Work Text:
Paris was a tranquil sort of thing around nine in the morning. The weather was just as calm as the surrounding city, albeit the fact that it was bustling with the commonly rushed workers and speeding families. It was February, and, as he watched the snow pile up along the windowsill, Grantaire decided that the snow would melt before the day was over.
Grantaire was still in pajamas, however he found himself leaning against the kitchen counter with a small bottle of Brandy (extremely small, in fact). He didn’t have work, himself, but he figured that Enjolras would enjoy seeing him before he took off; at least, he hoped so. Otherwise, what would have been the point in waking up just yet? The clock was ticking slowly, and he was beginning to get bored; that is, until the floorboards creaked in a way that implied Enjolras’s awakening. “Apollo,” Grantaire asked, his lips fixed into a grin, “sweet love. Is that you?”
“I don’t know how many times I’ve to say ‘don’t call me that.’” The familiar voice of Enjolras was swept from the hallway to Grantaire’s ears, and as the curly blond emerged from the hallway with a stumble he rubbed his own eyes. “G’morning, Grantaire.”
“Aren’t you Little Mister Sunshine, hm?”
“I am fine.”
The atmosphere seemed unfamiliarly strange. Grantaire’s eyebrows indented marginally as he combed thin fingers through brunet curls, while Enjolras gestured towards the Brandy bottle with his eyes. “Drinking already?” he asked in a slurred mumble, making his way into the kitchen and beginning to slowly, choppily, find something quick for breakfast. He was not trying to be rude, rather he was intrigued as to why Grantaire would already be sipping from the bottle at nine in the morning, on a weekday.
Nonetheless, Grantaire took a sip as though the action was on cue. “I am,” he answered, “but it’s just a bit of Brandy. Nothing more.”
“Just a bit of anything could be a bit too much.” Enjolras had stopped looking for breakfast by now, elbows against the counter next to Grantaire and his face buried in his hands. He was leaned over a significant amount. but, even so, he seemed a bit shaky. Face red, the blond let out somewhat of a hefty breath. “It’s cold in here,” he murmured.
Grantaire’s gaze stayed on Enjolras, concerned, but also a bit confused. “The heat is on. And the fireplace is burning,” he reminded the other.
“Maybe there is a bit of a draft.”
“I don’t think so.” The brunet shook his head, and used one hand on his lover’s back to make sure that he wouldn’t collapse or anything of the sort (he was tremoring quite a bit now, due to feeling cold). Slowly, he used his other hand to push Enjolras’s curls backwards, resting it upon his forehead to check if he had a fever. Indeed, after a moment or so of process, Grantaire decided that he could feel quite a bit of warmth off of the other. So, he said gently to him, “You’re warm.”
Enjolras, as quickly as he could manage, stood up straight and cleared his throat. His hands moved to take Grantaire’s hands off of his forehead. “I am fine,” he repeated, “and I’ll continue to be fine. I’ve got work.” The blue eyed man scrubbed his face with his hands and tried to pull himself together. Since he had been working, he hadn’t missed a single day. When he was sick, he buried it under practically everything else, and that’s what he intended to do at that particular moment.
Even though he had been standing straight, Enjolras caught himself pressed partway to the counter again before too long, massaging his temples to rid of an unexpected headache. Had that been there before? He was not sure.
“Enjol,” Grantaire started, his hands moving to hold Enjolras’s sides and pull him up gently, “why don’t you go back to bed? Work can live without you for the day. I can run you a shower, yes?”
“No.” Simple, Enjolras pulled from Grantaire’s hands. He decided that breakfast was going to be too much trouble, considering the fact that he had thirty minutes to get to work and it was a ten minute walk as it was.
The sky outside had stopped snowing. A sigh of relief was pulled from Enjolras as he padded over towards the front door. He took his boots and began to untie them, his vision slightly blurred. After struggling to untie the laces, he began to put one of the boots on.
Grantaire found himself laughing once he gazed across at Enjolras. The other had started putting his boots on, but he was still in pajamas. Closing up his bottle of Brandy and sliding it onto the counter, he made his way over to the other, pointing down at him. “Look at you, Apollo. You’re getting ahead of yourself,” he said, eyebrows raised and another grin on his face. “Could it be that you’re not thinking straight? Possibly because you’re, hm...sick?”
Hesitating, Enjolras looked up at his lover with such confusion. It only took him a couple seconds, though, to look down at his own clothes and realize his mistake. In place of relief, he sighed in defeat.
“You are honestly so anal-retentive,” Grantaire said, still chuckling under his breath as he knelt down next to Enjolras and began to untie his boot. “Go back to bed, okay? I will be there in a second.” He took his boot off and set it to the side, standing up and helping Enjolras with him. There wasn’t any time to spare. Grantaire gave the other a gentle nudge before he started off for the bathroom on his own. He expected Enjolras to either get dressed and leave for work, or wait for him in the bedroom. Either way, he couldn’t stop him, and this he knew.
The bath, instead of the shower, was started immediately, Grantaire setting the water’s heat to Enjolras’s favorite temperature (almost lukewarm, but just a bit warmer). Carefully, he hung a big towel on the rack. The bright light was flicked off, but the lights above the mirror were left to dimly illuminate the room; Grantaire simply wanted to be sure that he wouldn’t make Enjolras’s headache worse with bright lights.
After checking to make sure that everything was in order, Grantaire headed out of the bathroom and for the bedroom, hoping that Enjolras would be there too. He was, and the brunet was caught with a smile. “Look at you, taking care of yourself!”
