Chapter Text
Enjolras could not find Grantaire.
Maybe that was overreacting, but the fact remained that upon opening the door to the apartment he shared with the other, Combeferre, and Courfeyrac, Grantaire wasn’t there. It wasn't like Enjolras expected Grantaire to tell him every time he left the house, but when both Combeferre and Courfeyrac answered his casual inquiry as to where the missing housemate was with uncertainty, he couldn't smother a spark of worry.
The apartment was searched, despite the other pair’s insistence that they could be trusted. It was a futile search, of course, one that only managed to increase Enjolras’ worry with each empty room, but he had to make sure.
A text was sent to the missing man. (“Oh my God, En. He’s not dead,” said Combeferre. He was ignored.) Enjolras waited a few minutes, but Grantaire didn't reply. Maybe Enjolras was still on edge from the time they all almost died, but the lack of a reply made him more nervous than it probably should have.
Ferre was right, though. He wasn't dead. He could be confident enough in that fact. Probably. Enjolras just had to find him
He sighed, turning quickly and leaving the apartment. He hoped, he prayed, that he wasn't at a bar, so he wouldn't check there, not yet. He had faith in his Grantaire. He walked down the hallway, sending out a text to Cosette, Éponine, and Musichetta. If he was being honest, he trusted the girls more than anyone else to not yell at him for being dramatic. Especially Cosette, when it came to Grantaire.
He walked to Grantaire’s studio. When he wasn’t at home, Grantaire spend most of his time there. It was dark, and each step brought frustration to join the anxiety. No, Grantaire didn't have to let Enjolras know every time he was stepping foot from the apartment, and he was probably just painting, getting lost in it or some shit, but everyone knew Enjolras had been more on edge lately, and Grantaire probably knew that better than any of the others. The least he could do was check his phone.
Which, almost to unconsciously prove a point, Enjolras did, then, to find three negative texts from three separate people, which didn't help him, either.
He huffed, putting his phone in his pocket as he completed the last minutes of the walk.
He entered the building in which Grantaire had rented a room to use as a studio. It wasn’t the best building, but it wasn’t rundown. It did what it had to, and it made Grantaire happy. It gave him a place to go when things got rough, which, right now, was what worried Enjolras the most.
“Grantaire?” he asked, knocking on the door to the studio.
No answer.
But when he wiggled the doorknob, he found it was locked. That was a good sign. That meant Grantaire was there. Whether he was painting, drinking, or—well, whatever he was doing, he was there.
Enjolras exhaled a soft swear as he dug his keys from his pocket. He still didn't know how he managed to convince Grantaire to give him a key to his studio, which Enjolras barely used out of respect to the other’s space, but he was grateful now.
“Grantaire--” he began as he opened the door, but he was cut off by what he saw. The other man sat against the opposite wall, head leaned back to look at the ceiling, bottle in hand. God, he’d been drinking. A lot. Enjolras could see it in his face, even if it was tilted away from him. Christ. He’d been doing so well, and now—fuck.
“Grantaire.” Enjolras repeated, closing the door behind him as he stepped over, crouching in front of him. Enjolras didn't know what he was feeling. There was worry, disappointment, fear, anger, but right now he had to do damage control.
“Hey, Apollo,” Grantaire said, eyes dropping to meet the other’s. He looked like he’d only just noticed Enjolras. His eyes were glazed, but God, were they sad. They were too sad for this man, so gentle and kind, so warm and passionate. Enjolras felt a pang of guilt. He should have been there to help. He could have helped.
“What happened, Grantaire?” Enjolras asked, his own eyes filled with worry. He knew Grantaire better than to assume he’d started drinking again over something stupid.
“You know me, Apollo,” replied Grantaire, raising the bottle to his lips for another swallow of whatever poison was inside, “I’m a fuck up. I mean, you can't tell me this is a surprise to you. That you weren't waiting for this.”
“No, Grantaire. No, you’re—” he cuts himself off, running his hands over his face. Hadn’t he been waiting for this? No, no, he—no! He trusted Grantaire. He believed in him, and he had faith in him. He still did. He wasn't surprised, no, because he knew how relapses worked, but he hadn’t been waiting for this. He had been prepared, but not expecting. “Shit.”
The other took another swallow from the bottle. “Some things just don't change.”
Enjolras sighed. Not at Grantaire, but for him. His sadness was almost tangible, and it made Enjolras’ heart ache. He dropped to his knees, watching the other for a moment before raising his hands to rest on his neck. “You’re not a fuck up, Grantaire,” he said, “I should have been there with you. But you—it’s okay.” He leaned in, pressing a soft kiss to Grantaire’s forehead. Christ, would he be mad later, but not now. Not now. “It’s okay.”
Evidently, it wasn’t.
At the leader’s words, the cynic’s eyes filled with tears, and with the soft kiss pressed to his forehead (far softer than deserved, in his opinion), he couldn't hold back a sob. He fell forward to his knees, arms wrapping around the other, faced buried in his shoulder. He held onto the blonde like an anchor, clinging tightly, as though if he let go he would fall, crashing further into darkness.
