The campus library took up a good chunk of space of land. All polished oak and curved doorways, cathedral ceiling carved with thick support beams and stylish arches that really opened up the building. The collection was massive and the lights were few and far between, dimmed to slow the ageing process of some of their older works. Thankfully every area that wasn't dominoed with bookcases was covered in plush seats and sturdy study tables. Strong reading lamps with multiple settings were dotted at every chair and couch.

Joly and Enjolras had taken up one table to themselves, two subjects worth of books and notes scattered across the surface in a curve around them both. Half year exams were looming closer every day and they were starting to feel the heat. They worked well together, conversation sparse as their communication relied on their notes and pointing. It was heavily frowned upon to converse aloud on this end of the library and they took it very seriously. Both of them worked a few hours here when they could spare it, Courferyac had a full time position that he used to complete advantage to study (the lucky bastard).

Enjolras was pushing his hair for the umpteenth time and contemplating a hair cut when his phone vibrated in his pocket. He pulled it out without looking away from his notes, unlocking the screen and clicking the icon with practiced motions. He expected it to be Courferyac with news about the Texan filibuster or Lesgle getting back to him on when they could have a get-together at his house, he expected anything but what he got.

Did you know that, in accordance to it's size, the shrimp has the largest penis in the world? - R

Enjolras sighed in fond exasperation.

Unless that's a mnemonic phrase to help me remember my Russian conjugates or the bones of the fingers, I don't see how that's helpful – E

He got a reply straight away.

Who says I was being helpful? - R

A smile played over his lips.

How are your ribs? - E

Colorful – R

How are you holding up? Has he contacted you? - E

Not a word. I won't see him until he gets really high and decides he wants to take his brotherly duty from me in the form of a pound of flesh. Bastard – R

Your family shouldn't treat you like this – E

My family hates me, Apollo, what do you honestly expect of them when I've made such a disgracing spectacle of my life? They're just embarrassed. Other than this little innocent, it's usually just some insults and a punch or two before he storms out – R

Enjolras's heart sinks to the pit of his stomach.

Don't get your wrathful panties in a twist, it's over for now. I, for one, have already forgotten about it – R

His fingers tapped out the only thing he could think of to say.

You're anything but a disgrace – E

But you agree that I'm a spectacle :) - R

Yes, truly you are that – E

Joly glanced at his friend when he released a little laugh, more a huff of breath than a real sound.

Seriously, how do you feel? I can drop off more ice packs on my way home if your ribs are still tender -E

You know what would make me feel better? A hot little number in a nurse outfit. THAT would be perfect. I'd heal in hours – R

A little surge of jealousy stung its way through his chest. Without really thinking, he typed out the first real step he'd ever taken into flirting back with the artist. Hitting the send button sent a thrill to chase that jealousy, settling in his groin and sending the blood rushing south. He adjusted himself discreetly beneath the table, glancing up at his friend (who was ignoring him and his texting).

I'm not sure I have the legs for sheer black stockings but I could give it a try – E

There was a long pause between texts, much more than before. Enjolras re-read the passage in his anatomy book three times before he understood what he was reading, and even then he didn't retain it.

Why, Apollo, I believe you have the legs for anything. Though I pictured you to lean more toward golden sandals or combat boots – R

Enjolras breathed a huge sigh of relief.

Would that speed up your healing process? - E

Maybe if you showed up in a toga with those golden sandals that lace all the way up to the thighs, my ribs would stop aching and I could take a full breath without wincing. And if you could find one of those fake swords and maybe a headdress made of those Olympic gold leaves, that'd be great – R

I'll make it a point to stop by the costume shop on the way home – E

I would settle for seeing you – R

Enjolras swallowed thickly, regret making him frown.

I have class after I'm done here. And I have to be up early tomorrow for a morning shift before the meeting – E

There was another pregnant pause, the anticipation made his palms sweat.