Enjolras responded, “Thanks to you. Although, I’d rather be--”
“Nonsense, my angel arse, it’s about time you’ve gotten your stay-from-work-sick day, ah?”
“Angel arse?” Enjolras shook it off. “No, no, I don’t need those days. That is the whole reason why you had been fired from your job.”
“Ah ah ah,” Grantaire said, “touchy subject.”
“You didn’t--” Enjolras coughed in the middle of his sentence, but picked up from where he left off, “--care about that job.”
“But I do care about you, so lay down, Enjol. At least until your bath is done running.”
The room was silent, now. The windows were shaded well, leaving the room relatively dark, if you weren’t to pay any mind to the few small ribbons of light that seemed to sneak their way inside. Enjolras began to feel the weight of his sickness, now, body heavy and head pounding, his body trembling with the chills. He, finally, gave in, slowly heading for the bed and seating himself with an exhausted grunt. Grantaire was close behind him, pulling the blankets back and tucking Enjolras under them when he was situated. He crawled into the bed next to him, laying on top of the blankets on his own belly, his arm draping over Enjolras’s belly and his head resting on his shoulder. “Will you call work for me?” Enjolras asked quietly, tilting his head to press a kiss to Grantaire’s hair.
With a nod, Grantaire said, “Yes.”
“Do you think they’ll fire me?”
“No.”
“Hm.” Enjolras stopped speaking for a matter of five seconds, and then took another breath. “But what if they do--”
“Do me a favor,” Grantaire suggested, “and stop speaking. Rest, Enjolras. You are going to make yourself feel worse. If you start coughing any more, I swear that I will make you take a shot of Brandy and honey.” He chuckled and pressed a peck to Enjolras’s jawline. “My honey.”
“I swear, if you try to make me drink with you I’ll go straight out the door on my own,” Enjolras said in a whisper.
“And I swear for you to test it.”
The two fell silent after that, and, after a moment, Grantaire murmured a small “just a moment” to his love. He leaned up to kiss his forehead before standing up slowly and heading out of the room. Turning the corner, he found himself in the bathroom, shutting the water off for the bath and sighing. Everything looked good.
On the way back to the bedroom, he made a detour and called Enjolras’s work to explain to them (quite informally) that he would be absent from work. After the phone call, he found himself next to Enjolras again, laying on his own belly with his arm draped over him. “Your bath is ready,” he told the other quietly.
“I’ll go soon,” Enjolras said, “thank you.” He used one of his hands to cup Grantaire’s cheek, and then he used it to mat the brunet’s curls back, looking at his eyes thoughtfully. He knew that he was a lucky man. Halfway into his daydreaming (of course about Grantaire), he coughed a bit hard, sitting up slightly and using one hand to prop him up, the other to cover his mouth.
Concerned, Grantaire sat up a bit too. “Are you all right, there?”
Enjolras insisted, “Just fine.”
Grantaire nodded, although he didn’t quite believe that. He scooted closer and turned onto his back, flipping his body sideways so that he could lay his head on Enjolras’s lap and look up at him. “If you need anything, let me know, okay?” he requested, folding his hands on his belly.
“Of course. I’ll be fine, though, simply need some rest.” The blond was running a gentle hand through Grantaire’s hair again, trying to press back his coughs and his looks of pain from the headache-turned-migraine. He didn’t want the other getting overly-concerned; because then, next thing he knew, he would be getting himself sick too. So, it was easier to pretend he was as well as feasible.
Honestly, though, it didn’t matter how hard Enjolras tried to hide his sickness; Grantaire was going to see through everything. He knew Enjolras like the back of his own hand, thus he knew how he acted when he was sick, and how he acted when he was well.
“I love you, my sweet Apollo.”
“Grant, I don’t--”
“Hush. Talking is not allowed. You mustn’t when you’re so sick.” A laugh came and went, and Grantaire’s eyes were focused on Enjolras the entire time. “I love you, Enjol.”
Enjolras sighed softly, and returned the laugh, a little quieter and a little gentler. “And I love you,” he responded in practically a whisper, “my love.” Hand still buried underneath brunet curls, he leaned down and pressed a slow, soft kiss to Grantaire’s forehead.
“You’ve gotten me sick by now, I’d bet,” Grantaire said jokingly, before sitting up a bit and pulling Enjolras to lay down. Once successful, he moved under the blankets and closer to Enjolras, so that one of his legs was between his, laying with his chest against his. He cupped his cheeks as tenderly as viable. Kisses were pressed to the blond’s cheeks, forehead, and nose, all of which were soft and caring. “I’ve got to be the one taking care of you, not the other way around.”
Wrapping his arms around the brunet, just under his arms, Enjolras turned onto his side and pulled him with him. His legs gently tangled with Grantaire’s, and he pressed his face to his neck with a slow, albeit heavy, sigh. Shit was the exact word for what he felt like. He was silent, trying to focus on the sound of his breathing to dull his still-growing headache.
Grantaire felt safe in his arms. One of his own arms wrapped around Enjolras, and he kept one of his hands on his cheek. He rubbed his thumb against the cheek and pressed a soft, slow kiss to his lips, which was met by Enjolras’s own kiss. “Je t'aime,” he murmured against his lips when they parted from the kiss. “Je t'aime tant beaucoup.”
“Je t'aime aussi,” Enjolras responded, “and I love when you speak in French.”
“You love everything that’s French.”
“Yes, you’re right.”
Their voices were soft, and the only sounds that they could hear were their breathing and the muffled city below their bedroom windows. The bath was long forgotten about, the two relaxing in each other's arms. Enjolras could not say that he felt better physically, however emotionally was a different story.
“I bet you will feel better soon, Enjol.”