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Grantaire had been sharing his bed semi-regularly with Enjolras for a few months now. Usually, he'd change into sleepwear while Enjolras went to fetch his, or slip through to the bathroom to change there. To be fair, this was mainly habit - Grantaire had made a rule of never shedding his shirt around anyone, due to the scars crossing his back, the few that had marked his chest, the burn that covered his shoulder and upper arm. Tonight, however, he'd thoughtlessly pulled his shirt over his head as he prepared to join Enjolras in bed for the night.
Enjolras had been surprised to learn he liked sleeping with someone else. He didn't sleep a great deal to begin with, and had assumed sleeping with someone else in the bed would make it near impossible. Even more surprisingly than liking it, Enjolras slept better on the nights he shared a bed with Grantaire. They'd agreed to go to sleep, and Enjolras was just unfolding his own sleep-shirt when he noted that Grantaire was taking off his shirt in front of him for once.
He sharply sucked in a breath. "Grantaire."
"Hmm?" Grantaire asked, turned, looked down at the shirt in his hand, and flinched slightly. "Shit."
Enjolras hesitated a moment before stepping over to Grantaire, placing a hand lightly on Grantaire's shoulder. He knew something had happened to Grantaire, his face was testament to that, but he'd never known he had so many scars. He frowned, contemplating pulling his hand back. "Do you want to put your shirt on?" He asked softly, wondering if being shirtless in front of him was making Grantaire uncomfortable.
Grantaire sighed, absent-mindedly rubbing the distorted skin on his left shoulder, and nodded. "If you wouldn't mind."
He'd momentarily forgotten the scars, but he'd been sharply reminded of them and now wanted nothing more than to cover them again. As he pulled on his nightshirt, he looked over at Enjolras. "I suppose you want to ask about them?"
"Yes, but only if you're alright with it." The last thing Enjolras wanted was to make Grantaire uncomfortable. If Grantaire really didn't want to talk about it, Enjolras wasn't going to badger him.
Grantaire nodded, sinking down to sit on the bed. "Go ahead. I'll answer what I can."
"Where did they come from?" Enjolras asked after a moment, sitting beside Grantaire on the bed. It perhaps wasn't the most delicate phrasing or lead up, but cutting to the chase was probably best in this situation.
Grantaire took another deep breath and let it out slowly, like he was steadying himself. "The linear ones - the ones that look like these," here he gestured to the scars that crossed his face, "are from a... a belt. My father. He... yeah, he hit me. The burn is from a house fire." Grantaire choked up slightly, his voice becoming thick. "I was thirteen. I tried to look for my mother. They managed to pull me out but-" He cut off, gesturing to his shoulder in lieu of words. He scrubbed a hand across his face, wiping away the few tears that had gathered in his eyes.
Anger bubbled up in Enjolras' throat. How someone could do that to a child... Enjolras knew that not everyone among the Amis had had the best parents growing up, but that was just...
He bit down the anger in favour of hugging Grantaire. It didn't matter that R wasn't outright crying, he was upset. Enjolras' anger could wait a day or two. "Are you alright?"
Grantaire gripped tightly at Enjolras' shirt, burying his face in his shoulder. "I'll be fine." he murmured. "Painful memories, is all."
Enjolras stroked a hand down Grantaire's back, rubbing soothing circles at the small of it. "What happened? To your father." Thinking about it, Enjolras really didn't know much about Grantaire's past. He knew Grantaire in some way or other practically a member of Bahorel's family, and, well, now this.
"He got arrested, when I was seventeen." Grantaire said. "He got mad over something - don't remember what - hit me with the belt again. I managed to get to Bahorel's. They called the police."
Enjolras nodded. Well that explained that. He leaned his head against Grantaire's, mulling over this new information. "I see why you don't change in front of people."
"Haven't since I was 11." Grantaire murmured.
Enjolras frowned and sighed. "You alright now?"
Grantaire pulled back from Enjolras' embrace to press a kiss to the corner of his mouth. "I told you, I'll be fine, Apollo. It's definitely nothing new."
That got to Enjolras. Was 'nothing new'? The hell Grantaire must have been through. It really explained a lot about Grantaire, sore as that was to think. "I can't help feeling a bit bad for asking." He responded, returning the affectionate gesture with a peck on the lips, bringing up a hand to swipe at a stray tear on Grantaire's cheek.
"Anyone would." Grantaire said, shaking his head. "People don't get huge fucking scars from nowhere. If I hadn't wanted you to know, I wouldn't have let you ask. It's only right you should know anyway."
"I meant that I'm for asking because you didn't get to tell me on your own terms." Enjolras had learned from a young age, thanks to the children his mother treated, that victims of abuse always preferred talking about where scars came from on their own terms, when they were ready. "I would have waited if you needed me to."
Grantaire shook his head again. "These were my terms. If I had really had a problem with telling you, I wouldn't have said anything. It's fine, Enjolras, I swear to you." The brunette said sincerely, looking into Enjolras' eyes.
"Alright." Enjolras nodded, the hand that had been rubbing Grantaire's back stilling. "Do you want to finish getting changed?"
"Naw, I'll sleep in my jeans." Grantaire teased, bumping his shoulder against Enjolras' and smiling. He stood to shed his jeans and search for his pyjama bottoms.
"I really wouldn't be surprised if you did." Enjolras rolled his eyes, standing to change into his own night-clothes
"I have enough times. It's hard to change when you can't see straight." Grantaire grinned, finally finding the bottoms, wriggling into them, and then flopping down onto the bed with his perfected lack of grace, holding out his arms to Enjolras.
"I would've thought it's because all of your clothes are anywhere but their proper place." Enjolras pulled on his shirt before sliding into the bed next to Grantaire, lifting a hand to run his fingers briefly through Grantaire's dark hair.
"That too." Grantaire chuckled, leaning down to kiss the top of Enjolras' head before wrapping his arms around him, one hand burying itself in Enjolras' curls as always. He supposed sometime he'd also have to tell Enjolras that he didn't often actually sleep when they were together like this - he was usually too sober. But that could wait until morning. "Goodnight, Enjolras."
Enjolras smiled, shifting a bit to rest his head against Grantaire's chest. "Goodnight, Grantaire." He responded, already dozy with the comfort of Grantaire's presence. Grantaire played with his hair until he fell asleep.