Grantaire

They'd said he hadn't broken his ribs, they were only bruised. Great, that makes me feel a whole better, he'd thought sarcastically. His side hurt like a bitch; even just breathing was painful. Thank fuck for cocodamol.

He was currently propped up in bed, several pillows supporting his weight, he had exactly 24 hours from now until his fight tomorrow in which to recover enough to beat his opponent. But confined to bed rest he was so bored.

Feuilly had found out about the deal between Grantaire and Enjolras and had predictably banned him from attending the gymnast's remaining events. Grantaire had fully planned on sneaking out of his room in the athlete's village (with the assistance of Bahorel of course) and making his way to the SECC precinct to uphold his side of the bargain. However, his plan had been scuppered when not only Bahorel but the entire England men's gymnastics team had turned around and forbidden him from coming. Grantaire groaned, this was so unfair, why were they ganging up on him?

'Look' Courfeyrac had said, 'There's no point risking your health and fitness to just come and see us, it's all on the BBC red button, just watch us on telly.'

And when Grantaire had protested furiously at this, Enjolras had crouched low and said to him 'Grantaire, you've been given a second chance, don't be stupid and waste it because of the deal. Watch us on TV and then we'll come and support you tomorrow night.'

There hadn't been much Grantaire could say to that, mostly because he'd just been floored due to Enjolras saying he would come and support him, not come and see, not come and reluctantly watch, no, come and support him.

Ergo, Grantaire was propped up in bed, protein shake and celery sticks (yes celery sticks) on his bedside cabinet in case he got peckish I'm not a rabbit you twats, and the gymnastics all-around individual men's final on the telly.

It was simultaneously worse and better than being there to see it live. Worse, because the cameras kept cutting away from the English gymnasts to focus on other competitors; as if there are other competitors thought Grantaire, rolling his eyes. Come on, focus the cameras on Enjolras!

However, it was far, far better because of the super-slow motion camera replays and the close ups that the BBC cameras allowed. Grantaire was able to see every emotion flash across Enjolras's face as he performed on each apparatus. He could see the focus, the tension, the strength, the determination, the strain and finally the triumph as Enjolras wiped the floor with the other competitors.

The close-ups also meant he got an incredible look at Enjolras's arse and thighs and fuck arm veins.

Combeferre was also doing well, he was looking set to be in the medals too, only there was fierce competition for second and third place between him and the Scottish champion, who of course had the Glaswegian crowd backing him all the way.

Also, because he was watching it on the television, Grantaire had the advantage of the commentators, he listened out for what they said and found himself learning more and more about this sport. It was athletic, required strength and poise, precision and control. Enjolras was the true embodiment of all of these that evening.

Grantaire munched on his celery sticks, yeah whatever, and tried to not get too turned on by what he was seeing.

He was roused from his avid watching by someone banging on the door to the flat.

'Hold on!' he called out as he slowly rolled to the side and sat up out of bed. He carefully padded over towards the door and unlocked it to find Courfeyrac on the other side.

'What the fuck are you doing here?' he blurted out.

'I'm here to keep you company as you ogle Enjolras's arse' replied Courfeyrac cheerfully.

'I'm not….oh for fucks sake, just come in'. Courfeyrac was giving him a knowing smirk so Grantaire turned his back on the annoying gymnast and said, 'Can I offer you anything? Protein shake, carrots?' he brandished a bag of sliced carrots from the kitchenette counter.

'Ugh fuck no' answered Courfeyrac as he followed Grantaire through the flat, 'I brought my own snacks to share'. Grantaire looked back and saw that Courfeyrac was drawing out a bag of popcorn and several bags of sweets from his jacket pockets.

'Cheers mate' said Grantaire, 'Come on, telly's this way, I better get back in bed or Feuilly really will break one of my ribs.'

'Right you are!'

The two of them ended up both sitting on Grantaire's bed as it was the only comfy thing in the sparsely furnished room. Grantaire was propped up by the pillows and Courfeyrac sat further down the bed his back leaning against Grantaire's brought-up knees. They swapped the popcorn and sweets back and forth between them as Courfeyrac passed excellent commentary on what was happening on the screen in front of them. Until: 'Combeferre you dick! Focus on what you're doing!'

'What's happened?' asked Grantaire worriedly.

'He's let the Scot get to him that's why, he's not completely in the zone, you can tell because his left arm is giving way, it's his weaker side and it gives a bit if he's not totally focused on counterbalancing it.'

Grantaire wouldn't have been able to tell at all, he was a complete novice when it came to gymnastics, he was still at the awestruck phase of 'ohmygod they're strong and flexible!'

'How bad is it?' he asked the gymnast.

'Hmmm' pondered Courfeyrac, he was chewing on a strawberry lace with eyes fixed on the screen, 's'gonna be a few hundredths off I think.'

'A few hundredths?' Grantaire exclaimed, 'Man, I thought you were saying he'd lost a medal or something!'

'In gymnastics a few hundredths can separate the top 20 competitors' pointed out Courfeyrac.

