Grantaire opened the door, slouched against the doorframe and looked Enjolras over with a bored look in his eyes. He looked very tired - hungover, Enjolras would imagine. He was wearing sweatpants and not much else. His mastectomy scars - Enjolras felt a pang of jealousy - were somewhat obscured by his wild hair, but most of his tummy trail was uncovered; Enjolras had to pull his eyes away. Between his fingers hung a cigarette, which he slowly moved to his lips while what had to be Polish music crept out of his door along with a faint smell of beer and cheap vodka.
"What do you want?" he asked and Enjolras started a bit, having forgotten himself for a moment as he took it all in.
"I... need your help," he admitted. Grantaire stared at him for a long moment and took a drag of his cigarette before standing up properly.
"Well, well," he said as he turned around and walked back into his apartment, leaving the door open for Enjolras "What can I, of all people, possibly help our brave leader with…?"
Enjolras had never been in Grantaire's apartment before. In some ways it was exactly as he had imagined it; small, very messy and full of alcohol. On the other hand though... A giant bookshelf filled up almost an entire wall, and on every other wall hung different types of artwork. A few were silly collages, one entirely with memes - or so Enjolras assumed, he wasn't familiar with all the images - and another a vaporwave one featuring Joly's distinct, blockish writing style. The walls were filled with traditional art too, such as works by Claude Monet, Pablo Picasso and Frida Kahlo, as well as artwork Enjolras didn't recognise. He did recognise a poster hanging opposite the bookshelf though; it was one Feuilly had designed for a protest. Grantaire also had a copy of La trahison des images because of course he did.
"Well?" Grantaire prompted, but just when he did, Enjolras noticed the paint and the small canvas spread out on the table behind Grantaire.
He must have stared a bit too obviously, because Grantaire rolled his eyes, moved out of the way and made an exaggerated motion for Enjolras to look at the painting.
The painting was mostly in dark tones, ranging from greenish-grey to a dark muddied purple. It was clearly unfinished, as there were still spots where the white of the canvas could be seen, and yet Enjolras could tell what it was meant to depict. It was a street at night, a few strokes indicating where Grantaire was going to paint people sitting against the wall. There was something definitely bleak about it and Enjolras wondered if this was meant to be somewhere in particular; somewhere Grantaire frequented, perhaps.
"Thought I should bring out the oils for once," Grantaire said with a shrug and took another drag of his cigarette.
"Joly did mention that you're an artist," Enjolras said.
Grantaire was shaking his head, a grimace coming over his face as he did so.
"I used to be a student," he said tiredly. "I've never been an artist."
Enjolras looked up at him. Grantaire wouldn't look at him, he just kept smoking as if he hadn't noticed Enjolras' look. For a long moment the only sound in the apartment was that of Grantaire's music.
"...you didn't come here to discuss my painting," Grantaire finally said with a small, defeated sigh. "What did you need me for?"
"Well, you know about the strike…" Enjolras tone was a bit more questioning than he'd intended it to be and Grantaire rolled his eyes.
"You've talked about it three meetings in a row; I don't pay a lot of attention, but even I have managed to catch on."
Enjolras just nodded; he didn't think pointing out that he hadn't meant to imply otherwise would help much.
"I need someone to help me with an awareness campaign," Enjolras said. "I was hoping you might help me."
"Me?"
"Everyone else is really busy; 'tis the season' and all."
Grantaire finally put out his cigarette. Enjolras wondered if he was merely doing it to put off answering him for a while, but he had no idea if that was the case. He'd never been very good at reading people one-on-one. Not allistics, anyway. Combeferre had always been a bit easier.
"Last I checked, Jehan, Bossuet and Combeferre didn't celebrate Christmas, either." He still sounded… bored or... just tired, maybe. "And you did."
Enjolras snorted.
"I haven't celebrated since I was… since I last saw my parents, 5 years ago."
"I distinctly remember you and Courfeyrac exchanging gifts last year."
"We always have," Enjolras said.
Courfeyrac and Combeferre were his oldest friends, and Enjolras and Courfeyrac had indeed been exchanging gifts for over a decade. Neither had ever done so with Combeferre; Courfeyrac had asked him, once, if he wanted to, just for the fun of it, but Combeferre had declined. That was still how it was categorised in Enjolras' mind, though; something done for the fun of it.
"Counts as celebrating in my mind," Grantaire said and shrugged. He didn't actually seem to care much either way; Enjolras thought that he was probably just arguing for the sake of arguing, as he often did it. Though without alcohol in his system to urge him along, and in this tired, decidedly non-rowdy mood, it seemed more than a bit half-hearted.
