'For fuck's sake,' Grantaire mumbles.
There should be law against production of book shelves taller than 170 centimeters, with a fine of $1 000. No, actually, a liftime sentence would cover it perfectly.
He would step on a lower shelf, but he doesn't dare to risk old wood breaking underneath his weight and the whole pile of dusty, heavy books falling on top of him. It's just not worth it.
Grantaire could ask Mr. Verjan to help him, a decant old man who would be happy to help a student in trouble, but it would be emvarrasing enough even without a group of students loudly arguing about social injustice of LGBT kids in high schools, slowly driffting to whether or not Obama is the right president of United States. Come on, people, we're in France. Don't we have problems on our own? Grantair talks to himself.
He sighs, takes a deep breath and tries to jump higher. He's so close, he can touch the spine, but his fingers slipped quickly. He jumps again.
''Uh … did you try standing on a chair?'' A very familiar voice says. Grantaire spent hours of Government class listening to the sound of that same voice passionatly talking about development of society and the state. Enjolras.
For fuck's sake.
''Do you think I'd be jumping here like a freakin' monkey if that was an option?'' Grantaire answers, little too rough, without looking at the person on his right. Not daring to look at, was a better description.
To be honest, he never thought of that, and it's stupid that it didn't occure to him to take a chair and jump on it like a five year old child just because his legs are too damn short for a person his age.
But if not smart, Grantaire is definetely stubborn and presistant, for how differently could he end up in a law school his parents choose for him with his past-self additude.
''There's plenty of chairs in here,'' says Enjolras with matter-of-fact tone, but Grantaire still doesn't look at him. It's rude, but it doesn't matter because he already embarresed himself, and there's no going back.
''Thank you Captain Obvious." Grantaire says through gritted teeth, it's an old-one, and worn out, but he had no other sarcastic comeback on his mind at the time. He stretched out his hand to the point it felt like it will fall off his shoulder.
''You're very welcome, Sergeant Smartass.'' For this he deserved to be glanced at. And as soon as Grantaire's eyes made contact, all he could think of was 'Ohh shit'. 'Ohh shit' indeed, he was cute, cuter than his usual president-asshole self. He just made a fool of himself in front of a cute Enjolras version.
''Is this fun for you?'' Grantaire finally snaps out of that awkward holy-shit silence.
Grantare didn't see his face, but he could hear that smirk, that god like smirk, on the face of a greek god –
''Do you need any help with that?" His hair is curly, and messy, and blond, and… everything Grantaire likes. It makes him want to curse all the pathetic verses of romaticism, because this person in front of him is destruction, and chaos inside a body of a man.
Oh shut up, R, you don't even know the guy yet.
''No,'' Grantaire answers, short and clear.
''Uh-huh.''
''No, seriously dude, do I look like I need any help?'' It comes out too harsh, because it's Grantaire, the asshole, now very frustraited asshole.
''Fine, I'll leave you to it then.'' Enjolras doesn't seem offended or anything, but he's gone in matter of seconds, dissapearing among the labyrinth of ernoumus bookshelves – why are they making them so big? – but he's back again… well, his head is peeking from behind a shelf. „Keep in mind that library is closing in fifteen minutes'' and with those words Enjolras is gone again. Grantaire couldn't be more glad to have his full attention on reaching Harper Lee.
This is stupid. He will litterally fail his literature exam because he couldn't reach a book. What an ironic piece of crap this universe is.
Grantaire sighs, turns around and closes his eyes.
How did he end up in here anyway? He doesn't belong here. If his parents are lawyers, that doesn't mean he has to be. 'Don't be a failure, Grantaire' his mom would say. 'Artists don't make much money, you'd be a better this way' his father would agree. After that Grantaire would go to Eponin's house, get drunk with her and come back home after the curfew just to get his parents angry, to make them give up on their failure son. Eventually, after making a scene few times, breaking some plates at important dinners or yelling at his mom for giving birth to an angry teenager, it was either this school or no home, no room, no parents. Just a street. Grantaire still prefered not getting drunk with homeless people, but guys his age. Preferably cute guys with dirty blond hair, beauty of a greek god and ma…
''I can't." he hears the same voice. ''It's so pathetic.'' When Grantaire opens his eyes, Enjolras is standing just next to him, his side brushin Grantaire's. He looks up to follow his motions, and with ease the boo kis down in his hands. Grantare looks at the cover blankly, then into his eyes, then the cover again.
''You damn tall bastard.'' Grantaire lets out without thinking.
''Oh, really? I can put it back if…'' The book is out of his hand again. Is he really doing this?
''That's just cruel, I thought you're supposed to be like… fighting for human rights or something?'' Oh no. No. No. Enjolras gives him a confused look. What if he figures out I have this crazy crush on him and he doesn't even know my nam-
''You called me 'tall bastard', I'm just trying out new ways of fighting injustice.'' Enjolras says, raising his brows.
''That's because tall people are bastards. And you're just proving my point by not giving me that book.'' Grantaire raises his eyebrows back at him, like it's a duel between rangers on Wild West.
It wasn't really a good point, but he was shocked it worked. Clearly Enjolras doesn't enjoy making people miserable … all the time.
''Fine, you're right.''
And when the boo kis finally in his hands, Grantaire can't actually believe it at first. He's never been so damn happy to hold a book before.
''It's actually very interesting,''
„Really!? Please don't tell me who killed the mockingbird!'' Grantaire interrupts him, clearly making fun of him, but according to Enjolras's expression, he didn't take it as a joke. It might seem he looked offended. ''Dude, no worries, I read it in like tenth grade?''
Such a torment for a book he already read, just to refresh his memory.
Weight fell off Enjolras' shoulders. ''Well, if you can't reach any other book, you know where to find me.'' He says awkwardly, pointing at the group of people still casually arguing on whatever issue is now on their list.
''I'd rather jump out of this window.'' Grantaire says under his breath, not expecting Enjolras to actually answer,
''I'd say a broken leg, maybe an arm too. But you'd survive the fall.''
''Gee, thanks, now I feel better.'' He says.
Behind Enjolras, the group of his friends looked like they're ready to leave, wishparing in their direction. Grantaire can bet how much these geeks are going to laugh at him after their friend tells him about what happened.
''I should,'' Enjolras states ''probably get going.''
''Yeah. Well, thanks.'' Grantaire answers, holding up the book.
And he really means it.