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Grantaire left the bar in tears. It seemed to be happening more and more often nowadays - Enjolras would turn up in those sunglasses, with his hair perfectly coiffed, and suddenly Grantaire felt like the local tramp. His outfit, which he artfully arranged every morning, paled into comparison with Enjolras effortless style, and although his friends thought he was desperately cool, he tried so hard not to be he almost bust a gut. So, when Enjolras told him to go home and change his stained shirt, Grantaire took it as his due and left, tears in his eyes.
By now, some of the group had formed a band. None of them had any musical talent to speak of, but Grantaire could hold a tune and Feuilly was teaching himself drums, and so L'Abaisse was born. They practised in Courfeyrac's parents garage, with Grantaire on guitar, Feuilly on drums and Courf on keyboard, and played occasional unpaid gigs at the Musain. One of these gigs was coming up the next Saturday, and the boys had a rehearsal that afternoon.
Grantaire came storming in. Feuilly was already seated. "Hey-"
"I have a new song." The artist pulled a sheaf of music out of his leather satchel, and handed it around. "I want to do it tomorrow." At their murmurs of dissent, he looked plaintively around. "Come on. Help me out." After a long pause, they all agreed and got down to practising. Grantaire sent Enjolras a sneaky text.
"You coming tomorrow night? R."
They were halfway through Bohemian Rhapsody - somehow, they had formed into a raggedy harmony over the course of past months.
"Yes. I have something to discuss with Ferre. E."
Grantaire's heart leapt into his mouth, as he took advantage of the piano solo to type back quickly.
"You're going to enjoy it. We've got some new material I think you'll like."
"I'll see you tomorrow."
And then nothing. Grantaire sighed and shoved his phone back in his pocket. Time for his part.
"Nothing really matters, anyone can see,
Nothing really matters, nothing really matters to me."
*-*-*-*-*
In himself, Grantaire was not a bad looking man. His light brown hair was usually stuffed under a beanie hat. He wore glasses with thick black frames, and usually had a quirky smile playing on his lips. Standard clothes were a white v-neck shirt, a thin black cardigan and green chinos - these garments tended to be covered in paint stains. On his feet was always a pair of faded black Doc Marten boots. He constantly had a Spanish guitar over his shoulder in a case, normally with a bottle of beer stashed in a pocket. Sure he was faded, brow-beaten, worn down, but that's how he was liked.
So, when he and L'Abaisse turned up for their gig in suit trousers and black tie, everyone was surprised. "Going for conformity? That's not like you," Jehan had teased. "You're normally a mess." A piece of hair flopped over his eyes, the wool on his jumper matted and twisted into little bobbles. Grantaire grinned at this irony but made no comment.
They had settled on stage - Grantaire at the front, with Feuilly and Courf behind him on either side - and were preparing to start when Enjolras walked in. Grantaire was awestruck for a moment. Damn, that was an attractive man. But, he realised where he was, leaned forward and spoke into the microphone. The lights in the audience went down, hut he could still see the glint of bottles and the light of several mobile phones.
"Hello and good evening, ladies and gentlemen." The chattering stopped instantly, and one of the gang - Bahorel? - whooped from their table at the back. "I'd like to introduce my band. I'm Grantaire, this is Feuilly"- a fanfare on the drums, and the man gave a cheerful bow -"and Courfeyrac." The pianist played the opening chords from Phantom of the Opera and grinned widely. "And together we are L'Abaisse!" After four, the three launched into the first song of their set, Show Me Light. This was swiftly followed by Bohemian Rhapsody and Everybody Hurts, before Grantaire led the crowd in a performance of One from A Chorus Line. It was a student bar at a performing arts college, so everyone knew the words.
At that point, he took a break and shuffled backstage, leaving Courf to inflict his bad sense of humour on the gathering. He was just taking gulps from a bottle of water when he got a text from Enjolras.
"You sound much better than last time. E." Grantaire smiled. The last gif had been a disaster - Grantaire had had a cold and was taking gulps from a glass of water between songs, and, when Courf came forward, he had kicked the glass - by accident - at Bossuet's head, causing a full scale fight to break out. Grantaire still winced at this, and texted back.
