"What is it this time?" Courfeyrac asked as he dropped his coat and sat next to Jehan, wrapping an arm round his friend's shoulders. The poet hated raised voices of any kind, but especially Enjolras and Grantaire, as they were famous for the words of venom they could spit at each other in the heat of the moment.
"The usual," Combeferre said wearily, coming down and hanging Courfeyrac's coat by the door, a regular nightly routine by now. "The drinking, the smoking, the cynicism, the nihilism, work or lack of it, politics, beliefs, the self-destruction, money, who's a bigger prick, why do they bother, then back to the drinking again."
"How long?"
"Only ten minutes, but they were snapping at each other for about an hour beforehand, ever since Grantaire walked in with a beer."
"It's not like he was drunk," Jehan piped up. "It was his first drink in two days, Enjolras didn't need to make comments on how much he drank."
"Well he does drink too much," Combeferre pointed out, though inside he did agree with Jehan. As silence fell, the voices upstairs raised again and the trio listened as the words became audible.
"-if I became a useless drunken cynical bastard that'd be alright, would it? Just so long as I didn't believe in something which could change things for the better?"
"Your fucking revolution won't change anything! The world is not ready, people do not care! All it will do is get yourself and our friends either locked up or maybe even killed and it would all be your fucking fault!" Jehan dropped his head into his hands and Courfeyrac winced at the words. Moments later he winced again as he heard the loud thud and smash. So that's what it takes to make Enjolras lose it, he thought silenty, jumping up as he did so. Dragging Jehan with him, he grabbed the three coats off the hooks and threw them at their owners.
"Let's go out," he announced, linking arms with them both.
"Where?" Combeferre asked as he pulled away to shrug his coat on.
"Anywhere but here. Enjolras will now be feeling guilty, as he does, and Grantaire will either be reassuring him he's okay, goading him, or kissing him. Whichever it is, I give them ten minutes before they're screwing up there, and that's one thing I could do without hearing tonight."
"Musain?" Jehan suggested as Courfeyrac steered them out of the building.
"Done."
After a few drinks with their friends, Jehan started to calm down and relax. Leaving him babbling away with Joly and Feuilly, Courfeyrac made his way over to where Combeferre was sat, staring into space with his bottle held loosely in one hand.
"Cheer up, it may never happen," he said quietly, smiling at him as he blinked his way back into existance.
"I fear it will," he replied softly, taking another gulp of his beer. "It's worse this time." Courfeyrac didn't have to ask what he was talking about, just sighed and dropped into the seat opposite.
"They've fought before, and they'll fight again. They fight on a weekly basis, yet they're still in love with each other."
"Courf, Enjolras actually hit him-" Combeferre started, but Courfeyrac interrupted quickly.
"Yes, but he never has before. Well, maybe once, but that's years back, well before they were dating, and Grantaire did deserve it. Part of me feels he deserved this one too, though Enjolras should have kept his temper."
"I warned him this relationship was a bad idea," Combeferre sighed. "I warned him the day he first admitted to me that he thought he had feelings for him. I told him they weren't compatible, and he didn't listen."
"He wanted to be happy."
"Is arguing every bloody night for a fortnight happy?" Courfeyrac froze.
"...I thought they weren't arguing as much."
"They're not arguing as much while we're around to hear it. You forget though, I get home before you. There's always raised voices of some kind."
Courfeyrac let this sink in before replying, voice the quietest it had been in a while.
"If they break up, what do you think will happen to the group?" It was a valid point. Most of the group had either joined through knowing Grantaire and Courfeyrac, or Enjolras and Combeferre. If the pair turned against each other more than in the past, it could end badly for Les Amis de l'ABC.
"I don't think we'd have to find out," Combeferre muttered, running a hand through his hair. "I doubt they'd both be sticking around. I mean,Grantaire told him tonight to, ah, just go if he had such a problem with him."
Courfeyrac couldn't help but stare. "Wait a sec, are you saying Grantaire told Enjolras to fuck off? Wow. Yeah, this is bad." He paused for a moment. "If they stay together, the make-up sex must be fecking amazing." Combeferre blinked owlishly again, before letting a small smile crack through.
