Work Text:
When Enjolras first brings it up, Grantaire’s first thought is that he should send Courfeyrac a very elaborate fruit basket. His second thought is that he maybe got slipped something in the bar when he was out with Bahorel earlier, and is now having a very wild case of hallucination.
He settles for blinking at Enjolras, and asking, “Sorry, what did you say?”
It’s evidently not the right thing to say, because Enjolras starts looking uncomfortable. “It’s nothing,” he mumbles, and turns back to his laptop. “It was just a stupid idea. Pretend I never said anything.”
“Enjolras,” Grantaire says. And then sighs. “I didn’t say no. I’ll do it, if you think it’ll help.”
Enjolras looks back up at him. “You look uncomfortable,” he points out. “I’ve made you uncomfortable. I’m sorry.”
“I’m not uncomfortable,” Grantaire says, and sits down on the couch next to Enjolras, not close enough to touch, and it’s nowhere near the easy familiarity he had with Combeferre before Combeferre moved out to move in with Courfeyrac, but hey, at least they’re both sitting on the same couch, Grantaire will take it as progress. “I was just surprised, that’s all.”
“Courfeyrac says he does it all the time,” Enjolras says, frowning lightly.
“That’s because I’ve been Courfeyrac’s roommate since college,” Grantaire tells him, smiling wryly. “I’m pretty sure that half the time he was just doing it for the cuddles.”
“You cuddle?” Enjolras asks, eyes widening. “He didn’t mention. He just said that sometimes when he has trouble falling asleep, you’d tell him stories until he fell asleep.”
“Yeah,” Grantaire says. “In my bed. And most of the times I’ll wake up halfway down the bed, with all my blankets gone.”
“Oh,” Enjolras says, and then smiles a little. “I can see why you’d be surprised that I asked now. It probably came out a bit weird, a practical stranger asking if he can sleep in your bed.”
“You’re not a stranger, Enjolras,” Grantaire says, rolling his eyes. “We’ve been housemates for three weeks now. That puts us at the acquaintances level, at the very least. We’ll slowly make our way to being friends.”
“I’d like that,” Enjolras says, and the smile he gives Grantaire is bright and happy, and Grantaire wants to make him smile like that all the time.
“But I meant it, though, when I said that I’d do it if it helps you to sleep better,” he tells Enjolras. “We can count that as part of our mandatory housemate bonding time. We’ll fill up our quota in no time!”
“You really don’t have to,” Enjolras says. “I think I’m just not quite used to staying here yet. My sleep schedule will probably sort itself out.”
“It’s been three weeks,” Grantaire points out. “Plus, you look exhausted. We’ll try it out for a night, and see if it helps, yes?”
“Are you sure it’s not going to be weird?” Enjolras asks, hesitant.
Grantaire shakes his head. “We don’t have to do the cuddling, if it makes it any better.” He privately hopes that Enjolras wouldn’t mind the cuddling. He likes cuddling, and he likes Enjolras. Putting both those things together is obviously only going to make them better. “And if it doesn’t help at all, I’ll even let you go sort out how to solve your insomnia problems back in your room.”
Enjolras nods. “Okay, then,” he says. “If you’re sure.”
“I am,” Grantaire assures him.
“I’ll just-” Enjolras makes a vague gesture at his laptop. “Finish up with this, and then I’ll…”
“Take all the time you need. I’ll take a quick shower,” Grantaire tells him, because he’s fairly certain that he still smells like smoke and alcohol from being in the bar with Bahorel, and if he’s going to be sleeping next to Enjolras, he should be more considerate about that. “Join me when you’re done,” he says, and then flushes when he realises how that sounds. “Not in the shower, I mean. In bed.”
Enjolras’ lips quirk up, almost like he’s laughing at Grantaire.
“That doesn’t make it any better, does it?” Grantaire laments. “Just. You know where I’m going to be, so come when you’re finished with your work.”
