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There is something different about Grantaire today, but Enjolras doesn’t want to think about it.
Because thinking about it would also mean thinking about the way the both of them seem to have drifted apart from each other, about how Grantaire’s smile doesn’t seem to reach his eyes anymore, or about how Enjolras is certain that they haven’t spoken more than twenty lines to each other the entire week, and Enjolras isn’t sure he’s ready to face the fact that their relationship is falling apart yet.
The fact is, he doesn’t know if he’ll ever be ready for that, so he just sits opposite Grantaire, and eats his dinner quietly, the way that’s bizarrely become routine for them.
He misses the way they used to be, misses how they used to swap stories about their days over dinner, misses how Grantaire’s hand would always rest near the middle of the dining table because he likes it when Enjolras holds his hand.
His hand isn’t within Enjolras’ reach now.
If Enjolras is honest with himself, Grantaire’s hand hasn’t been within reach for awhile now.
“Can we talk about this?” Grantaire asks quietly, setting his fork back down onto the table, dropping all pretence of enjoying his food. “Can we talk about us?”
Enjolras tenses, and Grantaire swallows.
“We’re going to have to, at some point,” he continues, gently prodding.
Enjolras nods, and looks back up at Grantaire, waiting for Grantaire to say something, anything, bracing himself for the impact. But Grantaire doesn’t say anything. For a long moment, he just looks at Enjolras, and Enjolras’ breath catches at that, because Grantaire looks so sad, and he desperately wants to make that look in Grantaire’s eyes go away.
The words tumble out of him before he has a chance to think better of them. “I’ve done everything I could think of.” He swallows, feeling the sting in his eyes. “I’ve cut back on my hours at work, I’m home every night, and I’m trying-”
“Enjolras,” Grantaire cuts in gently, but Enjolras shakes his head.
“I must’ve missed something,” Enjolras says, and hates the way his voice cracks in the middle, hates the way that Grantaire is still sitting at the other side of the table looking mildly apologetic, like it’s already a done deal, like he already knows that the problem between is unsalvageable. “There must be something we can do, that I can do. I’ll do anything. Tell me what to do, tell me how to fix this, R.”
Grantaire’s stoicism crumbles at that. “Enjolras,” he whispers, and reaches out for Enjolras’ hand, gripping it tightly in his. “Enjolras, you’re not the problem here. The problem lies with me, and you can’t fix this. I can’t fix this. I’ve tried, God, I’ve tried so hard to make myself- But I don’t want to keep lying to you, it feels selfish to stay with you when I know I don’t- I’m so sorry, Enjolras, I am. You deserve so much more than me.”
Enjolras feels numb everywhere. “You don't love me anymore, do you?”
“I’m so sorry,” Grantaire repeats, wiping at his eyes with his free hand. “I don’t know how it happened, I don’t know how I fell out of love with you. It shouldn’t have been possible, I loved you so much.”
His grip on Grantaire’s hand grows painfully tight, but Grantaire doesn’t pull away, doesn’t flinch from the pain.
“It’s Combeferre, isn’t it?” he asks, because he has to know.
Grantaire looks away, tears tracking their way down his face in earnest now. “I tried not to, I promise.” He is very serious when he tells Enjolras, “He doesn’t know, and he won’t ever know. I won’t tell him. I don’t have any intention of starting anything with him, I just-”
“Don’t love me anymore,” Enjolras finishes for him, because he doesn’t think he can hear Grantaire say the words.
“I wanted to stay in love with you,” Grantaire tells him quietly. “I wanted that so badly.”
Enjolras nods. He understands that love can’t be forced, that Grantaire can’t control who he loves, but- “It’s not fair,” he says hoarsely. “It’s not fair.”
He loves Grantaire, they were happy together, and he doesn’t want it to end like this, with Grantaire apologising for not being in love with him, with him sitting here, helpless against everything that’s happening.
Grantaire brings Enjolras’ shaking hand to his lips, and presses his lips to Enjolras’ knuckles, gentle.
An apology.
Enjolras wrenches his hand back.
“If I-” He blinks furiously, refuses to cry, refuses to give into the pain in his chest. “If I asked you to stay with me, if I told you that I was okay with you not being in love with me and asked you to stay with me, would you?”
He thinks it would be easier to cope. If they have an argument, if he’s angry at Grantaire, if Grantaire hates him… Maybe it would be easier to let him go, maybe it would feel less like he’s losing a vital part of himself.
Grantaire’s eyes bore into Enjolras’. “Yes,” he tells Enjolras. There’s no trace of hesitance there; Enjolras simultaneously wants to punch him and kiss him for it. “If that’s what you really want, then yes.”
Enjolras breaks the gaze first. “I hate you,” he whispers, and isn’t surprised to find that it comes out sounding more like I love you than anything, because where Grantaire is concerned, Enjolras doesn’t think he remembers how to feel anything but love.
“You should,” Grantaire agrees.
“But I don’t.”
Grantaire’s smile is sad. “I know.”
“I want you to be happy,” he tells Grantaire.
“I know,” Grantaire says, tearing up again. “I want that for you too. If I thought that you could be, with me, I would stay.”
“You’d be miserable if you stayed,” Enjolras says.
“I’d be okay with that,” Grantaire tells him. “As long as you are happy. But you haven’t been.”
“Because you haven’t been.” Enjolras huffs out a laugh. “I’m not sure I remember how to be without you anymore.” He’s not sure he remembers how to not love Grantaire anymore.
“You’ll learn,” Grantaire says. “We’ll both relearn how to be without each other.”
He offers his hand to Enjolras.
Enjolras takes it.