferre’s side the moment they’re under the covers, pressing his face to the crook of Combeferre’s neck. Combeferre shifts a little, frees a hand to run his fingers through Grantaire’s curls.
“Do you want to talk about it?” he asks gently. He’s heard the story before, was there to witness the aftermath of Grantaire realising that Enjolras was probably never going to come back, and he was the one who helped Grantaire to put together the pieces of himself that that realisation broke, but he knows that it’ll be good for Grantaire to talk about it.
Grantaire shakes his head, and his grip on Combeferre’s shirt tightens. “Can we just- Could you let me pretend that everything is okay just for a bit?” he asks, voice muffled slightly.
“Of course,” Combeferre says, and starts telling Grantaire about his day, the way he does every evening as they are prepping to cook dinner together. “Work was terrible today. There are talks of the hospital cutting back on its budget, and you know how I was just saying the other day that there are so many medical equipments that need upgrading in the hospital? Doesn’t seem like we’re going to be getting those upgrades anytime soon.” He huffs out a sigh of annoyance.
“Hospital bureaucracy is the worst,” Grantaire says, relaxing against him. “I’m mildly surprised you haven’t quit yet.”
Combeferre makes a face. “I wish I could,” he tells Grantaire. “But I love everyone in the hospital so much.”
“Make everyone quit with you,” Grantaire says, and Combeferre can hear the smile behind his voice now. “Joly, Bossuet, Chetta, Louison… Take them all with you. Start your own fucking hospital. Name it after a pun.”
Combeferre smiles and turns to press a kiss to the side of Grantaire’s head. “It’s like you know how all my dreams play out every night,” he tells Grantaire.
Grantaire laughs, and then sighs. “I really do love you a whole fucking lot,” he tells Combeferre, pressing a kiss to Combeferre’s neck.
“I know you do,” Combeferre says. “It’s kind of hard not to, what with you telling me all the time.” That gets another laugh out of Grantaire, and Combeferre considers it a success. “I love you too, R.”
They’re silent for a long moment.
And then Grantaire says, “Okay, we can talk about it now if you want to.”
“Would it help to talk about it?” Combeferre asks, shifting so they’re both lying on their sides, looking at each other.
“I think?” Grantaire says, unsure. “I don’t know.”
“We don’t have to, if you don’t want to,” Combeferre tells him. He’s been together with Grantaire long enough to know that Grantaire doesn’t respond well to pressure, and he doesn’t want to push Grantaire into talking about Enjolras if Grantaire isn’t ready to. That isn’t what Grantaire needs now.
“What about you?” Grantaire asks quietly. “Do you want to talk about it?”
“I don’t mind,” Combeferre says carefully. “I could start, if that’ll make you more comfortable. The only thing I really wanted to know is if his coming back is going to change anything. For us. Because that was my first thought upon seeing him. I had this one moment of paralysing fear that you would see him again and just-”
Grantaire shakes his head. “No,” he says quickly, fiercely, interrupting Combeferre, as if the idea of Combeferre finishing that sentence is will make him physically ill. “No. That’s not going to happen.”
“Okay,” Combeferre says, stroking his thumb over Grantaire’s cheek. “That’s all I needed to know.”
“Nothing is going to change,” Grantaire says. “I love you. And him being back doesn’t change that, I promise.” He kisses Combeferre then, as if to seal that promise.
“Okay,” Combeferre says, smiling slightly. “Your turn to talk about it.”
“I-” Grantaire draws in a deep breath. “I never really thought that he would come back. He’s just… He’s been gone for so long, and I don’t know, seeing him just brought back a lot of, y’know.”
Combeferre nods and slides his hand down to grip Grantaire’s, lacing their fingers together tightly.
“You know what a wreck I was three years ago,” Grantaire says. “It took me, took us, so long to get over that. And I don’t want to…be like that again, to feel like that again, and I know the best way to do that would be to not see him again, but he’s back now, and he’s always been such a huge part of my life, and I can’t just- I think I should talk to him again.” He says that last part quietly, like he’s not sure what Combeferre will think about it, like he’s asking if Combeferre will be okay with it.
“I think it’s a good idea,” Combeferre tells him. “I think you have a lot of questions that only he can answer, and I think you deserve to have those questions answered. I think you should talk to him again too.”
“Really?” Grantaire asks, eyes wide.
Combeferre smiles, and shuffles forward to press his lips to Grantaire’s brow. “If you think that talking to him again is the right decision for you, then I’m going to be behind you on this.”
