Grantaire didn't die, but in a few hours' time that did seem to be an enviable turn of events.
"They're going to lose," said Joly, sitting on a chair outside the hall and chain-eating Kit-Kats. "Enjy went mental, he just threw himself down on the table and didn't move."
"No-one tried to move him?"
"They didn't want their faces clawed off."
Feuilly rolled his eyes and slid down the wall next to Grantaire, who said; "I still don't understand what's happened. Why is this a bad thing? And where's everyone else?"
"Apparently," Joly swallowed chocolate and waved his wrapper about for emphasis, "they were given the side which they didn't want to argue for. He's arguing in favour of religion, you know how he feels about that. But it's not as if he hasn't done this before. But he says he hasn't got enough work done. I don't know. I don't really want to ask.
"The debating team is a closed book to all of us," said Grantaire.
"I don't know, he freaks out about things sometimes. I think that's where he is now. The others all just left him to it."
"He looked pretty bad," said Feuilly quietly, folding Joly's discarded paper into little fans.
"Yeah, he's almost as much of a nervous wreck as you, Jol".
Joly reddened. "I am not a nervous wreck".
"Your first autopsy is going to read 'died of an autopsy'".
"Yeah, well. I hope it's on you."
Grantaire let the back of his head fall against the wall and closed his eyes. "Someone should be with him."
"Why?"
"I don't want him to go into hysterics". Grantaire bowed his head and pressed the edge of a hole in his shoe. "I don't want him to get hysterical, he's going to make himself ill."
"That was different," Joly said, quietly. "This isn't that important. He shouldn't get like that again."
"He shouldn't have got like that in the first place." Grantaire stood up. "Where is he?"
Joly and Feuilly both went very slightly rigid.
"I don't think that's a good idea."
"I'm just going to see if he wants water or something."
"No, 'Aire," said Feuilly, looking urgent. "I really don't think it's a good idea for you to go."
"Why not?! How different am I from anyone else?"
The other two exchanged glances.
"Don't be cross," started one.
"We know that he's just being silly," carried on another.
"Stop that and be clear, or all of Jehan's ribbons are going to go missing and you'll be the ones that have to explain to him why."`
"Right, well." Feuilly exhaled. "He's kind of blaming you for this."
Grantaire went very still.
"What?"
"We know it's not your fault!" Joly jumped on after, "and he does too, really, he's just really highly strung and he's not thinking clearly, and-"
"What?" asked Grantaire again, slightly more loudly.
Feuilly fell back against the wall. "The night he set aside for finalising everything was last night. And apparently you engaged him in something or other, and-"
"What?"
"'Aire. He's not blaming you, he's really not. Just give him time. He doesn't want to admit that he made a mistake. He's tense, you saw how he treated Marius."
Grantaire would have answered, but something inside him was trembling.
"Oh, fuck. Oh, fuck."
The trembling shook dissolved itself to tears inside his chest. He didn't know what he wanted to do or think or say, except curl up tinily.
He tried to strangle that to keep his eyes dry.
"Oh."
"Give him a day or so. He's being silly, he'll realise that."
"What do you mean by 'blames me'?"
"Kind of... just that." Feuilly bites some skin around his thumb and Grantaire can't even find the strength to make a joke about it.
"No, what exactly do you mean?"
"Oh 'Aire." Joly looked at him, sighed, and enveloped him in a warm hug. "Stop picking it over."
Joly is always lovely and warm. He smells warm, and slightly clinical, with an undertone of bleach and talcum powder. Grantaire snuggles into his neck.
"He'll be alright, 'Aire. He's just moody. You know this."
"Mmmf"
Joly gave him a final squeeze and held him at arm's length. "Why don't you go home? You're exhausted."
"'M fine."
"Are you sure?" Feuilly's eyes looked heavy. "Jehan told me that you slept downstairs last night."
"I slept, didn't I? Look, I'm fine," he sniffed. "I'm going to the loo."
Joly raised his eyebrows, but let him go. If Grantaire had turned around, he'd have seen him and Feuilly exchange worried glances, Feuilly surrounded by little paper fans. But he didn't, preferring to look down at his feet and feel hot self-loathing seethe up within him. It reached his eyes, but he blinked it away furiously. He felt off balance. His blood felt heavy. He felt drunk of all things. Joly was probably right. He often was, no matter how much you wanted him not to be.
