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Let the record state that, as a general rule, Grantaire hates dance recitals. They’re long boring, and just an all-around horrible experience for all audience members who aren’t an overzealous dance mom, shaking her hips in tandem with her daughter on stage. Grantaire has been to exactly seven dance recitals, thanks to Azelma and Gavroche, who are both in several classes. More accurately, he should say thanks to Eponine, because he always cracks under her whining to go with him so she can make sure her mother doesn’t cause a scene.
He is not going again.
“I already have plans this weekend,” Grantaire lies smoothly.
Eponine, who is Grantaire’s best friend and therefore never lied to, scoffs. “What plans? Your plans are always with me.”
“I have a date Saturday night.” The words are out of his mouth before he can stop himself and, oh god, this is a horrible idea. Grantaire is a horrible person. Why is he doing this?
“Shut the fuck up! With who?”
“This guy I met online,” Grantaire says, even though his inner monologue is screaming stop right the fuck there at him. “He goes to the community college.”
Eponine looks delighted. “Let me know how it goes! I want details afterwards.” She shuts her locker door and dumps all of her books in Grantaire’s arms like she usually does. “So did you do the history assignment?”
Grantaire breathes a sigh of relief. Maybe she’ll forget about his fake date. It is pretty nice, though, sitting at home and watching reruns of Say Yes to the Dress instead of watching toddlers and preteens dance. He counts this one as a win. Maybe later he’ll watch an episode of Dance Moms so he can feel a little solidarity with Eponine, who must be hating her life right now.
***
“How’d your date go?” Eponine asks, first thing Monday morning, when she dumps her books in Grantaire’s arms.
“It was really good,” Grantaire says, scrolling though his Twitter. He doesn’t really register what he’s saying.
“Are you going to see him again?”
“Maybe.”
“Holy shit,” Eponine breathes. “You totally got laid!”
Grantaire’s thumb freezes before he can favorite a tweet about using the correct pronouns for Caitlyn Jenner. He looks up at Eponine and she’s grinning a wolfish grin at him. He’s only ever seen on Courfeyrac when Combeferre transferred to their school in ninth grade and he wanted to hit that.
“No I didn’t!” The blush he’s sure is on his face probably doesn’t help convince her.
“You totally did! Was he good? Did you top or bottom?” Eponine cackles, smacking his ass lightly. “You have a nice ass. I bet you bottomed.”
“Eponine.” Grantaire looks around, but no one in the hallway is really paying attention to their conversation. “Shut up! I didn’t sleep with him.” She grabs her books out of his hand as he stays frozen in place in the middle of the crowded hallway.
“You can deny it all you want, but you totally got fucked,” Eponine shouts back at him. He sees a few people turn to look at him and his cheeks deepen to a furious red color.
“I hate you!” he yells at her, but she just blows him a kiss before she goes into her math class.
By the time Grantaire’s in lunch the same day, he’s exhausted. He had two tests and another right after lunch, so he’s determined to get some cramming in before Eponine sits down and regales him with her latest tale of her attempts at seducing Montparnasse. He’s in the middle of cramming in the most common conjugate acid-base pairs when a thoroughly disgruntled person slams their book down across from him. Grantaire looks up to meet the eyes of Joly.
Joly, who concerns himself with everyone in the school and their well-being. Joly, who gave Grantaire a lecture for piercing his own ear in the sixth grade. Joly, who is holding a pack of condoms with a red face.
“Um,” Grantaire says eloquently.
“I just– Bossuet told me about the college guy so I thought you might need these.” Joly looks like he wants to be anywhere else and Grantaire agrees whole-heartedly.
“Um.”
“Always use protection when having sexual intercourse. I included some dental dams, too. In case you perform or receive oral sex in the um–– Not penis area.”
“Um.”
“Use these. Please,” Joly says, before walking swiftly back to his lunch table, where all of Les Amis sit.
Les Amis are the resident debate team, all unhealthily codependent on one another and Courfeyrac and Jehan have been trying to get Grantaire and Eponine to join since the eighth grade when they created the club. Since, it’s grown to have more members than just Courf and Jehan, and Enjolras is equivalent to ten members himself. Grantaire has seen him debate and he’s always mesmerized by how well Enjolras speaks, but then again, he’s just mesmerized by Enjolras, so maybe he’s biased.
