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edith-writes · 4 years ago

Text

pumpkin promises

on ao3 here

word count: 1528

pairing(s): Enjolras/Grantaire

The funny thing about Halloween is that each year it seems to come about faster and faster.

At least, that’s the first thought that crosses Grantaire’s mind when he opens his front door at some ridiculous hour of the night to a rather flustered Enjolras. The second thought is that he looks really, really good in the red jumper he’s wearing.

Which leads him to his third thought, that it honestly would be better not to think at all.

Enjolras is still standing on the doorstep looking up at him because, evidently, he hasn’t invited him in yet- he’s only had the time to consider that Enjolras is there- not why, and really, he thinks faintly, he ought to invite him in.

“Do you want to come in?” he asks, then almost kicks himself- of course he does- and moving out the way he gestures a, notably, silent Enjolras through into the kitchen.

“Are you hungry?” Grantaire finally says, and when Enjolras nods he stands and moves to the cupboards, “We have bread and biscuits and some tea and orange juice?” He should really go to the shops. “Oh, and some…” he squints at the package, “some… Creme EggsTM, God knows how long they’ve been in there.”

He throws them down on the table before opening the packet and helping himself to one, allowing the noise of the tinfoil to fill the silence.

But really, there’s only so much he can take, so Grantaire opens his mouth to ask what’s wrong- because Enjolras still hasn’t spoken yet and is looking a little mournful when Enjolras himself answers the question before it can even be asked.

“Did you know Courf and Ferre were dating?” He asks, with all the manner of a slightly bedraggled kitten.

Grantaire just manages not to choke on his Creme EggTM, “I was-” he pauses a moment to regather himself, “I was aware in a way, it was, it was rather obvious? Wasn’t it?”

Enjolras stares at him like he’s from the moon, and then frowns slightly and shakes his head. “Not to me.”

And really, Grantaire thinks, he shouldn’t be allowed to look like that.

Enjolras is still looking at him, the resemblance between him and a lost kitten growing every moment, and, well, if Grantaire stares at him any longer he will cry, so, with great determination and strength of will, he stands.

“Shall we watch a film?” He asks, gesturing through to the other room, nodding absently, Enjolras follows. Dimly, somewhere in the slightly rational part of his brain, Grantaire knows he will regret this, but in the more prevalent part he recalls that Enjolras can’t stand horror films, so Parasite and The Shining are off the table, and well, it is Halloween, and he’ll be dammed if he’ll let them watch anything too cheesy.

He, for some reason, decides that Gremlins is the best choice and as he presses play he becomes aware that Enjolras is on the sofa beside him.

Not only that but Enjolras is really quite close.

Now, that in it self would not be such a problem if it wasn’t, well, Enjolras, for Grantaire’s vague crush on him is, for the most part, just that, vague.

But when he is really very close indeed, and when his hair is catching the light from the screen just so, the whole situation becomes a little less vague and a little more of a really quite pressing issue.

Of course, throughout Grantaire’s thought process, the film has progressed- as films tend to do- and Enjolras is now leaning on his shoulder.

Grantaire does not like the way this is making his heart skip.

Of course, thinking about the crush you harbour on someone when said someone is, literally and metaphorically, leaning on you is not ideal. But, he thinks belatedly, when has he ever done ideal?

It all started when he first saw Enjolras.

Him and Jehan had been walking through a park on a bright sunny day, and had stopped for a moment to listen to a speaker. They’d ended up staying for rather longer than intended, as the next speaker had a thick head of golden curls and a ringing clear voice, and Grantaire was struck still. They’d asked for information about the group and Jehan had teased Grantaire about it for days.

It was impossible to deny that the attraction was anything but purely physical at first, they were always at odds to begin with. But somewhere inbetween the jabs and angy glares a kind of rivalry they grew used to had formed.

Hurtful words turned into playful jokes and more than one conversation found shared interests and common hobbies. By that point Grantaire could safely say that his feelings were past purely physical.