“I love you so much,” Grantaire breathes. And then, “I’m going to call Courfeyrac tomorrow, and arrange to meet Enjolras.”
Combeferre nods, and then tugs Grantaire closer into his arms, pressing a kiss to the crown of his head.
3.
When Enjolras names the cafe they used to frequent back when they were both in university and going on dates together as the spot to meet, Grantaire’s chest grows tight. He agrees to it, though, because Enjolras hasn’t been back to the city in seven years, and in that time, Grantaire’s taken the effort to go to new places, and make new memories, but he still misses the comfort of his old haunts.
He’s fifteen minutes early, but Enjolras is already there, at the table by the window, a steaming mug of coffee in his hands, and another sitting opposite him, for Grantaire. He’s staring at his coffee, pensive, and Grantaire takes a moment to wonder if Enjolras is thinking about him.
When Grantaire reaches out to push the glass doors of the cafe open, his hands are trembling, and he’s reminded of how he used to dream about this, to wish for Enjolras to come back. He’d never imagined feeling so suffused with nerves at the thought of speaking to Enjolras, though. He’d always thought that he would be happy, would be excited, would be just so glad to have Enjolras back — but he isn’t now, not exactly.
Instead, he’s afraid. He’s afraid of asking the questions he’s always wanted to, afraid of the answers he might hear, afraid of messing up this hard-earned balance that he has in his life now.
He almost doesn’t walk in.
But then Enjolras looks up and catches sight of Grantaire. He stands, and Grantaire isn’t left with much of a choice except to force himself to smile at Enjolras, and walk in.
“You came,” Enjolras says, relief evident in his voice, when Grantaire reaches him. “I thought you might change your mind.” He motions at the seat opposite his, and Grantaire sits down gingerly. “I got you your usual,” Enjolras tells him, gesturing to the mug of coffee in front of Grantaire. “Except after I got it, I realised I didn’t know if it’s still your usual.”
He looks sad, and Grantaire still doesn’t know what to say, so he picks up the mug.
“You don’t have to drink it,” Enjolras says. “I could get you something else if you have a new favourite. The menu’s changed a lot since the last time I was here.”
“I haven’t been here in years,” Grantaire admits.
Enjolras is quiet for a long moment. “I’m sorry,” he says finally, looking away. He huffs out a mirthless laugh. “I know it doesn’t mean anything, but I’m sorry, I’m so, so sorry for so many things. For leaving. For not coming back. For not keeping in touch.” He meets Grantaire’s eyes again. “For leaving so many things unfinished between us.”
Grantaire feels the sting in his eyes, and doesn’t try to pretend that he isn’t affected by Enjolras’ words, or Enjolras’ presence anymore. “I waited for you,” he tells Enjolras quietly. “I waited for you for so long.”
Enjolras nods. “I know you did,” he says. “I always knew you would. That was- I think that was the reason why I kept on finding excuses to stay, kept starting new projects. You were always so understanding, always so encouraging, and I think at the back of my mind, I knew you would love me enough to wait, and I took advantage of that and stayed away for as long as I could, and I am so sorry.”
“Was that it?” Grantaire asks, and he laughs, the sound jarring and bitter even to himself. “Did I lose you because I loved you too much?”
“I’m sorry,” Enjolras whispers. “I should’ve talked to you about it, but every time they offered me an extension, I just thought that you would be okay with it.”
“I was,” Grantaire tells him, and he isn’t lying. It wasn’t easy, to have Enjolras so far away, working to help third world nations get access to infrastructure and education and the lot, but he loved Enjolras, and he was okay with it. “I was, but then you stopped calling, you stopped writing, and I kept it going on my own, hoping that you would reply, hoping that you would respond, even just a little bit, but you just… Didn’t. You left me, and then you forgot me.”
He’s crying now, and so is Enjolras.
“I didn’t mean to,” Enjolras says. “I swear I didn’t mean to, I just- It got so busy, and we all had to prioritise-”
“And I didn’t make it on your to-do list, I understand,” Grantaire interrupts, and he’s shaking a little now with the effort it’s taking for him to control his feelings. He doesn’t know if he’s angry, or if he’s sad, or if his emotions are just all one big jumble of confusion now.
He stands up, and makes a move to leave.
“No, please,” Enjolras pleads. “Don’t go, please. It wasn’t like that.”
“Then what was it like?” Grantaire asks.
