Notes: Added trigger warning: self harm

Immediately After

Grantaire ran to his shower, stripping off his clothes in the process and running into walls and doorjambs. He turned the shower to scalding hot and jumped in. The initial chill of not-yet-heated water stung him, then the water turned to burning. He savored the pain. It grounded him.

He was still hyperventilating. It was only when his nose started running that he realized he was crying, the water having burned his face. He hit his head against the shower wall and stayed there, his fingers trying to scratch lines into the tile. He fell down and sat in the tub, the water still burning, turning his body red.

The steam filled in the room. Breathing was almost impossible. Grantaire could feel himself black out momentarily, but a sudden increase in the temperature of water pulled him back.

He dug his fingernails into his scalp, pulling out a few strands of hair. He stayed seated until the hot water ran out and turned freezing.

He turned off the water and stepped out of the tub. He walked to his bed, still dripping wet and naked, and fell in. He pulled the blankets over his red and numb body and stared at the wall opposite.

He did not sleep.

Morning

Grantaire was aware of the sun streaming through his blinds. He looked down at his still unclothed torso. The blinds made the sun shine in stripes along his ribcage. He sat up and examined his body. Almost every limb was bright red- at least pressure didn't hurt.

He rolled out of bed mutely and walked to the bathroom, where, he remembered faintly, he had discarded his boxers. He tugged them on and winced as the elastic scraped against the burns on his thighs. He looked at his face in the mirror. His eyes were red and bloodshot, his nose was red and raw, his lips were chapped. He turned on the cold and water and splashed his face. He rubbed the heels of his hands into his eyes, sighing. At least he didn't have a headache.

He turned and walked quietly to the kitchen. He mixed pancake batter and turned on the stove. He made four pancakes and slathered them with butter and syrup. He poured a glass of water.

He walked to the basement and threw on the lights. Enjolras groaned as he opened his eyes. He quietly sat up and looked tentatively at Grantaire.

His face was bruised. It looked like his nose was broken and a black eye was forming. There was still blood caked on the side of his head.

Grantaire silently handed him the plate of food and the glass of water. He sat across from him and looked mutely at the space just next to Enjolras' ear. Enjolras ate quickly and then quietly set his plate down.

Grantaire looked at him then. Enjolras peered back, noticing the intensity in the brunet's bloodshot eyes. "Did you mean it?" Grantaire asked in a voice so low that if Enjolras didn't see his lips moved, he would have doubted that he spoke at all.
"Did you mean it?" Grantaire asked again, louder this time. "When you said you pitied me? That you we sorry? That you understood?"

Enjolras nodded slowly, "Yes. Every word. You did not deserve what happened to you. No one does. You dealt with it the only way you knew how." Grantaire had stopped listening after the affirmative yes. Now he just examined Enjolras with his eyes- his hair, blonde and gleaming faintly in the light; his temple where blood was pooled, his work; his eyes, bright and blue and full of passion and pity and sorrow for the injustice Grantaire had endured his entire life; his cheekbones, sharp as his words, made sharper still by abuse and captivity; his lips, pink, moving minutely with his words.

Grantaire felt himself sit up and kneel. He felt himself move towards Enjolras. He saw his hands lift and cradle Enjolras' face.
"I'm not saying I'm happy to hel-" Enjolras halted when he realized Grantaire was crawling towards him. He felt Grantaire's hands on his face, gentle, shaky, but sure. It was as soft as the touch he felt when Grantaire had dried his tears watching that news report.

Grantaire realized that Enjolras had stopped talking. He glanced down at his lips again before he felt himself connect them with his own.

The kiss was surprisingly soft, Grantaire's lips barely brushed Enjolras', his hands still held the blonde's face. Enjolras was fisting the sides of his trousers. Grantaire pulled back slightly, the sides of their noses brushed. Grantaire felt Enjolras' elevated breathing against his cheek. He opened his eyes and saw that Enjolras was staring at him doe-eyed. He pulled back to brush back the blond hair from blue eyes. Enjolras noticed a softness in his expression he only saw once before- when he was talking about his last night homeless. Grantaire leaned back in and kissed the blond with more assurance. Enjolras released his fists and held his hands loosely at his sides. Grantaire felt Enjolras' hand come to softly rest against his hip; he covered the hand with his own. Grantaire felt Enjolras lick gently at his bottom lip. That jerked him back to reality and he pulled back abruptly.

Grantaire's eyes were wide with shock. He wiped his mouth with his hand and ran back up the stairs.

Enjolras combed his fingers through his hair and sighed. He began to softly cry.

Notes: So I should say never, /ever/, do what Grantaire did with the shower thing. I can tell you from experience, it is dangerous, unhealthy, and not worth it. Also the burns on your skin are painful and it hurts to wear clothes.
One more chapter left. :( I'm sad to see the end of this fic, but I will be writing more if you want to read less morbid stuff. :)
My tumblr will probably give you better updates on exactly what I'm planning to write and stuff: