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Enjolras pushed the door to the classroom open, scowl cemented on his face. The teacher paused mid-sentence, turning to frown at him, but he just handed her the slip of paper from the front office, the slip that told the teacher that he was now assigned to this class, an algebra class that he was undoubtedly too qualified and smart for.
It was a harsh assessment, but nonetheless probably true. Enjolras was objectively intelligent, no matter the fact that he spent many of his afternoons in detention for arguing with his teachers. Of course, it was arguing with his teacher that had landed Enjolras in this class. His trigonometry teacher had taken one look at him and blanched, probably remembering him from Geometry, when he had spent half his time arguing with her over proofs and formal versus informal logic, and then she had ordered him from the room.
Which really wasn’t fair, Enjolras reflected as he sat in the indicated empty seat at the back of the room. He doubted that trig involved the same logical structures as geometry, meaning he probably wouldn’t have gotten into many fights with her. Not that it mattered. Math was Enjolras’s least favorite subject. He preferred - as should surprise no one - subjects with less objective answers.
He slumped down in his seat, not even bothering to take out a notebook, just crossing his arms in front of his chest and glaring at the front of the room. He heard a low chuckle from beside him and turned to glare at the guy sitting next to him. “What crawled up your ass and died?” the guy asked, half-grinning at him with blue eyes that glinted wickedly.
Enjolras’s glare softened into a frown, because he vaguely recognized the guy. He thought they might have had art class together Enjolras’s freshman year, when art was a required course for freshmen, but this guy, if memory served, was one of the popular kids - well, more popular than Enjolras anyway, who had two friends to his name, Combeferre and Courfeyrac.
And loyal friends they were. They had grown up together. Enjolras and Combeferre had argued in first grade over which one of them had read more books (Combeferre won, but only after pulling Enjolras’s hair until he yielded). They had been best friends ever since, united in their lack of friends and general nerdiness (everyone knew Combeferre as the kid who always did his homework and wouldn’t lie to substitute teachers about what they were doing in class, and Enjolras…well, Enjolras intimidated them more than anything).
Courfeyrac had joined them in fourth grade when he switched schools. He had worn headgear for his teeth, which didn’t exactly gain him friends quickly (which was a shame, because Courfeyrac was a bubbly, friendly personality). Of course, Courfeyrac hardly looked like that now. In fact, if Enjolras was honest, even though Courfeyrac wasn’t his type, he was hot by all standards (just as, if he was being honest, he himself was exceptionally attractive). But neither of them had endeared themselves to the school at large when they started the Gay-Straight Alliance at their school, since their town was, by and large, incredibly homophobic.
All in all, it broke every social taboo for this kid to be talking to Enjolras, and the look Enjolras gave him was startled. “What does it matter to you?” he snapped, though without much heat to his voice.
“It doesn’t,” the guy told him, cheerfully, sitting up properly so that Enjolras could get a good look at him. And he couldn’t help it - his eyes widened. The guy wasn’t necessarily conventionally attractive (he had a large nose that had clearly been broken before, and his smile was crooked), but his arm muscles were toned, and the small bit of skin he could see peeking from under the hem of his shirt as it rose up was smooth. Enjolras swallowed, convulsively, and tried not to blush. “I just figured you didn’t want to be here as much as I don’t want to be here.”
And with that, he pulled a flask out of his pocket, offering it first to Enjolras, who wrinkled his nose and shook his head, and then shrugged, unscrewing the cap to take a swig. “Mr. Grantaire.” The teacher’s voice cracked like a whip through the classroom. “If you are planning on passing my class, I suggest you put that away and I never see it again.”
Grantaire grinned and toasted the teacher with the flask, taking another sip and pocketing it. “Oh, don’t worry. I won’t let you see it again.”
The class broke into titters and Grantaire winked broadly at a brunette girl, who giggled and blushed. Enjolras barely managed to not roll his eyes as Grantaire stuffed the flask back into his pocket, but when Grantaire leaned over to hold his hand out to shake, he still took it. “Grantaire,” the man in question told him, still smiling broadly.
“Enjolras,” Enjolras returned, smiling slightly as well before dropping Grantaire’s hand and turning back to face the front of class.
When the bell rang, Enjolras turned to chat with Grantaire some more, but was surprised to see him chatting with the brunette girl, an arm wrapped around her waist. She was giggling again, and Grantaire’s grin was wicked as he wrote his number on her hand.