Joly says something to them and Combeferre and Enjolras both look over at him simultaneously and Grantaire would have the decency to be embarrassed, but Eponine slams her lunch tray down at that exact moment and, mostly, Grantaire’s just confused.
“I fucking hate everyone,” Eponine complains. “Listen to what this bitch Cheryl did in my government class.”
In the midst of Eponine’s rant about free-market capitalism, Grantaire forgets all about how Bossuet could’ve possibly found out about the fake college guy he had sex with.
***
He remembers again when someone pokes him in his physics class and hisses, “Hey, if I take you on one date, will you put out again, cocksucker?”
Grantaire whirls around, but what is he supposed to do in the middle of his class? He gives the guy the iciest glare possible before turning back to listen to what Ms. Hamilton is going over.
He remembers again when someone he doesn’t know (Brujon, maybe? He looks like the guy that Montparnasse hangs out with sometimes) throws his arm around his shoulders in the hallway and says, “Hey, babe. Let’s go see a movie tonight. The back of the theater is the perfect place for a little action.”
“Fuck off,” Grantaire snarls, pushing the guy away from him. He brushes off his shoulder, just to piss the guy off a little.
“Oh, playing hard to get? You seem pretty easy to me.”
“What the–“ The guy laughs before Grantaire can say anything else and he waves at him, walking back over to his friends and shrugging like the total tool he is, making up an excuse about Grantaire not being worth the effort. Grantaire seethes.
He remembers again when a guy pushes him up against the lockers and purrs something about getting off in the back of his car after soccer practice. Grantaire doesn’t even know his name.
He remembers again when the poster child for the Bible Club, Mabeuf’s girlfriend whose name Grantaire doesn’t remember, gives him a look chock full of disdain and several pamphlets about sex before marriage, conception, STDs, and a pocket bible with passages about abstinence highlighted. Grantaire would make a comment about desecrating a Bible, but he’s too stunned to speak.
When Grantaire meets Eponine at his car after their last classes, he’s thoroughly done with everyone’s bullshit.
“Dude, did you tell people about college guy? I’ve been propositioned three times today and usually no one looks at me twice!”
Eponine shakes her head. “I didn’t say anything. We talked about it in the hallway. Anyone could’ve heard us.”
“Well shit. Brujon wanted me to suck his dick in a movie theater. Like what the hell, I’m classier than that!”
Eponine levels him with a look. “You slept with someone after one date.”
Grantaire wants to tell her it was all a lie, but he’s already too deep in this to back out now. He doesn’t want to hurt her feelings and she’ll be pissed that he made her sit through a dance recital all alone.
“But that doesn’t mean I’ll sleep with anyone after one date!”
“Look, no one will even remember it tomorrow,” Eponine says. She puts her big sunglasses on and opens the passenger door. “You going to Courfeyrac’s party Friday night?” she asks over the top of the car.
Grantaire gets in and when she follows suit, he shrugs. “I don’t know. I have a paper due next Monday.”
“But are you really going to start it before Sunday night?”
“Fair point. Fine, I’ll go to his party with you.”
***
Tuesday and Wednesday pass without anything unusual, except the number of people Grantaire has slept with goes from one to fifteen, even though he remains firmly a virgin, but that’s not important apparently. He skipped movie night at Feuilly’s last night because he was too embarrassed to be around Enjolras with rumors of his promiscuity being the hot topic of the week. Joly’s delivered condoms at his table every day at lunch since the rumors started.
Eponine has to make up a test Thursday during lunch, so Grantaire goes to the library to work on his paper. Despite Eponine’s claims, he actually wants to get it done and even he can’t finish a ten page paper in one night. When he finishes his second page, he cracks his neck and sees Cosette staring at him from the computer beside his.
“Can I help you?” he snaps.
“Actually, yeah,” she says, a delicate bush painting her cheeks. He’s always found Cosette very beautiful. He’s bisexual and even if he has a slight preference for men, he can definitely appreciate Cosette’s beauty. “Are you going to Courf’s party tomorrow?”
“Plannin’ on it,” Grantaire says. He leans back in the chair and cracks his knuckles. “Why?”
