Follow You, Follow Me (69106 words) by eirenical
Chapters: 13/?
Fandom: Les Misérables - All Media Types, Les Misérables - Schönberg/Boublil, Les Misérables (2012)
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Relationships: Enjolras/Grantaire, Other Relationship Tags to Be Added, Minor or Background Relationship(s)
Characters: Grantaire (Les Misérables), Enjolras (Les Misérables), Jean "Jehan" Prouvaire, Joly (Les Misérables), Bossuet Laigle, Combeferre (Les Misérables), Courfeyrac (Les Misérables), Feuilly (Les Misérables), Éponine Thénardier, Cosette Fauchelevent, Jean Valjean, Inspector Javert, Gavroche Thénardier, Bahorel (Les Misérables)
Additional Tags: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Tumblr, Slow Build, Mistaken Identity, Anonymity, Obsessive Behaviour, Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Addiction, Angst, Self-Esteem Issues, Rating May Change, Insults, Minor Cosette Fauchelevent/Eponine Thenardier, Minor Joly/Bossuet Laigle/Musichetta
Series: Part 1 of Follow You, Follow Me

Summary:
Risking a look into those eyes, Enjolras wanted nothing more than to howl out his dismay at what he saw. Even now, that openness was shuttering, closing down, hiding itself behind an endless supply of bitterness. The window was closing and Enjolras' eloquence had fled him completely. He couldn't say a word.

…but he could act.

December 5, 2013: Wow. I am definitely feeling like I bit off more than I could chew these winter months. But I promised I would at least get a chapter of this out once a month until my other obligations have cleared enough for me to devote more time to it and I intend to hold to that promise as closely as I can. Also, knowing that I almost definitely won't get another chapter out before New Year's, I want to apologize for this chapter and how it ends. It, uh... doesn't end happily and that's all I'm going to say about it.

...enjoy? O_o;;;

Follow You, Follow Me - Chapter 13
by eirenical

"Good crowd, tonight."

Joly leaned over the table to take the glass Grantaire was holding out and nodded. "Very good crowd. I suppose everyone's eager for a bit of action after being snowed in this week. Some new faces, too. And just when we thought we knew everyone."

Grantaire sighed as he settled into the chair beside Joly and put his booted feet up on the opposite chair. "I recognize a few. Seems like a lot of the new faces are undergrads."

Jehan nodded agreement from his seat on Grantaire's other side. "I know some of them from freshmen classes I teach. Didn't think Les Amis ran with those crowds. Didn't think that was Enjolras' style."

Joly shrugged. "Who's to say what is or isn't Enjolras' style? It isn't as though any of us knows him very well."

"I think he's getting tired of spinning his wheels. He's ready to do something, you know? And the man's charming when he wants to be. Freshmen want to belong somewhere so badly that they're easily manipulated. At least Enjolras has good intentions at heart." At the collection of raised eyebrows he received for that statement, Bossuet laughed and saluted them with his beer bottle. "What? I still go to more meetings than the three of you and when things are quiet, he likes to talk I pay attention."

Grantaire leaned forwards at that, eyes eager and hands tight around his glass, and Jehan rolled his eyes. Without dropping Bossuet's gaze, Grantaire freed an arm to elbow Jehan in the side. Jehan grumbled about it, but subsided after that, directing his complaints instead towards his strawberry daiquiri. Grantaire turned his full attention back to Bossuet. "So… what does he like to talk about? Apart from the cold manipulation of dozens of needy freshman?"

Bossuet laughed as he shook his head. "Oh no. You're not catching me in that particular trap, R. You want to know what Enjolras thinks of you? Ask the man yourself. I may be a klutz, but even I know enough to not stumble into the middle of that mess."

Before Grantaire could ask another question, the sound of a metal utensil clinking against glass rang out through the room and neatly diverted everyone's attention. The four at the corner table turned just in time to see Combeferre smile graciously and thank everyone for coming before turning over the floor to Enjolras. And as easily as that, Grantaire was ensnared.

It was ridiculous, this thing he felt. It was obsession, pure and simple. Grantaire had been obsessed with enough things in his life, had known the pull of addiction all too intimately not to recognize it when it had him by the balls. And he was addicted. He was addicted to the sound of Enjolras' voice, to the salon commercial shine of his increasingly long hair, to the blaze of his righteously indignant blue eyes. Grantaire was well and truly lost. He wanted to draw him, paint him, sculpt him for crying out loud - to carve away the marble to reveal the graceful curve of shoulder, neck and thigh, to free his form from marble and breathe into it with the breath of life.

…and it would never, ever happen.

Even after being kind to him in the flesh, even after ceasing the worst of his heckling at meetings, Enjolras still hardly ever looked Grantaire's way. Perhaps he had a kind smile for him now and again, sometimes even a nod and a word of greeting, but that was all. Grantaire might as well not exist for all the interest Enjolras showed in him. No… Enjolras saved all his passion, all his curiosity, all his favor… for Rebus. Fucking Rebus. Not for the first time, and doubtless not for the last, either, Grantaire silently cursed Jehan for ever introducing him to tumblr and the Musain for ever introducing him to Enjolras. Because, as hopeless as the situation was, Grantaire was caught in Enjolras' pull as surely as the Moon was caught in orbit around the Earth, and with just as little chance to pull away.

It couldn't continue on like this forever, though. Something was bound to give somewhere. It only remained to be seen which of them would break first - Enjolras or Grantaire. And Grantaire… these days he was made of stronger stuff than that. He didn't break quite so easily anymore. And he wasn't going to give up without trying every trick in his arsenal.

…maybe if he was failing to catch this bee's attention with honey, it was time to pick up his stick and go back to beating the hive.

"Passover, for example, will be here in just two months. I remember my days in freshman housing. I remember subsisting for eight days on mashed potatoes, fruit salad, and an occasional omelet if I was lucky enough to get to the dining hall before class. It's unacceptable for any one group to be discriminated against in such a basic right - the right not to starve."

"Are you telling me that your God doesn't make allowances for situations such as those?"