Enjolras watched this all with a furrowed brow. The guy was straight - this didn’t surprise him, since 99% of their school was - but that didn’t explain the knot of jealousy that seemed to be stabbing its way into his heart.
The next few weeks passed in much the same way, Grantaire and Enjolras sitting in the back of their math class, Grantaire keeping up a running string of jokes and mockery under his breath as Enjolras hid his laughter. In any other class, it would have been the kind of thing that would cause Enjolras to swivel in his seat and fix the perpetrator with a death stare, but in this class, it didn’t bother him in the slightest.
In fact, he realized that this was the source of Grantaire’s popularity. He sat in the back of class cracking jokes, and everyone liked the class clown. But Enjolras liked him even more for the jokes that others didn’t hear, the things he muttered under his breath, often mocking the teacher, the class, and his fellow students.
Enjolras realized that Grantaire was just as intelligent as he was, which made it surprising that Grantaire was in the class, surprising that Grantaire didn’t try to do something with his intelligence. He would have asked him about it, but never got the chance, since after every class, there was always a girl that Grantaire would chat up.
He rarely stayed with the same girl for more than a week or so, and the weird jealousy Enjolras had felt that first day barely even flared anymore when he shouldered past Grantaire and his girl of the week at the end of class.
It didn’t stop him from thinking about Grantaire, in the worst possible way (often with Grantaire’s name as a drawn-out moan as he jerked off in his bedroom). Which was definitely a problem, since Enjolras didn’t do that whole high school romance bullshit. He didn’t have time for it (never mind he probably couldn’t have found a date if he tried).
But it was enough to make his scowl seem permanent, even if he refused to tell Combeferre or Courfeyrac what was wrong with him. In fact, he wouldn’t have said anything about it, were it not for Grantaire showing up to a Gay-Straight Alliance, seemingly in tow of his girlfriend of the week.
As soon as Enjolras saw him, sitting in the back, making out with the girl, his insides went cold, and he grabbed Courfeyrac’s arm. “What is he doing here?” Enjolras hissed, his grip on Courfeyrac’s arm so tight that it was painful, but Enjolras didn’t even notice the way Courfeyrac winced as he was too busy staring at Grantaire, who was laughing as he reclined in a chair.
Courfeyrac wrenched his arm out of Enjolras’s grip. “The fuck, man?” he asked, rubbing his arm dramatically as he pouted. “What is who doing here?”
“Grantaire,” Enjolras growled, nodding in the direction of Grantaire and his girlfriend. “What the hell is he doing here?”
Courfeyrac followed his gaze, and something close to a smirk crossed his face as he seemed to put two and two together regarding Enjolras’s sullen mood for the past few weeks. “I think the only way to find out is to ask him, don’t you think?”
To Enjolras’s chagrin, he headed straight across to Grantaire, tapping him on the shoulder, not even caring that he was still making out with his girlfriend. “Hi, I’m Courfeyrac,” Courf said cheerfully, holding his hand out for both to shake.
Enjolras did his best to tune out Grantaire and his girlfriend’s response, though he did hear what his girlfriend said when asked why she was there, and it set his teeth on edge. She tossed her hair and giggled. “I’m, like, totally an ally. Right on, you know?”
“Let’s begin,” Combeferre said quickly from his position next to Enjolras, as Enjolras’s face turned a dangerous shade of red.
Shooting Combeferre a grateful look, Enjolras launched into his spiel about the float they were going to have in the homecoming parade. “We want it to be like Pride,” he told them enthusiastically, “but a little more tame. School appropriate Pride.”
“We’re here, we’re queer, get used to it?” Grantaire cracked from the back of the room, and Enjolras favored him with a glare.
“Something like that,” he said frostily, turning his attention back to his papers.
It went on like this for most of the meeting, Grantaire cracking jokes like he always did, Enjolras getting more and more flustered as it went on. Finally, Combeferre called the meeting early, knowing Enjolras wasn’t going to be of any use. He touched Enjolras’s shoulder gently as the few people in the room started filtering out. “Debrief at Courf’s?”
Enjolras caught sight of Grantaire kissing his girlfriend again and nodded. “Yeah. Sounds good.”
