G:11 stitches and I'm going to have a cool scar

E:Getting hit in the face is not necessarily something to be proud of

E: Are you cleared to fight tomorrow?

G: Shush, scars are way cool, and yes I am.

E: Good.

E: Are you coming tonight?

E: You don't have to

E: You probably shouldn't, better to rest up

G: Shut up Apollo, I'll be there

Nothing was going to stop Grantaire from being present at the individual gymnastics final. He'd already had a massive argument with Feuilly over it.

'You are in the boxing final, Grantaire, what part of the word final do you not understand?' Feuilly had yelled.

'I know, alright I know!'

'Then why are you insisting on going to watching a fucking gymnastics routine? What is this boy to you?'

Here, Grantaire had faltered. He couldn't very well 'fess up and say that Enjolras was the sun to his moon. Feuilly might have an aneurism.

'I..just, we had a deal alright?'

'Yes I know. A bloody stupid idea if you ask me.'

'Well, I'm going Feuilly. I want to see Enjolras and the guys compete, so I'm going.'

'No' Feuilly had countered. He'd stepped into Grantaire's space, his presence looming even though he was roughly the same height as the boxer.

'No?'

'I won't allow it.'

'You won't allow it? I don't care, what you do and don't allow! Stop telling me what to do! You're not my dad! I want to go. So I'm going.' With that, Grantaire had stormed out of the training room and had made his way back to the flat he shared with Bahorel. He put together a few things in a sports bag, grabbed his warm jacket and locked up. Bahorel was still in training, his fight was going to be the last one on the bill tomorrow and he was determined to win.

Grantaire wanted to win as well. The thing was, he just couldn't believe he was in the actual final. Maybe that would help, treating it just like any other match. How the fuck did I get into the final? That's a guaranteed silver medal for fuck's sake. Jesus Christ. It was people like Enjolras that won medals. Grantaire had been shocked to even find he'd made it into the English boxing team, he really didn't think he was that good. He trained, he worked hard but boxing was almost natural to him. Dodging, weaving, ducking then striking when his opponent's weakness showed. That was second nature, he'd grown up having to dodge his father's blows, he'd learnt to stand up for himself against school bullies, the only way to get them to leave you alone was to hit them back harder than they hit you.

And now here he was, on the brink of winning the Commonwealth Games. Shit… best not to think about that.

His feet took him towards the flats where the gymnasts resided. Why did he come here?

He knocked on the door to the men's team flat. There wasn't any answer for the longest while. Grantaire thought they must have gone down to the precinct for early training or something. The competition didn't start for another couple of hours.

Just as Grantaire made to leave to who-knows-where, the door opened. A sleepy-looking Combeferre stood in the doorway, hair mussed up, wearing a t-shirt and boxers.

'Grantaire' he yawned in greeting.

'Oh shit, sorry mate. Did I wake you?' Grantaire ran a hand through his hair, embarrassed.

'Yeah you did' answered Combeferre, 'Don't worry about it though; I was only having a nap. How can I help? Enjolras isn't here, he's down at training.'

'Oh, I wasn't…um..I don't really know why I'm here' mumbled Grantaire. He'd just wandered here, not really thinking.

'Well why don't you come in?' suggested Combeferre kindly.

'…okay…thanks' Grantaire stepped into the flat. It was a little larger than the one he and Bahorel shared, but seeing as it was for 3 athletes that wasn't surprising. The kitchen was definitely neater and actually contained food rather than empty protein shake flasks which scattered the surfaces in the boxers' flats.

'Do you want a cuppa?' offered Combeferre whilst searching the cupboards for mugs.

'That would be great thanks' replied Grantaire. He sat down at the breakfast bar and put his bag down on the seat next to him. Combeferre made cups of tea for them both before sitting down opposite Grantaire and saying, 'So what's up?'

Grantaire sighed, before explaining: 'Had an argument with Feuilly. He didn't want me to come and see Enjolras tonight. I said I was going and left. Oh God' he groaned, 'I really didn't want to argue with him, he's…he is like a father to me, more than my dad ever was.'

