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“Don’t let the wine go to your brains.” He says. As Enjolras’ eyes scan the room, they lock with Grantaire’s as he takes a swig right from the bottle. The bastard. Grantaire just smirks at his, his eyes dancing with mirth as though he is about to announce that he and Enjolras share a bed, and too share their most intimate thoughts and moments.
When he looks at him, Enjolras feels bare, because he knows that Grantaire can see into his very soul and knows that he is afraid, and he can see into Grantaire and knows that he cares deeper for him that anyone ever has. And it scares him, because now he has something to lose. Though it does afford him the small comfort of somebody to come home to, somebody to hold him close when all hope seems lost. Enjolras looks at Grantaire and he can let himself think for a moment that it is all going to be okay.
And then Grantaire is looking elsewhere, at Marius, who speaks as though he is the only person to have ever known love. Enjolras keeps his eyes on his lover, carefully studying his reactions.
“Is Marius in love at last?” he says, teasingly as he leans forward “I’ve never heard him Oooh and Ah,”
But he’s heard Enjolras. He's heard his noises of wonder, of pleasure, of greif. He knows Enjorlas' emotions note by note. There is no hiding from him. And then he's looking at him
Enjolras feels so frozen under his gaze he only catches the end of his sentence, professing the likeness of Marius’ romance to an opera. Enjolras thinks there may be spite in it, as their affair couldn’t be farther away from an operatic love story.
Enjolras takes his seat at the table, and watches as Grantaires’ eyes go wide at their proximity. He had once joked that they should stay on opposite sides of the room, lest he not be able to refrain from touching him. Enjolras couldn’t help but see truth in that.
“It is time for us all to decide who we are.” He states, and see’s Grantaire give a small sigh from beside him.
“I don’t know who I am. “ Enjolras professed in a moment of post coital silences, while he lay on his chest and Grantaire drew gentle patterns on his back with the tips of his fingers.
“You’re my Enjolras” Grantaire whispered, his voice kind “Save the fearless leader for sunrise. Just be my Enjolras tonight.”
Enjolras goes on to speak of what they are doing, how the world is changing to a better place because of what they do. He speaks of the price he will pay for their rights, Grantaire looks scared. The others look inspired.
Enjolras gets up, to go back to planning when he feels a hand curl around his arm. His heart gives a painful thump in his chest when he things it might be Grantaire’s, but turns back to see Marius.
“Had you seen her today, you might know how it feels;” He smiles “To be struck to the bone in a moment of breathless delight.”
He knows. Enjolras knows exactly how it feels. He feels it every time he wakes to a mess of inky black curls and his love wrapped in his arms, soft and beautiful in the light of morning. He feels the air rush from his lungs as he gazes down at the one perfect thing he has.
Marius continues “Had you been there today you might also have know; How your world can be changed in just one burst of light.” Enjolras was to strike him now. He doesn’t know why, but he does, even as he is reminded how light bursts behinds his eyes when he and Grantaire kiss, or touch, or press together in heated moments of passion.
“And what was right seems wrong, and what was wrong seems right.”
“Red.”
Enjolras whips his head around.
Stop it, he thinks.
“I feel my soul on fire.”
But Enjolras isn’t listening to Marius. Marius, who has no real troubles in his quest for love. He just sees Grantaire, joining in as if showing him what real love looks like, not their scandalous late night secrets or stolen touches when nobody is looking.
“Black.”
Has he not shown him desire? Does Grantaire not know how black his world is without him? Does he not know that his soul is more than on mire, but rather explodes at the sight of his smile?
Does Graintaire not know that he loves him?
He feels contempt towards Marius, though he knows he has no right not. But Marius is allowed to speak of his love. Enjolras is not even when he is right there. Right there in the room And yet he is in despair.
“Marius, you’re no longer a child.” He snaps “I do not doubt you mean it well. But now their is a higher call.” Enjolras glances toward Grantaire, who’s face is expressionless and he hates it. “Who cares about your lonely soul?” What about mine, he adds internally.
If he doesn’t get his chance at love, why should anybody else?
“We strive towards a larger goal. Our little lives don’t count at all.”
“Red.”
The others join in.
“Black.”
So does Grantaire, albeit reluctantly.
He looks disappointed, but it a way that looks as though he has simply given up and accepted that this is the way things are.
“The night that ends at last.”
Enjolras wants to laugh in his own face at the irony, as nights are the only solace he gets when he is with Grantaire, and it is nights that he wills never to end.
That night, when all the others have trudged to bed full of hope for the new day ahead, Enjolras catches Grantaire’s hand on the way out, tugging him in for a kiss. Somebody could walk back in, find them, but Enjolras didn’t care. he had to let Grantaire know what was going on in his mind.
“Even when the sun rises, I am still your Enjolras.” He pulls away enough to whisper against his lips.
Grantaire searches his head, before lacing their fingers and dragging him back to his room, where they make love for the last time.