Which was how, an hour later, he found himself lying on Courfeyrac’s bed, spilling most of the story of Grantaire to Combeferre and Courfeyrac, Combeferre looking on with quiet calm, Courfeyrac with barely contained glee. After Enjolras finished, Courfeyrac sighed happily. “It’s so beautiful. You’re in love.”
Enjolras spluttered at that. “I am not in love,” he snapped, looking at Combeferre for support, but Combeferre just shrugged, hiding a smile of his own. “I am not in love!”
“Ok, let’s get this right,” Courfeyrac said, ticking things off on his fingers as he listed them, “You can’t stop thinking about him, you think he’s hot, you’re super jealous of his girlfriends. Come on, Enj, if that’s not love, I don’t know what is.”
“He drives me up a fucking wall,” Enjolras sighed, rubbing his forehead wearily. “This is hardly the stuff of great romance. Besides, he’s straight. Which might be considered, you know, a bit of a problem.”
Courfeyrac waved a dismissive hand. “Whatever. We can deal with that. But that doesn’t mean that you don’t have a crush on him, because I totally know better.”
Enjolras groaned and buried his face in Courfeyrac’s pillow. “Fine, I have a stupid fucking crush. But it doesn’t mean anything, alright? I hate him far more than I like him.”
It seemed Courfeyrac had stopped listening after Enjolras admitted to having a crush, holding a pillow to his chest and squeezing it as he sighed again. “See. Told you so. Crush.”
As Combeferre started laughing, Enjolras groaned again and burrowed deeper into Courfeyrac’s pillow. He was so completely fucked.
Following his usual style, Grantaire had broken up with his girlfriend over the weekend, which Enjolras expected. What he didn’t expect was for Grantaire to turn to him after the bell rang in their math class to ask him cheerfully, “So I’ll see you at the GSA meeting tonight?”
Enjolras gaped at him. “You’re still going to come to the meeting?” he asked, feeling stupid. “Why would you come to the GSA meetings?”
Grantaire shrugged. “I liked what you guys had to say. I mean, don’t get me wrong, it was mostly just prettily worded bullshit, but it’s intriguing bullshit. And I don’t have anything better to do.”
True to his word, Grantaire shared up. And true to form from the first meeting, he continued to crack jokes. At first, Enjolras was frustrated beyond belief that Grantaire would make flippant his high school career’s work, but then he started listening to Grantaire’s jokes. Much to his chagrin, hidden in his words were actually well crafted arguments, often noting holes in Enjolras’s argument that he had previously missed.
It made Enjolras want to punch something. Preferably Grantaire. Preferably with his mouth.
Instead, he treated Grantaire with his usual caustic indifference, shrugging off his jokes as if he did not notice them (and hoping that Grantaire did not notice the change in his arguments to answer every one of the points Grantaire raised).
He did take care not to be too mean to Grantaire, not wanting him to leave the meetings and not return.
Which was completely fucked up in and of itself.
About two weeks into this new arrangement, Enjolras noticed that Grantaire hadn’t had a girlfriend since the girl who had brought him to the GSA meeting. And being Enjolras, he asked him about it one day after math. “So you haven’t been dating anyone recently.”
The words were abrupt, and stupid, and it took a lot of effort for Enjolras not to blush scarlet, staring determinedly at Grantaire, who just chuckled. “Yeah, I decided to take a break from that. It gets a little exhausting, you know?”
Enjolras started nodding, then shook his head. “No, not really.”
Grantaire laughed as he stood. “Yeah, I guess you wouldn’t, would you. Do you ever date?”
“I haven’t found the right person yet,” Enjolras said automatically, his mouth dry as he realized what he had said, and this time, he couldn’t stop himself from blushing.
The smile Grantaire gave him this time was gentle. “Don’t worry - I’m sure you will.”
Enjolras watched him leave and collapsed on top of his desk. Completely fucked.
One day, Enjolras couldn’t seem to control himself, snapping at Grantaire for every comment that he made. Grantaire, for his part, was right there with him, matching him word for word, argument for argument.
It got to the point where they were standing and yelling each other as everyone exchanged uncomfortable glances. Enjolras and Grantaire didn’t seem to care, completely oblivious as they argued.
They wound up on either side of the teacher’s desk at the front of the room, both gripping the edge of it in their hands as they lean forward, exchanging sharp words. Finally Enjolras let out a frustrated sigh and turns to get backup from Courfeyrac and Combeferre on a point and freezes in place. “Where’d everyone go?” he asked.
