Chapter Text
Grantaire looks down at the paper that the information packet told him he had to bring today. His iPod is blaring in his ears to keep him from going nuts between the new campus, all of the people, and the fact he has talked himself into the idea of grad school. The paper in his hand tells him that he is supposed to be in the main art building in – shit – five minutes, and it’s apparently on the other side of campus? Grantaire breaks out into a run, not really paying attention to where he is going. As he races around the corner, out of the quad and onto the path leading to his destination, Grantaire slams into someone.
“Dammit, I’m so sorry!” He apologizes, bending down to pick up the book the person dropped. Grantaire pulls his earbuds out of his ears and turns off his iPod.
“No problem.” The strawberry blond he hit replies. “You look lost. Can I help?”
Grantaire sighs in relief and pulls his knit cap off his dark curls, “I am. It’s my first day on this campus.”
The man adjusts his glasses, “I’ve been here since my freshman year, so I know pretty much where everything is. Where are you headed?”
“Art building - I’m a grad student in the art program.” Grantaire is breathing a little easier now having found someone to help make sense of this mess of a campus. His nerves are slowly starting to settle down.
“I can walk you there.” He smiles at Grantaire. It’s a warm smile that makes Grantaire feel comfortable and at ease.
“Are you sure? Don’t you have a class to get to or something?”
“I don’t have a class until this afternoon.”
“Thank you so much. New places with lots of people sort of freak me out. So does talking to new people, but you don’t make me nervous for some reason.” Grantaire winces, “I’m rambling, don’t mind me.” He feels his cheeks get hot.
“What’s your name?” He asks with that same warm smile on his face.
“R – I mean, Grantaire. Gah, friends call me R.” Grantaire looks at the ground before he makes a total idiot of himself.
The man puts a hand to Grantaire’s chin and lifts it, “Breathe, R.” His hands are soft and warm against Grantaire’s lightly bearded chin. Even though he has just met this man, all this feels normal, even the nickname and the ease at which it rolls off his tongue. “My name is Combeferre.”
“Nice to meet you,” Grantaire smiles.
“Let’s get you to class before you are late.” Combeferre turns around, motioning for Grantaire to follow him.
“I’m not used to people being so nice to me. Why are you being so nice to someone you just met?” Grantaire admits as they walk along the pathway.
“You need help, and I can help you, so why wouldn’t I?” He looks over at Grantaire, “Plus, I feel like I’ve met you before, which is weird, since you are new.”
“You have that feeling, too?” Grantaire is surprised, because he has felt the same nagging in his brain since he crashed into Combeferre.
Combeferre nods. “This is your building. You had better hurry before you are late. I work in the library, so come find me later, okay? We’ll talk more.”
“I’d – I’d love that. Thank you again! Maybe you could show me the rest of the campus and be my own personal tour guide!” Grantaire chuckles.
“Deal.” Combeferre replies as they part ways, for now.
Grantaire spends his entire first day in class sketching Combeferre. Most of the poses come from his imagination, and even some have Grantaire wondering where his imagination dug them up. Thankfully, Grantaire quit trying to figure out his head ages ago.
_______________________
By one in the afternoon, Grantaire finally sees the outside of the art building. His painting class seems interesting, as it’s sort of a “Paint what you find interesting” type thing. (Grantaire rejoices on not having to paint bored nude models for another year.) The other class of the morning was photography, which was neat as well. (Grantaire is thankful for saving up to buy a nice camera over the summer.) His assignments for that class should be easy to accomplish walking around campus.
The campus is louder and more crowded now, and Grantaire has realized just how bad of an idea skipping breakfast was this morning. He shoves his earbuds back into his ears and blares the first playlist his fingers come across. Crowded college campuses and social anxiety do not mix well; so thankfully having the music to focus on helps – some. Grantaire keeps hoping he would run into Combeferre again. Why he hopes this, he doesn’t know; but it’s a better thought than how the people crowding him are making his blood pressure sky rocket.
