I own nothing.
Bon soir - good evening
Grantaire is just settling down with a sketchpad and charcoal when he hears the heavy knock on the door. He takes one look at Enjolras, writing, hunched over at the desk a few feet away, like he has been for the majority of the night, and quickly gets back to his feet.
"I'll get it," He says, even though this isn't his apartment, he knows that Enjolras is so absorbed in writing his next speech that he probably hadn't even heard the knock. His boyfriend makes a small hum of agreement, not looking up as he continues to write, the side of his hand covered in ink. The sight of it makes a warm, peaceful feeling ignite in his chest, and he has almost forgotten about the stranger at the door when the banging comes again, louder and more insistently.
"Coming!" He calls, setting down his art supplies as Enjolras finally lifts his head, looking a bit confused, a sentiment which Grantaire shares. While it wasn't unheard of for someone to come calling at Enjolras' apartment, it certainly didn't happen often. Most of the people who would want to speak with the man knew that he wasn't often home, that he was usually found at the university, the library, the Musain, out at a protest or doing something equally important, if he isn't spending all his free time with Grantaire, that is.
In fact, this had been one of the quietest nights they had had in a long time. The revolution meeting had gone well, and Enjolras had ended it a bit early, albeit reluctantly. Grantaire and he had gotten a quick dinner at a nearby cafe and they decided to head back to Enjolras' apartment for a bit, which was where they now found themselves.
Grantaire was still trying to get used to their relationship. For a long time, Enjolras had merely tolerated his presence, while he silently worshiped the man from afar, usually from the bottom of a bottle. He didn't know what changed, although he suspected Combeferre and Courfeyrac had something to do with it, but slowly Enjolras began to warm up to him. Just as slowly, Grantaire began drinking less and less, preferring to actually remember what Enjolras had said to him the night before. He was still usually found with a drink in his hand, but he refrained from getting too drunk, especially since he and Enjolras had made it official.
This unorthodox relationship began a few months ago, thanks to the Les Amis. Although he wasn't sure, Grantaire suspected that it had been Courfeyrac who, tired of his excessive drinking and pining over the golden-haired man, had orchestrated the whole thing. All he knew for sure was that he and Enjolras had ended up alone one night at the Musain.
Enjolras had been under the impression that they were having another meeting for the revolution, and so had Grantaire, but the man didn't waste the chance he had been given. Even while Enjolras fumed and prepared to storm out, intent on finding the other Amis, Grantaire somehow (he still didn't understand exactly how he had managed it) convinced the man to join him for a few minutes. Those few minutes turned into a few hours, and the two men had parted ways with a different understanding of each other. After that night, Enjolras looked at him differently and treated him a bit more kindly.
About a week later, with a little help from Combeferre and Courfeyrac, he somehow worked up the courage to ask Enjolras to get some coffee. He had tried to be as smooth and subtle about it as possible, but to his immense shock and delight, Enjolras had glanced up with a knowing look, grabbed his coat and followed Grantaire out the door, leaving their two dumbstruck friends behind them.
Things had kind of simply fallen into place after that. Grantaire began drinking less, and paid more attention at the meetings, most of the time managing to keep his cynicism to himself. In return, Enjolras reigned in his own sharp tongue, and actually smiled at him and asked for his input a few times. They caught meals or cups of coffee together when they could, and slowly, ever so slowly, they began going on real dates when Enjolras could find the time away from his busy schedule.
One day, after this had been going on for a while, Grantaire finally asked Enjolras where this was going. He had been enjoying himself immensely, but at the same time, he worried that Enjolras only saw him as a project, someone he thought needed fixing. He asked if the other man wanted to be his boyfriend, and with a bit of hesitation, Enjolras said yes.
Their relationship was anything but typical. They fought often, over anything and everything, and more often than not, Enjolras was busy with school or work or plans for the revolution. Grantaire was cynical and didn't believe in much, while Enjolras simply burned with passion and a desire to change the world. They had to keep their relationship low-key in public, as it wasn't exactly considered appropriate for two men to be romantically involved, but all the Amis knew and accepted them and they made it work.
Every spare moment they had was spent together. They shared most meals together, although oftentimes Grantaire would have to pull Enjolras away from whatever he was doing and force him to eat, because he knew that if he didn't stop the other man, he would keep pushing himself until his body gave out on him. Enjolras would meet him when he got off from work, or vice versa, and they would walk to the Musain and sit together, talking about whatever came to mind until the other Amis appeared.
They spent many nights together like this one, where Enjolras would sit at the desk and work on writing a speech or an essay or something all night. Grantaire would usually curl up in the chair on the other side of the room with a book. Sometimes they would talk, and other nights, like tonight, Grantaire would bring his art supplies and draw Enjolras when he wasn't looking. Sometimes he was just content to sit there and watch his boyfriend, the atmosphere warm and peaceful, until Enjolras would look up and catch him staring and then Grantaire wouldn't be able to resist getting up and kissing him.
They still kept separate apartments, although he secretly hoped that that would soon change. They didn't hold hands, didn't often talk about their feelings, and they had yet to move past anything more than kissing. Whenever their make-out sessions got too heated, too up-close and personal, he would feel the other man tense up and so he would back off. He had never spent the night, instead always making the short walk back to his nearby apartment (or vice versa, if Enjolras was over at his place). He often had to shake Enjolras awake from where he had fallen asleep in a book in order to put him to bed. But on the other hand, it was always Enjolras who would stagger home with him after he'd had too many drinks.
He knew that Enjolras cared about him, he just wasn't used to sharing his feelings with another person. Grantaire had had other serious relationships in the past, although nothing that lasted more than a few months at best, but he knew that this was Enjolras' first major relationship, and he didn't want to push the other man. He was aware of how long it took them just to get to this point, and he was content with what they had. He merely hoped that soon his golden-haired Apollo would trust him enough to open up to him and then they would be able to work past whatever was making him so hesitant.