Texting is good too. I don't have nearly enough Enjolras-texts on my phone – R

Enjolras could almost hear the self-deprecating smirk. The kind that Grantaire wore when he was really putting himself down but wanted people to laugh about it.

Come to the meeting? - E

I still look like a hot mess – R

Please? - E

Enjolras mouthed the word as he sent it. There was a desperation in him to see Grantaire again and as soon as possible.

I'll come. At Les Amis? - R

Of course – E

Will you be wearing your costume? - R

I don't think that'll be wise – E

That's true. The boys will get all flustered if they see your upper thighs – R

Enjolras chuckled behind his hand, trying to stifle it.

I think they're more prone to laughing. My thighs aren't impressive enough to send men to the fainting couches, I'm afraid – E

You have no idea, do you? - R

The blonde dropped his hand back onto his abandoned book, brows knitting together.

You're like the embodiment of the Victorian era. You emphasize your sexuality by suppressing it, by coming off as someone who doesn't need it. Seeming above the needs of the body only makes you more desirable – R

Enjolras could feel his ears burning, the heat catching across the curves of his cheeks.

Or a geisha. Every exposed wrist, every flash of stomach, even a hint of chest hair...it drives people crazy. You tend to favor a lot of long sleeved shirts and when you don't you like to keep your light jackets on. Very stylish but it tends to make people wonder what you're hiding under all those layers. The more you don't show the more people want to see it – R

He was breathless, knuckles white around the phone. He thought of the way Grantaire stared at him, how he would sometimes catch the artist watching him at odd times. Was he thinking these things in those moments? Was he waiting for his sleeve to ride up to expose the pale inside of his wrist? Did Grantaire contort and lean and generally go out of his way to observe him taking off his jacket? He knew the other held a torch for him but did the sight of his forearms make him breathless?

Did his heart pound the same way Enjolras's did when he saw Grantaire stretch his neck and expose the vulnerable line of his clavicle?

Joly let out a growl as he slammed his book, a sharp sound in the quiet room, "For God's sake, Enjolras, quit dragging this out and just tell him you love him already."

The blonde's eyes snapped up from the screen, cheeks red now from being caught. He struggled not to let any shock show on his face, his emotions bubbling up to the surface without any permission. He couldn't let Joly see them. Whatever he was feeling was new and private, something he didn't want to share with Grantaire let alone anyone else.

"I don't love Grantaire," Enjolras's eyes obediently went back to the screen when it buzzed in his palm, "I tolerate him."

I'm sorry, that was out of line - R

Joly rolled his eyes dramatically, "You're an idiot and you love him."

No, it's fine. Do you really think all that is true? - E

"There's next to nothing about Grantaire that someone like me would find favorable, let alone mate material," Enjolras replied in a cool, detached tone, "He's an alcoholic-"

"He's sad."

"-he smokes," Enjolras continued without pause, eyes on the phone.

Of course I do - R

"Less and less,"

"He doesn't have a real job, he's getting a useless degree, he's careless and brash and flirtatious," the blonde let it out in a rush, unsure if he was trying to convince Joly or himself now, "And he doesn't have a future! We shouldn't even be allowed in the same room together!"

They were getting looks. Enjolras snapped his mouth shut, lips blanching as he pursed them.

"He's also warm, friendly, skilled, creative, and exceptionally big-hearted," Joly countered sharply, choosing to keep his voice low, "And he has a future, I know it. Just because his career doesn't sit right with you doesn't make it any less valid. He's an amazing artist and if he had more drive he could be successful but he's too wrapped up in your and your causes to think of himself."

The medical student watched his friend text, "You're not a cruel man, Enjolras, not when it comes to your personal life. If you really hated all those things about him you wouldn't still be texting him."

Enjolras stopped mid-text, accidentally hitting send.

