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The music is loud and Enjolras isn't really sure why she agreed to this. The parties have never been her favorite part of sorority life. She loves the sisterhood of it, the power to make a difference (Enjolras single-handedly started a rape crisis center at their university and it's one of her proudest accomplishments), the connections she forms with her fellow housemates- well, except one.
Grantaire (and Grantaire has a first name but Enjolras has been instructed not to use it under penalty of death) is probably the single most infuriating girl that Enjolras has ever met. She still isn't sure how Grantaire even got accepted into the sorority in the first place, but it wasn't Enjolras's decision alone. She had been outvoted. She regrets it almost every single day.
This party is Grantaire's idea. Somehow it doesn't occur to them to have a Greek-themed party in Greek life. But Grantaire thinks of it, and Enjolras is surprised that she actually likes the idea.
Their sorority is known for its intellect, and everyone gets really into it. Jehan immediately claims Sappho- "Come on, she's a bisexual poet. I'd be insulted if any of you tried to be her."- and Enjolras tries to mediate, saying that they don't have to be actual people, nobody else attending will be, but they won't hear of it.
Eventually even Enjolras says she wants to be Artemis. It's kind of flattering how quickly everyone agrees and says how fitting it is. One noticeably absent voice is Grantaire's.
"What about you, R?" Feuilly asks, because if anyone is going to defy expectations, it's her.
Grantaire just smirks and stays silent. "It's a surprise," she says, and Enjolras rolls her eyes. Grantaire's surprises rarely turn out well.
And now Enjolras is at the party, and it's a huge success. They're not the biggest sorority on campus, but they're popular, and Grantaire always makes sure they throw the best parties.Enjolras is dressed simply and elegantly, a Greco-inspired draped dress in white, and a bow slung across her back. She's wearing a silver band on her forehead, and it tucks neatly into her gold curls, which are pinned up. Enjolras doesn't like to make a huge fuss about her appearance, but she likes to look nice, and she's secretly really excited about this. Greek mythology is one of her guilty pleasures, and she's always identified with Artemis in a way that hints at hubris.
She's looking for Grantaire but pretending not to, determined not to be caught off guard, so of course, Grantaire finds her first, and catches her completely off-guard.
"Artemis of the moon and stars, Artemis of the hunt, are you going to grace me with your silver light, or your deadly arrows?" Grantaire croons into her ear, and Enjolras turns around, flushed.
She looks Grantaire up and down. She takes in her dark and curly hair, which she's wearing wild; takes in her dress, which has been dyed in shades of gray and purple and torn in just the right places. It's not hard to guess who she is.
"That depends," Enjolras answers haughtily, playing along. "Are you here to cause discord, as that is your patronage? Because if you are, then you will be graced with the latter. If not, however, then I may grace you with light."
Grantaire grins, breaking the moment.
"Eris, goddess of discord, at your service," she curtseys mockingly.
Enjolras snorts, undignified, but she's never had to pretend to be dignified with Grantaire.
"Fitting," Enjolras remarks. "I thought you might have been Dionysus, actually." The air between them freezes for a moment and Enjolras thinks she might have overstepped. But then Grantaire grins fiercely.
"That brute? Please," she says loftily, and the tension is nonexistent.
Grantaire steps closer, poking at Enjolras's collarbone, which looks stark and white in the night. They're outside on the balcony, because Enjolras isn't always comfortable with the collective level of inebriation of these parties, and she likes to step outside and gather her thoughts. She feels level-headed out here, though less so when Grantaire is around.
"What are you doing?" Enjolras asks, and Grantaire swipes a finger down her throat, making Enjolras swallow. Grantaire brings her finger up to her face and stares at it.
"Is that glitter?" She asks, and Enjolras deflates.
"Well, Artemis is the goddess of the moon," she explains, and it sounds stupid to her ears, and she hates feeling stupid. She also hates how often Grantaire makes her feel stupid, second guess herself. "It was supposed to look like stars."
But Grantaire always surprises her.
"It does," Grantaire says, tone entirely without inflection. "You look like you were dusted with the very universe itself." And somehow Grantaire manages to say that without sound like an asshole, like she's mocking Enjolras, and Enjolras can feel herself smiling, so she tries to ruin the moment.
"You sound like you've been spending too much time with Jehan," Enjolras remarks dryly, crossing her arms over her chest, and Grantaire marvels at how regal she always looks, how fierce. She really does look like Artemis, Grantaire thinks, and Grantaire can say that: she's a classics minor.
