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“You don’t have to give me rides home all the time,” Enjolras informed Grantaire as he slid into the passenger seat of the artist’s beat-up 1957 pickup that materialized out of nowhere one day two summers ago. Grantaire shrugged and threw the car into gear without buckling his seatbelt. He knew Eponine would yell at him if she were here, but Enjolras let him be, though he buckled his own seatbelt.
“I don’t want you to get mugged. You’re too pretty.” Grantaire looked over at him for a split second. Enjolras blinked back. Grantaire grinned. “I’d give you eleven seconds.”
“Thanks,” Enjolras grumbled. “Where even were you tonight?”
“Just the bar,” Grantaire answered easily, eyes fixed on the road. One of his arms was hanging out the open window; his other hand was fixed on the wheel, though it did not move much. Enjolras let his hands fall to his lap when his phone lit up. “There was a lovely lady there. I didn’t take her home, but the chance was there.”
“Sorry to get between you and a potential conquest,” Enjolras said, only half-sarcastic. He wanted Grantaire to come to more meetings, to help out more, to realize the good he could do with Les Amis. He was so good. He just never saw it.
“Don’t worry about it,” Grantaire replied, leaning back in his seat.
“Oh, but what if she was the one, Grantaire?” Enjolras looked down at his phone as he spoke, only partially paying attention to the conversation as he read the text he had just received.
Courfeyrac [11:47 PM]: did r take u
Enjolras [11:47 PM]: Yes, don’t worry.
“There is no ‘one’, Enjolras,” Grantaire snorted. Enjolras lifted his head.
“No?”
“No.” Grantaire ran his hand through his hair; there was still paint dried on his skin, in his hair. Enjolras dropped his head again, forcing himself to look away from blue eyes, spectacular, different shades, sapphire, so close. “It’s all made-up. Love’s a... It’s a sham, is what it is. True love doesn’t exist.” Grantaire exhaled. “I’ll never fall in love. Not after... No, it’s just not for me.” He grinned. “I’m the kind people fall in love with.”
Enjolras laughed, but it felt forced. Grantaire did not look at him. “Well, R, I hope you’re wrong. About not falling in love, I mean.”
“I’m always right, Enjolras. Don’t hope for foolish things,” Grantaire informed him before glancing at him. “Though, that is kind of your schtick, isn’t it?”
“I’m no fool, Grantaire,” Enjolras disagreed. Grantaire shrugged.
“I didn’t say you were.” Grantaire reached out and flipped the radio on. The song that was playing was a charming ukulele-and-piano number Enjolras easily recognized as one Grantaire would hum to himself every now and then. Grantaire turned to look at Enjolras briefly before he reached towards the radio again.
“No, no,” Enjolras exclaimed before Grantaire could change the station. Grantaire raised an eyebrow, but withdrew his hand all the same. “I... like this song. You can leave it on.”
“If you say so,” Grantaire allowed, clearly disbelieving. Enjolras allowed his phone screen, glowing with a new message, to distract him.
Courfeyrac [11:50 PM]: gonna say anythin 2 him?
Enjolras ignored the message and looked out the windshield again. Grantaire chanced another look at him before he settled in his seat again.
“Is Courf sexting you?” Grantaire joked. Enjolras forced a smile and blinked in the light when his phone lit up again.
“Something like that,” Enjolras mumbled as he read the newest messages.
Courfeyrac [11:51 PM]: come on, e. y r u even doin this
Enjolras hesitated, his thumbs hovering over the keypad. He looked at Grantaire’s profile and typed out his reply nearly immediately.
Enjolras [11:51 PM]: Well, I mean, I could tell you his favorite color’s green.
Enjolras [11:52 PM]: He loves to argue.
Enjolras [11:52 PM]: He was born on November 17th.
Enjolras stared at the side of Grantaire’s head until the artist in question felt the eyes on him and turned. He smiled.
“What?” Grantaire asked, looking a little self-conscious. His eyes sparkled in the headlights of a passing car. Enjolras shook his head.
“Nothing, don’t worry,” Enjolras replied, dismissive. Grantaire turned back to the road.
Enjolras [11:53 PM]: His sister’s beautiful. He has his father’s eyes.
Courfeyrac [11:55 PM]: whoa, alrite.
Courfeyrac [11:56 PM]: e, listen up + listen gud. ur gonna spill 2 me, get it?
Enjolras [11:56 PM]: Yes.
Courfeyrac [11:56 PM]: do u love him?
Enjolras sighed and looked over at Grantaire again. This time, Grantaire did not turn his head. His eyes flickered over the road as he drove in silence; his lips moved slightly with the words of the song as he spoke them under his breath. Enjolras rubbed at the back of his neck. He locked his phone and stared out the passenger’s side window at the darkness and the woods they flew past. Grantaire’s eyes scanned the road ahead, moving as they did when he looked around the Musain, observing his friends, taking in details he would add to the drawings in the sketchpad laid out before him on the table. Enjolras let his head rest against the window as he watched Grantaire. He moved his long blonde hair into his face to keep his gaze hidden.
