A/N: Hi lovely readers of mine. For once there isn't that much time between my drabbles and with 769 words this is actually a pretty long drabble compared to most of the former ones. Just a question though. I noticed myself my drabbles are often pretty descriptive and I don't use a lot of conversations. Conversations never really come out the way I want them to, so... does anyone has some tips on conversation writing in fics? And with tips I don't mean "practice" because that of course will help, but that's something I already know. Thanks in advance. For now, enjoy reading.
Disclaimer: Nope, nothing changed, still not mine.
Shit, shit, shit! He's late, he's so goddamn late. Enjolras thinks as he stumbles through the hallway of his apartment, one hand using to try and pull on his shoes and simultaneously trying to smell if his shirt is still clean enough whilst trying to look at himself in the mirror.
He promised Combeferre this morning over the phone. Yes Combeferre, of course he would remember, of course he would be on time. It was the opening of his boyfriends first art show for godssake. Grantaire had already been nervous for weeks, talking about it constantly. The time and date were in his agenda, a red circle surrounding it: important! But then, whilst reading the newspaper at breakfast, his eyes fell on something about the political situation in Egypt. He got a strike of inspiration for his next speech and had been looking things up, reading and writing ever since. And now it is 10 minutes before the official programme of the opening starts. it was also still a 10 minute bike ride to the museum. Enjolras is still wearing his shirt, shoes half on. He decides the red shirt he's currently wearing will have to do. Quickly pulling his black jacket over it and spraying some perfume on, the one Jehan got him for his birthday, so he can at least pretend to be freshly showered.
Enjolras takes the stairs two at a time, eyes searching out his red mountainbike between the other bicycles at the front of the apartment building. On days like this he's glad his favorite color is an outstanding one, not needing much time to find his bike between the mass of black ones.
He ignores a few red lights, crosses some sidewalks, almost runs over a woman with a stroller and all but throws his bike in the rack in front of the museum. He is still out of breath when he steps inside, looking for the hall in which the official opening takes place.
When he notices, he quickly slips in. Grantaire is sitting in the front row, fidgeting with his hands, a nervous tick. Enjolras squeezes his shoulder, a sign letting the dark haired boy know he is here, a silent good luck. He slips past some people to sit next to Combeferre, a couple of rows away from Grantaire. His best friend has left him a seat, but gives him a stern look when he sits down, chest still heaving from the rushed bike ride.
He shouldn't have been a second later, because the moment he sits down a woman with grey hair stands up and walks to the front of the room. She welcomes the guests, thanks the sponsors and then starts to talk about the project. About how they asked young, promising artists from the city to show a couple of their works at the gallery. She tells a little bit about every single one of them. When Grantaire's name is called, Enjolras sees him blush, but smile at the same time. He's loaded with compliments by the woman. About how he is a great talent and how people should enjoy his work while they can because in a couple of years his work will be only visible in the biggest museums of the world and not in small cities like theirs. Enjolras heart swells with pride and he scolds himself internally for almost missing out on this because of his stupid obsessive behaviour.
When the woman is done raving over Grantaire, the artist looks incredibly shy and a tad uncomfortable. Enjolras smiles at him from across the room and applauds enthusiastically as the woman ends her speech.
After her, the major gives a speech about the importance of this type of art shows for young talent in their area and then it's finally time to go and actually take a look at the gallery.
Enjolras meets Grantaire at the bar. Grantaire drowning a glass of red wine, then replacing his own glass and handing one to Enjolras. They greet with a quick kiss before exchanging words. "I'm so sorry I was late R, I eh... got a bit soaked up in my work." The blond rubs his neck shyly, but Grantaire beams at him."You're here, that's the important thing. Come on, let me show you my paintings. They hang at such a pretty place." Enjolras let himself be dragged along, now being soaked up in his talented boyfriends enthusiasm. And later when they're in bed, tired from the long day and the excitement, Enjolras thinks that's the thing he should be soaked up in way more often.