There were a few things Grantaire picked up from his father.
One would be his looks. He had his father's black curls, his father's tan skin, and his father's large hands. The only thing he could notice that he got from his mother would be his blue eyes. The rest came from his father. Because of this, Grantaire really hated looking in the mirror.
Two would be his knowledge of curse words. When his father was angry (and really, when wasn't he angry?), he could curse so badly that even street-smart Éponine would have trouble keeping up. His father knew so many ways to insult people and Grantaire learned that way. By the time he was in third grade, he could curse out entire classrooms if he wanted to. This often led to him being sent home more than a couple of times. (And if the day after he got sent home, he showed up with a few bruises, really, it was none of their business).
Lastly would be his use of alcohol. Grantaire honestly doesn't remember a moment when his father was sober. By the time his father would get home, he would already be drunk and yelling at his mother for something. He had a collection of liquor, whiskey, scotch, and beer that Grantaire discovered when he was in middle school. He started stealing from it when he was in the tenth grade.
So was it really a surprise that Grantaire tended to drink even more when he was upset?
If anyone were to walk into Grantaire's hell of an apartment, the first thing they'd notice would probably be the empty bottles of beer and a half-empty bottle of scotch. Then they'd notice that the apartment seemed to be covered in paint. (Painting was one thing Grantaire only did while drunk. He couldn't look at his work if he was sober; he'd just throw it out.) Then, maybe, if they chose to walk a little farther, they'd notice Grantaire himself curled up on the couch, holding his greyhound close to him with wet eyes.
But, of course, no one could get in because Grantaire's door was locked. And really, who would want to comfort Grantaire, who was just a sad excuse for a human being?
Enjolras was pretty sure that his phone was going to explode soon.
He'd gotten no less than twenty messages, and nearly half of them seemed to be from Éponine alone. He groaned as another message dinged in before picking it up and throwing it against the wall. He ran his hands through his hair before walking over to it and cursed when he saw that it was broken.
He didn't need anyone to tell him what he said was wrong. He knew that, of course he knew that. Enjolras could be thick, he could be cruel, and he could be slow, but he wasn't stupid. He didn't need Éponine's threats or Jehan's cool tone of voice to tell him that he should apologize. He knew he had to.
He just didn't know how.
When it came to speeches, he knew how to rearrange words into powerful sentences that would get nearly everyone to agree with him. The way he spoke and wrote was a talent that many people could only pray to have. But when it came to apologies, he was clueless.
Enjolras wasn't good at apologies. The one time him and Combeferre got into a fight (and they didn't speak to each other for days and Courfeyrac never wants to see that happen again because God, Enjolras is awful when he doesn't have his best friend), he ended up nearly killing himself because he tried to make a cake to apologize to him. He did end up with bad burns and he ended up calling Combeferre and that was the way they apologized—not with words but with actions.
But he needed to say something to Grantaire because he was cruel and he knows it and he's just really pissed at himself at the moment.
If anyone were to walk into Enjolras's apartment, the first thing they'd notice would be the shattered phone next to the door. Then they'd notice that everything was in an unusual state of disarray—pillows on the floor, chairs overturned, that sort of thing. Then, maybe, if they chose to walk a little farther, they'd see Enjolras pacing his apartment muttering to himself with a strange look in his eyes.
But of course, no one did enter his apartment. And really, who would want to talk to Enjolras, who had a way of being terrible?
The rest of Les Amis were reacting to the "argument" in different ways.
Éponine was switching between cleaning the apartment compulsively and ranting to Feuilly about how stupid Enjolras could be. She would've kept texting Enjolras, but he stole her phone after the eleventh message. Feuilly himself was worried for Grantaire—he knew how R got when he was upset. Gavroche acted nonchalant, but was really hoping everything would turn out okay. Joly was fretting with Bossuet and Musichetta; he was running his hands through his hair and wouldn't stop tapping his leg. Bossuet was thinking about both of his friends—he knew, just like he knew other things about his friends, that Enjolras was feeling bad. Musichetta looked ready to punch Enjolras in the face, but instead was trying to calm Joly down. Bahorel was walking around to the bars he knew Grantaire frequented. He got along pretty well with the bartenders and asked them to contact him if R showed up. Combeferre was reading, but he desperately wanted to go see if Enjolras need help and if Grantaire was okay. Courfeyrac was messing with things in Combeferre's apartment. He really couldn't stay alone right now and messing with things distracted him from worrying about Grantaire. Marius and Cosette were speaking softly to each other about how they could comfort their friends. Jehan was pounding on Grantaire's door.
