Enjolras was rudely awoken the next morning with a phone call. With a tired groan, he threw the blanket from his body and swung his legs off the side of his bed.
"Hello?" he asked, irritated.
"Enjolras," Combeferre began on the other line, "We're still going down to the museum for the day, right?"
The disoriented blonde looked to the clock on his bedside table. It was half past nine and Enjolras had unfortunately slept through his alarm.
"Uh, yeah. I just woke up. Head up to my place, I'll be ready in 20 minutes."
"Courfeyrac is coming, too."
"Even though it's a lame day trip!" Enjolras could hear Courfeyrac shout on the other end.
"Right, well-"
"Oh and Joly is meeting us there." Combeferre added.
"Okay. See you in a bit."
Enjolras' eyes landed upon a certain crumpled napkin on his night stand when he went to set his phone down. He eyed it for a few minutes before shaking his head and opening his phone once more and copying the number into his contacts.
He set his phone back down then, getting up to take a shower. However, he did not get to the bathroom door. Instead, he turned around and picked his phone back up. Grantaire's name glowed brightly on the contacts screen.
'It couldn't hurt to say hello, could it?'
He decided, in the end, that no, it would not hurt to say hello.
[Enjolras: Are you awake?]
Enjolras sighed, 'He doesn't even know my number yet, dammit'.
[Enjolras: Sorry, that last message probably seemed weird. This is Enjolras.]
With that, Enjolras decided that was enough awkward bravery for the morning and proceeded to ready himself for the day.
"Why'd you wake up so late this morning, man?" Courfeyrac questioned Enjolras eagerly while the blonde climbed into the front passenger seat of Combeferre's car.
Enjolras did not answer, but instead pulled his buzzing phone from his pocket.
[Grantaire: Hi. I was awake, and working. Still am, but whatever.]
[Enjolras: You have an actual job.]
"Who're you texting? And how'd that thing go last night? With the music guy?" Courfeyrac pressed on from the back seat.
"Why do you ask so many damn questions?" Enjolras glanced back at his friend.
"You sound particularly grumpy this morning," Combeferre said, "And how did the music performance go last night?"
"It was fine."
"Just fine. Right," Courfeyrac laughed and stuck his head between the front seats, "Then why are you so tired, huh? Stay out too late with the angsty grunge band member?"
"No," Enjolras frowned, "And he's not a member of a band. Technically."
"What kind of group is he in then?" Combeferre asked,
"He plays the cello with a classical music group."
"He does what," Courfeyrac laughed, "So what? You were wrong then? Oh my god, I bet you showed up underdress-"
"Shut up, Courf."
Enjolras' phone buzzed again.
[Grantaire: Yes, Blondie. I have an actual legitimate job. Surprise.]
[Enjolras: That's a new one.]
"Is that him? The cello guy? Are you texting the cello guy?" Courfeyrac grinned a mischievous sort of grin.
"Yes, Courfeyrac. I have a headache. Please, please be quiet for at least ten minutes."
His friend just laughed, "You're texting the cello guy!"
Enjolras rolled his eyes and directed his attention back to his phone.
[Grantaire: A new what?]
[Enjolras: A new nickname. You've called me Apollo, pretty boy and now you've called me blondie. Please stop this habit you've picked up.]
[Grantaire: How about no.]
[Enjolras: You're impossible.]
[Grantaire: Yeah, I am. But you texted me this morning anyway.]
"We're here," Combeferre smiled at the building before them, "I love history museums."
"You are seriously lame, dude." Courfeyrac said as he climbed out of the vehicle.
Combeferre and Courfeyrac divulge into a sort of micro argument that Enjolras is only vaguely aware of.
[Enjolras: Whatever. How's the job?]
[Grantaire: My job is lame. And boring. How's your morning?]
[Enjolras: I'm at a museum.]
[Grantaire: I've had my share of museums for a lifetime. Are you telling me you're at a museum alone on a Friday morning?]
[Enjolras: No. I'm with other people.]
"Enjolras, Courfeyrac keeps saying you were out late with a stranger and a cello," Joly, whose arrival had gone unnoticed by Enjolras, inquired with a worried frown, "He also said you had unprotected sex and I'm quite frankly worried as to why you are not talking or denying Courf's story."
"Wait, what?" Enjolras looked up from his cell phone.
"It's not true," Combeferre sighed as he opened the museum doors for his friends, "Well, the unprotected sex part isn't, anyway."
"Well, good. Because there are seriously hundreds of health risks from unprotected sex, especially with a stranger you've never even met before-"
"Joly. We know." Combeferre said.
"Can we go to the gift shop?" Courfeyrac groaned the question, clearly bored already.
"Dude, c'mon just try and have fun. We'll go to the gift shop last." Combeferre took hold of his unimpressed friend and began to promptly drag him forward.
Enjolras shook his head, followed his friends and pulled out his phone again.
[Grantaire: Mm, well. These people are annoying and I hate my job.]
[Enjolras: I think you'll be okay.]
