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For the record, Grantaire is not suicidal. Nope. Not at all.
Sure, he can be morbid and depressed; he has the tendency to turn his life into shit and complain, but that's because he's an artist. He thrives on these things, uses them for artistic inspiration or something.
However, he is not actually in any hurry to end his life. Sure, sometimes he views that the world would be better off without him, but artist, remember.
(But him being an artist doesn't make it any less true.
Or so he thinks.)
Anyway, that's not the point.
The point is that he's currently standing on the edge of his building, about thirty stories above the ground, holding his wine bottle in one hand and thinking about jumping.
Imagine that.
He curses whoever put this idea in his mind, curses his friends, curses himself, curses Enjolras, because he can, and it's a fucking brilliant idea if not for one side effect: he could actually die.
He sighs, and takes a swig of his bottle, hoping for a bit of liquid courage. And then thinks about how he got into this position in the first place.
Fuck.
---
It all started with the news.
Usually, Grantaire doesn't concern himself with the news at all. It's stupid and pointless and really annoying. And he prefers to hear the news from Enjolras, not from the TV.
(That's because when Enjolras talks about whatever news pissed him off, his eyes will come alive with righteous fury and passion, and he will glow like the sun and look so fucking beautiful that it almost physically hurts. And Grantaire would honestly watch that than the TV anyday.)
But this news reached Grantaire even before Enjolras spoke about it, because of its absurdity.
Apparently their city seems to have acquired some sort of superhero.
Like, a Batman in Gotham City. Only they're not in Gotham City, and no one knows what this guy is actually called.
He just shows up, kicks ass, fights crime, rescues people from falling buildings and burning houses and helping little old ladies cross the street.
Oh, and he also exposes the corrupt dealings of government officials while he's at it. And he apparently has like, blonde hair or something. That's what all the eyewitnesses said.
It's so absurd and so out of a comic book that Grantaire wants to laugh.
(And it sounds like something Enjolras would actually do, if he'd acquired magical superhero powers overnight.)
---
So obviously, being Grantaire, the first question he asks Enjolras when he arrives at the meeting is: "So, Apollo. Have you acquired any superhero powers lately?"
Enjolras gives him the what-the-fuck-are-you-saying-Grantaire look.
"I thought you didn't listen to the news," he says.
"I don't." Grantaire answers. He raises a hand to call a waitress, and orders a beer. "But it sounds like something you would do, you know, help old ladies cross the street and all that jazz." He makes jazz hands for effect.
Enjolras snorts. The corners of his lips turn up into a small smile, but he says "Go to your corner, Grantaire. The meeting is about to start."
"Wow, someone's in a good mood today," Grantaire says, but he stands and goes to his corner anyway. He'll have plenty of time to antagonize Enjolras later, and run this superhero joke into the ground.
---
It would've ended there, it should've ended there, if not for the universe being a bitch.
Because Grantaire actually sees this mystery man. And he's actually saved by this mystery man.
He's walking home, pleasantly drunk, humming a tune. Enjolras was particularly beautiful tonight, with passion pouring out of every pore.
(Grantaire had to actually stop himself from crossing the room and kissing him full on the mouth.)
He's thinking about how beautiful those eyes were, radiating fury and passion, how if he could, he would've kissed down Enjolras neck, to his chest; how much he wanted to take Enjolras home.
He's so distracted that he doesn't notice the car until it's about ten feet away from him.
He doesn't close his eyes, doesn't think. He stares at the speeding car, unable to move, or even breathe.
Suddenly, he sees a flash of blonde hair, feels a body collide with his, and then he's crashed on the sidewalk, all the air knocked out of his lungs.
He groans, shaking his head, and looking up to thank his rescuer, when he realizes there's no one around.
And he's pretty sure he didn't pass out.
The speeding car stops and the driver gets out, apologizing profusely. Grantaire waves it away with a hand, and asks him, "Did you see who pushed me out of the way?"
The driver shakes his head. "All I saw was some blonde hair, then suddenly he was gone. Are you alright? Do you need an ambulance?"
Grantaire assures him that he's fine, and that he should probably get going. The driver apologizes again once more and is off speeding into the night.
He sighs, looks around, and sees a red beanie on the sidewalk. He picks it up, stuffing it into his pocket, and goes home.
It's only later, as he lies on his bed, recounting the earlier events, he realizes.
Blone hair. Saving lives.
Oh.
---
Grantaire wakes without a bad hangover. His body, apparently, is used to so much more than what he'd drank last night.
(Well, he'd drank less because he wanted to poke holes into Enjolras' arguments. And he didn't want to miss the chance of using the superhero joke.)
He lies down on the bed, burrowing himself under pillows and blankets, until the events from last night come flashing in his mind.
And then he's sitting up, grabbing his phone and calling Courfeyrac.
