Grantaire did a good job of forgetting. He stayed busy working with Charla on their wedding, as well as going to his mother's to paint. He managed to forget. He managed to forget Enjolras until the following Wednesday when he saw the blond through the large glass windows of the store front. The other man was pulling up his shirt and appeared to be gesturing to his lower back. Grantaire had to do a double take to fully understand the seriousness of the situation. Enjolras was in a tattoo parlor. And it looked like he was going to get a tramp stamp.
Before Grantaire could even process what he was doing, he found himself charging into the shop. The only warning the other got was the chime as the door opened. Grantaire opened his mouth before Enjolras had time to react.
"No."
"Grantaire?" Enjolras turned, hastily pulling his shirt down.
"Absolutely not." R protested.
"What the fuck?" Enjolras said coming to his senses.
Grantaire stormed over to where the blond was to pull up his shirt. Already on his skin was the pale lines of a stencil. "Hell no. You are not getting a tramp stamp, Enjolras. Especially not one that says 'raise a little hell'. What are you even thinking?"
"Shove off," Enjolras pushed Grantaire away. "I've made the appointment, I'm getting a tattoo. Besides what right do you have over my body?"
Grantaire let out a huff. Behind the desk the receptionist rose. He was a hulking man, hired clearly for his ability to scare off troublesome interlopers."Is this guy causing any problems?"
"No, Gueulemer. This gentleman was just leaving," the tattoo artist said pushing Grantaire towards the door.
From behind him Enjolras was watching him uneasily.
"Please, Enj," Grantaire begged. "Don't do this. You're going to regret it."
"Would you shut up? The young man has already made his choice." The artist sneered.
"Thank you, Babet," Enjolras muttered softly.
The artist grinned. Grantaire thought he looked like a piranha. "Please just...Never mind. Do what you want."
Grantaire walked away, leaving Enjolras very confused. He felt hurt. The small bit of confidence he had built up was now completely shattered. He should be angry at the brunet, and yet a small part of Enjolras wanted to listen to him.
"Shall we begin?" Babet asked gesturing to the back room. "I assume you are happy with the placement and design?"
"I..uh..." Enjolras nodded. Babet grinned before escorting Enjolras to the back room.
That afternoon Enjolras was having the shift from hell. The skin around his tattoo was red and slightly raised. He was reluctant to make any sudden moves, since his muscles were still tense not to mention a little sore. Because of this, he spent most of the afternoon working behind the counter. It required less movement, and also allowed for him to rest more.
"Well aren't you beautiful," wolf whistled Felix coming to the bar. "Cute too in that apron of yours."
Enjolras blushed. "I didn't think you could come."
"Well when you told me about this morning's adventures...how could I not? Can I see it?" Felix asked hungrily. He rested his elbows on the counter leaning far into Enjolras' space.
The waiter pulled away. "It's still red and a bit...I'd rather we wait."
Felix leaned back in his seat, the picture of ease. "Very well. If that's what you want, pet. Get me a coffee, and then tell your boss you will be taking your break."
Enjolras nodded before turning around to grab the pot of coffee. Finding both gone, clearly one of the waitresses was making her rounds, he went to the kitchen to brew another pot. When he returned he found that Felix was no longer alone. The coffee pot shattered as it hit the floor.
Felix disinterestedly turned his head at the sound of glass breaking.
"Enjolras, are you alright?" Grantaire, the man sitting beside Felix, stood up as if to go to him. However it was Felix who moved faster.
"Damn," Enjolras muttered. Hot coffee and broken glass lay at his feet. Gingerly he bent down to pick up the larger pieces. In an instant Felix was by his side. Instead of helping the waiter, he placed a hand on his lower back, clearly marking his territory.
"Don't forget, you're mine" he whispered into Enjolras' ear. He added a bit more pressure causing Enjolras to squirm. "I'll be back when you've got this mess cleaned up."
Grantaire couldn't help but notice how Enjolras flinched at the touch, and gently pulled himself away. The older man left, striding past Grantaire, purposefully bumping into him. Grantaire made his way past the counter to where Enjolras had just knelt.
As he joined the blond on the floor he asked, "are you alright?"
Enjolras just nodded, but he was blinking a lot.
"He's the reason you got that tattoo. Isn't he."