[Grantaire: I might not. I might pass out and die from all the idiocy in the air.]
[Enjolras: I'll send paramedics your way.]
[Grantaire: My hero.]
Most of Enjolras' trip is spent texting Grantaire, and half listening to the conversations of his friends. Courfeyrac took the time to point that out to Enjolras (multiple times, of course). Joly fussed over the risk of Enjolras running in to something and seriously injuring himself. While Combeferre did his very best to ignore Courfeyrac and appreciate the history.
Eventually, the end of their trip arrived and Courfeyrac finally got to take his trip to the gift shop.
"Aw yeah," Courfeyrac smiled and ran into the shop, "I am going to buy the coolest shit in here."
"Courf, please be careful in here." Combeferre frowned and followed his friend.
Enjolras distracted himself with his phone by a rack of postcards while Joly wandered off.
[Grantaire: Goddammit I'll text you in a few minutes. Some grown ass man is acting like a child in the middle of my damn shop.]
Enjolras started to text the man back, but was quickly distracted by an obscene crash from the other end of the gift shop. He decided it was probably best that he follow the noise and make sure it didn't have anything to do with one of his friends.
It did.
"Goddammit Courf, what the hell did you do?" Enjolras exclaimed as he came across what was possibly the biggest mess he'd ever seen.
The floor was wet with the blood of a plethora of broken snow globes. Shards of glass littered the floor, along with sad looking little Eiffel Towers and Arc de Triomphes and other miniature figures of famous French monuments. Combeferre stood nerd by, pinching the bridge of his nose while Joly muttered about not stepping on the broken glass.
"Enjolras?"
Enjolras turned to the man speaking on his left and his eyes widened, "Grantaire? What're you doing here?"
"Uh, I work here."
"You know this guy? Who is he?" Courfeyrac asked.
"The cello guy," Enjolras frowned and looked toward Courfeyrac.
"Oh right, hey man. Nice to meet you."
Grantaire frowned, crossing his arms, "Dude, don't 'hey man' me, pay for all this shit you just broke."
"Why don't we talk about it over drinks."
"I'm down for drinks," Grantaire chuckled, "But seriously, you have to pay for all the snow globes, man."
"Ugh, fine. Yeah. I'll just. Go do that. Combeferre, go to the front counter with me?"
Combeferre sighed, "Fine. Then we're leaving. Enjolras, you coming?"
Enjolras looked at Combeferre, then watched Grantaire retrieve a mop and begin cleaning up the snow globes before sighing.
"No, I'll stay behind."
"Alright. I'll see you later. C'mon Courf."
Joly and Courfeyrac followed behind Combeferre. Courfeyrac laughing despite the outrageous amount of money he was going to have to pay and Joly shaking his head at the utter disaster created by his friend.
"Damn," Grantaire sighed, "I get off my shift here in like, five minutes. Now I'll be here for another million years."
"I'll help. It's the least I can do since my friend made the mess." Enjolras offered.
"You don't have to do that."
"Well, I'm going to. Because I'm reasonable."
"Reasonable, right." Grantaire laughed and shook his head, going back to his cleaning.
Half an hour later, the two men finish cleaning up the snow globe massacre and Grantaire offers to take Enjolras home.
"You don't have to do that," Enjolras protested, "I can just get a cab."
"Well," Grantaire began with a smirk, "I'm going to. Because I'm reasonable."
"Thank you for driving me," Enjolras begins, rolling his eyes, "Even though I could have taken a cab and would have been fine."
"Well, it was a pleasure, Apollo."
Enjolras turned toward the musician beside him, "I told you to stop calling me those things."
Grantaire leaned closer, bringing his nose just inches away from Enjolras', "And I said no."
"Like I said," Enjolras chuckled, "You're impossible."
"You like it."
"Not entirely." Enjolras smirked.
"But a little." Grantaire smirked right back.
Somehow, they had managed to lean even closer into each other. Enjolras could feel Grantaire's forehead resting on his, and the warmth of his breath dancing just above his lips.
Grantaire began to lean into Enjolras' lips with his own, that is of course, until his phone started ringing in his pocket.
"Sorry," he laughed, "I've got to answer this."
Enjolras moved back into his original position in the passenger seat, and with cheeks scarlet, unbuckled his seatbelt while Grantaire finished up his exasperated call.
"It was my flatmate, Jehan. Sorry about that," Grantaire laughed nervously as he put his phone back in his pocket, "So, um."
"I'll just, text you later. Thanks again for the ride." Enjolras' lips twitched, but he didn't smile. He climbed uncomfortably out of Grantaire's car and turned toward his apartment.
"Hey, wait. Enjolras!" Grantaire shouted after the blonde through the open passenger side window.
"Yeah?" Enjolras turned around.
"Can I call you sometime?"
Enjolras clicked his tongue and considered the thought.
"Sure."
Grantaire grinned a cheshire sort of grin, "Well then, later Blondie."
Before Enjolras could irritatedly protest the name Blondie, Grantaire laughed and drove off, fading down the road.
