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“Grantaire,” Enjolras says as the others are leaving. “May I have a word with you? In private?”
“Council with the great god himself?” Grantaire says, taking a swig of his almost-empty wine bottle. “What mere mortal could refuse such an honor?”
Enjolras doesn’t respond to that, turning away to murmur something to Combeferre before he departs. Grantaire looks down at his wine, watching it slosh around in the bottle, and tries not to let himself think.
When the others are gone, Enjolras closes, and locks, the door of their back café room. “Why do you come here, Grantaire?”
Grantaire doesn’t answer.
“I must know. All the rest are dedicated to our cause, are true seekers of liberty and freedom. You are not. So why are you here, night after night?”
“I have nothing better to do.”
“Will you join us then, when we fight? Do you have nothing better to do than stand and die? And is this the best I am to expect from the people I am fighting for?”
“Perhaps. Perhaps they are as hateful to you as I am. Maybe you should reconsider your martyrdom, Apollo.”
And there is something so plaintive and hopeful in those words that Enjolras finds the strength to ask the question burning on his tongue. “Will you come over here, please,” Enjolras says, and it’s not quite a command, but nonetheless Grantaire obeys it. He stands awkwardly, a few feet from Enjolras, certainly not daring to touch or even stand with the intimate closeness of a friend. “Courfreyrac said something… the other day, and I…”
“What could this have been, that steals your silver tongue, I wonder?”
“He said you come here because of me,” Enjolras practically blurts. “And… I was wondering… if that is true.”
Grantaire can’t meet his eyes. He stares down at the ground, and does not answer, and that is enough for Enjolras to know the truth.
“You are in love with me,” Enjolras says, slowly, unfamiliar with the words, the ideas.
“Yes,” Grantaire whispers, squeezing his eyes shut, desperately fighting the urge to turn and run.
“The only reason you come here is because you are in love with me.”
“Yes.”
“You do not believe in anything—not in justice, not in liberty, not in the goodness of men-- but you have faith in me, of all things, me.”
“Yes.”
“God above, Grantaire,” Enjolras groans, and grabs Grantaire by the lapels of his coat. He pushes Grantaire against the wall, harder than he intended to. “Look at me. Fuck, look at me.”
Grantaire does as he’s told, eyes flitting up to glance at Enjolras’ face. Enjolras lifts a hand, intending to stroke it through Grantaire’s hair, to touch as he’s wanted to for so long, and then perhaps to share a first, wonderful kiss.
Grantaire flinches, shrinking away like he’s trying to disappear. He doesn’t raise a hand to defend himself, or try to get away from Enjolras, but his whole body tenses, and he freezes like that.
Enjolras drops his hand, lets go of Grantaire, takes a shaky step back. Grantaire slides down to the ground, trembling, hugging his knees into his chest.
“R?”
“Sorry sorry I’m sorry I know I’m nothing I’m worthless I’ll go I’ll go away forever I’m sorry—“
It takes Enjolras a moment to even understand his words, and then he’s dropping to his knees in front of Grantaire, reaching out a hand gently, giving Grantaire the choice to take it. Grantaire does not react. “You misunderstand me,” he says, voice soft. “Do you think I mean to strike you?”
“Strike me, beat me, kill me like a dog, it does not matter.” The desperation has gone out of his voice. Everything has gone out of his voice.
“I was going to kiss you, Grantaire.”
There are several long seconds of utter silence. “Why?” Grantaire says at last.
“Because I wanted to,” Enjolras says, and Grantaire lets out something halfway between a sob and a whimper.
“I would rather you hit me than mock me, Apollo. If I have a choice.”
“I am not mocking you, my friend.”
“We are friends now?”
“I would be more than that to you, if you would permit it.”
“You weren’t going to hit me?” Grantaire says, something almost childlike in his voice, a tentative belief.
“I was not. I never would.”
“But you rightly despise me, as a god looking down on the least of his creations.”
“I do not. I care deeply for you. As a man, to another man.”
“Truly?”
, Grantaire is looking at him, wide-eyed and shocked. “Enjolras,” he says, voice small and lost.
“I am sorry I frightened you and allowed you to misconstrue my actions. I have little experience with matters of the heart, and… and I find it hard to control myself around you. I was attempting to make a romantic gesture. To show you that I am overcome with feeling for you. This is no excuse for having frightened you as I did, however, and I am truly regretful.”
“It… I’m sorry I started panicking. I didn’t… I thought…”
Enjolras waits patiently for an answer.
“I thought you were angry that I… would dare. Since I am so obviously… so very much not good enough for you.”
“Give me time,” Enjolras says, rather nonesensically.
“What?”
“Give me time, R, and I will show you that is not true. I will show you just how much I want you.”
“I—I do not know what to say.”
“You said you believed in nothing. Nothing except for me. And I am asking, now, in this moment, for that belief. Little as I deserve it, perhaps… but please. If you trust in me, trust that I care.”
Grantaire hesitates, then, softly, says, “I will try.”
Enjolras holds out his hand again, and this time, Grantaire takes it. “Shall we start again?”
“Yes.”
“Very well. Grantaire. I am interested in you. I would like to be romantically involved with you. Is that suitable?”
“You are terrible at this,” Grantaire comments, but his voice is gentle.
“I’m new at this. I’ve never wanted to, not until I met you. You have changed everything for me. Since I’ve known you, I’ve seen life and love in an entirely new light. I did not know I could feel desire like this, but you have opened my eyes to… to what I was missing. To why the world is worth fighting for. The feeling I have for you… the desire, but also the fondness, the… the love. And if I die, Grantaire, those feelings are worth it. You are worth dying for.”
“Oh,” Grantaire says. Then, “I take it back. That part was pretty good.”
Enjolras smiles. “And to conclude, my R, may I kiss you?”
“Yes,” Grantaire says. “Yes, Enjolras, yes, now and whenever you want, forever-“ And then he says nothing, because Enjolras’ lips are on his, and his fear is forgotten. He feels as if he will never be afraid again, as if he has the courage of a thousand men, as if there is something in the world worth fighting for.