Enjolras flushed. "It's none of your business."
"I saw the way he touched you. I saw how he watched you since the moment you came back from the kitchens. You can't hide that he's got a thing for you. I just didn't think you would go for older guys," Grantaire bit back. An uneasy feeling curled in his stomach, tense like an adder about to strike.
"Are you jealous?"
Grantaire tightened his lips, his eyes hard. He watched Enjolras gingerly pick up the larger pieces of glass, while holding his left arm at an awkward angle. He watched the blond repeat the motion a couple time before saying, "show me your arm."
"No." The fire that had just been burning in Enjolras had gone out. He was ashamed for lashing out. And to be honest he was just so tired.
Before anything could be done, Grantaire reached out grabbing Enjolras' left wrist. He was afraid of what he might find. He feared bruises, signs of abuse, or scars, signs of self harm, and didn't know which would be worse. With trepidation he rolled up the sleeves of the black button down revealing neither of those things. Trailing across his forearm in diminutive script were the words "per ardua ad astra". Grantaire let out sigh he hadn't even known he'd been holding in. "Oh."
"You were right. I couldn't," Enjolras swallowed. "That design...I couldn't do it. Not even for him."
"Through adversity to the stars," muttered Grantaire in awe. Gently he traced the letters, careful not to upset Enjolras. Initially Enjolras tensed at Grantaire's touch, afraid it would hurt, but he quickly found that it just tickled. Softly Grantaire mumbled, "beautiful."
Enjolras shivered. He wasn't sure what Grantaire's was referring to, but he liked it all the same. The soft mood they had built was quickly destroyed.
"What's your boyfriend going to think?"
Enjolras jerked his arm away. "He's not my boyfriend."
"Then what is he?" Grantaire asked. The tight feeling had returned, only this time it was like a pot about to boil over. It roiled in his stomach, making him clench his jaw.
"It's just sex." Enjolras shrugged,
"Do you love him?"
"I'm in love with someone else." Enjolras said looking at the shattered glass. Tears threatened to spill from his eyes; his lungs weren't functioning. When he could bring himself to look up he found that he was alone. Grantaire had left.
Grantaire was leaning against the shop right next to the Musain. What the fuck just happened? Seeing Enjolras like that...so helpless and forlorn...and Grantaire had to get some air. It didn't help that Enjolras scent had begun to surround them, reminding him of better and easier times. He replayed the entire interaction from entering the cafe to leaving it and couldn't help but wonder if Enjolras had been right. Was he jealous? The feeling was still there, making Grantaire feel ill. He needed to clear his head.
Instead he went to the small bookshop across the way and found himself sitting in the overstuffed armchair at the front. He had picked up some book on the fall of Rome, but found he couldn't concentrate. He watched Felix return to the Musain with the brisk walk of a man who knew what he wanted. He saw the older man enter the place, a king returning to his court. He saw Felix make his way to Enjolras who was still standing behind the counter. The blond looked hurt and more than a little bit confused. Guilt stabbed at Grantaire; he shouldn't have left Enjolras alone in there. With him. Felix smirked, leaning too far into Enjolras' place. The waiter looked caught, unable to move away. Felix continued to push his way behind the counter, using his grasp on Enjolras' locks to pull him into a kiss. Grantaire couldn't tell, but it looked angry and possessive. He guessed that Felix had forced his legs between Enjolras' legs based on how the blond reacted. Enjolras' defenses seemed to melt as he allowed himself to be kissed. Felix whispered something to the blond before stepping away with a grin leaving Enjolras alone again.
Grantaire looked down at his book, seeing nothing but the words swimming before his eyes. This is why he didn't notice Felix standing right behind him. The only clues he got was the smell of sharp cologne and the feeling that someone was watching him.
Grantaire turned, almost jumping out of his skin when he saw the senator behind him.
"I saw you watching," noted Felix.
"I-"
"It turned me on."
Grantaire swallowed.
"It's also why I kissed Enjolras that way. I was marking my territory, making sure he couldn't forget what we have. Care to know what I told him?" Felix spoke like he was talking about the fucking weather.
Grantaire's grip on the book tightened.
Felix leaned in and whispered. "I told him I would fuck him tonight until he was raw."
Grantaire stood trying to push past Felix, but the older man held his ground.