—
He means to stay up, to wait for Enjolras to come to his room, but he’s had a long day, and an equally long night keeping Bahorel out of trouble, so he doesn’t manage to stay up for long.
It’s about 2:30 a.m. when he hears the telltale squeak of his bedroom door. Enjolras doesn’t come in, though, just stands at the door, probably trying to talk himself out of disturbing Grantaire.
“Enjolras,” Grantaire murmurs. “C’mon, c’mere.”
Enjolras does, slipping under the duvet when Grantaire turns it down for him. He keeps to his side of the bed, laying on his side, facing Grantaire. “Sorry,” he says. “I lost track of time. You look really tired, though. Are you sure you don’t want me to go back to my room?”
Grantaire shakes his head. “I’m good,” he says. “Okay. You have choices now — I can put on this documentary that both Joly and Combeferre sent me because they thought I would enjoy it, or I can tell you a story. That’s generally what Courfeyrac and I do when we do this, either stories or movies.”
“A story, please,” Enjolras says, and then seems to think better of it. “Or maybe we should watch the documentary. That way you can go back to sleep.”
Grantaire rolls his eyes. “Enjolras, stop worrying about me,” he tells him. “You can have a story if you want a story.”
“That’d be nice, thank you,” Enjolras says.
Grantaire launches into a story about constellations, going from one to another, making sure to pitch his voice low to make it as soothing and as lulling he can manage, but—
“It’s not working,” Enjolras says, disappointment evident in his voice.
Grantaire sighs. “I figured,” he tells Enjolras. “Are you comfortable?” he asks.
A beat goes by. “Yeah?”
“You’re a horrible liar,” Grantaire tells him, and then reaches out for Enjolras’ wrist, tugging him closer. “We’re going to try the cuddling for a bit, okay?”
“Are you sure?” Enjolras asks. “It won’t be weird for you?”
“What did I say about worrying about me?” Grantaire asks. “If I thought that it would be weird, I wouldn’t have offered.”
“That makes sense,” Enjolras says, more to himself than to Grantaire, and then shifts closer, lets Grantaire wrap his arms around his waist.
“C’mon, help me out here,” Grantaire says, smile in his voice. “We’ve got to figure out the most comfortable position for you.”
Enjolras nods, and then tucks himself against Grantaire’s side, pressing his face to the crook of Grantaire’s neck, and oh, Enjolras is very good at this, he’s managed to find a position that feels good for Grantaire too.
“Okay?” Enjolras asks, breathing the words into Grantaire’s skin, and Grantaire barely manages to suppress a shiver.
“Perfect,” Grantaire tells him, glad that his voice comes out even. “I’m going to continue the story now, okay?”
He feels more than sees Enjolras nod.
Enjolras falls asleep in no time.
—
Grantaire wakes up the next morning to a bed empty of Enjolras, and wonders for a moment if it’s weird that he’s disappointed. That thought is quickly put to rest when delicious smells start to permeate his room.
He makes his way out of his room quickly to find Enjolras at the door, ready to leave for work.
“Oh,” Enjolras says when he sees Grantaire. “Good morning.”
“G’morning,” Grantaire mumbles. And then, “Did you sleep well?”
Enjolras smiles. “Better than I have since I moved here, thank you,” he tells Grantaire. “I made you breakfast. There’s a roasted pepper frittata in the oven.”
Grantaire makes a noise of surprise at that. “You didn’t have to make me breakfast,” he tells Enjolras.
“I know,” he tells Grantaire. “I wanted frittatas for breakfast, though, and it wasn’t like it was difficult to make an extra share. It’s not a big deal.”
Enjolras is lying. In the three weeks that he’s shared the apartment with Enjolras, Enjolras has never had breakfast. Grantaire is fairly certain that he basically only survives on coffee in the mornings.
He doesn’t call Enjolras out on his lie, because Enjolras is trying to be nice, and it spells out good things for their budding friendship, so he just smiles and says, “Thanks. I’ll make sure to text you a review of your frittata. My talking points will include presentation, taste, texture, ratio of egg to filling… It’ll be brilliant.”
