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“Why?” Grantaire asks softly, and there’s no judgment, no anger, at all in his voice.
“Because you are my friend, and you were in pain without what it cost me so little to give you.” Enjolras closes his eyes, unable to look at Grantaire’s face and the terrible, terrible understanding written there. “I do not know if I have enough of your trust left for you to believe me, but I am sorry.”
“So it’s over then?” Grantaire can’t keep the pleading note out of his voice, pathetic, pathetic, no wonder Enjolras has such a great and terrible pity for him.
“I assumed— I assumed that would be what you want.”
“You understand so little,” Grantaire murmurs.
“It was wrong of me to decieve you. I meant to do only good, but I have hurt you, I can see that—“
“I am grateful. Is that not terrible? Do you not despise me even more than you already did? That I, worthless thing that I am, would continue to prey upon your infinite kindness, your divine mercy.”
“I do not despise you.”
“But you do. You look down on me, not with hate as I once thought, but you do look down, on me the downtrodden, from your lofty height. And with your generous hand you would lift me up because you, my love, are just that good. May I still call you that? My love? My lover? I do not expect you to say it back, of course.”
“You may call me whatever you want,” Enjolras replies.
“Because it does not matter to you in the least, does it? None of this matters to you.”
“I am happy with you,” Enjolras says. “Regardless of… of why it began, I have enjoyed our relationship.”
“So you are ending things.”
“If that’s what you want.”
“It isn’t,” Grantaire says. “Oh, yes, I am so selfish that I would continue to take your pity. I will cling to the scraps you throw me like the starving dog I am, groveling at your table for the touch of your hand—“
“Don’t talk about yourself that way.”
“You know I do not want anything from you that you are unwilling to give. The thought… the thought of forcing you, when you are reluctant, is revolting to my very soul,” Grantaire says, serious for once. “The love I have for you—and I am sorry I must say it, I know it will hurt you to hear this—the love I have for you is the only thing pure or good in my life. I hunger for your touch, but it is a chaste thing. I starve for your love, but it will burn on unrequited. The most I would ever dare to ask of your pity is that you continue to tolerate me as the shadow in the back of the café, basking in a little of your light.”
“Or—“
“Or?” Grantaire prods, trying to quell the hope rising in his chest. If he lets himself feel anything but resigned and unsurprised, he will be shattered.
“Or we could start this again,” Enjolras suggests.
“I will not break without you,” Grantaire says. “It will not be easy for me. I will miss having you in my bed, in my arms, a great deal. But I will survive it. You do not have to lie again, not for my sake.”
“I have found value in this too. I never—I never found time for this sort of thing, and you have been so patient. You are an unfailing support to me, ever since—“
Ever since, one day, Grantaire had stumbled into the café already properly drunk. They had fought, as always, but this time not in front of the others. This time in hushed whispers after everyone left, and Grantaire’s cynicism had turned even more bitter than usual.
Enjolras can still hear the ghost of his words on that day. “What’s the point of living at all?” Grantaire had said, so very calmly, as terrifyingly calm as he is now. “You will blaze a bright trail across the world and if I am very lucky, maybe I will be permitted to watch. But I am nothing and less than nothing.”
Grantaire had wandered out onto the roof, and he was looking out over the city.
“You will fly. The most I can ever do is fall,” he had said, and Enjolras had realized his meaning just in time to grab him back.
“What are you thinking?” Enjolras hissed.
“I cannot watch forever. It hurts too much, to never be allowed to touch this, to be on the outside of what I want so badly.”
“Then don’t be. Join us.”
“I cannot,” Grantaire said. “It would be a lie. I don’t believe in your cause, you know that.”
“Then what do you believe in.”
“You, of course.”
And Enjolras, shaking with fear, still holding Grantaire’s wrists lest he try for the edge of the roof again, had kissed him hard. As Grantaire stared at him, wide-eyed and disbelieving, Enjolras told him, “Get sober. Stay that way. Be happy. And be my own.”
Grantaire wept, wept all night until Enjolras watched the sun come up over the rooftops, until Grantaire was sober. Enjolras held Grantaire’s head against his chest and stared out over the top of his curls and wondered how long he could decieve Grantaire, how long it would be until Grantaire’s drunken haze faded and he remembered clearly the events of that night, realized why Enjolras was with him.
It took him months, and it hadn’t been remembering at all… Enjolras had been, he thought, speaking privately to Combeferre and Courfeyrac, planning how they would distribute their forces. “And we can send Grantaire to the Barrière du Maine,” Enjolras said.
“Is that wise?”
“He will do as I ask,” Enjolras insisted. “He would never fail me.”
“I do not mean to pry, my friend. Your affairs are your own. But is what you are doing right?”
“He is happy, and so am I.”
“Do you not think it will be cruel, when he finds out why?”
“Maybe he never will,” Enjolras had said, and they’d left it there.
Unfortunately, Grantaire was just outside the door for that conversation, and he had wrangled a confession from Enjolras.
“Do you want me to end things?” Grantaire says. “Would it make you feel better? That could be your penance for decieving me. I could spit in your face and tell you you are a monster for lying to me, for playing with my poor, frail heart, if that is what you’d like.”
“No, R. I want… I want you to be happy. I want you to have a reason to live.”
“And it costs you little?”
“And it gives me much,” Enjolras tells him, and it’s the truth. “Your happiness is valuable to me, though you may not see that. I do not… it is true that I did not feel for you the way you feel for me. But I feel something.”
“If it is only friendship, that is enough. If it is only tolerance, that is enough.”
“It is more than that,” Enjolras assures him. “I cannot… I cannot say that I love you, not now that you know it isn’t true. I will not lie to you again.”
“That means more,” Grantaire replies. “More than anything else. I don’t care about myself. I care about you, about you being happy, about you being yourself. And that means your—your terrible honestly, your lofty pity, your—fire and flame and disdain for me, all of that. I just want to bask in a little of your light. That is enough.”
“I would never deny you that.” Enjolras reaches out his hand. “Do you mind?”
“Mind? My God, Enjolras, if you will deign to—“
He wraps his long, delicate fingers around Grantaire’s. “Please do not. R, do not despise yourself this way. I do not… I can not feel the way you do, but I care.”
“You care enough that you would lie to me—“
Enjolras lets out a quiet, pained noise.
“No, listen. You care enough that you would lie to me to save my life. That you would keep up the deception for four months, that you would go to bed with me and wake up every morning beside me. You would say you love me, because it made me happy, because you could. And that… that is more than I ever thought I would have from you. More than I could ever ask.”
Enjolras lifts Grantaire’s hand to his lips, pressing a kiss to his knuckles. “You are too good to me. I do not deserve the way you feel about me, but I do appreciate and honor it.”
“I am not angry, Enjolras. I am grateful. Can you not understand that? I knew, all along. Even if I did not know it consciously, I knew that there was no way… no way you could feel about me the way I feel about you. And whatever you pretended, you could never pretend that. No one could. It is the truest thing… the truest thing in my life. The truest thing I will ever have. And I am beyond grateful for the time, the attention you have given me. It may mean little to you, but for me it is everything I have ever wanted. More than I could ever expect.”
“I’m still sorry I decieved you,” Enjolras says.
“I forgive you. I would forgive you anything.”
“I know. And you must know… I did not do anything I did not want to. My reasons… may not have been what one expects, from a lover, but… it was still my choice, and I continue to choose you, if you will have me.”
“Thank you,” Grantaire says, closing his eyes. “I love you.”
In return, Enjolras is silent. His honesty is the best gift he has to give.