"Are you jealous?" His words were the same as Enjolras', and held such a similar sting. They were intended to cause pain, but the malice was differently rooted. It wasn't one hurting person trying to hurt another, this was the cruelty of a victor kicking the loser.
Grantaire brushed by him, leaving Felix laughing behind him.
Grantaire made his way to the park. He found a bench, far from the well used paths and sat down to think. He figured it would be best to start at the beginning so he went back to the first time he had asked Enjolras out. He followed that trail all the way through high school, and their disastrous break up right before senior year. He remembered crying on Eponine's couch, while she and Bahorel looked on in dismay. He recalled how his last year of high school had been hell. Bahorel and Eponine had tried going after Enjolras, behind his back, but found that Combeferre and Courfeyrac were defending him. He remembered all the listless evenings where Bianca or his parents had tried to distract him, but nothing worked. He had gotten so good at forgetting, so why couldn't he now? He remembered going away to the School of Visual Arts in New York. How being in that city felt like a fresh start. Initially he still felt the pain of his dream of living with Enjolras in a large New York loft, but as time passed the hurt faded. He met Bossuet in New York. His roommate had come to study animation. Although the other man seemed unlucky, his short films were some of the best that Grantaire had ever seen.
Through Bossuet he met Musichetta, another student at SVA. She was his girlfriend, since forever, and had come to study art history. The two of them made quite a pair, until they met Joly at a club. Grantaire had been there. He saw the instant chemistry between the three of them. However Musichetta and Bossuet were committed, and would never dare cheat on the other. For three weeks Grantaire watched them mope, until finally he locked them in his and Bossuet's dorm room and made them talk. He had also left his computer helpfully open with a website about polyamory. That night they called up the little med student and had their first date. The rest was history.
Joly easily fell into their group, and although he knew very little about art, he seemed to have a great appreciation for it. He often helped Grantaire with his figures by talking about the bones and muscles which made up the picture. He and Bossuet would make little shorts of a talking skeleton that taught kids about their bones. And Musichetta would drag Joly to new exhibits, where the two of them drank champagne and pretended to be fancier than they were. It was all good fun, and it made forgetting easier.
Freshman year, and Grantaire visited home often. He saw his parents and Bianca as much as he could. By sophomore year however there was never the time. He found his family coming to New York to see him, or they all went somewhere together on vacation. He was never home, so he never found out about Enjolras' return. Losing his connection to Montfermeil made forgetting the easiest. Imagining Enjolras flourishing in DC helped Grantaire come to terms that he could never go back to what they were. Neither of them could. It made it easier to forget.
Fast forward to Grantaire's junior showcase. His paintings were mostly of people, as that was his specialty, and he had a whole corner to himself. He was nervous in his black tie apparel, and his friends had yet to show up. He watched as a pretty blonde woman stared intently at each of his paintings before coming to the last one. She wore a slight frown, but her stance was neutral and easy. She cocked her head as she studied the painting. People moved past her, looking but not seeing. Grantaire remembered watching her take a sip of champagne, still staring at the painting.
"The composition is all wrong," she said to the air, then directed her question to him, "don't you think?"
"Are you talking to me?"
"Certainly. You've been looking at this painting just as long as I have. You must have noticed there was something wrong with it, if not sensed it." She still hadn't looked at him.
"Or perhaps I really liked it," he quipped glibly.
She let out a little laugh. "I had heard such good things about this painter in class. I'm afraid that he's disappointed me."
"Class? Are you a student at SVA?"
"Mm. I'm majoring in Visual and Critical Studies. And I can tell you the composition and palette are all wrong."
"And why is that?" Grantaire asked with interest. She was after all critiquing his favorite piece.
She hummed, took a sip of champagne and then began. "The artist is clearly depicting a fallen angel, but the lines are all wrong. Instead of the classical composition from the renaissance which uses a triangle to draw the eyes up, the artist has chosen to draw this. The body is bent at quite the wrong angle, his back must surely be broken. And instead of the eye following the painting to the heavenly light, all the lines spiral into the figure. Very egotistical is it not? Now for the colors. They are much too bright for this subject matter. The wings are too stark against the form. That color red is to lurid for this work. And here, the shadows of the muscle are not nearly blended enough. His eyes aren't right either. They don't hold you like they should, and that hair? No one has hair that blond."