"You've seen nothing yet. R."
He put the bottle down, tucked his phone away and strode back out onto the stage. Taking his seat at the front, he coughed a little and spoke. "So, ummm...this is some new material here, which we only sorted out yesterday, so bear with us." He nodded at Courfeyrac, who set up some chords.
Grantaire stared straight at Enjolras and started singing, acoustic.
"If I could write you a song to make you fall in love, I would already have you up under my arm, I've used up all of my tricks, I hope that you like this, well, you probably won't, you think you're cooler than me." The thrum of the drumkit started and Courfeyrac added jazzy piano chords underneath. Grantaire took a deep breath, stood up and vaulted off the front of the stage. Heart beating heavily, he strolled through the crowd, all the while making straight for the back table.
"You've got designer shades just to hide your face and you wear them around like you're cooler than me, well, you never say "hey" or remember my name, its probably 'cos you think you're cooler than me." Enjolras flicked the glasses off with a scowl as Grantaire drew nearer. What was that ridiculous exhibitionist doing?
Grantaire himself was finding it easier. He held his hand out to a couple of girls, let them reach for him. For once, he was in a position of complete power. And there, there was the table with Enjolras and Combeferre, and he pointed at the former, nodding and singing.
"You've got your high brow, shoes on your feet, and you wear them around like it ain't - " he paused, not wanting to swear. "But you don't know the way that you look when your feet make that much noise." And, for the most daring part, he placed a finger on Enjolras' lips. "Shhh."
The man was angry now. What the hell was R doing? Picking him out like that...but he had to admit the boy was a wonderful singer. He didn't like to admit it, but he had a real talent and came alive through his own voice. Now, the blue eyes that had seemed so piercing before were dancing as Grantaire moved with the music, pulling Enjolras to his feet and walking around him, slowly, still singing and fixing him with that gaze.
"I've got you all figured out, you need everyone's eyes just to feel seen - behind your make up, nobody knows who you even are -" one finger, traced down the line of Enjolras' jaw - "who do you think that you are?" And then Grantaire was back into the chorus, moving away.
Only Enjolras knew just how much of his soul the singer had bared.
*-*-*-*-*
The gig was over, and Grantaire was packing away his guitar, when Enjolras came to stand in front of him on the empty stage. The singer looked up. "So, how did you like that?"
Enjolras was instantly speaking with a fiery glint in his eyes. "I need to feel like people can see me. When I was younger, my elder brother took all the attention away from me. He lives in some fancy house now, has a rank - General something or other - and fights for the people too. For L'Abaisse." He snarled. "And, now, when I should be the centre of attention - graduated from university, fighting for what I believe in - the stupid git has to get ill! Why did you think I got so upset at my graduation?" He didn't wait for an answer, just looking, looking into Grantaire's horror-struck face. "Because my parents didn't come! They went to look after Lamarque instead! And I waited for them...waited for three hours..." and to the singers chagrin, the stone-cold man broke down into hot tears.
Unable to think of anything else, he held Enjolras in his arms for as long as he dared, before the tears began to dry. He scarcely dared hope for anything else. "Enjolras?" he whispered. "I'm so sorry." There was no more words for what he'd done, and, an older man, he made to leave. A voice from behind him.
"Grantaire?" Enjolras sounded so pathetic that the brunette had to turn. His Apollo was sitting on the stage. "I did like the song. You have a remarkable talent. And, by the way, you never needed to write me a song."
Confused, Grantaire moved closer. "What?"
Enjolras answered the question by beckoning him in and closing the void between them with a kiss. It was harsh and strange and alien and new, but it felt so completely right that Grantaire could do nothing but move ever closer until he was standing between Enjolras' legs. He brought his lips into the blonde's neck, and kissed it softly. "Is this..." he swallowed. "Is this all right?"
Enjolras looked up. "I never realised." His eyes were full - but no tears, not just yet. "You've been in love...with me...all this time?"
Grantaire laughed a little. "Only since forever. God, Enjolras..." and he kissed him again, and, in that moment, everything was absolved.
Always and forever.