'I'm sure he'll understand' said Combeferre, 'Sometimes our parents don't always know what's best for us, sometimes they have to let us do our own thing, or else, we'll never learn.'

'Mmmmm' said Grantaire, not really convinced.

'Don't worry about it. Hey, why don't you text Feuilly and let him know what time you'll be back tonight and then leave it, don't brood on it anymore.' That is actually pretty good advice, Combeferre laughed when Grantaire told him so. The gymnast finished his cup of tea before standing up.

'Well you're welcome to stay here for a bit, then we could head down to see Enjolras and Courfeyrac together? I'm probably going to try and catch up on a bit more sleep, you could watch telly or have a nap too?'

'A nap sounds good' said Grantaire.

'Well there's Enjolras or Courfeyrac's rooms?' proposed Combeferre gesturing to each.

Sheer panic ran through Grantaire at the thought of sleeping in Enjolras's bed. That was really really not a good idea. Think with your head not your penis. Think with your head…he repeated to himself.

'I…..I'll just stick to the sofa thanks' he croaked out.

Combeferre nodded but didn't say anything about it, thank fuck. 'Okay well, I'll set an alarm for a couple of hours and then we'll head out, alright?'

'Sure' Grantaire replied.

Around 2 and a half hours later Combeferre and Grantaire set off from the gymnast's flat and headed towards the SECC precinct for the last gymnastic final.

Grantaire had actually by some miracle managed to get about an hour's snooze time. He'd thought he wouldn't be able to sleep at all due to you know, being in the space that Enjolras was currently living in. But surprisingly, he'd drifted off relatively quickly. The sofa wasn't particularly comfortable but it was infinitely better than sleeping in the alternative. He could have slept in Courfeyrac's room he'd supposed but why his and not Enjolras's? No, better to sleep on the sofa where he couldn't think about Enjolras's body lying in the same space, maybe with very little or no clothing?

And there he was, thinking about Enjolras naked. Stop it! Fuck fuck fuck. Now he couldn't think about anything else. How Enjolras's chest would look, how his cock would look, how his cock would feel in Grantaire's mouth. No. Nope. Stop it. He couldn't get hard in Enjolras's flat! With only Combeferre for company! What if he walked in?

Anyway, despite nearly getting a hard on for Enjolras he had managed to settle down and get some shut-eye. He felt much more rested now and had taken Combeferre's advice to message Feuilly with a time to expect him back at the flat. Once he'd sent the message he then spent some time scrolling through the series of messages he and Enjolras had exchanged.

They made him feel warm inside. Is that a good thing? Especially the one which just said: Good. Enjolras had only ever praised him once before and that was when he had apologised for pretty much being an arsehole. This however, was praise on its own, no strings attached, so that one word meant so much. Grantaire smiled to himself.

Combeferre caught him smiling at his phone and nudged him, causing his concentration to break.

'Enjolras is piss poor at texting. You have to read between the lines all the time, he never says what he really means to say.'

Grantaire clutched his phone to his chest and stared at Combeferre. 'How did you know Enjolras and I were texting?'

'Because he was staring at his phone for ages last night, he was pulling all sorts of faces. I saw him write a dozen different messages and then delete them. I guessed it had something to do with you.'

'He was deleting his messages without sending them?' asked Grantaire puzzled. 'Why would he do that?'

'I told you, Enjolras never says what he means to say. He's not great at social stuff. Give him a vault or a bar and he's the best, talking about feelings? Not really him.'

They wandered along in silence. Grantaire thinking about what Combeferre had said. Enjolras had also asked if Grantaire was coming to see him compete tonight. And then, well Grantaire hadn't been sure, but with Combeferre encouraging him to read between the lines, Enjolras had seemed flustered about it. Why would Enjolras be flustered?