He steadied himself on a wall and told himself to stop being so silly.
He actually had no intention of going to the loo at all, but he may as well do. He didn't want to go back to Joly and Feuilly again. And Enjolras might be around.
He found a cubicle and folded himself up very tight. Heat built behind his eyes.
It wasn't even as if he knew Enjolras. If he was the sun- which he tried so hard to be- Grantaire was at fucking Pluto. He didn't even want to be in his orbit. Grantaire didn't trust him. He always set his jaw and looked too girl-pretty. He was a politician's son. He drank his tea black, which was weird. Courf said he liked cats and not dogs, and cats are useless.
He keened softly.
How dare he even think about blaming me. Had Grantaire even started that damn argument? Grantaire doubted that he'd even spoken to him about it. To begin with. He was hard, cold. He was unyielding. He didn't even have a proper sense of humour. He only got passionate about things that no-one else cared about, he was probably a virgin, he got upset when he got the wrong debating subject. There was nothing there that Grantaire could admire. His passion was the only warm thing about him.
But he was passionate. It was his core. He radiated heat like some people radiated warmth. But only when he wants to. And he has a cat.
He's dragging, though. He's almost magnetic.
But only when he wants to.
Grantaire rubbed the heel of his hand against his eye, hard. It came away wet. Joly had been right. He was exhausted. He was overreacting about things which didn't matter. And if he doesn't matter, then Grantaire shouldn't be huddled on his own in a bathroom stall, crying about him. He almost heard Courf's voice whispering "You are a strong and confident woman who don't need no man.", which was simultaneously funny and downright alarming.
Where was Courf now? Probably in the debating hall. He always stood in, just in case, when he wasn't needed. Marius was their new addition. He and Courf switched continuously.
Had the girl Marius was talking about turned up? Was she pretty? He couldn't recall anything he'd said about her. Maybe he should go and check. Would they have started by now? Probably.
He'd only started off going to these things to support Courf; he needn't even be here. He liked Combeferre, but Combeferre wasn't one for moral support. He liked Marius, although he barely knew him. He should get to know Marius more.
Maybe he should go in. There might at least be someone he could take home tonight. University girls are so willing to prove their independence.
He thought.
His last had been some girl over from Malaysia. The one before her had been Caribbean. He hadn't had a blonde for a while, who was his last blonde girl? Or a ginger, a ginger might be nice.
Something in the pit of his stomach froze.
No, calm down, he told himself. You've been obsessing about him, that's the only reason. Don't freak out.
The last blonde girl he'd slept with had had curly hair and been wearing a red dress. It had been a fancy dress party, she was the Hogwarts Express. He'd told her off because she didn't even have a chimney. God, he'd been so drunk.
It's the red, he told himself. They both wear red and you can't remember her face, it means nothing.
He knew how he felt around Enjolras. Enjolras was powerful. Grantaire had found the first group of people to tolerate him for longer than a month and he knew if he pissed off Enjolras, he'd be the one to end that. Grantaire admired and pitied him at the same time. It must be awful to be that aloof. He felt too hot around Enjolras, it made his skin shrink.
It's a power thing. Shhh, shh, it's just a power thing. You want him to like you, but you don't want to give in and admit that you like him in return. Shhh, that's all.
He imagined cool fingers stroking through his hair.
"'Aire?"
The words hit him around the face and made him sit up.
"'Aire?"
"Cou…" he realised that his throat was full, and tried to clear it. "Courfeyrac?"
Courf's footsteps stopped. "There you are. We've been worried about you. We thought you'd gone home."
"If you thought I'd gone home, why were you worried about me?"
"Joly said you didn't look well. Are you alright?"
"Yes," Grantaire pressed the handle of the flush to make himself seem less suspicious. Was his face red? "Hang on."
He opened the door. As soon as Courf saw him, his smile dissolved.
"Grantaire! You look awful! Are you okay?"
"Yeah, I'm just tired."
"You look like you've been crying."
"No."
