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“He’s perfect,” Grantaire says. “He literally has no flaws. He is flaw-free, Courfeyrac.”
Enjolras hears what can only be described as scoffing laughter coming from Courfeyrac. “Flawless, really? Or is that just the love talking?”
He didn’t mean to eavesdrop. Enjolras had been looking for Courf and just happened to stumble upon him talking to Grantaire. Well, not so much stumble upon as paused as he heard Grantaire’s voice and didn’t reveal himself from around the corner. Just hearing Grantaire’s voice has had that effect on him lately. He only meant to wait until Grantaire departed but a conversation struck up, and now Enjolras is rooted to the spot. Listening to Grantaire talk about some guy he’s apparently in love with.
When Grantaire speaks again, Enjolras doesn’t have to see him to know he’s smiling. He can hear it in his voice. “Probably,” he says. “But that doesn’t make it any less true.”
“You sound like my roommate, you know,” Courfeyrac says.
Grantaire lets out a rich bark of laughter that Enjolras wishes he’d witnessed, imagining him bracing himself with a hand on Courf’s shoulder as he leans forward and clutches his stomach.
“Well, fuck me. I do,” he says. “I suppose there are worser fates than to sound like Marius. But if I start saying shit like my world has changed in just one burst of light, I hereby authorize you to slap the fuck out of me.”
When Courfeyrac laughs, Enjolras panics because he sounds closer. He scrambles around the corner to make it look as if he’d just gotten there himself, but Grantaire is just walking out the backdoor.
Probably off to see that guy.
Courfeyrac nudges Enjolras with his shoulder as he walks past him, grinning and saying something in passing. Enjolras, his eyes on the slope of R’s shoulders as he disappears from view, doesn’t say anything. He doesn’t even remember why he was looking for Courf in the first place.
_____
That guy. Again.
“No, you don’t understand,” Grantaire is saying, shaking his head at Joly and Bossuet. Joly has his arm around Bossuet’s waist, and Bossuet has his arm around Joly’s shoulders. They exchange a smile. “When I say he’s the most beautiful man in the world, it is not hyperbole. Had he been there, he could’ve claimed Eris’ golden apple and nobody would’ve contested it.”
Enjolras smiles, in spite of himself. Only Grantaire can work bits of Greek mythology into everyday conversation and not sound ridiculously pretentious. He’s sitting at the end of the bar, looking over a flyer Jehan had drawn for an upcoming rally. Enjolras is supposed to be proofreading it to make sure the time, date, and location are correct. Instead, he’s listening to Grantaire gush.
“I swear he’s not human,” Grantaire goes on. “I wouldn’t be at all surprised to learn he’s part angel.”
Bossuet laughs. “You’ve got it bad, man.”
“I think it’s sweet,” Joly adds. “And he probably would, too, if you—”
Enjolras can’t help but look up at that. Grantaire is shaking his head and holding up a hand.
“No, he probably would not. You know it, I know it, Bossuet knows it,” he says. “He’s not the ‘aww, that’s sweet’ type.” Grantaire says. The look on his face is somewhere between amused and a little sad. Enjolras immediately thinks this guy must be a jerk if he wouldn’t be able to appreciate the way R talks about him.
Grantaire looks over just then and catches Enjolras’ eye before Enjolras can look away and pretend he wasn’t listening. “Hey, I’ve got to run,” he says to Joly and Bossuet, his eyes still on Enjolras. Who isn’t looking from the corner of his eyes. He looks up again when Grantaire walks away, his eyes following him out the door.
Enjolras is too busy watching Grantaire to notice that Joly has noticed him watching R and nudges Bossuet.
-----
“The flyers are working,” Enjolras says. “Blog traffic is up, and more people are showing up at the rallies.”
“And the meeting last week had a few new faces,” Courfeyrac points out.
“But they haven’t come back this week,” Combeferre counters.
Enjolras looks up from the paper he’d jotted down a few notes on, about to add his own opinion on how to keep new people interested when he sees one of their own who is apparently struggling to stay interested himself.
Grantaire is sitting with Bahorel, and he isn’t paying attention to a thing that’s being said. He’s leaning toward Bahorel, a grin on his face and a bottle of beer in his hand, and Enjolras doesn’t need to be able to hear him to know that he’s talking about that guy yet again. He gets that same smile on his face every time he talks about him. It’s the most genuine smile Enjolras has ever seen on Grantaire’s face.
“Enjolras?” Combeferre is saying, and Enjolras snaps out of it and gives him a sheepish look.
“Sorry, what?”
Combeferre’s eyes narrow slightly, but he doesn’t say anything about Enjolras being so distracted. “I asked what you thought about Courf’s idea to have a mixer.”
“A party,” Courfeyrac corrects.
