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Secretly, walking through the city on Christmas Eve is one of Grantaire’s favourite holiday activities. Sure, the holiday food is great, and the decorations liven up the place, but that atmosphere when everyone has finished their shopping and the crowds are full of smiling faces and only the odd person who completely forgot it was Christmas tomorrow and who he knows you can sell anything to – he’s been there behind the counter trying to keep a straight face as he tells the tenth man today he has no idea if his girlfriend will like that perfume but you know it does come in a lotion too? The sounds of Christmas songs, that honestly he should be tired of by now but that he still can’t quite dislike, seep out of the shops – The traditional, the new, the downright odd. Above him the sky is just beginning to turn a pinky violet, and the lights in the windows twinkle and it all makes him want to burrow his face into his terrible Joly-knitted scarf and smile.
Amongst all this he is most certainly not expecting to see Enjolras, huddled around a table outside a Starbucks, with that angry stare focussed at the table, hands shoved under his arms. Grantaire stops on the corner and observes the oddity of it all before his curiosity gets the better of him and he takes a few steps over.
“You know if you’re not a smoker you don’t have to sit outside right?” He asks, and Enjolras all but jumps out of his skin, head whirling around to face him, lips slightly parted in an ‘oh’.
“I-“
“I’m kidding, you just look frozen.” Enjolras tries to burrow his hands deeper into the wool of his coat.
“That’s because I am.”
“In that case… I repeat my first sentiment and enquire as to why you’re sat on your own outside a café on Christmas Eve. I thought you were heading home?” Enjolras snorts in that slightly bitter way Grantaire recognises from his own ‘screw everyone’ moments and for a moment it upsets him more than it probably should.
“My mother decided she couldn’t wait until after Christmas to call me a massive disappointment and a social burden so I decided to burn my train ticket, and their Christmas card… It was remarkably satisfactory but I feel a bit… Childish.” Grantaire shrugs, and now he can pick out the pieces of glitter and red card in the ashtray.
“Well I can assure you I’ve done much more stupid things when angry. Trying to argue with you for example.” Enjolras smiles wryly at this, but at least takes it in good humour. “What are you doing now, drowning your sorrows in heavily sweetened holiday themed drinks?”
“Something like that I suppose.”
Grantaire considers the man in front of him for a moment. Usually he would leave Enjolras to it, they’re not exactly the best of friend after several of the aforementioned arguments, and part of him was looking forward to Christmas Eve on his own, as he’s done every year since he moved to the city. Besides, Enjolras probably doesn’t want to talk to him about his troubles, he’s not exactly good with advice, nor the kind of support Enjolras is used to. But there’s a niggle. It’s Christmas Eve after all, neither of them have any plans and Enjolras has probably never spent Christmas alone, and he knows what that’s like for the first time.
“Okay.” He nods. “But if you’re going to that we’re doing it properly.”
“Properly…” Enjolras looks suspicious.
“Come on, trust me. The only way to do holiday drinks is with mulled cider.” Grantaire holds out a hand. “And I know the perfect place.”
Enjolras looks completely unconvinced, raising an eyebrow at him.
“I’m sure you do.”
“Oh don’t look at me like that Apollo. Come on, I’ll buy?” Enjolras sighs, but a smile plays on his lips.
“Alright, take me away from the caffeine. I do need to sleep tonight anyway…” He pushes himself up, slinging his holdall over his shoulder.
“Don’t worry, it’s in the park, perfectly reputable.”
“You don’t have to convince me, I’m coming.” Enjolras reminds him with a slightly exasperated smile. “To be honest having company would be nice, given everyone else has vanished off. I thought you would have been too.”
“Me?” Grantaire laughs in something like a snort. “I don’t have anyone to go home to. Paris is it, no second home in the South or family up in Brittany. Just me.”
“You stay here all holiday?” Enjolras frowns, looking completely baffled. “I never realised.”
“Well I don’t broadcast it, because you’d all end up looking at me like you are now.” Enjolras averts his eyes too rapidly to be comfortable. “I’ve been home with Jehan before. But they’re off with Courfeyrac and ‘Ferre now they’ve all finally got their shit together. So I figured I’d step back, it’s quite nice having a holiday where you can do whatever you want. I’m looking forward to a ghost town wander tomorrow lunchtime.”
“I guess I never thought about what happens when you’re there doing the ‘Christmas’ thing.” Enjolras ponders. “That actually sounds quite nice.”
“It is. This is actually my favourite part of Christmas. When everyone’s smiling and merry, and it’s cosy feeling you know.” They’re wandering through the park now, lights flickering in the trees in silvers and golds. There are a few stands around, though most have closed up by now. Luckily for him the scent of mulled wine reaches them, Enjolras inhaling with a look of appreciation. “See, I told you this was a good idea. Cider?”
“Please.” Grantaire steps up to the little cart, to the smiling lady leaning next to it and orders a mulled cider and a buttered wine for himself. When he glances around Enjolras has a look somewhere between intrigue and horror on his face.
“What?”
“Buttered wine?”
“It’s delicious.” Grantaire defends himself, handing over his money in return for two paper cups, handing the second to Enjolras.
“I’m not sure wine should have a fat content…” Enjolras looks at him in amusement over the rim of his cup, cradled between his pink tinged hands. Grantaire shrugs, taking a sip of his drink then holding it out.
“Try it if you don’t believe me.” They swap cups, Enjolras looking entirely unconvinced. The cider is warm and spicy against his tongue, fruity and sweet. Enjolras takes a cautious sip. “See, it’s not so bad is it?”
“No… Surprisingly not.” Enjolras takes another sip. “Fine, on this one you’re right.” He teases. “But I’ll stick with my cider thank you.” They swap back, and the wine is suddenly sharp after his cider, but mellow all the same. The amble along in companionable silence for a few minutes as they sip their drinks. “I know we do secret Santa in the group but feel like you’ll appreciate this.” Enjolras digs in his holdall for a wrapped gift. “It wasn’t flammable…” He jokes, shrugging awkwardly. “But I know you’ll like it, and I’d rather that than just give it away.”
“That’s… Kind of sweet.”
“You sound so uncertain of that. It’s just, well it’s foodie and you love all that so… Have it. Please?”
“Well if you insist.” Grantaire tucks the parcel under his arm. “So that’s what you associate with me? Foodie?”
“One of the things… Arty, stubborn, smart, athletic, argumentative…”
“You’re getting there.” Grantaire pauses by a stand that’s just closing up, the man behind it flogging the last of his chestnuts. “Hold this a moment.” He asks Enjolras, purchasing a small bag, the warmth instantly seeping through his gloves. “The evening is now perfect.”
“Because of chestnuts?”
“Chestnuts are amazing and you’re not going to tell me otherwise.” He tucks the bag into his pocket, finishing the last mouthfuls of wine so he has both hands free. Enjolras is barely halfway into his.