The knocking came a third time. Shaking his head slightly to clear his head, Grantaire left the room. Expecting Combeferre, who would drop by occasionally, or one of the other Amis, he opened the door to a decidedly unexpected, and unfamiliar face.
"Bon soir, Monsieur." Grantaire said.
"Bon soir." The man said nothing else, merely eyed Grantaire and looked him from head to toe. He shifted his weight nervously, feeling more than a bit uncomfortable under the man's scrutiny. This strange man was a little taller than Grantaire, with short, graying blonde hair. He wore dark clothes that were obviously too high quality for most people in the area, making him look a bit out of place. His face was hard, his lips thin and white, but his eyes were the same colour as Enjolras'. In fact, once Grantaire realized this, he began noticing other little similarities between the man and his boyfriend. The awkward silence went on a moment too long, and Grantaire was about to open his mouth to speak when Enjolras emerged from his room.
"Grantaire, who's at the ... " Enjolras' question quickly tapered off when he saw who was standing in the doorway, making Grantaire look questioningly at him. His boyfriend's expression a second later sent chills down his spine. He watched as all traces of their earlier contentment melted away, all colour draining from his face, leaving it white as a ghost and smooth as marble. Grantaire watched his posture immediately straighten and stiffen, but it was Enjolras' eyes that shocked him the most. The man's usually expressive, fire-filled eyes suddenly lost their spark, growing dark and empty. Walls that Grantaire didn't even know Enjolras had were suddenly thrown up quicker than lightning and harder than stone.
"Father." Was all he said, his tone colder than Grantaire had ever heard him before. Well, that explains why they look so similar.
"Enjolras." The man replied, just as stonily, stepping over the threshold of the doorway without being invited. He looked slowly around the apartment with a look of disgust on his face, as if he had never seen anything so repulsive, before his eyes landed on his son.
"What are you doing here?" Enjolras asked. He still hadn't moved from his spot across the room.
Although they had never really spoken about their parents, Grantaire had had the impression that his boyfriend didn't get along with his father. The man had never spoken about him, and his father had never visited before, at least while Grantaire was there (which was a lot, lately).
"I received word that you have become involved with someone, and came to see for myself," and at this his eyes flickered back to Grantaire.
"Father, this is my boyfriend, Grantaire. Grantaire, this is my father, Gérard Enjolras." Enjolras stonily introduced them.
"Pleasure to meet you, monsieur," He said, and would have put his hand out for the man to shake, but with the way Gérard was looking at him, he decided against it.
"I admit I expected something... better." The man looked at him like he was lower than dirt.
"Father, what do you really want?" Enjolras' voice seemed, if it was possible, to get even colder.
"I've come to tell you that this... relationship, whatever it is, simply cannot go on any longer. You've had your fun Enjolras, but it's time to grow up."
"Excuse me?" Grantaire growled when it appeared that his boyfriend was too frozen with shock to reply. Gérard barely spared him a glance, looking back to his son and ignoring the outburst.
"It's bad enough that you've started these silly little protests everywhere. You've made me the laughing stock of my peers, and certainly your little games will only end in failure, as always. I've let you do what you wish, thinking that you would surely come to your senses eventually. But this is something that simply cannot be tolerated. I could forgive a fling, Enjolras, but this has gone on far too long. If news of such an appalling, unnatural relationship became public, it would ruin the family name. It's simply disgusting. And you've chosen to do it with a dirty sewer rat, none-the-less." This time the man's angry eyes bore into Grantaire, making him feel small and subconscious under the power of his gaze. He was suddenly very aware of the well-worn, almost threadbare clothes he often wore, and his shoes that were nearly worn down to the soles. Was their relationship really so terrible? Would being with Grantaire truly ruin Enjolras' reputation? "If your mother could see you now, Enjolras, she would be mortified."
Enjolras looked like he had been struck.
This had gone on far too long.
"I think it's time for you to go." Grantaire said, barely managing to keep his anger in check. Gérard looked at him, then back at Enjolras, and, apparently realizing that his words weren't getting him anywhere, merely turned without another word and stalked out of the apartment.
Grantaire closed the door behind the man, turning slowly back to face his boyfriend.
"Enjolras, are you alright?" The man's eyes had fallen to the floor, his posture suddenly slumped.
"You don't actually believe anything he just said, do you?" He demanded. So many strange things had happened that night. He had never seen Enjolras this way before, and it was worrying him immensely. He had had no idea that his father was like that - if he had, he would have slammed the door as soon as he saw him.
"Grantaire, I think you should leave."
"Enjolras? " Had he done something wrong? Grantaire struggled to think. Should he not have kicked his father out? Or was Enjolras just taking his father's advice?
It was finally here. The moment Grantaire had been waiting for. He's finally realized that I'm not good enough for him. He knew it was coming, knew this relationship had been too good to be true. He just didn't understand how such a perfect night had ended so terribly.
"You're not, breaking up with me, are you?" He could barely spit the sentence out.
"Goodnight, Grantaire." Enjolras couldn't even meet his eyes, and for some reason, that cut him deeper than anything else.
For a long moment, Grantaire stood there silently, speechless and numb with shock. When he realized that Enjolras wasn't going to raise his head or say anything more, he slowly grabbed his jacket and headed to the door. Pausing, he looked back, but Enjolras hadn't moved, gave no sign that he wanted him to stay, so he left.
He never saw the tears glittering in Enjolras' eyes, never saw him slowly crumple to the floor, never heard the sobs that violently shook his body until he succumbed to sleep.
Instead, Grantaire went to the bar and ordered a drink. And another. And another. And another.