“I–– I just–– This is harder than I thought,” she mutters to herself. Finally, she looks up at Grantaire with steely determination on her face and says, “Have sex with me!” Grantaire flails and promptly falls backwards onto the floor. Cosette bursts into motion, babbling apologies and helping him up, blushing all the while.
“I don’t–– I–– Those are just rumors!” Grantaire hisses quietly, looking around the library.
Cosette’s mouth opens and closes a few times before she looks down and the already furious blush gets even darker. “Oh.”
“But–– I mean, why do you want to have sex with me?”
“It’s not so much as I want to have sex with you as I want people to think I’ve had sex,” Cosette sighs. “I have my reasons.”
Grantaire has to hold back his cringe. “Are they really worth that?”
“Yeah,” Cosette says. There’s a worried expression written all over her face, whether it’s from their impending fake sex or him rejecting her, Grantaire wants it gone.
“I’ll have fake sex with you at the party,” Grantaire says. “My reputation is already shit. We can just jump on the bed or something, I don’t know.” He saves his paper and Cosette thanks him as he retreats.
He opens his locker and there are pictures of people with STDs taped all through it. He gags, slams it, and takes the glare his physics teacher sends him when he doesn’t have his book. Anything to avoid the Bible Club kids.
***
The next day at the party, Grantaire spends a half hour with Cosette under the watchful eyes of practically everyone at the school. He knows exactly what’s going to happen when the go up to a room. Everyone will crowd around the door and listen in on their fake sex.
“Hey, beautiful,” he says, sliding up to where Cosette is sitting on a love seat alone. “You look lonely.” She purrs a greeting back at him and Grantaire laughs. He could see himself being great friends with Cosette in the future. Hopefully they can be once the story of their fake sex blows over in a couple of weeks.
She runs a hand along his thigh and Grantaire catches a glance of Enjolras over her shoulder. He’s laughing loudly at something Feuilly is saying to a small circle of people. He’s practically glowing and Grantaire wants nothing more than to kiss him on his doorstep.
Cosette grabs his hand and leads him up the stairs. The room doesn’t go silent, but it’s certainly more quiet. Everyone knows about Grantaire’s sex life at this point, but it’s probably surprising for Cosette, the quiet girl who plays every instrument and will probably be valedictorian, to be leading him up the stairs.
They get to a bedroom and Grantaire locks the door behind them. He gives it a solid two minutes before he lets out a breathy, “Fuck.” Cosette’s cheeks redden and she emits a soft moan, too. Grantaire motions to the bed and climbs on it, bouncing up and down to make soft noises with the springs.
“Come up here,” he murmurs to her. “Be ready to get noisy. If I’m sexing you up, you better believe it’s good.” He jumps harder and Cosette starts letting out moan after moan, jumping beside him on the bed. It’s actually decent, Grantaire will admit. She should be an actress.
“Oh fuck, Cosette!” Grantaire cries.
“Grantaire!” Cosette almost screams, jumping extra hard. “Fuck, please! So good!”
Grantaire hits the wall a few times and starts moaning again, along with Cosette’s pleas for “more, baby, harder” over and over. Grantaire checks his watch and nods. Cosette makes the loudest noise yet, crying out and her sobbing noises are almost perfect. Grantaire would’ve thought she was actually sobbing, except she’s holding back giggles and she’s smiling widely at Grantaire.
“Oh shit,” Grantaire yells, before hitting the wall two more times and they both stop jumping on the bed. He motions for her to come close and he runs his fingers all through her hair, making her look like he messed her up.
“Bite your lips,” he whispers. She obliges, biting her lips until they look swollen from rough kisses. He does the same and takes off his shirt. He flips it so it’s inside out and then she runs her fingers through his hair, copying him. “Take your shoes off and carry them out,” Grantaire says. “I’ll leave first. Leave in three minutes.”
“Thank you,” Cosette says. She cups his cheek, rough with stubble, and plants a soft kiss on his cheekbone.
“Anytime,” Grantaire replies. He opens the door and there’s a group of people on the other side, nonchalantly sipping drinks. One girl gets a good look of Grantaire and pulls out her phone. Everyone will believe they had sex by Monday.
When he goes back downstairs, there are already whispers swirling around him about his latest conquest. He hears someone say it’s a shame that she slept with such a whore and he promptly leaves the party, trying not to remember Enjolras’ disapproving gaze on him as he descended the stairs.
