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“We need to talk,” is the first thing that Enjolras says to Grantaire when he opens the door to let Grantaire in.
“That sounds ominous,” Grantaire says slowly, anticipating a lecture on punctuality, which, let’s be real, isn’t really fair because he’s not even that late, and he was really only late because he went to get movie tickets on his way back in contemplation of taking Enjolras out on a surprise date.
“This isn’t working for me anymore,” Enjolras says in a rush, and Grantaire’s heart stops beating. “I— I don’t want this anymore,” he continues, looking for all intents and purposes unconcerned about Grantaire’s impending breakdown. “I want more.”
Grantaire pinches himself discretely. It hurts, fuck, this is happening, Enjolras is breaking up with him.
He stares at Enjolras stupidly, then wonders why he isn’t tearing up and crying like the pathetic little shit he is. It’s probably the shock. Or, wait, no, he cannot really be in shock, because he saw this coming a mile away.
He didn’t, actually, not recently; they’d been doing so well.
So, yeah. Probably the shock.
“R?” Enjolras says, concern written all over his face. “Say something.”
Grantaire blinks.
“Okay,” he ends up blurting out. And then, slower, calmer, “Okay.”
“Okay?” Enjolras asks, and the grin unfurling on his face is painful to look at, because just how much did Enjolras want to break up with him and why the hell is he only seeing it now?
They’d been doing so well! He’s been attending all of Enjolras’ rallies, sober and punctual, even. They haven’t even had a big fight in at least three months and the sex has been A+ still, they were doing great. What did he do so wrong?
He opens his mouth to ask, but stops himself when Enjolras fishes a bunch of keys from his pocket and holds it out to Grantaire.
Grantaire blinks. “You’re giving me keys,” he says stupidly. And wow, that’s a stellar observation, maybe Enjolras (accurately) decided he was too stupid for him.
Enjolras nods. “Keys,” he confirms.
Grantaire stares.
“Your keys,” Enjolras clarifies.
His keys. To the apartment Enjolras wants him to move to? What the heck? He doesn’t even live with Enjolras, he lives in the apartment upstairs, with Feuilly. Does Enjolras really want him so far away from him that he has to find Grantaire a new apartment in a new building that is probably at the other end of the city?
This is a bit too extreme, even for a breakup.
“What the fuck,” Grantaire ends up saying, because there is no better reaction. He knows because he’s tried thinking of one.
Enjolras stares at him and has the gall to look confused. Confused, like he isn’t the one causing most of the confusion by giving Grantaire a key and basically asking him to uproot his life so Enjolras doesn’t have to see him because Enjolras hates him so much he can’t even live in an apartment below Grantaire’s, and fuck, Grantaire doesn’t even know what he’s done wrong?
“Grantaire?” Enjolras calls out gently, and Grantaire realises that his breathing is starting to get ragged and great, the shock must have set in, this is a panic attack isn’t it?
“I’m okay,” he grits out, and then flops onto the couch, and tries to slow his breathing. “I’m okay, I need a minute.”
Enjolras sits himself down next to Grantaire, close enough that their knees touch, but he doesn’t make a move to reach out for Grantaire, which is good, this is what Grantaire told him to do. ‘Don’t touch me, but don’t not touch me,’ he remembers telling Enjolras, and it should be fine, he taught Enjolras how to deal with his panic attacks, Enjolras is doing exactly as he says, but he can’t shake the thought that Enjolras really doesn’t want him around.
It takes a few more minutes for him to slowly come back to himself. Enjolras has his eyes fixed on him, when Grantaire turns to look over, and Grantaire knows that look, knows that Enjolras is worried, and that just makes it even worse.
“Do you want to talk about it?” Enjolras asks after awhile.
Grantaire snorts. “No,” he says. “No, I’ll just-” He gestures to the door. “I’ll come back to clear my art stuff out of your place sometime later.” The thought of coming back hurts. “You know what? Bin them, I can replace them. I’ll just go.”
Enjolras catches his wrist as he tries to get up. “I’m sorry,” he says, quiet and sad, and very unlike him. “I didn’t know it would make you so upset.”
Grantaire has to laugh at that, loud and sharp and bitter, the way he knows Enjolras really hates but the hurt on Enjolras’ face doesn’t make him feel any better.
“I’m sorry,” Enjolras says again, and Christ, Grantaire doesn’t want him to apologise for breaking up with him, Grantaire wants him to explain it for fuck’s sake.
“Tell me why,” Grantaire blurts out, because he needs to know, even if it’s going to hurt, he has to know. “At least tell me why.”
“Why?” Enjolras echoes.
Grantaire nods stiffly and braces himself.
