Chapter Text
That morning, sleep leaves Grantaire unwillingly. In the beginning, he can see the dream he is having with a clarity that surpasses that of reality. It's a kind of clarity that only exists in dreams, that we then only remember with faults, when we remember.
Slowly, sleep sneaks away from him and he can no longer see. In return, he feels the touch of the soft hands he is dreaming about with even more detail than before. The tingling whisper they leave behind is as soft as feathers. In that moment, it feels more real than anything Grantaire has ever felt before, as if he could reach out and touch it; drown in it if he wanted to. Eventually, that, too, is ripped away from him. Despite still being just barely conscious, the sinking feeling in his heart is something he will remember once he is fully woken up. Meanwhile, he still tries hard to continue in the throes of oblivion, even as he starts to feel the touch of real hands in his hair and what must be hushed voices mingled with a consistent soothing sound he cannot identity yet.
When at last he caves in and opens his eyes, there is little he can see. Frail, almost inexistent rays of light seep through what Grantaire is not yet conscious enough to identify. Although he can see little, he can now distinguish that what is caressing his hair are fingers, with gentle strokes, just as he can feel the heat turning his skin into liquid, as well as the clamminess of his pillow.
“Dim-witted Grantaire, my ass,” it’s the first set of words Grantaire distinguishes, noting that they are spoken in a low voice. “More like angel-lips-Grantaire if you’re cuddling him in the morning.”
The laughter that the comment induces is hushed, too, but even so, another voice tells others to be quieter.
“Why does he get to sleep?” He recognizes the voice now as Éponine’s, her smile almost palpable as she pretends to complain.
“Because he did good last night and he deserves it,” it’s Courfeyrac who answers her. Grantaire’s head heaves up and down along with his drawn breaths and it is only after Courfeyrac is done talking that he notices the soft movement of his pillow, which resembles that of a breathing chest. Enlightenment strikes him all at once, propelling him into full consciousness.
Grantaire pulls off what he now distinguishes as a towel keeping him from the sunlight.
“Good morning, angel lips.” Says Courfeyrac before Grantaire even has time to adjust to the light. His dark brown head of hair is covering the sun from Grantaire’s eyes however, so it's not long before he is able to flutter them open with ease.
Courfeyrac is the only thing he sees, looking down at him with puffy eyes and his ever present mischievous smile, his head against the clear blue sky like one of those portrait paintings Grantaire used to do for a living.
Grantaire’s head is pounding a little, so he doesn’t smile back, although he is rather flattered by his new nickname. It’s certainly better than the last one Enjolras had unknowingly chosen for him.
“Do you have any idea what running hands through my hair does to... you know…my hair?” Grantaire shakes his head to stop Courfeyrac’s hands. He remembers his dream then, how different this touch is from the one he felt when he was sleeping, a human’s touch compared to that of a God.
Courfeyrac chuckles, but removes his hand. “I do now,” he says, and both Éponine and Marius join him as he laughs, while Grantaire tries to smooth down his wild curls. It’s then that he realizes they’re the only ones on the beach. The rest of the friends with whom he has, as of last night, decided to tag along on their road trip, are gone.
“Where is the rest of the gang?” Grantaire asks as he sits up. Thankfully, Courfeyrac has decided to grace them with his clothed body again. Now that Grantaire thinks about it, he remembers snogging a very naked Courfeyrac the night before all too well. He also remembers touching places he knows, now that he is entirely sober, he probably should not have touched. Alas, there's more. He looks at Éponine first, and then at Marius, testing the waters. There had been eye on him and Courfeyrac all the while, and he recalls having hoped a certain set of blue eyes were among them.
Éponine narrows her eyes just slightly in a knowing look, while Marius blushes at his attention.
He did not imagine the eyes then.
“We prefer to call ourselves Les Amis.” Courfeyrac says.
“They went out to fill up on drink and food.” Marius is still looking down at his feet as he informs Grantaire of this.
“You had me at drink.” Grantaire’s jib only makes Marius blush again. “How do you handle those expenses?”
Courfeyrac only shrugs. “Enjolras usually pays for it and then once we get back we’ll figure it out.” He says.