***
By Monday, the whole school knows about Cosette and Grantaire. She nods at him in the hall, but otherwise they don’t talk about it. He has to scrub several crude drawings off of his locker throughout the day and he fights off no less than four advances for his “perky little ass.” Then, Jehan comes along.
“I know you didn’t actually sleep with Cosette,” he murmurs to him in trig. Grantaire looks around before giving him a frantic gesture that he hopes translates into shut up. “She told me like two months ago that she was a lesbian. No one else knows. I think she felt safe with me because I’m trans. Anyway, what I want to say is that she’s keeping her sexuality under wraps for a little longer and it’s something I’m grateful for.”
“Jehan,” Grantaire hisses. “Shut up. I don’t want anyone to hear you.”
“I don’t know why you did it, though.” Jehan rests his chin in his hand and gives Grantaire a truly uncanny smile, but his voice is marginally lower, so Grantaire doesn't complain. “It certainly wasn’t going to help your reputation and I can’t think of any logical reason.”
“She asked,” Grantaire murmurs. “And I had nothing to lose.”
Jehan gives him another unreadable expression before their English teacher starts talking about The Scarlet Letter. He sits through the lecture, occasionally offering his opinion on symbolism, but when the class ends he’s filled with relief that the school day is over.
“Well if it isn’t our resident slut,” Montparnasse sneers at Grantaire, pushing his sunglasses down so he can peer at him over the top of the shiny rims.
Grantaire opens his locker, still full of STD pictures and now complete with eight cocks on the outside of it. “You know, I’m really not in the mood to deal with you right now, Montparnasse. I’m too busy having lots of hot wild sex with attractive people, unlike you.”
Montparnasse raises an eyebrow at him. “Oh please. You’re just a little whore, maybe we can–“
“Slut shaming isn’t cool,” a cold voice says from behind Grantaire and yes, this is the moment where Grantaire will die of shame. The moment when Enjolras has to defend him from slut shaming is the moment he’ll keel over and his parents will wear rainbow to his wake. “I’d be happy to educate you sometime, Montparnasse. Why don’t you go away now? I have to speak with Grantaire.” Montparnasse opens his mouth to retort, but he shrinks away and Grantaire can only imagine the look Enjolras is giving him. He turns around when Montparnasse retreats and Enjolras is looking down at him with an intense stare.
“I could’ve handled that myself,” Grantaire says, kicking his locker shut.
“He was–“
“I know, I know. Slut shaming is reinforcing the patriarchy. I get it, but–“
Enjolras steps forward, into Grantaire’s space and really forcing Grantaire to look upwards to make eye contact with this fucking giant, and says in a low voice, “There’s no excuse. Don’t excuse his behavior.”
“Is there something you need?” Grantaire snaps. He runs a hand through his mess of curls and steps away from Enjolras.
Enjolras’ lips thin and he replies, “I was just trying to help you.”
“I don’t need your help. I’m the school slut, it’s true, okay? Calling me a whore or a slut or a fag is apparently true. Don’t get all holier than thou with me, all right? I know you were trying to spread a message of justice for all, but Jesus Christ, I don’t need this right now. Okay?” Grantaire’s breathing heavily by the time he’s done yelling at Enjolras, who just looks angry with him now instead of just angry in general. He turns and strides away.
“And for the record, I’m probably going to suck some guy’s dick tonight! I’m a certified hussy! How’s that for slut shaming?” Grantaire calls after him down the hall. He stomps in the general direction of the student parking lot and tries to forget all about it. He spends the entire night reading their shitty English book and taking a three hour bath. Maybe he can steam out his frustration.
***
“I can’t believe you!” Eponine screeches at him during lunch the next day. “You had sex with Montparnasse! He’s been telling everyone and you knew I wanted to date him! Why would you do that to me?”
“Eponine–“
“No! This is bullshit, Grantaire. Bullshit. You could be the biggest whore and I wouldn’t give a fuck because you’re my best friend, but when you sleep with the guy I’ve been trying to get with since sophomore year, it’s gone too far.” The cafeteria’s very quiet and everyone is staring at them, including Les Amis.