You flatter me, I don't thi - E

"I know you're at least physically attracted to him," Joly pointed out, getting a hard look, "There's no shame to it, Grantaire's incredibly handsome. I see you stealing stares when he bends over to grab his bag or when his shirt rides up. You're always stopping yourself from touching him and standing too close when the others are around. And lately it's been getting worse. I don't know if you're coming to terms with it on a subconscious level or what but it just proves what I'm saying."

The phone buzzed, they both looked down at it.

I think I stole your words, Apollo. This is a new feeling – R

"For God's sake, Joly," Enjolras rasped, sounding wrecked to his own ears, "I would know if I were in love with him."

Joly narrowed his eyes at him, "Are you sure?"

Enjolras's jaw dropped, gaping like a water-starved fish. The phone demanded his attention and he gave it to it.

I like it :) - R

"Have you ever been in love?" the other needled persistently.

Enjolras went to give an immediate yes but had to stop, the word sticking in the back of his throat.

"Have you ever had someone in your life, romantically, that stayed around for more than a year?"

Enjolras dropped his eyes to the table, "No."

"Your top is what, three weeks?"

He shifted in his seat, an uncomfortable under his skin, "Yes, about."

"And I bet in those three weeks you either spent all your time in bed or apart, right? And I'd put money on your whole 'keep the people free' campaign and all that freakish power you have sent them packing?"

His full lips turned into a full frown, cheeks still ruddy, "What are you getting at?"

"Grantaire enjoy your passion, he feeds off it," Joly explained as gently as he could, sensing his friend's tension, "He's been around for about two years. He's in love with you, like serious hearts-and-flowers-and-rainbows-fairytale-let-me-r ide-off-into-the-sunset-with-you-or-die-trying kind of love. He puts up with your shit, he's perfect for you. You're being as ridiculous as him."

The dumbfounded look on Enjolras's face only angered him.

"You know what? Nevermind," Joly started to shove his stuff back into his messenger bag, "I'm just putting this out there: You wouldn't know love if it punched you between the eyes. It's worth a sit and think, isn't it?"

The older boy just continued to stare, still frowning like he really couldn't understand what he was saying.

"Just meditate on it or something," Joly pulled the strap over his shoulder, "You two are giving me a hernia and I'm going to send you the doctor bill."

Enjolras didn't say a word as his friend stormed off, mind buzzing. What he said...it couldn't be true, there was no way. Maybe he had a minute crush on the artist, maybe, but it was nothing to write home about.

Though on that note his parents would be pleased with him for it. They rejected his sexual orientation but his mother would never stop gushing if he'd managed to nab the black sheep of Grantaire's prestigious family. She'd probably spin it to say they'd run off together, were living a forbidden life and desperate to return home but too in love to do it.

He would know if he were in love. He'd be the first to know. But maybe...highly unlikely, rare, and inconceivable.

But maybe.

They gathered at Les Amis with coffee and pastries to celebrate the rejection of DOMA in the states. It had been in the back of their minds for a few weeks now and it was a cause worth rejoicing about. But their Enjolras, as always, only saw this as a step in the right direction and more of a reason to work harder than to party. They needed to redouble their efforts, they needed to bring that kind of progress here to France.

"How can we eat beignats and drink to America's health when gays here in Rouen herself can't give blood? How can we be happy for that over-indulgent country when our right to get married and be just as miserable as the next straight couple is at jeopardy?"

Courferyac nodded along solemnly, Lesgle grinned and stifled his laugh.

Enjolras began to talk about the upcoming protest at their sister college's campus. The university had elected itself a rather bigoted president that was calling for a campus-wide anti-gay policy. Nothing as openly kicking them out but just as good as. No outted gay couples were allowed to express affection on the grounds, for starters. The most harsh was the new enforced rule that each student was to wear at least three articles of clothing belonging to his or her assigned gender. Blatant suppression.

