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His toes are cold.
It’s the thing that really starts to rouse him; the near-pain that’s coursing up his legs with just how damn cold everything is.
“Enj,” he whines into the darkness, his eyes still closed.
He tucks his arms close to his chest, rolls onto his side and curls into the foetal position, trying to coax some extra warmth into his extremities. It must’ve snowed, but it doesn’t explain why the apartment is so- oh. The damn kitchen window is open. Enjolras told him to close it before he went to bed and he didn’t.
It’s Grantaire’s own fault that he’s here, shivering in the dark.
Reluctantly he flings an arm out to pat the side of the bed, looking for Enjolras, just in case maybe the other man is ignoring him. Alas, it’s empty. If Enjolras were here, Grantaire would be warm. Enjolras exists as a portable space heater, his passion and fire burning so hot beneath his veins that it has to radiate from him like a supernova. Lucky bastard. Grantaire has the misfortune of being born part-lizard, with no circulation to speak of. His arm retreats into the feeble warmth of his sheet.
The thought of getting up is torturous, but he has to close the damn window, and get the extra blanket from the storage chest at the end of their bed. Not to mention find out where Enjolras is. He doesn’t even know what time it is. Maybe it’s eleven in the morning, and Enjolras has long left for work. Maybe it’s three in the morning, and Enjolras has finally decided to leave him. He doesn’t really want to leave this plane of existence; of awake and asleep both at once, separate from reality and free from burdens.
But fuck, it’s cold.
Reluctantly he braces himself, leans up on the mattress with one arm and scrubs a hand over his eyes with the other before he opens them. Still blissfully dark, thank god. But it still doesn’t explain where Enjolras is. He would be worried, if this wasn’t a frequent occurrence. He’s probably got a text with details, but he’s not interested in the blinding light of his phone right now.
He’s about to lay back down, his journey forgotten, when he shivers and remembers why he’s awake in the first place. Right, window. Blinking blearily, he pulls the sheet around himself, wearing it like a cloak as he also considers how much energy it might take to go find long pants and a sweater, too.
Fuck the sweater.
He tries to move as little as possible, trying to preserve the sleep-haze so he can slip back into it once he’s back in bed. The chattering of his teeth isn’t helping, but he’s still going to try.
At the edge of the bed, he sets a foot down, an enormous yawn taking over him for just a moment, before he gets up and puts the other down-
-right onto a body.
Grantaire gasps and the body on the floor yelps and Grantaire tries to take the weight off immediately, only to lose his balance and topple, face first onto the hardwood floor.
“Yeah. Eat floor, dumbass,” a very sleepy, very grumpy Enjolras mutters, rubbing his hip where Grantaire stood on it.
“The fuck are you doing on the floor?” Grantaire asks, unsure if it’s worth moving. The floor seems nice, if a little hard, but at least Enjolras is down here. Grantaire can already feel the warmth emanating from him, and he wishes he could move closer.
“Punishing you.”
“What’d I do?” Grantaire whines, a habitual response to being accused of anything. Innocent until they have evidence; that’s his motto.
Enjolras moves, shifting until he’s sitting up against the bed. He has the other blanket, much thicker compared to the top sheet Grantaire had to settle with, with another one beneath him to keep out the cold. Grantaire’s jealous of that blanket, both for its warmth and the fact that it gets to be draped over and under Enjolras right now.
“You left the window open,” he grumbles, and Grantaire at least feels a bit sheepish, “And I told you to close it.”
“Oh,” he murmurs. His motto has downfalls, “I did do that,” he acknowledges quietly, before frowning, “So…you decided sleeping on the floor was an adequate punishment for me leaving the window open? That sounds like more of a punishment for your back,” he points out.
“And yet who woke up cold?” Enjolras sounds smug, and Grantaire can’t help but whine, nuzzling against the floor. It provides very little comfort - it’s actually fucking freezing - and he sighs, conceding defeat and blinking at Enjolras in the darkness.