Enjolras froze in his speech making, turned to face the source of the unexpected and entirely unwelcome voice. He'd had them. All the new recruits. He'd had them in the palm of his hand, ready and eager to occupy the dining halls if he so called them to do it and now…

Grantaire leaned back in his chair, shifted one booted foot from the chair upon which it had been resting to the table itself, his entire pose designed to show exactly how much he didn't care. So, if he didn't care, why- ?

"I thought the commandment to preserve life rose up above all other commandments in that Old Testament of yours. Isn't that why there are allowances to the Yom Kippur fast for people on medications which require food? Isn't that why there are allowances for pregnant women, as well? Or am I wrong?"

Enjolras' fist clenched under the table. Damn it. Engaging Grantaire in the past had never gone as well for him as he liked. Enjolras cared far too much and Grantaire cared far too little and that cooler head gave Grantaire a distinct advantage. And, now, Enjolras was out of practice on top of that. Grantaire had been cooperative for weeks, had lulled Enjolras into a false sense of security. Why pick now to return to his obstinate ways? Perhaps it was the new audience. Perhaps he was bored. The only thing that Enjolras knew for certain was that there were freshman who were now nodding in agreement with Grantaire and if he didn't say something, he was going to lose his new recruits before he'd had a chance to enjoy them. Taking a deep, cleansing breath, he said, "No, you are not wrong, but no one should be forced to turn away from their religion or their beliefs due to the laziness or greed of a school or organization. Not in this day and age. Not in a country built on the ideals of freedom of self from the over-governance of the majority."

The freshmen were back with him, now, cautiously agreeing with him, again, but Enjolras could see Grantaire already preparing his next salvo. Judging by the light in his eyes and the rush of blood in his cheeks, Grantaire had drunk deeply enough that he would not be careful, would not hold back. Subconsciously, Enjolras braced himself for what was coming.

Grantaire did not disappoint.

"Laziness and greed? That's a bit harsh, don't you think? Isn't it greed and selfishness of a higher order to expect one's every whim to be catered to like a spoiled child?" Taking his foot down off the table and his other from the chair, Grantaire leaned forwards, hands loosely clasped around whatever glass of poison he had coursing in his veins at the moment. He wasn't done, was only just getting started, if that posture was any judge. "You said it yourself - the dining hall offers omelets. At lunch, there are deli meats, hamburgers, grilled vegetables. At dinner you can get a rice bowl with meat and vegetables of your choice. There are options. You don't have to subsist on 'mashed potatoes, fruit salad, and an occasional omelet.' You just don't like the options you're offered. You don't want a kosher option or a vegetarian option…" Eyes alight and dancing with this small triumph, Grantaire finished with a flourish of his hand, "…you want better kosher and vegetarian options." Smirking as he raised his glass in salute, Grantaire added, "See? Selfish and greedy… and too lazy to get your ass to the dining hall to take advantage of what's already there."

Jumping to his feet, in spite of his resolve not to show how much Grantaire had rattled him, Enjolras shot back, "It was but one example out of many. Don't twist the issue!" When Grantaire merely raised an eyebrow and took another sip of his drink, Enjolras' temper finally slipped the leash and he lashed out, unthinking, "I've told you before that if you've nothing valuable to contribute, you should just not come. Perhaps you should leave."

A glass slammed down on a table then with an ominous thunk and it took everything in Enjolras not to wince at the contained violence of the sound. Damn it, again. He'd forgotten. In the righteous blaze of his fury, he'd forgotten that Grantaire's guard dog of a best friend was with him, tonight. Closing his eyes, Enjolras did not utter a brief prayer that the encounter wouldn't turn violent… but he did make a swift attempt to bring his own temper back under control. He didn't need Combeferre's warning hand on his arm pulling him back down into his chair to tell him it was necessary. When Enjolras opened his eyes again, Grantaire was hunched towards Jehan, whispering urgently into his ear, a hand just as restraining clamped on that deceptively small forearm. (Enjolras had seen what Jehan could do when roused to anger. He had no desire to experience it first hand, was selfishly glad that Grantaire thought it worthwhile to make an effort to restrain him, at all.) Courfeyrac was on his feet to Enjolras' left.

"Grantaire, everyone! How about a round of applause for our resident devil's advocate?"

What the hell is he doing? Enjolras opened his mouth, moved as if to rise, as well, but Combeferre's hand on his arm kept him tethered to his chair. Combeferre leaned over and said urgently, "For the love of everything you hold dear, Enjolras, be quiet for once and let him fix this before it's unsalvageable." Enjolras quieted, then, forced himself to pay attention for when there would be questions later, allowed himself to trust - for when it came to it he trusted none better than Combeferre and Courfeyrac. Neither would let him or his cause come to harm - not even at his own hands. Of that, he was absolutely certain.

Courfeyrac continued, a particularly broad and reassuring smile on his face - the one which Enjolras had seen put more difficult people than a roomful of freshmen at their ease. "These are the kinds of arguments for which we'll need you prepared. Reporters are calculating and they are vicious when it comes to young college protestors. They'll want to rile you. They'll want to catch you out in arguments that you can't win. Get familiar with those arguments. Study up on our rhetoric. We have pamphlets prepared with all the talking points, all the questions we've anticipated you being asked at the rally. Grantaire, true to form, has raised a few new questions in the heat of the moment, so we'll make sure to prepare answers to those for you, as well. Feuilly will have them up on the website and sent out over e-mail in plenty of time for you to prepare."

Courfeyrac dropped a hand to rest on Enjolras' shoulder and the double restraint of Combeferre and Courfeyrac's hands kept his temper leashed better than any effort Enjolras could have on his own. Courfeyrac finished his impromptu speech by saying, "We'll make sure you're ready and we'll make sure to be available ourselves to intercept any reporters who harass you. We have permits for this upcoming rally and there are rules the reporters will have to abide by. We'll be on the lookout for problems and none of you will be left alone. For now, don't worry. Grab a drink at the bar, talk amongst yourselves, and don't forget to tip your bartender. And for those of you under 21, there are some lovely nonalcoholic ciders and - so you don't even think about it - Eponine is like an eagle. She can spot a fake ID a mile away and she will boot you out of here if she thinks you're going to be a problem. Drink up, be merry, and we'll see you all back here next week!"

