Here it is! The first chapter of The Things You Don't Know! I know a lot of you have been waiting for this, and I'm really excited for it. I hope it's everything you expected.
Chapter One: You Don't Know How You Scare Me
Grantaire had missed this. Curled up with Éponine on the couch, watching one of their terrible movies and chatting lightly about nothing whatsoever, he was comfortable. They really hadn't had a bad movie night in forever, so Éponine had asked him about it a few days ago. They had been just so busy lately, what with finals, and work, and then classes starting up again.
Not to mention the Amis meetings that they had both started going to. Most clubs met once, maybe twice a week. But Enjolras seemed to demand the commitment to the cause that most college sports would demand. Meetings took place three to four times a week, and unofficial get-togethers and bar nights seemed to always take up the remaining days. Grantaire honestly couldn't tell if it was one of the joys of college, or just unhealthy codependence.
But whatever it was, it seemed the both of them had been swept up in it. Éponine less so, she had the Writing Center and occasional huge projects in her journalism to keep her from meetings and parties. No one seemed to begrudge her that, and almost everyone had days when classes just got in the way.
But not Grantaire. He wasn't a student, and his work ended after the dinner rush. He had found himself appearing at the Corinth for every meeting, memorizing their coffee preferences at the Musain after someone had just pulled an all-nighter, and even getting roped into parties in various dorms.
He still doesn't quite understand how it happened. He had found a steady drinking partner in Bahorel. He spent more lunch breaks than not hanging out with Joly and Bossuet. He saw Combeferre almost every morning, and chatted with him between customers before the philosophy major had to rush off to class. Feuilly had even offered to set up that heating system in his apartment for a discount price.
And Enjolras…
Ever since the political science major had gotten a hold of his number after that stupid rally, it seems like they haven't stopped texting. Most of it was some argument or another, from issues of gun control to messages in Disney movies, but none of it was as harsh and scathing as the first two arguments had been. Instead, they had simmered down to fiery debates. Even through texts, Grantaire could picture the blond's eyes flashing as he read his responses, fingers flying over his the keyboard to type a response.
And if he was accosted by the student leader the moment he walked into meetings with words like "So you're telling me that…" then he didn't mind at all. If it didn't make Grantaire flush with warmth, then he would almost find it funny the way Enjolras pounced, eager to continue the debate. His eyes always burned passionately but his lips were fitted into a slight smile, eager for the challenge. Grantaire always responded with his cool posture and wide smirk, ready with a sharp rebuttal. And if the rest of the Amis occasionally got lost in their back-and-forths, neither boy noticed, or paid much care.
To his surprise, Grantaire had grown used to having a group of people. He saw the contradiction; all his life apathy had been his goal. He'd rejected belief, and yet he couldn't help but let these friends into his heart. And after all, friendship was a type of conviction. Their acceptance became an insidious presence in his shields, and yet he found himself too intoxicated on happiness to care.
But for the moment, the texting had slowed to a bare minimum and the Amis were nowhere to be seen. It had been far too long since Éponine and he had just enjoyed a bad movie night together. Enjolras had a paper to write as well, so his phone only beeped with a text a small handful of times in the two hours.
Buried in the red couch, with The Room playing on his computer in the background, he and Éponine just chatted comfortably, occasionally pausing to yell out their favorite bits of dialogue.
"Aihm taierd, aihm wasted, ah love you dahrling!" They both yelled out the quote as the movie said it, getting that bizarre accent perfect.
"God, someone needs to pick apart and study Tommy Wiseau's brain," Grantaire laughs, and reaches for the bowl of popcorn on the floor in front of him. "Think we can get Joly to do it? For science?"
"Well, Cosette's field is closer. Maybe we should ask her."
Éponine had been making comments like this for the past month or so now, since before finals, and Grantaire still wasn't sure exactly what she meant. He had asked her several times if she wanted him to hate her on principle, but she still refused, insisting that she liked the blonde freshman.
"I dunno Ep, forcing her to undergo that? The things she'd see; she might never want to touch a man again."
"All the more reason."
Grantaire looked up at her; she was currently playing the big spoon in their odd sprawl on the couch and playing absentmindedly with his hair. Éponine looked down at him with an evil grin, raising an eyebrow playfully. That was the Éponine he knew. Awkwardly, she leaned over him to try to reach the popcorn. By the time her elbow started digging into his ribs, he shoved her back playfully.
"Just ask, woman!" he snapped jokingly and grabbed a large handful of popcorn. He reached behind his head to where he assumed her face was, and shoved food at her several times, enjoying her spluttering and trying to swat him away.
"We really shouldn't be eating the popcorn anyway," Éponine said as she wrangled the food from his grip and ignored the kernels disappearing into the cracks of the couch. "Not with that giant ass cake in our fridge."