"Grantaire, you little shit, I swear to all that is holy, if you don't open this door I will break it down!" he screamed, punctuating his words with kicks to the door.
Jehan and Grantaire had been friends for as long as Les Amis could remember.
The two had met in second grade when Jehan bit a kid for calling him "girly and stupid". Grantaire walked over to him before the teacher came and announced that it was "the most awesomest thing I've ever seen!" The two had been friends ever since.
Grantaire had been the one to comfort Jehan when his mom died in the fifth grade. Jehan had always been the one Grantaire would go to when his father had gotten a little too drunk and a little too physical. Grantaire would always be the first one to read Jehan's poems. Jehan would see every one of Grantaire's paintings (and usually, he was the only one). Grantaire and Jehan took boxing lessons together when they were seniors and if they had to choose a fighting partner, it would be the other. Jehan would drink with Grantaire when he first started stealing from his father's cabinet. Grantaire would always make sure Jehan was okay when he started discovering the darker parts of life.
They came out to each other before anyone else and they liked each other's company. It wasn't strange for the rest of the group to see Grantaire braiding Jehan's hair in the park while he recited some dark poetry or to see Jehan laughing at something Grantaire said while they were both drunk. If Combeferre was Enjolras's platonic soul mate, then Jehan was Grantaire's.
So of course Jehan would be the one attempting to single handedly break down Grantaire's door. He heard Dionysius whining from behind the door before Grantaire opened it. Jehan tutted softly before walking into the apartment and setting Grantaire down on the couch. He curled up next to him and smiled softly when Grantaire rested his head on his shoulder. "I'm sorry, mi querido. If you want, I could go punch the shit out of him."
Jehan was glad that earned at least a small smile from the other. "Thanks for the offer, Jehan, but I'd rather have Enjolras's face look the same," Grantaire sighed, rubbing at his eyes. "Such a lovely face, but he can be an asshole sometimes."
"He doesn't mean it. You know Enjolras, sometimes he starts speaking and he can't stop. But, yeah, he was being an ass," Jehan agreed. "I'm pretty sure everyone's on his case about it though. You should've seen Éponine after you left. She looked like she was about to castrate him. I think that's still one of her options," he mused with a soft smile.
Grantaire lifted his head up with a shocked expression. "Why are they on his case? I was the one riling him up…"
Jehan punched him in the shoulder. "Because you're our friend, dipshit! God, R, how many times do I have to say that? He was wrong and we all know that. Combeferre even looked angry! We care about you enough to tell Enjolras that he was wrong," he spoke, sitting up. "We all care about you, whether or not you choose to see it."
Grantaire rubbed his eyes. "If you say so. Am I allowed to get drunk or would that be a bad idea?"
Jehan laughed before nodding his head. "Let's just get drunk and we can worry about the consequences tomorrow."
And get drunk they did.
Enjolras, meanwhile, was researching ways to apologize to people.
He read through pages upon pages and took notes on some of the ways he thought would work more. He read through how-to guides on what to say and what not to say. He found a list of the most cliché ways to apologize. He read through everything and absorbed as much as he could.
He didn't think that most of them would work (Gift baskets? Flowers?), but he desperately wanted for things to be okay.
So he kept researching and researching and researching.
Grantaire groaned when he heard the doorbell ring. He lifted his head off of… How the hell did he get on the floor? He sat up slowly, rubbing at his head before looking around his apartment.
Bottles were nearly everywhere on the floor, there were a few new paint stains on his curtains, Dionysius was curled up under the coffee table, and Jehan was snoring softly on his couch.
Right.
He nearly forgot about last night. He shook his head, trying to clear his head before grabbing his phone. 7:23. Who the fuck could be at his door at 7:23 in the morning?
He winced as the doorbell rang again. "I'm coming, hold on!" He ran a hand through his hair before standing up and opening the door to his apartment. He blinked at the man who held a bouquet of flowers.
"Are you…" the man glanced down at the note, "Grantaire?"