Grantaire shakes his head and steps towards her, “Eponine, I–“
“No, I– Fuck you. Don’t talk to me, you fucking asshole! I hope you get genital warts, you fucking dick.” She’s red in the face, practically shaking with how furious she is. “I hope you had fun with Montparnasse, because he said you were a shit lay.”
With that, she turns away and storms over to where Montparnasse is sitting. He wraps an arm around her shoulders and Grantaire is going to be sick. He stalks out of the cafeteria and when he gets to his locker, he’s shaking so much that he can’t even get his combination in correctly.
“Fuck, fuck. Shit, oh god.” He punches the smooth metal so hard that he can feel his hand throbbing and there’s a smear of blood on his locker. He’s going to have bruises tomorrow. “Fuck, fuck, fuck,” Grantaire chants, leaning his head on the locker and trying to calm himself down. He’s going to fucking cry in the middle of the goddamn hallway, he can’t–
“Oh, Grantaire,” a sweet voice says from behind him. There’s a hand on his back, rubbing gentle circles between his shoulder blades.
“Go away, Cosette.” There’s no heat in his voice, so she doesn’t listen.
Jehan’s voice says, “We just wanted to make sure you’re okay. We’re worried about you.”
“I’m fine,” he snarls. When Grantaire finally manages to look away from his locker, Courfeyrac and Joly are also there.
“We just–“
“Everyone thinks I’m a whore, fine. I’ll be a whore.” Grantaire snags his keys out of his pocket and leaves out the closest set of doors, towards his car. He ignores them when they call out his name.
***
Grantaire spends most of the night stewing in his own rage at his life until he remembers his English assignment. And then he remembers the book.
And then he has a plan.
***
The next day, he squirms a little before getting out of his car. His grey jeans are, um, tight. Grantaire messes with the new haircut, instantly regretting shaving off most of his curls. They’re still safely on top of his head, but he went to a Fantastic Sam’s on impulse last night and his new undercut actually looks nice on him. He put on his glasses this morning, too, knowing that actually suit him fairly well.
There’s a bright red A sewn right over his left hip on a black t-shirt, stretched all the way across his chest with no give whatsoever. He slides out of his car. He’s going to be a whore, even if this isn’t him at all. He really does like the haircut, though.
He slings his bag over one shoulder and tries his best to walk confidently, but at some point he feels a little overwhelmed with all the staring. Eponine is gaping at him so he winks at her through his thick glasses frames and she sneers, turning back to Marius and one of his friends who Grantaire doesn’t recognize.
“Well, what a transformation.”
Grantaire hears Montparnasse before he sees him, but he only offers him a smirk. “Yeah, it’s too bad that we fucked before I became hot, isn’t it?” Grantaire replies, enjoying the shocked reaction of Montparnasse. He smiles sweetly and blows Montparnasse a kiss. It all feels over the top and fake, fake, fake, but he’s doing this to prove a point. He’s a virgin in a costume, a player in an elaborate game that’s too involved to quit now.
Les Amis usually congregate around a specific picnic table outside during the mornings and this one is no different. Except instead of loud debate, they’re all silently gawking at Grantaire. Enjolras shakes his head and okay, Grantaire might’ve been hoping his metamorphosis would make Enjolras want a piece of him, but no such luck. He nods towards Jehan, whose mouth is open. Grantaire stops at their table and grips Jehan’s chin, closing his mouth for him.
“Wouldn’t want that pretty mouth to catch flies,” Grantaire says, voice sensual. He quirks an eyebrow at him and smirks before patting him on the shoulder and sauntering off.
There’s a hand on him and he turns, looking back at Enjolras. Enjolras’ jaw is clenched, tight with anger. Grantaire feels dirty, grimy for being such a terrible liar, but he’s in too deep to change the past now.
“Did you need something? Maybe I can make some time for you tonight,” Grantaire offers. He bites his lip and looks Enjolras up and down with obvious intent. He’s used to staring at Enjolras like this, imagining the impossibilities, but now that he’s doing it in the open it feels strange.
“Stop that,” Enjolras commands. He shakes his head. “What the fuck did you do?”
“What are you talking about? I was overdue for a haircut anyway. Have a problem with people expressing their individuality? I had no idea you were an advocate for the oppression of the people, Enjolras. I’m truly shocked.” Grantaire’s always known the right buttons to push, because Enjolras’ cheeks flush in anger and he outright growls.