“I’ve never had them.” Enjolras shrugs nonchalantly. Grantaire frowns.
“Seriously?”
“My family were never big on the Christmas fairs and things… Or fancy food to be honest. It was a lot of whatever was cooked by the housekeeper, whatever was quick… And lots of wine. Hence…” He nods to the present under Grantaire’s arm. Grantaire pulls off a glove so he can peel the shell off a chestnut, an idea forming.
“Okay, how about this. To repay you for this present, because I haven’t got you anything and because we’re both here for a week or so until everyone gets back, how about I take you around a few of my favourite spots?” He holds out the peeled chestnut. “Exploring the city, you’ll love it.”
“That’s a bit more than my present.” Enjolras says.
“I promise you I won’t spend more than you have.” Enjolras chews slowly, obviously thinking of ways to let him down easy. “At least tomorrow.”
“I was going to say alright you know?” Enjolras shoots him a smile and Grantaire hides his ‘oh’ in a far too hot bite of chestnut. “It sounds nice, it’ll take my mind off things and besides, it’d be nice to chat properly, outside a meeting.”
“Well there aren’t any guarantees it won’t turn into a meeting type discussion…” Grantaire holds back a smile. “But good food I can promise.”
He plots out a vague plan for the week, a mixture of restaurants, cafés and the little market stalls he loves. The first he opts for is a small family run café he frequents, run by the Jewish family who have all but become his second family now. He wants to introduce Enjolras to his Jewish roots, and the other side of the holidays. Sure it’s not ‘traditional’ December 25th, but surely that’s the point of the entire thing they have going. Whatever that is…
Enjolras has actually remembered gloves today, and grins as he spots Grantaire making his way down the pavement.
“Hey, Merry Christmas!” There’s a slight pause as Grantaire returns his greeting and they both try and figure out if they should hug or not. Eventually Enjolras just starts talking again, glancing down the road. “You were right, the ghost town walk is… Lovely. Slightly liberating if that’s not too odd to say.” He chuckles. “Where are we heading.”
“Just a little restaurant I know.” He nods across the road. “The family that run it are friends of mine. They’re celebrating Hanukah today, but they always open for lunch.”
“They won’t mind?”
“What, you coming along? Of course not.”
The door has a bell that rings over the hub-bub inside. It’s only 12, but the restaurant is already busy with groups and families sharing food. Instantly he’s spotted, and a wide armed hug envelopes him.
“Ronen! I didn’t expect you around today.” Yaniv grins, then stepping back and noticing Enjolras.
“Hanukkah Sameach Yaniv. This is my friend, Enjolras. Enjolras, this is Yaniv.” The two men shake hands. “I know it’s late but do you have a table at all?”
“Of course, of course. There’s one near the back. Come, I’ll take you.” He leads them both to the back, grabbing two menus off the bar.
“Thank you so much.” Grantaire squeezes his arm as they’re seated, and then Yaniv vanishes back into the restaurant. “It’s a bit busier than I expected…”
“No, it’s nice. You seem close.”
“They’re my… Found family I guess. I usually come visit later in the holiday.”
“What do you recommend?”
“Well, traditionally you should be having Latkes. Potato cakes.” He adds at Enjolras’s expression. “But the Matzah soup is also divine… Brisket if you want to go for something meatier. Or there’s a good fish special if you’d prefer.”
They end up with a bowl of soup each, and then Adena brings them over a plate of latkes with sour cream and apple sauce, and topped with rich shredded beef. Grantaire leans up to kiss her on the cheek and tell her thank you.
“Nonsense, if this is the only time I’m going to see you this week I’m going to treat you. Especially when you bring new people.” She hints.
“Oh, Adena this is Enjolras. He’s a friend from back in uni.”
“I keep telling him to bring more friends around, so far he’s only managed to bring one.” She shoots Grantaire an unimpressed look. “Talks about them all the time mind.”
“Thank you Adena… I’ll make it my New Year’s resolution.” She still looks unimpressed. “I will, and I’ll come visit later in the week.”
“You’d better.” She shoots over her shoulder and Grantaire chuckles with a roll of his eyes.
“She seems lovely.” Enjolras smiles.
“They’re both great. They say they’re my friends but secretly I think I’ve been adopted as their son.” He cuts off a piece of latke and carefully dips it in the sour cream. “But I love them, so I’m not complaining.”
“I never knew any of this about you.”
“We don’t exactly hang out outside of meetings, you had no reason to.” Grantaire shrugs. “Feuilly comes in with me. But I kind of keep friends and family separate. After last time…” He pauses awkwardly. “But that’s not what we’re here for.”
“Christmas always involves some kind of family drama at my place.” Enjolras raises one shoulder, pulling a latke toward him.
“Yeah, but there’s a reason we’re here instead of at home. Try the apple sauce.” He recommends. Enjolras spreads a little on the edge, stabbing it with his fork. He nods in appreciation as he chews and Grantaire smiles at the look on his face.
“It’s nice.”
“You don’t need to sound so surprised.” Grantaire teases.
“I’m not! It’s just all new.” He protests. “But good new. I’m enjoying learning about you, and your life outside the meetings. I suddenly realised that we’d never actually talked outside of meetings… Which is my fault I admit, we clash a lot and so I kind of… I think of us as friends but I don’t make an effort.”
“Its fine, I’m not the best at making the effort either. So now’s the time to ask all those burning questions I know you have about me. I’m sure there must be many, my life is, after all, fascinating.”
“You don’t have to go straight back into our usual mode of conversation.” Enjolras tells him dryly. “I happen to think you are quite interesting, when you want to be.”
“Which isn’t often.” Grantaire shrugs, spearing some extra brisket. “It’s okay, you can say it.”
“You do seem to choose to be especially difficult at times yes. But you can also be a great friend to everyone, and provide good insights so I’m not going to flat out say that you aren’t.” Enjolras pauses to sip his drink. “Besides, you’ve brought me to somewhere important to you for a meal when you didn’t have to because you knew I was upset yesterday. I didn’t realise we were that close, but you were still willing to give up a day for me. A week actually…” He frowns.
“I just thought you deserved a chance to try some decent food, everyone should have a chance at that. And I know you’re crap at cooking, really I’m just saving you from food poisoning.” Grantaire bluffs, Enjolras raises an unimpressed eyebrow.
“I survived university didn’t I?”
“Just, from what I’ve heard.”
They spend the rest of the meal reminiscing over their university days. They’d met, only vaguely, in their second year. Grantaire had known Jehan from school, who knew Combeferre and Courfeyrac from middle school and then they had been close to Enjolras. But, to be honest, Grantaire’s main focus had been Jehan and Bahorel and Bossuet, the little group of friends he’d carved out for himself in the madness that was his BA. It was only when Bossuet had started dating Joly and he’d started hanging out with the pair of them more, and then Jehan and Courfeyrac began hanging out again more that the groups began merging.