“A mixer,” Combeferre reiterates, shooting Courf one of his patented affectionately irritated looks. “It might be a good way to get people to show up, and then we can sort of conveniently slip some politics into the conversation.”
Enjolras opens his mouth to reply, but Grantaire lets out a loud burst of laughter just then. He frowns at him but not for the interruption itself. He knows why he’s laughing. It’s been two weeks. When is he going to get over whoever he is? Unless it’s only going to get worse because maybe Grantaire decided to follow Joly’s advice and tell him how he feels. Maybe that’s why he’s smiling and laughing more than ever lately.
“Ground control to Major Tom,” Courfeyrac says. Enjolras blinks and leans back. When did Courf get right up in his face like this? “You still with us?”
“Yeah, I was just, um… thinking,” Enjolras lies. Well, it isn’t really a lie. He was thinking, just not about the mixer Courf proposed.
“So what do you think?” Combeferre asks.
“Sounds good,” Enjolras says, even though his tone couldn’t be any less enthusiastic if he tried. Combeferre shoots a look at Courfeyrac, who can only shrug in return. “I think we’ve covered enough for today. I have some phone calls to make and, uh, things to do. For the group. And stuff. See you Thursday? Great.”
Enjolras gathers his things and leaves as quickly as he can. He wants to avoid the interrogation he knows his coming from Combeferre and Courfeyrac. The others are giving him odd looks too, so it’s for the best that he makes a beeline for the door.
Except for the fact that he has to pass Grantaire and Bahorel’s table as he does. And Enjolras tries his best to ignore them, but he still hears Grantaire’s words ringing in his ears as he walks out:
“I’ve never met anyone else like him, Bahorel. He could literally do anything and I’d be amazed.”
-----
Combeferre does most of the talking this time. All of it, really.
Enjolras is sitting in a place none of his friends would ever expect to find him during a meeting. He’s off to the back of the room, sitting at a table by himself. He’s separated from the group, unlike his usual position of front and center. The hood of his red sweatshirt is pulled over his head, his blond hair stuffed underneath, and he’s slouched down and chewing on the end of one of the hoodie’s strings.
And he’s watching Grantaire.
Another two weeks have gone by and this mystery man is still a ghost that haunts Enjolras’ life. On the one hand, it doesn’t sound like R has plucked up the courage to confess his feelings to him yet. But on the other hand, Grantaire’s ramblings about this guy have just gotten worse as the days pass. He’s amazing. He’s beautiful. He’s smart. He’s passionate. He’s everything.
Grantaire will tell everyone who will listen all about this man he’s so deeply in love with… everyone but Enjolras. Even when Enjolras has made up reasons to seek him out to speak to him, R never once mentions him. But Feuilly hears all about how animated he is when he speaks, how he uses his hands more than a mime. And Jehan is told all about the color of his eyes, so blue they’re brighter than the sky on a clear summer day. But Enjolras gets nothing. And it’s not like he even wants to hear about this godlike man, but he can’t help but wonder why Grantaire won’t open up to him about it.
More than any of that, even, Enjolras is still trying to figure out exactly when it was that he started to fall for Grantaire himself.
“That’ll do it for tonight,” Combeferre says. “Enjolras, anything you want to add?”
Enjolras feels the eyes of everyone turn to him. He just shakes his head, looking down to avoid their gazes.
“Okay,” Combeferre says, drawing out the syllables of the word. “Don’t forget tomorrow night we’re meeting at Courf and Marius’.”
Enjolras has already tuned Combeferre out, sinking down a little lower in his chair. He is focused on a spot on the table in order to refrain from watching Grantaire across the room. And that’s why he doesn’t realize Courfeyrac has sat down with him until he speaks.
“Alright, E, what’s up with you?” he asks.
Enjolras starts a bit, letting the drawstring fall from his mouth. “I… nothing. What are you talking about?”
Courf rolls his eyes, leaning an elbow on the table and resting his chin in his hand. “I’m talking about the fact that you’ve been retreating further and further into your shell for the past month.” He reaches out with his other hand and tugs at the front of Enjolras’ hood, bringing it down just over his eyes. “I knew it was bad, but when you didn’t have anything to add tonight I figured it was time to intervene. What’s going on with you?”
Enjolras sighs and reemerges from the hood, pushing it back and letting it fall between his shoulders. “Who is he in love with?” he asks.
Courfeyrac looks utterly confused, cocking his head to one side. “Who is who in love with?”
“Grantaire,” Enjolras replies, lowering his voice so nobody else will hear. “Who is Grantaire in love with? He’s been going on about him for weeks. Who is this guy who’s so amazing?”