"Courf," he says, once the man has picked up. "Do you want to meet me for breakfast? I've got one hell of a story to tell you."
A pause.
"R, you realize it's three in the afternoon?"
Grantaire glances at the clock on his beside table. 3:08 p.m., it reads.
"Oh. Meet me for a late lunch?"
"Will do."
---
"Wait, so let me get this straight," Courfeyrac says, when Grantaire is finished with his story, and is now wolfing down his waffles. "Mystery Superhero saved you last night?"
Grantaire nods.
"Are you pretty sure it's him?"
"Well," Grantaire says, swallowing his waffles. "I have never seen anyone disappear that quickly before."
"Maybe he's a fast runner."
"I wasn't even out. Besides, even the driver didn't see him. And there was no one else in the street."
Courfeyrac makes a noise, and then presses. "Are you sure it's him?"
Grantaire makes a face and bites into a forkful of waffle. "No, but who else is blonde and saves lives?"
"Enjolras." Courfeyrac answers.
"Yeah, well, I don't think Enjolras would want to save my life."
"You'd be surprised," Courfeyrac mutters and then reaches out to pick at Grantaire's waffles. Grantaire slaps his hand away, and chooses not to comment.
Courfeyrac sits quietly for a few seconds, until he asks. "So, what are you going to do?"
"I dunno, forget about it, I guess."
"But you still have his beanie." Courfeyrac points out.
"I guess I'll keep it?" Grantaire answers, and Courfeyrac huffs.
"God, R, you are no fun. It's a mystery! It's something unknown and exciting! It's worthy of the adventures of Sherlock Holmes and John Watson!"
"Oh God, stop talking."
"You could put on a deerstalker and we could find a huge magnifying glass and a coat and we could walk around looking for clues, and I'm pretty sure I could get a pipe----"
Grantaire shoves some of his food into Courfeyrac's mouth.
"You dick," Courfeyrac says, around the waffle.
"No, Courf, we are not emulating Sherlock Holmes just to find out the identity of this superhero guy. Besides, a coat? It's the middle of August."
"But why?" Courfeyrac honest-to-god whines, and Grantaire should've called Jehan instead. He sure as hell wouldn't have a whining baby in front of him; the worst he'd get is poetry on his arms and flowers in his hair.
"Because I said no. And your idea was stupid."
"But what if I could think of another idea?" Courfeyrac asks, leaning forward. "What if I could think of something, and then you'd be able to return the beanie, and find out who he is? Come on, I can see it in your face. You're curious. That's why you called me here in the first place. You want to know who he is, and you're hoping I'll have an idea and help you out."
Well, yes. Grantaire is curious. He'll admit that much. He knows that he usually doesn't care about these things; he's usually disinterested and mocking about stuff like this, but all that changed this morning.
He could swear that a blonde haired person was following him like a glorified babysitter.
And since Grantaire is pretty sure he can run his curiosity to the ground sooner rather than later, he says to Courfeyrac, "If you think of something not entirely stupid, let me know."
---
Enjolras doesn't talk to him later that night.
Granted, they don't usually talk or give heart to hearts, but tonight Enjolras is short with him. And that makes Grantaire really pissed.
He glares every time Grantaire tries to open his mouth, and they end up getting into this really huge screaming match about liberty, equality, the rights of man, and then Grantaire's drinking habits.
"Whoa, what'd you do to Enj?" Bahorel asks. "You guys were fine yesterday."
"Yeah, don't know, don't care." Grantaire mutters to his bottle.
"You should go talk to him," Jehan suggests from his other side.
"No," Grantaire answers.
They leave him well enough alone after that, and he drinks until Jehan has to take him home for the night.
---
Now, he wakes with a stampede of elephants deciding to live in his head. He groans, and turns over, trying to bury his head into his pillows.
He's almost successful in falling back to sleep, when he hears the door to his room open.
"Grantaire?" A familiar voice calls, and he groans.
"Shoo." He mumbles into his pillows. "Sleeping."
The person however, is as stubborn as, well, a stubborn thing (It's still too early to list down stubborn things) because he's being coaxed up, a glass of water being pressed into one hand, paracetamol into the other.
"Drink," the person says, and Grantaire obeys, his eyes still screwed shut. When he's done, he flops back into the bed, hoping to sleep again.
The person doesn't have the same idea.
"How are you feeling?" he asks.
"Like a thousand Dumbos decided to stampede in my head instead of fly," he answers. "And you are not helping, shoo, go away, I'm sleeping."
"No, you're not anymore," the person says, and Grantaire can hear the amusement in his voice.
"Fuck you. Who are you anyway?" Grantaire opens one eye, and immediately regrets it.