As the resulting applause tapered off, Courfeyrac left the head table and went to the bar to grab a cider of his own. Whether it was to set a good example for the freshmen or because he remembered he was their ride home for the night, though, Enjolras wasn't sure and, at that moment, Enjolras didn't care, was just glad to have him gone so he could talk to Combeferre. He leaned towards Combeferre and hissed out, betrayal in his tone, "You three planned this?"

Combeferre sighed, pinched the bridge of his nose and closed his eyes as though they pained him. "Of course, we didn't. Grantaire has been so quiet lately, we haven't thought to plan for him in quite some time. That was simply Courfeyrac doing what he does best - reading a crowd and spinning their reaction to our advantage." Nudging Enjolras to look towards the back corner table, Combeferre said, "Judging by the disgruntled look Grantaire is sporting, I'd say he's as disappointed as you that you didn't get to properly finish your argument." He raised an eyebrow. "Far be it for me to promote more discord within the group, but in the interest of our future endeavors, maybe you should do just that." At Enjolras' wide-eyed expression, Combeferre added, "Finish it, Enjolras. See if you can get to the bottom of that outburst. He's behaved for so long… what changed?"

Enjolras thought about it. He thought about it long and hard. It wasn't until Combeferre had left him to speak with Feuilly, until Joly and Bossuet had left Grantaire's table and gone to the bar to chat with Eponine and Jehan had joined Cosette and Marius that Enjolras finally decided that Combeferre had a point. He rose from his table and, swirling irritation and anger making chaos in his head, made his way to where Grantaire was waiting.

A low whistle.

"Whoa… Bahorel, I missed that when you came over to say hello before. What the hell happened to you?"

Bahorel snorted in amusement. "Found out that I don't need to worry about those kids in Drawing 101 picking on Grantaire. Little fucker's fast and he packs a mean damned punch."

Blink. Blink. Blink blink. Courfeyrac drew back from where he'd been leaning over to more closely examine the impressively yellowing bruise on Bahorel's jaw. "Do I even want to know what happened to get the two of you into a fight?"

"Not so sure it was really a fight." Bahorel stretched his feet out under the table and slouched in his chair. He crossed his arms over his chest and chewed thoughtfully at his lip for a moment before answering. "It was a friendly warning."

Courfeyrac didn't ask a question, but the look in his eyes left no doubt in Bahorel's mind that he'd end up throttled if he didn't give him an answer anyway. He sighed melodramatically. "Either I got warned away from Jehan entirely, warned that fucking him was OK as long as I wasn't looking to make him a boyfriend, or passed a test to earn Grantaire's blessing to court him good and proper. I still haven't quite figured out which."

Courfeyrac's eyebrows shot up into his hairline and he huffed out a noncommittal, "Huh," before covering his surprise with a long pull at his bottle of cider. Putting the bottle down, he laced his fingers around it, tongue darting out to clear his lips of the last remaining droplets. "So… you and Jehan, then? When you said you were interested in meeting him, I didn't realize…" He trailed off, shrugged, offered a sheepish grin. "Huh."

Smirking broadly, Bahorel nudged Courfeyrac's leg with his own. "Jealous?"

Courfeyrac shrugged, again, shook his head. "Nah, Jehan isn't really my type. I just didn't really think he was yours, either. You usually go more for the tall, dark, and sturdy."

It was Bahorel's turn to raise his eyebrows at that statement, not as easily diverted as many of Courfeyrac's friends would have been. With a bit too much direct accuracy for comfort he said, "Oooooh? Is that so? Strong but delicate, blonde-haired, blue-eyed and feisty as fuck isn't your type?" He nudged Courfeyrac's leg again and let out a short laugh. "Could've fooled me."

Courfeyrac nearly choked on his swallow of cider at that, couldn't have stopped his instinctive glance in Enjolras' direction if he tried. Finally he said, "You're a good man, Bahorel. A little too perceptive for my tastes, sometimes, but a good man." He smirked, waggled his eyebrows. "Besides, it's not like I lack for companionship. If I'm in the mood for a 'strong but delicate, blonde-haired, blue-eyed and feisty as fuck' beauty, I'm more than capable of finding one of my own. You can enjoy yours with a clear conscience. And, uh… watch his best friend's right hook, I guess?"

Bahorel laughed, clapped Courfeyrac on the shoulder. "Oh, I will. The best friend and I have already set a date to give that another go. In appropriate gear. In an appropriate boxing ring. With no ulterior motive." He smirked, took a sip of his own drink. "I expect that match to end a bit differently than the first."

Courfeyrac laughed, then stood as he finished off his drink. "You will let me know when that happens, won't you? Someone should bear witness the first time someone puts your ass in the dirt… if it were to happen."

Bahorel laughed in turn. "You are on, my friend. You are on."

Feuilly pushed his plate of spinach and avocado dip towards Combeferre as Combeferre sat down at his table. When busy, Combeferre would often forget to eat and he'd certainly been busy lately. Rallies didn't plan themselves, after all, and many of the organizational details of such events often fell to Combeferre. Feuilly liked to encourage him to make up for those missed meals when he could.

Since Courfeyrac had introduced them, they'd found they worked well together, Combeferre readily and expediently making use of whatever information Feuilly found and never taking exception to his methods for finding it. Feuilly appreciated that, appreciated even more that Combeferre never looked down on him for his blue collar day jobs, for the unlikelihood that he would ever finish the degree he'd started what seemed a lifetime ago. They understood each other. They could relax around each other, drop their respective burdens in front of each other in ways they couldn't in front of many of their friends.

Feuilly waited until Combeferre determinedly began eating a handful of tortilla chips before beginning to speak. Nodding in Courfeyrac and Bahorel's direction, Feuilly said, "That was smoothly done. I thought we'd lost the entire crowd for sure, for a minute there. You and Enjolras should double what you pay him."