"Oh, 'Aire." Courf seized him around the waist and held him close. Courf's hugs were always more aggressive than Joly's. "I hate to think of you all alone. Are you coming through?"
Grantaire sniffled. "Haven't you finished?"
"They've called a break before the final finals start."
"Oh?"
"We're through to the final finals. Now Enjy's stopped being a diva, they're doing really well."
"That's good."
Courfeyrac squeezed his arm gently. "You should come back through. We miss you there. And Marius wants you to meet his girlfriend."
"… really?"
"Well, he's not said so, but he keeps breaking out of conversation every five minutes to see if you've come in yet. He thinks he's subtle, but he really, really isn't. She's gorgeous, by the way."
"I didn't realise Marius liked me."
Courfeyrac started looking concerned again. "Of course he does. Why would you think he doesn't?" He hesitatied. "'Aire, this isn't what all this is about, is it?"
Grantaire sniffed again, wondering how much he could pass off as a cold. "All what?"
Courf looked around the bathroom, his eyes flicking over Grantaire's hot, aching face and said "This." softly.
"No."
"Come on, then. You might want to wash your face."
Grantaire splashed himself with cold water while Courf waited dutifully outside. When Grantaire came out, he smiled at him.
"Okay?"
"Yeah."
Courf led him back to where he'd been sitting with Feuilly and Joly however the hell long ago that had been, and through into the hall. It looked as if they'd started again.
"Oh, shit!"
They ducked and ran along, Courf's hand around Grantaire's wrist, to where the rest of their friends were sitting, with a collective expression that could be summed up as "of course".
"Now we are all present…" a judge began again. Grantaire felt his knee being tapped and looked over to find Joly, who mouthed "are you alright?"
Grantaire gave him a touched smile. Joly returned it and passed something over to him.
It was one of Feuilly's Kit Kat paper fans. On one side, he had written "I'm a FAN of you." Grantaire glanced across to the other side of Joly to Feuilly staring impassively ahead of him. He smiled and stroked the fan's corner.
Then he looked ahead. Marius was there, closest to them, glancing up at someone in the audience, blushing, and looking down again. Combeferre was scribbling furiously.
Enjolras was between them, staring coolly into space. His face wasn't as angular as it should be.
The other side went first. Their first and second speakers were both girls. Grantaire considered the first one briefly, but cancelled that when he got bored. He doubted anyone was actually listening to what she was saying. Marius countered her. For all his worth, he was actually very good.
The girl who was facing Enjolras looked like she was trembling when she sat down.
Enjolras always looked so calm. He knew how good he was. He didn't over-pronounce his words, like some people did. He just stood up, and he just shone.
Grantaire didn't listen to him. You didn't even have to listen to Enjolras. You didn't even have to be engaged. He did all of that for you. He tossed his head, like he did sometimes, at the opening of his first sentence. A lot of his hair hung to the right of his face because of that, and stayed there the whole time he was talking. Sweat stuck it to his neck.
Enjolras did take sugar in his tea, sometimes.
When he moved his arm up to move his hand three times, that old politician's trick, his jumper gaped away at the wrist. There were warm bones under his skin.
Grantaire looked down at his lap. His palms were sweaty. There was a palpitation in every artery.
He crossed his legs and looked back up.
Enjolras drew his lower lip under his teeth. It came out damp. His teeth were very white.
Grantaire looked away again furiously. He tingled, an icy sweat dusting his hands and spine. A ball of nerves was simmering in his stomach. Enjolras sat down and the friends around him started clapping very quietly, saying "Very good, very good… absolutely top hole… well done, old man" under their breath. Grantaire joined in. Proper physical contact helped to melt away the tingles.
He knew this because he knew the feeling.
This is Enjolras speaking. This is why Enjolras had such a satellite crowd. This is just what Enjolras does. Calm down, you're fine. You don't even know him that well.
Plus, he was going to blame you if this went wrong.
The final speaker for the other team was speaking now. Enjolras was pushing notes backwards and forwards to Marius and Combeferre, grinning like an athlete. His eyes caught Grantaire's, and the smile he gave him tugged and Grantaire's abdomen so hard it physically hurt.