It's Enjolras, illuminated by the light of the window. He looks like a fucking Greek God descended, all golden and glowing. Grantaire would usually appreciate this; his hands would itch for a sketchpad to draw it, or paintbrushes to capture it on canvas, but not right now. Not while there were fucking Dumbos in his head, not while every sound resonated and made his head vibrate, not while he looked pathetic lying down on his bed.
"I couldn't sleep." Enjolras confesses. "I didn't mean to be short with you last night, Grantaire, and I couldn't sleep without saying sorry."
"So you broke into my apartment just to apologize?"
"No, I was here since last night." He sounds nervous. "I just wanted to make sure you didn't choke on your own vomit or something."
"Oh."
There's an awkward silence after that. Grantaire risks opening his eyes, the pounding on his head becoming more bearable. Enjolras is still by the window, looking outside. The light falls on his features perfectly, making him look softer and golden and beautiful.
It's unfair.
No one should be allowed to be that pretty.
Grantaire wants to sue God.
(Except he doesn't want to, not really.)
"So, what's up, Apollo?" Grantaire asks, sitting up from his bed. His hands reach out for his phone on his night table. "Save any lives recently?"
"Stop with the superhero jokes, Grantaire." Enjolras answers, exasperated yet amused.
"I wasn't joking," Grantaire says, "but, okay."
Enjolras turns to look at him, a slightly fond look on his face. He opens his mouth to say something.
Then someone's phone rings.
Grantaire winces, it's still too loud for his head. Enjolras pulls out his phone from his pocket and frowns at it.
"I actually have to go now," Enjolras says. "Will you be fine?"
"Always am." Grantaire answers. Enjolras shoots him a smile and quickly exits the room. A bit later, Grantaire can hear the front door slamming.
He sighs, and reaches for his own phone. He's got a few texts, which all come from Courfeyrac.
From Courf:
dude I've got an idea
From Courf:
A really brilliant idea
From Courf:
like a really really brilliant idea
From Courf:
i'm not even exaggerating
From Courf:
i think this'll work you'll find out who mystery superhero is then you can return his beanie and shit
From Courf:
you can fall in love too if you want it can be like spiderman
From Courf:
except you're already in love with enj
Grantaire snorts. Am not, he types. and u better make sure this idea is worth it.
The reply comes almost immediately.
Oh, denial. And yes, it really is.
---
Courfeyrac's brilliant idea is to make a symbol to flash in the sky.
Like in Batman.
Grantaire laughs so hard that he falls off his chair.
"When did my life turn into a comic book?" He asks, when he's regained his breath.
Courfeyrac shrugs. "Probably the day that superhero came into our city with the intention of saving lives." He leans forward. "Come on, R, let's make a symbol."
"Why did you think that was a brilliant idea?" Grantaire asks. "And besides, what do we put in it? What's his symbol?"
"Fuck you, that always works in comic books." Courfeyrac answers. "And we could just make it say 'Blondie', you know since he's blonde."
Grantaire hits him.
But he agrees because, what the hell. It might be fun.
---
They settle for a sign, instead.
A sign that says 'Blondie' and hangs outside Courfeyrac's window, because Grantaire had refused for that thing to be placed outside his window.
"Why are we friends?" Grantaire asks, when they're finished painting it.
"Shut up, you love me." Courfeyrac answers.
"Pretty sure I don't."
---
"So tell me, R," Jehan says, sliding into the seat next to him. "Why is there a sign that says 'Blondie' outside Courf's window?"
"Yes, why?" Bahorel asks from his other side.
Courfeyrac comes over and sits on Jehan's other side. He leans forward.
"We're trying to find that superhero dude from the news," He whispers conspirationally. "R here wants to meet him and have kinky sex with him."
"I do not," Grantaire answers vehemently.
"Yeah, yeah, I was just kidding." Courfeyrac waves a hand. "Besides, we all know who you really want to have kinky sex with." He waggles his eyebrows and shoots a pointed look at Enjolras, who's across the room on his laptop.
Jehan and Bahorel giggle like fucking schoolgirls. Grantaire flips Courfeyrac off.
He really hates his friends sometimes.
---
The sign goes down after two days, because of neighbors' complaints that they can no longer see the view, just the back of this really huge cloth.
Grantaire ends up with the cloth, on which he paints a huge mural of his friends in the cafe. It's not his preferred canvas, but it's a waste to otherwise burn it, and what else would you do with a really huge cloth?
---
The universe is really a huge bitch.
"Give me your wallet," a man says behind him, digging the barrel of a gun into his side.
Grantaire freezes. Fuck.
"Give me your fucking wallet, or I'll shoot." The man presses the barrel of the gun even more into Grantaire's side.
Grantaire places his hand into the pocket of his jeans, and slowly, extracts the wallet from his pocket.