“I thought it was better this way, that you would be better off without me,” Enjolras confesses. “You’re wonderful, and you deserve so much better than me. Because who else would do this to a person they loved? Leave for a foreign country and not go back for years? I did that to you, and I expected you to be okay with it, and I just- I love you, I love you so much, but I don’t think I loved you enough, back then, and so I thought-” He swallows, takes a breath. “I don’t know how to make things right between us, but I want to, because the last three years, the three years I had to spend without you in my life… I don’t want that.”
Grantaire drops back into his seat. “You can’t just come back here and expect everything to be the way it was again,” he tells Enjolras. His voice doesn’t come out as strong and unwavering as he wants it to, but he continues all the same. “Things are different now. I took so long to get over you. I- I have Combeferre now.”
“I know,” Enjolras says. “I thought you would wait for me, but I’m glad you didn’t. He seems very nice.”
“He is,” Grantaire tells him. And then, because Enjolras looks upset, and Grantaire’s always hated it when that happened, he says, “I would’ve kept on waiting for you, I think, if I hadn’t forced myself to stop.”
Enjolras nods, taking it as the olive branch it was meant to be. It is a long while before he speaks again.
“Are you happy?”
Grantaire considers the question, and thinks about Combeferre’s smiling face and his I hope everything goes well before Grantaire left the apartment, and says, “Yeah, I am.”
“Good,” Enjolras says. “That’s- That’s all I wanted for you. And I’m so glad you are.”
Grantaire nods, feeling a fresh wave of tears making its way to his eyes. “And you? Are you happy?”
Enjolras shrugs, and then smiles. “No,” he answers, and he doesn’t look away from Grantaire. “I will learn how to be again, with time, I think.”
They both sip at their lukewarm coffees in silence for a moment.
“Is it possible for us-” Enjolras trails off, and doesn’t finish the sentence. He looks unsure. “I’ll understand if you’re opposed to it, but can we work our way up to being friends again?” he asks. “I’ve missed out on so many years of being your friend, and I’ve missed that. I’ve missed being a part of your life.”
Grantaire smiles, and it’s the first genuine smile he’s given Enjolras since he came back. “I think I’d like that,” he says. He sets his mug down on the table, and looks at Enjolras, just takes him in for a moment. “Can I hug you?” he blurts out. “I’ve just- I’ve missed you so much, Enjolras, I have.”
Enjolras sets his mug down too, and gets up from his seat, opening his arms out to Grantaire. Grantaire takes a breath, stands, and steps into Enjolras’ arms, wrapping his arms around Enjolras’ waist tightly, pressing his face to Enjolras’ neck, taking in the comforting scent of Enjolras.
“I’m really glad you’re back,” he whispers into Enjolras’ skin.
Enjolras squeezes him tightly. “I’m really glad I’m back too.”
4.
He’s just got a batch of muffins out from the oven when Grantaire comes home.
“Did it go well?” he asks, because he knows Grantaire has been stressed out about it, and he knows that there’s a lot riding on Grantaire’s meeting with Enjolras, even for himself.
Judging from Grantaire’s smiling face when he comes into the kitchen, everything went perfectly fine, and Combeferre doesn’t know if he’s supposed to be happy at that, or if he isn’t. How should one feel when their boyfriend reconnects with an ex?
Grantaire seems happy, happier than he has since the day Enjolras came back, maybe even happier than before Enjolras came back, and it’s a thought that makes his chest clench tightly, but also simultaneously one that makes him want to be happy for Grantaire.
“It went well,” Grantaire tells him, and waits for Combeferre to set the tray of muffins down onto the table before he lunges at him, hugging him tightly. “He wants us to still be friends.”
Combeferre smiles at that. “That’s good,” he says, and he’s happy that Grantaire is happy, even if a small part of him is reminding himself right now that Grantaire and Enjolras never really ended things.
Combeferre isn’t going to lie — he spent a good part of the first few months of his relationship with Grantaire worrying about this, about Enjolras deciding to come back, about Grantaire deciding that he’d rather be with Enjolras, and to have that actually happen now… He isn’t sure how he is supposed to feel.
He settles for wrapping his arms tightly around Grantaire, because he loves Grantaire, loves the relationship that he’s built with Grantaire, and he’s going to hold onto it for as long as he can, for as long as Grantaire will let him.
If he has to let go of Grantaire after all, in the end, he’s going to do it, because Grantaire’s happiness is the most important thing, and if being with Enjolras is going to make Grantaire happier, then Combeferre will gladly consider himself the collateral damage in this relationship.
