He'd only gone to the show in the first place because Courfeyrac had practically dragged him alone. An art show? Really? Enjolras, a young law student in Paris, could think of no worse time-waster. But on that night, Enjolras got a little more than just the art, a little more than he bargained for when he met the artist behind it all, Grantaire. Unable to hide his feelings for the drunken, penniless painter, a relationship between the two blossoms under the shining lights of Paris. They could not have been more different. Enjolras was a law student, handsome, clever, wealthy, rigid, a man with a plan, a man who thought he knew where he was going, until he met Grantaire. Grantaire was drunk most nights, paint splattered, imaginative, a man alive, a man who thought he knew exactly who he was, until he met Enjolras. How could it possibly last?
But when the two men were together they didn't have to ask themselves that question. They just knew. The world was something different, something better. Grantaire had never had someone not yell at him when he was up at 3 in the morning trying to mix the perfect shade of blue, and instead make him tea. Enjolras had never met someone who dragged him to the top of the Sacré Coeur every first Sunday of the month just to watch the sun rise. Their lives were as messy as the small flat they shared in downtown Paris, where Grantaire could walk to the bar every night for a laugh and a drink and Enjolras could metro to lectures, but it worked, somehow it worked. When the bin was overflowing with crumpled papers because Grantaire was trying to capture Enjolras' eyes perfectly and couldn't, the tired law student went out and bought him more paper in the dusk of Paris. When Enjolras was up until dawn trying to finish a paper for a cranky professor, Grantaire wasn't out drinking and partying, he was by Enjolras' side, quietly kissing him when he looked too stressed and painting until the sun came up. Their life was a good one, finally fulfilled.
Enjolras rolled over, still asleep in the early morning Saturday. Grantaire carefully shifted his position, trying not to wake him. It was best to draw him when he was asleep like this, when he looked so innocent and….damn it. Grantaire rubbed his forehead, trying to focus on the drawing, not the man. Men leave you. You can always draw and drink. Because men leave. Grantaire sighed in frustration and got off the bed. He put his sketchpad on the dresser and picked up his camera. He would have to try again later, but he just had to capture this moment to paint, it was too perfect. He positioned the camera, aimed it just right, so some of the early morning sunlight flitting through the curtains fell on the bed and clicked the picture. Perfect.
"Are you still taking stalker pictures of me in my sleep?" A half-awake voice came from the bed. Grantaire smiled and put down the camera.
"It's for the purpose of art."
"You say that about everything," Enjolras muttered into his pillow.
"Well just about everything is."
"So you getting drunk last night, that was art?" Even though Grantaire couldn't see his face, he could hear the smile in Enjolras' voice.
"No," Grantaire said, with the air of explaining something to a child. "That was for scientific purposes."
Enjolras rolled over and now Grantaire could see the cheeky smirk on that handsome, handsome face. "Science, you say?"
"Yep," Grantaire hopped onto the bed, shaking the frames and Enjolras groaned. "It was an experiment to see how you'd act if I got you drunk enough."
Enjolras groaned again and Grantaire laughed and lay down beside him. Enjolras tried to cover his face with a pillow but Grantaire tugged it off and put it behind his black curls.
"Don't you want to know the results, m'seiur?" Grantaire teased.
The blonde shook his head violently. "No, I don't, I probably acted like a fool!"
"Not really, you just danced around singing Edith Piaf a lot. Nothing bad."
"Good." Enjolras moved closer to Grantaire and put his arm around him. "I'm a crazy drunk, I've been told."
Grantaire laughed, hoping he didn't sound nervous. "You did say some crazy stuff."
"No, I didn't!"
"Yes you did, I was there!" Grantaire leaned into Enjolras, feeling their bodies mold perfectly together.
"It wasn't crazy," Enjolras said, his voice suddenly serious. "I know what I said, Taire, I remember. I said I loved you, that's not crazy. It's the truth."
Grantaire tried not to smile but couldn't stop himself. He felt something strange, something new bursting in from inside him, like fireworks across the night sky. He didn't just want to paint this man and get drunk with him. He wanted this. Waking up every morning to his face, waking up to laughter and jokes and Enjolras. He wanted everything they had, everything they could build. Just last night he'd realized that he'd never really wanted anything else.
But it wouldn't last. Just like everything else in Grantaire's life, it would fall apart and leave him burned and bruised, carrying the weight of the world on his shoulders again. Nothing lasted, and nothing stayed, nothing beautiful could remain. And Enjolras was definitely beautiful.
"You were drunk," Grantaire tried to reason with him. "You would have said anything, you-,"
"I love you! I love you, I love you, and I'm not drunk, Grantaire, I'm in my right mind, I know what I'm saying, and I know what I want. I don't care how you respond to this because dammit you need to know how I feel!"
Grantaire took a breath, his insides nearly shaking with something, an emotion he couldn't quite place. He over to see Enjolras staring at him, his blue eyes always so serious, so kind.
"I love you too." Grantaire said softly. "I do. I—I want this to last."
Staring into Enjolras' eyes, Grantaire finally put his finger on that emotion. That feeling.
It was happiness.