He's about to throw it as far away from his as possible, and bolt (his wallet is mostly empty, anyway, save for a few pictures and a letter), when suddenly there's a groan and the gun is disappearing from his side.
He whirls around, in shock and catches sight of blonde hair, kicking the shit out of the man.
Wow.
His features are unrecognizable; he's apparently wearing a mask, but he's a good fighter. The man is no match for him.
They fight for a bit, until the man dives for the gun he'd dropped and lets loose a shot.
The bullet bounces off the walls and it grazes Grantaire's arm, cutting open a wound before burying itself on the wall.
Pain floods into Grantaire's system, and he bites his lip to keep from screaming at the shock of it. He watches, in awe, as the mystery superhero subdues the man, and knocks him unconscious. It's quiet for a few minutes.
"Are you alright?" The superhero finally asks, and Grantaire realizes he's being addressed.
He nods.
"You're bleeding," The superhero says, pointing to his arm. Grantaire looks down and sees that, yes, blood is indeed dripping down his arm and onto the floor.
"It just grazed me." He shrugs. "It's nothing big."
"You should still get it checked. I think it needs stitches." The superhero pauses. "Are you sure you're okay?"
"Yeah, I'm fine, seriously." Grantaire answers. "But, thanks."
The mystery man doesn't say anything at first, and Grantaire thinks that he wasn't heard, until the man says, "Be more careful when you walk home. Or, in fact, don't walk home at all."
The night air becomes pierced with the sound of sirens, and the mystery man gives him a nod and suddenly he's gone, leaving Grantaire with a police car and two police officers who ask him what happened.
Grantaire is never walking home again.
---
"Another crime prevented by the vigilante superhero, whom the police is now dubbing 'Blondie'...."
"The mystery superhero, called 'Blondie' by the members of the police force...."
"Blondie, the city's newest superhero..."
"Hey R, when the cops asked you what happened, you didn't by any chance accidentally call the superhero 'Blondie', did you?"
"....Oops."
---
"I'm walking you home." Enjolras declares flatly, when the meeting is adjourned and Grantaire stands up to go home.
Grantaire raises an eyebrow at him. "Oh, was this a first date?"
"Shut up." Enjolras says, and bodily pushes him out of the cafe.
"Seriously, did I not know tonight's meeting was a date? I didn't know you felt that way, Apollo," Grantaire says, stumbling and eventually walking down the road.
"Shut up."
"I must say, I'm flattered that you want me, really, I am. But I thought you were taken by your love for the people."
"Do you ever just shut up?" Enjolras asks, throwing his hands up and rounding on him.
"No."
"That explains a lot," Enjolras mutters.
Grantaire eyes him critically.
"What?" Enjolras asks, when the silence becomes too long.
"Do you want us to hold hands? Because honestly, I've got sweaty palms."
Enjolras huffs and rolls his eyes, and continues walking briskly down the street.
"Hey, this isn't very romantic!" Grantaire calls after him, scurrying. "I demand my money back!"
"You didn't pay for anything, Grantaire."
"The point still stands."
Enjolras doesn't say anything to that, just walks beside him. Above them the night sky is dark. There are no stars, no matter how much Grantaire wishes there'd be.
Enjolras is walking him home, at night. Some stars would've been nice.
Fucking light pollution.
A breeze blows, and Grantaire involuntarily shivers. Enjolras looks at him.
"You cold?" He asks. Grantaire shakes his head.
"Nah, it was just a breeze, it's fine."
Enjolras makes to remove his jacket.
"No, seriously, I'm not cold, Apollo. Really. Keep your clothes on, until we get to the apartment at least.
Enjolras rolls his eyes again, but the corners of his mouth twitch up in a smile. He keeps his jacket on, though.
"Why do you want to walk me home?" Grantaire asks, a few moments later.
"Because you can't seem to get yourself safely home without any incident."
"Hey!" Grantaire protests, and Enjolras laughs warmly.
They walk in silence then, enjoying each other's presence, until they reach Grantaire's flat.
"This is me," Grantaire says. "I'd invite you up, but I feel as if that's too forward for a first date."
"Good night, Grantaire."
"Unless you want to, I mean. I'm pretty sure you aren't a burglar and a serial killer."
"Shut up, and go up already."
"Come on, you leave me without a good night kiss? Do I at least get one? Chivalry really is dead."
Enjolras looks at him, expression fond, and Grantaire smiles at him innocently. Enjolras makes a noise and leans down and presses his lips to Grantaire's.
What.
The kiss is chaste, just a press of lips on another. It only lasts for a few moments, before Enjolras is pulling away, and regarding him with a look.
Grantaire's lips are tingling, and something warm is unfurling in his stomach. "Nope," he says hoarsely. "That still doesn't shut me up. But you're welcome to do it again."
Enjolras rolls his eyes, a small smile on his lips. "Good night, Grantaire."