"Yeah," he agreed, standing to go buy them more drinks. "It'd have to be."
Sitting up and leaning back against the sofa, Enjolras drew his knees up to his chest and rested his chin there, looking down on his lover. Grantaire looked his most peaceful asleep, when he wasn't drinking or arguing or self-destructing or just looking so damn pessimistic that it was made Enjolras want to kiss the cynic until he accepted compliments without a word or at least smiled. Asleep though, most of his flaws ended. A faint smile was on his lips, his hair was sticking up in every direction (though Enjolras knew most of that was due to him running his hands through it desperately and holding him closer), and one arm was flopped out towards Enjolras, as if to draw him back into his embrace. And Enjolras had to admit, he was tempted.
His mind automatically went back to the argument. It wasn't exactly new that they were fighting so much, they'd been fighting ever since they met, but he couldn't stop his mind from replaying all the ways this night had been different. Grantaire may occasionally tell everyone to fuck off, especially when drunk, but always with an at least part-joking tone. It was the first time Enjolras had ever heard since sincerity and hate in the words, and it felt like they had broken something inside him. And he'd hit him. He'd actually hit him! Enjolras shuddered slightly at the memory. He loved Grantaire, he knew this for a fact, but when he'd mentioned how Enjolras would bear the guilt for ruining their friends lives and maybe even killing them, he'd seen red. Slowly, he reached out and brushed his fingers over the developing bruise. The guilt he felt at this was worse than any he'd ever felt before, and he knew it would continue to stab at him long after the black eye faded.
But Enjolras couldn't bring himself to voice even in his thoughts the thing that hurt the most, though his mind was constantly replaying it over and over. No matter what the circumstances or how bad the argument, one thing always remained constant. After the sex, Grantaire kissed him lightly and told Enjolras he loved him. Enjolras didn't always reply, but only because he felt sure Grantaire should know what his feelings for the art student were by now. But that night, Grantaire had just looked at him with tired eyes and flopped backwards, eyes closing almost instantly as he rolled over and drifted off to a place Enjolras couldn't follow. Enjolras had stared at him frantically, wondered what was going to happen to them.
Hence why he was sat there, three a.m. in the morning, considering his options. He could stay, obviously. If he did, he had two routes he could follow. Breaking up with Grantaire yet still living in the same house, attending the same university and having the same friends would just be too painful. He knew instantly he couldn't cope with seeing the man he loved every day but not being an important part of his life anymore, yet Enjolras didn't know if the relationship could continue the way it was. That left him one other choice.
Leaving.
Looking down at Grantaire again made up Enjolras's mind for him. Slowly, he reached over and smoothed the curls that were cascading onto the drunk's face, pressing a soft kiss to his forehead before climbing to his feet and padding over to where his clothes had been discarded. He dressed silently, constantly flicking glances back to Grantaire, part of him hoping the other man would wake up and stop him before he could actually follow through with his plan. He didn't though, and Enjolras sighed as he hesitated at the door before heading back in and pulling a blanket off the sofa, positioning it carefully over his friend. Leaving the lounge he headed for his bedroom, not wasting any time as he grabbed the few things he needed and shoved them into the nearest rucksack. He didn't want to take everything, he knew that the memories contained in most of his belongings would call him back to that house before even a month had passed.
The last thing he did was write two notes. One he pushed under Combeferre's door. Combeferre had been his friend since they were three, and Enjolras knew he couldn't just walk out of that without some sort of explanation or apology. The other stayed in his hand as he hovered on the landing, staring at the lounge door nervously. Now that he'd decided to do this, he had to, and he knew seeing Grantaire again may make him change his mind. Instead he made his way over to the back stairs and sneaked down to the kitchen, stepping over the squeaky step as he did so. He left the paper labelled 'Grantaire' on the table, knowing it would be seen as soon as the man staggered in next morning to get some water for his hangover.
Taking one last look around the place, Enjolras sighed one last time and left, not daring to look back until he was in his car and driving.