"Payment?" Combeferre snorted out a short laugh, shook his head. "This is a labor of love, Feuilly. You should understand that better than anyone." Feuilly raised his glass in acknowledgment of the truth inherent in that statement. He didn't get paid to do what he did for the group, either, after all - and being the only one Les Amis still engaging in even grey-area illegal activity for the cause, he was also at more risk than any of them and most deserving of restitution for it if there were any to be had. Still, he never complained. And neither did any of them. Combeferre smiled a self-deprecating smile, "Enjolras wants to remake the world into a better place and Courfeyrac and myself gave ourselves over to following wherever he chose to lead a long time ago, Feuilly. Someday that may lead to a paying job, but that day is not today."

Feuilly chuckled, reached out to grab a tortilla chip and dipped it before popping it into his mouth. "Yeah. You two are hopeless."

Combeferre laughed. "You speak as though you are any better off than we are. Ever since your introduction, Enjolras has taken to using your life as an example, your thoughts and feelings about underground movements against the establishment as his own personal how-to guide. And you're as taken with his ideals as he is with yours. You are smitten, my friend - as smitten as we. You, too, would follow wherever he chooses to lead, payment offered or not."

Feuilly picked up his bottle of beer and tilted it in Combeferre's direction. "Touché, my friend. You are not wrong. You are not wrong in the slightest." Drinking deeply of his bottle before once again trading it for a handful of chips, Feuilly settled back to take in the rest of the room. To call them a motley crew would be kind. What had drawn them all together was a mystery to Feuilly. They were jagged puzzle pieces that did not yet fit comfortably together, but they each had something to offer to Enjolras' ideals for a better world. Right now, though, they were like poorly trained sled dogs, all pulling every which way and jerking the sled about fit to tip it over. If only someone could formulate a way to get them all working in tandem, they would be a force to be reckoned with. They needed to learn to pull as one and Feuilly just knew that Enjolras would be the one to get them there… eventually.

Right now, Enjolras was too distracted, too inexperienced and sheltered, in many ways, to understand what needed to be done to truly harness the skills at his disposal. He was too full of the light of idealism - a light which shines too brightly and throws each and every imperfection into stark relief until it is all that can be seen. Until that glow dimmed, Enjolras would be helpless to effect any change in the difficulties their group had working together. But, once it did… what a wonder that would be.

"Why do you even come to these meetings if you disdain what we do so much?"

Feuilly and Combeferre turned to look at each other, eyes widening then wincing closed nearly in unison when Jehan turned from his conversation with Cosette and Marius to respond to Enjolras' angry words with a, "Jesus fucking Christ on a crutch, can't I leave you two unsupervised in a crowded room for five minutes?"

The pair in question had frozen in place, Enjolras standing over Grantaire and Grantaire half out of his seat to meet that stiff posturing with some righteous indignation of his own. Before Combeferre could intervene, Grantaire quelled Jehan's angry grumbling with a single look. Turning back to Enjolras, he gritted out, "It's a free country, or so you're always saying, and I like it here. I've as much right to be in the Musain as you do - more perhaps because Eponine likes me better than she does you." Grantaire finished standing and tossed back the remainder of his drink before grabbing his coat. Raising an eyebrow in Enjolras' direction, he said, "But, you may have a point. You and I do far better conversing on neutral ground. Will you join me in a walk?" He smirked. "Or do you not have the proper coat again this time?"

By that point, Courfeyrac and Bahorel had left their own table to join Combeferre and Feuilly. Courfeyrac was shooting panicked glances by the handful at Combeferre, but Combeferre couldn't spare him a moment's attention for once, was too focused on Enjolras and on willing him to say 'No' to pay any mind to anything else.

…but since when had Enjolras ever done as Combeferre willed?

Combeferre watched, stomach clenching, as Enjolras' lips stretched into a slow grin which did absolutely nothing to warm the chill in his eyes. He gritted out, "My coat is more than adequate. Are you sober enough to walk anywhere worthwhile?"

Even as Combeferre removed his glasses, rubbing hard at his eyes, as though that might change what was happening to something more comprehensible, Courfeyrac let out a low moan and dropped his head to rest between Combeferre's shoulder blades. Combeferre could barely make out the words that were muttered into his back, but they sounded like, "This can only end in tears."

Feuilly let out a low whistle. "You're not kidding. Maybe one of us should go follow them if they leave?"

Before any of the others at the table could answer, another voice broke into the conversation and her words were firm and final, brooking no argument. "You will do nothing of the kind. They are both grown men and intelligent enough to realize when a fresh setting may provide a fresh perspective. You will give them the space to do so without forcing them to posture for any of you. Is that clear?"

Combeferre turned to meet Cosette's gaze. Her eyes were as hard as her voice, her mouth set in a stern line. He said, softly, "You know something we do not."

Lips turning up from their frown into a soft smirk, Cosette said, "Combeferre… I know many things which you do not. This is but one of them."

At those words, the weight of Courfeyrac's head lifted off Combeferre's back and was replaced by his hands. Those hands started gently kneading, fighting against the instinctive tightening of muscle and the headache which would no doubt ensue without intervention. Moments later, as Combeferre finally began to allow himself to relax, Courfeyrac leaned forward, spoke just a few simple words into Combeferre's ear… and in the space of a heartbeat, those words undid all the careful work Courfeyrac had just done. This changed everything. Turning slowly in Courfeyrac's hold, he murmured back, "My place. Right now. We need to talk." Courfeyrac nodded grimly and went to fetch his coat, no argument. What had he said?

"…I know who Rebus is."

Enjolras bit back a curse as he and Grantaire crossed the street and the wind cut through his coat. Out from the lee of the buildings there was little protection from the cold, and though Enjolras was better prepared this time - he had gloves and a hat, and a scarf, too - he was still far from prepared for the chill in the air this late on a winter night. Damn his pride. Damn the winter. Damn Grantaire. What had Enjolras been thinking to agree to this madness? What had Combeferre and Courfeyrac been thinking to allow him to agree to this madness?

Chancing a glance at the madman who had dragged him out here, Enjolras was dismayed to find him strolling along quite casually, meandering about the street as though he'd no destination in mind and never had. The night air, rather than shrinking him into his coat - that warm, thick down coat for which Enjolras still envied him - seemed to be reviving him, causing him to stand taller, to breathe more deeply, to grow more alert. Rather than encouraging him to find some secret hole-in-the-wall in which to escape the cold, he was thriving on it, seemed intent on staying out in it for as long as possible.

