Enjolras was sitting at his desk slowly driving himself insane with politics revision when he feels someone pressed against his back and a voice says in his ear, "I've got a surprise for you."
Enjolras stiffened, "Not now, Grantaire," He said to his boyfriend dismissively, looking for his International Politics textbook and growling in frustration when he couldn't find it, "How did you even get in?"
The artist shrugged, not that Enjolras could see from where he was frantically searching, "Combeferre let me in."
"Right, remind me to talk to him about that. I'm busy."
"Come on, Enjolras," Grantaire sighed, placing his hands on Enjolras' shoulders and beginning to rub methodically. Despite his initial protest, he quickly dropped his shoulders in submission and leaned into the artist's touch, "You've been revising solidly for two days straight, give yourself a break."
"Finals are in a week," Enjolras reminded him, "Not that you care."
"Hey!" Grantaire poked him hard in the shoulder, making the blonde wince, "It's not that I don't care, it's that I think there are more important things in life than killing yourself over exams. Like say... letting your boyfriend take you out on a surprise treat?"
"Not happening."
"Jesus christ you are impossible!" Grantaire said exasperatedly, "You haven't left this room in two days. You haven't showered or shaved and the only thing I've seen you eat are cup noodles. No matter how much you may not want it to be true, you are human. That means giving yourself a bloody break once in a while."
"You're the one who's always making me out to be some sort of God, Grantaire," Enjolras reminds him in a low voice, "It's not me who's got insane ideals about my own humanity."
"I am going to throw all of your notes into a fire if you don't have a shower and come out with me."
"Are you threatening me?" Enjolras frowned.
"Yes," The drunkard replied plainly, "Can you get out of this chair or is it surgically grafted to your arse?"
In response to this, Enjolras stands. So used to being in the same position for two days straight, his body screams in protest and all his joints click with a horrifyingly loud pop. Grantaire winces.
"That is not healthy," he said, shaking his head, "Go on, in the shower with you."
"Are you drunk?" Enjolras demands as he is pushed towards the door of his study, "I'm not going anywhere with you if you're drunk."
"You never go anywhere with me if I'm drunk," Grantaire reminds him, "I sobered up before I came over."
Enjolras frowned and checked the watch on his wrist, it was only 5:30pm. When exactly did Grantaire start drinking? In the past, he had been known to add whiskey to his coffee at breakfast, but the Amis had instated a rule - fearing for the artist's physical and mental wellbeing - that he was no longer allowed to drink before 6pm. Clearly he wasn't sticking to it.
But Enjolras was too drained and mentally exhausted to say anything, and besides - it was better than nothing. At least he had sobered up.
Enjolras let his boyfriend guide him slowly to the bathroom, not having the energy to fight him anymore.
"Are you actually going to come out with me?" Grantaire asked him when they reached the bathroom. His face lit up and Enjolras could see him trying to keep a smile off his lips.
Enjolras softened ever so slightly at the look on his boyfriend's face, "Fine, yes. I guess so."
Grantaire couldn't keep the smile from his face any longer and broke out into a dopey grin, "Get in the shower."
Enjolras replied, pressing his lips to Grantaire's in a silent sorry I'm such a dickhead all the time.
Grantaire was waiting on Enjolras' bed when Enjolras got out of the shower. He had changed out of his usual black-jeans-and-printed-tshirt garb and was now wearing a pair of form-fitting black trousers and a light blue shirt with the sleeves rolled messily up to his elbows. There was a thin black tie around his neck, and next to him on the bed was a black blazer.
Enjolras stood stunned in the doorway, watching his boyfriend as the latter tapped away on his phone. He had never seen Grantaire put any effort into his appearance what-so-ever, usually everyone had a hard time getting Grantaire to wash his hair.
It... was a definite improvement.
"Stop staring at me and get your glad rags on," Grantaire smirked, delighted with the way Enjolras' eyes were running up and down his frame appreciatively. As much as Grantaire liked his Apollo, it was nice when his boyfriend showed signs of having actual human hormones.
Enjolras blinked, startled. "Where did you get that from?" he asked, moving into the room and over to his dresser.
"The duds? Brought them over," Grantaire shrugged, continuing to tap away on his phone.
"You look... good," Enjolras complimented, somewhat uncomfortably. He wasn't great with compliments...
"Er... thanks." ...And Grantaire wasn't great at taking them.
The drunkard quickly forgot about his phone as Enjolras pulled off his towel and slipped on a pair of boxer-briefs.
Grantaire always had actual human hormones.
"I take it you want me to dress in similar attire to yours?"
"Please, dear."
Grantaire continued to watch as Enjolras dug a white shirt from his wardrobe and slipped into it. Next came the dark grey trousers which were so tight around his arse that there should be laws put in place to stop such nonsense.
If Enjolras put on the red tie (which Grantaire was certain was the bane of his life, as Enjolras refused to both wear it during sex or let him tie him up with it) Grantaire would be done. There would be no more outing, because he would have to take him then and there.
So of course, Enjolras decides to slip his red tie around his neck.
Grantaire made a noise of protest low in his throat and Enjolras whipped around, "What?" The blonde asked.
"I hate that tie so much," the artist whined.
"I know, that's why I'm wearing it."
"I hate you so much."
"No you don't, come on - let's go," Enjolras commanded, shrugging on a blazer but leaving it unbuttoned.
"I am the commander of this trip, stop being bossy," Grantaire rolled gracelessly off Enjolras' uncomfortable Ikea bed and slipped into his black dress shoes. He grabbed his blazer and stood up.
"I need to borrow your car but I'm driving."
"Nice joke," Enjolras said without a hint of humour, "There's no way you are ever driving my car."
"You don't know where we're going and we can't walk! I am a perfectly qualified driver. I only have six points on my license."
"I have no points on my license and there is no alcohol in my system."
"I'm older than you and I've had my license for longer, that's not a real argument. And I've sobered up."
"There is still alcohol in your system," Enjolras pointed out, "Not that there should be. We did have an agreement."
"Fine! You drive!" Grantaire snapped, "But if you don't listen to my instructions in the car exactly I will cry. Actual tears. And I know how uncomfortable that makes you."
Grantaire's threats got steadily more ridiculous and unrealistic as the two got in Enjolras' car and began to drive.
"Turn left. If you don't turn left I am going to raise hell."
"YOU TURNED RIGHT I SWEAR TO GOD I AM GOING TO PULL YOUR ENDOCRINE SYSTEM OUT OF YOUR BODY."
"I AM SO ANGRY WITH YOU RIGHT NOW I COULD EAT ALL OF YOUR TEXTBOOKS AND VOMIT THEM BACK AT YOU."
Eventually they made it. Grantaire was 99.9% certain he was having a stroke and Enjolras wished more and more with each parting moment that he had stayed at home with his textbooks.
"I hate you so much on Finals week, you always turn back into the Enjolras you were when we first met. I liked that Enjolras at the time, but now I realise how awful he was."
Enjolras chose to ignore this comment, though he couldn't help the little twinge in his chest that he got from Grantaire's words. He knew that he was a miserable git 99.9% of the time, but he didn't mean it...
"Ta-daa! We're here!"
They were stood outside a theatre, not one Enjolras had ever been to himself because he had never been a huge fan of stage productions (though he knew Grantaire absolutely was). Especially opera. He couldn't stand opera. It was complicated and over the top, never made sense, and the singing set his teeth on edge.
"W-what are we seeing?" Enjolras asked, somewhat scared for the answer.
"Carmen!"
Fucking hell.