"That's me." Who the hell would be giving him flowers?
The man handed him the flowers. "The guy didn't leave a name," he shrugged, pulling out his clipboard. "Just sign here."
Grantaire signed, looking at the flowers. "A guy? Did you happen to know what he looked like?"
"Sorry, dude. I just do the deliveries. They're hyacinths, by the way. Pretty unusual flower. Have a good day," he said before walking down the hallway.
"Yeah, you too," Grantaire muttered, going back inside. He glanced at Jehan, who had miraculously gotten up and had already made coffee for them both. He passed R a mug before nodding to the flowers.
"Who're they from?"
"No fucking clue."
Jehan inspected the flowers. "They're hyacinths, right?" Grantaire nodded. "They mean 'I'm sorry' or 'please forgive me'," he grinned, swallowing an aspirin.
Grantaire sighed. "Seriously? That's the best he can do? He doesn't even have the fucking nerve to apologize to my face?"
"We don't know that yet. Maybe it's part of some elaborate plan to ask for forgiveness."
Grantaire snorted. "I'll believe that when I see it." He took an aspirin as well before reaching down and petting his greyhound's head. "What do you want to do for breakfast?"
Jehan shrugged, sitting back down on the couch. "Do you think Chinese delivers this early?" he wondered out loud.
"Well, if it's anything like when we were in high school, probably. So Chinese and bad movies?"
Jehan grinned. "Just like old times."
Enjolras knocked nervously on Combeferre's door. When he opened, Combeferre had to pause because what he saw now did not look like his best friend.
Enjolras looked tired. Combeferre had seen him nearly pass out from exhaustion, and he had never looked as tired as he did now. His blonde hair was sticking up, looking as if he'd run his hands through it multiple times. He was wearing a pair of red pajama pants and a white tee shirt. Combeferre knew something was wrong because Enjolras always left his apartment looking put-together, unless something was bothering him. Enjolras's eyes looked vaguely red and he smiled hesitantly at his friend.
"Can I come in?"
Combeferre shook his head to stop his train of thought. "Of course you can. You don't need to ask," he replied, pushing the door open more to let him in.
Enjolras walked in, sitting down on 'Ferre's couch before groaning loudly and holding his head in his hands.
"Are you alright, Enjolras?"
"I don't know what to do," he groaned again, not looking up. "I researched and nothing seems to feel right. I don't know how to apologize to him and I want to so badly because I messed up and I just… What do I do?"
Combeferre paused. "Right, well, Courfeyrac's on his way. Do you want tea or hot chocolate?" he questioned, glancing at his friend before walking into the kitchen. He heard him lean back more on the couch.
"Hot chocolate," he said quietly, not sounding very much like Enjolras.
Combeferre made it easily enough; he'd been making it since he was first allowed to cook. It was what he made whenever one of his friends were upset.
"No need to fear, Courfeyrac is here!" their loud friend announced as he entered, tossing his bag onto the floor and jumping onto the space next to Enjolras. "Well, don't you look happy?"
Enjolras groaned loudly, kicking him. "I'm not in the mood."
"Easy, now. We're all friends here," Combeferre said, placing a cup of cocoa into each of his friends' hands before sitting on Enjolras's other side. "Mind explaining to us why you showed up looking the most disheveled I've seen since I met you?"
Enjolras sat up slowly, running a hand through his hair. "I can't figure out a good way to apologize to him. I tried researching," here Courfeyrac snorted, "and I already sent him flowers and I think a fruit basket is going to show up later today but I don't know what else to do."
Courfeyrac choked on his hot chocolate. "You sent him flowers?"
Enjolras shifted uncomfortably. "It's what the websites said to do."
Combeferre shrugged; he did have a point. "It would work, if he actually believed those sorts of actions."
Enjolras looked startled. "What do you mean?"
Courfeyrac groaned. "Dude, you have to talk to him. Grantaire thinks differently, believe me. He'll think that you're sending him gifts because someone made you or because you 'have' to. You gotta use your words or else he's just never going to believe you," he explained, downing half of the hot chocolate in one go.
"But I don't know what to say around him," Enjolras nearly whispered. "Everything I think, I say differently and I just… I don't know what to do," he groaned, leaning into Combeferre's shoulder. He was more frustrated then they'd thought. "I have to say more than 'I'm sorry' and I know what I want to say I just can't word it right."
