#*exr

Had you been there tonight you might know how it feels To be struck to the bone in a moment of breathless delight Had you been there tonight you might also have known How the world may be changed in just one burst of light And what was right seems wrong And what was wrong seems right

“Who says I do not know?”

The stunned silence was a rare occurrence in the Musain, but in that moment the atmosphere was thick with astonishment and uneasiness. Enjolras continued with the air of one who had said too much but it was too late to turn back now. He had no choice but to see his argument through.

“Who says I do not know what it is to be the victim of Cupid’s poisoned bow and arrow?”

There were three distinct exclamations of “what?” that came from different corners of the room. Enjolras focused on the first, which came from the one who he was having the disagreement with. Marius’ ‘what?’ was as confused as the expression on his face, his eyebrows knitted together and his whole body drawn back in surprise. He had not expected such a response from Enjolras of all people about his discovery of love. A rebuttal, yes. A snide remark, yes. But an understanding? Never. It had rendered him quite speechless.

The second exclamation came from Courfeyrac. It was high pitched and full of glee at this unexpected and truly unbelievable admission on Enjolras’ part. He had jumped up from his seat and clasped his hands to his mouth like this news was the most wonderful thing his ears had ever had the pleasure of hearing.

“Enjolras in love? It is not possible,” he was uttering to Combeferre, far too quickly for anyone to catch every word. Combeferre hushed him, sensing that there was something more that had yet to be said.

The third ‘what?’ went unnoticed by all. It was a whisper amongst the gasps and cries. The sound of a young cynic’s bleeding heart and winded lungs.

As Marius recovered himself, his expression changed from confusion to hope.

“Then you understand what it is to be in love.” He stretched out his hand but retracted it when he saw Enjolras’ cold, hard stare. Many had been on the end of it and very few had not been silenced by it. Marius was not the exception.

“Yes,” Enjolras said coldly, “I know what it is to be in love.” Enjolras did provide Marius with an opening in which to speak as Marius was expecting. He had more to say. “It is a disease that festers and destroys. It enters your body without your knowledge, chews you up, and spits you back out and you do not realise you are contaminated until it is too late.” Marius winced as Enjolras spoke, like every word he spat sent daggers through his idealistic heart. Enjolras was not finished. “Love is a distraction. It is a curse and it is unimportant.”

“Unimportant?” Marius choked, shocked at such a statement. “Love is the most important emotion the human heart can have. Love is the root of almost every choice a man makes. It is the reason a man protects his family. It is the reason a man stands beside his friends in their darkest hour. Love is the reason a man protects his country.”

“But loving another is pure selfishness,” Enjolras retorted, taking a step closer to Marius, daring him to challenge him on his love for his country again. “To love one’s country is to protect those who live in it,” he seethed. “To love another is to take time and energy away from those who need it most. It is not important who you lie with at night when there are those who spend those nights in the streets without so much as a blanket to keep them warm.”

“Do you mean to say,” Courfeyrac interjected, unable to stay as a bystander in this conversation any longer, “that you have been in love, but have not pursued it because you fear it will distract you from your cause?”

“I have chosen not to love,” Enjolras replied simply.

There was a snort from the other end of the room. Grantaire had stumbled to his feet, knocking his chair backwards so that it crashed to the floor in the process. There was an amused grin on his face but it did not reach his eyes and so gave the impression of a manic stalking his prey. As he approached, Enjolras’ posture changed. He straightened his back and held his head high, preparing for the argument that he knew was about to ensue.

“It is not possible to choose not to love, Apollo,” Grantaire sneered. He went to wave his hand in the air as a gesture but it was busy holding a bottle and so instead he was just spilling his drink onto the wooden floors of the Musain. He did not notice.

When Marius had entered the café, Grantaire had been nursing his first drink of the night. There were now three empty bottles surrounding the spot where he had just been sitting. The fourth in his hand was only half full.