Enjolras laughs at that. “I’ll wait for it,” he tells Grantaire. “I’m going to have to go now or else I’ll miss the train,” he tells Grantaire, motioning to the door.
Grantaire nods. “Thanks for the breakfast again,” he tells Enjolras. “Have a good day at work!”
—
Enjolras makes it through two days sleeping on his own before he comes to Grantaire again, at a more decent hour this time, even if Grantaire is still already in bed and close to drifting off. He blinks blearily at Enjolras, who is, again, standing by the door.
“C’mon,” he tells Enjolras. “You have to hear this story Jehan told me the other day.”
Enjolras shakes his head. “I didn’t know you were already asleep,” he says. “I wouldn’t have disturbed you otherwise.”
Grantaire sits up, and shrugs a little as he flips the light switch on. “I’m subbing for an art class tomorrow morning for a friend,” he explains. “I thought it’d be good to at least try to look like I’m not dead on my feet tomorrow.”
Enjolras looks even guiltier at that. “That’s a good idea,” he tells Grantaire, and starts backing out of Grantaire’s room. “I’ll let you get some rest.”
“I’m already up, and you’re already here,” Grantaire says, fixing Enjolras with a look. “And I bet that I can get you to fall asleep really quickly this time.”
He’s honestly expecting that Enjolras will be quite hard to convince, because he’s known to be quite stubborn, but all Enjolras does is to flash him a quick smile before he steps back into Grantaire’s room, closing the door behind him.
“I’ll try really hard to fall asleep quickly,” Enjolras promises him, getting into Grantaire’s bed.
“Don’t force it,” Grantaire tells him, turning the lights off. “You’ll make it worse. Just relax and let yourself drift.” He gets an idea, and before he can talk himself out of it, he says, “Can you turn onto your side? No, no, the other side.” He fits himself against Enjolras’ back, one arm around his waist, lips close to Enjolras’ ear. “Is this okay?” he whispers, and tells himself that he’s doing it because the quieter he can speak, the faster Enjolras should be able to fall asleep.
“Mm hmm,” Enjolras hums, and sighs, settling against Grantaire. “Okay, this story that Jehan told you,” he murmurs.
“Alright,” Grantaire says. “It starts with a dwarf prince…”
—
Grantaire wakes up early enough to prepare for the art class he’s teaching for the day on Feuilly’s behalf that Enjolras is still in the kitchen when Grantaire comes out from his room.
“Good morning,” Enjolras says. “There’s coffee in the pot, and the bacon should be done soon, if you have time to wait.”
“You’re going to spoil me,” Grantaire says, and reaches for the pot to pour himself a huge mug of coffee. He takes a sip, and then, “Wow, the good stuff, too. You’re really going to spoil me.”
“It’s only good to you because the coffee you’re used to drinking is horrible,” Enjolras points out, and dishes up breakfast for Grantaire, passing him the plate. “Also, I fell asleep before you got to the end of the story. What happened to the dragon?”
“You’re not getting any spoilers from me,” Grantaire says, grinning. “You’re just going to have to find out next time.”
Enjolras makes a face at him. “But then it’ll be all I’ll be thinking about the entire day!”
Grantaire snorts. “Liar,” he says. “I’ve seen your brand of focus at work. Once you get started, you’ll forget all about the story and your favourite storyteller.”
“I won’t,” Enjolras says, surprisingly sincere, even though Grantaire was joking. “I’ll text you my guesses throughout the day. It’ll get so annoying that you’ll have no choice but to tell me.”
Grantaire grins at that. “You can try, my prince, but you’ll never succeed,” Grantaire says, quoting the story he was telling last night, and laughs when Enjolras pouts.
—
It goes on pretty well, in Grantaire’s opinion. They’re getting to know each other better, and any awkwardness from when Enjolras first took over Courfeyrac’s share of the lease and moved in is gone.