“Do you want to tell me all about it over muffins?” he asks Grantaire, stroking his hair.
Grantaire pulls away, just far enough to train those blue eyes at Combeferre. “Later,” he says, and leans in close so that their breaths mingle, and their lips brush against each other’s. “Now I just really want you to kiss me.”
Combeferre smiles. “I think that can be arranged,” he tells Grantaire solemnly, and then kisses him.
5.
It is- Awkward isn’t the most accurate term for the situation, Enjolras thinks, but when they try to make conversation, it’s too polite, feels unnatural, and when the silence takes over, it’s stilted, and Enjolras finds himself unable to meet Combeferre’s eyes.
“He’ll be here soon,” Combeferre says, reading what Enjolras presumes to be a text from Grantaire. “He’s hit some traffic.”
“Okay,” Enjolras says, and the painful silence resumes.
It is Combeferre who breaks the silence, a long moment later. “It’s been good for him to have you around,” he tells Enjolras, and when he smiles, he seems sincere. It gives Enjolras a very good idea of how much Combeferre must love Grantaire. “It means a lot to him that you’re friends again.”
“That’s good,” Enjolras says, and returns Combeferre’s smile. “I’ve heard a lot about you from him. You make him happy, and that’s-” Good, he means to say, but he doesn’t finish the sentence, doesn’t know if he believes it enough yet to pull off saying it sincerely. Combeferre seems like a really nice person, and he’s important to Grantaire; Enjolras doesn’t want to have to lie to him, wants to like him, just because he’s important to Grantaire. He takes a breath instead, and says, “Thank you.”
“What for?” Combeferre asks, quizzical.
“For taking care of him,” Enjolras says. He lets out a self-deprecating laugh. “I wasn’t really doing the best job of it, even when we were together. He’s pretty special, and he deserves everything good.”
Combeferre’s look softens. “He really does, doesn’t he? It took me awhile to convince him of that,” he admits, looking fond, and Enjolras wants to know what he’s thinking of that’s putting such a look of happiness on his face, wants every memory of Grantaire that Combeferre is willing to share, even though he knows that he shouldn’t feel that way for Grantaire anymore. “I’m glad you’re here to reinforce that view.”
He’s saved from having to say anything more to that, and from revealing to Combeferre the depths of his residual affections for Grantaire, by Grantaire coming up to the table and plopping down on the seat between him and Combeferre.
Grantaire leans in to press a kiss to the corner of Combeferre’s lips, and Enjolras considers it a slight progress that he doesn’t feel like flinching away from the sight. He smiles back at Grantaire when Grantaire looks away from Combeferre to smile at him.
“Sorry I’m late,” Grantaire says, and launches into a story of how he was two seconds late for the bus, and was forced to wait for the next bus, even though the first bus hadn’t technically left the station yet, and the tension from before he arrived is immediately lifted.
Combeferre rolls his eyes and says something about Grantaire being stubborn, and that he should’ve let Combeferre pick him up, and Grantaire dismisses that by pointing out that they’d both be late then if Combeferre had to go out of the way to pick him up. Enjolras points out that he wouldn’t have minded if they were both late if it would save Grantaire the trouble of having to take the bus, and Combeferre grins smugly at Grantaire, as if he’s won the argument.
They’re interrupted by the waitress coming to take their orders. She recommends the chef’s special, a lamb dish which sounds a lot more appealing than anything else on the menu, so both Enjolras and Combeferre order that dish. Grantaire, who has never been a fan of lamb, opts for the same dish he gets every time he comes — a fish dish.
“Easy on the lemon,” Combeferre and Enjolras say in unison, when Grantaire forgets to, and almost immediately after the words leave him, Enjolras wishes he could take it back, because he’s pretty sure it isn’t his place to do this anymore. He hasn’t even been to this restaurant with Grantaire in years, and he really shouldn’t remember Grantaire’s order with such precision.
Combeferre’s smile has slipped a little, Enjolras notices, and murmurs an apology, because Combeferre is important to Grantaire, and he doesn’t really think he stands a chance against Combeferre should Grantaire decide that he has to choose between his relationship with Combeferre or his friendship with Enjolras.
Grantaire stares at the both of them, slightly startled, and then turns to the waitress with a smile. “Sorry,” he says. “I take my fish very seriously, and they both know that.”
She smiles and promises that she’ll be back with their drinks soon.
