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It’s one of those fights that make it feel like the entire world is ending. Like meteors are crashing down around their ears and everything is on fire. If that’s how you feel, you can leave, and Bury me, then, if I mean so little to you, and You’re barely worth the chair you’re sitting in, and Maybe if you were sober just once in your life, and I never believed in you.
That one hurts the worst.
I never believed in you.
He might as well say, I hate you.
It’s almost like he has.
Grantaire tears out of the cafe, knocking over three chairs as he goes, but he doesn’t mean to. He just can’t see through his tears.
Jehan tries to follow him, but Grantaire knocks him too, shoving him away and snapping that he wants to be alone. So Jehan doesn’t go home all night. At some point, Grantaire recieves a text from him saying he’s staying at Combeferre’s. He could have gone home with his boyfriend, but Courfeyrac lives with Enjolras and Jehan wouldn’t want to look like he was choosing sides.
Not that it matters. Grantaire knows where the loyalties of each of his friends lie, and they are not with him. He locks himself inside — in his room, in his heart, in his mind — and refuses to leave.
It’s really only a couple of hours before he hears the pounding on his door. It’s like thunder, and he rather expects it to just crash into whatever’s left of his goddamn pitiful excuse for a life and end it right there.
He’s not too far off, really. Enjolras uses Jehan’s key and bursts through the door a minute later.
Grantaire is on the couch, staring blankly at the wall. He’s past tears, now, past feeling. He looks up at Enjolras and fancies he sees a kind of vengeful god come to exact righteous justice upon him. He feels almost glad. Without meaning to, he juts his jaw.
“Come to finish me off, then?” he asks and his voice carries so much more venom than he thought it would. He finds he’s standing now, squaring off with Enjolras, who just gazes at him with a disinterestedly hardened expression on his face. “Come to hit me?” Grantaire demand, yelling now. He’s completely lost control of everything inside him.
“I’m not going to hit you,” Enjolras says quietly, and something else crosses his face, but Grantaire can’t see what it is.
In answer to Enjolras’ calm, Grantaire gets louder. “WHY NOT?” he bellows. He’s not even drunk tonight. This hurts too much to dull with alcohol. “Come on, do it. Please!” And it sounds like he’s really begging, now.
Enjolras’ face remains stone. “You are infuriating,” he seethes.
“Why do you let me stay if you’re just going to throw me away like this?!” Grantaire shrieks, and he’s alarmed to realize he’s sobbing now. “You’re more cruel than I ever thought if you would let me live so near the light just to cast me into darkness now!” Enjolras is glancing away now and Grantaire suddenly feels he’s losing him, so he takes one wild step forward and shouts, “If you hate me so much, why didn’t you make me leave?!”
“I don’t hate you!” Enjolras replies instantly, and it stops.
Everything.
Stops.
It’s like they’re both surprised by the confession. Like neither actually thought he would say it.
Grantaire’s breathing is shallow. “You don’t?” he asks after what feels like an eternal pause. His voice is barely above a whisper now, and yet his throat feels raw.
Enjolras sighs, just a little. He looks weary more than anything. “No,” he says simply, and it sounds true, somehow. He wants to add, Of course not. He doesn’t.
Grantaire blinks.
“Then why —?” he begins, but Enjolras’ eyes fix on him again and he can’t finish.
And it looks like Enjolras has just figured it out. But, as usual, Grantaire is in the dark. Enjolras may soar in the heavens of understanding, but Grantaire will always crawl in the mud.
But Enjolras blinks and looks down. He wets his lips. “I said things tonight I didn’t mean,” he says very quietly. Grantaire is stunned. He didn’t expect an apology. Enjolras meets his gaze again, through his eyelashes. “Your behavior was less than favorable, but mine was abhorrent. I hope you’ll forgive me.”
And then he turns to go, and Grantaire is so stricken, he can hardly breathe let alone react.
“Wh-what?” he manages to choke out before Enjolras closes the door behind him, and Enjolras turns to look back at him.
“Will I see you tomorrow?” he asks, and there’s something very similar to worry lacing itself around his tone.
Grantaire stares at him, then nods.
He’s sure he imagines Enjolras’ tiny smile on his way out.