They soon reached the precinct and entered the gymnastics hall. They met Bahorel on the way in, unmistakeable as he towered above everyone else; a human mountain. He'd come to cheer for Courfeyrac so Combeferre directed him to the opposite side of the arena to seats by the pommel horse which was the apparatus Courfeyrac was competing on. Bahorel set off with a cheery wave and Combeferre then led Grantaire to some seats very close to the floor apparatus which was Enjolras's speciality piece and where he would be performing his routine in order to try and win the Gold medal.

'Both Enjolras and Courfeyrac are scheduled to be competing at the same time unfortunately, so it's going to be hard to keep track of both of them, but at least Courf has Bahorel supporting him and we can cheer for Enjolras here' said Combeferre.

'Okay' replied Grantaire. He was feeling a bit queasy now; feeling nervous to see Enjolras perform especially due to the 'flustered' texts before.

'Will Enjolras mind me being here?' he asked the gymnast sat beside him.

'What? Oh Grantaire, of course he won't. I'm pretty sure he wants you to be here.' Combeferre smiled encouragingly. 'You know, you've really had an impact on him, in a good way I mean.'

'Yeah….Courfeyrac said something similar' admitted Grantaire.

'It's been good to see' said Combeferre smiling again before leaning forward in his chair to get a glimpse of the gymnasts entering the hall. Grantaire strained his neck to see, they weren't at a good angle to see the entrance from where they were sat. But soon enough he could see Enjolras approaching in his kit, bag slung over one shoulder. He came and sat down with the other gymnasts all competing on the floor. He didn't glance up at them, Grantaire supposed he was in the zone and needed to concentrate.

Conversely, Grantaire couldn't concentrate at all; his heart-rate had picked up the moment he'd laid eyes on Enjolras. It was like that morning, all those days ago when he'd seen him for the first time. Enjolras's hair was tied up the same way and he sat upright, back ramrod straight, reminiscent of the damp Glasgow morning when they'd first met. Jesus was that less than a week ago? Oh my fucking God, I've fallen heavy and fast. Fuuuuuuuuck.

The seeding for the individual floor final was similar to the all-around final in that the leader went last so Enjolras had the unenviable task of watching all his competitors go before him.

'He can handle the pressure like no-one else though' said Combeferre as he and Grantaire saw several of the athletes put in strong performances. Across the hall there were cheers and claps to announce the end of Courfeyrac's routine on the pommel horse. Grantaire and Combeferre glanced up to see their friend on the large screen, he had his trademark smile on and was waving to the audience. There was a nervous wait as the judges deliberated their scores and then the result was announced over the loud speakers. Courfeyrac was running around yelling; he'd got a silver medal! He looked overjoyed as he bounded around in celebration.

Beside Grantaire, Combeferre laughed and shook his head at his best friend's antics. Grantaire couldn't help but smile too, now it was only Enjolras to go. Could he do it?

They didn't have to wait long, soon Enjolras was making his way up onto the platform, he dusted his hands lightly with chalk and raising a hand, presented himself to the judges. The entire hall had gone quiet to witness his performance. Out of the corner of his eye Grantaire could see Courfeyrac legging it around the arena to get to the edge of the platform where the floor apparatus was.

Enjolras paused, maybe to gather his thoughts, maybe for effect. He had the attention of everyone in the hall and was going to make the most of it.

Then, without warning he launched into his floor routine.

Running full pelt diagonally across the floor he hurled his body into a series of no-handed flips and twists landing squarely out of them to loud applause. Gathering a breath he sped back in the direction he'd come from performing more flips, somersaults and twists to land perfectly again. Then, Grantaire watched, mesmerised as he gracefully almost breakdanced on his hands, legs outstretched, feet pointed never once touching the floors. The upper body strength and finesse required to perform that move was unbelievable and then, the star move, a quick one handed air flair as his lower body rotated around. There were gasps and oooh's and cheers from the crowd at that. Then he went into the same weird handstand Grantaire had first seen Enjolras execute outdoors on his mat just days ago. 'A Japanese handstand' Combeferre answered when Grantaire enquired what it was.

Enjolras just rolled out of the position gracefully, paused once more and then completed another tumble only this time it was on a short diagonal of the floor apparatus. According to Combeferre this was a required move for all gymnasts in the competition.