“As you say,” he continued, “love is a paralytic. You have no control over when, where, and how it strikes, and once you are infected you are doomed for there is no cure. Your only option is to learn to live with it. Now,” he pointed as shaking finger at Enjolras’ nose, “there are many ways to live with love.” He staggered back and began to address the room. His audience were engrossed in the elaborate showmanship and were silent for his speech. “The first is to pursue it. If you do this then you are a man of courage, and if the affections are returned then you are a man of great fortune. Should the affections not be reciprocated one is heartbroken. But what is broken can be fixed and one can learn to love again, and the cycle repeats itself. On the other end of the spectrum, you could deny your feelings completely and convince yourself that the dizziness you feel every time they enter the room is merely the heat and your inability to speak is just the topic of conversation. Surprisingly, it is easier to fool one’s self than you would think, and it is possible to live with love without knowing it. The final possibility is, perhaps, the most torturous.” His smile faltered momentarily. “You accept your feelings for this person, but knowing they do not feel the same for you, you live your life for them. You cannot be with them but you cannot live without them and so you fill your days with their presence in the hope they notice you. You feed off a smile or a gesture. You dedicate yourself to their cause and do what you can to make them happy because that is enough for you. It has to be.”

Grantaire brought his bottle to his lips and swallowed what was left in one mouthful. His grip on the glass was dangerously tight, his knuckles white and hands shaking. The alcohol seemed to refresh his enthusiasm for he grinned villainously at Enjolras again.

“What you do not do is choose not to be in love with that person. Love does not work like that. No matter how hard you try you cannot switch it off. If you have found a cure for love then pray tell us,” he threw is arms out wide to gesture to their audience, “it would no doubt make you a very rich man.”

Enjolras had remained silent throughout Grantaire’s speech but his eyes had not left Grantaire’s wandering body. Every now and again it was possible to see his jaw clench and unclench, but that was the only movement he made. Now that Grantaire was finished, Enjolras prepared to take the floor.

“When I first became aware of my…” he shifted uncomfortably on the spot, “situation, it threw me. I could not eat nor sleep nor think. I would try to find an alternative explanation or a way around it, but I could not. And then, of course, when I became aware of it, I found myself getting distracted every time,” he hesitated, “this person was around and more so when they were not. I would be preparing for a meeting and then twenty minutes later I would realise I have been spending my time thinking of this person with their blue eyes and crooked smile and opposition to everything I say. How infuriating it was that they did not know how intelligent they were, nor how beautiful. How their vice was destroying them and how much I wanted to help them fight it. It was unbearable.” He paused to take a breath and calm himself. “And then one night, as I was returning home from a meeting, I heard a wailing in the street. A mother had just lost her child because she could not afford food for her family. I realised then that my heart was insignificant when thousands others were at stake. This revolution is more important than my soul. So I chose not to love. And if I ever wavered from my decision I would remember the mother’s cry and would be reminded once again that nothing is more important than the freedom of the people. I cannot afford to give in to love.”

This last statement was directed at Grantaire in an almost wistful tone, but it was Marius that spoke.

"You have always been so practical Enjolras," he said in a mixture of admiration and incredulity. "I cannot think the way you do. I believe in this revolution too, but if she were to be waiting for me on the other side, when it was all over," his eyes glazed over, "it would give me hope. It would give me a reason to live."

Enjolras frowned, a deep crease forming on his forehead and his lips pulled thin and tight. The frown deepened when Grantaire spoke.

"But do you not see Marius," he sighed, turning to give Enjolras an accusing look, "he does not want a reason to live."

A hum of shocked whispers started up. Enjolras glanced around the room to take in the various reactions. Many were horrified, many more were terrified. Courfeyrac had got up from his seat again looking as if he wanted to embrace Enjolras and never let him go. Combeferre held him back with a gentle hand on his wrist, but even he too looked hurt. Enjolras returned to Grantaire’s unreadable expression with a cold look.