"Oh God, don't remind me," he laughed.
He still couldn't pinpoint why he had done it a few weeks ago. Of course, he'd been drunk, but that wasn't really an excuse for him anymore. By this point he could practically think just as well drunk as he did sober. He had been wrapped up in a conversation with Jehan, Marius, Feuilly, and Enjolras, listening them talk about student tuition fees, when all of a sudden he'd felt himself sitting up and saying "Guys, can I tell you something?"
The three of them must have seen that he was serious, because they immediately dropped the topic and looked at him expectantly. Enjolras' face had been so neutral and curious, and altogether too open to be safe. He'd been internally panicking, wondering what the hell he was doing, and how could he pass this off as a joke.
But then, he'd stared back at them in shock as he said, "I'm gay."
Before that moment, he'd only come out twice in his life, and both of them had been very different circumstances. For starters, it had never been in a public place, at a long table where everyone could hear. As the words slipped out, he'd started to panic, trying to figure out ways to escape. Then he felt hands on his shoulders, and for a moment he was sure they were about to drag him to the ground and kick him until he couldn't breathe, couldn't see. But then he felt they were claps on the back, and he was surrounded by smiles and thanks for trusting them. Jehan had managed to get around the table to where he was sitting and launch at him in a hug, congratulating him.
Throughout it all, Enjolras just stared at him with an honest to God smile on his face, and offered a little nod.
It was a surreal experience, and Grantaire had spent the entire goddamn night floating. He had wondered if Joly was right about the air being thinner somehow, because he had felt light-headed and wonderfully at ease the entire night.
Two days later at the next official meeting, he had been assaulted by confetti the moment he stepped into the Corinth, then dragged by Courfeyrac to their usual booth where a 2ft x 1ft x 3in rectangle cake sat in the middle of the table. It was covered in vanilla frosting and rainbow sprinkles, and in bright green frosting the words "YOU'RE GAY!" were written across it.
"I baked it myself!" Courfeyrac had announced proudly. "With some help from Jehan, of course. Because Marius wouldn't help."
Grantaire had just laughed, drunk on an emotion he couldn't name, and cut into the cake. The moment the inside was revealed to him though, he turned back to the bouncy sophomore and smirked at him incredulously.
"Funfetti? You made it out of funfetti?" he asked.
"Well duh, funfetti is the gayest cake! And the tastiest!"
They still had more than 2/3 of that cake still sitting in its gigantic tupperware in their fridge, waiting to be eaten. Not because they hadn't been eating it, but because there was so goddamn much of it.
"You know what," Grantaire said, standing up from the couch and heading towards the fridge. "Too late, now I want cake."
"Are you sure?" Éponine called out over the back of the couch. "The popcorn's bad enough. Think of all the questions we'll have to answer if you get frosting on this couch."
"Yes, but think of all the responses we can come up with," Grantaire said with a smirk as he pulled out a plate and a fork.
"There's really only one logical one conclusion," she deadpanned back at him. "And seriously, we can never get rid of this couch. Shouldn't we protect it?"
Over his shoulder, he could hear the text tone on his phone go off, and waved for Éponine to throw it to him. Without a thought, she tossed it to him, and he caught it before going back to his cake.
"We do take care of our couch!" he protested lightly. "And there's always plenty of excuses, though we should probably branch away from the old we killed an Albino now that we're surrounded by social activists,"
He turned to the phone and saw a little sun symbol in the place of a name, indicating that Enjolras had sent it. He unlocked the phone with a swipe and pressed the button to get the phone to read the message to him while he cut himself a slice of cake.
As the phone spoke the message to him, Grantaire froze, veins turning to ice.
/. /
"Hey Ep, how do you feel about getting totally wasted tonight?" Grantaire called to her from the kitchen area, and she looked up from the computer to stare at him confused.
"Courf's not surprising everyone with another insane house party, is he? Just tell him we've already got plans."
"No, it's not Courf. I just really feel like getting completely drunk right now."
"No way," she whined, upset by what she was hearing. "It's crappy movie night. There's no alcohol for crappy movie night unless we have more people and a pre-established drinking game. You know that."
"Please Ep."
Hearing the soft mumbled plea coming from her best friend's mouth felt like a bucket of ice water. Suddenly, the past few months of adjusting to a friend group and a comfortable new routine had disappeared. For whatever reason, Grantaire was scared again, and her protective best friend mode kicked in again.
"What happened?" She stood up to face him, expression instantly concerned and angry.
"Ep…"
"Who texted, R? Do I need to kill someone?"