Grantaire smiles widely at them, doing a wonderful job of not letting the tense silence between Enjolras and Combeferre affect him, and starts telling them about the customer who came into the gallery today.
Were he a better person, he would make an excuse to leave.
He doesn’t.
Instead, he lets Grantaire’s story do the job of chasing out the remnants of tension at the table, keeps his contribution to the conversation to the minimum, and just watches Combeferre and Grantaire interact with each other.
By the time their entrees get served, he’s pretty much convinced himself that he’s okay with this, because it’s clear just from watching them that they’re very much in love with each other.
Enjolras has been alone for seven years; he can survive through plenty more. As long as Grantaire is happy, Enjolras can find it in himself to be happy for him.
6.
He doesn’t really know how it starts.
Well, that’s not fair. It starts the way it started back in high school, he supposes, because they’ve always been like this, they’ve always been able to flow from arguing into kissing seamlessly. It was what got them together back then, and it’s what’s happening now — Enjolras has Grantaire pressed against Courfeyrac’s bookshelf, fingers splayed over his hips, lips hot and desperate against Grantaire’s.
He’s missed this. He used to think about it, about missing Grantaire, and the resulting ache in his chest had been bad, but it hadn’t been as bad as after he came back, or the weeks of polite, not-quite-there friendship with Grantaire in the subsequent weeks. They’d been making progress, moving from occasional texts to meeting up for coffee more often, and now here they are.
He tugs gently on Grantaire’s curls, experimental, testing to see if Grantaire will still make the same noises he did seven years ago, and then tightens his hold on Grantaire’s hip and groans into Grantaire’s mouth when he does.
The noise must startle Grantaire, because he freezes, tenses against Enjolras, and pushes him away in one swift move, moving away from the bookshelf, putting distance between them. He’s breathing heavily, cheeks flushed and lips swollen, and he’s not looking at Enjolras at all, when he says, “We shouldn’t have done that.”
Enjolras wants to reach out, to take Grantaire into his arms again, but he doesn’t do anything except to nod jerkily, because Grantaire isn’t wrong. He doesn’t want to be with Enjolras anymore, and Enjolras should accept that, should be glad that they’re taking steps to make things better between them, should be happy at getting a second chance to be Grantaire’s friend again.
He’s blown it now, with this, because he knows Grantaire, and he knows the way Grantaire thinks, and he can already see it in his mind, see Grantaire telling him that he thinks that he’s better off without Enjolras in his life, that he doesn’t think being friends is an option anymore.
“I’m sorry,” Enjolras says, quiet. “I didn’t mean to-”
Grantaire shakes his head. “Please stop talking,” he says, tone harsher than he’s used on Enjolras since they started to tentatively become friends again.
The last time he heard Grantaire like this was seven years ago, when he’d told Grantaire about him deciding to leave. Grantaire had been livid, and the argument lasted days. When Enjolras finally got Grantaire to listen to him properly, he’d promised Grantaire that the distance wouldn’t change how he felt for Grantaire, that their relationship would still go on as strong as it’d been going. That has since been proven to be a lie.
“Grantaire,” Enjolras says, because he’s not good at being silent.
Grantaire’s gaze snaps to his. “I need to go,” he tells Enjolras. “This can’t happen again. I need to go.”
He doesn’t wait for Enjolras to say anything, just turns and makes his way to the door, leaving Courfeyrac’s apartment before Enjolras can even think about asking him to stay.
“Fuck,” Enjolras says. “Fuck.”
7.
Combeferre is back from his overnight shift at the hospital and already in bed when Grantaire gets home. He thinks about leaving Combeferre to get some rest, thinks about not telling Combeferre at all, but he can’t get over the guilt, the way his chest feels too tight, the way his heart is beating too fast, the way his skin is burning up.
He wakes Combeferre up.
“R,” Combeferre says sleepily. He blinks hard to try to get the sleep out of himself, and it normally makes Grantaire smile when he does it, but Grantaire doesn’t now. Combeferre sits up on the bed, rubbing at his eyes. “Is everything okay?”
He thinks again about how bad this could be for their relationship, then weighs it against lying to Combeferre, and Combeferre finding out about him lying, and says, in a rush, “I kissed him.”
Combeferre doesn’t really react but for the slight widening of his eyes.
“I- I don’t know who started it, and I don’t know why we did it, it just…” Just happened, he wants to say, except Combeferre is looking more closed off by the moment, and Grantaire hates himself so fucking much right now. “I’m sorry,” he whispers. “I pushed him away, I did, I promise. I love you, you have to trust me, I do.”