"That wasn't the point, I…"
Enjolras struggled to gather his thoughts after the divergence in conversation.
"Jehan is leaving for a trip to Prague soon, Bossuet and Musichetta are visiting Joly's family and Combeferre is under a lot of pressure with his studies right now. As for Feuilly… well, when was the last time you saw him have this kind of free time?"
"Fair point," Grantaire said with a nod. He was tapping two fingers against his leg in what Enjolras recognised as a stim. "'This kind of time'? What exactly do you need me for? You know I have no passion for these things."
Enjolras knew that all too well.
"I'll try to lean on you as little as possible," he said. "I just… We need to keep the pressure up during the holidays, we can't let it die now, or the strike will fail; we can't let that happen."
Enjolras only realised what voice he'd slipped into, and who it was he was trying to rally, when Grantaire's look went from disinterested to… something else. Something warmer, though it was not warm like the burning fire of Enjolras' passion; it was softer. It was gone almost as soon as Enjolras noticed it.
"Look, I wouldn't have bothered you with this if I had any other options," he said. He didn't realise his mistake till Grantaire clenched his hands and spoke in a tone dripping with venom:
"So I'm your last choice? Shocker."
Grantaire walked resolutely towards his front door. Enjolras followed him.
"Come on, you know that's not how I meant it," he said. He'd meant to sound apologetic, but he wasn't so sure he did.
"Yes, it is," Grantaire said as he opened the door and motioned for Enjolras to leave.
With no idea what else to do, Enjolras did so.
Grantaire was drunk. He often was, as anyone from friends to local police officers knew. He drank as a means for everything to be Less; he drank to escape…. he drank to be happy. He was self-aware enough to know so. Sometimes it didn't have the desired effect, however; sometimes he got as low as ever while drunk, and tonight was such a time.
It hadn't been in the beginning. He'd left his apartment not long after throwing Enjolras out. His goal hadn't been getting wasted, though he'd certainly been open to the possibility, and well, then he ended up in some bar only to stumble his way home around 3 am, sniffling quietly, and now here he was, sitting on his bedroom floor sobbing with a beer he didn't remember taking from his fridge.
Enjolras hated him. Surely, he must. He'd thrown Enjolras out. Lovely, passionate Enjolras, who was so much better than himself; who was damn near perfect. He shouldn't have.. he… he shouldn't have. He should have just done what Enjolras wanted; maybe then Enjolras wouldn't hate him. Maybe he'd even pay him attention, give him the odd compliment. On what, Grantaire didn't know, though; there wasn't much about Grantaire to compliment.
Enjolras had… he'd angered Grantaire. Grantaire couldn't help but hate him a little, just then, just as he confirmed how little he cared about Grantaire. Could he blame him, though? Could he blame anyone for not caring about him, useless, pathetic human that he was? Of course Enjolras hated him. Of course he preferred all the others to him. Who wouldn't?
But maybe….
Grantaire began searching hectically for his phone. Maybe this wasn't entirely unfixable. Maybe he could fix it. Maybe if he… if he just… Enjolras would still find him repulsive, but maybe he wouldn't outright hate him if Grantaire just did as he'd asked?
How foolish he'd been! Alone time with Enjolras! He should have said yes immediately. He should have said, "Yes, of course I'll help you, this work is so important"! Enjolras would have… liked that, right? That would have been.. right.. right for the situation. He should have…. but yes, fixing it… he had to…
Where in the world was his phone?
Grantaire wasn't sure how long it took before he found his phone, but it felt like forever. He'd accidentally left it in the fridge; he must have done it when he got that beer.
He tapped clumsily at the touch screen, managing to get to messenger after a few mistakes. He stared at the screen a bit, squinting his eyes as he tried making sure his message to Enjolras was readable:
sorrt. ill do iit. whee?
Eh. Close enough.
...Grantaire felt utterly and completely pathetic.
He laid down on his bed and hated himself until sleep granted him peace.
There were lots of people on the street as Enjolras and Combeferre walked down it, but not enough that it seemed hectic to Enjolras. Combeferre seemed at ease with his surroundings, too, as made evident by how he was walking and reading at the same time. Enjolras couldn't tell what book it was and he didn't even feel qualified to guess; Combeferre read a lot.
"I fell over this part about ciphers yesterday," Combeferre told him while pointing to a section of the book. "It's really fascinating, wish I had time to read up on it right now, but with exams and everything…"
He shook his head with a slight grimace.
"You can tell me about it on the way, if you want," Enjolras said. "Might help clear your head of it a bit so you can focus on your exams."
