A/N: Hey, here I am again. It's been a while. I have loads of inspiration lately, but I can't seem to find the right words to actually write more than the idea down. But today I finished a new drabble at least so yay! It's E/R again.
A little while ago there was a discussion though on Kjack89's tumblr about constructive criticism and someone said there that there seems to be some sort of "rule" that says you only give criticism when the author asks for it. Now that seems a bit weird to me, but ok so just so you know: I'm always open to constructive criticism.
And before I end this note: a little while ago I wrote a new one shot. I don't know if all of you saw it already, but it's an E/R one called "Ours" which you can find through my account. For now, thank you again for all the lovely reviews I've gotten after my last drabble and enjoy this one.
Grantaire should be sleeping. Or actually, he should be passed out going from how tired he feels. Instead he lies on his side, arm tucked underneath his head, watching Enjolras sleep next to him.
It's the first time they're sleeping in a bed together, the first time Enjolras sleeps in Grantaires bed. Before they've fallen asleep together on the couch while watching a movie. Or one of them fell asleep as the other was reading, but never before they slept in a bed together, especially not on purpose. And this is on purpose, very on purpose. Tomorrow they're a month together and somewhere in this month Grantaire, notoriously late riser, has promised Enjolras to wake him up with coffee on the morning of their anniversary.
But now Grantaire can't sleep. A shiver runs down his spine as he runs the fingers of one hand through the blond curls, splayed out over the pillow next to him. He isn't entirely sure that's the cause of the shiver though, because truth to be told: Enjolras is a blanket stealer and is currently wrapped tightly in Grantaires duvet.
As he wraps his free arm around himself Grantaire watches the slow rise and fall of the cocoon that contains Enjolras. The blankets are drawn up to his boyfriends nose. The part of his face that the brunet can see, seems relaxed. The crease on his forehead that seems almost permanent in daytime, is now smoothed out. It makes him look young and vulnerable in a way that Grantaire hasn't seen before, so he tries to commit this sight to memory. Taking in every feature to dig up later, in an attempt to make them last forever in charcoal and paper.
For now he only moves slow and carefully, trying not to disturb the man next to him when he extracts his arm from under his head where the limb started to tingle. As he changes his position he notices the small puffs of Enjolras breath against the blanket, meaning that the blonde sleeps with his mouth open. A smile comes to Grantaires face, drinking in all these little bits of information about Enjolras he didn't knew yet.
When a second shiver runs down his spine though, he decides to get up and grab some pyjama's to put over his boxers, or a blanket at least. It's when he turns around to swing his legs over the side of the bed, that he feels a death grip on his wrist. As he turns to look, Enjolras is still sleeping, but has now extracted his arm from the cocoon, tugging Grantaire close to him. The brunet lets him and when he lays back down a sleeping Enjolras crawls closer to him, duvet and all. In seconds it's not only his wrist that's in a death grip, but his entire body. Enjolras legs slotted around his legs, head against his shoulder, one hand still on his wrist and the other slung over his chest. Because that night, Grantaire learns that more than a blanket stealer, Enjolras appears to be clingy in his sleep. And Grantaire? Well, he won't complain because at least he's warm again.