Partly inspired by a day in town a day with my friend this weekend. We simply used the entire day to sit in the sun (the nice weather has finally arrived in Denmark), smoke and drink iced-coffee. At one point we started discussing smoking, because I do the flick-thingie that I describe Grantaire does, and she taps her ash off, like any normal person would.

The entire day was amazing, and I got plenty of inspiration for all my stories, plus she has agreed to temporarily proof-read my stories, until I get myself a BETA-reader.

So this chapter is dedicated to Ann, my lovely friend, whom all of you can find here:

grilltis dot tumblr dot com

Thanks for reading this bunch of crappy thingies, bye!

Grantaire was one of those people who had never learned how to properly smoke a cigarette. Sure, he smoked like a chimney, and he most certainly got more than enough of the smoke into his lungs to feed an addiction, but it was the basic mechanics of smoking that he never quite got a hang of.

For one, he suckled on the bud.

Many smokers agree that there was nothing more annoying than sharing a cigarette with a person who suckles. The bud of the fag becomes wet and cold, because the suckleer doesn't rest it on the edge of their lips, but rather sticks it in their mouths, so their breath and tongue makes it moist.
Eponine had tried for ages to teach Grantaire not to suckle on the cigarettes, but he had never gotten a hang of it. (Eponine had a theory that he never actually tried to learn it, and was quite capable of not doing it, but kept on because it stopped her from nicking the fag and instead choosing to light her own.)

Another thing he never quite learned was how to hold a cigarette.

Most people rested the cancer-stick between two fingers. It was universally understood that this was how to properly hold a cigarette, be it between the 2nd and 3rd or the 3rd and 4th finger. Grantaire, on the other hand, held it between the tips of his 1st and 2nd finger. Not letting it dangle like most did, but actually held it, like he would hold something small he had just picked up.
It looked absolutely ridiculous, and especially when he raised the stick to his lips to take a drag and this was probably why Eponine never bothered to correct him about it.

Not that he would have cared either way.

Thirdly, Grantaire couldn't fucking tap off the ash to save his life.

Where most people simply tapped their finger at the edge of the fag to hit off whatever ash there might be, Grantaire flicked his cigarette.
He had honestly tried learning how to do the proper tap, but he couldn't. Eponine had never seen anyone fail so impressively at something so simple, as Grantaire did at this. Every time he tried learning how to do it properly, the ash would either not come off at all (this was often when he was sober), or he would end up (when drunk) breaking the cigarette in half instead.

It was a handicap Grantaire had learned to work around. Instead he would press the tip of his nail to the bud and flick the cigarette. This, of course, didn't make much of a difference as a whole, but it did mean that he needed to keep his nails longer than most males did, as, if they were too short, he wouldn't be able to do his flick.

To compensate for his nails being long, Grantaire would let Azelma paint them in different shades of colourful nailpolish, so it looked like he wanted to keep them long, rather than needed to do so because of an unhealthy habit, that he couldn't even do properly.
The polish also hid the yellow nicotine tinge that stubbornly clung the edge of the nails.

Grantaire's nails were often covered in a multitude of different colours, as it was impossible to get the paint from his artworks off, without pulling off the polish as well.

Enjolras didn't care for the polish.

Not that Enjolras actually cared for much about Grantaire, this had been established rather early on, in their companionship. But something Enjolras could never leave alone was the nails.

Eponine had overheard him once, telling Combeferre that he didn't really mind the polish as such, but more that Grantaire's nailpolish had a habit of looking unkempt and was often flailing off from being picked at so much, as Azelma was the only one allowed to do his nails and he didn't see her often enough to keep up appearances. (Eponine had offered to help once, but he had flat out refused).

Once in a while, Enjolras would comment on the nails, disdain clear on his face, and Grantaire would tell him to ' kindly fuck off', in responds thus starting yet another fight between them. Because, Enjolras could never let Grantaire have the last word nor could Grantaire let him. Grantaire always won by pointing out that it shouldn't matter to Enjolras how Grantaire's nails looked, as they weren't even friends. This, for some reason, always shut Enjolras up.

Whenever they fought about it, Grantaire would return to the next meeting with nicely painted nails, free of flailing and paint-splatters, and both of them knew that in the Enjolras had won, though neither of them refused to acknowledge it beyond a smug look from Enjolras, and a less-than-heated glare from Grantaire.