Combeferre is still quiet.
“Well?” Grantaire says, after the longest pause. “Why aren’t you saying anything? Why aren’t you yelling at me? Why- Won’t you please yell at me, please?”
Combeferre draws a slow breath, lets it out evenly. When he finally speaks for the first time that afternoon, it is to say, “Do you still love him?”
Grantaire has never lied to Combeferre, doesn’t want to start now, and especially not about this. “I don’t know,” he tells Combeferre. “I don’t know if I still do, I don’t know if I ever really stopped. All I know, for sure, is that I love you.”
“But do you know?” Combeferre asks, and his voice is raised slightly now, but he’s not angry, not yet. He doesn’t get angry much, Grantaire knows this from three years of knowing Combeferre, but he’s terrifying when he is, and this isn’t anywhere close to it yet. If anything, he sounds more upset than he does angry, and fuck if it doesn’t make Grantaire feel worse. “Do you know if you really love me, or if you think you’re supposed to just because I’m safer to love? Do you feel like you’re supposed to love me because I haven’t left you? Because I wouldn’t leave you?”
Grantaire recoils at that. “Is that what you think?” he asks, teary-eyed. “Do you believe I would do that to you?”
“No,” Combeferre replies. “You wouldn’t, not on purpose. You would never. You’re not like that.” He brings his hand up to cup Grantaire’s cheek, brushes his tears away with his thumb. “I believe you think you love me more than you actually do.”
“I don’t,” Grantaire manages to get out. “I know how I feel for you. I love you. I love you.” He lists forwards and wraps his arms around Combeferre. “And I hate that you don’t think I do, because this is the only thing I am sure of now, and I’m not letting you take this away from me. I love you, and I need you to believe that I do.”
Combeferre’s arms come to rest gently on Grantaire’s waists, but he doesn’t give Grantaire the chance to take comfort in that. “You haven’t been acting the same since Enjolras came back,” he says. “It’s obvious that he still means a lot to you, and I was okay with that, before. I was okay with you being in love with Enjolras, I’d come to accept that as a part of who you are, and I knew it wasn’t a part of you that you would want to give up, so I was okay with it.” He sighs. “But he’s back now, and you’re still in love with him, you’ve probably never stopped being in love with him, and it’s evident that he’s still in love with you, that he’s never really stopped too. He’s learnt his lesson now, he’s going to put effort into being with you, he came back for you. He’s going to be better at being in a relationship with you than he was before he left. And me? Enjolras’ return renders me obsolete. You don’t need me to stand in for Enjolras when you can just have Enjolras.”
Grantaire pulls away, shaking his head. “That’s not true-”
Combeferre stares at him, lips pinched in a thin line. “Is it not?” He rubs a hand over his face and gets off the bed. “I think I should stay over at Joly’s today.”
Grantaire’s face crumbles. “Don’t go, Combeferre, please,” he says, because he doesn’t think he can be alone right now, doesn’t think that their relationship is going to survive this blow if Combeferre doesn’t stay and try to help him fix it. He grabs ahold of Combeferre’s arm. “I need you. I love you.”
“You keep saying that, and I want you to keep saying it, I want you to love me, I do, but I need you to be sure that you really mean it when you say it,” Combeferre says, looking at Grantaire. “Have you ever considered that you don’t have to love me? If you’re staying with me because you think you have to, because you owe it to me to stay with me, then, well, that’s not true. My love for you isn’t some kind of investment that you have to pay back. And you definitely don’t have to stay with me because you think it’s the right thing to do, or because you don’t want to leave me like Enjolras left you. It’s okay if you still want to be with him. I’ll be okay, R, I promise.”
Grantaire doesn’t say anything, doesn’t know what to stay. His grip on Combeferre’s arm slackens, falls.
“I just want you to be happy, R,” Combeferre tells him. “And I think you should take some time to consider what would make you happy. If you come up with a plan that doesn’t include me, it’s okay. As long as you’re happy, I’m going to be okay. But if you think it through, and you still want to be with me, then I’m going to be here for you, I’m not going to go anywhere. Do you understand me?”
Grantaire nods jerkily, and Combeferre sighs, leaning down to press a gentle kiss to Grantaire’s head, before he turns and walks out of their bedroom.
Grantaire sits there on the bed, and stares at the door, feeling a lot like he’s missing a vital part of himself.