Luckily, Grantaire’s plan to keep walking towards the center of campus leads him to a coffee shop-café- bistro thingie. Food. It leads him to food, which was all he cares about right now. Grantaire gets in line and settles on a turkey sandwich, some chips and a bottle of water. The two girls behind the counter are happily chatting with the people as they check out. The blonde-haired woman is a little shorter than her brunette friend is; and she seems to be the happier of the two. Her voice is sing-songy, and if Grantaire had to describe her, he’d say she was happy as a lark. Grantaire’s turn brings him to the brunette; who is nice and to the point, something Grantaire can appreciate. He smiles at the girls and walks outside to find a place to sit that isn’t so crowded.
To Grantaire’s delight, the afternoon classes had started while he was getting his food, so the quad area had cleared out considerably. He finds a nice spot with a bench under a tree to sit down, and from here, he can sketch random people while he eats his lunch. People watching and sketching is a lot more interesting than random bored dude in figure drawing.
In the hour he is sitting there, two squirrels, a few birds, and the tree all get sketched. For the first time, Grantaire isn’t half way to shaking and feeling like grad school was a complete mistake. (Something his father keeps reminding him of every conversation they’ve had recently – which is why Grantaire hasn’t spoken with him in a week.)
By the time Grantaire drains the remains of his bottle of water, it’s half past two. He slides his sketchbook, pencils, blending stubs and charcoal back into his messenger bag. Slinging it across his body, Grantaire picks up his trash, throws it away, and then flips his iPod to a new playlist. (He has several made for different moods, and he has more songs in his iTunes library than he cares to admit. Hey – it keeps him sane. Everyone’s sanity has a price!)
Grantaire is not really paying attention to where he is walking, when is bumps into someone. (This really is a bad habit of his and has been his entire life.) “Shit. I’m sorry.” Grantaire says in one breath. “I swear, today – I’m cursed to be a fumble foot.” He looks up at the person, who is smiling, golden loose curls framing his face.
“I’m fine.” He says. “You know, if you’d turn the iPod down and pay attention, maybe you would see where you are going?”
“Maybe.” Grantaire answers. “Hey, can you point me in the direction of the library?”
The man with the red shirt and blond hair nods, “Yeah – it’s down this path, then turn left, you can’t miss it.”
“Thanks! Sorry again for running into you.” Grantaire says as he walks off in the direction the man said.
He had pretty blue eyes, Grantaire thinks to himself and shrugs.
The next time Grantaire looks up from staring down at his feet while he walked (Hard to break habit, see?), he is standing in front of the library. Grantaire is still trying to wonder why Combeferre said to come meet him. In Grantaire’s mind, he isn’t very interesting, especially after slamming into a person. Combeferre seemed nice though, and he had pretty blue eyes, as well. Strawberry blond hair that hung down just a little longer than most men kept their hair. (Not that Grantaire could talk with his wild mop of dark brown curls.)
Grantaire finds himself pacing back and forth around the entrance to the library. Steady streams of students funnel in and out of the doors. His hands shake a little, and his heart starts racing. Really? Now? You were fine earlier. Why now? Grantaire thinks to himself, trying to talk logic back into his current train of panic. When he turns to pace back the opposite direction, he walks into someone.
“This is really becoming a habit,” Combeferre’s gentle voice says before Grantaire can look up.
“Shit,” is all he can manage to whisper as he slides his thumb across the screen of his iPod, turning the music off.
“I saw you out here pacing from the front desk where I work. Is everything okay?” Combeferre places a hand on Grantaire’s shoulder.
“Would the fact I can be a nervous twit around new people, and the fact I’m trying to figure out why you’d want to see me again after I slammed into you this morning, and even more so now after I’ve done it again, all while making a complete idiot of myself?” Grantaire says in two and half breaths of air. After a pause, he finishes “And why you’d even want to talk to me? You seem to be all science or law major. I’m a dirty artist.”
“Because I want to. My shift here ends in a few moments. How about you wait here while I go finish up and then we’ll go do something?” Combeferre suggests.
Grantaire is surprised at just how much he likes that idea, even with the accompanying nerves that follow the request. “Sure.” His voice betrays some of the nerves.
“Wonderful!” Combeferre says, turning to walk back towards the front door of the library. “Oh, and Grantaire?”
“Yeah?”
“I don’t think you are a dirty artist.” He smiles. “You have to be pretty amazing to get in here. Not to mention you seem really nice.”