Grantaire grins, “Easy, boy. Save it for when we’re all alone.” With a burst of confidence, he steps forward and puts a hand on Enjolras’ chest. “I can definitely make time for you tonight, handsome.”
“This isn’t you,” Enjolras mutters, cheeks still red and voice furious, but he doesn’t slap Grantaire’s hand away. In fact, he makes no move to step out of his space. If anything, he leans a little closer so he can seethe closer to Grantaire, like it’ll get his point across more effectively. What the hell, Grantaire thinks, as he trails his hand lower, to Enjolras’ stomach.
Grantaire leans in and whispers, “I think that’s for me to decide, but if you want to find out how I really am, let me know.” He aches to keep a hand on Enjolras, to keep touching what he’s wanted to touch for years, but he draws back and turns away. He can feel everyone’s eyes on him as he enters the school.
***
He’s never been touched so much by random people, boys and girls alike, but he almost needs to sneak off into the auditorium to take a minute for himself between second and third period. Instead of going to lunch, he does just that after a group of enthusiastic boys cornered him in the bathroom. He just needs some alone time to calm himself down. He seats himself in the back row of the poorly lit auditorium. He’s glad that everyone is in lunch right now, because the chances of being bothered are slim.
He has no idea how his life came to this. He was just looking forward to going to art school in the fall, but now he has an entire school year to play the perfect whore to appease his peers and he hates it. He’s never been comfortable with attention from more than one person at a time, which is part of the reason he only has Eponine and why he refuses to join the debate team so adamantly, despite his thought-out answers when arguing with Enjolras on Twitter about Hillary Clinton.
He leans forward in his seat and just rests his head in his hands. This is going to be the longest school year ever.
The seat beside him dips and Grantaire’s head snaps up. Enjolras is sitting beside him, eyes forward towards the stage.
“What do you want?” Grantaire asks, voice weary. He seriously doesn’t need Enjolras’ shit right now.
Enjolras finally looks over at him. His eyes are soft around the edges, but his body language makes Grantaire think he’s uneasy. Which is to be expected after Grantaire practically molested him this morning. “Are you okay?”
With a snort, Grantaire asks, “Why do you care?” He leans back down to rest his elbows on his knees.
“Combeferre was in the bathroom earlier when those assholes were pressuring you. When you didn’t come to lunch he got worried and Jehan said you usually come here when you’re stressed out, so I offered to check on you.”
“My knight in shining armor,” Grantaire says dryly.
“I know you didn’t have sex with Montparnasse,” Enjolras replies. He sighs, “I just don’t know why you’re telling people you did.”
“It’s a long story.”
“Luckily we have all of lunch.” Enjolras’ hand finds Grantaire’s back and he rubs small circles between Grantaire’s shoulder blades. Grantaire has to hold back a soft moan, just from Enjolras touching him. He almost slips. He just needs to get rid of these lies, to tell someone, but not Enjolras. It can’t be Enjolras.
“Well I mean, what’s one more?” Grantaire chuckles.
Enjolras pulls his hand back and Grantaire fights the urge to wince. “Excuse me?”
“Compared to everyone else I’ve fucked, one more won’t really matter, will it?”
Enjolras stares at him for a long moment, before he shakes his head and stands up. “When you decide not to lie to me, I’ll be ready to listen.” With that, he walks away, leaving a haze of his musky cologne behind. Grantaire wants him back where he was, but that’s just one more thing he can’t have.
***
Grantaire feels ready to burst. So far his senior year, his one last hurrah, has been utter shit. The guy he’s liked for forever pities him, his only friend hates him, and he’s still a fucking virgin, despite recent rumors he has genital warts, crabs, and a nasty case of herpes. He was actually hoping to get laid this year, or even just make out with someone steadily, but now it seems like he can’t do anything right.
He wants to talk to Enjolras. He knows that talking about it will calm him down, but after what happened in the auditorium, he’s not sure he wants to bring it up and look stupid in front of him. So he goes to the next best person.
Courfeyrac.
“So, let me get this straight,” Courfeyrac says slowly, voice low. “You didn’t want to go to a dance recital, so you lied about having a date, and somehow it spiraled into you being fucked in a tractor trailer truck by a forty-seven year old man named Herbert? Because that’s the newest gossip.”