Grantaire was listening attentively but his hands were idle and soon found occupation with his drawing pad and pencil. He half-ass sketched out a genderfuck version of Lady Liberty, giving her a small chest and cropped hair. But he stopped somewhere around her hips, slowly losing interest as the minutes ticked on. His eyes flickered up to their leader, their righteous Apollo, and he was lost in building passion of his speech. About their sit-in, about their demands, it all flowed over him until he too felt like they could change the president's mind. Enjolras had truly found his spot in the room. Pacing in front of the window like that made the light positively dance in his hair. When he turned his head just so they could all see the complicated blue of his eyes and how bright they were with the close promise of rebellion.

Grantaire's fingers started moving with renewed fire, eyes dancing between the older man and the paper in quick glanced to make sure he got the look right. The start of eyes, the highlight of eyebrows, emotion coming through with each brush of lead. A furrowed expression of righteous concern came alive. Just that strip of his face, from the hint of nose to the top of his eyebrows. The most serious part of him. His touch became lighter as he carefully tried to capture the intensity in his eyes. After a few more minutes he'd gotten it pretty close. He scooted it toward Jean, asking quietly what he thought.

"Brilliant," Jean breathed, head cocked as he looked down at it.

Combeferre caught a glimpse of it and frowned, shaking his head. Grantaire could almost hear the scolding the older man wanted to give about paying attention and flaunting his crush so obviously in front of the others. Combeferre knew, of course he did, and he didn't exactly disapprove as long as it meant the artist stayed focused. This was, in fact, the opposite of that.

Grantaire made a face at him and slid the pad back over, glancing at Marius before offering it. The other abandoned his own notes and grabbed the sketch book off the table, gawking at it like he'd never seen art before. To be fair the two of them never did spend much time together, the rich boy had never been by his place like most of the others had. If he were to hazard a guess, Marius had probably only ever seen a handful of his artwork. There were no sides in the group after that whole picking-Cossette-over-Eponine thing, not really, but if there were Grantaire would be firmly planted on the side of his best friend. Marius was a busy kid with his law degree, he rarely had time for rallies and protests. That and his father was always threatening to cut him off. But he and Enjolras had grown up together, playing with the same building blocks with matching silver spoons in their mouths. They'd shared a nanny, a playpen, a street, a schoolyard, and now a university. It created quite the precarious position for the young artist. The best friend of his unrequited love, the unrequited love of his best friend.

He should write a poem.

"Look at this, 'Feryac," Marius insisted, shoving it into the ravenette's chest, "It's amazing!"

Courferyac reluctantly stopped listening and writing and took the sketchpad. He studied it for a moment, sharing it with Lesgle.

"Impressive," they chimed.

"Let me see!" Eponine insisted, pulling it to her, "Wow, R, this is really good."

The book was passed from hand to hand. Grantaire reached out in a futile effort to try and get it back, worried all of a sudden that what he'd done would be considered childish. Enjolras stopped talking and his heart set up a brand new rhythm, one that almost choked him. The blonde came over and gracefully snatched the book from Eponine's hands. She started to protest before she realized who was looking at it. She shot her best friend a hesitant smile, it didn't help.

Enjolras studied the drawing, slowly walking around the table until he stood behind the artist. He was quiet, face carefully blank as he took in the image.

"I believe I know these eyes. They seem startlingly familiar."

Grantaire could feel his face heating up. He laid his hand along his hat and pulled it down, attempting to hide his face. The moments stretched on until he couldn't bear it any longer. He tilted his head back, catching the small smile on his Apollo's face. It was beautiful.

"If you put this much effort into our rallies or your commission work, you'd be a fiercesome thing to behold, 'Taire," Enjolras stated, laying the sketchpad in front of the ravenette, "Good work, but pay attention for a moment if you could spare it."

Grantaire made a startled sound as the blonde laid a hand on his shoulder and squeezed, heat going through his scapula and down into his spine. It was a brief touch, a pat really, but it made him feel like a grammar school boy again. He looked up to find the others staring. The same thing was on everybody's mind.

Since when had Enjolras become so forgiving and indulgent of their local devil's advocate?