"You wish to die?" Marius asked in a very small voice. Although it was not always obvious, with Marius being easily distracted and Enjolras very much wrapped up in his politics, the two were good friends. Such a revelation shook Marius to the bone and Enjolras did not like the way he, and his other companions, were looking at him. He took a deep breath to give himself time to prepare an answer. But he did not need to.

"That is not what I said," Grantaire replied, choosing his words carefully.

"Then what did you say?" Enjolras asked through gritted teeth. It angered him that Grantaire thought it necessary to speak for him and frighten his friends this way. No matter how right or wrong he was.

"I said you do not want a reason to live. That is not the same thing," he added as if that explained it all. Enjolras’ nostrils flared, picking up on something Grantaire had said that the other young men evidently did not by the looks of the puzzled faces in the room.

“I… I do not understand,” Marius stammered, unsure of whether he should be upset or relieved. Again, with the air of dramatics that he loved so much, Grantaire addressed the room.

“Enjolras does not ask for death, but should it come he is willing to give his life for his cause. He is prepared to be a martyr for his country.” He turned to Enjolras, blinking once slowly and sighing like a man that knew there was nothing he could do to change his friend’s mind. “He is afraid love will take that away from him. He does not wish to die, but he also does not want a reason to live, to stop him being a martyr should it come to that.”

Enjolras’ frown had dissolved completely into astonishment. He was unable to look away from Grantaire as he divulged his heart like it was his own. Grantaire met his gaze and focused on him, and a silent conversation appeared to go between them.

“But he is foolish,” Grantaire said in a low voice, not breaking eye contact with Enjolras. “He does not realise that to love Enjolras is to die at his side.” He gave another slow blink of one who is done talking and then retreated to the bar to replace his empty bottle. Enjolras’ eyes followed him all the way. He did not utter another word. They would not come to him.

A short time later Enjolras found Grantaire upstairs sitting by an open window, his eyes shut and his arms folded over his chest. At first glance Enjolras believed him to be asleep and he debated leaving, but then Grantaire opened one eye slightly.

“I have a headache,” he said in answer to Enjolras’ concern. His voice was grated and deeper than usual. “It is too noisy downstairs.” He shut his eye again and pointedly ignored the way Enjolras’ gaze flicked between him and the bottle in front of him.

“I brought you some water.” Enjolras placed the jug on the table but Grantaire made no move to take it.

“Are you going to continue to hover or are you going to sit down?” Grantaire teased. Enjolras took it as an invitation and sat in the chair across the table from Grantaire, watching his still form.

“How have you come to know me so well?” Enjolras asked. Grantaire gave a little smirk. “Everything you said about me was true and yet I have never put it into words myself.”

“We are very different you and I,” Grantaire said, his words perfectly articulate despite the amount of wine he had drunk. “We are as opposite as the poles on a magnet. And yet, very occasionally, we are more alike than either of us would care to admit.” Enjolras was not sure if that was much of an answer but his reply faded from his mind when Grantaire shifted and sat up, cracking open both his eyes and reaching out to take the jug Enjolras had brought to him. He lifted it to his lips and drank, grimacing when he did not taste the cheap wine he was expecting, but swallowing it anyway. He sat forward, resting his elbows on his knees and clasping his hands out in front of him. He waited patiently for Enjolras to gain the courage to ask what was truly on his mind.

“You were right. If someone were to love me they would have to accept my choices whatever they may be.” Grantaire continued to wait silently. Enjolras bit his lip. “Would you?” he asked, watching his hands for he did not have the valour to look in Grantaire’s all too honest eyes. “Would you be willing to die at my side?”

“Do I need to answer that Apollo?” Grantaire sighed as one who was tired of all the pretences. “Do you really not know?”

“I convinced myself otherwise, I was not sure until tonight.” Enjolras chanced a look at Grantaire. The moonlight highlighted his jaw and nose, there was a slither of silver across the bow of his lips and ripples in his hair. The stars shone bright in his eyes. He found he could not look away. “And you, you know it was you who I spoke of tonight.” Grantaire sat quite still and said nothing, giving nothing away to Enjolras as to what was going on in his head in that moment. He opened his mouth to speak but nothing came out. He had never seen him so vulnerable.