They walked another two blocks, saying nothing, barely looking at each other, before a chance set of timing had them catch each other's eyes at last. Enjolras looked away first. After a moment, they resumed walking. They'd walked barely more than a block this time before they caught each other's eyes again. Grantaire opened his mouth to speak but closed it after producing nothing more than a fierce blush. And Enjolras envied him that, too. Enjolras' cheeks were so reddened and chapped by the cold already that he doubted a blush would even show on his own face, fair though it was.

They had walked barely another half a block when Grantaire took an abrupt turn down a street Enjolras had not even seen. He was about to protest, all too aware of how dangerous parts of the city could be, but soon realized that Grantaire did, in fact, seem to have a destination in mind. Also, Enjolras couldn't deny that the protection of the tall buildings surrounding them cut down on the chill of the wind considerably, and his chattering teeth won out over his worries by a long shot.

After another few minutes of tense silence, Grantaire paused, this time by a completely unassuming door which seemed just as much a hole in the wall as the Creperie had been. Grantaire looked at Enjolras, then looked at the door, then looked back at Enjolras, as though debating the wisdom of bringing him inside. Enjolras couldn't care less where they went by that point, as long as they went somewhere indoors. Now that they had stopped moving, the cold was leaking in with determined fingers into every nook and cranny left bare by his coat. Finally, Grantaire let out a deep sigh, opened the door and waved him in.

It wasn't until they were inside that Enjolras realized that he'd been expecting another hidden gem like La Crêperie. He was almost disappointed to find that this was nothing of the kind. This was no restaurant, not even a billiards hall or bar. The room in which they stood was clearly an entry alcove of some kind. There a row of mailboxes on the opposite wall and now that they were both inside, Grantaire was, even now, opening the last of the mailboxes to check inside it. A staircase wound its way up from the entryway and Enjolras could make out several landings on the way up, each leading to their own doors. In spite of the evidence before him, Enjolras' cold benumbed brain refused to put it together. For why, after the intensity of their fighting that night, would Grantaire invite him into his own home?

Now with three envelopes in hand, Grantaire waved Enjolras up the stairs before him. At the fourth landing up, Grantaire caught at Enjolras' sleeve, motioned towards the door on the left. Enjolras waited patiently as Grantaire pulled out a key - one lone key attached to a worn and battered keychain on which Enjolras could barely make out any letters, two 'P's, an 'I' and an 'N' - and fitted the key into the lock. Once the door was open and Enjolras was inside - inside in that wonderful, wonderful warmth - only then did Grantaire speak. Though there was no evidence of drunken slurring to the words, his voice was heavy, as though on the walk up the stairs it had become too much for him to carry. "Your coat?"

Reluctant to part with its added warmth, Enjolras nonetheless handed over his outer garments, hastening to wrap his arms around himself once he'd done so. Grantaire rolled his eyes, but he did lean over to obligingly the spin the wheel on the thermostat a few degrees higher. When Enjolras continued to shiver, Grantaire rolled his eyes and muttered something about making coffee and that Enjolras should make himself at home while he did so. It took Enjolras a moment too long to catch on to what had been said, but once he did, he called back, "Any chance of making mine a tea, instead?"

Grantaire's head reappeared from around the corner with a grim smile. "Of course, Your Highness. Anything else you'd like while I toil in the kitchen for your pleasure?"

Enjolras shook his head and Grantaire disappeared back into the kitchen, whistling a jaunty and surprisingly on-key rendition of the Marseilles. Enjolras turned to examine the rest of the apartment. It wasn't the sort of place Enjolras would have pictured Grantaire living, had he been pressed for his assumptions. A moderately sized apartment, It was neat, not a single item out of place. Books were lined up precisely on their shelves. There was no evidence of DVDs or music of any kind, though further perusal did find a very small collection of movies, all of them VHS tapes, tucked in the small cupboard beneath the television.

The living room was large enough to hold a couch and a loveseat, two small end tables and a coffee table, as well as the bookshelves lining the walls, but was not much larger than that. The television was a small flat screen, mounted on the wall and tucked out of the way, as though it didn't see much use. A short walk down the hallway revealed a linen closet, a bathroom, and another door which Enjolras presumed led to the apartment's sole bedroom. That was a line which he would not cross, however, not without far more express permission than he'd been given. Returning to the living room, Enjolras began to fidget. He moved closer to the bookshelves, took a closer look at the titles. He recognized a few, but not many. Some surprised him, some made him shake his head in disgust, others still made him smile as he recognized favorites from his own collection. Eventually he stopped trying to find a pattern, merely tucked away the information he gathered for later thought.

By the time Enjolras had left the bookshelves and was debating going down the other hallway to the kitchen, Grantaire reappeared in the living room entryway with two mugs in hand. One held coffee so black that Enjolras could practically taste its bitterness from the smell wafting his way. The other held tea… and it was only then that Enjolras realized that he hadn't told Grantaire how he took his.

Grantaire handed it over and, noting the look of uncertainty which had passed over Enjolras' face as he took the proffered mug, rolled his eyes and rattled off, "Darjeeling. One and a half teaspoons of sugar. Large splash of 2% milk. Yes?"

The glint in Grantaire's eyes sent a shiver down Enjolras' spine which had nothing to do with the cold. That glint… it hinted at a danger which Enjolras was not used to seeing from Grantaire. It hinted at secrets and whispers and dark corners. It dared him to deny that this was exactly how he took his tea and then dared him further to ask how it was that Grantaire knew that. At least Enjolras was smart enough not to take Grantaire up on either dare. Instead he turned back towards the living room and settled down on the couch, cradling the mug of tea in his hands. When Grantaire joined him, curling his long form into the corner of the loveseat, Enjolras nodded at the room. "This is nice. Not exactly what I expected… but nice."

Grantaire raised an eyebrow. "You spend a lot of time thinking about my living conditions, Enjolras?"