Combeferre has become so, so important to him, and he loves Combeferre so much. They were so happy together, before Enjolras decided to show up again, and Grantaire wants that back, wants the easy routine they’ve slipped into, wants Combeferre to come home and press a kiss to his lips and rant about his day, wants to toss Combeferre a deliberately bad novel for him to entertain himself while Grantaire paints him. The idea of Combeferre leaving —of Combeferre leaving, and deciding that Grantaire isn’t worth all this trouble, and never coming back— makes his chest tighten painfully.
He hasn’t heard the front door yet, and he makes a quick move of getting up from the bed and out of their bedroom. When he gets to the living room, Combeferre is there packing a few of his books into a bag.
“Don’t go,” Grantaire says. “Please, don’t go.”
Combeferre’s look is softer than it should be. “Grantaire-”
“No,” Grantaire interjects. “No, you wanted me to have time to think about it, but I don’t need it. I know I love you. And it’s not because I think I have to, or…or because I’m using you as a substitute for Enjolras. That’s not why I love you, that’s never been why-” He takes a deep breath, because the words aren’t coming out as smoothly as he wants them to. “You said you just want me to be happy,” he starts, “and yes, maybe I’m still in love with Enjolras, but if the past few years has taught me anything, it’s that I’ve learnt how to be happy even without him by my side. But you.” He shakes his head when Combeferre opens his mouth to say something. “You make me so happy,” he ends up breathing out. “We’ve been together for years now, and you’ve made me so happy every single day. And maybe I could be happy even without you, but I don’t want to find out, I don’t want to have to try, I don’t want to have to learn if I can.”
“Grantaire,” Combeferre says, and opens his arms, lets Grantaire step into his embrace. “I love you,” he says.
8.
Enjolras seems surprised enough to see him when he shows up at Courfeyrac’s apartment three weeks later.
He’s given it a lot of thought, and while Grantaire doesn’t seem unhappy now, Combeferre knows that he isn’t exactly at his happiest. And Combeferre’d meant it when he said that all he wanted was for Grantaire to be happy.
“Can I come in?” he asks, when all Enjolras does is to stare at him. “I think we should talk. About Grantaire.”
Enjolras steps aside to let him in. “Is he… Is he okay?” he asks tentatively, like he’s not too sure that he’s still allowed to ask.
“Not really, no,” Combeferre tells him truthfully.
Enjolras is on edge immediately. “Did something happen?” he asks, eyes almost comically wide, and Combeferre can’t help the slight smile that tugs at the corner of his lips.
He can see why Grantaire loves Enjolras so much.
“He’s been…” He hesitates, not wanting to say sad, because that’s not what Grantaire is right now. Sad had been three years ago, when Grantaire had finally figured out that Enjolras wasn’t coming back anytime soon. This is far from that. “He’s been different,” he settles for saying, “since you’ve been back.”
“Sorry,” Enjolras says, looking away. “I know he must’ve told you about-” He doesn't finish the sentence, but Combeferre knows he must be talking about the kiss. “I’ve tried to stay away, after.”
“That’s the thing,” Combeferre tells him. “That’s not working.”
Enjolras nods. “Do you want me to leave?” he asks, voice small.
Combeferre arches an eyebrow. “Would you leave if I asked you to?” he asks. When Enjolras seems to hesitate at that, he adds, “For Grantaire’s sake?”
There is no hesitation when Enjolras says, “Yes.” He sighs. “It was never my intention to make Grantaire, or you, for that matter, miserable. If my leaving will make things right again between the both of you, if it’ll make Grantaire happier, then I will do it. There’s no question there.”
Combeferre smiles at that. “You really do love him, don’t you?”
“Yes,” Enjolras says, and he doesn’t look away from Combeferre. “More than anything or anyone else in the world, even if it did take me some time to realise that.”
“Good,” Combeferre tells him. “Hypothetically, if we were to be able to come to an arrangement where we could both be together with Grantaire-”
Enjolras’ eyes are wide, surprised, as if he didn’t expect this from Combeferre. “You mean polyamory?” he asks.
“Yes,” Combeferre says. “It’s quite clear that Grantaire thinks he has to choose between us, and it’s a difficult choice, especially since he’s in love with the both of us.” Enjolras draws in a sharp breath at that, as if it’s brand new information. “That’s what’s making him unhappy.”
Enjolras blinks. “You would be okay with it? With me coming into your relationship?”
Combeferre grins at him. “You’ve never really broken up with Grantaire,” he tells Enjolras. “I’m not sure if silence qualifies. So technically, I was the one who came into your relationship.”