When he looked reluctant to answer, she jumped over the back of the couch and snatched the phone from his hands before he could protest. She had long since familiarized herself with his methods of avoiding words, and his little puns, so she immediately guessed that the sun symbol for a contact name meant Enjolras. She should have guessed as much. But as her eyes skimmed over the text the righteous anger died away, leaving her with a jittery roommate, and a confused pit in her stomach.
Then why don't you sit in on my Partisan Discourse class sometime? I imagine it'd be funny to watch you tear into the other students the way you tear through my beliefs.
"Is this it? You should do it. Maybe this is the equivalent of a date to him," she said, voice carefully light.
"Yeah, maybe," he replied, using that distracted tone of voice that he always used when blatantly lying to get out of something. He turned around towards the fridge, as if looking for something. Immediately, Éponine remembered the handle of vodka they still had in the fridge, and beat him there, putting her body in between Grantaire and the alcohol. Her anger was back, this time directed entirely at him. There were no secrets between them, and it was downright insulting to her to try the same shit he pulled with everyone else.
"Well, why not go?" she demanded harshly. "Don't think you can lie to me, of all people!"
"Éponine," he started to beg, but she wouldn't hear it.
"No! No booze, no hiding, no passing it off as nothing. Just stop overthinking everything and tell me what this is!"
"I can't enter that classroom!"
The ragged sob came out of left field, catching her off guard. She hadn't been expecting that, and didn't entirely know what to make of it. When she found herself stuck in unfamiliar territory with Grantaire, it was typically best to walk softly and appear as nonthreatening as possible. Slowly, she approached him and untangled the fork from his hands before leading him back towards the couch. The cake sat on the counter abandoned.
"Why not?"
"Somehow I've managed to trick everyone into forgetting that I don't actually go to college with them…"
"Feuilly's not a student." She cut him off, already worn down and tired of this conversation. No matter how many times she tried to talk to him about school, he refused to believe that he was anything less than the class retard, and wouldn't even hear her theory on why he had so much trouble. This was an old dance that she'd stopped dancing years ago.
"That was a fluke of paperwork. He's supposed to be a student; fuck, he will be a student," Grantaire shoots back instantly. "Somehow I've been mixed in with the rest of you, and there's this illusion that I somehow belong."
Her frustration boiled over, and she snapped. "If you'd stop isolating yourself for a second then maybe you'd realize that you fucking belong. They like you; they want you around."
Grantaire sprang up from the couch and threw his arms open in frustration. With just a small twitch of his hands, he gestured to himself, as if he was angry with her for not accepting his defeated statements as truth.
"They don't know me! I'm the alcoholic dropout who never would've graduated anyway. And the moment I step in that classroom, he'll see that too," Grantaire shouted back, voice cracking and giving way to something closer to sobs. "Whatever delusion he's been under that I'm worthy of being part of his precious Amis will immediately be cleared up once he sees me in that class. And then I'm back where I started."
"Where's that?" she asked, disbelievingly.
"Piss poor, friendless, drunk. The dirt beneath their feet."
"Oh come on R!" she said, exasperated. She didn't know how else to combat the self-pity besides this anymore. "You know them better than to think they'd blow you off like that."
"Remember Combeferre's shirt? Future waitstaff of America? He's terrified of winding up in my best possible job opportunity. I am their lowest of the low."
At that surprising moment of clear logic, she had to take pause.
"How much have you told Enjolras? About you, and us?" she asked suspiciously.
"Nothing, why?"
"This isn't about your job," she concluded, sizing him up. "This is about someone believing in you and you just being unable to handle that."
"Ep…" Grantaire started miserably, but she wouldn't let him finish. The pieces were coming together so clearly, and this was no longer an accusation directed towards him, but an epiphany that she just had to say out loud, otherwise she might forget.
"Enjolras is the first goddamn friend you've had in years, and you're fucking terrified of disappointing him."
Grantaire was staring down at her now, begging her with tear-filled eyes not to follow her thought to its natural conclusion. All she had to do was look at his utterly wrecked expression to see that she had hit the nail on the head, but she couldn't stop herself from saying it anyway.
"Like what happened with Christopher."
Time froze, and the moment that forbidden name passed through her lips, she'd realized what she'd done. All the years of healing and burying their past was ripped away and left Grantaire raw and helpless in front of her. Neither of them had uttered the name in three years. Not since before he'd appeared at her window that night.
"We're leaving. Pack your shit."
She'd only known subconsciously at the time that he meant to leave more than their town in the distance. He'd run from his parents, and their school, and Brandon Walters with all his little shits, but maybe more importantly than everything else, he was running away from Christopher.
Éponine opened her mouth to say something, fuck, say anything. But before she could even figure out what to say, Grantaire took the choice away from her. His expression grew unnervingly stony as he broke eye contact. And without saying a word, he turned and walked out of the apartment, closing the door behind him.