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Midterm-season was a bitch.
It was hours upon hours of cramming and reviewing notes and quizzing himself, which meant a lot of caffeine and little sleep with the occasional meal in-between. And contrary to the fact that Grantaire and Courfeyrac got drunk and built an altar in front of his bedroom door last week, Enjolras was not a god and, despite his seemingly inhuman fortitude, was starting to buckle under the pressure.
It’s about halfway through his Calculus notes that the numbers started to blur, and Enjolras knew that he needed a break- and not his five minute-long stare-at-the-ceiling-until-the-words/numbers-stop-spinning break, but a real one that involves shutting the book, putting down the pencil and actually relaxing.
Enjolras glanced at his desk, eyes zeroing in on the right-hand drawer.
Most of his housemates were in class. Bossuet and Bahorel had gone out for lunch. Marius was home, but his room was down the hall and around a corner and Enjolras knew for a fact that he hadn’t slept well the night previously- given that he had had any early class this morning, he was probably catching up on his sleep. There was no one there to interrupt him, so…
With a slow sigh, Enjolras stood up from where he had been sitting on the floor and went over to the desk. There was always a certain shame when he went digging into this particular drawer for these particular items, even though he was a twenty-two year-old man who damn well did not need anyone’s permission to do anything and could do whatever he wanted with his own damn body.
All the same, it was Combeferre and Joly’s voices in his head as Enjolras went over to the window, pulled a cigarette out of the pack and lit it up. Cancer, emphysema, shortened life-span-
“Oh, shut up.” Enjolras growled, more or less confirming to himself just how badly he needed the cigarette in question.
He knew it wasn’t the best habit to have, but it took the edge off of his stress better than any other activity, and God knew Enjolras needed to unwind every now and then. He ate healthy, he exercised, he didn’t drink- hell, he didn’t even indulge in this on a regular basis. He had had this one pack for two months, and left it in the back of his desk drawer for safe keeping.
Though he was an adult and could (and would) do as he pleased, Enjolras did not much feel like being lectured by his friends (namely the resident medical students) for his smoking and kept it to himself. He knew the risks, and he damn well didn’t need to hear them reiterating them, or deal with the dirty looks Joly tended to throw at Bahorel whenever he indulged.
Every now and then, he would lean out the window in his room that looked out the side of the house- that being, the part that had only a narrow walking space between the house and the line and trees and therefore a highly unlikely place for anyone to spot him. He let out a puff of smoke, shoulders sagging as he slumped against the windowsill, and shut his eyes.
All right- What did he have left to do? He had to finish up the Calc work (maybe another hour), and then had to start in on the chemistry study-guide, which would take maybe two hours to be completed to his satisfaction. Then he would have to get back to work on that speech he was preparing for the ABC’s meeting next week, because they were planning a protest about the tuition rise at the college. At some point, eating would probably be a good idea, and that would best be done before the bulk of his friends got home from class lest one or more of them try to force him to stay downstairs and socialize properly for the first time in three days…
The smoke twisted and curled around Enjolras’s head, and damn, so effective was it that he almost felt sleepy with contentment. Of course, he was running low on sleep already, so it was possible that it wasn’t the cigarette so much as it was the fact that his defenses were down and his brain was taking advantage-
SLAM.
The sound of his door flying open in precisely the same manner that he had asked, pleaded and finally threatened certain people not to do shocked Enjolras out of whatever calm he had managed to establish, and he came dangerously close to swallowing the cigarette when he started at it.
Grantaire was standing in the doorway, mouth open, about to speak- that is, until he saw cigarette currently clenched between the blond’s teeth and most likely smelled at least a bit of the smoke that had made its way into the room, despite Enjolras’s best efforts to keep it outside. Then the neutral expression slowly began to slide into one of surprise, and then, strangely enough, horror. When Grantaire’s eyes were as wide as saucers, Enjolras sighed a sigh that melted into just a bit of a groan and took the cigarette from his mouth. “Grantaire, don’t-”
“You’re smoking.” God, he sounded like a five year-old that just heard an adult use a bad word.
“Yes, I am. Shockingly enough, I’m human and occasionally indulge in a bad habit or two.” If Grantaire detected any defensiveness in his voice, he was still too overwhelmed to comment on it.
“You’re smoking!”
“You said that already.” Enjolras pinched the bridge of his nose.
“Since when do you smoke?”
“Since starting college.” He almost said something about it taking the edge off, but didn’t think Grantaire could handle anymore shock in the form of Enjolras admitting to further humanity.
“But- How did I not smell it on you?” The shock was starting to melt away, leaving confusion.
Enjolras gestured towards the window. “I smoke outside. And not too often, either.”
“Christ. I mean- Oh my God, it’s like finding out that Mr. Rogers did pot.”
Enjolras made a strange noise which, due to the recent inhalation of smoke, turned into a cough. “You are reaching with that one. You’re reaching very, very far.”
And then, faster than a snap of his fingers, Grantaire’s mood shifted rapidly. “Oh, so you can smoke, but I drink every now and then and it’s a crime?”
Enjolras couldn’t stop himself from letting out a sharp, bitter laugh. “A bit? You got so drunk last month that you bought a toucan from a man in a dark alley, Grantaire!”
“I didn’t buy it, Courfeyrac did. You can’t blame me for that.”
“Watch me.” Enjolras moved over and pulled a small ashtray out of the drawer to snuff out the cigarette.
Grantaire huffed and leaned against the doorframe. “Hypocrite.”
Enjolras refused to acknowledge him. “What do you want?”
But Grantaire wouldn’t let it go, and an awful look of realization came over his face. “Does Combeferre know? Or Joly?”
“What do you want, Grantaire?”
“They don’t!” His grin became positively devilish, and Enjolras swallowed hard. “Oh, they don’t. That’s interesting. Combeferre’s normally so sharp, I would think he would have picked up on something like this a while ago.”
Enjolras licked his lips nervously. “There have been the occasional close calls.” Like that one time when, after last semester’s finals, when Combeferre had noted the smell of smoke on Enjolras’s jacket. Enjolras had quickly covered, saying that someone sitting near him in the Musain had been smoking and the smell must have stuck. Combeferre seemed to accept the explanation, and hadn’t prodded further.
“I’ll bet there have.” Grantaire’s grin was reminiscent of the Cheshire Cat, and Enjolras glared at him.
“What? Spit it out!”
“I imagine Combeferre would greatly disapprove.”
“If you tell him, Grantaire, or anyone else, so help me-”
“You’ll what?” Enjolras took too long trying to pick one thing from the list running through his head, and Grantaire took it as an admission of defeat. “That’s what I thought. Now let’s see…” He grinned and steepled his fingers. “What price shall you pay for my silence?”
“This is extortion.” Enjolras growled.
“I prefer ‘blackmail’.”
Enjolras had the sudden urge for another cigarette. He pulled another from the box and lit it, leaning back towards the window and waiting grimly for Grantaire’s declaration. The other man, however, was watching him smoke with a strange intensity. It was a little unnerving, and Enjolras was about to comment before Grantaire snapped out of it, crossed the room and lightly plucked the cigarette from his fingers, putting it into his own mouth.
After a long drag Grantaire sighed, but the wickedness had not left his eyes. “All right, let’s just say that you owe me a favor. I’ll let you know.”
And when Enjolras acquiesced to lunch with Grantaire a week later, assuming that the older man was stringing him along and intending to spring the favor on him after they had eaten, he was surprised when Grantaire declared upon the end of the lunch that the favor had been paid and that his secret was safe.
-End