“Combeferre.”
He sounds so much like Grantaire when Grantaire is exasperated with Combeferre that Combeferre has to grin.
“Yes,” Combeferre says. “I would be okay with it. If Grantaire is, and we’re going to have to watch that he doesn’t say no because he feels guilty about saying yes. And, of course, if you are. Are you okay with it?”
Enjolras nods. And then keeps nodding. And then breaks into a teary smile. “Can I hug you?” he asks.
Tactile, then. Just like Grantaire.
Combeferre nods, and Enjolras does.
9.
“I’m sorry, what?” Grantaire says, staring at both Combeferre and Enjolras, certain that he’s misheard them. Because it’d sounded like they were- Like they’d wanted- He blinks hard, twice, and then pinches himself discretely, just to be sure he isn’t dreaming.
“We’d like to try this out,” Combeferre says, and gestures between the three of them with his hands, “as a polyamorous relationship. If you want to.” He pauses, then settles down onto the couch next to Grantaire, and takes Grantaire’s hand in his. “I know you said that you’d be happy with me, but I also know that you still love Enjolras, and I don’t see why you can’t do both, if you want to. If it’s me you’re worried about, I’m okay with it, you can.”
“You don’t have to,” Enjolras adds quickly, before Grantaire even has the time to process the words coming out of Combeferre’s mouth. “I mean, it’s an elegant solution, one where no-one has to be miserable, but you don’t have to say yes if you don’t want to.”
“You want me to date the both of you,” Grantaire says.
“Yes,” Combeferre tells him. “That’s the simplest way to put it.”
“And neither of you would mind?” Grantaire asks.
“We wouldn’t be here if we weren’t both sure that we were okay with it,” Enjolras says.
Grantaire’s eyes narrow at that. “Why were the both of you making sneaky plans about me without me?”
Combeferre’s lips twitch. “You’re deflecting,” he points out.
“I’m overwhelmed,” Grantaire says. “I just- Are you sure? Are the both of you sure?”
“It turns out that Combeferre and I are very similar after all,” Enjolras says. “We really just want you to be very happy.”
“And if being with the both of us doubles your happiness, then that’s what we want to do,” Combeferre says, and grins. “You were right about me and Enjolras getting along.”
“This is-” He looks between Combeferre and Enjolras, at their hopeful smiling faces, and rubs a hand over his face. “This is ridiculous.”
Enjolras’ face falls a little. “Like I said, you don’t have to say yes.”
Combeferre nods. “If you’re not comfortable with the idea, we don’t have to discuss it at length. Or we can table it for now, if you’re not ready to think about it.”
Grantaire shakes his head. “No,” he says, “I mean. It’s ridiculous. I’m pretty sure I’m not allowed to be this happy. I can’t date the both of you, surely there’s a limit to how many great people I can date at one time.”
They’re both grinning at him now, because Grantaire’s answer is quite obvious. Enjolras sits down on the other side of Grantaire, and when he puts his hand out to Grantaire, Grantaire takes it, squeezing tightly. His heart feels like it’s ready to leap out of his chest, and his jaw hurts a little from smiling.
“There is indeed a limit,” Combeferre tells him. “Two. Which suits us just fine.”
10.
Grantaire and Combeferre are in a warm embrace, Grantaire pressing kisses to Combeferre’s jaw, when Enjolras opens the door.
“Okay, time out,” Combeferre tells Grantaire, and grins when Grantaire pouts at him. “I have to start getting ready for work, and you have breakfast with Enjolras.”
“We could push breakfast to brunch if you both want to take some more time to enjoy the morning,” Enjolras suggest, leaning against the jamb of the door. He smiles at them both.
Combeferre makes a face when slides out of bed. “Fuck, it’s a cold morning,” he says, making his way to the bathroom. “You should take my place,” he tells Enjolras. “Keep him warm so he doesn’t nag about my shifts at the hospital this week.”
“Yes, please!” Grantaire says quickly, and Enjolras snorts, but obediently gets under the covers with Grantaire, letting Grantaire curl around him. “Good morning,” he tells Enjolras, pressing his lips to Enjolras’ jaw, the same way he did with Combeferre.
He’s got Grantaire in his arms, sleep-warm and soft, smiling up at him gently, and in the bathroom, Combeferre’s just starting to sing a bad ABBA song in the shower.
As far as mornings go, yeah, it’s a pretty good one.