He walks off and Grantaire watches his retreating form from his doorstep.
Enjolras has a really nice ass.
---
"I have another idea," Courfeyrac says, a week later. "This one's even more brilliant."
They're at Grantaire's, playing video games with Jehan and Bahorel.
Grantaire makes a sound, and continues pressing on the buttons of his controller.
"I was thinking about it while talking with Pontmercy."
Grantaire makes another sound. "Wait, you got the idea from Marius?"
"No," Courfeyrac answers. "I just got inspiration from Marius."
"Pontmercy is inspirational now. Huh." Bahorel says, from the end of the couch. "We should get him to deliver the speeches, instead of Enjolras."
Grantaire makes an involuntary sound of protest, and Jehan, Bahorel and Courfeyrac laugh.
"Looks like someone doesn't want that to happen," Jehan teases.
"It's not going to, don't worry, R. Marius would probably stammer through everything then faint." Courfeyrac says.
"Anyway, that's not the point," Grantaire says a bit desperately. "You said you had an idea?"
"Right, my brilliant idea. I was thinking, where do superheroes usually appear?"
"I don't know, in offices of big bad Mafia bosses?"
"No."
"In bars?" Bahorel asks.
"No," Courfeyrac answers. "Seriously guys? They appear in times of danger! A superhero comes swooping in when people are threatened! Right?"
Jehan makes an affirmative noise.
"So, I was thinking," Courfeyrac continues, "that if you want to meet him, we should just put you in danger."
"Okay," Grantaire says easily. And then, "Wait what?"
"I get it!" Jehan pipes up. "That's right! Superheroes appear in the most dire times of need, so we should put Grantaire in a life-threatening situation."
"No, we should not put Grantaire in anything," Grantaire protests.
"Not even in Enjolras' bed?" Bahorel asks. "Or in Enjolras himself?"
Grantaire picks up a pillow and throws it at him.
"Anyway," Courfeyrac says, "That's the only chance you'll have to meet your superhero again. He saved you those two times from danger, right?"
"Mmm."
"So to see Blondie again, you're going to have to put yourself in danger."
"That's so exciting!" Jehan squeals.
"No it's not," Grantaire glares at Jehan. "Also, how are you so good at this game? You just learned how to play it today."
Jehan shrugs innocently.
"But, isn't there a possibility that Grantaire will die?" Bahorel asks.
"Yes, Grantaire does not want to die." Grantaire says.
"There is, but I'm pretty sure Blondie will show up." Courfeyrac answers. "He's shown up twice now. He'll show up the third time. Trust."
Grantaire throws his controller down and tackles Courfeyrac, who knocks into Bahorel and Jehan. It then devolves into a pillow fight/wrestling game, and ends when Bahorel ends up on top of Courfeyrac, Grantaire and Jehan.
The video game is forgotten.
(But Jehan wins that one.)
---
Courfeyrac doesn't bring up the idea again, and Jehan and Bahorel assure him that it was just a joke, and that they would never actually put him in danger.
Blondie still shows up on the news, exposing corrupt dealings of government officials by stealing the needed files and giving it to the police, and Enjolras seems pleased.
"We have someone else fighting for equality," Enjolras says triumphantly, and launches into a tirade about who Blondie had exposed.
Enjolras still walks him home at night, and they talk (read: argue) about everything and anything. Grantaire feels a bit sad whenever they reach his apartment, because a huge part of him doesn't want these walks to end at all.
He wonders if Enjolras doesn't want the walks to end as well.
So one night, as they reach Grantaire's apartment, Grantaire turns to him.
"Hey, do you want to, maybe, go up? For coffee?"
Enjolras raises an eyebrow.
"I mean, I know it's late and all, but, I feel like that's the least I could do, you walking me home everytime..." He holds his breath, and releases it when Enjolras smiles and agrees to come up.
---
It starts with coffee, and an argument.
They continue exactly where they left off, arguing about equality and philosophy and rights of man. It's comfortable and civil, but soon the coffee is finished and their debate has turned heated.
Enjolras makes a speech, espousing Robespierre and Saint-Just and Locke, and he looks so gorgeous, face flushed, sweaty, with the top three buttons of his shirt unbuttoned.
Grantaire can't take it. He pulls Enjolras up from the chair, slams him into the wall and kisses him thoroughly.
Enjolras is frozen at first, but soon his mouth opens up and is moving against his, hands tangling into Grantaire's curls.
They kiss, hands roaming, until the need for oxygen becomes too much to bear and Grantaire pulls away.
They're both breathing heavily, Grantaire's hands on the wall beside Enjolras' head, Enjolras' hands tangled in Grantaire's hair.
"Sorry," Grantaire offers, in between panting breaths. He's hard. He's really hard. He'd been hard ever since Enjolras began his speech.