“So, he’s a rich boy?” Grantaire rolls his eyes, wondering how it took him so long to see it. If the attitude wasn’t enough evidence, then the white shirt he donned yesterday should’ve done the trick. The thing looked like it had been made out of the souls of people.
“Understatement.” Éponine confirms.
“Why aren’t you all “air tripping” on a private plane, then?” He asks.
“Because Joly is afraid of flying, and we like Rose better.” Says Éponine.
“If we didn’t pride ourselves for being a democratic community, then that’s what we would be doing. Enjolras sure wanted to. But “air tripping” is for the anti-social folk. Social individuals such as I require a car and the hard road underneath our wheels.” Courfeyrac says with enthusiasm, somehow managing to make his description very vivid.
“Plus, who would want to be stuck on a plane with you?” Éponine bites back.
“Are you seriously telling me Enjolras owns a private plane?” Grantaire is almost baffled, despite not understanding why. It all goes so well with the superior way in which he sees Apollo, the polar opposites that they are. One is beyond wealthy, the other beyond poor.
Courfeyrac, Éponine and Marius laugh at what must be a stupid bewildered expression on his face. He realizes they were only taking advantage of his naivety in the matter and punches Courfeyrac’s arm because that is the arm that is closer to him.
“Ouch!” Courfeyrac moans. “In our defense, he is so rich he probably could have a private plane.”
“That’s peachy, because—“ He sinks his hands into his pockets and retrieves all the money he has in them, throwing a hundred francs bill and a few cents onto the towel Courfeyrac is seating on. “This is literally all I can contribute with.”
The last thing Grantaire wants to see is the look in Enjolras’ face when he learns that all Grantaire has is a hundred francs. Will he scowl? Will he shake his head in disappointment? Or will he simply roll his eyes and say they can’t take Grantaire with them if he’s not going to pay for his expenses?
“Literally?” Marius echoes, staring at the money on Courfeyrac’s towel with wide eyes. “But… that is not possible.”
“Says rich boy number two.” Éponine is the only one who looks unfazed by Grantaire’s revelation. He can see understanding in the way she regards him.
“What were you doing before we took you in?” Courfeyrac asks, still without taking the money into his hands.
“Walking around, mostly. I would have figured something out eventually, I always do.” Grantaire shrugs and turns away from the other three people in that beach with him, hoping they will take this deliberate move as a sign to leave the subject be.
There’s a silence that settles then, wherein Grantaire welcomes back the sound of the waves and the seagulls in the distance. He doesn’t see it, but he hears Marius cry out in pain and imagines it to be the result of Éponine’s way of telling him off pursuing Grantaire’s predicament further. He silently thanks Éponine.
“If you can’t take me to Montreuil after all, s’okay. I’ll figure that out too.” Grantaire says as he turns back to the familiar people he has warmed up to.
The sound that comes out of Marius’ mouth is so pitched it hurts Grantaire’s ears. It’s like the sound of a lion’s prey as the beast’s teeth catch it. “That is out of the question!” He looks at Courfeyrac, hoping for support, and so does Grantaire.
Courfeyrac is picking up Grantaire’s money from the towel. “Take the money back, angel lips.” He is extending a hand with Grantaire’s money on it, but Grantaire can’t bring himself to take it. That would feel like accepting the fact that he can’t go on with them.
“Courf?” Marius’ cry is flabbergasted. Courfeyrac winks at Grantaire before addressing his friends’ poor soul.
“What do you want me to do, Marius? Enjolras will never let us take Grantaire and expect him to pay for his ass for two weeks. We have to let him go.” Marius’ cheeks are turning redder by the second, his lips contorted in an ugly grimace. “Unless someone else agrees to pay for him.” Courfeyrac concludes.
“Who?” Marius asks, genuinely curious. Grantaire is also curious as to where Courfeyrac is going with this. It seems rather unfair to have someone sustain his sorry ass for two weeks, even if they are as rich as Enjolras apparently is.
“You, stupid.” Éponine says. “You’re the one who needs him, plus you’re always trying find ways to waste your grandfather’s money.”