Enjolras really didn't. He hadn't given it much thought at all, in fact… except to wonder if Grantaire's living conditions were as squalid as his habits, if he cared as little for his home as he did for his person and his life, if he could even afford a decent place to live or if he drank all his money away.

…so maybe he'd thought about it.

Regardless, this moderately-sized, neat-as-a-pin, practically sterile living space was not what he'd expected. Enjolras had more clutter in his own apartment than Grantaire did in his. Seeing Grantaire's eyebrow still raised in query, Enjolras finally said, "I just… I suppose I didn't expect you to keep such a clean home."

A derisive snort was Grantaire's immediate answer. "Of course. Because I drink and don't care for your world improvement schemes, I must be poor and live in a dump. Narrow-minded, Enjolras… very narrow-minded."

Of course, it was. Enjolras frowned, stalled for time by taking a sip of his tea. He'd have choked before admitting it, but it was better than the tea he made for himself. And that was almost creepier than the too-neat apartment. After taking another sip and a longer moment to simply warm his hands on the cup, Enjolras said, "This isn't why I came here."

"No. No, of course, it isn't." Grantaire pulled a face, took a long swallow of his coffee. Putting the mug to the side - neatly on a coaster on an end table a precise arms' length away - Grantaire stretched his arms over his head. When he lowered them again, letting them hang loose over his folded legs, he said, "You want to ask about tonight."

It wasn't a question, was instead a statement of fact, weighted down with that same weariness of tone with which Grantaire had spoken earlier. It made Enjolras loathe to push the issue, but he needed an answer and he wasn't leaving without one - not when his entire cause might be at stake. "I want to ask about tonight."

Grantaire shrugged, a lazy smile spreading across his lips to show off a set of teeth far too bright for Enjolras' comfort. "Not much to tell." At Enjolras' frown, Grantaire shifted his arms back to rest along the back and arm of the loveseat and slouched into the corner. "When I'm drunk I shoot my mouth off. When I'm around you I shoot my mouth off. I'm drunk. I'm around you. There needs to be something more to it than that?"

Enjolras dismissed that last comment with a wave of his hand. "You're always drunk and you were around me for quite some time these last few weeks without picking a fight. What I want to know is what made tonight different? Why pick a fight with me when you knew I needed to make a good impression on our newest members?" Enjolras put his mug down on the coffee table and moved to stand, only pausing at the wince that crossed Grantaire's face. What-? Oh. Slowly panning back to look at the mug then back at Grantaire, he said, "Really? You fall asleep drunk on the floors of bars but you're squeamish about me putting a tea mug down on your table without a coaster?"

Grantaire didn't answer, merely leaned forward to pick up Enjolras' mug and put a coaster under it before replacing it. Enjolras stared at him in disbelief, finally got out, "I don't understand you."

"You don't want to understand me," Grantaire shot back. "You don't even want to understand what happened tonight. What you really want is my promise that it won't happen again. Well, you know what, Enjolras?"

"For crying out loud, what?"

Grantaire opened his mouth to answer but before he could get out a single word, he was interrupted by music erupting from his back pocket. Both Enjolras and Grantaire jumped at the unexpected noise. Grantaire recovered more quickly, reaching for the offending phone and scowling at the number on the screen. Without giving Enjolras more than a passing glance, he stood and walked a few steps away to give himself the illusion of privacy, trusting Enjolras to respect the veneer and not eavesdrop. And he didn't. Eavesdrop. But it wasn't as though he could turn off his ears.

Two minutes later, Enjolras had figured out that it was Jean Prouvaire on the phone and Grantaire had turned just long enough to give Enjolras a disgusted look before turning and walking up the hallway which led to his bedroom. Enjolras sighed, picked up his cooling mug of tea and resolutely began drinking it. He refused to even ponder what it was that Prouvaire might be saying to Grantaire, even now, to make this situation worse than it already was. Five minutes later, Grantaire still hadn't returned and Enjolras was no closer to figuring out what they might be discussing. Enjolras began to fidget. It was one thing to choose to be alone. It was another thing entirely to be left alone in someone else's apartment when one wasn't even sure if the someone else was precisely a friend.

When Grantaire still wasn't back five minutes later, Enjolras gave up. Grantaire didn't want to talk to him? Fine. He didn't want Enjolras listening in on his phone calls? Enjolras couldn't blame him. But, he'd be damned if he was just going to sit here and stare at the walls. Pushing himself up off the couch, Enjolras crossed the room to take another look at the bookshelves. Books, at least, he understood. Books didn't lie. Books didn't cancel plans. Books didn't betray you. Books were always there, always comprehensible, even when nothing else was.

Enjolras reached out a hand, brushed his fingers gently across the spines of the middle row of books, trying to find a rhyme or reason for how they were organized. It wasn't exactly alphabetically, as he'd first thought. The upper shelves and lower shelves seemed to maintain order fairly logically, but in that center row, right at shoulder height, the order broke down. Those books also seemed just a little more well-worn than the others, the tops of the spines folding outward and tattered, as though they'd been pulled at often by careless fingers. Enjolras took one from the shelf at random, allowed it to rest in his hand, fingers cupping the spine to protect it. He was unsurprised when it fell open at a well-creased spot. These books were favorites, then, were read often, handled often… like old friends.

Enjolras had a shoulder high shelf full of books just like these… and just as out of order.

Looking down at the page where the book had fallen open in his hand, Enjolras read, ~As he made the last steps, he saw two forms coming towards him. A tall girl, with light hair and rosy face, was leaning on Heidi, whose dark eyes sparkled with keen delight. Mr. Sesemann stopped short, staring at this vision. Suddenly big tears rushed from his eyes, for this shape before him recalled sweet memories. Clara's mother had looked exactly like this fair maiden. Mr. Sesemann at this moment did not know if he was awake or dreaming.~

Well… that was a surprise, for sure. Enjolras hadn't spent any more time contemplating Grantaire's literary preferences than he had his living conditions, but had he been asked, he would never have expected to find this book in Grantaire's collection at all, much less a copy so well loved. Enjolras had a copy, too - just as well-loved as this one. It had been a favorite since he'd been old enough to read it and its message of eternal optimism and the goodwill of people didn't seem like it was exactly Grantaire's cup of tea.