“I’m glad for the three of them.” Enjolras comments, when Combeferre, Courfeyrac and Jehan send both of them a more than sickening Christmas picture.
“Do they know you’re still here?”
“I’m not going to ruin their first Christmas together, I’ll tell them when they get back. Though I suspect that might be a while given how many people they have to visit.”
“It’s nice to see though, after two years of pining and confusion…” Grantaire smiles, chuckling.
They leave the restaurant mid-afternoon, nearly every other table having cleared, after Yaniv and Adena come over for a chat. Eventually Grantaire wishes them all the best and they head back out onto the chilly street with a bag of warm sufganiyah clutched in Grantaire’s hands. He offers one to Enjolras who juggles it between his hands.
“Careful, the jam is hot.”
“Really?” Enjolras asks sarcastically. They walk in silence for a few minutes, Enjolras desperately trying to avoid jam dripping down his chin – he fails, but Grantaire isn’t going to admit he noticed. “Mmm-“
“Good?” Enjolras nods, trying, discreetly, to wipe his chin. Their pace continues in an awkward slow walk as Grantaire tilts his head back to stop his own jam from dripping. “They’re messy things, but delicious.”
“I’ll give you that.” Enjolras agrees. “I’m completely full, but in a good way.”
“That’s the idea.”
“And this afternoon’s been lovely. The food was great, the company likewise.” He smiles. “And we didn’t argue.”
“It’s a Christmas miracle.”
He wakes up the next morning to a call from Enjolras, because he’s one of the only people Grantaire knows who still calls rather than texts. He’s not sure yet if it’s endearing or not.
“I suddenly realised you didn’t give me an address for today.”
“I completely forgot.”
“You’re making it up as you go along aren’t you?” Enjolras sounds like he’s smiling, and Grantaire sits up in bed, knee against his chest. He holds back a smile of his own.
“No… We’re going to a lovely little hole in the wall place. They serve the best seasonal soups.”
“And they’ll be open?”
“Of course, I’m pretty sure the guy never takes a break.” Grantaire chuckles. “He’ll be open, don’t worry.”
They make their way down the road toward the hole-in-the-wall, which is basically just the guy’s front window if he’s honest. But his soups are quite frankly ridiculous, and he provides free and reduced price soups for the homeless people on the streets of Paris. And, if he’s honest, he knows Enjolras will love that hands on approach.
“Soup sounds unbelievably perfect.” Enjolras rubs his hands together. “It’s bloody freezing.”
“It’s December.” Grantaire points out.
“Shut up, it’s still cold.” Enjolras mutters.
“Richie!” Grantaire calls, and the man himself sticks his head out of the window. He’s wearing a beanie hat over his dark hair, he’s grown more facial hair since the last time he was here but he grins widely as he spots them.
“Oye, Grantaire! Which one is this?” Enjolras raises an eyebrow at the pair.
“This is Enjolras, from the group.”
“All of your friends are from the group.”
“He didn’t need to know that.” Grantaire shush’s him. “How’s business?”
“Busy. This morning we had loads of people for breakfast. The nights are getting cold.”
“You’re a soup kitchen?” Enjolras asks, curiosity piqued.
“I make soup, I sell what I can, I give away what people need.” Richie shrugs. “Barriga llena, corazón contento.”
“What’s on the menu today?” Grantaire enquires.
“Curried Parsnip, Chestnut and good old fashioned veg.”
“Do you need a hand?” Enjolras asks, grinning.
“You came for food, not for work.” Richie holds out his hands in a ‘no problem’ gesture. “What will you have?”
“Nonsense, we’d be happy to pitch in. Wouldn’t we?” He asks Grantaire, and to his surprise it’s a genuine question rather than an assumption.
“It’s no use arguing with him if he sets his mind on something.” Grantaire tells Richie. “Besides, it’d be good to give something back.”
He’d never think of doing it if Enjolras wasn’t here, not through any particular dislike or shirking of the work, but because these kind of things don’t cross his mind. But inside the kitchen-cum-front-room is warm and smells like warm spices and vegetables. Richie pours them both takeaway cups of soup – Parsnip and Chestnut – which they sip as they chat and wait for passers-by. The soup is warm and comforting, as it was several years earlier when he stumbled up Richie’s window, cold and hungry and with only a few euros in his pocket. Richie doesn’t mention that, and he’s grateful for the courtesy.
He admits he doesn’t extend to same courtesy to Enjolras, warning Richie not to let him near the cooking end of the soups, to much protest from the man himself.
“I can cook, how do you think I’ve survived?”
“Pasta.” Grantaire replies, busying himself with chopping more veg to add to a saucepan. “Besides, you’ve always been better at interacting with people than I have, you’ll enjoy serving much more.”
Enjolras grumbles, but he knows it’s true and Richie shoots Grantaire an amused look, following him toward the front of the house.
The rest of the afternoon is spent dishing out soup and bread to those who stop and making more as the levels run low. Grantaire stays near the back, letting Richie and Enjolras chat, to each other and to those they’re serving. They both have the open personality that draws people in, Richie makes jokes and charms the customer, Enjolras just has natural charisma – if he’s honest Grantaire’s never seen him actually intentionally charm anyone, or if he even could, sometimes he imagines it and it usually goes back to that time a girl tried to chat Enjolras up and he stammered his way through a conversation before retreating behind Combeferre.
They leave long after the evening has turned dark, the lights hung in the streets and in windows and trees twinkling along their walk home. Grantaire has a leftover baguette in his hand that the pair of them tear hunks off of and nibble as they walk. Richie gave it to them in thanks, after Enjolras promised he, and probably others, would be back to help.
“Did I derail your plans?” Enjolras asks the surprisingly amiable silence. Grantaire chews his crust for a few moments more before he answers.
“No, not really. It was always bound to happen the moment I took you anywhere near anything that helps others.”
“You say that like it’s a bad thing.”
“It’s not. It’s nice that there are people like you to do things like give out free soup, just… Well I guess you have to make sure you don’t burn out. It’s easy to do when you pour your life into just helping others before you even help yourself.” At this Enjolras pauses, watching Grantaire’s face with wary eyes.
“And you’d know.”
“Of course I would. I can’t even take care of myself. But you, you pour your heart into your nearest and dearest, your friends, family, even strangers. Even people you don’t really like! I mean, your family have been nothing but terrible and yet you seem weirdly disappointed that you can’t spend Christmas with them. I know it’s a hard break to make, but at some point you’re going to have to, before it drives you up the wall.”