His question is met with silence and a blank expression for a few moments. Enjolras starts to get a little annoyed that Courfeyrac isn’t saying anything, but then his eyebrows go up and if a human being can resemble a balloon about to burst he manages it.
Enjolras turns a shade only slightly lighter than his sweatshirt and pulls the hood back over his head. “Shut up,” he hisses, even though Courf hasn’t uttered a sound. But the warning was obviously needed because, to Enjolras’ horror, he’s turned around as though he’s about to announce what he just asked to the whole room. Everyone is still milling about and if he has to tackle Courf to the ground to stop him, he’ll do it.
What he actually says is much worse, so much so that Enjolras is too shocked at the betrayal to even react.
“GRANTAIRE,” Courf calls out, beckoning him over wildly. “COME HERE, MAN. LISTEN TO WHAT E JUST SAID!”
Enjolras can only gape at Courfeyrac as Grantaire excuses himself from Bossuet and walks over. He grabs a chair and pulls it up, flipping it around and sitting with his arms folded across the back of it. Which is just annoyingly attractive to Enjolras at the worst possible time. He smiles expectantly at him and that only makes Enjolras’ cheeks burn hotter.
“Well,” Grantaire says, looking over to Courfeyrac when it’s clear Enjolras isn’t going to speak first. “Don’t keep me in suspense.”
“Get this, get this,” Courfeyrac begins.
“Courf…” Enjolras protests weakly.
“Enjolras just asked me…”
“Courfeyrac, will you please shut…”
“... who you’re in love with.”
Enjolras slides down until he’s almost eye level with the tabletop, bringing a hand over his face. He can’t believe Courfeyrac just did that. He’ll have to plot his revenge later, when he’s not frantically wishing a hole would open up in the floor of the café and just swallow him right up.
“Did you tell him?” he hears Grantaire say.
Enjolras then hears Courfeyrac’s chair scrape back. “Nope,” he says, and he’s walking away from the sound of it. “I thought I’d save that for you.”
There’s a few moments of silence and then, “Enjolras.”
He splits his fingers and peeks out from behind his hand, looking every bit like a child watching a scary movie and checking to see if it’s safe to look again.
“If you wanted to know, why didn’t you just ask me?” Grantaire asks.
Enjolras shrugs. He’s not sure he’s capable of words yet.
“Do you want to know?”
Nod.
“Then ask.”
Enjolras lets his hand fall from his face and he sighs, wriggling until he’s sitting up in the chair again. Grantaire is smiling softly, a little too close to the smile he wears when he’s talking about the guy for Enjolras’ comfort. But of course he’s smiling like that. He’s about to tell Enjolras who he is and it’ll just be another opportunity for gushing. He almost doesn’t want to ask, but it’s killing him and he just has to know.
“So,” he says, stuffing his hands into the kangaroo pocket of his hoodie because he doesn’t know what else to do with them. “Who is this guy you’re so in love with?”
Grantaire seems to wait until Enjolras shifts his eyes up to meet his gaze because that’s when he says, “You.”
Enjolras’ mouth falls open and Grantaire’s smile grows wider. “Me?” he asks, even though he heard just what he said. He isn’t aware that the entire room has gone silent and he’s not the only one who heard what Grantaire said.
It’s Grantaire’s turn to just nod.
“But… but the way you spoke about him,” Enjolras says, trying to wrap his mind around the fact that Grantaire was calling him beautiful and amazing and smart and every other thing he said about him. That he’s the person Grantaire didn’t think would find it sweet if he knew how he felt about him. “Me?”
“You,” Grantaire says again. He captures the unchewed hoodie string and twirls it around his index finger. “How could it ever be anyone else?”
Enjolras surges forward to kiss Grantaire so quickly that he would’ve likely knocked him backwards off his chair if he’d not thrown his arms around his neck. Grantaire makes a soft noise of surprise against his lips but wastes no time in kissing him back. Enjolras wants the barrier of the chairback gone, he wants to slip into Grantaire’s lap and make up for an entire month’s worth of pining. But the sound of their friends cheering, Courfeyrac whooping the loudest, brings him back to the reality of where they are.
He pulls away a bit, but Grantaire’s hands come up to curl around the hood’s edges, holding him close so their foreheads rest together.
“They all knew?” Enjolras asks, his eyes open because he doesn’t want to miss the sight of Grantaire so close.
“Every last one,” Grantaire confirms. “Everyone except the one who really mattered.”
Enjolras bites his lip and unsuccessfully tries to hide his grin. “Me?” he asks, though he now knows the answer. He just wants to hear it again.
Grantaire obliges, but not before tilting his head and dropping a soft kiss on Enjolras’ lips. “You.”
And Enjolras can’t resist saying it because he wants to prove Grantaire wrong, but mostly because it’s just true:
“Aww, that’s sweet.”