“You are mistaken,” he frowned, “for I am none of the things you described me as. I am neither intelligent nor beautiful. Indeed I argue with you but my eyes and smile are ugly and not something you wish to behold. You are cruel to joke with me in such a way.” His voice was harsh but Enjolras was not offended. He knew that Grantaire was trying to preserve his heart, to prevent himself from getting hurt.

“I do not joke,” Enjolras said, “and my descriptions of you were perfectly accurate. It is my love for you that I have denied myself all this time.” Grantaire was silent for some minutes more.

“I do not ask for anything,” he said finally, having moved nothing but his lips. Something about that disturbed Enjolras more than if he had lost his nerve at Enjolras’ admission. It was like he had closed himself down completely and all that was left was this hard exterior that no amount of false admissions of love could get through. Enjolras was determined to break through it. “I have spent my time living off your presence, I am an expert at it, I do not ask for more.”

Enjolras understood what Grantaire was trying to say. He did not want to take Enjolras’ choice to die away from him, just like he had said in his scarily accurate analysis of Enjolras earlier. And Enjolras appreciated that, but part of him wanted Grantaire to fight for him, to show that he really wanted him. He could not give in to his feelings on his own, he needed a push in the right direction. But how could you ask that of someone without asking it of them?

"But do you want it?" he pushed with an edge of urgency, leaning forward to match Grantaire’s pose. Grantaire pursed his lips and Enjolras guessed he was trying not to give in to what he had buried so long ago.

"Enjolras…" Grantaire began, begging him not to let him do this. To open up an old wound that could not be resealed. But Enjolras needed him to.

"Please," he whispered. Grantaire sighed. He had never been able to deny his sun god anything.

"If you were to belong to me the way I already belong to you then I shall not even fear death, for I would have already seen what my heaven will look like." Enjolras’ shoulders sagged. His inner conflict deafening him as his head argued with his heart.

"I… I want this," he said slowly. Grantaire looked up from his hands with the first signs of hope he had shown. He could hear the unsaid ‘but’ in his voice.

"I do not ask you to survive the revolution," he said with feeling, "I only ask that you permit me to die at your side." Enjolras went to protest but Grantaire interrupted him. "I would not survive in a world without you Apollo," he said with a sad smile. "The others would place bets on what would get me first; the drink, my own recklessness, Courfeyrac murdering me so that he did not have to look upon my melancholy face any longer." Enjolras huffed a laugh in spite of himself. "But if I had the choice, I would walk with you to heaven’s gate to see the lord himself bow at your feet." Enjolras rolled his eyes. "I cannot give you much," Grantaire said sincerely, so sincere that it took Enjolras unawares, "but let me give you this. All I have is my life, and it is yours."

Enjolras said nothing. He studied Grantaire for some time and Grantaire grew uncomfortable under his glare. There was fear striking his heart. The fear of Enjolras rejecting him, refusing his wish, and if he could not even give him that then he had nothing.

Slowly, Enjolras took Grantaire by the hand and gently tugged him to his feet. He stepped to the side and Grantaire matched his action so the table was no longer between them. Enjolras drew circles with his thumb on the back of Grantaire’s hand.

"That," he said softly with a crooked smile, "I can allow." He leant forward and brushed his lips against Grantaire’s. It was hesitant, like he was testing the temperature of water before plunging into its unknown depths. Grantaire’s startled face was a sight to behold. His wide blue eyes shone brighter than the stars and his body stiff for fear of any movement frightening Enjolras away. He lifted a shaking hand and brushed an errant curl out of Enjolras’ eye, tucking it behind his ear. Enjolras leaned into his touch so that Grantaire was cupping his cheek. He smiled softly, giving Grantaire all the time he needed to accept that this was happening.