'Oh'

'Yeah, it's not like boxing, the margins are much, much narrower'

'You shouldn't simplify boxing' said Grantaire taking his eyes off the screen to look down at Courfeyrac, 'But I get the point, it's going to be close'

'Exactly'

'How's Enjolras doing?' asked Grantaire

'Ah! Well, finally he asks!' Courfeyrac twisted to flash a grin back at Grantaire, 'He's doing perfect as always, the bastard, doesn't even make it look hard, the gold medal is his for sure.'

'Oh, I meant in general, how….how is Enjolras in general…outside of gymnastics?'

'Oh' Courfeyrac paused in thought for a second, then brightened up, 'He's good you know, he was nervous about the games but he's manage to lose his doubts. He's also been…well I don't quite know how to put this…he's been different since meeting you.'

Grantaire snorted, 'Yeah, more obnoxious, more arrogant-'

'Well yeah, at first' interrupted Courfeyrac, 'But over the past couple of days he's been different. I think he really got shook up the other night you know?

'Yeah Feuilly can do that to you'

'No, not Feuilly, you' said Courfeyrac, 'It's good you know, he's finally thinking about the consequences of some of his actions, he's never really had to do that before, it was always pretty much accepted that he was right. For him to be wrong about something; it's had an impact definitely, it's made him think'

'Bullshit'

'No it's true' protested Courfeyrac, 'Ask Combeferre! He'll say the same thing, only probably better than me.'

'I don't know mate' said Grantaire unsure,

'Fine' pouted Courfeyrac, 'don't believe me then. But don't think I don't know how you feel about him'

'I..don't…I don't feel anything!' objected Grantaire.

'Sure you don't' smirked the gymnast who then had the nerve to wink at Grantaire, before settling back to rest against his legs again. Grantaire just leant back on the pillows feeling very grouchy. Jesus was he that obvious?

They continued to watch the final as it headed towards its conclusion. The gymnasts all reached the final piece of apparatus which was the high bar. They all went in reverse order due to the running order of points. It meant Enjolras would go last and perform the final routine to seal the gold. No pressure then.

There was a tense battle for silver and bronze and Grantaire and Courfeyrac both cheered Combeferre as he executed his final routine. However, it wasn't enough and the Scottish gymnast had done the damage earlier on and so only had to perform an average routine to secure the marks needed to get the silver. Still, it was a result for the English team, a definite bronze. Now, could Enjolras win the gold?

Grantaire held his breath as Enjolras dusted chalk onto his palms as he prepared to perform.

Then, he was flying, flying with Enjolras as he leaped into the air and swung around the bar, looping over and over, turning in on himself, flipping over and doing half twists. Courfeyrac nearly scared the life out of him when he gasped as a plume of chalk went up and Enjolras landed one of his twists in the air.

'Don't do that to me' hissed Grantaire, hands clutching his sore ribs. 'I can't take it'. Physically as well as emotionally he thought.

'Sorry'

Enjolras was now into the full swing of his routine, winding and coiling over and over, weaving in and out of his own arms, letting go of the bar and twisting over, catching with one hand, catching with both hands reversed. It was magnetic, Grantaire could feel his eyes watering because he dared not blink, blink and he would miss it. Enjolras's perfect form encircling the bar, once, twice, thrice as he prepared for his huge dismount. Then he was twirling through the air.

Boom.

Landed, square, feet flat, knees bent. He stretched up and punched the air with both fists. A great smile broke across his face in relief.

Courfeyrac was cheering and wooping. Grantaire closed his eyes to take a moment and smile to himself, Enjolras had done it! A second Gold medal!

He opened them again and clapped Courfeyrac on the back then yelled out as the gymnast tried to hug him by throwing his entire bodyweight on the boxer.

'Fuck, fuck, get off you wanker, my ribs!'

'Sorry!' squealed Courfeyrac as he settled for hugging Grantaire's neck instead. 'I'm just so happy! A Gold and a Bronze! Oh my god! I should call them!'

'I doubt they're going to be picking up their phones right now' Grantaire interjected.

'Fine! I'll text them then! You do it too!'

'What? I can't! I don't have their numbers…wait, is this a way for you to give me Enjolras's number?'

'Mayyyyybe' replied Courfeyrac grinning, 'It miiiight be a way for you to legitimately text Enjolras, you know, a little message of congratulations or something….just a suggestion.'

'You are a sneaky piece of work you are' accused Grantaire. Courfeyrac just looked incredibly pleased with himself at this as he grabbed Grantaire's phone off the bedside table and quickly typed in Enjolras's number. Once he'd done that he glanced back at the telly and said 'Well, I'd best be off Grantaire, if I leg it now I might make it in time for the medal ceremony, and to say congrats to the other two in person. It's been fun hanging out, we should do it again'

'Yeah, mate you've been good company' Grantaire agreed, 'Thanks for coming over, it's been good.'

'No worries. All the best with your fight tomorrow' Courfeyrac did some enthusiastic punching gestures in the air which caused Grantaire to roll his eyes. 'I'll see you there!'

He then grabbed his jacket from where he'd left it hanging over the door knob and left the room.

'Don't forget to text him!' Courfeyrac cried just before he slammed the flat door. Grantaire groaned in response. What the fuck should he say? How do you even text someone who has just won two gold medals for his country?

15 minutes later, during the anthem of Jerusalem, Grantaire sent, and Enjolras received, a text.

Congrats Apollo,

Guess you're not too bad at poncy posturing,

R