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There was something about Grantaire. Enjolras couldn’t quite put his finger on it, but there was something about Grantaire that got under his skin. Whenever they had a class together (which somehow managed to be frequently), they always ended up arguing about something. Grantaire got under his skin in ways that others who challenged his ideas hadn’t. He found himself actively seeking out Grantaire, to strengthen his arguments by having Grantaire poke holes in them first, and to get a different view on the matter at hand than the ones his friends offered, though he soon came to consider Grantaire at least an acquaintance, if not a friend.
Enjolras had never really meant to get involved in the theater department, but it seemed as though most of his friends were there already, and they’d practically begged him to become their stage manager. And he could never turn down those who truly seemed to need him.
By the end of the first few weeks, Enjolras was seriously considering murdering every single member of the cast and crew of their production of Oklahoma (not to mention the fact that if he never heard another song about the majesty of Midwestern America, it would be too soon). His temper grew shorter as the days slipped away and they inched ever closer to the actual date of the show. As if the actors weren’t bad enough (misplaced props and switched costumes and not to mention the make-up fiasco), he had to deal with Grantaire as well. Grantaire, who was supposed to be running the sound board and the lights. Grantaire, who hadn’t showed up to a single practice until the week of the show. Grantaire, who wouldn’t listen to any of the notes given either by him or the director, though the director really hadn’t been contributing anything to the actual show, leaving Enjolras mostly in charge.
And yet Grantaire managed to time everything perfectly, to set the volume of the mics to the perfect level for each individual actor or actress with absolutely no feedback, to light exactly the right parts of the stage and to time the blackouts down to the very second. It was absolutely infuriating.
Enjolras had found Grantaire asleep in the sound booth the night before the show during the notes period of their last dress rehearsal. Tempers were running high for everyone, especially himself, and he’d managed to yell at the cast for half an hour before actually getting around to finding Grantaire. When asked what the hell he thought he was doing, sleeping through an important part of rehearsal, Grantaire had laughed at him and pointed out that none of the notes pertained to him, which was perfectly true. Enjolras had called him a useless waste of space and insinuated that a trained monkey could do his job with more competency and efficiency (which was absolutely not true; a monkey would most likely go crazy pushing buttons, even if it were well-trained). Grantaire had responded that not everyone could be nearly as perfect as Enjolras clearly was. Enjolras had to leave the booth before he turned this small spat into a full-blown argument.
Opening night went off without a hitch. The lights and sound were, as usual, perfect. Enjolras only had to threaten to beat Marius to a bloody pulp once (it was opening night; the curtain absolutely could not, under any circumstances, open either too late or too early), everyone’s costumes stayed on their bodies, and Courfeyrac managed not to look like a painted whore under the stage lights.
Closing night was more relaxed. Some lines were dropped, some were improvised, and Enjolras had to restrain himself from physically dragging Bahorel off of the stage, but the technical aspects of the show were flawless.
It had been a stupid impulse, and one he knew he would regret later. Eponine and Cosette both had an over-abundance of roses, and they’d both pressed a bouquet into his arms and ran away before he could protest. He’d taken one of the roses and then thrown the bouquet at Combeferre.
It was a stupid idea, he said to himself as he made his way back to the sound booth. While the rest of the cast and crew were out mingling with their audience, he hadn’t seen Grantaire exit the booth, and he had a feeling that no one had really come to the show specifically to see him flip some switches. But that was terribly unkind. Grantaire did more, much more than that.
He could have walked out in the middle of a show and left them all high and dry (no one else seemed to know how to run the booth with any degree of competence), and Enjolras honestly wouldn’t have blamed him (after he got over his blind rage), because he had said some rather questionable things to him over the past week. The word ‘useless’ ran through his mind more times than he would have cared to remember. He had come to rely on Grantaire more than he was used to in the past week. He trusted that Grantaire would show up and do his job, and he hadn’t been let down.
Sure enough, Grantaire was still in the booth, checking the batteries in the microphones before packing them away for next year’s show. He looked up when Enjolras entered.
“Are you here to hassle me about the opening of the second act? Because I was maybe half a second late on getting the lights up, and that’s an honest mistake that anyone can make, and I dare you to find someone who could work the lights as well as I can,” he said, focusing again on the microphones.
Enjolras frowned, rose still dangling by his side. “What? No, no, of course I’m not going to…to hassle you about it, or anything like that. You were phenomenal. Everything was perfect.” You were perfect, he wanted to add. Even though you fell asleep the night before the show. Even though(especially because) you cracked jokes over the speakers in the dressing rooms the first night you showed up to practice. Especially because you somehow managed to calm everyone’s preshow jitters through reasons still unknown. Enjolras attempted a smile.
Grantaire stood up, smiling softly back. “Perfect? So you’re saying that I’m not completely useless? You’ll keep me around for a while? I mean, I’m no professional, but…”
“You were great. Really great,” he replied, flushing slightly. And why was he doing that? his brain asked. His heart was pounding for reasons unknown, and he felt as though he might be sick. Better to just get it done and be out of there. But there was bigger than average part of his brain telling him to stay, to actually talk to Grantaire.
Grantaire was staring at him, looking more than a little bewildered. “Was there something you needed?”
“No! Well, I mean, um, I just wanted to give you this,” he blurted out, thrusting the rose in Grantaire’s general direction and waiting for him to take it. He plucked it from his hand gingerly, as though he were afraid that it would bite him.
“Er…thank you?” he replied, more of a question than a statement.
Enjolras nodded stiffly, opened his mouth, closed it again, and practically fled the booth, leaving an utterly bemused Grantaire behind.