He is woken up by an annoyed yell.

'Grantaire, will you please stop hiding my underwear?'

He lets out a soft, almost childish yawn as he stretches his arms wide. He looks up only to find a half-naked young man fumbling for his clothes in the bedroom cupboard. Grantaire props himself up with his elbow, gazing amusedly at Enjolras's annoyed expression and the fine views of the aforementioned Law student's bottom.

'Ah, but you look so much better without them, my Apollo,' he answers cheekily, a smile spreading across his face.

Enjolras shakes his head. 'You're such a hopeless case, 'Taire.'

The other man simply places his hands on the back of his bushy black hair and chuckles. 'If you're Apollo, I'm Hyacintus.'

'More like Python at the moment,' counters Enjolras. He looks at the boy lying on the bed a few feet away from him and he can swear he has never seen anything more beautiful before. But, as always, he keeps the thought to himself and demands for his underwear to be returned yet again.

Grantaire grins, the cheeky look in his eyes never fading, and Enjolras has to tell himself to keep his face straight before saying, 'I'm serious, Grantaire.'

The other man winks an eye at him. 'I'm wild.'

Enjolras looks at the sober drunkard and suddenly sees in his eyes something he can't see in anyone else's. There is something emblazoned on his shiny blue iris and etched onto his black pupils that tell him – no, ask him – essentially, for love. A love, in fact, that Enjolras is willing to give him.

'Grantaire, give me the bloody underwear – '

But then Grantaire smiles with that beautiful smile of his and Enjolras can't take it any longer, and so he lunges beside him, his lips on the drunkard's as Grantaire, at first taken aback by the sudden gesture, pulls him closer and fixes him onto the bed.

His hand travels up and down Enjolras's back, sending shivers down the blond revolutionary's spine as he tugs onto the short blond curls on the back of his neck. Dimples form around Enjolras's lips, words of love are whispered – all under the utmost secrecy of their blankets. Something in the back of his mind tells Enjolras that he should be leaving now, but as he feels how Grantaire nibbles onto his lower lip, pressing his body against Enjolras's, he decides that the prospect of skipping his first lecture of the day is not quite that bad.

'Grantaire?' he asks as the other man starts pressing kisses to his neck.

'Hm?'

'Where's my underwear?'

Grantaire chuckles. He offers him one of his lopsided smiles, and Enjolras can't hold back a grin as the sober drunkard muses into his ear, 'I'll tell you later.'

And Enjolras doesn't say anything – he simply enjoys his lover's kisses, his caresses, his breath mixing with his own – for his lover and friend is all that he needs right now. Perhaps, Enjolras thinks, hiding Grantaire's socks would be a rightful revenge. But not today.

For now, Orestes smiles, and curiously enough Pylades smiles too.