“What?” Grantaire snapped waspishly, turning to see that, as Enjolras had said, every single person left. “Oh.” He glanced up at the clock. “Shit, it’s probably because it’s 5:30, and we’ve been standing here arguing for an entire hour.”
Enjolras blinked at him. “Oh. Fuck. Well. That would do it, I suppose.”
The realization that they’d been yelling at each other for the better part of an hour leaves both scuffing the toes of their shoes against the ground as they determinedly avoided looking at each other. “Look,” Grantaire started, awkwardly, “I didn’t mean to yell at you or anything, you just…you’re stubborn.”
“I’m stubborn?” Enjolras repeated, incredulously. “If I’m stubborn than you’re…you’re impossible. Do you even believe in anything?”
Grantaire started to speak and then bit off what he was about to say, sighing almost wearily. “I believe in you,” he said honestly. “I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t. I may not agree with you on everything, and I think you’re woefully naive about some things, but that doesn’t mean I don’t believe in you.”
Enjolras could feel a blush rise in his cheeks, could feel his heart start pounding in his chest, and he cleared his throat even as he started edging over to Grantaire’s side of the desk. “Be serious,” he said, trying to keep his voice level, although it still came out hoarse.
“Haven’t you heard?” Grantaire asked wryly. “I am wild.”
By this point, Enjolras was next to Grantaire, and it was the most natural thing in the world for Enjolras to close the remaining distance between them and kiss him, gently.
The kiss lasted for the briefest of moments before Enjolras pulled away, looking horrified. “Oh my god, Grantaire, I…I’m so sorry,” Enjolras stuttered, eyes wide. He backed away, fumbling for his bag, still completely freaked out. “I…just forget that this ever happened ok?”
Then he rushed out of the room, flushed scarlet, his blood pounding in his ears, ignoring the way that Grantaire stared after him.
So flustered was he that he didn’t even realize that Grantaire had kissed him back.
Grantaire had realized that though, and thus it was a very confused Grantaire that went home. Because he wasn’t gay. At least, he didn’t think he was. But arguing with Enjolras - he liked that.
And that didn’t make any damn sense.
Though Grantaire spent half of the night trying to figure it out, he couldn’t seem to, and the morning found him in a completely pissed off mood, mad at himself and mad at Enjolras for putting him in this position. But the last thing he wanted was to make Enjolras think that the kiss had meant something because it didn’t. It couldn’t.
So he texted a girl he had gone on a few dates with a couple weeks ago, asking if she could meet up with him.
Which was how Grantaire wound up making out with a blonde haired girl (with curls suspiciously like Enjolras’s, and he cursed his subconscious for picking this girl of all his exes for this task) against the lockers. Or, more specifically, against a very specific locker.
Against Enjolras’s locker.
And yes, he had picked it deliberately, and so was only half-paying attention to the girl with her tongue down his throat, enough to not accidentally bite down on her tongue, but not enough to miss Enjolras trudging up to his locker.
He looked the worse for wear, pale and wan as if he, too, had not slept much the night before. There were dark circles under his eyes and for a moment, Grantaire thought he looked like he might’ve been crying recently.
When he looked up, when he saw Grantaire pressed against his locker, when he saw the girl who was doing the pressing, something in Enjolras’s face seemed to fall (and something in Grantaire’s heart seemed to stutter). After a long moment, which Grantaire spent turning his attention back to the girl, Enjolras said softly, “Can you please move?”
Grantaire pulled away from the girl, wincing slightly at the almost comical noise their mouths made when they disengaged. “Kind of in the middle of something here,” he said, forcing his voice to be light.
“Well can you continue it somewhere else?” Enjolras snapped with a touch of his old fire, his face darkening. “I need to get into my locker.”
Everything about Enjolras seemed to piss Grantaire off, and he gently pushed the girl aside to cross his arms in front of his chest. “What’s the matter?” he asked in his most scathing tone. “Can’t handle two people kissing?”
Enjolras paled and shook his head weakly. “Grantaire—” he started, but Grantaire just snorted.
“Fuck you. You fucking hypocrite.” He started to turn away, then added, almost under his breath, “Faggot.”