“You know you seem to try so hard to act like you don’t care, all the time and yet you come out with stuff like that. You do care, maybe too much. About how you look to others, what you give away… About your friends. Especially your friends. I don’t think I know anyone else who would just decide to have a whole week taking someone else out for meals just because they didn’t go home for the holidays.” He glances up at Grantaire as they pause on the corner. The streetlamp above casts a warm glow on his face, flushed slightly pink with the cold. He sighs, eyelashes hiding his eyes for a moment before he turns his attention back again. “I might care too much, and sometimes about people who don’t deserve it but… At least I don’t pretend I don’t give a damn. Make sure you give me a text about tomorrow.” He murmurs, and then he’s gone, walking swiftly away down the street.
Grantaire exhales a cloud of vapour, thoughts running over in his mind of whether to run or catch him up. He feels completely stripped bare, and it unnerves him, chest tight enough to make him loosen his scarf even as a breeze wraps itself around his throat in its place. Enjolras’s figure fades and vanishes around a corner and eventually he turns away himself, trying to turn over exactly what those words mean.
He doesn’t text Enjolras until late morning, partly because he didn’t sleep well, and partly because he needs time to steel himself against what Enjolras might say today after yesterdays… Discussion he’ll call it. They agree to meet in the afternoon, in a little chocolate shop he knows.
He fully expects Enjolras to bring up yesterday when they settle on a sofa in the corner. But he doesn’t, he continues on as if nothing ever happened and Grantaire’s almost disappointed that his nervous energy was for nothing.
“What do you recommend?”
“The hot chocolate, the proper spicy one.”
“I’m… Not so good with spice.” Enjolras admits, hiding behind the menu slightly.
“How about sweet things? Or alcoholic hot chocolate?”
“Maybe not alcoholic.” Enjolras chuckles. “I should be doing some kind of work.”
“It’s the Christmas week, no one will be about to receive the work. But alright… I’d recommend the orange, peppermint or gingerbread. Or caramel if that’s your kind of thing.”
“It’s not salted is it?” Enjolras frowns.
“Do you not like salted caramel?”
“It’s… Weird.” Enjolras pulls his lips into a pout.
“You’re weird.” Grantaire teases, and it all feels utterly bizarre for a moment, that he can actually do that with Enjolras at the moment. He has no doubt it will soon return to their back and forth bickering once everyone else is back and they, or he, feels like he has to hide behind a smoke screen. But for now Enjolras simply rolls his eyes in a ‘typical’ kind of way and the pair of them can chuckle.
Eventually Enjolras settles on a gingerbread hot chocolate, as some kind of a compromise for not liking the chilli one – ‘it has spices in it!’ he protests.
“You know,” Enjolras begins, cupping his mug in his hands, the hot chocolate still too hot to reasonably consume. “I never think of coming down these little side streets. I got completely lost getting here but… Well now I’m here it’s really pretty with the fairy lights and decorations. I don’t often stop and look at that kind of thing because I’m usually focussed on other things, I guess you usually pay more attention to that…”
“I like distracting myself.” Grantaire shrugs. “Artistic mind is just a good excuse for that. But I’m not surprised you never pay attention to the streets of Paris.”
“I-“ Enjolras tries to protest but Grantaire raises an eyebrow at him. “I do pay attention.”
“You didn’t realise for three quarters of a meeting that Bahorel had pink hair.” Grantaire points out, sipping his hot chocolate, the texture is velvety smooth, bursting from sweet into a tingling heat on his tongue. “Don’t tell me you’re not unobservant.”
“Well pink hair isn’t exactly what I’m looking out for.”
“You were there when he agreed to do it.”
“This hot chocolate is great.” Enjolras says pointedly, but teasingly, sipping at his drink.
“Well this is the best chocolatier in Paris, personal opinion.” Grantaire lets the change of topic slide with a smile. “And you’re a sweet tooth.”
“Okay, I’ll give you that. You aren’t so much?”
“Depends what kind of sweet. This is good, really rich desserts not so much.”
“You don’t like the combo of fatty and sweet?”
“I prefer a savoury element. Doughnuts are probably one of my favourites.”
“Like we had on Christmas?”
“The sufganiyah?”
“Yeah, those ones.” Enjolras presses his lips together to stifle a laugh. “I never realised you were such a foodie.”
“I grew up with good food, and food is really important to me and my community so… It’s natural I suppose.”
“I feel like I don’t really know much about you.” Enjolras frowns. “We’ve never hung out before this week.”
“Well, we do always argue.”
“But you know these little things about me, like that I’m a sweet tooth and I didn’t even know you were Jewish.”
“I don’t exactly make these things obvious, I wouldn’t worry too much.” Grantaire turns his attention to his not chocolate.
“Still, I want to know these things.” He pauses. “If you want to tell me I mean?”
“It’s just life, honestly not that interesting.”
“Of course it is, it’s what made you you and I want to get to know you.”
“Mother, father, that kind of thing?”
“Not if you don’t want to.”
“It’s pretty typical really, strict parents, told them I was less than straight, unceremoniously left soon after. Gradually finding my own family here now.”
“You consider Les Amis as family?”
“They’re supportive, friendly, kind. What more could you ask for in a family? And I’ve got people like Adena and Yaniv, they’re the kind of people my parents could have been if they made the effort.”
“They were lovely.” Enjolras agrees.
“Well you know all about family so…” Grantaire raises a shoulder awkwardly.
“You’re telling me. My parents decided Christmas Eve, 2 hours before my train was due to leave was the time to give me the ‘you’re such a disappointment’ speech. I suppose I should be glad she did it before Christmas… Less awkward dinners to sit through.”
“It’s still a shitty thing to do.”
“I’ll drink to that.” Enjolras holds out his mug.
“What’s your favourite time of year?” Enjolras asks the next evening over a plate of arancini in a tiny little Italian trattoria in the east of the city. It took a metro ride to get here, but it’s more than worth it for the food.
“I-“ He begins, tempted to say he doesn’t know, but he knows Enjolras won’t let that slide. “Autumn, probably. I like those crisp autumn mornings where the leaves are crunchy and you can nearly swim through them and there’s mist and a light frost.”
“Autumn…” Enjolras smiles, dipping a piece of rice in the sauce.
“And you? Or are you just imagining me kicking through leaves like a kid?”
“Now I am.” Enjolras grins, popping the arancini in his mouth, contemplating as he chews. “Early summer. Before it gets too hot, but the days are long and sunny and you want to spend all day outside.”
“I didn’t think you were an outdoorsy person.”
“Well… If you have someone to share it with. Or some people…” He adds, pulling his wine toward him. “With our big group of friends and- Trips out of the city. That kind of thing.”
“I knew you secretly liked stopping to smell the roses.”
“I’m not a robot you know.”
“I know, no robot could get so realistically passionate about social issues.”
“I feel I should take that as a compliment… Strangely.” Enjolras sips his drink.
