“I am officially done with the world for today.”
Enjolras looks up from his screen. Grantaire is lying face down on the bed, his laptop and books pushed away from him until they’re dangerously close to the edge of the mattress.
“It’s three in the afternoon,” he points out wearily. To be honest, he’s not having the best day himself.
“I don’t care,” Grantaire grunts into the duvet. “I’m done. Day’s done. Come again tomorrow.”
With a sigh Enjolras saves his document (3000 words worth of frustrated arguments about constitutional rights under secularism and laïcité respectively) and gets to his feet. He walks over to the bed and puts Grantaire’s laptop out of harm’s way on the bedside table. The screen is full of LaTex coding and mathematical formulas Enjolras knows he will never understand. “How do you save this?” he asks, frowning at the screen.
Grantaire lifts his head and reaches out, but instead of pointing at the screen, he grabs Enjolras’ sleeve and pulls him towards him.
“I still have a paper to finish,” Enjolras protests, sitting down on the side of his bed.
“Your ratio of paper writing and angrily scrolling twitter has passed the productivity crash point about an hour ago,” Grantaire says, rolling on his back and looking up at Enjolras. “Can’t we just agree the rest of today is cancelled?”
Enjolras glances at his laptop and the stupid blinking cursor on the page. “Just a minute then,” he sighs and he lets himself fall onto the bed next to Grantaire.
Grantaire makes mildly triumphant noise and pulls lazily on Enjolras’ waist until he’s lying fully against him, his head nestled against Grantaire’s shoulder. Grantaire immediately weaves his fingers into Enjolras’ hair. Enjolras’ closes his eyes. “I said just a minute though…” he reminds him.
“Shhh,” Grantaire mutters. “Or I’ll cancel time too.”
Enjolras shifts his weight, wraps an arm around Grantaire and hugs him until he’s lying at least half on top of him. They’re clearly not going to be moving for a while.