Now that Enjolras is comfortable around Grantaire, he stops being shy about the fact that he sleeps better in Grantaire’s bed, with Grantaire. Grantaire knows exactly what time to expect Enjolras now, and he’s gotten into the habit of reading while waiting for Enjolras to show up, so that Enjolras won’t feel that he’s disturbing Grantaire every time he cracks open Grantaire’s door.
But Grantaire has been working on this one painting he was commissioned to do the entire day, and he’s tired, he’s so tired that the words in his book —a sci-fi novel about space dinosaurs recommended by Bossuet— are blurring together. He really tries to stay up, because he knows Enjolras always feels bad about waking Grantaire up when he comes in, but he dozes off anyway.
He must be really tired, because he doesn’t even hear Enjolras open his creaky door this time, doesn’t even notice that Enjolras is in his room until he feels Enjolras tugging the book out of his grasp.
“Enjolras?” he mumbles sleepily.
“Go back to sleep,” Enjolras tells him. “You clearly need sleep more than I do tonight. I’ll go back to my room and-”
Grantaire manages to catch ahold of Enjolras’ wrist, and tugs at him halfheartedly until Enjolras sits down on his bed. “S’okay,” he tells Enjolras. “I’m still okay to tell you a story. We’ll talk about,” he yawns, “space dinosaur tonight.”
Enjolras protests, but Grantaire persists, and doesn’t let go of Enjolras until he’s horizontal on the bed. Enjolras sighs, admitting defeat, and wiggles under the covers.
Grantaire just curls up against Enjolras, yawns, and says, “Okay, so in a lab experiment gone wrong, a group of scientists wake up after an explosion to find that they’ve become space dinosaurs. The hero of the story, Herman, he likes to say… To say…” He yawns again, and snuggles closer to Enjolras, because Enjolras is warm and soft and comfortable.
He falls asleep to Enjolras’ snort of amusement.
—
He wakes up to Enjolras still snoring lightly beside him, and blinks a little in surprise. Weekend or no, Enjolras is usually up before him, often already getting breakfast started, but nope, here he is, still asleep, with his hair sticking up everywhere, and Grantaire has to smile at the sight, because Enjolras is adorable like this.
He turns to look at the clock on his bedside table, and catches sight of the book he was reading last night instead. And oh, he was supposed to tell Enjolras a story to help him fall asleep, but he obviously didn’t manage to last night.
He wonders if that’s the reason why Enjolras is still asleep now, if he spent a really long time after Grantaire fell asleep on him trying and failing to get to sleep.
Huh, now he feels bad.
He gets out of bed as quietly as he can, trying his best not to wake Enjolras up, and heads to the kitchen. It’s sort of a routine by now to wake up to breakfast, but well, he can make Enjolras breakfast instead today, to make up for last night.
He doesn’t really cook a lot, but it isn’t because he’s not any good at it. It just feels like an unnecessary chore and it’s usually a lot easier to get takeout, or to annoy Courfeyrac into cooking dinner instead.
Making breakfast for Enjolras now, though, doesn’t feel like a bother. He thinks back about the breakfasts that Enjolras has been making him, and decides that just oatmeal won’t measure up. He makes waffles, and then bacon, and then eggs, and moves onto honey almond polenta, and then crepes, and still isn’t satisfied, because Enjolras is a much better cook than he is, and it shows.
He’s just about done with the french toasts when Enjolras ambles out of Grantaire’s room, rubbing at his eyes.
“Are we hosting weekend brunch?” he asks, when he sees the food spread out on the table.
“Why would you think-” He turns over, and looks at the dining table, and laughs sheepishly. “I may have gone a little overboard.”
“A little overboard?” Enjolras teases. “This will feed us for a week.”
“We don’t have to eat them all,” Grantaire says, making a face.
“Why not?” Enjolras asks, and picks a waffle up with his hand and bites into it. “It’s good.”
“Really?” Grantaire asks.
“Do I have to talk about presentation, taste, and texture too?” Enjolras asks. “Because I could, but I’m going to need some coffee first.”