“I’ll accept that if you want to take it like that.” Grantaire holds back a smile. “I could find better things to compliment you on.”
“I’ve heard you wax lyrical many a time, I think I can cope with the small talk.”
“That’s your loss, I’m terrible at it.”
“You can talk the hind legs off a donkey but you can make basic small talk?”
“It’s a skill I’ve never had to acquire. In retail jobs you just stick to a script and pretend you’re not.”
“When did you work retail?” Enjolras asks.
“When I first moved to the city, I took what I could get at that point. It wasn’t so bad, if it was a good day. Christmas was simultaneously great fun and the most stressful experience of my life.”
“Yeah?”
“Well yeah, everyone is bratty, lots of kids, endless songs from the earliest possible moment but… It gets to the point where people finish their shopping and everyone relaxes for a while and suddenly there’s lots of smiles and friendliness. And you can sell people anything.” He chuckles.
“That’s terrible.” Enjolras presses his lips together to hide a smile.
“Hey, the recipient gets something out of it, I just try to make sure they get something decent! It’s a service really.”
“The saviour of girlfriends everywhere…” Enjolras raises an eyebrow. “They’ll be putting up the statue tomorrow.”
“You’ve never worked retail have you?” Grantaire smiles in amusement.
“No… I did voluntary work before university.”
“Oh, bet your parents loved that.” Enjolras pulls a face.
“I worked at the local food bank, loading, packing, that kind of thing. Hardly respectable work, or company even if it didn’t look bad on the CV. But of course it meant I was wearing practical clothes, far more masculine than they were comfortable with.” He shoots a wry smile Grantaire’s direction. “Things usually go downhill from there.”
“What’s special about this place then?” Enjolras asks with a smile as they approach the café-cum-bakery.
“What do you mean?” Grantaire frowns.
“Well if you’re bringing me here it must have something special about it.”
“Um- It’s gluten free?” Grantaire offers as he holds open the door, hit instantly by a wave of warmth and the smell of pastry and stewing fruit. He’d decided to go here today based on Enjolras’s infamous sweet tooth, and because it’s far too cold for ice cream, though he does know a wonderful gelateria for the summer months. If Enjolras ever wants to spend time with him again after an entire week of chatting.
“Gluten free?”
“The good kind, not the bright yellow pasta kind.”
“I do trust your judgement, I’ve just heard too much from Jehan about the joys of bread and such things.”
“Don’t worry, this is Jehan approved. And Courfeyrac approved for coffee.” Grantaire shrugs off his coat, laying it over the back of the chair. The café holds a few patrons, but most come in for morning croissants or lunch, so he’s not surprised it’s quieter.
“And what would they recommend?”
“For you?” Grantaire considers. “If you want a proper treat their eclairs are pretty divine. Jehan usually has the strudel if they come in, while Courfeyrac enjoys their fruit tarts, oh, and the pastéis de nata.”
“You mean he actually approved them? I thought he only ate his grandmothers.” Enjolras chuckles.
“I know, we were both shocked when he actually went to tell the guy he loved them. Jehan couldn’t believe their eyes.” Courfeyrac had only had the custard tart because his usual fruit tart wasn’t quite out of the oven yet, the baker offering up the tart as a substitute. He’s notoriously picky, his Portuguese grandmother making the proclaimed ‘best’ pastéis de nata in the world. But he was pleased to find a close second, that his partner could actually eat.
“A strudel might be nice, what flavour?”
“Most of them are seasonal… Apple I think?”
“Apple sounds perfect.” Enjolras nods. “Strudel and a latte.”
“I’ll have my usual then.”
“Something savoury?”
“Spinach and Feta pie and a coffee as black as my soul.” Grantaire grins as he stands up, and Enjolras rolls his eyes.
“Your soul is perfectly fine. In fact I think it’s rather nice.”
“Well-“ Grantaire pauses. “I’ll let you believe that, and buy you more food.” He says, hurrying off toward the counter. He recognises the girl behind the counter as the daughter of the owner, the one he keeps intending to remind Courfeyrac to introduce Marius to. Her hair, usually a pastel shade, is a dark emerald green. “Hello, hello. Didn’t manage to wrangle a Christmas holiday Cosette?”
“I sent Papa off for the week, post-Christmas. Otherwise he’d never stop. Who’ve you dragged in?”
“That’s… Enjolras.”
“It isn’t!?” She grins, eyes lighting up as she leans over the counter. “He’s really cute.”
“And very not into women.” He tells her, and she pouts jokingly. “He’ll have the strudel and a latte. And I assume you’ll have all of the gossip?”
“Do tell, Jehan and Courfeyrac away this week?”
“Back home in the South, with ‘Ferre too. But they’ll all catch you up on that I’m sure.”
“And you are..?”
“Spending the week with him.” She turns away from the machine just enough to raise an eyebrow at him. “Last minute change of plan on his part, I offered to show him the culinary sights of Paris. Or he probably would have moped and eaten ready meals, and died of a sodium overdose.”
“So you’re brining him to a patisserie instead?”
“At least it’s wholesome and unhealthy.” Grantaire shrugs. “I’ve taken him a few other places as well, I think he’s actually enjoying it.”
“Grantaire, is this a date?” She places a hand on her hip.
“It is not a date. It’s two friends having coffee.”
“Grantaire.”
“It’s nothing more!” Grantaire protests. “I just thought it might be nice to do something nice for him for once. Because he’s so goddamn self-sacrificing and never thinks to stop and actually eat something nice or take any time for him. So… I just thought, maybe.” She smiles with some amusement in her eyes.
“You don’t have to defend yourself to me.”
“I wasn’t…” He mutters, digging out his wallet. She lays out the coffees and the two warmed pastries on the tray with a knowing nod.
“You go enjoy your friendly coffee.”
Enjolras glances up from his phone with a smile as Grantaire weaves his way back over with the tray balanced on his hand.
“Very professional.” He nods appreciatively.
“I try.” Grantaire lays the plates and cups out on the table with a flourish. “A latte and a strudel.” He props the tray up against the table leg and sits opposite.
“She seemed nice.”
“Who? Cosette? Yeah she’s sweet.”
“Pretty too.” He comments and Grantaire pauses, frowns and then chuckles.
“Oh, oh no no. Cosette’s great but we’re not…”
“Oh!” Enjolras flushes faintly. “I didn’t…”
“I’m not in a… Relationship.” Grantaire sips his coffee, enjoying the pink that settles on Enjolras’s cheeks and ears but also trying to avoid exactly why he isn’t in a relationship. “And I’m going to introduce her to Marius, because let’s be honest wouldn’t they be the cutest?”
“Well, I don’t really… I don’t know her and relationships aren’t my… Forte.”