“God, Grantaire,” Enjolras whispered, arms wrapping tightly around the other, one hand in his hair, the other stroking his back. He didn't know what else to say. What could he say that wouldn't make Grantaire feel worse? “I love you,” he said after a moment, pressing a kiss to the side of Grantaire’s head.
The other shook his head, clinging closer to his Apollo. That seemed to only make Grantaire feel worse. He didn't think he deserved to be loved.
Even if Enjolras disagreed with Grantaire’s self-hatred, he wouldn't say anything else. The last thing he wanted to do was make him feel worse. So instead he simply sat, arms tight around Grantaire.
After a time passed, Enjolras removed a hand, digging in his pocket for his phone. He didn't want to let go, but he had to make sure he would have a support team. And that everyone knew Grantaire was found.
TEXT: COSETTE
Found. Alive. Problem. More later.
He dropped the phone, then, not bothering to take the time to return it to his pocket. He would rather have the extra seconds with his arm back around Grantaire. He knew Cosette would pass along that he has found the other, but not that there was a problem.
More time passed. Enjolras wasn't sure how long, and he didn't dare check. He didn't want to move. He was here for Grantaire, whether it was five minutes or five hours.
Eventually Grantaire pulled away, sniffling and wiping his eyes. He looked terrible. Not physically, though he didn't look good in that aspect at the moment, either, but he looked even worse, emotionally. Everything he’d been burying before had come to the surface, now. He wasn't hiding his suffering anymore, but it was a new stab to Enjolras’ heart.
He put his hands on Grantaire’s neck again, moving in to kiss him softly. “Let’s go home, okay?”
Grantaire sighed, shaking his head and leaning back against the wall again.
“Come on, Grantaire,” Enjolras sighed. He picked up his phone to check the time. An hour and a half had passed. “You need sleep.”
“Fuck off,” replied the other, bringing a sigh from Enjolras. Grantaire reached for the bottle, but he found it was empty. He threw it across the room.
Enjolras looked at Grantaire for a moment before huffing as he pocketed his phone again, before bending down and wrapping an arm around the other’s waist and moving one of Grantaire’s arms around Enjolras’ shoulders. He stood, then, with a grunt, pulling Grantaire up with him.
“You're an asshole, Apollo,” Grantaire complained, pulling himself away from Enjolras. If Enjolras weren't so worried, he would have smiled that self-satisfied smile. He opened his mouth to say something, but his mouth closed again. I'm not the asshole here. But no, not today. No anger today. Not only did he not want to waste time yelling at a drunk Grantaire, but his guilt was outweighing his anger. Instead, he watched the other for a moment with a clenched jaw. It was his turn to bury his feelings.
"Let's go," Enjolras sighed once the surge of anger subsided, voice soft. He held out a hand to the other, his gentle eyes meeting Grantaire's, tired and sad. The offered hand was considered for a moment before being silently rejected as Grantaire put his hands in his pockets. Enjolras wasn't surprised, really, but it didn't stop the pang of sadness. The frustration.
He gave Grantaire a flash of a reassuring smile before stepping forward to open the door, waiting for Grantaire on the other side before closing and locking the door behind them.
“Come on.”
With that, Enjolras started down the hall, stopping after a few steps to make sure Grantaire was following. Satisfied to see the man close behind, Enjolras continued. He led the other from the building to the sidewalk outside.
Now that they were out of the more cramped hallways of the building, Enjolras walked beside Grantaire instead of in front of him. He watched Grantaire in the yellow light of the street lamps with a mixture of anger, sympathy, and pity. Grantaire looked at the sidewalk beneath their feet, and Enjolras thought that was probably for the best. Grantaire hated pity.
He looked awful. Sobriety had taken away his usual drunken appearance, making it appear that much worse now that he was drunk again. His eyes, so full of sadness, were bloodshot again, and his skin was pallid, even without the added light. He didn't know how much of it was the alcohol and how much was the shame.
After a couple of blocks, Grantaire took Enjolras’ hand.
The walk was silent except for the sounds of cars and footsteps, seemingly louder in this darkness than they would be during the day. Enjolras spent most of the time silently watching Grantaire, mostly only looking away to make sure the other wouldn't walk into traffic. He knew Grantaire was careless on a good day.
They reached the apartment building, and Enjolras sighed, looking to Grantaire. He didn't seem overly eager to return to Combeferre and Courfeyrac, and Enjolras figured that was justified. The odds were in favor of one of them making a comment of some sort. But they couldn't stay outside.
Enjolras opened the door.
The short walk to the apartment was as quiet as the walk to the complex. Enjolras was able to get a better look at Grantaire in the different light. He looked better without the yellow tint, but it left his skin even paler. In the silence, bitter disappointment began to creep into Enjolras’ sadness. He pushed it down. What good would it do to say anything to Grantaire when he wouldn’t remember it in the morning? He doubted it would do anything anyway, even if Grantaire were sober, but he knew it would really be a waste of anger to say anything now.
Outside of the door, Enjolras let out a huff as he grabbed his key from his pocket. With any luck, Courfeyrac and Combeferre would be asleep, and there would be nothing said. Even if they weren't, maybe they’d still be silent. It wasn’t likely.