Grantaire can’t formulate a reply, and he thinks he utters a soft thanks, as he feels his face flush. He sits down and starts sketching while he waits – mainly to keep his hand busy in a vain hope it will stop shaking. Grantaire finds himself sketching a pair of eyes – not sure really who they belong to. Twenty minutes later, when Combeferre comes back out, Grantaire knows whom the eyes on the page belong to – Combeferre.
“Those look really awesome,” Combeferre says, leaning against the wall by Grantaire.
“They are nothing special, really.” Grantaire shuts the sketchpad with more of a slam than he intended. He blushes and stands up, shoving the sketchpad back in his bag.
Combeferre puts his hand on Grantaire’s and squeezes it slightly, “I’m sorry if I said something wrong.”
Grantaire looks at their hands. Combeferre’s hands are smooth against his rough skin. Grantaire should be crawling completely out of his skin. (Well to be honest, he is partly.) Combeferre, though, feels safe to him. He wants to scream at the man with the glasses and ask him why. Why does he feel so safe? Why does he want to help? WHY?
“Grantaire?”
“Huh?” Grantaire jerks his hand back quicker than he wanted. “Sorry.” He knows he is blushing, and he sighs.
Combeferre just smiles. “Nothing to be sorry about. I shouldn’t have looked without asking first.”
Grantaire looks at him, “Are you even real?”
“Last time I checked, I was.” Combeferre chuckles. “Why do you ask?”
“I’ve never met someone willing to be this nice to someone he has barely known for more than an hour.” Grantaire bemoans.
“Well, I take pride in being the first.” Combeferre nods his head in the direction of the quad, “Let’s walk some.”
“I still say you are a dream or fantasy or I sniffed too much paint thinner this morning or something.” Grantaire shakes his head, grinning, and follows. “So what do you study anyway, O mythical magical too good to be true friendly person?
Combeferre chuckles again, and his smile reveals dimples on each side of his face. Blue eyes sparkle behind silver-rimmed glasses. “Medicine. With some side studies in literature and other sciences that catch my eye.”
“Wow. Now I really feel like a slacker.” Grantaire replies.
“Don’t! I wish I could draw or paint. I can do basic things for my courses, but nothing like you probably can.”
“I don’t think my stuff is that great.” Grantaire looks back down at his shoes.
“Maybe one day, I can see some of it.” Combeferre suggests, “When you are ready for me to see it.”
“I still say you aren’t real.” Grantaire chuckles, finally.
“And what proof do you have now?” Combeferre turns to face him, walking backwards.
“Well, besides that you can do that,” He points at him, “And not fall, when I’ve ran into you twice and someone else once today.”
“Oh, really?”
“Yes, really. A rather handsome blond with blue eyes and loose curls.” Grantaire recalls.
“Hrmm! I’m still failing to see the proof.”
“And the fact you seem to always know the perfect thing to say to stop me from freaking out when you don’t even know me!” Grantaire sounds more excited than he planned on sounding.
“I’ve always been like that.” Combeferre stops walking. “You aren’t the first person to say that. I’m just glad I can help where I can.” He shrugs his shoulders and smirks.
“So where are you taking me?” Grantaire asks. “Not like I even really know how to get back to my dorm. I haven’t had a chance to explore and learn everywhere yet.”
“Which dorms are you in?” Combeferre keeps pace next to Grantaire.
“The grad dorms. I managed to get a single room, thankfully.”
“Nice. How did you manage that?”
“Apparently listening bad social anxiety on the form helps that.” Grantaire says softly.
“Hey, nothing to be ashamed of.” Combeferre offers.
“I’m not!” Grantaire snaps. “I just wish – “
“That it wasn’t something you needed to even have to put down?” Combeferre finishes the question for him.
“Exactly.” Grantaire nods.
“Promise me something?”
“If I ever put you in a situation that makes you uncomfortable, let me know.” Combeferre says sincerely.
“I’ll try.” It was an honest answer, and the best he could give. Sometimes things were good. Other times things were bad. (He really did wish his anxiety came with a warning alarm, light, or something.)
“You want to go get something to eat?” Combeferre asks.
“Sure. It’s not like I know where anything else besides the little café here.”