“No, really?” Grantaire smiles as Enjolras sips his drink. “That’s not a bad thing, by the way.”
“It’s hardly a good thing.” He mumbles.
“You just do things differently. If you want to find someone you will. There’ll be someone who likes all your little quirks, and those annoying things everyone grumbles about and will see you as you are with any imperfections… And- Well you know all those little things love is, right.” Grantaire cuts a corner off his pastry, hiding his face in chewing.
“You’re so certain.”
“Well, we have a good friend group for that kind of thing.” He shrugs awkwardly.
“The strudel is really good.” Enjolras comments. “Relationships aside…”
“Forgot it was gluten free?”
“A little…” Enjolras smiles, spearing another piece of pastry. “They’ve done really well.”
They finish off their pastries while they’re still warm, the silence becoming more companionable now than he’d ever thought it would be. Grantaire sips his coffee as Enjolras discusses the plans he’s been discussing with Courfeyrac and Combeferre over the past week. As they stand to leave Cosette nabs them, chatting away with Enjolras as they pull back on their coats and gloves.
“If you have the rest of the morning you should go skating!” She exclaims suddenly, with a wide grin in Grantaire’s direction.
“I don’t know about that-“
“Grantaire can teach you.” She adds at his protest.
“Oh?” At this Enjolras looks genuinely confused, looking around to the other man, who can most definitely feel his cheeks flushing just a little.
“He used to do some skating.”
“It was nothing much.” Grantaire mumbles. “I just helped out for a winter.”
“Go on, it’ll be fun!” Cosette has that grin she knows is hard to say no to, watching them both with dark doe eyes.
“I guess it could be…” Enjolras concedes.
“I’ll see you next week Cosette.” Grantaire finishes the conversation, raising an eyebrow at her, she shoots him another innocent grin as the pair head out of the door into the icy cold of the outside. “She’s kidding you know, we don’t have to skate.”
“I didn’t even know you did skate.” Enjolras glances around at him.
“It’s nothing.” Grantaire shrugs. “I mean it was fun but I’ve not done it in ages.”
“Maybe I should.” Enjolras ponders. “I’ve tried a lot of new things this week, maybe I should do something to burn it all off.” He chuckles.
“Are you sure? I didn’t think it would be your kind of thing…” Enjolras pauses with a quiet sigh, turning his face up to the silvery sky.
“It wouldn’t be, I mean it’s not. Things like this make me nervous because it’s so different from what I’m used to and sometimes that can make me, well, anxious. But you’re good at encouraging me to do things differently.” He says with a small smile. “Even in meetings when we’re both so stubborn we refuse to budge if I look back you make me… Look closer, examine my arguments and ideas more than I would perhaps do otherwise. And you’ve been doing the same all this week, challenging me, making me look at things differently. Even you. So yes, the idea of skating and making a complete fool of myself makes me… Horrendously anxious. But maybe pushing through that will be good for me.”
“You don’t have to do this.” Grantaire tells an absolutely white looking Enjolras as they stand at the gate of the rink. “You really don’t have to prove anything.”
“I want to though. Not, not prove anything no actually. I want to experience this.” He tells him firmly, though his hands are gripped tightly on Grantaire’s arms as he balances on the blades. “Come on, before I change my mind.”
“Just… Steady okay?” Grantaire shifts back a little so Enjolras can step onto the ice properly, looking almost comically determined. His legs almost immediately go backwards, landing him face first in Grantaire’s chest, and rather ungracefully slipping into the space between them. His face almost matches his coat when Grantaire pulls him back up, doing his best not to chuckle. “Everyone does that, don’t worry.”
“Mhmm…”
“Alright, let’s try moving, it’s a bit easier than trying to stand still.” Enjolras’s face remains completely unconvinced as Grantaire talks him through it, pulling them out into the rink just a little. With one of Enjolras’s hands on the rail and the other around Grantaire’s waist they make their way slowly around the edge of the ice, until Enjolras feels a little more confident with the skating movement. Sure, they only venture more than a metre away once, which ends with something akin to Bambi as Enjolras grabs hold of Grantaire’s shoulders to keep himself upright, but Enjolras looks considerably less frustrated by the whole affair as they skate back toward the gate.
“Aren’t you two a lovely couple,” A lady catches them as they get to the gate. “Did you want a picture?”
“Oh we’re not-“ Grantaire begins, suddenly aware of how his arm is around Enjolras’s waist and how Enjolras is leaning against him because the man cannot move on ice without doing the splits if he moves away from something to hold onto.
“A picture could be nice though.” Enjolras finishes, and Grantaire nearly falls over. He’s pretty sure the surprise shows on his face, but the lady keeps grinning. “Hang on.” He makes an attempt at digging in his pocket, stumbles a little, manages to steady himself and eventually gets the phone out as the lady stands awkwardly. “Here.” He grins, handing the phone over. “Just… That button there.”
There’s a small kerfuffle as Grantaire stands in a daze and Enjolras tells him to smile with a look of bemusement.
“I thought I was the awkward one in this situation.” Enjolras teases as the lady heads away. “It was the couple thing, wasn’t it?”
“No, I mean obviously we look slightly… You’re clingy on ice.”
“I can hardly stand! You said it got easier.”
“It does, for most people.” Grantaire helps him to the bench. “You’re just awkward, which I suppose should have been expected…”
“Oh, thanks…” Enjolras begins unlacing his skates, sighing happily. “Oh that feels much better. Are they supposed to be that uncomfortable?”
“No.”
“Recovered yet?” Grantaire asks as Enjolras approaches the restaurant, there’s a good lashing of rain today, and Grantaire has retreated only semi-successfully into the awning of the restaurant. Enjolras is huddled under an umbrella, looking slightly grumpy at being out in the cold and wet.
“It wasn’t that bad.” He mutters as Grantaire holds the door open. “My feet are absolutely fine.”
“I was worrying a little more about your backside.”
“I fell over once!” Enjolras protests. “Properly…” Grantaire snorts, slightly unattractively.
“I’ll make it up to you tonight, I feel like you’ll like this place.”
“There’s nothing to make up.” Enjolras reminds him, folding his umbrella. “But I won’t say no to good food.”
“Good French food.” Grantaire grins at him, turning to the waitress to enquire after their table. He could swear that Enjolras’s interest perks up just a little, a thought that warms him just a little because could the guy be more patriotic?
The waitress shows them to a table near the window, where the rain still streams down and reflects the street lamps on the road. Enjolras studies the menu intently, looking like he’s searching for something in particular.
“What are you thinking?” Enjolras jumps slightly, glancing up at him.
“Oh… I was just trying to find Coq au Vin.”
“Near the bottom. 4th I think.”
“Oh, apparently I’m blind…” Enjolras chuckles. “I’m sorted then.”
They order, Grantaire settling on Mussels, and settle back with a glass of wine each.