It was like a penny dropping in Grantaire’s mind. He was waiting and waiting for Enjolras to tell him he had made a mistake, that of course he did not love him, how could he? But when it did not come, a part of him began to wonder if maybe, just possibly, this was real. And then it all came crashing down on him and he was on Enjolras with such a fiery passion that Enjolras could not quite believe of the cynic. Grantaire pulled Enjolras to him so that as much of Enjolras’ body as possible was pressed up against his own. His hands went straight to Enjolras’ hair, for where else would they go? The kissing was hard and breathless and clumsy and wonderful and delicious and perfect. Enjolras kept his hands lightly resting on Grantaire’s cheek. He would have been smiling had his lips not been otherwise occupied.

As Enjolras’ eyes flickered open, the three friends in the room simultaneously shifted closer to get a better look at him. The group of fourteen had agreed amongst themselves who would get to visit Enjolras after his operation, because there was a limit to the number of visitors allowed in the ward. Combeferre was a given, being Enjolras’ next of kin and best friend. Courfeyrac was the second person chosen, although no one was quite sure how he had managed to get everyone to agree to it. When it was asked who should be the third, Grantaire had simply said “me.” The tone in which it was delivered left no room for negotiation.

The light must have been too bright for Enjolras, for he scrunched up his eyes before trying to open them again. For some time they were glazed over and unfocused, but after a few more blinks they came to settle on the nearest living form in the room. Combeferre.

“Wakey wakey,” he said gently, giving the dozy Enjolras a soft smile. Enjolras’ innocent expression told him he was still not quite with it. “You’ve just come out of an operation,” he explained. “Try and rest,” he added as Enjolras tried to sit up. A hand on the shoulder was enough to keep him down and he did not have the strength to fight for long. When Enjolras could see he would not win the battle, he laid back and scrutinised Combeferre’s face.

“Who are you?” His voice was raspy and dry, missing it’s usual certainty and dominance.

“I’m Combeferre, your friend, remember?” There was no concern in his voice, just gentle encouragement. The doctor had told them that it was likely Enjolras would not be fully with it when he regained consciousness and to be patient with him.

“You better not have forgotten who I am,” said the person standing behind Combeferre, looking far too happy to be in a hospital. If his outlandish purple velvet jacket and bright pink skinny jeans we anything to go by, this guy was anything but normal, Enjolras thought to himself.

“It’s Courfeyrac!” exclaimed Courfeyrac in answer to Enjolras’ puzzled looks. He let out a gasp and put his hand to his heart like he was hurt that Enjolras could forget him. For a moment Enjolras was worried that he had upset him, but then Courfeyrac shot him a wide smile that said he was only teasing and Enjolras gives a sigh of relief. He replied with a weak smile of his own.

“I… I feel like I should know you,” he said, frowning. But no matter how hard he tried he could not place them. They weren’t complete strangers to him, he was sure of that, but if you were to ask him to describe their personalities, Enjolras would not have been able to. The best he could do was describe the feelings he got from them. This ‘Combeferre’ made him feel safe and ‘Courfeyrac’ made him want to roll his eyes and sigh, like he shouldn’t expect anything less from him. But the more he tried to dig for memories, the more his head hurt. He winced and just accepted that these people knew him.

It was then that Enjolras became aware that there was a slight pressure on his right hand. He looked down at it and saw that there was a hand that did not belong to him grasping it tightly. Enjolras followed the direction in which the hand was coming from until he came across the face of it’s owner. It was another man, roughly the same age as his other so called friends and sitting in a chair beside Enjolras’ bed. He was closer than his other friends, who were situated at the end of his bed on the plastic chairs provided by the hospital. He was hunched over the bed so that his dark curls flopped over his piercing blue eyes, which were fixed unmovingly on Enjolras’ face. His jaw was clenched tightly shut and he was deathly pale. He looked like he hadn’t slept for days.

“And you are…?” he asked the third and final face in the room.

“No one important,” he replied, “just focus on waking up.”