As soon as the word left his mouth Grantaire wanted to take it back, knowing he had crossed a line that he couldn’t uncross. Something in Enjolras’s face tightened, and the breath caught in Grantaire’s throat. “Enj—”
Enjolras’s fist connected with Grantaire’s eye, sending him spinning into the lockers. “Fuck you,” Enjolras growled, spots of angry color glowing in his cheeks. Grantaire let out a low snarl and turned around to tackle him around the waist, pulling him to the ground.
They scuffled on the ground for a few minutes, both getting a few punches in, and at some point, Grantaire’s elbow connected with Enjolras’s nose, and it started to bleed. They ended up with Enjolras practically straddling Grantaire, about to punch him again, when a teacher yanked on his arm, pulling him off of Grantaire. “What is the meaning of this?” she practically shrieked, reaching down with her other hand to pull Grantaire off the ground as well. “Both of you are coming to the principal’s office with me right now!”
She marched them down the hallway in awkward silence, and when they reached the principal’s office, she released their arms, snapping her fingers at the seats outside the office door. “Sit,” she snapped. “Try anything again and it will not end well for you.”
As she disappeared into the principal’s office, Enjolras raised a shaking hand to his nose, wiping a smear of blood from under his nose. His heart was…well, it was broken. That was the only word for it. He had fucked everything up, everything, and now…
He couldn’t help the small sob that seemed to rise in his throat, and he sniffled slightly.
Grantaire looked over at him, suddenly horrified, because Enjolras - Enjolras, who was always so strong, always so confident, sometimes to the point of arrogance - he couldn’t be crying, could he? “No, don’t,” Grantaire said, voice cracking, shifting uncomfortably in his seat. “Don’t…don’t cry. Come on. Don’t.”
Enjolras shook his head, looking determinedly away from him. “I’m sorry,” he muttered under his breath.
Grantaire shook his head as well, a little exasperated. “Don’t apologize. I mean, Jesus, if anyone should be apologizing it should be me. Just don’t…please don’t cry. Please.”
Hunching his shoulders, Enjolras shook his head again, bringing his hands up to his face to cry into his fists. “Fuck,” Grantaire swore, biting his lip indecisively, because this, watching Enjolras cry, this hurt Grantaire. He wanted nothing more than to take him in his arms, to let him cry against his shirt as he stroked his back, to feel those blond curl nestled under his chin.
Those thoughts were wrong.
But they also felt so, so right.
But he wasn’t gay. But did that matter? Because at the moment, what mattered to him was the boy sitting next to him, shoulders shaking with silent sobs, sobs that Grantaire had caused, sobs that he would give anything to help soothe.
Because he…he liked Enjolras. Like, like liked Enjolras.
And he was suddenly really tired of denying that, consequences be damned.
So he touched Enjolras’s shoulder, gently, glad that Enjolras didn’t flinch at his touch, and said again, “I’m sorry.” And Enjolras looked up at him, his blue eyes red and wet and Grantaire lost it, pulling Enjolras into a hug as he babbled, “I’m so, so sorry Enj, really I am. And I’m not gay, but you…and I…I think I like you and I’m not gay and that doesn’t make any sense but I really, really like you so please stop crying, ok? I don’t want you to cry and I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to make you cry. My dad’s gonna fucking kill me but that doesn’t matter because—”
Enjolras cut him off the most effective way possible, pulling him down and kissing him. It was not the gentle, soft kiss of yesterday, but a fierce, hard kiss, and Grantaire found his mouth opening against Enjolras’s as he balled his fist in Enjolras’s shirt. He liked this - he really liked this, could get quite used to this. Especially as Enjolras licked his way into his mouth and it should have felt wrong, but it didn’t.
So engrossed were they in what they were doing that neither noticed the door to the principal’s office opening until the principal cleared his throat, looking down at them over his glasses, and they jumped apart (though Enjolras kept their fingers firmly entwined, and Grantaire found he didn’t mind that at all). The teacher that had brought them down to the office was gaping at them over the principal’s shoulders. “Well, what have we here,” the principal said, bemused.
“They…they were fighting in the hallway,” the teacher said, though she didn’t sound particularly confident, even with the evidence of their fight blooming across Grantaire’s cheek and still smeared under Enjolras’s nose.