"Well," she says brightly, ruining whatever moment they were having, because she is Grantaire, and she ruins everything she might love, "It's already ten pm and I'm at least three shots behind my regular schedule, so I'll see you around." She leans forward and kisses Enjolras on the cheek, smearing dark makeup on her cheekbones, and practically flounces back indoors.
Enjolras stays outside for a minute longer, then goes inside as well. She's the head of the sorority, she has to make her appearances. Besides, she thinks to herself, she's not always serious. She can have a little fun.
She doesn't see Grantaire for another couple hours, not until Grantaire wants her to, she's sure. Grantaire has a talent of avoidance. Enjolras hears her every so often; her laugh--loud and downright obnoxious if Enjolras is feeling particularly unkind, or ridiculously endearing if she's being honest--sounds from up the stairs or the next room over. But she doesn't see her until later.
Enjolras is sitting in one of the bay window seats in the back of the house. It's not quite as loud back there, and she's lying if she says she doesn't like the picture it makes. It's one of her favorite spots, and it's secluded enough that people don't come back here much during parties. Grantaire sits on the seat beside her.
"Apple of discord?" She says, offering a bottle to Enjolras. It's green apple-flavored vodka, and Enjolras has barely had anything to drink tonight, so she accepts and takes a sip. It's sickly sweet and she hates it.
Grantaire swings her legs up onto the seat and Enjolras idly notices that she's barefoot, and the pads of her feet are dirty, like she's been outside. Grantaire is drunk, but not more so than usual. Enjolras can see the flushed red of her cheeks even under the the carmel color of her skin.
"Having fun?" Enjolras asks, because they've been silent for a few minutes now, and Enjolras doesn't like it when Grantaire is silent. It's a stupid question though, one used for people you don't know well. Enjolras knows Grantaire better than Grantaire knows herself, though that's because Grantaire doesn't want to know herself, doesn't want to look too deep.
Grantaire laughs and says yes. "It was my idea, wasn't it?"
Enjolras nods and Grantaire leers at her.
"Truth be told, I really just wanted to see you dressed as Artemis." Grantaire looks entirely comfortable as she says this. "I've always wanted to paint you as a Greek goddess. Strong and elegant and a little bit fearsome."
"You couldn't have known I'd pick Artemis," Enjolras argues.
Grantaire shrugs. "I suspected. It's what I see you as. But I'm always afraid you're going to catch me looking and turn me into a stag."
Enjolras's breath catches in her throat. "You'd be a doe," she can't help but correct, and smiles when she sees the upwards twitch of Grantaire's lips.
"And devoured by my own hounds nonetheless." Grantaire asserts. She leans closer to Enjolras, who should lean back, but doesn't. "So let me have this before I am."
She presses her lips to Enjolras's, who should pull away but doesn't. This isn't the first time they've kissed, and Enjolras is sure it won't be the last. But like Artemis, she remains a virgin (with Grantaire anyway), and they've never gone further. She doesn't know what it is about Grantaire that captivates her. Grantaire sleeps around, even as she courts Enjolras; she drinks way too much; she's an art history major for christ's sake, and she talks in color and emotions and absolutely nothing tangible, nothing real.
But what is tangible is the feeling of Grantaire's lips on hers. The velvety heat of her mouth, which is open and willing. Enjolras finds herself winding her fingers in Grantaire's hair, which is coarse with whatever product she put in it to make it so wild.
Grantaire feels like chaos and discord under Enjolras's fingertips, like her skin is thrumming with something boundless. It bubbles up from Grantaire and gets into Enjolras too, and she breaks away, breathing heavily and laughing. She's not going to freak out over this. She's going to enjoy it, because she can't find a good enough reason not to.
Grantaire presses kisses to Enjolras's cheekbones, her jawline, and her neck.
"You look like the moon," she whispers, and she sounds so reverent. "I want to paint you in cold grays. Everyone thinks you're gold, but I know that you're molten silver."
Enjolras tips her head back and tightens her hold on Grantaire. She wants to hear Grantaire whisper these things to her forever. She doesn't know where this comes from, this blind belief that Grantaire has in Enjolras, but she won't throw it back in her face. Enjolras's bare calf brushes along Grantaire's skin, and they're both so warm, and Grantaire is so soft, and if Enjolras is Artemis, then she will be worshipped, if just for one night.