It took a particularly nasty demonstration for Grantaire to realise just what he felt. The panic and relief seeing Enjolras safe and unharmed confirmed his worst fears. What he felt was most definitely, if not love, then something very close.

Of course, being a rational man, Grantaire was under no illusions as to the possibility of his affections being returned, and decided right then and there that he would not let this get in the way of their friendship.

As nearly every other ami paired (or in the case of Joly, Bossuet and Musichetta: tripled) off, Grantaire’s affections only grew, until at last it had all come to a head.

Grantaire hopes that perhaps his feelings towards Enjolras aren’t to obvious, but the many knowing glances he receives from friends almost constantly suggest otherwise.

Although, Enjolras hadn’t cottoned onto the fact that Courfeyrac and Combeferre were dating, so perhaps this obliviousness may counteract his own obviousness.

It must be quite distressing, he reflects finally, to be a third of a trio only to find out the other two have paired off without you. So he supposes he can understand the odd way Enjolras has been behaving around them recently. It must be an very strange time for him.

All of which leads him to the very important question: Why did Enjolras visit him?

A valid question, and one he may have had time to ponder if the film had not just ended.

As the credits fade to black Enjolras shuffles closer, sighing slightly into Grantaire’s chest, and Grantaire simply stares in the half light coming from the kitchen.

“Enjolras?” he says, fool, he thinks, but the damage is done. He hums and looks sleeply up at him, “why did you come here?”

A small frown forms between Enjolras’s eyebrows. “I- I’m not sure I follow?”

“Why did you come here of all places? I mean, after the whole thing with Courf and Ferre? You could have gone to anyone else’s.”

“It’s Halloween,” he says, “Everyone else was either out or busy.” He mumbles something else, and Grantaire’s curiosity wins out before he can fall back onto the ‘last choice’ narrative.

“What was that?”

“I said,” and Grantaire swears he sees a blush, “I would have come here anyway.” Enjolras suddenly finds the pattern of his shirt very interesting, “you always make me feel safe.”

Oh. Grantaire thinks faintly, well. And then he’s bending down hesitantly, and Enjolras is closing his eyes and they meet somewhere in the middle. It’s soft and sweet and dimly Grantaire knows it’s better than he ever dreamt of, but it’s over too soon.

Enjolras’s eyes are still closed and his breathing is light but shaky. His face is flushed but he’s smiling softly. He sighs before falling back onto the sofa laughing.

“Oh my god,” he says, still laughing, “Jesus Christ, I’ve been wanting to do that for ages.”

His eyes are still closed, and when Grantaire leans down to kiss him again his nose wrinkles slightly at the feel of his hair brushing it, and his hands grab at the front of Grantaire’s shirt.

The kiss last a little longer and when they come up for air he laughs again, Grantaire thinks it might be the loveliest sound he’s ever heard.

“What?” he smiles.

“I was just thinking about how different tonight may have been- if I hadn’t realised, or hadn’t reacted quite so dramatically to Courf and Ferre’s news, or gone out with the others instead of coming here�� I imagine I would just be tipsy and a little sad.” He grins, “but now, we can get tipsy and very happy.”

Grantaire laughs at him and counts the freckles on his nose before leans down again.

“You,” says Enjolras when they break apart for a thrid time, “are kind and funny and beautiful.”

“And you,” says Grantaire, sounding only a little breathless, “are smart and good and perfect.”

“Not perfect.” Enjolras says quietly.

“Practically.”

He grins up at him, hands still curled in Grantaire’s shirt front, “Mary Poppins.” He says, then giggles. Honest to god giggles.

Grantaire smiles and leans down to kiss him before beginning to chuckle quietly, “What?” Enjolras asks from somewhere below him.

“What are Courf and Ferre going to say about this?” Grantaire asks.

“Well,” Enjolras holds his gaze steady with his own blue one. “Lets hope they don’t run away to.”

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