“You didn’t strike me as a stew kind of guy.” Grantaire comments.
“More a quick and easy food guy?” Enjolras smiles wryly. “I’m not good at making it but my Grandmother always made it when I visited. It’s one of my favourites. Just one of those nostalgic dishes I guess but I’ve not had it in ages and… Well Gran is the only one I regret I have about not going home this Christmas because I’ve not seen her in a while.”
“She’s okay with everything then?”
“Mhmm. I’m her only grandchild and especially after my uncle passed away I think she just doesn’t care as long as I’m still around and happy. I’ll make sure I visit in the New Year.”
“She’ll understand.”
“She’s a grandmother, they always understand.” Enjolras exhales, hair fluttering. “But I still feel bad that I’ve not managed to see her.”
Grantaire tries a few more placating words, but they feel about as empty as they sound, so the topic shifts a little. Luckily, it’s not too busy, so their food arrives in good time.
“I’ll apologise in advance, but this is not going to be pretty.” Grantaire laughs as he takes in his order. Mussels are never a particularly elegant business to eat, but these ones, dripping in wine and butter sauce, are going to be an even bigger feat.
Enjolras is thoroughly distracted by his own dish, trying to avoid the sauce dripping down his front. It’s nice to see him so relaxed, so completely into what he’s doing, and not actually work. He blows on a piece of chicken, then savouring it so completely he actually shuts his eyes. It makes Grantaire smile, that he can be so absorbed by something as simple as coq au vin. He’ll completely deny that it makes him feel anything other than happy for Enjolras, it doesn’t make his heart flutter at all, and it doesn’t make him feel warm inside or anything like that. Enjolras glances up, suddenly noticing Grantaire’s, very swiftly averted, gaze.
“How’s your food?”
“Delicious.” Grantaire smiles, making a mental note to give him cooking lessons as soon as possible, if only to see that look on his face again.
He may be making a mistake with tonight, but it’s New Year an if he can’t treat the guy he totally does not have a crush on on New Year’s Eve when can he? Though Enjolras looks completely baffled by the restaurant they stop outside of.
“This is… Fancy.”
“It’s not, not really.”
“This is way too much.”
“I’ve spent very little this week, and that was the promise, less than you spent on your parents. Which was?”
“€60…” Enjolras chews his lip.
“Sixty?! Wow I was going to say this was a New Year’s treat but I think actually it might come in budget…” Grantaire chuckles. “It’s good wine then?”
“I hope so, if not then… I’m very sorry.” Enjolras pulls a face, but he allows Grantaire to open the door for him. Inside is a bustle of couples, and it makes it blatantly obvious how this looks. But he’s happy just being here, sitting opposite Enjolras as the other smiles in amusement at Grantaire failure to pull out a chair for him.
“We’ll just pretend I didn’t nearly fall over that ladies hand bag and into someone’s soup…”
“Oh no, everyone’s hearing about that at the party later.” Enjolras actually fails at containing his laughter now, hiding behind a menu. “This is a classy establishment, do try and act like we belong.”
“Best do champagne and oysters then, if you really want to be authentic.” Enjolras shudders.
“Oysters are probably my worst nightmare, so if that’s your plan then I’d change it rapidly.”
“Luckily for all involved I’m not a plans man, so it’s up to you what you order.”
They go straight to the main course, which Grantaire is pretty sure is Enjolras holding back on him but to be honest he’s just after the steak they serve here so he won’t complain much. Enjolras sticks to chicken, in a salmon sauce, that he actually revels over. After a week of days together conversation is easier than he ever thought it would be, Enjolras even teasing him and offering him a bite of his food.
“I’m going to miss this actually.” Enjolras comments as he swallows the titbit of steak Grantaire offered. “It’s been a really fun week.” He adds, mirroring Grantaire’s own thoughts.
“We can still meet up, I mean this doesn’t have to be just a Christmas one off.”
“I think I’d like that, I’d like… Taking more time out and pausing a while. And you actually make me do that.”
He’s pretty sure a couple in the corner just got engaged, because there’s a squeal and a pop of champagne.
“I… I’m just no good at the working thing, so I have to have some talents. Even if they are finding decent places to eat.”
“You discredit yourself. It’s so much more than that.”
Between them they share a desert, both too full to manage one alone but too tempted to leave without one. As they leave, pulling gloves back on for the journey to the New Year’s Eve party, they tip generously, and are both… Merry would probably be the word.
Most people are already there when they arrive, it’s a large enough do held by Bahorel’s parents every year, but the people are fun and the atmosphere is always jolly so they return despite Bahorel’s protests that they really don’t have to. Joly, Bossuet and Musichetta, eternally engaged, are dancing in a world of their own, so they leave them be for now and join the group of five. Jehan, Combeferre and Courfeyrac are looking well rested and decidedly more relaxed than when they left, so whatever conversations they had had over the week had obviously gone well. Feuilly and Bahorel, escaping from Bahorel’s mother’s mothering, are standing with drinks, chuckling along with the conversation.
No one comments that they’ve arrived together, but likely they think it’s coincidence. It’s hardly like the pair have ever been near friends before now. Grantaire peels off to catch up with Bahorel and Feuilly’s holiday antics, there are always many and they nearly always end with something ridiculous, like adopted cats or unexpected haircuts. As it turns out neither of those have managed to happen this year, but that’s likely because Bahorel’s new baby niece was down for the holidays.
The evening is spent apart, catching up on the holidays, learning about little family amusement, the off drama here and there, being collared by Bahorel’s mother, pacifying her with a few choice words and receiving a kiss on the cheek and a warm hug in return. It’s always fun, everyone slowly getting a little bit more tipsy, a little bit more excited. The atmosphere of holiday spirit, anticipation of the new, plans being made, memories being shared. There’s always a nostalgic feeling around this time, Grantaire’s never sure what for but he certainly feels it now as he sips his drink, sparkling wine, of course, being handed out by one of Bahorel’s sisters.
“Hey!” Jehan makes their way over, definitely on the drunk end of tipsy. “Everyone else is getting ready for the countdown, we should be able to see the fireworks from here!” They gestures vaguely to the gathering group.
“Come on then.” Grantaire chuckles, slinging an arm around their shoulders. “My drunk friend.”
“I’m not drunk, it’s New Year’s spirit.”
“It’s some kind of spirit.” He teases.
Les Amis have found themselves clustered in a small group around one window, chattering excitedly with their drinks.
“The countdown’s starting!” Someone calls and then it’s a blur of numbers.
Enjolras glances up from his position next to Grantaire with an amused smile, laughing along with everyone else. Then his expression shifts just a little, a little more serious, a little more heavy lidded. His hand finds Grantaire’s arm, pulling him through the small doorway behind them. Everyone else continues on with their shouting, but Grantaire’s suddenly more aware of his own heartbeat, how erratic his breathing’s becoming.