"You do, madame," Grantaire said.
The young woman smirked. "Not even my hair is that wild."
Grantaire conceded to her point.
"Lucifer should not like," she paused. "Like Antinous."
"I think you will find this is not a painting of Lucifer. It is rather just an angel who disagreed with Heaven's order, and was therefore cast out." How prophetic that would turn out to be.
The woman frowned. Her eyes flitted over to the small placard beside the work, "I don't remember reading that."
"No. It's not written there."
"Then how do you-"
"Because I am the artist." Grantaire took a moment of pleasure from the look of surprise the young woman gave him.
"You're R."
"Grantaire actually, but yes."
"Omigod." If the next words he was expecting was an apology he didn't get it. "How could you display this? It's terrible."
"I am afraid that I am going to disagree with you there."
"No it is. Honestly your portraits are awful."
Grantaire raised a brow. He should be offended, but instead he was charmed and honestly arguing with her was more fun than he had expected. "Is that so?"
"Yes. Take for example this next one here." The young woman led him to another one of his paintings, this one was of Joly and a skull. "It's all wrong. Hamlet doesn't look like this."
Grantaire chuckled. "He's not Hamlet."
"Well then it's just morbid."
"Perhaps a little."
Or this one, she led him to the painting of himself. "Completely inaccurate. You have made your nose too big. Your brows too thick, your eyes are much prettier in person. And your lips, they look malformed. It's hideous."
"I was smirking." He had been when he painted it, and now he was again as he spoke to her. He had heard her compliment. She turned about to add more but before she could he asked, "so what is your name? You never really introduced yourself."
She stuck her nose in the air, and what a cute nose it was, noted the artist. "Charla de la Roche. It's been a pleasure."
Grantaire shook the hand offered to him. "Indeed it has Miss de la Roche. What would you say to getting coffee with me? Perhaps you could critique some of my sketches?"
She smiled. "I'd like that."
They exchanged numbers.
As she left she turned around, glanced over his art once more and pronounced. "You could do wonderful abstracts."
Grantaire watched her go and laughed under his breath. He would never go abstract.
Grantaire thought about dating Charla, about what his friends had thought when they had first met. Charla had been confused by their dynamic, and refused to call Bossuet anything other than Lesgles, his given name. He had told her many times that she was allowed to call him Bossuet or even Laigle...she had politely declined. Grantaire found that when he was with Charla he drank more, but he attributed that to the fact that she loved to party. Not stupid frat parties with kegs and warm beer, or even house parties with slightly better beer. No, she liked going to art openings and wine tastings. Grantaire was fine with that, but to survive he drank. That should have been his first warning. Sometimes they would bring along Musichetta, but it became clear early on that she did not have the same opinions as Charla on the old masters. This caused some contention between the two women, and it soon became clear that they should not talk about art together.
One long weekend, Charla decided to fly them down to Myrtle Beach as a surprise. While down there they had one of their biggest fights, causing Grantaire to grab the car keys, slamming the motel door as he left. He clearly remembered driving to a small bar on the waterfront. From there is memory was hazy, he drank and drank and drank. He only stopped when the bartender cut him off. He lied about having a ride and got into his car. What could be the harm?
The harm was Alice Spencer. He swerved in the attempt to not hit another car, and didn't happen to notice the girl trying to cross the road. Her body made a sickening thunk deafening compared to the crunch of metal from the car hitting a lamp post. Grantaire clawed at his seat belt, trying to get free of it and the airbags. He stumbled out of the car and made his way to the girl. She seemed so young. He would find out later that she was only seventeen.
"Shit shit shit shit shit shit," he muttered as he tried to dial the police.
"911, what's your emergency?"
Grantaire tried his best to describe what had happened and give his location. When the ambulance arrived it was determined that he probably had alcohol poisoning and would need his stomach pumped. He blacked out shortly after. Upon waking up the first thing he felt was disappointment, he was alive. Slowly memories returned to him, and with them the worst hangover he had had in a long time. He stood shakily, and went to find the girl. Seeing Alice in a hospital bed a few minutes later was the most sobering image in his life. Her parents were crying at her side, her mother holding her hand.
"I'll pay," he mumbled. They turned to see him at the door. "For all of it. Anything she needs."
