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Grantaire sits on a stool at a bar somewhere in London. The lights are slightly too bright and the world is fuzzy. He is sat, wine bottle in hand desperately trying to forget what had happened a week ago.
Enjolras. Beautiful Enjolras had been stood at a debate, passionately sharing his beliefs on the state of the government.
“People are dying! You can’t keep turning them away! Their homelands are at war, they have no where else to go, and you’re refusing them asylum? How dare you!”
Grantaire had felt his heart quicken as he recalled when he had had to leave his home. A bomb had been dropped and the fire spread, engulfing his home and killing his old neighbor. She had brought him homemade flapjacks every week and he would often come over to talk with her. But she hadn’t managed to get out and Grantaire was at work when the bombs had hit. He will never forgive himself for going to work that day. Her name had been Martha. She had invited him over the night before but he said he was too tired. If only he had said yes. If only he had said goodbye. If only she hadn’t died.
It was a truth to Grantaire that haunted him. Always. But sat in the crowd onlooking the debate the pain in his heart lessened for just a moment as he watched his Apollo fight for people like him and Martha. Who had lost their homes. And their lives.
After the debate Grantaire had rushed to him.
“R?” Enjolras had asked, his face flushed from adrenaline.
“That was amazing.” Grantaire had gushed before grabbing his face and kissing him.
The kiss was clumsy and reckless as they exchanged breaths; their hearts beat together furiously as they were pressed together but Grantaire suddenly pulled away remembering who he was kissing. He started to panic. Enjolras! He had kissed the perfect Enjolras! How could he! He would surely be hated for the rest of eternity and before Enjolras had the chance to say a word, Grantaire rushed away.
He didn’t leave his room for three days and he didn’t leave his house for another five. But eventually he had taken himself outside in the hope to sort his overwhelming thoughts and emotions. But that had left him here. In a bar. Somewhere in London.
Grantaire groggily got up passed a couple of tenners to the bar tender, never mind that he had overpaid. He swayed on his feet and made his way onto the street.
“Jus- jus- need t- bed.” He whispered to himself, “t- bed.” He hiccupped and giggled but as he continued along the road unsure of where he was going sadness began to rush over him and he was soon left sitting on the floor sobbing. It began to rain and Grantaire fished his phone out of his pocket to call Courfeyrac. He would know what to do. Grantaire waited for a moment then someone answered the phone almost immediately.
“R?” A soft voice asked. He sounded nervous. Grantaire was confused. This wasn’t Courfeyrac. “R, are you ok?” Grantaire dropped his phone. It was Enjolras! Oh God, was he going to be angry at him for last week? Grantaire clumsily lifted his phone to his ear and tried to compose himself.
“Yup. Fine.” But his voice slurred and all of a sudden his stupid body betrayed him and he started to cry.
“R? What’s going on? Where are you?”
“Mm near bridge. Islington.” He heard Enjolras take a big breath.
“Stay there, I’m coming to get you.”
20 minutes later Enjolras pulled up beside Grantaire in his Volvo and jumped out despite being on double yellow lines. He rushed to his friend who was curled on the floor shivering.
“Hey. R.” Grantaire looked up at him eyes unfocused.
“’pollo.”
Enjolras grabbed a blanket from his car and wrapped it round Grantaire before helping him into the passenger seat.
“How’d you fi- me?” The drunk man asked.
“May have run a few red lights.” Enjolras laughed awkwardly, “But you’re more important than a few tickets.”
Grantaire’s heart warmed but he immediately punished himself for feeling that way. Especially after was he had done.
“Why’d you come?” He asked uncertainly.
“Because you’re my friend.”
Grantaire was surprised and sobered up for a moment. “I thought you’d hate me.”
“Why?”
“Beca- well because-”
“Because you kissed me?”
“Well…yeah.”
Enjolras let out a breath and headed to the drivers seat. He pulled out in silence and focused on the road ahead.
“I don’t hate you R.”
Grantaire said nothing.
“In fact I liked the kiss.”
The silence continued.
Enjolras took another breath. “Lets get you home, R”
As soon as he had pulled up to Grantaire’s block of flats, he helped the man up the stairs. Grantaire stumbled. A lot. But eventually made it to his room and collapsed onto the bed, asleep. Enjolras took off Grantaire’s shoes tucked him into his bed and went to the kitchen to grab some water before leaving it on the bedside table. He then grabbed a blanket from the floor and curled into the armchair in the corner of the room.
As he was drifting into sleep he wondered what would happen with him and R. He really liked the curly haired man and had felt so happy when he was kissed but then R had ran away and hadn’t picked up his phone in over a week. Enjolras had been holding his phone debating if he should try to call again when R called him. He was nervous and feeling happy that he was finally calling back but that had swiftly changed to worry as he heard the state that his friend was in. He could barely concentrate as he drove to find him. He was so scared that something would happen to him. And when he had found out that R thought he hated him because of the kiss, well… he was devastated.
“Of course I don’t hate you R!” He thought, “I love you!”
It was with this realization that the blond man fell asleep.
“I love you, ‘taire.”
R awoke that morning his head pounding. He lay staring at the ceiling trying to remember what had happened the night before.
“Got drunk… called for help… called… Enjolras!” He bolted upright and saw the man he felt so much for asleep on his armchair.
“He’s…right there. He’s here!”
Grantaire admired the way his eyelashes cast shadows on his cheek bones and how beautifully the morning light danced across his god like features. He itched to draw him but couldn’t remember where he had left his sketchbook. Instead we went to brush his teeth then make breakfast. There was some bread in the cupboard and butter in the fridge. It was the kind of butter Martha had always used to make her flapjacks. Grantaire felt the hole in his chest growing again as he spiralled into his regrets but then Enjolras appeared in the kitchen doorway, the light suddenly brighter around him.
“Morning, R.”
Grantaire smiled.
“Morning, Apollo.”