"Enjolras, calm down. Look, Grantaire isn't that needy of a person. He'd probably just accept a simple 'I'm sorry' but he deserves more than that," Courfeyrac said, a hand on Enjolras's shoulder. "Just relax for a bit, and you can try writing it out later like you do for an essay. Then you can revise and do all the other stuff you do like when you're writing a paper for Lamarque's class."
Enjolras sighed. "Well, it's better than anything I could come up with." He was quiet for a moment. "Thank you guys for, you know, not giving me shit about Grantaire. You guys were one of the few who weren't texting me about him," he said softly, sipping at his hot chocolate.
"Enjolras, we learned a long time ago that berating you constantly just doesn't work," Combeferre spoke, smiling softly. "And I think we both realize you feel awful about what you said."
"I do! Of course I do."
"Good. Now, do you want to try writing now, or do you want to wait until later?"
Enjolras sank down more into the couch. "Can we just watch a movie or something? I'd probably write better later."
Courfeyrac went to put in a movie.
Text from Bahorel: dude u still comin out with us tonite?
Text from Bossuet: every1s meetin musain. stop by if u want
Text from Éponine: taire if you don't come there's no one stopping me from punching him in the face
Text from Éponine: okay so I won't hit him but still. come out with us
Grantaire sighed, reading through his messages.
It was kind of his friends to offer, but, no, he really didn't want to go out. He knew Enjolras would be there and he really didn't know if he could handle that face to face interaction. Half of him wanted to hit him in the face and the other half just wanted to curl up and never speak to him again. He figured it'd probably be easier to do the latter.
Text to Bahorel: nah. i think ill stay in.
Text to Bossuet: thanks for the offer. i think im staying in tonight.
Text to Éponine: don't hit him, ep. ill be at my place all night
He turned to Jehan who was curled up on the end of the couch, phone in hand.
"You should go. I know they're texting you," Grantaire said, leaning back and picking up his sketch book to work on the sketch of Jehan.
Jehan turned to him, assessing Grantaire quietly. "You'll be okay? I can tell Courf I'm hanging with you…"
Grantaire waved him off. "No, go. I'll be fine." He gave a small smile.
Jehan hesitated, halfway standing up. "You sure? Don't you lie to me."
"I'm okay, really. This helped. Go have fun. Drink one for me," he grinned, motioning Jehan towards the door.
Jehan sighed, before grabbing his coat and his keys. He paused by the door. "Text me if you need anything." Grantaire nodded, rolling his eyes. "And maybe try texting Enjolras? Just think about it," he finished quietly, before leaving the apartment.
Grantaire blinked once. He shook his head. No, he definitely would not be texting Enjolras. If the asshole wanted to talk, Enjolras could text him first.
He picked up Jehan's half-finished beer, downing it, before turning back to his sketch book. He flipped passed the half-complete sketch of his friend, before starting a new piece.
It started off as just a very familiar table. The table where they all sat every week without fail; the one where they laughed, and drank, and argued, and lived. Then faces and bodies were added; each of his friends caught in a moment. Feuilly, Bahorel, and Éponine were laughing together. Joly was in a chair cuddling with Bossuet, grinning at something he said. Marius was listening to what Courfeyrac was saying while Cosette was discussing something with Combeferre. Enjolras was working at his laptop, a very small, fond smile on his face. Musichetta was passing out drinks, frozen next to Cosette with a thoughtful look on her face. They were all surrounded by light; soft yellows and oranges decorating the space around them.
And in the corner there was a small figure, smiling sadly while sipping at a bottle. Grantaire drew himself clouded by darkness, desperately wishing to be part of the light.
The Musain was, regrettably, closed so the group went to another café/bar called the Corinth. They tended to visit it when their regular meet-up was closed or when they got kicked out.
Everyone was on edge that evening, remembering how their two friends fought. Their discussions were quieter, their laughter was quieter; the Corinth itself seemed to pick up on the tension and was quiet.
Jehan and Éponine were pointedly not talking to Enjolras. They weren't avoiding him, but not talking to him seemed to control their urge of punching him in the face. Courfeyrac was switching between telling stories to the group and whispering with Combeferre and Enjolras. The rest of the group was talking with each other, nervously glancing towards their leader.