“Exactly. You’ll be wasting his money, saving poor old Grantaire from a life as a hopeless wanderer, and getting the girl, all at the same time. I’m pretty sure this will get you a presidential suite in Heaven, too.” Courfeyrac grins his winning grin, while Marius meets it with a dawning smile. It’s like the sun has risen in his face, or like he has been given the answers to all the secrets of the universe. He all but jumps to Courfeyrac’s lap and hugs him.
“That is genius!” Says Marius, pulling back from Courfeyrac’s arms. “Problem solved, then. Grantaire is coming with us and he’s introducing me to Cosette.” He is still seated on Courfeyrac’s lap, although he seems not to even notice this as he takes Cosette’s picture from his pocket and contemplates it.
“Thanks, I guess.” Says Grantaire. He sounds nonchalant, but in his mind he is clapping and bowing down to both Courfeyrac and Marius.
“Aren’t you so happy you could kiss me, Marius?” Courfeyrac looks up at Marius and caresses his neck below the boy’s ear with his fingers, as Marius begins to inch his way off Courfeyrac’s lap.
“No…” He says.
“Yes, you are!” Courfeyrac tilts his head and looks at Marius sideways, gracing him with a gaze that would surely melt a lot of panties that were not Marius’.
“Dude…” Marius says.
“Dude…” Courfeyrac smiles. “Grantaire won’t take you to Cosette if you don’t kiss me, isn’t that right Grantaire?”
If he should be honest, all Grantaire wants to do is laugh at the both of them along with Éponine and let them both handle it – which would probably end up in Courfeyrac scaring off Marius with lips that Grantaire had to admit were quite skilled. But Courfeyrac just found a way to help Grantaire stay with them and saved him a lot of trouble. Grantaire owes him. He also owes Marius, but he can find something else to make it all up to the boy and his grandfather’s money.
So he shrugs and says “Yeah.”
Poor Marius has but a fraction of a second to breathe before Courfeyrac lands his lips on him and holds his head still with his hands. The whole kiss is hilarious. Not only because Marius is pressing his eyes closed with what looks like abnormal force and clear distaste, but also because Courfeyrac is trying really hard not to laugh. Grantaire is thinking he would give his hundred francs bill to have a Polaroid camera like Cosette’s so he could perpetuate this moment, when Courfeyrac finally breaks and starts laughing uncontrollably.
“Ew, you just spit into my mouth, Courf!” Marius complains, despite being on the verge of laughing too.
Courfeyrac pays him no mind, bending over to try and control his laughter. The way he laughs is contagious. All it takes is a moment for all of them to be struggling between laughing and breathing.
“You owe m—“Marius is saying, when the shrieking sound of a horn cuts him off. The sound startles all of them, fresh out of sleep as they are, used to hearing only their low voices and the waves washing up on the beach. Their heads flick upward, instincts telling them where the source of the sound is. Grantaire expects to see Jehan’s van on top of the hill, where it had been the previous night, but there is only earth and sky in its place.
Nevertheless, it must be them, because the other three friends are now rising up from their seats and packing their things, getting ready to leave. Grantaire mimics them in silence, only grunting when the motion of standing up produces a sharp pain in his back.
“Oh, there they are!” Courfeyrac is waving excitedly toward the top of the hill where, Grantaire sees, are now Joly and Jehan. Only Joly is waving back, whilst Jehan simply stands there appreciating the view. “What’s gotten Jehan’s panties in a bunch today?” He’s staring at Grantaire as he asks this, muscles tight in a preoccupied expression.
“What are you looking at me for? I was sleeping.” Grantaire shrugs.
“He talks to you.” Courfeyrac says.
“He’s known me for a day.”
“Exactly!”
“Get over it, Courf. He's having what he call a "no-Courf-day". We all have them. It's when all you say makes our skin crawl and we just want to punch you. Yesterday it was Enjolras' turn, today it’s Jehan's.” Éponine gives him a friendly pat on the back, coupled with a wink, which does nothing to relax Courfeyrac’s genuinely preoccupied expression. Still, Éponine keeps a comforting arm around his shoulders as they walk toward the stairs.
Grantaire hangs back in an effort to keep from intruding in their moment. He expects to make his way up in a little piece and quiet, but, in retrospect, that was a silly expectation to have.
Marius jumps out of nowhere and lands beside Grantaire, sporting an overly joyed grin that shows the world all of his perfect white teeth and parades his incredibly freckled cheeks.