Grantaire was tired, he hadn’t slept for days. He hadn’t slept the night before the operation and he hadn’t slept since. He couldn’t. Not until he knew Enjolras was alright. He would have been fine, but when the doctor came out of the operating theatre to explain how there had been “complications” and how they had to put Enjolras under the anaesthetic for longer than originally planned, he had almost been physically sick with worry. He had refused to leave Enjolras’ side from the moment he got there, much to the doctor’s dismay. Courfeyrac once had to physically remove Grantaire from one nurse’s personal space when she tried to get between Grantaire and the sleeping Enjolras to take his blood pressure.

Enjolras frowned, not approving or comprehending the answer.

“No, that can’t be right,” he said seriously. “You must be important, I can feel it. You’re special to me.” He nodded as he spoke as if to confirm what he was saying.

It was then that this ‘unimportant person’ appeared to be aware that he had been clutching on to Enjolras’ hand, for he attempted to pull away his own hand, but Enjolras grabbed it before he had the chance.

“No, don’t. It feels… nice.”

Enjolras couldn’t really explain it. He was certain that if it had been Combeferre that was holding his hand, he wouldn’t have felt the same as he did now. The hand was warm, comforting, safe, like everything was going to be okay now. Yes, Combeferre had a safe air about him, but safe as in trustworthy. This dark haired stranger gave Enjolras a strength he didn’t know he had. The thought of letting that go made him incredibly sad.

Grantaire studied Enjolras’ face for some time before leaning forward again, taking hold of his hand with much more courage than he had before. Enjolras smiled.

“I think,” he went on to say, inspecting the third friend like he couldn’t quite fathom him, “that you are the most beautiful person I have ever seen in my life.”

Grantaire, who had been leaning his elbows on the bed, slipped and almost fell out of his chair. One of the other visitors, probably Courfeyrac, Enjolras’ brain supplied, let out a choking noise.

"W-what?"

“You do realise you are talking about Grantaire don’t you?” asked Courfeyrac.

“Grantaire? I like that name,” Enjolras said in that simplistic way a child speaks like the world is black and white, and not answering Courfeyrac’s question. The name Grantaire felt familiar. It sent a tingling down his spine and for some reason unknown to him he wanted to smile again.

“You’re still under the influence of the anaesthetic,” Combeferre said gently, but Enjolras ignored him. He wanted to talk to Grantaire.

“Come here,” he said, beckoning Grantaire to come closer. Grantaire shot Combeferre a look which was responded with a shrug. Slightly unsure, Grantaire shifted forward so that he perched on the end of his seat, as close to Enjolras as he could comfortably be. Not that he looked very comfortable.

Enjolras reached out and touched Grantaire’s cheek. Grantaire’s eyes bulged and it made Enjolras smirk.

“I like your hair,” he said dreamily, brushing an errant curl out of Grantaire’s eyes.

“Oh my god I cannot believe this,” Courfeyrac exclaimed, dying of laughter. “I have to film this.” He extracted a phone from the pocket of his skinny jeans and began to record the conversation. Enjolras didn’t understand what was so funny or why Combeferre felt the need to tell Courfeyrac he was being cruel. Grantaire was completely frozen under Enjolras’ touch and Enjolras had almost forgotten his hand was still cupping his cheek. But then Grantaire had managed to blurt out, “I hate you Courfeyrac,” and Enjolras remembered what he was doing.

“Don’t worry my dear I will send you a copy of the video,” Courfeyrac sang, “along with everybody else.”

Enjolras felt the urge to give Courfeyrac a disapproving look.

“Oop, looks like Enjolras is beginning to return to us,” was Courfeyrac’s reply. The glare did not deter him from filming this not-all-there Enjolras. Combeferre chuckled. Enjolras went back to looking at Grantaire’s face, he felt drawn to it somehow. Grantaire was still close as Enjolras had not pushed him away and he was incapable of moving himself. Enjolras was still holding Grantaire’s face in one hand and his hand in the other.