Enjolras was trying to work on the apology, but he couldn't help but glance up at the door every time it opened, only to be disappointed when it wasn't Grantaire.
"I already asked Jehan. He's not coming," Courfeyrac whispered to him, frowning softly when Enjolras leaned back in his chair.
"That's…," he sighed. "Alright," he murmured, trying to focus back on the paper.
He couldn't help but look up when the door opened again.
Text from Jehan: He keeps looking at the door
Text from Jehan: He gets this sad little look on his face when it's not you
Text from Jehan: It's really quite sad. He's been quiet the whole time
Text from Jehan: I do believe he's pouting.
Grantaire snorted. Jehan must be more drunk then when he left. Enjolras doesn't pout.
Text to Jehan: how drunk r u? why would he care if im there or not?
Grantaire picked up his paint brush again when the doorbell rang. He groaned loudly before sighing and walking to the door.
"Grantaire?" questioned the second delivery man of the day.
He nodded.
"I've got a fruit basket for you. The sender wished to remain anonymous," the guy explained, handing over a very large basket.
Grantaire blinked, before closing his eyes and sighing again. "Right. Thank you." He signed the man's paper before taking the gift back inside.
He glared at it for a moment before reading the card attached.
I'm sorry. Really sorry.
Grantaire collapsed on the couch. He wasn't drunk enough for this.
"Combeferre? I think I finished," Enjolras said to his friend, passing him the finished paper.
Combeferre glanced at his friend. Enjolras was much more withdrawn than normal; he hardly spoke a word to the group. He read over the letter quickly. "It's good, but you don't sound very sincere. Don't write so formally; he is a friend," Combeferre murmured, handing him back the paper. He sighed softly at his friend's face. "Just… Say what you feel, Enjolras. You sound like you're trying to write another essay," he said softly.
Enjolras sighed but nodded once, looking at the paper again. "What if…" he shook his head. "Never mind," he muttered, looking down.
Combeferre placed his hand on his friend's shoulder. "Everything will turn out okay," he spoke, a comforting smile on his face.
Enjolras nodded once and let Combeferre go back to talking with Feuilly. He sighed, running a hand over his face, before taking out his phone. Luckily, it still worked, only the screen was shattered. He scrolled through his contacts, pausing over the picture of Grantaire. He seemed to just think "fuck it" before clicking it and typing out a text.
Text to Grantaire: I'm sorry. I really am.
Text to Grantaire: You didn't deserve that.
Enjolras sighed, picking up his pen and working on his apology.
Text from Enjolras: I'm sorry. I really am.
Text from Enjolras: You didn't deserve that.
Grantaire snorted, looking at his phone. He finished off his (what was it now? Fourth? Fifth?) beer before tossing his phone to the other end of the couch.
Since Jehan had left, Grantaire had started no less than five different sketches. One was of Éponine, black hair flowing back as she laughed. Another was of Éponine and Gavroche wrapped up in a hug, her lip split and a frown on the kid's face.
He remembered that moment; it was after one of the first protests she'd gone to. He didn't really remember what it was for, but he knew it had gotten violent very quickly. Everyone was shaken up quite a bit, and Éponine had immediately hugged her brother when she got back to the café. (Musichetta had agreed to watch him while she was working). It was one of the few times the kid accepted a hug.
And the rest, well, three guesses to who they were of.
He groaned, pushing his sketch book away, before standing and walking to his kitchen. He pulled out his last bottle of whiskey (he'd have to get more tomorrow) and taking a large drink. He collapsed back down onto the couch and patted Dionysius's head absent-mindedly. "To yet another night drunk off my ass," he sighed, toasting to no one. His dog whined softly. "At least I'll have you," he smiled softly.
Enjolras couldn't sleep.
He couldn't help but think of Éponine's threats, Jehan's glares, and the way Grantaire looked after Enjolras insulted him like that. He hated seeing Grantaire's face as he packed up his stuff, and Enjolras had just been feeling awful and heavy and just bad since then.
He groaned, sitting up and holding his head. He obviously wouldn't be getting any sleep tonight. He got out of bed, and pulled on a pair of jeans, a hoodie, and some shoes. He left his apartment and locked the door behind him.
