Inspired by this prompt:
Person A: Makes a typo
Person A: Rewrites the word with the typo corrected
Person B: Says the word with the original typo
Person A: Shut up
Grantaire leaned over Enjolras, watching him type with a fury typically reserved for his riots.
'I told you,' Enjolras snapped, pushing Grantaire away with his shoulder. 'Leave. Me Alone.'
Grantaire, stumbling away from the computer, laughed at the man's frustration. He wandered away from the computer and into the kitchen where he found the bear he had abandoned two hours ago.
Enjolras had bolted out of bed around noon, shouting insults and accusations Grantaire would've found hurtful if it were anyone else. Not even bothering to shower, Enjolras sat himself in front of the computer and began working on some paper he was supposed to finish last night. He hadn't gotten up from the computer in three hours, Grantaire was getting a headache just watching him.
Taking small sips from the bottle, Grantaire found his way back to his mighty Apollo, who was looking more desperate by the minuet.
'I hate tourist season,' Grantaire groused.
Enjolras' window looked out on to a street, crowded with sun-burnt americans sporting cameras and J'adore Paris shirts that were either too tight or too big. Grantaire would never understand why, whenever people went on vacation, they always completely disregarded sunscreen, as if their foreignity would protect them.
'That's nice,' Enjolras mumbled, eyes still wide on the screen.
Grantaire sighed, Enjolras had barely spoken a complete sentence to him all day. He walked over to the man and rested his chin atop his head of golden curls, he couldn't exactly pin the smell of his hair. There was the faint smell of cigarette smoke, courtesy of Grantaire. Product left over from yesterday still gave of the faintest smell of cinnamon, the rest was simply Enjolras.
'Get off,' Enjolras made a half attempt at shrugging Grantaire off, but he hardly even budged.
Grantaire read as Enjolras typed, keys were pressed quickly as Enjolras' hands tried desperately to keep up with his running mind.
'What's a "condorhen,' Grantiare asked, his voice muffled by the curls.
'I meant comprehend,' Enjolras sighed, as if it were Grantaire's fault he butchered the word.
'Condorhen,' a small huff of laughter pushed Enjolras' curls onto his forehead.
'Shut up,' Enjolras leaned back into Grantaire, letting the man press soft kisses to head. He closed his eyes and let out a yawn.
'You need a break,' Grantaire rolled Enjolras and his chair up to the wall.
Enjolras was still trying to think of what he was about to type when Grantaire began to unbutton his jeans, letting Enjolras know exactly what kind of break he would be having.