“Because-” Enjolras runs his fingers through his hair, nervous. Why should he be nervous? “We’ve been doing better,” he says, and yes, that is Grantaire’s whole point. “And I thought it would be- I mean, I miss you when you’re not around, which isn’t often, but I do when it’s the case, and I figured that since so much of your things are here already and you don’t actually sleep upstairs most of the nights, that we could formalise it.”
Grantaire blinks, jaw dropping slightly, and Enjolras blushes, he actually blushes.
“I know, it’s very presumptuous of me. I probably should have talked to you about it,” he continues, words coming out in a rush now, like he isn’t sure he’s supposed to say it, but wants to anyway. “I just thought that since you already had the key to the front door, and you use it liberally, you would be amenable to the idea of actually moving in. I didn’t think I would give you a panic attack, R, I’m so sorry-”
“Enjolras,” Grantaire breathes out, then reaches out for Enjolras’ hand, where his palm is still balled into a fist, gripping at the set of keys he’d tried to offer to Grantaire just now. “Enjolras, what are these?”
“The keys to the balcony door and the bedrooms,” Enjolras says quietly. “I know people normally give the key to the front door when they ask their significant others to move in, but you already have a copy of my key, and I-”
“Fuck,” Grantaire says, and there’s a bubbly sense of happiness swelling in him. “Fuck, Enjolras, I don’t think we were having the same conversation just now. What do you think just happened?”
Enjolras frowns. “I gave you a panic attack because I was trying to make you commit before you wanted to?”
“I thought you were breaking up with me and found me an apartment to move into because you hated me and didn’t want me to stay in the same building as you do,” Grantaire tells him.
Enjolras splutters.
Grantaire laughs, finally. “You are really bad at this communication thing.”
“I told you I wanted more,” Enjolras says, indignant. “Why would I be trying to break up with you?”
Grantaire shrugs. “Because you think I can’t give you more?”
Enjolras scowls. “That wasn’t what I was trying to say,” he tells Grantaire.
Grantaire smiles. “I know,” he tells Enjolras. And then, “Ask me again, properly this time.”
“Move in with me,” Enjolras says immediately.
“That doesn’t really sound like a question,” Grantaire teases. “Am I not allowed a choice?”
Enjolras looks stricken. “Of course you get a choice! I would never make you do anything against your will,” he says, and wow, maybe this isn’t the perfect time to make fun of him.
“I’m joking, Apollo,” Grantaire says, then grabs the keys from Enjolras’ hand and reaches into his own pocket to grab his own keys before he fits them together.
“Does that mean you’ll move in with me?” Enjolras asks, lips curving up.
“I don’t know,” Grantaire says. “Do I get to redecorate the living room? Can I start leaving my things all over the floor and not clean them up? Do I get my own room?”
Enjolras rolls his eyes. “You’re an idiot,” he says.
“You knew that and you still wanted me to move in with you,” Grantaire replies. “So if we’re going to discuss who is more stupid, I’m pretty sure I have this argument in the bag.”
Enjolras sighs. “I am already rethinking this,” he tells Grantaire, but he’s smiling, and he’s reached out to take Grantaire’s hand.
“No, you’re not,” Grantaire sings, and runs his thumb over the new keys he has, staring at them, memorising their shapes. He’s going to draw them later. “Because you love me,” he adds, and then freezes, because Enjolras never said that.
When he chances a peek up at Enjolras, fully expecting Enjolras to brush off his comment, Enjolras is smiling fondly at him.
“See?” Enjolras says. “I can’t be that bad at this whole communication thing. I didn’t even have to tell you yet and you already know.”
Grantaire is stunned into speechlessness for the second time since he came over to Enjolras’ apartment.
“But I’m going to say it to you anyway,” Enjolras says, “because I have been trying to work up to this moment for some time now, and I’m not going to let you do the talking for me.” He leans in close to Grantaire, presses his lips softly to his, pulls away and whispers, “I love you.”
“You do,” Grantaire breathes.
Enjolras nods. “Enough to want to live together with you.”
“Even though I’m a slob?” Grantaire asks, voice a bit wobbly.
“Even though you’re a slob,” Enjolras confirms. “Because I love you.”
“Fuck,” Grantaire says. “You’re the worst, you can’t keep dropping bombs on me like this. My heart cannot take anymore.”
“Oh?” Enjolras asks, grinning. “I was going to tell you that you could maybe redecorate the living room.”
Grantaire mock-gasps. “Be still my heart, you really do love me. Does this mean I could negotiate up to getting my own room?”
Enjolras shakes his head. “Sorry, I don’t think I have anymore free rooms. I’m afraid you’ll have to sleep in mine.”
“How will we survive?” Grantaire asks, dramatically draping a hand over his eyes.
“We’ll manage,” Enjolras tells him drily, but there is an underlying tone of seriousness in his voice, and Grantaire ends up doing what he does best — he believes him.