Walking always seemed to clear his head. When he was a teenager, he'd often sneak out when he was too focused about homework, or his clubs, or his parents. The night sky would just relax him. At night, no one knew who he was. He was just another nameless face that walked the streets. People passed by; some in a hurry, some half-drunk, some simply strolling like him.
Enjolras walked for a while, and after a while, he somehow found himself at Grantaire's apartment.
He paused at the doorway. He couldn't hear anything from inside. There was no light coming from the crack where the door met the floor. He lifted up his hand to knock before shaking his head and sighing. He rested his head on Grantaire's door.
"I'm really sorry," he whispered to the silence.
He then straightened up, and walked away without looking back.
Grantaire groaned loudly at the sound of his phone going off. He pushed aside the bowls of popcorn and empty bottles before picking it up. He had 5 missed messages.
Text from Jehan: He's heading home… He looks like a kicked puppy.
Text from Bossuet: next time u should come hang with us. it was quieter w/o u
Text from Éponine: enj looks like shit. dude has he apologized yet?
Text from Combeferre: He really is sorry. Talk to him.
Text from Enjolras: Are you free this morning? I'd like to talk.
Grantaire snorted at the last message. He really did not want to see Enjolras today. As if on cue, another text message popped in.
Text from Jehan: Courf said Enjolras wanted to meet you for breakfast. If you say no I will kill you.
Grantaire groaned.
Text to Jehan: do i have to go?
Text from Jehan: Yes. If you don't, you'll only make things worse.
Text to Jehan: fine. but if this ends badly im blaming u
Grantaire sat up, running a hand through his hair before replying to Enjolras's text.
Text to Enjolras: im not doing anything.
Text from Enjolras: Good. Do you want to meet at the Musain in 15?
Text to Enjolras: whatever works for u dear leader
Text from Enjolras: I'll see you there then.
Grantaire stood up and stretched before going to find clean clothes. He should probably shower, but he didn't particularly care that much. He tugged on some jeans that seemed to be the cleanest, but were still flecked with paint, and pulled his green hoodie on over his tee shirt. He didn't bother to brush his hair and popped an aspirin before turning to his apartment.
I'll clean it later.
He sighed before walking out and taking the short walk to the Musain. It was a rather nice day; there was a bit of a breeze, but it was comfortable enough and the sun was shining. He sighed when he got to the door.
Through the windows, he could see Enjolras in a corner booth with his head down on the table. His arms were stuck in his hair and there was a coffee in front of him and on the other side of the table. Grantaire straightened up before entering.
The bell tinged and Musichetta smiled encouragingly at him when he walked towards Enjolras. He sat down heavily, picking up the coffee.
Enjolras lifted his head slowly and blinked at him. "You came," he said, sounding surprised.
Grantaire grunted and shifted in his chair. "Yeah. I don't really like lying," he replied, not looking at him.
He could hear Enjolras sit up more and sigh. "I… I owe you an apology, Grantaire. It was rude of me to say that."
Grantaire snorted. "It's true though. I do make a waste of myself."
Enjolras seemed hurt. "You don't! I mean, yeah, sometimes you drink too much and it worries me, but you always come to the meetings even though you don't believe in anything we do. And you're a good friend, I mean, I don't like to think where Jehan would be if it wasn't for you. And you always help Éponine with Gavroche or work. It was wrong and I didn't mean what I said," he spoke quickly, moving his hands around.
Grantaire blinked, a warm feeling settling in his chest. He coughed slightly, but smiled. "Well, I guess apology accepted? Although, I should take part of the blame. I was the one riling you up."
Enjolras shook his head. "But you always do that. Not in a bad way! It helps with my speeches; makes them stronger. But what I said was cruel and I am sorry."
Grantaire placed a hand on top of Enjolras's. "Relax. Apology accepted." He smiled at him, before pulling his hand away.
Enjolras seemed relieved, and he relaxed. "I'm glad. I don't like making my friends upset."
Grantaire could only smile at that before Musichetta came with a plate of pancakes for both of them. "No, put your money away, Enj. These are on the house," she grinned, before walking up and Grantaire just sort of expected she'd be texting her boys.
They chatted as they ate and when they were finished, they chatted some more.
When they had to leave, both boys had small smiles on their faces.