This set Enjolras up for his remaining two tumbles. Once again he performed breath-taking twists, twirling high in the air, snapping out of them to land well. The bell went to announce he had 10 seconds left to complete his routine as he set off on his final tumble, flipping, somersaulting and then accomplishing a triple twist to finish off the routine! Unbelievable! A solid landing and he was clear!

The crowd erupted in tumultuous applause and cheers. Enjolras punched the air with a wide smile across his face and made his way back to the seating area, down from the platform. Courfeyrac launched himself at the gymnast and clung on like a limpet when Enjolras tried to disentangle himself. He didn't look annoyed though, just elated.

At that moment, the news came across the speakers and on the screen that Enjolras had scored a 15.533, a staggering result, leagues ahead of the competition and securing him the Gold medal!

Grantaire had just witnessed perfection. Never had he seen something so determined, someone so indomitable. As he had realised earlier when watching the other finals, each apparatus allowed the gymnasts to show off different skills; the floor accentuating the gymnasts' personality. Enjolras had not only completed the moves- technically very difficult moves according to Combeferre- he had done so with a blazing fervour. The way he tore up the floor as he ran, the way he threw his body into the sequence of moves, the way he paused, head held high, challenging.

No-one could have watched that routine and not have experienced Enjolras's passion bursting forth. Grantaire could only greedily lap up the brightness, the energy, the zeal practically pouring out of the young Apollo; it satisfied the ache inside of him, the ache he'd always carried with him, the part so integral to him he didn't even notice its toxicity anymore. Enjolras was like a balm, no, like a cauterising iron, burning and healing him all the same.

Grantaire realised in that moment he was in love with Enjolras.

Throughout the medal ceremony Grantaire remained quiet and the anthem of Jerusalem was muffled in his ears. He was quite numb. His realisation had stripped away the rush of feelings he'd experienced when watching Enjolras's performance. Now he was left with just one thought.

I am in love with him. I am in love with Enjolras.

It was only later, when Bahorel, Combeferre and himself had made their way down to the entrance to the athlete changing rooms to meet the newly decorated gymnasts that Grantaire realised he'd left his bag at their flat. Shit. He'd need to go get that. Oh fuck, and Courfeyrac had appeared and was talking about going for a drink with everyone in celebration.

'Guys,' he interrupted suddenly, 'I've left my bag at yours…sorry, I was an idiot and forgot it.'

And then Enjolras was there, where the fuck had he come from?

'I'll go with you and let you in' he said, 'I'm not up for a drink anyway.'

'Awwww whyyy?' pouted Courfeyrac. Enjolras shrugged in response, Grantaire had never seen such a graceful shrug, god what is in his DNA?

'Grantaire's got a big day tomorrow and Enjolras had a lot on today so they need to get back and rest' explained Combeferre

'I had a lot on today and besides, Bahorel's not resting' pointed out Courfeyrac.

'I'm coming, but no alcohol for me' said Bahorel, 'I value my testicles thank you very much, I don't want Feuilly scissoring them off tomorrow if I come back reeking of spirits.'

'Fine' said Courfeyrac throwing his hands in the air and the three of them set off in the direction of the nearest Glasgow pub.

'You good to go?' asked Enjolras.

'Yeah' Grantaire replied, just realising that he was alone with Enjolras. Alone. Well, at least he had his shirt on this time. Last time it had just been the two of them he'd nearly got a hard on when Enjolras's hands had touched his bare skin. God he had smelt so good. Best not to think about that.

The two of them headed back to the athletes village in an awkward silence before Grantaire had burst out with 'Congratulations, by the way. Wow, three gold medals' he whistled softly at that.

'Oh…yeah' said Enjolras looking down to see the medal still hung around his neck. He lifted the ribbon up to take the medal off quickly and made to roughly shove it in his bag.

'Wait!' interjected Grantaire, 'Be careful with that! It's a medal for Christ's sake.'