“So… I am paying for your meat and your mead, I kissed Courf….” He pauses to shudder in an over-dramatic way. “You owe me, Grantaire.”
“Name your price, pretty-boy.”
Marius blushes.
“Well, I—I thought you could tell me all that you know about Cosette. What is she like? What does she like? Maybe I could surprise her with a gift when you introduce us and that way she’ll surely like me back!”
Grantaire chuckles at the boy’s pure excitement.
“Don’t show up with a gift for someone who doesn’t know you. Do you want her to see you as the creeper you are?” Grantaire regards him with a look that clearly translates into a silent ‘are you stupid?’
“No.” Marius concedes, his eyes darting to his feet. All the excitement he was feeling deflates from him like a balloon. “But can you tell me about her anyway?”
Marius makes Grantaire feel good. His helplessness toward the new object of his affections is, to Grantaire, so ridiculous that it puts his own fawning over Enjolras into a whole different perspective. It makes Grantaire appear very in control of his emotions. That is, of course, not at all true. But as he climbs the stairs telling Marius all that he knows about Cosette and listens to his hopeful sighs, it feels true.
However, there is only so much Grantaire can say about Cosette, having talked to her for less than an hour. They haven’t climbed half of the steps to the top when Grantaire is out of new things to say to Marius’ endless torrent of questions. He keeps asking the same things through different questions, to which Grantaire responds with the same content but through different words.
Éponine and Courfeyrac are a handful of steps ahead of them, keeping each other company in silence. They must be able to listen to Marius and Grantaire, though. Marius’ excitement results in a high-pitched voice and loud chuckles here and there. As it is, if they do, they make no objections or encouragements. Both backs are turned to Grantaire and Marius, although now it’s Courfeyrac who reaches out with a friendly hand to comfort Éponine. It doesn’t take long for Grantaire to put the pieces of the puzzle together. He has tuned out Marius’ voice, answering his questions in autopilot, while in his head he remembers Éponine’s sad eyes whenever Marius mentions Cosette, especially when he had found Grantaire’s picture.
This morning, when Grantaire poured out of his pockets all of his money and dignity, Éponine was the one who looked at him with understanding in her eyes. Now, he was paying her back by introducing the boy she liked to another girl.
Touché, Grantaire.
Reaching that last step of the stairs is like finally finding water in the desert. He swears the sight of Enjolras carrying grocery bags is a mirage. Apollo alone is before him. There is nothing and no one else there but he and Grantaire. The sun is gracing him in gold again, as he stands there with welcoming smile, waiting for Grantaire to join him. And that is how he stays, until Grantaire blinks his eyes.
The mirage is over as quickly as it took him. Suddenly, Marius is speaking next to him, oblivious to Grantaire’s lack of interest in what he is saying. There are other people where a moment before there wasn’t. Most importantly, and to Grantaire’s dismay, Enjolras is not waiting for him with or even looking at him. Instead, he is intently sorting through grocery bags disposed inside Jehan’s van. There’s a small crowd of hungry Amis around Enjolras, waiting with what can be described as anything but patience for their breakfast. Grantaire takes advantage of this to look for the alcohol in quiet solitude.
He smiles when all it takes is one try to find the bag he was looking for. Enjolras is smirking at him too, when he looks up from the bag with a can of beer in his hand. Grantaire finds this odd, at the least, as odd as the pink bottles of something that are resting inside the same bag.
“Which one of you bought the booze?” Grantaire asks, frowning at both the bottles and the still-smiling Enjolras.
“I did.” Says Jehan.
“What the hell is this pink stuff you bought? And, more importantly, is it good?”
Enjolras hands over a sandwich to Jehan, who is not looking at him or Grantaire, but at Courfeyrac. His eyes are not friendly but curious as he watches Courfeyrac, who is still by Éponine’s side, now joined by Marius. Grantaire spares a moment to wonder when was it that Marius realized Grantaire wasn’t paying attention to him anymore and made his retreat. He had not noticed the boy had left.
“I don’t know what that is, but it looks nice and I checked, it has a whole lot of alcohol in it.” He says after a while. “It’s the best of both worlds.”