And by the looks of it, Enjolras is hard too.
But he's not that type of guy. He pulls away from Enjolras, with another apology on his lips.
Enjolras pulls him close and eats the apology right off his lips.
After that, there are no more words.
They end up on the bed, stark naked, with Grantaire on top of Enjolras, leaving marks on his neck, his shoulder, while Enjolras made needy sounds and scratched at Grantaire's back. Grantaire littered kisses wherever he could, on the junction between shoulder on neck, all the way down his chest.
They end up with their hands curled around the other's dick, mouths moving against each other, swallowing every sound the other made. Every moan, every whine, every groan that passed, everything is tasted.
They end up tired, spent, and asleep on Grantaire's bed, with Enjolras curled up on his chest, his blonde hair tickling Grantaire's nose.
But Grantaire wakes up alone.
---
Enjolras ignores him the next day.
He shows up, his neck covered in marks. Bahorel wolf-whistles, Courfeyrac catcalls, Combeferre raises an eyebrow, Jehan asks him who it was he took home.
Enjolras doesn't answer, doesn't even give any action to show that he's heard his friends inquiries.
They get on with business as usual, until it's time to go home. Enjolras doesn't even wait for Grantaire, doesn't walk Grantaire home, just puts on his jacket and leaves.
It makes Grantaire feel like shit.
---
This goes on for a week, at most, with Enjolras refusing to acknowledge his existence. Grantaire finally snaps.
Grantaire grabs his arm on his way out from the cafe, and pulls him around the corner.
"So, Apollo," he drawls. "What the fuck is up with you?"
Enjolras blinks at him, his face emotionless. His hands, however are fists at his sides.
(Yes, Grantaire noticed. Grantaire notices everything about Enjolras.)
"Nothing," Enjolras says. He tries to shoulder past Grantaire, but Grantaire still has his arm in a vice-like grip.
"Let go of me," he says, trying to shake his arm off. His eyes are angry, boring into Grantaire's.
Grantaire tightens his fingers. "If nothing is up, why have you been pretending I don't exist for the past week?"
Enjolras doesn't respond, just continues to try to shake his arm off.
"Was it because we fucked?" Grantaire asks viciously. "Is it because the great Apollo stooped to so low, to deign to fuck someone so beneath him?"
Grantaire can see Enjolras get angrier, but he can't stop, not right now.
Besides, he never shuts up.
"Were you embarrassed to have fucked me, a drunkard? Did I soil you? Are you ashamed that you got dirty, with me nonetheless?"
"It was a mistake." Enjolras says coldly, before Grantaire can continue on his tirade. Grantaire freezes in shock and Enjolras shakes his grip off and steps back.
"You were a mistake, Grantaire. I should never have done that, especially with you."
Especially with you. The words hit Grantaire so hard that he flinches and reels back.
"Is that all I was then? A distraction? A release? A fuck-once-then-throw-away guy?" He laughs bitterly. "You should've made it clear from the start, then. You should have told me that I was toy for you, to be used and disposed of when you wanted. Because Jesus Christ, I honestly thought you wanted me. I honestly thought you liked me as a friend, if not as a person."
Enjolras says nothing.
"Because surely you should've noticed. Everyone in our little group of friends noticed, even Marius. Did you notice? Did you notice how I followed you around like a fucking lapdog, happy for any attention you could give me? Did you, or were you too busy pretending I wasn't there? Do you even know why I stayed, even if I don't believe in any of your fucking stupid ideals?"
Enjolras keeps quiet, and Grantaire wants to shake him, to punch him, to kiss him, to kill him, just for him to fucking say something.
"It's because I'm in love with you."
It's the first time he's ever said it seriously; the first time he's ever admitted it out loud without it being a joke. They fly out of his mouth and are released into the night air, each syllable a soundwave that reverberates and bounces off walls and trash cans and buildings.
Grantaire watches as Enjolras' face changes, from angry to shocked to understanding.
God, Grantaire fucking hates Enjolras.
"Grantaire..." Enjolras says, and Grantaire waves him off.
"Fuck you, Enjolras." He spits out. "You're a fucking asshole."
He turns around and leaves Enjolras standing there, frozen. He viciously wishes that a car would run over him, right now, but the universe is really a bitch because a) there are no cars around and b) Blondie would probably save him.
Fucking Blondie. Fucking Enjolras. Fucking universe. Fucking life.
He needs a drink.
(At least his liquor cabinet is always going to be there for him.)
---
He gets drunk and paints Enjolras on canvas, sketches him on paper, places him on any medium he can think of. He draws him happy, sad, angry, frustrated; expressions that he can remember from the top of his mind.