“You have lovely eyes,” Enjolras continued, talking as he complemented Grantaire’s hair and face and eyes every day. “And lips. You have very nice lips. Kissable. Can I kiss them? I should like to.” Grantaire went a dark shade of red and Enjolras thought he looked adorable. Courfeyrac had gone past the laughing stage and was now into full on wheezing.

“I can’t,” he said between shaky breaths. “Here ‘Ferre you’re going to have to do it.” He gave Combeferre the camera phone and then doubled over on himself, clutching his chest.

“Do you remember anything about Grantaire?” Combeferre asked with an amused smile, adjusting the phone’s position to ensure he was recording everything.

Enjolras’ eyes narrow as he considered the question. He addressed Grantaire as he answered the question despite him not being the person who asked it.

“Paint,” he said like that was a reasonable answer. “I think of you and the smell of paint comes to mind. I can’t remember your laugh but I know I like it. I like to make you laugh.” He frowned. “Do… do we argue a lot?”

“I’d like to think of it as a difference in opinion,” Grantaire said with a half-smile, still blushing from ear to ear. Enjolras grinned.

“You’re funny.” Something appeared to click in his mind because he let out a little ‘oh’ and then said, “are you my boyfriend? Because you are funny and pretty and I want to kiss you. My heart is beating really fast because of you, I know it. Feel!” He took the hand he was holding of Grantaire’s and pressed it to his chest. Sure enough his heart was beating erratically. “You should be my boyfriend,” he said finally like it was perfectly logical.

Grantaire stared at Enjolras with his mouth wide open, unable to form any kind of sentence, let alone a reply that he wouldn’t regret later. He so badly wanted to tell Enjolras that his heart was beating just as fast and that yes he’d give anything to be his boyfriend. But of course it was not Enjolras that was speaking, it was this high-on-anaesthetic Enjolras that did not know what he was saying, let alone mean any of it. So he decided to say nothing.

Courfeyrac, who had just about managed to control himself, lost it again and started to punch Combeferre on the arm to express just how much this was killing him.

“I’m tired,” Enjolras said suddenly, finally releasing Grantaire from his hold on him and turning to look at Combeferre.

“Get some rest,” Combeferre told him in the sort of fatherly way that was comforting to Enjolras. He shut his eyes and nuzzled into the pillow. But a second later his eyes snapped open again and he searched for Grantaire in the faces of his audience.

“Will you still be here when I wake up?” he asked, vulnerable and childlike.

“I’ll be right here for as long as you need me,” Grantaire replied softly. Enjolras stretched out his hand and Grantaire took it. Grantaire allowed himself the indulgence of stroking Enjolras’ forehead. Enjolras leaned into the touch and shut his eyes once more. Grantaire flashed Courfeyrac a look. “Shut up.”

The second time Enjolras woke up, it took the first thing he said to know he was no longer under the influence of the anaesthetic. He had been asleep for quite a while and his friends had turned to entertaining themselves with their phones, or dropping off to sleep in Combeferre’s case.

“You better not look this miserable at my funeral.”

“He’s back!” Courfeyrac threw his arms up in the air in a celebratory cheer. Combeferre stirred and gave Enjolras a sleepy smile.

“How are you feeling?” he asked, pushing his glasses back up his nose with his index finger.

“Sore.” He tried to sit up and this time Combeferre allowed it, helping him by adjusting the pillows and blankets. Enjolras thanked him begrudgingly. He did not like being treated like an invalid. But he knew Combeferre was only trying to help and he knew he would not be able to look after himself for the next few days so he held his tongue.

Courfeyrac was grinning wildly, probably reading his mind and enjoying watching Enjolras suffer. You’d think he’d never had a bad day in his life, thought Enjolras. He felt a pang of jealousy as Courfeyrac was able to move of his own accord whilst he had to lean on Combeferre just to shift backwards on the bed a bit.