Grantaire shrugs; content as long as it has alcohol. Now that he knows Marius will pay for his everything, he is free to drink whatever he likes. This thought makes the corners of his lips curl up, before he opens the beer can with a smile that shows his teeth, and gulps down on the liquid.
It’s only then that Jehan remembers to add, “Oh, except the beer. Enjolras chose that. I don’t know why, he doesn’t even like beer that much.”
At precisely the same moment Jehan utters these words, the beer Grantaire drank is sliding down his tongue and throat. He registers the foul taste in his mouth and he knows why.
What he does next is not preceded by any thought nor reflected upon, it is merely a result of instinct.
He splutters the liquid out like a fountain.
There are multiple gasps as the beer pours out of his mouth. Everyone is startled into jumping back, away from Grantaire. Except Enjolras. No, Enjolras is laughing whole-heartedly, with his whole body, back curved backwards, mouth wide open to better propagate the sound of his jib.
“This has no alcohol!” Grantaire grumbles when, at last, the beer is out of his mouth. It’s his comment that has everyone joining Enjolras in his laugher while he mopes. “Laugh all you want, but we’re stuck with… 6 packs of non-alcoholic beer, now. Have a good day.”
Grantaire’s words work like magic. The laughter dies down instantly, even Enjolras’, who is now the center of unfriendly attention. Yet he keeps the initial smirk on, which makes Grantaire’s skin crawl. He gives him the finger before retrieving two pink bottles of Jehan’s whatever.
“Anyone fancy a game of cards?” Enjolras suggests, his smirk now gone.
Grantaire answers with a loud scoff and the sound of a pink bottle opening. Everyone else seems keen to indulge Enjolras, however, despite some protests and complaints. Courfeyrac is still glaring at him and occasionally slapping the back of his head, but he laughs as he does this, so Grantaire finds he’s alone in his anger. It’s a hollow anger, anyway. Just moments ago Enjolras was the object of his mirage...
Enjolras and his “supporters” get into the van. Grantaire walks away from it. He has all but settled on the ground and sipped on his pink bottle to verify it’s alcohol tenor, when Éponine flumps down next to him.
“Dick move, Enjolr-ass.” She says.
“Yeah. Who knew Apollo would be an ass?” Grantaire raises the pink bottle as if to toast Éponine’s non-existent bottle.
“Apollo?” Éponine frowns.
“The Greek God.”
“I know who Apollo is, dummy,” she pauses, then adds, “If I didn’t know better I would say Marius isn’t the only one with a crush among us.”
Grantaire faces her. She is smiling but her smile doesn’t reach her eyes. He understands instinctively that her words don’t carry the meaning that they appear to carry. She has no idea how right she is. Instead, they’re a way to apply pressure on her open wound.
He knows the feeling.
“He certainly isn’t.”
“You know, then. Great, because I wanted to talk to you about it.”
Grantaire raises his eyebrows.
“You want to talk to me about your crush on Marius? You barely know me.”
“Alas, it’s not a crush, it’s love. Have you never heard of the saying that it’s easier to talk to strangers than it is to your friends?” Éponine crosses her legs, supports her weight with her hands behind her back and tosses her head back, welcoming the breeze in her hair. Grantaire notices that she is good-looking, has the kind of beauty that is hidden but would come to the surface with the slightest of efforts.
“I have, and I think it’s bullshit.” Grantaire tells her.
“Maybe,” she looks at him sideways, inspecting him as he drinks. “But this morning I felt like we had an understanding. I know what it’s like to have no one, to be lost and penny-less on top of it. For years that is how I lived… And I think there’s something in you that is very destructive, judging by how much you appear to drink everyday, and you were the one who brought Cosette into Marius’ life. I just don’t want you to feel like it’s your fault that it makes me feel miserable, okay?”
“Well, I felt a whole lot more guilt-less before you mentioned how miserable you feel.” He says.
“Sorry!” Éponine says, making the same face a 4-year-old makes when they know they have done something wrong. “But I’m telling you it’s not your fault. Marius has had years and endless opportunities to fall in love with me. Instead he only sees me as his best friend. Cosette has nothing to do with it. She’s a lovely girl, and she deserves someone as amazing as Marius.”