He’s an angel, really, especially like this. Silhouetted, with light bouncing off the very edges of his hair from a streetlight outside, a slight variance of colour where his skin meets a well-worn red hoodie. He’s flawless. He feels lucky to even be able to piss him off; that Enjolras lets him in close enough that he can be a pest without truly getting on his nerves.
“Hello? Did you fall asleep, or did you hit your head and not tell me?” Enjolras asks, actually sounding concerned for a moment.
Grantaire chuckles, “Still awake,” he murmurs, not bothering to explain. Getting lost in Enjolras’ beauty is a pastime he’d rather not truly divulge the depths of. It happens more often than he likes to admit. Or maybe he would like to admit it, just to get to see Enjolras’ pretty blush.
His teeth start to chatter again, distracting him from how far he’d digressed, but he can’t get up just yet, “So. Is part of my punishment the fact that you want me to go close that window before you give me a cuddle and warm me up?”
“What? No. I closed the window when I came in. It’s snowing, Grantaire. Literal snow came through our window and melted onto our dishes.”
Grantaire can sense he’s after an apology, but he doesn’t fold that easily, “Perhaps I did it on purpose. Had you considered that? Maybe I wanted snow in our apartment.”
“You wanted to go to bed, wake up cold, and have to scrape frost off the interior of our entire apartment in the morning?”
“Not in so many words,” Grantaire mumbles, scrambling to come up with an argument. Curse Enjolras and his beautiful brain. Grantaire can construct arguments when he's in the gutter drunk, but just after waking? How Enjolras is able to function this early in the morning will always be an unanswered wonder. The many of Enjolras, “Perhaps I wanted an excuse for you to wrap me up and keep me warm, hm?”
Enjolras can sense his weakness but he doesn’t go in for the kill, which is surprisingly merciful of him. Grantaire can hear his smile as his voice drops and he says, “You know I’d do that anyway.”
Grantaire finally pulls himself up from the floor. He’s cold all over, especially where his bare skin was making contact with the hardwood, and now he can’t stop shivering, “Well, come and do it before I freeze to death.”
“Help me up?” Enjolras asks.
Grantaire had planned on crawling onto the bed from his half-upright position on the floor, but apparently that plan is out. He hauls himself to his feet, reaching out for Enjolras and grasping his arm.
“You are cold,” Enjolras murmurs, doing most of the work as Grantaire braces himself to pull.
Suddenly Grantaire is enveloped in the sweet, blazing warmth of Enjolras, his broad hands rubbing up and down Grantaire’s arms until he pulls him tightly against his chest.
“Mmm,” Grantaire can’t help but groan, nuzzling against Enjolras’ chest and sighing contently, “Your hugs are like nothing else,” he breathes softly. Enjolras never takes his compliments, which only makes him want to give them more.
“C‘mon,” Enjolras murmurs, and Grantaire can practically hear the blush on his cheeks.
Enjolras lets go of him and retrieves both blankets. He takes a careful moment to spread them on top of the bed, and Grantaire wastes no time in burrowing under them.
His eyes are already closed by the time he feels the weight of their feather duvet settle over him, forever grateful that Enjolras has the wherewithal to even consider more warmth.
Grantaire feels Enjolras slide into bed beside him, the mattress dipping slightly under his weight. A warm arm wraps around him, pulling him close until Grantaire is nestled against Enjolras' chest. The contrast between his own cold skin and Enjolras' comforting heat is almost shocking, but in the best possible way.
He lets out a contented sigh, the tension in his body melting away as Enjolras rubs his chest soothingly. The steady rhythm of Enjolras' heartbeat is a lullaby, grounding him, “You’re my personal heater,” Grantaire mumbles sleepily, snuggling even closer.
“And you’re my favorite ice cube,” Enjolras replies with a soft chuckle, pressing a gentle kiss to the top of Grantaire’s head.
The world outside their little cocoon of warmth and comfort seems distant and irrelevant. Grantaire can feel sleep creeping back, wrapping around him as securely as Enjolras' arms. With a mischievous grin, he nestles his cold toes against Enjolras' warm leg, enjoying the startled squeak it elicits.
Smiling, he lets the warmth and safety lull him back to sleep.