Grantaire smiles, and pours Enjolras his coffee.
—
“How about you pick what you want to listen to tonight?” Grantaire asks, one Saturday night.
Enjolras hums. “I don’t have a preference,” he tells Grantaire. “I just like your voice.”
Grantaire is fairly certain his heart skips a beat at that, and he is suddenly very glad that he turned the lights off before he asked his question, because his face feels warm, and he’s probably spotting a ridiculous blush.
“Is that so?”
“Mm hmm,” Enjolras replies, and shifts so he’s pressed more comfortably against Grantaire. “It’s very calming.”
Grantaire smiles. “Even so, you must have a preference. A genre, at least?”
Enjolras considers it, and then says, “Tell me your story.”
Grantaire is silent at that, the request throwing him off.
“Are you sure?” he asks, after a long pause. “It’s long, and… A lot of the parts aren’t really even that interesting.”
Enjolras smooths a hand down Grantaire’s side. “Well, I’m interested,” he says quietly.
“Okay,” Grantaire says. “Well, I did offer to let you pick.”
“You don’t have to if you don’t want to,” Enjolras tells him, voice gentle. “But if you do, I’d like to listen.”
And he sounds so sincere that Grantaire’s first reaction is to think that he should maybe kiss Enjolras, but that has Bad Idea written all over it, so he defaults back to making a joke out of the situation, just to give himself some space to breathe.
“I’m a good enough storyteller,” he says. “I bet I can find ways to make it interesting. I’ll throw in a dragon or two, a magic sword, mystical quests…”
“R,” Enjolras interrupts. “I don’t want an embellished story. I’m asking because I’m curious, because I want to get to know you better.” He pauses. “Maybe I shouldn’t have asked. I’ve clearly crossed some sort of li-”
“It’s okay,” Grantaire says. He swallows, considers what Enjolras is asking, and decides that if anyone could understand, it would be Enjolras. “It’s just- My story? It’s not always happy.”
Enjolras shuffles closer, wraps his arms around Grantaire’s waist. “I wasn’t expecting it to be,” he says. “Nobody’s is.”
“Okay, then,” Grantaire says. He takes a breath. “Well, it actually started out quite fine…”
—
He wakes up on Sunday morning to the smell of pancakes. A cursory look to the clock by his bed says that it’s only ten in the morning, and considering that Enjolras likes to sleep in on weekend, and the fact that he’d stayed up throughout Grantaire’s narration of his own life story, Grantaire is sort of surprised that Enjolras woke up to make breakfast.
He considers going back to sleep for a little longer, but it does smell exceptionally good, so he forces himself up and out to where Enjolras is in the process of dishing pancakes up.
“We’ve talked about this,” Grantaire says when Enjolras presses a mug into his hands. “You don’t have to keep making me breakfast.”
Enjolras shrugs. “Well, I’m basically taking over most of your nights,” he tells Grantaire. “It seems only fair.”
Grantaire sighs, and decides that 10 a.m. is too early for an argument. He gets started on his pancakes instead, because they’re sitting right in front of him, golden brown and fluffy, looking like textbook pancakes.
“Enjolras,” he says, at his first mouthful. He lets out a noise that could technically be classified a moan. “Holy fuck, what the fuck did you put in these pancakes?”
Enjolras is a really good cook, this much has been established, but these pancakes.
He eats another forkful of it before he looks up at Enjolras, and pauses, because Enjolras is generally dismissive when Grantaire compliments his cooking, or he’ll try to play it down, but he’s smirking now, looking smug, like he knows exactly how good these pancakes are.
“They’re better with lemon and powdered sugar,” he tells Grantaire, lips still curled up.
“I don’t think I can take better,” Grantaire tells him, honest. Another bite. Another moan. “You’ve been holding out on me. Where have you been hiding these mad pancake skills?” Enjolras doesn’t look like he’s about to reply, so Grantaire continues, “You’ve ruined me for all other food now. I’m sorry but you’re going to have to make this for me all the time now. These pancakes are absolutely essential to my survival.”