“I can see that,” the principal said dryly, crossing his arms in front of his substantial stomach. “Forgive me for saying so, boys, but I’ve never had to deal with the gays before—” Enjolras bristled at that, but Grantaire squeezed his hand to urge him to remain silent “—but to me, this looks like a little domestic dispute.” He frowned down at them. “Keep your business out of school, boys, and we won’t have any more trouble. You’ll both serve detention during school and this afternoon, and I don’t want to hear any more about this, understood?”
Grantaire straightened. “Yes, sir,” he said, squeezing Enjolras’s hand until Enjolras gave a sullen nod.
“Good.” The principal nodded at the teacher and disappeared back into his office, his door closing with a solid thud behind him.
The teacher in turn glared at them, clearly dissatisfied with their assigned punishment. “Come with me,” she snapped, turning on heel, and Enjolras and Grantaire stood, hands still laced together.
As they walked, Grantaire leaned in, his lips brushing against Enjolras’s ear as he whispered, “You’ve got to not mind this town’s blatant homophobia so much now, am I right?”
He couldn’t be sure, but he thought he saw a small smile flit across Enjolras’s face.
Detention seemed to drag on forever, but neither of them minded too much, spending most of their time sneaking little glances at each other and blushing when the other noticed. Grantaire had just looked away, blushing furiously, when he felt something jab him in the elbow. He looked over to see a small piece of paper folded up, and opened it as inconspicuously as he could, smiling slightly at Enjolras’s bold, surprisingly sloppy handwriting. I thought you weren’t gay.
Grantaire shot a look at Enjolras, who was looking straight in front of himself, but biting his lip slightly. I’m not, Grantaire wrote back, torn between leaving it at that or continuing. After a long moment, he added, But I do like you.
He returned the note to Enjolras, watching him closely as he opened it, watching the smile that spread across his face. Good. Because I like you, too.
I had kind of figured that out. The whole kissing me thing was a good indication.
Enjolras made a face at him before scribbling, What about earlier today?
Biting his lip, Grantaire wrote slowly, I’m a bit of an idiot. And I didn’t mean it. I’m sorry. This is really new for me. And I’m going to need time to process all of this, figure out what it means for me to like you like this.
How much time?
Grantaire glanced at Enjolras, whose face betrayed no emotion. Why, what are you thinking?
Enjolras shrugged and smiled slightly before writing, I was thinking of making out with you in my car, actually. But only if you want to.
Looking over at Enjolras, who looked back at him hopefully, Grantaire grinned widely and whispered, “I think that can be arranged.”
“Boys!” the detention monitor snapped. “Do I have to come back there?”
“No, ma’am,” they said in unison, turning around to face the front of the room (but Grantaire dropped his hand to the side of his desk, reaching across the aisle so that his hand just touched Enjolras’s).
“So,” Enjolras said, his voice warm against Grantaire’s ear as they left detention together, hands still lightly touching, “my car?”
Though Grantaire nodded, he also bit his lip, looking nervous. “Can I ask you something first?” When Enjolras nodded, Grantaire took a deep breath and asked in a small voice, “How did you know that you were gay?”
This was not the question Enjolras had been expecting and he blinked and frowned. After a long moment, he shrugged slightly. “I…I just kind of always did? I always knew I liked guys.” Grantaire seemed to deflate slightly as he nodded, and Enjolras sighed, reaching out to grab his hand. “Look, just because you like me…that doesn’t mean you’re gay. You could be bi or pan or hell, even just homoromantic. And that’s fine, too. Don’t worry about trying to fit some label. You don’t have to be anything you’re not.”
Now Grantaire was smiling that crooked smile at him as his grip on Enjolras’s hand tightened. “You know that I don’t know what most of those mean.”
“Did you ever pay attention in GSA meetings?” Enjolras asked exasperatedly.
Still grinning, Grantaire leaned in so that his lips just ghosted over Enjolras’s as he whispered, “Oh, I paid attention. Just not to the meetings.” Then he kissed him, swallowing Enjolras’s half-chuckle with his mouth.
After a long moment, they broke apart, both panting slightly, and Enjolras, who was grinning in a dazed sort of way, asked again, “My car?”
And hand in hand they walked toward Enjolras’s car. They had a lot to talk about, just as Grantaire had a lot to figure out. But right now, they were going to kiss as if they didn’t need oxygen, and that was all that really mattered. Their feelings might never make sense, but neither of them cared, just as long as they had each other.