Grantaire is slightly stunned by the nonchalant way she speaks about the matter. The harsh reality she is telling him about must wound and hurt her. Maybe she reserves the unhappy feelings to her eyes, and that is why she has kept them closed.
“You know Cosette?” Grantaire questions.
“Yes, when we were children. My parents took her in for a while. They were horrible to her. Maybe I’m paying for their unfairness, who knows.” Éponine wonders.
“That seems plausible.”
Éponine opens her eyes to regard him with the sadness he expects. They glimmer in the sunlight with what has to be contained tears. Grantaire feels a great affection for her at that moment, as well as a certain connection. He sees himself in her. Perhaps his future self. But she is beautiful and she has no destructive vices like he does. She has a life, friends who love her; she knows how to deal with her pain properly. Éponine will find someone else who deserves her like Marius could never.
“You know, all I said was true, but I’m still sad and a little bit mad a you. I have the perfect solution for us to fix that, though.” Grantaire only raises his eyebrows in expectation. “You’re going to hold my hand, and you’re going to tell them you have something you want to show me. And then you’re going to take me away so I can cry for while.”
Grantaire gulps down on his pink alcohol.
“So you’re holding me accountable but I’m not?”
“Yeah.”
“Fine by me. But I don’t want to see you cry,” He says. “I don’t want you to cry at all, but I really don’t want to see it if it happens.”
“You can just hang around and watch my back.”
Grantaire nods. That is something he can do.
Éponine’s hand is warm and a little bit damp with sweat. No doubt opening up to Grantaire had made her nervous. But Grantaire makes no comment; he simply takes hold of her hand and leads her toward where he left his guitar case.
As they agreed, after Grantaire picks up his case, he tells the Amis he has something to show Éponine, throwing in a wink for Courfeyrac’s sake. They all whistle and cheer as Grantaire and Éponine leave them behind.
Éponine finds a secluded place between some bushes, near the edge of the cliff, where she seats with her back to Grantaire. He hangs back, far enough that her figure is but the size of his thumb, with his guitar on his lap. The instrument engages with him in a staring contest of sorts. Once, holding his guitar was a natural thing he did, wherein the wood and the strings molded to his body as if they had always belonged there. The tips of his fingers were calloused where they pressed down onto the strings to produce chords. They still are, he can feel the thicker skin there by pressing his fingers against each other. But now holding the neck of his guitar feels alien to him, they don’t fit.
Despite the alien feeling, Grantaire tentatively begins to play the first chords of Come as You Are, the first song he learned to play. It’s one of the most basic songs he knows. If it turns out he cannot play even this song, he’s in worse sheets than he has ever been.
Fortunately, he manages to go through the whole song, singing along in a hush voice, so as not to bother Éponine. The fact that he can still play Come As You Are isn’t enough to make him content, because he is still incapable of properly tuning his guitar, and finding the right rhythm, which results in an unpleasant hearing all the same. He’s putting himself through the song for the third time when frustration takes hold of him and he finds the outlet to it in his guitar by playing random chords with a ferocity that is bordering on mad, scratching the chords, purposefully sounding like an animal shrieking in pain again and again.
Eventually, his anger subsides. When he lets go of the guitar it is in a rather desperate way, going so far as to turn his back to it – and, subsequently, to Éponine. Grantaire lets his head fall onto his hands with a thud, sinking his hands into his curls, scratching his head with the remainder of his frustration running through his veins. Do his abandonment issues go so deep that even motivation isn’t enough to solve them? He misses playing his guitar, and singing to it, and making up silly songs once in a while.
“Are you all right, Grantaire?” Comes Éponine’s calm voice.
Grantaire looks up from his sweaty, useless hands, to see her looking down upon him with concern. There’s not one little sign of her ever having been crying at all. She looks collected and neutral, as if she has just finished doing some yoga exercises. Maybe Grantaire should try yoga. Maybe that would help him get a grip.
He puts her at ease with a nod. Says, “Just stuck.”
Éponine extends a hand to him, and Grantaire takes it, so she helps him up. As they make their way back to Jehan’s van, Éponine gives him a playful pat on the shoulder.