Enjolras laughs at that. “Well, if they’re absolutely essential to your survival, I can’t in good conscience say no to making them a weekly thing, can I?”
“No, you cannot,” Grantaire says happily. “Fuck, these pancakes could help you achieve world domination.”
—
“I feel like I don’t see you much anymore,” Courfeyrac complains when they meet up for coffee later in the week. “Do you not love me anymore?”
“Considering you made me get up at 6 a.m. just so I could have coffee with you before you have to go to work, no. No, I do not love you anymore,” Grantaire grumbles, and he really does try to scowl at Courfeyrac, but Courfeyrac’s grin is wide and unapologetic, and Grantaire’s never been able to resist it for long. “Okay, fine, I’ve missed you too,” he relents, bumping their shoulders together. “It’s weird not living with you anymore.”
“I know!” Courfeyrac says. “I’ve even missed the horrible songs you belt out in the shower.”
Grantaire grins. “They’re not horrible, and you know it,” he tells Courfeyrac. “Enjolras is at the stage where he’ll start to hum them under his breath without realising.”
“Oh, that is the worst,” Courfeyrac says, scrunching his nose. “Soon he’ll be singing them too. I hated myself for knowing all the words the first time I felt the urge to sing one of them.”
Grantaire laughs.
“How is Enjolras?” Courfeyrac asks. “Is he being a good housemate?”
“He’s-” Amazing. “He’s alright, I suppose.”
Courfeyrac arches his eyebrow.
“Ugh, fine,” Grantaire says. “He’s kind of great. He makes me breakfast every morning. It’s nice.”
“He makes you breakfast?” Courfeyrac blinks. “But he doesn’t have the habit of eating breakfast. I know because Combeferre doesn’t too.”
Grantaire shrugs. “Well, he’s eating it now,” he tells Courfeyrac. And then remembers. “He made me pancakes last weekend, and it was life-changing.”
Courfeyrac’s eyes go wide, and he seems to be vibrating with excitement. “Enjolras made you the sex pancakes?”
Grantaire chokes on the bagel he just took a bite out of. “The what pancakes?”
“They’re Enjolras’ morning-after pancakes,” Courfeyrac says, grin still wide and too knowing. “He doesn’t just make them for anyone. As far as I know, they’re exclusively his morning-after pancakes.”
Grantaire’s eyes narrow. “And how would you know that?”
“I’ve witness Combeferre begging for them,” Courfeyrac tells him. “Enjolras still quite firmly said no. I got curious, and Combeferre told me they were morning after pancakes. That he makes for people he has sex with.” He waggles his eyebrows a little at Grantaire.
“Sex pancakes,” Grantaire says, dazed. “Why the fuck would he make me sex pancakes?”
Courfeyrac waggles his eyebrows harder.
Grantaire throws his bagel at him, laughing.
—
Aside from their three week of awkwardness when Enjolras first moved in, they really haven’t had any problems, and Grantaire’s maybe grown a little complacent in worrying about something bad happening, which is why he’s a little surprised the first time Enjolras snaps at him.
“I really need to get this done,” Enjolras is saying, scowling. “I have to focus. And you’re not helping, by just standing there, and talking, and-”
“Trying to be a good friend by worrying that you’re not getting enough rest?” Grantaire finishes for him, voice raised.
“Yes, well, stop trying, because it’s not helping,” Enjolras grits out, and turns back to his paperwork, clearly dismissing Grantaire.
“You need sleep, Enjolras,” Grantaire tries again, because Enjolras looks like he’s a few minutes away from keeling over and dying, and Grantaire knows for a fact that he hasn’t been sleeping well for the last four days, at least. “Let me help.”
Enjolras lets out a heavy sigh, and looks up from his work to glare at Grantaire. “Don’t you get it, Grantaire? I don’t need your help!”
Grantaire blinks, hurt. “Okay, then,” he says woodenly, and goes back into his own room.