“Man, you really are new here. I’ll definitely help fix that.” Combeferre offers.
“Thanks, Combeferre.” Grantaire smiles. “You seem like a pretty nice guy to have as a friend.”
“Are you going to stop regretting running into me this morning now?” He smirks, raising an eyebrow, as his dimples appearing again.
“Maybe. We’ll see.” Grantaire fails to deadpan.
“I know a pub near campus with really great food.” Combeferre suggests. “We can walk or take our cars.”
Grantaire winces. “No car.”
“That’s fine. You can ride with me. Sound like a plan?”
“Sure.” Grantaire follows Combeferre to the parking lot.
He lets Combeferre walk a few steps in front of him, before he starts nervously biting his thumbs. Grantaire hasn’t been in a bar or pub or any type of situation like that for three months. He isn’t sure how this is going to end up. Grantaire’s certain he will fuck up any friendship by the end of the night breaking his promise to Combeferre in less than two hours. But seriously, how do you broach the topic to someone you barely know that you are a recovering alcoholic who almost drank themselves to death, and that’s why you are 24 and just starting grad school?
Grantaire sighs and catches up to Combeferre, determined to enjoy the friendship while it lasts.
____________________
Since they arrive a little after four, the pub is not very crowded yet. Combeferre heads to a table in the back, but Grantaire grabs Combeferre’s hand. “Can I talk to you outside?”
“Sure.” Combeferre looks confused but follows.
Grantaire opens and closes his mouth more times than he meant to trying to formulate how to word what he needs to say. “I thought I could eat there, but I can’t. I’ve spent the last year trying to get sober. I am, and have been about three months now. Today’s been a day, both awesome and stressful – if that makes sense, but going in there – the smells and atmosphere is too familiar. I hope this makes sense, because it doesn’t in my head. But I’m trying. I know I should have said something earlier, but I thought I could do it. I can’t. I guess that makes me a failure at this, or something. I don’t know.” He leans against the front of the pub and doesn’t look at Combeferre. “I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be. So we have a slight change of plans. No big deal.” Combeferre taps the menu hanging up on the wall. “Figure out what you want to eat, I’ll go in and order togo, and we’ll walk down to the beach. There are some tables down there.”
“I can pay for my part.” Grantaire offers.
“No, my treat tonight. You can do something another day.”
“You actually want to hang out with me after this mess of today?”
“Yes.” He can tell Combeferre is smiling. His voice is always a slight bit higher when he is smiling. (Not that Grantaire has paid attention today really – fine, maybe a little.)
“I don’t want to have to be a burden or problem.” Grantaire keeps looking at the ground.
“You aren’t.” Combeferre gently turns Grantaire’s face towards him. If someone as new to Grantaire as Combeferre is had down the same gesture it would have freaked Grantaire out, but it doesn’t. Everything feels like he has known Combeferre for years, yet he has never met him before.
Grantaire presses into the embrace without realizing it, and when he does, he finds Combeferre hasn’t removed it. “Fine, but I’ll pay you back, somehow.”
The taller man smiles, “Acceptable terms. If you like hamburgers, I totally recommend the ones here.”
Grantaire turns to read over the menu, and Combeferre moves his hand. “I’ll take a cheeseburger, fries, and a sprite.”
“I’ll be back in a few minutes.” Combeferre heads back in.
Grantaire decides to check his cell phone for the first time all day. Not surprisingly, there isn’t much that he has missed. There are two missed texts – Dad and Sis. “Fun,” Grantaire mutters under his breath as he clicks his Dad’s first. Best to get the worse over with first, he thinks.
Arsehole: You went behind my back and left anyway? I’m guessing your sister and mom knew about this?
Grantaire has to chuckle or he’ll end up screaming. Combeferre probably doesn’t care to have the entire sordid history of his messed up life on their first night as friends. The nickname for his father in his phone is accurate and well earned. Next, he checks the text from his sister.
Sissy: I hope your first day went well. Talk with me when you can. Good luck.
Grantaire has time to kill, so he texts her back.
R: I’m good. I think I made a friend. A really nice friend.
Sissy: Oh yay! What’s his name?
R: I’m not even going to ask how you assume it’s a guy, but Combeferre.