Grantaire’s skimming glance eventually landed on Enjolras again. He reached out and shoved lightly at Enjolras’ shoulder.
“What’re you staring at?” Grantaire asked, the very edge of a smile in his voice, as though he was still trying to decide whether or not Enjolras was just messing around. He would probably decide he was; Enjolras usually was not.
“You, I suppose,” Enjolras answered honestly. Grantaire raised an eyebrow again, but seemed to shake the response off just as easily as if it were water in his hair.
“You’ve seen me before,” Grantaire pointed out needlessly. Of course Enjolras had seen him before. He had him memorized; he saw Grantaire when it was dark at night, when he shut his eyes to sleep, when he blinked, when he stared into his coffee too long. He was in all the shadows.
“Not all of you,” Enjolras finally offered. Grantaire nodded.
“That’s true. I don’t cry in front of you guys,” Grantaire threw out there. Enjolras wondered what reason Grantaire had to cry, or if he was just joking. Enjolras thought about how he himself hid parts of himself; namely, at the moment, his wishes for Grantaire. Enjolras shoved his emotions to the back of his mind.
“We all have our secrets to keep,” Enjolras allowed. Grantaire’s head bobbed in an extended, absent nod. Enjolras wondered after him; so close, he observed. Grantaire stood so close, but when Enjolras reached out to him, the cynic danced out from under his hand, slipping out of his grasp, walking away as though he had never been there in the first place, save for the fire he left behind. Enjolras wanted to ask Grantaire if he knew about the burns he left behind. He wanted to say everything, everything he kept inside; he knew he would never be believed. He knew it would never work out. He knew, and he had to hold it all in. Enjolras held his breath and shut his eyes before exhaling deeply. Grantaire turned to look at Enjolras, then down at his passenger’s lap as his phone lit up again.
“It keeps lighting up,” Grantaire pointed out. He reached out and flipped the phone over for Enjolras. “Might want to check that before Courf gets off without you.”
“You’re hilarious,” Enjolras grumbled, though he read the messages anyways.
Courfeyrac [12:06 AM]: listen, e, i get what u mean, but come on
Enjolras [12:07 AM]: You know, he’d never tell you this himself, but he plays guitar.
Courfeyrac [12:07 AM]: he’s a talented guy, e, but ur opposites. get it?
Enjolras let his head fall back to hit the headrest. Grantaire was listening to the news stories that were playing in between songs, and he frowned at the one currently being told. Enjolras listened to catch the tail end of another WBC story.
“That’s such bullshit, that whole ‘it’s free speech so it’s okay!’ nonsense shit they pull,” Grantaire spat. His brows were drawn; Enjolras wanted to see that look on his face more often. Grantaire saw through everything; he could cut through to the bone, move past smoke and mirrors like he never even saw them. Everything is black and white to Grantaire; the pesky shades of grey faded when Grantaire eyed them the right way. Enjolras wished he could do the same. He wished Grantaire could do it for him, but, it seemed that the only thing Grantaire could not see straight through was Enjolras himself.
Courfeyrac [12:13 AM]: but, e, u didnt answer.
Courfeyrac [12:13 AM]: do u love him?
Enjolras’ head fell to the side to stare out the window again. The lights of his neighborhood were beginning to flash by. He realized he had no homework tonight. No, tonight was straight to bed, straight to sleep where he would dream of paint-stained hands and whiskey bottles and shouted protests from the corner of the Musain. Then, he would wake up, and the sunlight would be far too bright after the shadows of his dream, and he would think about Grantaire, how beautiful he was, how different and fantastic a being he was, and how far away he was. And yet, he would shower, get dressed, make himself toast and black coffee, and he would hope that today was the day. And he would go from there. He did every day.
Enjolras [12:16 AM]: I told you, his favorite color’s green.
Enjolras [12:16 AM]: He loves to argue.
Enjolras [12:16 AM]: It kills me.
Enjolras [12:17 AM]: His sister’s beautiful. He has his father’s eyes.
Enjolras [12:17 AM]: He hated his father, you know. Loves his sister, though.
Courfeyrac [12:18 AM]: Do you love him?
“Here we are, Your Majesty,” Grantaire declared dramatically, pulling into Enjolras’ driveway. “Same time tomorrow, then?”
“Yeah,” Enjolras replied. He unbuckled his seatbelt and motioned to Grantaire’s. “You should...” He mimed buckling the belt with his hands.
“Sure, sure, if it’ll make you feel better,” Grantaire said, mostly to himself, as he buckled his seatbelt in. He looked up at Enjolras and smiled. “Happy?”
“Very,” Enjolras answered dryly, climbing out of the truck and slamming the door shut behind him. He dragged his satchel out through the open window and slung it over one shoulder. Grantaire waved to him.
“Until tomorrow, my liege,” Grantaire called as he pulled from the driveway and sped down the street. Enjolras adjusted his satchel as he stared down at his phone. He finally typed out a response before tucking his phone in his pocket and heading into his house.
Enjolras [12:22 AM]: No.