“Basically,” Granite says, head on the wooden table. He groans and Courfeyrac makes a small noise of sympathy, hand carding through his short curls.
“Well, have you talked to Eponine?”
“Hell no,” Grantaire whines. “I miss her so much, but she still thinks Montparnasse put his dick in me. I wouldn’t let that boy come near me with his dick. I don’t even want to talk about his dick. I don’t even want to think about it.”
“But if she knows that you’re still a virgin, she’ll realize he was lying about all of it.”
Grantaire picks his head up and Combeferre and Feuilly are milling about the classroom. Debate team is going to start any minute now, but Grantaire doesn’t have the will to leave this chair ever.
Grantaire says, “I know, Courf, but she won’t let me get near her. If I even try to talk to her she glares and starts letting Montparnasse eat her face. I’d rather not have my best friend cannibalized. Besides, who kisses without ever closing their mouth? That’s disgusting. I’ve only kissed one person and even I know that’s not right.”
“Yeah, but the only person you’ve kissed is me,” Courfeyrac teases, voice light. “You’ve got high expectations of a kiss now.”
“Shut up, it was freshman year and I hate you.” Enjolras strides in the room then and Grantaire picks his head up off of his arms. He tries to wipe the miserable expression off of his face, but he’s not totally sure he succeeds. Enjolras doesn’t notice them, he just walks up to Feuilly and starts babbling about this stupid girl named Cheryl in his government and Grantaire aches for Eponine.
“Bye, Courf,” Grantaire says. “Thanks for talking to me.” He stands and throws his backpack over a shoulder, chemistry textbook weighing him down. Enjolras sees him then and he immediately puts his bag down and walks over to him. Grantaire braces himself for the worst.
Enjolras stops in front of him. He looks confused, like he didn’t realize he was walking towards Grantaire, like it was a reflex. He rocks on the balls of his feet and god, Grantaire wants to kiss him. “How are you?” Enjolras asks, voice sweet and small. It’s unlike Enjolras.
“I’m better now,” Grantaire admits.
“Can I talk to you? Alone?” Enjolras asks. He motions to the hallway and Grantaire nods dumbly. He follows Enjolras out the door, ignoring the snickers from Courfeyrac behind him. It feels like strikingly like the walk of shame after he “had sex” with Cosette.
“What’s up, chief?” Grantaire asks. He grips the strap of his backpack tightly, like an anchor. He can survive with this backpack strap in his hands. He has to.
“Eponine misses you,” Enjolras says, running a hand through his hair. If Grantaire didn’t know him, he’d say Enjolras is nervous right now. It’s absurd. Enjolras isn’t a nervous person. “She asked if I’d been talking to you in government today. She asked how you were doing.”
“Maybe if she trusted me more than a stupid boy who treats everyone like shit she’d realize what’s wrong with this situation,” Grantaire huffs, looking at the ceiling. “I’ve never even fucked anyone,” he says, before he can stop himself. Enjolras breathes sharply at that and Grantaire groans. “Can we just pretend I didn’t say that?”
“Grantaire,” Enjolras says with feeling.
“Look, I don’t need saving or whatever,” he snaps. “I got myself into this mess because of the fucking dance recital.”
“Why are you telling people you’ve had sex if you haven’t? I thought you had sex with Cosette at that party,” Enjolras asks. He sounds adorably confused. Grantaire wants to kiss him.
“It just happened and it was too late to stop it. I never fucked Montparnasse, Cosette wanted to have fake sex, and the college guy was a lie so I didn’t have to watch Eponine’s psychotic mom go Dance Moms on someone. Everything else was gossip.” Grantaire looks down at the floor and chews on the inside of his cheek. “Look, I only came here to talk to Courfeyrac. He always gives the best advice. I’ll go now so you can start the meeting.”
Enjolras doesn’t look happy with him, but he nods anyway. “I really think you should talk to Eponine,” he says. “If you explain what happened she’s bound to hate Montparnasse.”
“Yeah, but if she’s happy with him, I don’t want to ruin that, I guess. She’s liked him for a while.”
“Who would ever choose him over you?” Enjolras mutters, almost to himself.
With a smile, Grantaire says, “That was almost sweet, but considering the other option is Montparnasse, I actually have to agree.”
