Chapter Text
As soon as he could get his parents off his back, Enjolras practically ran to hop the fence. Today, he didn't even care about being subtle. So what if the Peacekeepers saw him go into the woods? He knew his probability of dying young, whether it be from the Reaping or from the little rebellion he may or may not be organizing. But he had to see his not-boyfriend before they called the names.
“There you are. What took you so long?” The dark haired boy asked.
“Sorry,” Enjolras panted, sitting down next to him. Enjolras could feel his eyes glancing over him, as if committing each detail memory. “What?”
The other shook his head slightly. “Nothing. Just…You look good.”
Enjolras scoffed. “I hate it. My mom forced me to wear this because ‘oh it's Reaping Day, you have to look your best.’ Screw that! Why do we celebrate two of us getting sent off every year to a grisly death? It's sick.”
“Just accept the compliment, will you? For once.”
Sarcasm was Grantaire's usual modus operandi. But Enjolras didn’t like the wistfulness written all over his features. Or how Grantaire averted his gaze down when Enjolras tried to catch his eye.
“Hey. You okay?”
He got a hum in response.
“R.”
Grantaire sighed. “It's my last Reaping. Everything's over today no matter what. Either I walk away without ever getting my name picked out of that godforsaken bowl and I get to keep going with my miserable life, or I get sentenced to certain death.”
“You won't,” Enjolras answered, with a finality that even surprised himself.
“You can't guarantee that.”
“I'd volunteer for you.”
Grantaire looked at him. “I would for you too.”
Enjolras let his face harden. “No, remember our last meeting? I don't want any of you volunteering.”
“But you're allowed to?” Grantaire asked, evidently frustrated.
Enjolras knew it was hypocritical. But he was responsible for Les Amis de l'ABC. If any of them died when he could have saved them, he would never forgive himself. Especially because he knew that if one of them were chosen, there was a good chance they knew what they were planning.
“What are we even supposed to do if you die, Enjolras? Move on like nothing happened?”
“If I die, you have to carry on Les Amis. Seriously, were you even paying attention?”
“I don't care about Les Amis, I care about you! What about me?”
Enjolras stared at him, unable to answer.
“How many tesserae do you have Enjolras?” Grantaire whispered.
“I-” Enjolras hesitated. Grantaire was already worried. “Some.”
Grantaire narrowed his eyes at him.
“You have them too. How many do you have?” Enjolras asked.
“Don't change subject!” He snapped back. “How many times is your name in?”
Enjolras closed his eyes, as if calculating the number despite knowing it by heart. “Twenty-four.”
Grantaire groaned. “Enjolras why? Your family has money!”
“Because people are starving and if I can help them, I will. However I can.” Enjolras recited it like a mantra he had rehearsed.
“I knew you would say that. You're too selfless for your own good.” Grantaire stared at his hands now. “It's why I love you, you know.”
Heat flooded into Enjolras’ cheeks at that. They hardly ever used the word “love.” Slowly, Enjolras reached across and touched Grantaire's hand.
“I don't want to wait for us anymore,” Grantaire said quietly.
The look in Grantaire's downturned eyes was almost enough to convince Enjolras. They had decided not to make their feelings official a few months ago. Enjolras had felt like a relationship could distract him from the rebellion. They couldn't risk any misstep. He didn't tell Grantaire, but he also worried that if anyone found out, they could use it against him and derail everything. Grantaire had said he understood, but Enjolras could see how, even so, it had hurt a little.
Enjolras took his hands fully. “Hey, after the rebellion, we won't have to. I think we'll have set it in motion before this time next year. This will be the last Reaping for both of us.”
The doubt in Grantaire's eyes was palpable. “How can you be so sure?”
“Because it has to. This can’t be the only way to live. They can't win.”
“And what can you, a seventeen year old, do against all the Peacekeepers of Panem, huh?”
“Nothing.” Grantaire looked mildly surprised at the concession. “But I'm not alone. I have the amis. And I have you.”
Grantaire scoffed affectionately. “Don't get sappy on me now, Mr. Revolutionary.”
Enjolras gave him a small laugh. “It'll work out. And I promise to you that when all of this is over and the Districts are free from the Capitol, we're going to go out on a proper date.”
Grantaire smiled back, though he never seemed to miss that lingering dread and longing Enjolras noticed since they began talking.
“You'll finally let me kiss you?”
“Yes.”
Grantaire stood up, offering his hand. “Okay then. If this is our last Reaping, let's get it over with, shall we?”