When Enjolras came barging in the door that evening and proceeded to furiously pitch his satchel down the hallway with a bellow of rage, Grantaire knew that he was in for a long night. This prediction was confirmed as Enjolras stormed into the kitchen and knocked the mug of tea that Grantaire had held out for him to the ground. Grantaire was smart enough at this point to not reply, but to instead go find some paper towels to clean up the mess.

"The people," Enjolras fumed, pacing around the room, "are idiots! Every one of them. To think I devote my every waking hour to the amelioration of their pathetic existence. And for what? So they can chew me up and spit me out and laugh at my attempts. Laugh! As if I were the one making a fool of myself, and not those who pretend their lives are perfectly fine! The senselessness of the French!"

Grantaire felt an 'I told you so' rise up in his throat, which he barely managed to choke back down before it could burst through his lips. The last thing his lover needed right now is to be further humiliated. So instead, he busied himself making another mug of tea that he knew Enjolras would want once he had cooled down a bit. "Would you like to tell me about it?" Ventured Grantaire, even though he knew the territory he was entering was dangerous.

"They made a mockery of me." He snarled. His eyes were blazing with fury, his fists clenched. "I try so hard. They aren't smart enough to see how they're living as slaves, happy to live in ignorance and servitude to the government! Can't they see how they're destroying their humanity by submitting blindly? They were supposed to rise, Grantaire!"

Of course they didn't, the cynic replied silently.

"I'm shocked that they won't even lend their support."

I'm not.

"No matter." He sighed, "They will come around eventually-"

-no, they won't-

"And then we will have our revolution."

Of course Grantaire held his tongue through all of this. Should he speak his mind, he would warrant a swift punch to the jaw. Disagreeing with Enjolras was the absolute worst thing he could possibly do right now.

"Is there anything I can do?" Grantaire asked.

Suddenly, all the anger and passion and fury drained from the revolutionary's face, replaced with a look of defeat. "I'm sorry." He sat down at the table and put his head in his hands. Grantaire put the new, hot mug of tea in front of him. Although he couldn't bear to see his perfect Apollo suffering, he couldn't bring himself to mutter hopeful lies to him. Instead, he wordlessly kissed his curly blond hair, ragged from anxiously running his hands through it, and moved to rub his shoulders.

Enjolras in response drooped his head forward and closed his eyes. Grantaire's strong thumbs moved in slow, firm circles, working out the countless knots formed by hours of strain. He sighed in response to the touch. Working the muscles under his hands, Grantaire could express his love for the man without saying damaging things, which was precisely why the relationship was more physical than verbal, at least from the cynic's side. The leader let out a low hum of satisfaction when Grantaire found a particularly large knot and proceeded to press into it forcefully. His hands travelled up to the back of his neck, continuing to powerfully knead the skin beneath his hands. He then leaned forward so that his stomach and hips were pressed onto Enjolras's back.

Enjolras moaned in contentment as fingers made their way up his neck and into his hair, massaging his scalp. His head leaned forward even more as the muscles in his neck relaxed completely. The warm mug of tea was now directly in front of his face, and he smelled the calming aroma of warm chai. "You are wonderful, Grantaire," he murmured absentmindedly.

"I live only to please you," came his earnest reply.

And with that, his hands stopped making circles in his partner's scalp and his arms drew his head back so it was resting against his chest. They then settled in a protective embrace around the man in front of him, one arm coming around his shoulders and the other curling around his face to softly stroke his jaw.

"Next time, we will be successful." Enjolras calmly vowed, his eyes still closed.

"Please," Grantaire begged, "do not burden your mind with troubled thoughts. Relax."

"You seem uncharacteristically sober." He noted.

"Courfeyrac stole my ID so he could get into bars." Grantaire chuckled. Of course he wouldn't be without alcohol by his own doing.

Enjolras just smiled. "I prefer you sober."

"Which is why I'm only drunk 90% of the time." Grantaire said, a smile threatening his lips as well.

Instead of replying to Grantaire's quip, he turned his head so that his face was in the palm of his lover's hand. He kissed the heel of his thumb lightly. "I love you." He mouthed, lips still pressed against his hand.

Grantaire leaned forward and buried his face in the blond curls, planting kisses in a neat vertical row towards his forehead, then making their way down his hairline to his temple. "I love you, too." He whispered when his lips had reached his ear. A tiny wisp of the breath found its way into his ear, making him shiver. The larger man repositioned his body so that he could more comfortably kiss the area right behind his earlobe. "So much."

Enjolras was too wrapped up in his bliss to do anything but moan in happiness. And to think, not twenty minutes earlier he was on the verge of frenzied wrath. Grantaire had that effect on him: there was no middle-ground when it came to their interaction. There was only flaming passion, overwhelming anger, or, rarest of all, bliss. This was one of those blissful times.

The tea looked particularly inviting, so he reached forward and took a sip, smiling. "What would I do without you?"

"You would be just fine, albeit a bit overly optimistic. You need someone to keep you from flying too close to the sun. I can't let you get burned." He breathed. His tongue came out and left a trail behind where his ear met his head. Enjolras was letting out a small chuckle when this happened, which instantly morphed into a satisfied groan. "And yet," he continued, "I wouldn't have you any other way than the fiercely passionate soul you are." All these words came out between kisses to his ear and the side of his face.

"I thank God for you every day." He purred. Grantaire untangled himself and brought up a chair to sit next to him. Enjolras turned and put his head in Grantaire's lap, legs hanging off of the side of the chair. Grantaire ran his fingers through his blond locks. "Sing to me?"

Grantaire almost laughed. "You know I can't sing."

"I don't care."

So he started to sing, albeit out of tune and shaky:
"On dit qu'au delà des mers
Là-bas sous le ciel clair
Il existe une cité
Au séjour enchanté
Et sous les grands arbres noirs
Chaque soir
Vers elle s'en va tout mon espoir

J'ai deux amours
Mon pays et Paris
Par eux toujours
Mon coeur est ravi
Ma savane est belle
Mais à quoi bon le nier
Ce qui m'ensorcelle
C'est Paris, c'est Paris tout entier"

When he looked down, Enjolras was asleep, so he carried him to bed, not wanting to disturb his peaceful slumber.