He thinks for a moment that he should lock the door, out of spite, just in case Enjolras gives in and decides he needs Grantaire’s help to fall asleep, but he doesn’t because he’s not really angry at Enjolras, he’s just worried.
He curls up in bed and waits for Enjolras to come.
(He doesn’t.)
—
There is no breakfast waiting for him the next morning, but he isn’t surprised by that. The surprising thing is that Enjolras has already left for work, even though it’s still an hour before he normally leaves.
It feels a lot like Enjolras is avoiding him, like Enjolras is upset at him, even though he really has no reason to be, because Grantaire didn’t do anything wrong.
He stews in this realisation throughout the morning, feeling uncomfortable about the idea of Enjolras being upset at him, until he finally cracks and makes a phone call to Combeferre.
“How long does Enjolras hold a grudge?” Grantaire asks the moment Combeferre picks up.
“Forever,” is Combeferre’s quick reply, which really doesn’t help to make Grantaire feel any better. “Why? Did the both of you fight?”
“Something like that,” Grantaire mumbles.
“Did he yell at you?” Combeferre asks.
“Not really.” He sighs. “It wasn’t like a full-blown fight, but he’s not really talking to me now. I think he’s avoiding me, which is fucking ridiculous. I was just trying to get him to get more sleep!”
“Ah,” Combeferre says. “It’s not a new thing, he’ll be back to normal once whatever project that’s requiring his absolute attention is done.”
“How do I get him to stop hating me?”
“He doesn’t hate you,” Combeferre tells him. “If he’s avoiding you, it means that he knows you’re right, and he doesn’t want to be reminded of it. He gets like that sometimes. He’ll come out of it soon enough.”
“That’s not very reassuring,” Grantaire tells Combeferre.
Combeferre huffs a laugh. “You can try to get him to listen, but he’s very stubborn, and I learnt fairly early on that it was quicker to just let him get his work done. He’ll come apologise to you once he’s done, trust me. And from what I’ve heard from Courfeyrac, he might even make you pancakes.”
Grantaire flushes. “Are they really-”
“Morning-after pancakes?” Combeferre finishes. “Yeah, they kind of are.”
Grantaire lets out a noise at that. “But why would he make them for me?”
“Courfeyrac also calls them sex pancakes,” Combeferre offers. “And I kind of think that makes it rather self-explanatory.”
Grantaire flails his arms a little, glad that Combeferre cannot see. “But what does that mean?”
Combeferre laughs, and hangs up on him.
—
Grantaire is sitting on the couch, sketching lazily, when Enjolras comes back from work. He doesn’t say hi, doesn’t even look at Grantaire, and Grantaire wants to go up to him, grab him by the shoulders, and shake him until he learns how to take better care of himself, but he doesn’t.
He settles for saying, “There’s dinner in the oven.”
Enjolras didn’t make breakfast today, which means that he probably skipped it too. And he’s not confident enough in Enjolras’ ability to feed himself when he’s busy to think that he’ll have had anything filling for lunch. Knowing Enjolras, he probably skipped it altogether and doubled down on coffee instead.
Enjolras doesn’t reply, just shrugs his coat off and hangs it up.
Grantaire sighs, shuts his sketchbook, and stands up to face Enjolras. “Look, you don’t have to talk to me, but at least eat some food, okay? I mean, you can be a stubborn asshole all you want, but if you’re not going to be sleeping properly, then you need to eat something.”
He doesn’t wait for Enjolras to reply, just walks back into his room, and shuts the door behind him, even though they’ve pretty much got an open-door policy going on in the three months they’ve been staying together. He figures that if Enjolras wants some peace and quiet so that he can focus on his work, he can at least give Enjolras that.
When he comes out to check if Enjolras has had any dinner a lot later, the oven is empty, and the casserole Grantaire’d made Enjolras’ dinner for him in is drying on the rack.
Okay, then.
Progress, at least.
—
Enjolras keeps it up for another two days before he’s finally finished with submitting all the paperwork for his upcoming big trial.