Mrs. Spencer looked at her husband. He nodded. She rose and pulled R into a hug. Grantaire tried to pull away. "Thank you."
"No. I hit her in the first place it would be wrong-"
"You took responsibility. You didn't just leave her there to die. She's going to be alright, Grantaire. Thank you."
Grantaire began to cry. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. I- I won't ever drink again. I'll be sober from here on out. I-I'm sorry. I'm really so sorry."
Mrs. Spencer began to rub his back. "Hush, it's okay. You're both alive. Alice is going to be fine. Hush, sweetheart. It's okay."
Even now, remembering seeing Alice in that bed with all the wires and tubes attached made Grantaire tear up. He wiped his eyes and continued to remember. He remembered how supportive his friends had been when he got back to New York. How the Spencers called with weekly updates on their daughter. It turned out that they were from Connecticut and had been visiting family for the weekend, so when she was well enough Alice returned to Connecticut. On the weekends Grantaire would drive to see her. He talked with her, constantly apologizing, and told her about his life in New York. And miraculously she got better. He could never forget that.
He continued through his own time line, remembering moving out of the dorms for the last time into his own place. Later he moved in with Charla. He recalled her finding the ring, and the many many brunches they had to go on with her friends. He remembered calling his parents to tell them he was coming home for the first time in years and he was bringing someone special. He thought about their arrival and the announcement. It had all seemed okay then.
He easily recollected going to the Musain and finding it really hadn't changed. A perky blonde waitress, no Cosette, seated them and they began to talk about the wedding. Vividly he could remember Enjolras appearing, at first he thought it was a specter from his own past. It wasn't. And it wasn't some horrible nightmare, it was reality.
"Good morning, I'm Enjolras and I'll be your server for today. What can I get you to drink?" He remembered catching Enjolras' eyes before the waiter looked to his father clearly ignoring him.
"Enjolras, dear, we didn't know you worked here," His mother said. Grantaire wanted to cringe. He wanted to hide.
Grantaire barely heard Enjolras say something about bills when Charla said, "Darling, who is this?"
Grantaire's mouth went dry."Ah, this is Enjolras. An old family friend. Enjolras, meet Charla. My fiancee."
He watched the blond smile, perhaps everything was fine between them. Perhaps they had both forgotten. Perhaps they could move on.
Brunch continued as it should.
Grantaire reviewed all that had happened and couldn't seem to find the moment he had stopped loving Enjolras. Had there been one? When was it that he consciously stepped away from one blond into the arms of another? Because he must have. He wouldn't be marrying Charla if there wasn't that moment. Was it the spark when they met? Their first date? When they defined the relationship, making it exclusive? Or perhaps the way she comforted him after his accident? When they decided to move in? When she found the ring? Once they told everyone? When they told his parents? When they came home? When Enjolras smiled the first time he saw them? When was it? Grantaire tried to find the moment, the moment when his heart wasn't tied to the man who had been working so hard and been waiting so long. He search and searched and realized perhaps there had been no moment. Perhaps he had just gotten a little too good at burying his feelings.
He returned to the beginning and forced himself to look at some of the more unpleasant moments in his life. There was that low day, Grantaire needed comfort he had drunk a little too much and had been alone far to long. He called Charla and she told him to suck it up. The day they fought in Myrtle Beach...she had called him spineless and useless and good for nothing. They had almost broken up...but when Charla found him in the hospital they pretended as if nothing had happened. The next big fight occurred when Grantaire said he was going to pay for all of Alice's expenses. Charla had been livid. Those had been some lean months for them. He thought about all the times he told himself that he wasn't going to do better, and that he should be happy. He thought about all the expensive canvases that wasted doing art he hated for her so they could sell them. She insisted they sold, and they needed the money. Perhaps if he hadn't paid for Alice's bills he could be making his own art? But that wasn't even a train of thought he was willing to consider. As his success in the art world increased, his happiness at home decreased. Charla became more demanding and less sympathetic. They fought more often, she drank more, he went to sleep on Joly's couch. It was a cycle that had only stopped when she found the ring. He had bought it so long ago, had almost forgotten he had hidden it there. If only…
If only he had never bought the thing. If only she hadn't found it. If only he had lied. If only. If only. If only. Two little words which were making him miserable. A life spreading ahead of him, with no way out. This wasn't what he wanted.
