The thing about wings is that you never see your own, only your soulmate’s. Enjolras can feel his flutter and knows how he uses them to comfort others, but still he’s never seen them. He can imagine what they look like, sure, but he knows he’ll never be able to actually see them. It’s been his priority since he was 12 to ask his soulmate to describe his wings for him just because of that deep urge to know how the person he falls for sees him. Wings were supposed to be the most beautiful thing in all of existence and he desperately wanted to see his own and his soulmate’s. What he didn’t plan, however, was his soulmate’s wings to be the opposite of all he dreamt of.
Grantaire’s wings look like shards of bottle green glass all melded together and moving as one. They’re as sharp as knives and threatening alike, but they’re not ugly. In fact, they’re even beautiful. The same way you admire lightning, Enjolras found R’s wings to be exquisite and terrifying simultaneously.
He finds himself sneaking glances at the beasts, as he so lovingly calls them, and watches them as they flex when he’s angry and fold behind him when he’s in a mood- that’s when Enjolras knows not to pick a fight with him. Even when they’re eye to eye, all he wants to do is touch them and see if they really are sharp, because something tells him that they’re not really like daggers but perhaps softer. Even so, he is afraid to tell Grantaire the truth about seeing his wings, because he knows that R can see his and has not told him yet- he must not want to.
Enjolras is visiting R at his flat to pick up the new posters he designed for the ABC and is trying very hard not to look at Grantaire as he cooks dinner and he’s especially trying not to look at Grantaire’s hands or his back or his muscles and he is really really trying not to look at his wings that move in little circle in the light. He distracts himself by looking through the rest of the papers strewn about R’s working desk, and that’s when he sees a slip of gold peeking out from under a paper filled with notes. He slides the paper away and sees them: the red and gold fairy wings tacked on to a slim figure with blonde curls. The drawing is neat and obviously well cared for and Enjolras can’t believe it; after all this time, Grantaire was looking at him just the way he had been looking back.
His hands are shaking and he can’t form words the proper way for the first time in almost all his life. Instead, he holds the picture gingerly between two fingers and approaches R where he is currently standing at the stove. He taps him and waits for the man to turn around before holding out the drawing to him.
Grantaire looks as if he didn’t want anyone to see it, least of all Enjolras, but Enjolras just smiles and says “I can see yours too”. That’s all he says, all he has to say, and R is hugging him like he’ll never be able to again. Enjolras hugs back just as tight and sighs in relief because finally he can hold his soulmate.
Later when they’re just holding each other and talking, R tells him that his wings give off a soft warmth that comforts him, like a dimming fire in winter. And when Grantaire lets Enjolras touch his wings, he finds that he was right. The shards of glass turned out to be softer than satin and cooler than obsidian, the feel of it sending shivers down Enjolras’ spine. It had been too long of him only imagining how they felt instead of actually caressing them sweetly as he did now, and he knew that that was what he wanted to do for the rest of his life; look at this beautiful man and admire the strength and beauty of his wings knowing that he was his, and he always would be.