“Sorry,” Enjolras says, when he slips into Grantaire’s bed that night. He doesn’t make a move to touch Grantaire, probably thinking that Grantaire’s still mad at him, which is a ridiculous thing to think, because if Grantaire were really angry at him, he wouldn’t have been making meals for Enjolras the past two days. “I’ve been awful the past week, and- Combeferre’s used to it, but you’re not, and I forgot. I should’ve been better about it, I’m sorry.”
Enjolras really does look sorry, and so Grantaire tries not to make it weird for them. He reaches out to pull Enjolras in closer, and sighs a little in relief when Enjolras wraps himself around him.
“You chose a great night to come,” Grantaire says. “I’ve got just the story for you tonight. You’re going to love it, it’s kind of amazing-”
“Can we do something else tonight?” Enjolras asks, looking up at him.
“Oh,” Grantaire says, surprised, because Enjolras has never turned down a story before, going as far as to say that Grantaire is his favourite storyteller ever, and he doesn’t understand why Enjolras would say no to one now. “Okay,” he says slowly. “A movie? I’ve been meaning to watch this documentary on Egyptian mummies. Bossuet swears that it is ‘the bomb’, which means a lot coming from Bossuet, I can promise-”
He doesn’t get to finish his sentence, because before he can really register what is going on, Enjolras’ lips are on his, Enjolras is kissing him, gentle and slow, and he feels so much closer now, every part of their bodies touching, and it’s easily the weirdest thing that’s happened to Grantaire all week.
But also the best.
He kisses back, of course he kisses back, threading his fingers through Enjolras’ hair, tugging slightly when Enjolras lets out a pleased hum against his lips.
“Or we can do that,” Grantaire breathes out, when they pull away from each other eventually. “Enjolras, what.”
“I’ve been wanting to do that for weeks now,” Enjolras tells him, and then steals another kiss.
Grantaire kisses him back for the space of a breath, then pulls away to say, “Why didn’t you?”
“I wasn’t sure if you’d want me to,” Enjolras admits.
“I want you to,” Grantaire assures him. “I wanted you to weeks ago too.”
“Oh,” Enjolras says intelligently.
Grantaire smiles. “Yeah.”
Enjolras surges up to kiss him again, more heatedly this time, clearly intent on turning this into something more, to make up for lost time, probably, but Grantaire pushes him away gently with a palm to his chest.
Enjolras blinks at him. “R?”
“I want to,” Grantaire tells him, and kisses him lightly. “But you look exhausted.” He brushes the pad of his thumbs over the soft skin under Enjolras’ eye, and smiles when Enjolras sighs and lets his eyelids flutter shut, soothed by the motion. “You’re clearly in need of sleep, and that’s the only thing we’re going to do now, okay?”
“Okay,” Enjolras says, and nuzzles the underside of Grantaire’s jaw. “Let’s hear that amazing story, then.”
—
They show up late to Sunday brunch at Courfeyrac and Combeferre’s, squabbling a little about being late.
It’s all Enjolras’ fault, in Grantaire’s defence. If he’s going to be walking around the apartment naked, then he really should expect that they wouldn’t be able to make it out of their apartment in time.
Courfeyrac takes one look at them, and starts cackling, even though Grantaire is fairly certain that his clothes are all in proper order, and that all the marks Enjolras left on his body are properly covered. They aren’t even holding hands, in an effort to be conspicuous about their relationship status seeing as neither of them are really ready to be teased by their best friends yet.
“What?” Enjolras asks, frowning.
Courfeyrac waggles his eyebrows at Grantaire. “I told you they were sex pancakes,” he says, eyes bright with mirth.
Enjolras goes red at that, and Grantaire laughs, delighted at Enjolras’ reaction.
There’s really not much of a point in keeping it a secret anymore, not if Courfeyrac already knows, so he just leans in to press his lips to Enjolras’ cheek.
“As you can see, they’re very effective sex pancakes,” he tells Courfeyrac, and grins when it makes even Combeferre laugh.