"What are you doing?"

Enjolras jumped, almost slammed the book shut on his finger in surprise. Heart hammering and feeling like he'd been caught doing something he shouldn't have been, Enjolras felt his cheeks start to do a slow burn. Closing the book and cradling it with a gentility at odds with the sharp tone of his voice, Enjolras shot back, "Well, what did you expect me to do when you just wandered off like that? Sit around and collect dust? Are you always this bad a host?"

Grantaire sighed and just raised a hand to rub at his forehead in response… and Enjolras had to wrestle down a sudden instinct which screamed at him to go over and replace Grantaire's one-handed, ineffective rubbing with a proper massage. It's what he would have done if it had been Combeferre looking that tired, that defeated. It's what he would have done if it had been Courfeyrac who'd overindulged, stayed out too late, then stayed up to help him organizing his latest project to put that weary look on his face. It's what he would have done for a friend… but what was Grantaire? Where did he fall on that spectrum? They'd started out their acquaintance bitterly disliking each other. They'd cautiously built that into a wary sort of tolerance and Enjolras had thought that last had finally transmuted into a casual friendship. Grantaire had taken him to dinner, for crying out loud, had been quick to agree that he wanted the fighting to stop. So what was this? Were they back to square one? Or was this return to antagonizing him just a spillover from Jehan's bitter animosity? Damn it, how could Enjolras even hope to predict it if he didn't understand what had started it to begin with?

Across the room, Grantaire winced, turned away. "It doesn't matter. Just… put it back, OK?"

Enjolras nodded, expression solemn. He knew how he would have felt had he found Grantaire so casually handling one of his favorite books, so that was a courtesy he could respect. Enjolras replaced the book as carefully as he had initially removed it and by the time he turned back, he'd finally figured out what to say. "I… I thought we'd said no more fighting. I liked when we weren't fighting."

Grantaire snorted, moved back towards the loveseat to collect his now cold coffee and knock the rest of it back as he would have a fortifying shot of whisky. He stared down into the mug for a time afterwards, as though he might find answers there to the question Enjolras wasn't quite asking. Just when the silence started to stretch to uncomfortable proportions, Grantaire said quietly, "I didn't."

Feeling a headache of his own starting to build, Enjolras clenched a hand tightly into his hair and asked, "Why the hell not?"

Grantaire shrugged. "When we're fighting… when you argue with me… at least I know you're seeing me. When you're not fighting with me, it's like I don't even exist to you. I may as well be one of your faceless, nameless oppressed for all the presence I have. I may as well be a piece of the furniture." Turning to eye the mug Enjolras had placed so carelessly directly on the coffee table even though a coaster had been available, Grantaire finished with, "…and you treat me just as callously." Turning back towards Enjolras, Grantaire's eyes blazed, his fists clenched. In a quiet voice, full of angry vehemence, he said, "At least when we're arguing, I can fight back."

Enjolras' eyes narrowed. Pulling his hand out of his hair, he crossed his arms over his chest. He was getting angrier by the minute. He was going to lose his temper soon, he could feel it. This always happened. Forcing himself to respond in as calm and rational a tone as possible, he said, "I don't like what you're implying."

Grantaire flung his arms wide, a smile stretching his lips into a death's head grin. Enjolras took an involuntary step back at the bitter venom in normally dancing blue eyes. Seeing that, Grantaire's smile turned even nastier. And it was wrong. Grantaire wasn't made for that kind of smile; a sneer didn't sit right on his face. It wasn't Grantaire.

Enjolras braced himself, muscles subconsciously tightening in case the encounter turned violent. Grantaire hadn't struck him as the type, but no interaction he'd ever had with Grantaire had gone exactly as expected. It turned out, though, that he needn't have worried - even as Enjolras' defenses went up, Grantaire's deflated. Letting out a humorless laugh, Grantaire muttered, "I'm too sober for this shit."

"This is you sober?" The words were out of Enjolras' mouth before he could censor them, before he could even consider how they would sound in the context of this ridiculous conversation, or what effect they might have on Grantaire in this oddly vulnerable and volatile state.

…they hit home.

Grantaire drew himself up to his full height - and it wasn't until then that Enjolras realized that Grantaire had several inches on him, a fact he'd have much rather neither had noticed as Grantaire took advantage of it to literally look down on him. "You don't approve of my drinking. You don't approve of my opinions. You don't approve of the way I live, the way I talk, the way I do anything. You have no use for me, whatsoever. You've made all of that perfectly clear." Leaning in, eyes burning with an emotion Enjolras couldn't define no matter how hard he tried, Grantaire said, "So why the hell did you come with me?"

To get to the bottom of Grantaire's actions tonight.

To ask Grantaire to cease and desist his every undermining move.

To bar Grantaire from every other gathering Les Amis ever held.

To demand that Grantaire be sober if he could not stay away.

To beg Grantaire to tell him what had gone so wrong, what had destroyed his faith in humanity so utterly and completely that he could turn every gift he had on its head in order to ruin what might be Enjolras' one chance to make a difference at this school.

All those answers and more battered at Enjolras' teeth, demanded to be let loose from behind tautly drawn lips to wreak their usual havoc… and Enjolras couldn't allow it. He refused to speak the words, refused to be the one to tear apart the flimsy rope bridge currently binding Grantaire to the group, not when there was still a chance to coax him completely across it. Because suddenly, with absolute blazing certainty, Enjolras knew that that was why he had come. That was what he wanted. Grantaire's unique perspective, his clear-eyed, though cynical view, his absolute unashamed and unforgiving way of pointing out every flaw in Enjolras' rhetoric… his flagrant disregard for Enjolras' good graces - he wanted that. He needed it. Those weeks, when contact with Rebus had been so strikingly absent, Enjolras had grown to rely on Grantaire's bold statements and how they ripped open his arguments to reveal the flaws which a journalist, a politician, a lawyer, would have exploited without apology. Grantaire's opposition made them stronger and Enjolras had been a fool not to see it before now.