“You know, in retrospect, it was cruel of me to ever even wish you to be having a crush on Enjolr-ass. You’re a cool guy, you deserve to be with someone like… the female version of Kurt Cobain, minus all the drugs and stuff.” Éponine says, making Grantaire frown in genuine curiosity. “He’s hot.”
“I know he is. But why would it be cruel for me to like Enjolras?” He asks.
“Well, because you’d be destined to end up like me. Enjolras is like a brick wall when it comes to sexual or romantic feelings. We keep asking him if he’s ever even liked anyone but he never says. Courf knows him since they were in middle school and has never seen even seen him show interest in anyone. And believe me when I say he’s had plenty of candidates.” Éponine tells him. “It’s cool, though. Each to their own, right? He’s a wonderful person, if a bit too focused in his work. Most of us agreed to sign Courf’s contract so he would too. We all agreed. Enjolras needs to learn how to let go.”
It surprises Grantaire how unsurprised he is by Éponine’s revelation. Undoubtedly, his heart falls as he hears her speak how he’s destined to end up like her, and his stomach twists once he realizes that he is just another of those plenty of candidates, falling at the God’s feet. It’s only fitting, though. Gods do not mingle with Humans, much less corrupt, addict ones such as Grantaire.
“He’s pretty young, though, isn’t he? Maybe he’s just never found someone who was good enough to warrant his attention.” Grantaire tries.
“He’s nineteen. Besides, he’s a guy. Even Joly can overlook the bacteria exchanged in kissing sometimes and give in to his urges.”
“I think we should consent to try him. Let’s give him the remainder of this road trip. You say he’s learning to let go, right? Maybe he lets go and finds himself a lover in the process.”
“Why do I feel like you’re challenging yourself to win his heart?” Éponine smirks, but her eyes are serious.
“Because…” Grantaire mumbles.
Éponine lets out a small, high-pitched, Marius-like shriek. “You really like Enjolras?”
“Can you blame a guy, really? Have you seen him?” Grantaire tries to deflect her panicked expression by joking, but she is having none of it.
“Yes, I have seen him. We call him ‘Marble-jolras’ sometimes did you know that? Because he’s like—“ She stops suddenly, covers her mouth with her hands. “You know, what I was just about to say was awfully presumptuous. I will shut up now.”
Grantaire wants to laugh. There’s a slight tinge of pink in her cheeks that he catches a glimpse of before she turns her face away from him in embarrassment. Grantaire sinks his hands into the pockets of his jeans.
“So, you like boys?” She asks after a while. Jehan’s van is close now, so she slows her step in order to prolong their time alone.
Grantaire shrugs.
“Sometimes,” he says.
“Cool!” She smiles. “So, excluding Enjolras, who do you think is the hottest guy out of all Les Amis?”
* * *
Upon their return, the scenery inside Rose – Jehan’s van – is slightly different. The space is more cramped with bags of food, the mattress on the floor has the sheets tidied up like a bed made, despite the fact that all the boys are seating on top of it. Only Combeferre and Enjolras are still playing cards, their expressions much more serious than anyone should ever be while playing a simple game of cards. The rest of the boys are further down into the van, hanging around in a kind of circle, looking intently at something on the driver’s seat.
It’s with them that Grantaire and Éponine settle down. As they get closer, Grantaire sees what they are inspecting is a map of France.
“Back so soon, love birds?” Courfeyrac says.
“I prefer quality over quantity.” Éponine replies, throwing a wink at Grantaire. “Planning our next move?”
There’s a general nod of heads at Éponine’s question. Joly offers each of them a breath mint – which they both kindly decline -, before he delves into a resumed explanation of the sum of the suggestions up until their arrival as to where they should go next.
“So why are you heading for Montreuil, Grantaire?” Joly asks afterward.
“Enjolras, can you pass me my backpack, please?” Grantaire asks. Enjolras takes a while to shift his attention from his game to Grantaire, looking beyond displeased when he finally does. Yet he concedes to Grantaire’s request with no objections, throwing the rugged backpack to his lap. “Thanks.”
Out of his backpack, Grantaire retrieves the contest flier Cosette had given him at the train station, and hands it over to Joly.
“You’re participating?” Joly asks.
“If I can figure out how to play again until then.”
“You know that you have to go to Montreuil for sign-ups until the end of the week, right?” Joly shows him the flier ad points to where it says so.
