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The first time they'd met had been at some party Enjolras and Cosette were throwing, some celebration, where all their model friends were invited. Their not model friends were invited too, of course, even the lowly art students like Grantaire.
He still wasn't used to the sudden fame of one of his closest friends, and her new friends that came along with it. Cosette and Enjolras had been discovered nearly a year before and had taken the world by storm, blond, white, twins. What could be better? Their group barely changed, Enjolras raged about the fashion industry more, and they had a few new members, such as Marius, a shy wardrobe stylist who had become enamoured with Cosette, and Eponine, a make up artist with whom Cosette had become enamoured.
The party had been in full swing when Grantaire arrived, fashionably late, as per usual, just getting off of his shift at the on campus coffee shop. He made his way through the crowd of impossibly tall and beautiful models to where Cosette and Eponine sat intertwined on the balcony, legs hanging off the edge.
“Grantaire!” Cosette smiled, pulling him down on top of the two of them to envelop him in a hug. “You smell like coffee.”
“Just came here from work.” Grantaire explained, extracting himself from his position and settling down on the balcony beside the two. “So, how's the party been without me.”
“Eggplant fell off a table!” Eponine exclaimed excitedly, giggling into Cosette's shoulder.
“Oh be nice,” Cosette chastised, hitting Eponine lightly on the shoulder. “He may be an asshole, but he's my asshole. Brother. Asshole brother.”
“Don't worry, he didn't break his pretty little face,” Eponine reassured Grantaire. “He can still pout dramatically for the cameras.”
“Well, I think I'd best go in search for a drink,” Grantaire decided, pushing himself to his feet. “I believe I am entirely too sober for this crowd.”
Eponine and Cosette waved goodbye as he made his way back inside, eventually finding himself in the kitchen, alone except for Courfeyrac.
“Grantaire!” he cried, pulling Grantaire into a tight, bone crushing hug. “This is crazy, isn't it?”
“Yeah, I can remember, shit, like new years? A few years ago? There was maybe ten of us, and Combeferre sliced his hand open,” Grantaire reminisced, grabbing a beer from the fridge. “We all spent the night in the hospital with him.”
“No, no, no no,” Courfeyrac shook his head. “Enjolras got kicked out because he yelled at Combeferre, remember?”
“Fuck, how could I forget?” Grantaire shook his head, smiling. “How times have changed.”
Courfeyrac was about to launch into further detail of that night when he gestured too widely with his hands, smashing his nearly empty bottle of beer on the side of the counter, erupting into giggles as the glass showered to the ground.
“Here, let's clean this up,” Grantaire sighed. Being the only one sober was a position he rarely held, though when he did it always resulted in him cleaning up Courfeyrac's messes. “Grab a broom.”
He was reaching under the counter to retrieve a piece of glass when the back of his hand grazed the pile of shards he'd started collecting near his knee, blood starting welling up immediately, spilling over and dripping onto the kitchen tiles.
“Oh fuck, is this going to be a repeat of new years? Only this time we'll be stuck with models?” Courfeyrac asked, staring dumbfound at Grantaire's hand, holding the broom he'd been sent to retrieve.
“It's fine, I just need a bandaid.” Grantaire reassured him, grabbing a napkin from the counter to quell the flow of blood. “Which would be found?”
“Bathroom,” Courfeyrac suggested, pointing in the vague direction of the bathroom. “I'll finish cleaning this up.”
“Thank you,” Grantaire said, saluting to Courfeyrac with his free hand as he made his way to the bathroom.
The light was on when he got there, but no one answered when he knocked so he walked in, stopping when he found someone perched on the counter beside the sink, smoking.
“Shit, sorry,” Grantiare apologized, backing out of the room, holding his hand to his chest so he wouldn't drip blood on the floor.
“It's fine,” the man answered, jumping off the counter and rubbing a hand across his face, and dropping his cigarette out the open window. He was one of the models, his hair perfectly dishevelled, skintight jeans with ripped knees, and a suspiciously absent shirt showing off his perfect model chest.
“I just, uh, need a bandaid,” Grantaire said, motioning vaguely at his hand. He blamed his nervousness on the blood loss and not the fact that he still wasn't used to being around stupidly hot models.
“I'm Montparnasse,” the man smiled, stretching out a hand with perfectly manicured nails painted a matte black.
“I, uh, I'm Grantaire,” Grantaire responded, blushing slightly and stepping further into the bathroom. “I really just need a bandaid.”
He started rummaging in the shelves beside the sink while Montparnasse hopped up onto the counter to watch him, kicking his legs and letting his heavy boots hit the cupboard doors beneath the sink.
“So, you a student?” Montparnasse asked, watching curiously as Grantaire rinsed his hand under the sink after finally finding a bandaid.
“Art student, yeah, what about you?” Grantaire asked, peeling open the bandaid and sticking it over the still bleeding wound. “Or do you just model?”
“I do whatever,” Montparnasse shrugged with a smirk. “Used to deal drugs until I was discovered”
“Interesting. So what happened to your shirt?” Grantaire asked, cleaning up the mess he made before turning to face Montparnasse who was looking down at his chest confused, as if he was just noticing he'd lost a very important piece of clothing.
“I don't know,” he said confused, looking back to Grantaire before bursting out in giggles.
“Well, I guess I'll be going then,” Grantaire said awkwardly, edging past Montparnasse on the way to the door when Montparnasse reached out and grabbed his wrist.
“Wait! You can't go yet,” Montaprnasse told him pulling him closer to where Montparnasse was perched on the counter.
“I wasn't going home, I was just gonna leave the bathroom,” Grantaire explained as Montparnasse pouted. “You could come with me.”
“Or I could do this,” Montparnasse counter, pulling Grantaire closer with a smirk before pressing kisses to Grantaire's throat, trailing up his neck to his lips smiling into the kiss when Grantaire pressed closer to him, burying on of his hands in Montparnasse's perfectly styled hair.
“Or you could do that,” Grantaire nodded in agreement and Montparnasse leaned away for a second, before surging forward again laughing.
“Montparnasse, I swear to God- oh,” Enjolras interrupts, blushing as Montparnasse and Grantaire pulled apart. “I didn't know you were off work, Grantaire.”
“I, uh, yep,” Grantaire nodded, scratching at the back of his neck.
“I see you've met Montparnasse,” he observed, hand still on the doorknob.
“He sure has,” Montparnasse smiled with a nod.
“I just came here to tell you to quit smoking in the bathroom, and, uh, Claquesous has been trying to get a hold of you for, like, ten minutes,” Enjolras explained, holding up a ringing cellphone that must have belonged to Montparnasse.
“Fuck,” he cursed climbing down from the counter, grabbing his phone and answering the call angrily, shouting in Korean before ending the call.
“What was that about?” Enjolras asked, actually looking worried.
“I need to go,” Montparnasse replied shortly, and then turned to Grantaire and smiled, “Call me.”
“I don't have your number,” Grantaire pointed out as Montparnasse exited the overcrowded bathroom.
“I put it in your phone while you were looking for a bandaid,” Montparnasse countered, disappearing back into the crowd of the living room down the hall.
“What was that?” Enjolras asked after a few seconds of silence.
“You think I know?” Grantaire asked, following Enjorlas out of the hallway. “He's your friend.”