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Marius’ grandfather calls him about every three months. Grantaire doesn’t know why, he doesn’t seem to enjoy their conversation any more than Marius does.
They usually start off pleasant enough. Marius is a lot better at small talk than Grantaire. But once the weather, their health, and his grandfather’s golf scores have been covered, they move onto the topic of Marius’ schooling. This is where the conversation becomes heated, and it only gets worse one Marius joins Les Amis. Marius believes that Les Amis will make real changes in the world just as strongly as Marius’ grandfather believes that it’s a waste of his time.
(And this, this, is exactly why Grantaire can never quite bring himself to argue with Marius the way he argues with Enjolras. Enjolras gives wide, sweeping speeches and always looks so shocked whenever Grantaire interjects, like he’s never had someone argue back a point in his whole life. Grantaire is pretty sure that Marius has been arguing the point with someone his whole life.)
Grantaire gives Marius privacy whenever he gets a call. As much as he would like to take the phone from Marius’ hand and have a discussion with Marius’ grandfather, Marius always gives him space when it comes to family things. It seems only right that he return the favour.
Marius usually sits outside after the call, on the back porch steps. Their garden’s not much to look at, it’s tiny, and weeds and bushes have tangled together for twenty years to form a mass of greenery. Grantaire makes tea (no sugar for him, four for Marius), grabs a bottle of water, and goes to sit next to Marius.
Marius isn’t ever very talkative after the call, so Grantaire fills up the silence (Marius told him once that he had a soothing voice for times like this). He usually just talks absolute crap, whatever he can think of, the painting he’s working on, or the book he’s reading, or something Jenny did in class that Claire told him about. Marius leans against his side, and he talks, until the sun goes down.
Grantaire pauses, trying to think of more words to fill up the space, and Marius turns his face a little from where it’s pressed against Grantaire’s shoulder.
“Am I a disappointment?” ask Marius, quiet and soft.
Normally Grantaire’s instinct would be to turn this into a joke (“Now I know a thing or two about being a disappointment, I’m pretty much an expert,” and he can feel the bitter tone on his tongue), but it’s not what Marius needs to hear right now. He’s asking an honest question, and he deserves an honest answer.
“Never,” says Grantaire, with feeling.
“Are you sure?” says Marius.
Grantaire doesn’t believe in many things, but he does believe that Marius, in all his honest idealism, in all his nervous rambling, in all his suborn belief in Les Amis, in all his openness with every person he comes across, could never disappoint him. He’s always been better suited to expressing these things with colours rather than words, and his fingers itch for a paintbrush.
He squeezes Marius’ shoulder instead.
“Very sure.”
They stay outside for a while, looking at the stars. The air has a chill to it, but they keep each other warm until Marius is ready to go back inside.
Grantaire gives him a small painting a few days later, and leaves in on the kitchen table for Marius as he leaves for class. It’s a small watercolour of Marius, flying high above the city, red cape billowing. On the back he writes ‘you are literally the opposite of disappointing’. They’re not the right words, not exactly, but he hopes Marius understands just the same.
When Marius sees him that afternoon he beams at Grantaire, and pulls him in for a hug.
“Thank you,” he says.
Grantaire ruffles Marius’ hair, and they laugh.