Enjolras says nothing, watching him through his lashes.
And then his lips are soft against Grantaire’s, a massive contrast to the sudden explosion of noise just in the other room.
He’s very aware he has no idea what to do with his hands, one of which still holds a glass. He tangles the free one into Enjolras’s hair, holding him closely until Enjolras pulls back, just a hair.
“Happy New Year.” He breathes, and then glances down to his feet. Before Grantaire can say a word he pulls away, vanishing into the room.
Grantaire hasn’t heard from Enjolras in nearly five days. Which normally wouldn’t be an issue, in fact if it had been any other time he wouldn’t have even worried, not even if it had been a month or two. But for God’s sake Enjolras kissed him! And yes they were both pretty tipsy and yes they’ve spent a week getting to know each other and yes New Years is one of those times but it has to mean something doesn’t it?
Doesn’t it?
Fuck.
He doesn’t even know if he can talk to anyone about this, is that invading Enjolras’s privacy? If they didn’t share friends this would probably be a lot easier but no, all his close friends have been found through a meeting he got dragged to originally.
He did go back to visit Yaniv and Adena, being welcomed into their family dinner with warm, open arms. But Feuilly was with him, the pair catching up with various friends for the end of Hanukah. It didn’t feel right to bring everyone’s mood down when the room felt so merry. So he sat back and forgot for a while, sipping wine and eating the absolutely delicious spread laid out before them. Feuilly sat with him, laughing all the while, looking so utterly relaxed it made him relaxed. By the end of the evening he’d hardly even thought about his not so little predicament. But that’s still one day down, the rest of God knows how long to go.
What if it’s permanent? What they had before may not have been exactly friendship but it was at least something. And after this week he’s not sure if he’d even want to go back.
So he’s stuck, to say the least.
He’s completely stuck and he texted 2 days ago and has still had no reply and now, 5th of January, holiday spirit very rapidly fading from every corner and being replaced by the January-hangover that is returning to work and university and the never ending mad rush sales.
So he’s decided to spend the day baking fruit tarts ready for the first meeting back tomorrow. Making pastry is surprisingly therapeutic, fingers sifting through flour and butter, gently bringing it all together, then rolling it and stamping out crimped shapes. He’s got far too many different jams lurking in his cupboard, some bought for himself, some from Bahorel who was his secret Santa this year and presented him with several jars of homemade alcoholic jam – vodka and strawberry, gin and raspberry, marmalade with beer, marmalade with Cointreau – so the multitude of tarts is an odd assortment of jams, marmalades and a couple of curds from a leftover jar he had.
He’s on his third batch of pastry, having just added the water to the bowl so his hands are a sticky mess of flour, when the doorbell goes.
“Dammit.” He mutters, taking a moment to figure out the best course of action before opting for just opening the door with his elbow. “Sorry I just- Oh.” He pauses, hands still awkwardly held up at his shoulders as he realises who’s on his doorstep. “Hi…”
“Hey.” Enjolras smiles, a little awkwardly. “I should’ve called first but I didn’t expect…” He gestures vaguely with one hand.
“That’s okay… Where did you- I mean come in.”
“Thanks. I didn’t mean to vanish, I promise, or leave you like I did. I just actually went to visit my family and you know… Things needed to be sorted and people needed to be seen and then… Well I didn’t know what to say to you. I kissed you and then I left and then I left it too long but- Okay I’m here now and I brought you this.” He holds out the Tupperware tub to him, then realises he can’t take it and looks even more awkward.
“What is it?”
“It’s chicken soup, proper chicken soup.” Grantaire frowns. “Feuilly helped me make it, like we had Christmas day. I wanted to make you something after you gave me such a lovely week of food, and company.” He adds. “You actually made me look at things, things I might usually gloss over because I’m busy with other things. And I guess I’ve never given you a chance before, which is terrible of me, and it’s terrible to now ask you to give me a chance now but… Okay I don’t even know if you like me or if you were just in New Year’s spirit but I have to ask, would you be interested? In going on a date, going out, just doing this more? Anything really.” He stares down at the soup, as if regretting this entire escapade and Grantaire tries to figure out what to do while he’s covered in pastry and he’s pretty sure the timer on the oven is about to go off.
“Enjolras I-“
“It’s okay!”
“No, no I was going to say something good.” Grantaire laughs, and Enjolras huffs out a small ‘oh’. “Listen I’ve liked you for… Bloody ages. Since I knew you I think.”
“Then why didn’t you say something?!”
“Because we weren’t even friends. And hell I definitely didn’t know anything about your feelings until Sunday. Anyway, I’m telling you now.”
“So you’d go on a date?” Enjolras asks, with a wry smile.
“Yes you idiot. When I’m less covered in goo. Though…” He tries, cheekily. “I would quite like to give you a kiss.” Enjolras considers him, then moves closer, placing his tub of soup down on the side table.
“Okay, just don’t put your hands near my hair.” Grantaire chuckles, leaning down just the little bit needed to press their lips together. Enjolras pulls him that little bit closer, and he can’t resist just touching his hand to Enjolras’s cheek.
“Hey!” The other man exclaims, pulling back with a smear across his cheek. “You promised.”
“Only not to touch your hair.”
“I thought the rest went without saying.” Enjolras huffs, but the glare doesn’t work quite so well when he’s covered in pastry and still trying to hide a smile. Grantaire goes to pinch his cheek, but finds himself batted away. “You go get cleaned up, then you can kiss me again.”
“Or you could help me out? I’m sure you can manage putting jam in pastry. I mean you’ve managed to make soup.”
“It was mostly Feuilly.” Enjolras tucks a stray hair behind his ear. “But jam I can do, just about.”
“Grab a spoon then, I’ll roll out shapes seeing as I’m already covered.” He grins, finishing up the pastry. It’s not long before Enjolras gets his revenge, smearing a line of jam across Grantaire’s forehead. And then baking descends into jibes back and forth, a blob of pastry here, jam in the hair, on cheeks, and then it descends into stolen kisses, pecks on cheeks, on foreheads, on lips.
“How’s the soup?” Enjolras asks, once all the tarts are in the oven. He still has jam on his cheekbone, but Grantaire won’t mention that.
“It’s delicious.” Grantaire smiles, taking another spoon.
“Really?”
“Who knew after just a week I could get you interested enough to actually cook food, not just consume it.” Enjolras raises one shoulder a fraction.
“It makes you happy. And… It’s nice to see you enjoying something I managed to make.”
“You say that like you’re terrible at things, this is actually really good.” He glances across the table to him. “If you want I can help you make more recipes.”
“Well we’ve already been on as many restaurant and café dates as I think most people go on in a year. A night or two in might be nice.”