He burns them afterward, and he watches the smoke curl up from his fire, and there's something he could say about air pollution and not being very environmentally friendly but he's too drunk to think of it, and besides environment reminds him of Enjolras and then he'll want to burn himself as well.
He passes out sooner or later, hand still on a bottle.
---
"Enjolras is a dick," Courfeyrac says to him the next afternoon.
They're seated in Grantaire's apartment, surrounded by alcohol. It's too early to drink, but Grantaire needs it badly. He's pretty sure everyone knows by now, because he'd apparently drunk called Bossuet the night before and told him everything, who then told Joly, who then told Combeferre, who then told Courfeyrac, who then told everybody.
"Even Combeferre said so, but not like that. He said it in a very Combeferre-ian fashion." Courfeyrac says, picking up his beer bottle and taking a drink.
"Wonder how Enjolras is feeling right now," Grantaire mumbles to his bottle. "Like shit I hope."
"I think Combeferre's giving him shit." Courfeyrac says, and Grantaire smiles bitterly. "But, you know, with Combeferre it's not shit, it's more of telling him where he went wrong and advising him on how to fix it."
"Good enough." Grantaire shrugs.
Courfeyrac shrugs and turns on the TV. He flicks through the channels, passing reruns of shows and educational channels (At one point, he'd wanted to watch Keeping Up With the Kardashians. Grantaire had put his foot down.). In the end, he settles for the news.
"Ew." Grantaire says. Courfeyrac opens his mouth to make a remark, when the TV interrupts with a segment about Blondie.
Courfeyrac turns to him smugly, but Grantaire doesn't notice because he's having an idea.
A very crazy idea.
And given his current state, he's more than willing to follow it through.
"Hey Courf, remember that time you discussed putting me in danger just so I could meet Blondie?"
"Yeah?"
"I'd like to do it now."
---
And that is how he ends up on the rooftop of his building, standing on the edge.
Courfeyrac had begged him not to do it, had told him it was a joke, but Grantaire refused to listen.
He can be just as stubborn as Enjolras, sometimes.
(Also, he locked Courfeyrac in the bathroom so Courfeyrac couldn't interfere.)
He's still trying to gather his courage, because Jesus Christ, that's high, when his phone rings.
He answers it without even looking at the screen. "Hello?"
"What. Are. You. Doing." It's Enjolras, voice clearly angry.
"Nice to talk to you too, Apollo." Grantaire answers haughtily. He pauses. "What do you think I'm doing?"
"I don't know, but Courfeyrac called me in hysterics. He says he's locked in your bathroom and that you're about to do something really stupid. So what are you doing?"
"Something really stupid," Grantaire answers.
Enjolras makes a sound. "Don't play games with me, Grantaire."
"I'm not. And besides, you played the game, not me." Grantaire answers, and he knows he's being petty, but he's still very angry at Enjolras.
"Grantaire..." Enjolras sighs.
"Don't bother explaining yourself, Apollo. I understand. Really, I do. So if you'll excuse me, a really stupid thing is needing my attention right now." He hangs up as Enjolras tries to explain himself, and places his phone on the ground.
Well, if he lives, at least he doesn't have to buy a new phone.
Grantaire wonders what Enjolras thinks, what Enjolras is thinking, and whether he would care if he died. Probably not, judging by what he'd seen yesterday.
But there is a part of Grantaire that wishes that he would.
He takes one last drink of his bottle, sets it down, closes his eyes and jumps off the building.
---
"You are such an idiot. I mean, Jesus, do you even think?!"
Grantaire opens his eyes. He's standing on the sidewalk, his feet solidly planted on the ground, and Enjolras is angrily admonishing him.
"I mean, in what world is it perfectly sane to jump off a building? My God, Grantaire, are you suicidal, because if you are, you really need help. I'd rather not see you die by your own hand." Enjolras is saying, but Grantaire' heart is still pounding, and his head is still spinning.
He's pretty sure he jumped. He's very fucking sure he stepped off the building and jumped. He could bet all his alcohol on it.
But he's standing in the middle of the street, and his feet are standing on the ground and the ground feels very real, and he can hear Enjolras talking.
Maybe he's a ghost. He reaches out and touches the first thing he can, which is Enjolras' arm.
Enjolras stops ranting and looks at him strangely, but he doesn't notice, because he's not doing that thing where his body parts phase through objects and Enjolras' arm is real and warm and so very solid beneath his fingertips.
And suddenly it clicks.
"Blondie," he breathes and Enjolras groans. "It's you."
"I hate that name," Enjolras says, but his lips are twitching up in amusement. His eyes though, are regarding Grantaire carefully.
"I asked you, if you had superpowers, that one time." Grantaire says, because he didn't miss it, Enjolras just kept managing to turn the conversation away from that topic and distracting him with other things. "I asked you."