Courfeyrac had seen it. He'd said that very thing just this evening and Enjolras had been too full of embarrassment at his own actions to see it until now. Only, now… now that Grantaire was staring him down, demanding an answer of him… now those words deserted him. If he said them now, Grantaire wouldn't believe. He couldn't believe, not after tonight.

Risking a look into those eyes, Enjolras wanted nothing more than to howl out his dismay at what he saw. Even now, that openness was shuttering, closing down, hiding itself behind an endless supply of bitterness. The window was closing and Enjolras' eloquence had fled him completely. He couldn't say a word.

…but he could act.

If Grantaire would not be won over with words, could not be charmed into alignment like the others, then this was the only way. Enjolras resolutely ignored the loudly squalling voice in his head screaming at its own lies. This had nothing to do with winning Grantaire over to the cause. Nothing. This had to do with need, pure and simple. Just as with Rebus, Enjolras couldn't beat Grantaire with words, would never see him submit, never see him yield to an argument lost. All of Enjolras' charm deserted him where those two were concerned. But with Grantaire, unlike with Rebus… words were not the only weapon Enjolras had at his disposal.

Fisting his hands in Grantaire's shirt, Enjolras jerked him roughly forward, without warning, with hardly any care at all, and sealed his lips over Grantaire's. Grantaire stiffened under his hands, jerked once as though to pull away, then let out a choked whimper as Enjolras moved his lips against his. He whimpered again and it sounded as though something in his chest had broken beyond all repair. Grantaire's lips were slack beneath Enjolras', utterly unresponsive, and his hands twitched restlessly at his sides, brushing against Enjolras' hips one moment, then jerking hard away the next.

This was not how Enjolras had wanted this to go and, damn it, he'd learned from the best, knew every trick of the trade when it came to kissing. Enjolras was good at this. He was. He'd had enough practice, for fuck's sake. At the next broken whimper, Enjolras pushed hard at the chest beneath his hands, held tight to the material as Grantaire stumbled backwards, until they fetched up against the nearest wall. Enjolras kept moving, molded himself to Grantaire's lanky frame, slipped his knee between Grantaire's legs to secure that grip even more, trapping Grantaire against the wall and willing him to respond. This had worked before. It had. Twice. Damn it. Why was it not working? Maybe because it was Grantaire?

When Enjolras leaned forwards again, exerting just the slightest pressure upwards with his knee, Grantaire made another broken noise and finally, finally, brought his hands up to clutch at Enjolras' hips and pull him closer, finally opened his mouth and began kissing back. Enjolras only barely held back a crow of triumph. Of course. That explained it. It explained all of it. Why Grantaire was so intent on being noticed, on being seen, on being a distraction. As obsessed, as… as in love as Enjolras was with Rebus, so too was Grantaire with him. And that… that was something he could use.

Only even as Enjolras completed that thought, Grantaire once again managed to do the unexpected. Breaking away from Enjolras' lips with one last broken sounding whimper, Grantaire shifted his grip from Enjolras' hips to bring his hands up and between Enjolras' arms, breaking his hold on him as though that hold had been no more than the ineffective clutching of a toddler on his mother's skirts. Grantaire then pushed him, hard, causing Enjolras to be the one to stumble backwards this time. Grantaire's blue eyes were cold, hard, blazing with righteous indignation as he spat out, "There isn't enough alcohol in the fucking world to make me drunk enough for that." Before Enjolras could say another word to explain himself, Grantaire's face twisted, so full of anger that Enjolras backed up a pace, shaken.

Once there was space between them, Grantaire quieted, the snarl slipped from his face to reappear in his voice as he spoke his words in a low tone harsh enough to send shivers down Enjolras' spine. "You do not have me wrapped around your little finger as you do the rest of your sycophants, Enjolras. I am not a prize to be won or a town to be conquered. Is this what you do when your charm fails you? I thought better of you than that." Enjolras moved to interrupt, but Grantaire waved him silent - undoubtedly a good thing as Enjolras' self-preservation instincts had long since flown out the window and he'd doubtless have said or done something even more incredibly stupid than he had already otherwise - and continued, "If I had thought you meant that an act of love, or even friendship, I'd take you to my bed right now, with open arms and no strings attached. You're not wrong about that. But that was an act of anger and frustration. Love is not a battle to be won, friends are not made by defeating them and I will not be had for so cheap a coin." He paused then, panting slightly, eyes wild. Lifting a finger and pointing firmly at the door, he simply said, "Get out."

Enjolras knew better than to try to explain himself. He'd miscalculated, made a mistake… done wrong. There was no excuse he could make here that would not sound contrived, would not sound condescending. He'd gambled on Grantaire's desire for him outstripping his basic antipathy… and lost. Now it only remained to be seen exactly how much.

Grantaire didn't slam the door behind him and Enjolras hung about at the keyhole long enough to know that he also didn't cry, and from the complete absence of distraught sounds of any kind from beyond the door, didn't spare him a second's more thought that night.

And somehow that was the worst thing of all.

A/N:
I just wanted to take the opportunity to say thank you to you guys for staying with me as slowly as I'm plodding through writing this story. I never intended for it to take more than six months to get it done, but I think I've got a feel for the shape of the ending now and I'm going to cautiously say I'll be wrapping this up in maybe another three or four chapters?

...then again, you know what they say about the best laid plans. ^_~

Also, recently I've somehow managed to startle a couple of you on tumblr because we met under other circumstances. I'm sorry because I really wasn't trying to be sneaky! I always include links to my tumblr chapter posts up top, but for this once I'll be a bit more blatant. You can find me at eirenical on tumblr and I always love an opportunity to chat. So, feel free to come say 'Hi!' I promise I'm not scary, even when I'm being accidentally sneaky. ^_^

(Also I'm going to take a moment to totally shamelessly plug a new blog. I love e/R like mad, but I've caved to the truth that Courfeyrac is my favorite of favorites and C/C is my ship. SO, I started an ao3feed for them (housed at ao3feed-courferre) which is also going to contain other C/C content as well as shares of older C/C fic on ao3. So, if you like C/C, feel free to come check it out! ^_^)

OK. I'M DONE SHAMELESSLY PIMPING MYSELF, NOW. Thanks for listening! ^_^

...-.-;;;