Sissy: *smiles* In bad news, did Dad text you?
R: Yeah, and I don’t want to talk about it or to him right now. I can’t, you know that.
Sissy: I’m sorry. I’ll try to keep him distracted.
R: Thank you. I need to go. Combeferre should be back soon.
Sissy: Are you on a date already?!?!
R: NO!
Grantaire feels his cheeks blush reading that text though.
Sissy: Uh huh.
R: Really – no. Just friends. He actually wants to get to know me. It’s so odd.
Sissy: Go enjoy yourself. You are actually interesting to people, despite what you think. Love you!
R: Love you, too.
Grantaire slips his cell phone back in his bag. Combeferre is at his side a few minutes later, with two bags of food.
“What all did you get?” Grantaire laughs.
“Enough!” Combeferre smiles - the smile with dimples that Grantaire is growing rather fond of seeing.
_______________________
Grantaire swallows the first bite of his burger. “Okay – you were right. These are delicious.”
“I’m glad you like them.” Combeferre replies.
“This is an awesome little sitting area.” He looks out at the Pacific Ocean. “I’m going to have to come back here to sketch and take photos.”
“If you want to sketch now, I don’t mind.” Combeferre says, “That’s if you want to.”
Grantaire smiles and digs out his sketching stuff. “Most people hate when I sketch while they are talking. They think I’m not listening, but it’s probably the one time my brain isn’t drowning them out.”
“So where are you originally from?” Combeferre is working on eating his fries. “I get the impression you are nowhere near home.”
“You’d be right.” Grantaire juggles his cheeseburger in one hand and a pencil in the other. “I’m originally from Paris. My family moved here when I was in my early teens, and they are all still in New York.” He looks up from his sketch, “What about you?”
“Northern California.”
“I’ve heard it’s beautiful up there. It’s one place I’d love to go see one day.” Grantaire says to his sketch before taking another bite of his food.
“Maybe we can road trip it over a break.” Combeferre suggests.
Grantaire attempts not to choke on his food but fails.
“You okay?” Combeferre sounds concerned.
Grantaire recovers. “I’m good. Man, I feel like – I don’t know what. A spaz. Yes. Perfect word for today.”
“I don’t think you are, but I have a feeling you won’t believe me.”
“I have a hard time believing people see good in me,” he admits.
Combeferre squeezes Grantaire’s shoulder, which is more than enough of a reply, and Grantaire gets the comfort that Combeferre means to convey.
“I’m serious about the road trip.” Combeferre says, returning his hands to his food.
“You barely know me, and you are talking about a road trip. It sounds like the start of a bad horror movie!” Grantaire laughs.
“Well, our first major break will be Christmas – after finals. That gives us four months to become friends, so we’ll see then.”
“You really are serious?” Grantaire puts his burger and pencil down. “Why?”
“I would like to be your friend, Grantaire. Something just feels right about this.”
Grantaire knows the feeling Combeferre is talking about. “Okay, but I’ve never been on a road trip before.”
“Okay, now it’s my turn to be shocked – really?”
“Yup.” Grantaire winces.
“Well, maybe we’ll take a short one before a big one.” Combeferre amends the plan.
“If I don’t drive you insane by then.” Grantaire points out.
“I think we’ll be fine.” Combeferre smirks and seems rather sure of himself.
Grantaire shakes his head and smiles, “So maybe you are real. And maybe, I think you are pretty interesting.”
“I think you’re interesting, too.” He replies.
They sit there and watch the sun set while they eat. Grantaire’s nerves ease up some as they keep talking. Combeferre drives Grantaire back to home once darkness fell upon them, because he had early classes the next day.
__________________
Grantaire crashes on his bed the second he gets into his dorm room, with his sketchpad clutched tightly in his hands. He flips it open to the page where he had been sketching the beach, and he sees Combeferre’s slightly messy handwriting. Grantaire can make out the letters of the man’s name and the numbers that make up his cell phone number. Both have a home in his phone already, as well as Combeferre’s email address. Grantaire can hear Combeferre saying that it was okay to call at any hour, which he appreciated.
A week ago, Grantaire had no plans on making friends here. Leave it to fate to slam him into one – twice.