“I did not. Shit, is that inconvenient?”
“Actually, it isn’t. But even if it was, we’d go anyway.” Courfeyrac says. He’s seated on the passenger’s seat with his legs crossed in a lotus position, chewing at a pencil.
“Thanks, man.”
“If you win, will you name your band after us?” Marius smiles.
“What, Les Amis?”
“Les Amis de l’ABC, get it? Because we’re activists.” He explains.
“You’re activists?” Grantaire asks, disbelievingly, at the same time as Courfeyrac says, “Marius, will you ever stop having bad ideas?”
“Activists for what?” Grantaire insists, looking at all of them in turn.
“Liberty, freedom, equality…” It’s Enjolras who answers him. He’s still seated before Combeferre, still holding his cards in his hands, but they don’t seem to interest him anymore. Grantaire rolls his eyes. “I'm sorry, did I say something ridiculous? I must have, because why else would you be rolling your eyes at our values?”
“Because there is something I like to call inevitability, which renders activism pretty hopeless.” Combeferre slowly crawls out of the way, so that Enjolras can see Grantaire properly, and vice-versa.
“Inevitability?” Enjolras questions.
“Yes. Why waste your breath trying to change the world when the world does not want to change? You raise me a Revolution, I raise you a Battle of Waterloo.”
“And I raise you another Revolution.” Enjolras says.
“It still only supports my reasoning. People always destroy what others build. So why bother? I just think you’re wasting your time.” Grantaire crosses his arms over his chest and concerns Enjolras with intrigue.
“Are you suggesting we should cross our arms over our chests like you just did, and settle for whatever is thrown our way? Should we conform to being treated like we’re less than others, to being robbed of our freedom? Should we not live because, one day, we’ll die?” Enjolras speaks with his hands and his arms, his voice clear and open. Grantaire has never felt Enjolras’ attention so strongly on him before, and it is thrilling.
“Okay, okay, boys, that is enough.” Courfeyrac breaks through the moment with his half muffled voice, as he speaks with his pencil still in his mouth. Suddenly, there are other people again around them, and Enjolras’ eyes aren’t on him anymore. Still, he appears to not be mad, or angry, or even irritated at Grantaire. Instead he seems to be as intrigued by Grantaire’s views as Grantaire is intrigued by his.
“Gosh, can’t you just feel the sexual tension?” Éponine says to Marius, pretending to be speaking only to him while the volume of her voice indicates otherwise. Marius blushes, resembling a lost puppy with his frown.
“’Ponine…” Jehan mutters in warning, sneaking a glance toward Enjolras, who is looking quite oblivious to the whole thing.
“Ugh, someone open the windows, it's too strong, I can't breathe!” She fans herself in an overly dramatic fashion.
“The door is open.” Marius tells her, clearly as oblivious as Enjolras.
“Seriously, Marius?”
That is when everyone burst into laughter. The only ones who don’t laugh are Enjolras, Marius and Grantaire. The first two are oblivious to the joke; the latter, is still stuck recalling the exchange between him and Enjolras. But Grantaire smiles and thinks he might just keep Éponine after this road trip is over.
“So, where to next?” Enjolras asks at no one in particular, once all the laughter has died down.
“I say we stay in Marseille to visit the city,” Courfeyrac begins, pausing to see Jehan’s reaction to his words. The boy is simply nodding. “We can crash on a camping site near here so we can actually bathe – the smells are getting dire in here -, and then we’ll set to Montreuil. After Grantaire has signed up, we’ll make our way to Paris, where I will be taking Jehan to one of the best flower markets in the world.”
Courfeyrac looks again at the boy with a certain expectation in his eyes. Jehan is struggling to keep his lips from bursting into a smile, an attempt that is not looking to be successful.
No one raises any objections to Courfeyrac’s plan for once, and so they get ready to leave for the camping site he mentioned.
Just before Courfeyrac starts the van, he adds as an afterthought:
“I would just like to point out that the dire smell in here has nothing to do with Jehan, seeing as he doesn’t simply like flowers. He is a flower. And flowers don’t smell.”
“Why do I feel like I’m next on your ‘to-kiss’ list?” Jehan asks.
Courfeyrac just smirks.