"I didn't answer," Enjolras says. "And you asked me if I developed any superpowers lately, which the answer to is no, I didn't. I've had these since I was a kid."
Wow, technicalities are apparently important.
"So you're like, a what? An alien? Exposed to nuclear radiation? A mutant? Is Charles Xavier looking for you right now?" Grantaire asks and shit, his life is a comic book.
Enjolras smiles slightly. "I don't really know. All I know is I wanted to change the world and do some good, and I was given these...powers, and there."
"But you already do some good in the world," Grantaire says, because even if Enjolras wasn't a superhero, he'd organize petitions and hold rallies and just try to change the world like the beautiful, idealistic idiot that he is.
"But I wanted to do more." Enjolras says, and Grantaire should've expected that because, duh, it's Enjolras. "And I wasn't doing that much good. At least, I wasn't doing that much good to you, Grantaire."
"What?" Grantaire asks. He's confused now. Enjolras sighs.
"I've always treated you like shit and disdained you, and I apologize." Enjolras exhales. "Not only that, I shouldn't have called you a mistake, because you weren't a mistake, Grantaire."
Grantaire looks at him, and laughs bitterly. "Don't worry about it, Apollo," he says. "I don't need your pity. You don't have to feel something for me just because I am in love with you. I get it. The people has to come first, bla bla bla. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have to let Courfeyrac out of the bathroom."
Enjolras grabs his arm before he can actually make a move.
"Grantaire, I..." he says, unsure of himself. Grantaire has never seen Enjolras so unsure before. "....I am trying, goddammit. Why do you have to be so stubborn?"
He shakes his head. "Okay, I left that morning because I wasn't sure. I thought it was a simple one night stand, but when I woke up and saw you sleeping, I realized that I couldn't take it, if it were a simple one night stand to you. I was confused, Grantaire."
"And now?" Grantaire asks, hope creeping into his voice. Enjolras must've heard it, because he looks at Grantaire so earnestly, that it should physically hurt.
"I'm sure," Enjolras says. "I'm sure that I want this, whatever this is between us. I'm sure that I want you, I want to argue with you and have coffee with you and fuck you against the wall."
"The term you're looking for, Apollo," Grantaire drawls, "is 'relationship'."
Enjolras huffs, but his eyes are sparkling with humor. "Oh, I don't know. Isn't it too soon to use that word?"
"We were never straightforward to begin with." Grantaire waves a hand. "We were always loud and angry and messy and stubborn, and Jesus Christ, you're a superhero."
Enjolras opens his mouth to say something, but Grantaire covers it with his hand.
"We were never normal." Grantaire says, and Enjolras looks at him with those earnest eyes, that Grantaire could just die right then. "So, yes, the word is 'relationship', and yes, I'd love to have one with you."
He takes his hand off Enjolras' mouth, and prepares himself for the barrage of words that's sure about to come.
But it doesn't, because Enjolras is pulling him closer and fitting their lips together.
They're in the middle of the street, and people are probably staring, but Grantaire doesn't care. He wraps his arms around Enjolras' waist to pull him closer, and he relies on his lips to say everything that he can't find the words for.
And then anatomy dictates that they should breathe. Stupid. Because Grantaire would rather be kissing Enjolras than breathing.
Enjolras noses at his jaw, and Grantaire is suddenly finding it very hard to breathe.
"I still have your beanie," Grantaire says hoarsely. Enjolras hums. "You dropped it that time I was almost run over by a car."
Enjolras smiles against his skin. "You'll have plenty of time to return it to me later. Although, why you didn't recognize that it was mine, I'll never know."
Grantaire huffs. "Maybe because I was almost hit by a car? You know, you don't really think of who owns the beanie you found when you were just in a life-threatening situaton."
Enjolras laughs. "Touche."
Grantaire pulls away, and Enjolras makes a sound of protest.
"You're a superhero, right?" Grantaire smirks. "In the movies, the superhero always takes the girl somewhere special. So, come on, Apollo, take me somewhere."
Enjolras looks like he's about to protest, but then he shakes his head and pulls Grantaire into an alley. He tells Grantaire to close his eyes, and then suddenly, they're flying, above the buildings, above the skyscrapers, and into the clouds.
Grantaire laughs while tightly gripping onto Enjolras, and soon, they settle in between two clouds, with a breathtaking view of the city below them.
"You are so cliche," he tells Enjolras, still laughing.
And sure, Grantaire's life might've turned into a comic book, but he doesn't really care.
Because if he's being honest with himself, he actually likes comic books.
(And he actually likes the sight of Enjolras glowing, the light of the sun making his hair even more golden, white fluffy clouds at the background, making him look like an angel instead of a man. He'll be damned if you're going to take that away from him.)
"Oh yeah, Courfeyrac is still in my bathroom."
"He'll survive for a few hours."