'Oh…right…sorry' Enjolras folded the ribbon more carefully until he suddenly held it out to Grantaire, 'Do you want to see?'

'Oh no I couldn't, it might jinx something' said Grantaire putting his hands up to wave it away. Enjolras put it into his kit bag taking a lot more care this time.

Before long they reached the athletes village and made their way to the flat Enjolras shared with Combeferre and Courfeyrac. Enjolras struggled to find his keys in his bag and then fumbled with the lock before eventually letting them both inside. Grantaire immediately made his way to the breakfast bar where sure enough his bag was resting on one of the chairs. He swung it over his shoulder and turned to leave but found an Enjolras blocking his way.

'Apollo, you'll need to move if you want me to leave' he said.

'Oh, ummm… yeah…' said Enjolras, but he didn't move. Grantaire realised then how close Enjolras was, also how much taller he was, also how fucking attractive he was. His chest ached with feeling. The gymnast was looking down at him; blue eyes clouded with… something. Still he didn't move out of the way.

'Ummm Apollo?'

'Thanks for coming tonight' breathed Enjolras quickly and fuck, Grantaire could feel his breath wash over his face. He needed to back up here because Enjolras was clearly not moving and it was really difficult being this close to him.

'S'alright' shrugged Grantaire- much less gracefully than Enjolras had done, he was sure. 'I wouldn't have missed it for anything, you're really something you know that? Well of course you know that, you just won a gold medal, and now you have three gold medals.' Fuck he was rambling, but what do you even say to someone who has three gold medals? 'I'm just gonna go, okay?' he made a move to force himself past the gymnast, although Enjolras actually stepped to the side to let him pass. But just when Grantaire had nearly crossed the kitchen to the door, he felt a hand grab his upper arm.

He looked back; Enjolras was biting his lip and Christ that's hot. Then Enjolras was crowding his space again, only closer, his body flush against Grantaire's. fuck fuck fuck what is he doing? Enjolras lowered his face, swooping in but pausing for a fraction of a second to quickly shoot his eyes up to meet Grantaire's. Grantaire was rooted to the spot, he couldn't breathe, he couldn't move. Enjolras must have seen something in his eyes because the next thing he knew the golden haired gymnast's lips were covering his.

Holy mother of god shitting fuck.

Enjolras's lips were warm and soft. They lingered on his until the pressure was increased and then a tongue ran lightly over Grantaire's bottom lip. He opened his mouth in a gasp and Enjolras took advantage licking his way in short strokes into Grantaire's mouth. Then his tongue was reaching out and rubbing over his, then running along the roof of his mouth. Grantaire's body then seemed to respond, whilst his mind was in meltdown physical instinct took over as he groaned and pressed his tongue back against the one in his mouth. Enjolras moaned lightly in response and then blood was rushing to all different parts of Grantaire. He could hear veins throbbing in his temples as they cried out for oxygen. He gasped against Enjolras's mouth, breathing in sweet air before reaching his hands up to run fingers through his golden hair. The bun fell apart in Grantaire's grip as he grasped curls even as he curled his tongue around Enjolras's. Grantaire was kissing him greedily now, pressing up into his mouth as Enjolras's arms came to encircle the boxer's waist, gripping him in place.

The kiss grew wilder as the two men swayed; holding onto one another to remain standing such was the force of their passion. Grantaire could taste Enjolras, could feel the heat within his mouth, a glorious, wet heat. Grantaire moaned as he kissed and kissed the gymnast, and in response Enjolras let out shallow pants of breath as he weathered the onslaught.

But then Grantaire found himself tearing his mouth away from Enjolras's. He could see how the man's lips were red and swollen, saliva coating them in a sheen. He'd never seen anything so arousing. But this was all wrong. Enjolras didn't like him and Grantaire liked him too much. It was all wrong. What was he doing?

Why is he looking at me in panic? He regrets it. It was a stupid mistake. Oh fuck. It was just a mistake. Jesus fuck what have I done?

'I'm sorry!' he blurted out and fled the flat.