In fact, when Enjolras opened the door, the pair was still awake. Each looked to the entering couple, and a moment passed before, unknowingly proving Enjolras’ point, Courfeyrac opened his mouth. He didn’t get the chance to say anything, though, because Enjolras glared at him, a hard glare usually saved only for those truly annoying him. Usually for Grantaire. He hadn’t the patience for his shit, right now.
Silently, Enjolras led Grantaire into the apartment and to their bedroom. (Their bedroom. That was always a nice thought.) He turned the light on and closed the door behind them. This was a time just for them, now.
“Grantaire,” Enjolras began after a second, turning to face the other, but he was cut off by a sigh.
“Stop it, Apollo,” Grantaire replied, stepping away and shrugging off his jacket, “I know what you’re going to say, and I don't want you to say it.”
That got a sigh from Enjolras, but, in a rare occurrence that would definitely have earned a comment had Grantaire been feeling better, he stayed silent as asked. He had been going to apologize. Again. Even though Grantaire insisted he did nothing wrong, Enjolras still felt a heavy weight of guilt in his heart. He still felt like if he had been there, he could have stopped Grantaire from drinking. From throwing away all the progress he’d made. And for what? He didn’t know, and he wasn’t sure he ever would. Maybe Grantaire didn’t even know. It could have been one thing of many, or a combination thereof. Nothing either of them could control, but Enjolras still felt like, had he been there, he could have at least stopped Grantaire from going down the wrong path.
But he said none of this. Instead, silently, eyes on Grantaire, he got ready for bed. Grantaire needed rest, and Enjolras wasn’t going to leave him again. Besides, the commotion of the evening had left him weary as well.
The light was turned off and they got into bed; Grantaire curled up small and Enjolras facing him. He inched closer to press a soft kiss to the other’s head. “I love you, Grantaire.”
Grantaire, seemingly already half asleep, gave a soft smile, his eyes closed. “I dunno, Enjolras, that's kinda gay.”
“Just go to sleep,” Enjolras replied, voice losing the softer edge. It was all he could do to keep himself from making some kind of comment. That would just get Grantaire going, and he wanted him to rest.
Grantaire grunted, but he didn’t argue. Enjolras moved closer, wrapping himself around the other, and he stayed like that until he was sure Grantaire was asleep. Then, with a soft sigh, he pulled away.
He sat up, grabbing his phone from where it lay on the nightstand. He wasn't fit to handle this situation. He already knew that from the anger bubbling in his chest. He knew he was better off texting Combeferre or Joly, one of the medical students in the group, but Combeferre was, literally, too close, and Joly wouldn’t make it without telling Bossuet and Musichetta. Enjolras wanted to keep this to as few people as possible, for Grantaire’s sake. He knew the only one he would trust with Grantaire as much as himself was Cosette. She helped him in the same way Éponine did Enjolras when she was asked by the others to use her more forceful personality to bring him to his senses. Cosette was gentle, and Grantaire loved her. She was brought in when Enjolras’ harder personality couldn’t handle Grantaire’s softer, more vulnerable side alone when there was a problem. Which was usually.
TEXT: COSETTE
He got drunk.
He didn't have to wait long. Within a minute, Cosette replied.
TEXT: EN ❤⚡
Do you need me to come over?
TEXT: COSETTE
No. He’s sleeping.
TEXT: EN ❤⚡
Is he okay?
TEXT: COSETTE
Doubtful.
TEXT: EN ❤⚡
Do you know what set him off?
TEXT: COSETTE
No.
TEXT: COSETTE
Maybe he got bored.
TEXT: EN ❤⚡
That's not fair, Enjolras.
TEXT: EN ❤⚡
You know how hard he’s been trying, and he’s been doing it for you. If he’s drinking again, it’s because something upset him. Badly.
Enjolras read the text. Once. Twice. Guilt burned within him. He should have been there. But if it had really bothered him, he could have called Enjolras. He could have done something. He should have done something.
TEXT: COSETTE
Why didn’t he do anything to help himself?
TEXT: EN ❤⚡
You know him, Enjolras. He’s too proud.
Enjolras didn't reply, leaning his head against the wall, his eyes closing with a sigh. After a minute, his phone buzzed.
TEXT: EN ❤⚡
Are you okay?
TEXT: COSETTE
I think it’s my fault.
TEXT: EN ❤⚡
It’s not.
TEXT: COSETTE
I should have been there.
TEXT: EN ❤⚡
You can't always be there, En. He has to be able to take care of himself. He’s not weak. He doesn't need you to babysit him. He doesn't want you to. And you need to be able to trust him. He’s your boyfriend, and he’s a person, not another project.
He didn’t reply right away, taking a moment to think over what Cosette said. She was right. He had to trust Grantaire. He did trust Grantaire. And he’d broken sobriety. He hadn’t even tried.
TEXT: COSETTE
Goodnight, Cosette.
TEXT: EN ❤⚡
Goodnight, Enjolras.
He didn’t sleep.