“Why don’t you stay for the meeting? We’re debating communism versus capitalism tonight,” Enjolras suggests. “You can argue for whichever side you want, or even mediate.”
“I should really go.”
“Please.”
Grantaire’s stomach swoops. This is it. This is the moment he’s been waiting for since he first set eyes on Enjolras with his ridiculous hair and his ridiculous eyes and his ridiculous laugh that’s so loud it’s almost disturbing. He looks at Enjolras, who looks just as desperate for him to stay as he is to kiss him. He’s never said please to Grantaire before.
“Okay,” Grantaire replies, lips quirking into a smirk. “Just for a little bit, and only if you argue for capitalism.”
“Fuck,” Enjolras swears. “Fine, since you're staying, I guess I can see the merit of private business if it’s more efficient.” He smiles at Grantaire and Grantaire smiles back and they’re standing there smiling at each other and Jehan is behind Enjolras.
“R!” Jehan exclaims. “You came! Are you finally joining the debate team?”
“No, not joining. Just sitting in today,” Grantaire tells him. “Hey um, sorry about what I said about your, uh, your mouth.” His cheeks ignite bright red and he runs a hand over his undercut. “It was uncalled for.” The A on his hip feels like it’s burning through his shirt, searing into his skin.
“Don’t worry about it!” Jehan says, beaming at him brighter than the sun. “You look hot as hell, so I’m not complaining at all.”
“I really do like the haircut,” Grantaire admits, running his hands over the shaved part again. With that, Jehan starts babbling about communism and Enjolras smiles at him like he’s something precious. Grantaire follows them back into the classroom with a lump the size of the Soviet Union trapped in his throat.
***
That night, Grantaire sits at his desk for a long time, staring at the red A on his shirt. He’s really not sure how to combat this whole situation, to just let Enjolras and Les Amis protect him until the rumors finally stop or to try and convince everyone he never fucked anyone.
He’s not even sure how he can do that.
He thinks about how sometimes Enjolras does Facebook Live videos to rant about How Great Socialism Is™. While Facebook is a little outdated at this point, he figures it’ll get the job done. He fires off a text to Eponine, heartsick because there are no messages between them for the last week and a half, telling her to get on Facebook. It’s instantly read, but she doesn’t reply.
He logs in to Facebook on his laptop and goes live.
“Hi, everyone,” Grantaire starts. There are already six viewers. “You’re probably wondering what I’m doing. I’m not going to jack off or anything on camera, I’m going to tell a story.” The viewer count goes up to twenty.
“Once upon a time, there was a boy named Grantaire who loved his best friend Eponine a lot, but fucking hated dance recitals.”
***
An hour after the live video, people have finally stopped messaging him. Eponine texted him, asking to meet up for coffee tomorrow at noon. He enthusiastically agrees, and she sends him the cactus emoji. Everything will be all right between them.
Grantaire finally closes his laptop and suddenly there’s a knock on his window. He’s had a drunk neighbor or two knock on his window before by accident, since he lives on a one story house, but Enjolras isn’t his neighbor and he’s never knocked on his window before.
“Enjolras!” Grantaire practically shrieks before he remembers it’s midnight and his parents are fast asleep. He slides open his window and Enjolras clambers into his room, less grace than usual, but still more than Grantaire could ever hope to have. He’s beautiful, bathed in the glow of Grantaire’s lamp.
Without speaking, Enjolras grabs Grantaire’s t-shirt and hauls him up for a long, firm kiss. Grantaire slithers his arms around Enjolras’ neck and buries his fingers in those soft, golden curls. He can’t believe this is happening, Enjolras is kissing him.
Too soon, Enjolras pulls away and rests his forehead against Grantaire’s. If he cares about being hunched over because of their height difference, he doesn’t complain. Grantaire keeps his hands in his beautiful hair and just feels how silky it feels. He loves this, loves feeling Enjolras’ body against his.
“I’ve wanted to do that all year,” Enjolras admits quietly.
With a grin, Grantaire says, “I’m definitely not complaining.”
“I saw the video.”
“And?”
“And you said you’re painfully single,” Enjolras says.
Grantaire nods.
“Can I take you out on a date then?”
With another bright grin, Grantaire replies, “I would like nothing more.”