Movement in the corner of his eye caught Enjolras’ attention and he turned to see Grantaire shifting in his seat. Grantaire gave him a pained smile, wincing as Enjolras winced when he leant further than his stitches would allow, and Enjolras felt an aching in his chest. Grantaire had thrust his hands into the pockets of the green hoodie he was wearing and something about that felt wrong to Enjolras. He felt like he was missing something and that Grantaire was the cause of it. He ran his fingers through his hair and told himself he was being stupid.

“I assume everything went okay?” Enjolras said as he felt under his hospital gown to where the bandages on his skin were.

“There were some complications but they sorted it, the doctor can explain when he sees you but everything is fine.”

Enjolras nodded, if Combeferre said everything was fine then he believed him. He knew better than to hold things back from Enjolras.

“How long have I been asleep?”

“Two hours and then another hour before you woke up the first time,” replied Courfeyrac.

“What do you mean woke up the first time?”

“You don’t remember?” asked Grantaire quietly. Enjolras shook his head but then stopped abruptly because it made him feel queasy. “Probably for the best,” Grantaire muttered as he deflated into his chair.

“Why? What happened?” Enjolras couldn’t help but shake the feeling he had missed something important. The terrifying expression on Courfeyrac’s face told him he definitely had.

“Well,” Courfeyrac started but Grantaire cut him off.

“Don’t you dare!”

“Don’t you dare what? What happened?” Enjolras looked between Grantaire and Courfeyrac and waited for one of them to cave.

“I can show you if you’re interested?” Courfeyrac extracted his phone and waved it in the air. Without warning, Grantaire tackled him to the ground and they began to wrestle for the mobile. “Grantaire, what the f-” Courfeyrac screamed as Grantaire lunged for the phone. But Courfeyrac was too quick for him and had rolled onto his side and got to his feet before Grantaire knew what was happening. Courfeyrac chucked his phone at Enjolras, who thankfully had good reflexes and caught it despite not being given a warning. “You can’t tackle the invalid,” Courfeyrac said to Grantaire, who glared at him all red in the face. “Go to my videos,” Courfeyrac instructed Enjolras, “and watch the most recent one.”

Enjolras frowned, catching sight of Grantaire’s terrified and pleading expression, before hitting play.

Enjolras, who was fairly fresh faced when he had woken up, turned pale as he watched himself on that small screen. When the video came to an end he turned excruciatingly slowly to Grantaire, his mouth dropped wide open. Grantaire looked bright red and sheepish.

“I… er…” He couldn’t form the sentences he wanted to.

“It’s okay,” Grantaire said quickly, gesturing with his hands, “it was the anaesthetic talking. You didn’t know what you were saying. I know none of that was true, you don’t have to worry yourself.” They both looked away from each other shy and embarrassed. There was a beat of awkward silence and then Enjolras spoke.

“Not all of it.” Grantaire looked up. Enjolras was fidgeting with the hem of the blanket and refusing to look him in the eye. For a moment Grantaire thought he had been mistaken and Enjolras hadn’t said anything at all.

“I’m sorry? I don’t understand.”

“Well I thought I made it pretty obvious when the filter from my brain to my mouth was temporarily not working. You are the most important person in my life and you do have the most beautiful eyes and I love your laugh and the way you-”

Enjolras should not have been surprised when Grantaire cut him off mid-speech to kiss him. He had practically thrown himself at him the moment his brain had processed the words that were coming out of Enjolras’ mouth. The surprise made Enjolras jump and Grantaire retracted almost immediately. Enjolras to let out a small whimper that set Courfeyrac off laughing again.

“Oh god I didn’t hurt you did I? That was so stupid, god I’m so sorry” he gushed as he checked Enjolras all over to make sure he hadn’t hurt him. Lunging at someone who had just had an operation was not one of his smartest moves to date.

Enjolras for once in his life decided actions spoke louder than words. He took hold of Grantaire by the scruff of his neck and crashed their lips together like it was an insult that they were apart. This time Grantaire made no objections and they were all over each other in seconds.

“Save the hospital sex for when we aren’t here,” said Courfeyrac, completely undisturbed by the truly obscene sights that were unfolding in front of his eyes.