Combeferre gave him a lopsided smile.
"Or it might just make me more excited," he said. "But I really do want to talk about it, so if you don't mind…"
"I don't," Enjolras confirmed and Combeferre excitedly began infodumping as they made their way down the street. Enjolras was going to a café to meet up with Grantaire and Combeferre was headed to meet up with a study group. They lived relatively close to each other, and they often met up for no particular reason other than that the other felt like home to them. As Combeferre talked, Enjolras listened intently - although passersby might have thought he wasn't listening at all, as he wasn't looking at Combeferre - as Combeferre told him about different methods and uses of encryption. He was very smart, Combeferre, but his thirst for and enthusiasm about knowledge was really what made him so admirable, Enjolras thought; he and Feuilly really were quite similar, weren't they?
"So you see, in the ancient world, if you wanted to make sure people couldn't…"
Combeferre trailed off.
"Oh, wait, I'm going the other way here!" He said.
Enjolras looked around them and realised he'd forgotten to take notice of their surroundings, too.
"You'll have to tell me more about it later," Enjolras grinned and Combeferre gave him a quick hug.
"With pleasure!" he said and then hurried along.
Enjolras looked at the time and realised that, though he wasn't late yet, he might well soon be if he didn't hurry a bit, too, so he walked with intense steps the last few dozen meters to the café.
Grantaire was drinking a large cup of coffee when Enjolras arrived, and he looked like he needed it. He looked as, if not more, tired than the day before; Enjolras was glad he'd waited to meet up with him till the afternoon.
Enjolras waved at him with a small smile as he went to order his own coffee. The café was blessedly half empty, so there was no queue, and Enjolras didn't have to wait long at all till he could get down to business. Well, apart from…
Enjolras sat down across from Grantaire and hesitated for a moment.
"I'm sorry if I… " he began but Grantaire shook his head.
"Don't worry about it," he said. "I overreacted; I do that."
Grantaire was staring down at his coffee. Enjolras didn't enjoy eye contact, so he wouldn't have minded if it wasn't for the fact that Grantaire did seem a bit… defeated.
"Well, if you…" Enjolras tried again: "I'm still sorry."
He didn't know how to phrase what he thought he ought to get across; that Grantaire's feelings were valid. He hoped what he'd said would suffice.
Grantaire laughed a bit; quietly, humorlessly, without any boisterousness or mockery.
"Yeah, well…" He said in a tone of voice matching that of his laughter. "What do you need me to do?"
Enjolras leapt at the opportunity to use a well-developed script instead of treading water and began to explain how they were going to support the strike by raising awareness. There were posters with dates for an upcoming protest and the web address of the union's website to be hung up and similar fliers to be created and distributed. Grantaire was folding a napkin into a bird as he spoke of it. When he was done, Grantaire looked up at him.
"So… what are we doing today?" he asked.
Enjolras blinked at him. "Uhm, we're... hanging up some posters."
Grantaire nodded then looked at him again.
"You already told me, didn't you? Sorry; I've forgotten to pick up my meds."
"Meds?"
"ADHD," Grantaire said with a shrug. "I only bother with them half the time these days; school was hell before I got them though." Grantaire paused and made a face. "Well, school was hell all the way through, but, you know…"
Enjolras smiled awkwardly.
"So that's why you stim," he said.
"Probably." Grantaire shrugged. "For you it's Asperger's right?"
"Yeah. Though I usually just say autism."
To be honest, Enjolras sometimes felt a bit self-conscious about being diagnosed with Asperger's in particular; he was of the opinion that he'd probably gotten that particular one, rather than another on the spectrum, because he was a white-passing kid with rich parents.
"Don't you hate that thing when neurotypicals tell you the vaguest shit ever and then get mad at you when you get it wrong? Like explain what you mean then, geez!"
Enjolras laughed.
"God, yeah."
They both laughed a bit, and then they continued talking and laughing for a bit longer. Enjolras found he liked this Grantaire. Well, he never really disliked the man, but Grantaire was prone to frustrating him, whether by being intentionally annoying or by making Enjolras and the others worried. This afternoon, though, he was pleasant and fun and Enjolras thought he might just have seen the Grantaire that Joly and Lesgles had originally befriended all those years ago.
After drinking their coffee they took a stack of posters each and parted ways.
Grantaire is listening to this album watch?v=rdxRH2nyGD8&list=PLljJSbosDz8bbaJb_z99w7z5zXP6cRtj2
Here's a translation of one of the songs /en/nienawidz%C4%99-ci%C4%
This will update in two weeks time