No matter how many ways he reviewed it, all from different angles he found that there was never a moment that he had fallen out of love with Enjolras. How pathetic was that? Perhaps Charla had been his greatest distraction of all.
It was late when Grantaire finally made it back to the B&B. He was exhausted and at the end of his line. He found Charla sitting in their room reading.
"You're home late."
"I know. I've been thinking-"
From the parking lot came a nasty snarl. Both Charla and Grantaire made it outside to see what was going on. Other people had had similar ideas, and the balcony was crowded with people. Grantaire and Charla made their way to the stairs to get a better vantage point.
"You little prick tease!" Grantaire was disgusted to find that it was Felix yelling this. He watched as Felix pushed Enjolras to the ground. "God you're so stupid."
Grantaire made his way down the stairs, his heart the only thing faster than his feet. He pulled Felix away from Enjolras before landing a punch on his jaw. "Say that again and I will end you."
Felix spat at Grantaire's feet. "This is none of your business. Enjolras, get back inside."
To Grantaire's dismay he watched Enjolras scurry back into the motel room.
Felix turned to the crowd. "Sorry for the display. We are practicing a little act from a friend's screenplay. I just didn't intend to actually be punched."
The crowd laughed with him before slowly dispersing. Felix gave him one more look before going back to Enjolras. Grantaire tightened his fist before storming back to where Charla was waiting. She looked shocked. He pushed past her like he didn't see her.
"Where are you going?" she asked following him to their room.
"Out."
"Hey." He continued to pack a small bag. "Hey. Listen to me."
He turned, adrenaline was still coursing through his veins, he needed to hit something. "What."
She marched over to him and slapped him on the cheek. "That was for punching the senator."
She then proceeded to ignore him as he left. Grantaire made it to his car, giving a dirty look to the door that enclosed Enjolras and Felix. He drove not knowing where he was headed. He found himself at Eponine's.
He knocked on the door. It was opened by the woman herself. She took one look at him before letting him in.
"Can I sleep on your couch? Just for tonight I promise."
She smiled. "Come on sad sack. Let's get you some food."
He let himself be led into the house. Gavroche was at the table finishing what looked like stove top mac and cheese. Grantaire served himself some before joining Eponine and her brother at the table.
"Want to talk about what happened?" asked Eponine.
"Not especially."
She nodded. "Alright."
Gavorche left claiming he had 'a shit ton of homework and not enough hours'. The two adults watched him go with fond smiles. Unanimously they made their way to the couch and turned on some television to fill the silence.
"Eponine?" Grantaire started softly. "I think I've made a really big mistake."
Slowly and methodically Grantaire explained the conclusions he had come to this afternoon. She sat and listened, not saying anything until he was done.
"So you love Enjolras."
"Yes."
"The email-"
"God enough with the email. I know it's stupid of me to still love a guy who rejected me through an email. Trust me I know how pathetic I am," Grantaire reiterated.
Eponine winced. "That's not what I was...never mind. Forget I even brought it up."
After all it was not her secret, and it would mean more coming from Enjolras himself. "So what are you gonna do about this wedding?"
Grantaire ran his hands through his hair. "Hell if I know."
"Call it off."
"I know, but I don't know if I can-"
"Call it off." reiterated Eponine.
Grantaire nodded. What other choice could there be?
Sorry for the later update than usual. This chapter was actually very difficult for me to write. It marks one of the major turning points of the story and I needed to get it right. Other notes:
- I knew Enj was gonna get a tattoo for a long time. And the week I was writing this just happened to be the same week I got my first tattoo. Funny how the universe works like that
-SVA is a real school in New York
-I know Bossuet is supposed to be a lawyer, but for this AU he's an animator
-Grantaire's painting is obviously Enjolras
-The prophetic nature of it is basically the way people believe he got kicked out of DC for his beliefs...and then the fact that he actually was forced to leave.
-This is a major turning point for R. Expect a lot more double sided pining from here on out
Thank you so so much for the continued support! Especially the new favs/follows. I hope to have the next chapter up next weekend, but I'm not sure. Thank you again for everything, and please leave a comment. (Questions, concerns, compliments, critiques -all are welcome) Much love, ~T.W.o.W.