Enjolras headed obediently toward the bar, sitting down on a bar stool as he remarked, “I wasn’t aware I had a usual.”

Grantaire just winked at him, and Enjolras’s stomach gave a traitorous little flip-flop. He watched, intrigued, as Grantaire bustled with something on the back of the bar before turning around to present a steaming mug with a flourish. “Irish coffee, hold the Irish.”

Enjolras laughed lightly. “Did you—”

“Put in enough sugar to give a bull elephant diabetes?” Grantaire finished, grinning as he leaned against the bar. “Of course. You know I know how you like it.”

Enjolras did know, just as he still knew Grantaire’s coffee order, and how he liked his pillows arranged on his bed, and the hundreds of other little details he’d learned from when they were together, the hundreds of other little details he would never forget, no matter how long they’d been apart.

He took a sip of coffee, closing his eyes as he savored the taste. When he opened them, Grantaire was still grinning at him, but something had softened in his expression. “What?” Enjolras asked, and Grantaire just shook his head.

“Nothing,” he said. “Just missed your face, that’s all.”

“But not the rest of me?” Enjolras teased, mostly to hide the way his heart leapt at the words.

Grantaire laughed. “Nah, I can do without most of the rest.”

Enjolras cradled the coffee mug between both of his hands. “So do you have a break anytime soon? I hate to monopolize you while you’re working.”

“Bullshit,” Grantaire said good-naturedly. “You love nothing more than work disruptions.” Still he crossed over to where the few other patrons were finishing their drinks. “Give us a few minutes, would you?” he said. “Next round’s on me for the inconvenience.”

There was only mild grumbling as they stood and filed out, and Grantaire rolled his eyes, but with affection. “Perks of being a neighborhood bar,” he said, coming out from around the bar and crossing to the door to lock it before sliding onto the bar stool next to Enjolras. “And now you can monopolize me as you feel fit.”

Despite this being the exact reason why he’d came, Enjolras felt suddenly strangely tongue-tied. “So Courfeyrac told me you bought the place,” he said finally.

Grantaire shrugged, looking slightly uncomfortable. “Yeah, well, you know. When Madame Houcheloup decided to sell, I figured, fuck it.”

Enjolras nodded slowly. “The basis of all good business decisions.”

“Like you would know,” Grantaire shot back.

It was exactly like old times, exactly as if Enjolras had never left two years ago. “Touché.”

Almost as if he sensed Enjolras thoughts, Grantaire looked away and cleared his throat before continuing, “But in any case, there was no way I could let her sell this place.”

“Too many memories,” Enjolras said softly.

“Yeah,” Grantaire said. “Like the time I took your virginity on that couch.”

Enjolras choked on his sip of coffee. “That is emphatically not what happened,” he spluttered with a laugh.

Grantaire grinned. “C’mon. We all know that what happened with you and Combeferre when you were both 16 doesn’t count.”

Enjolras rolled his eyes good-naturedly. “You’re using a very loose interpretation of ‘we all’.”

Grantaire just shrugged blithely. “Maybe so.”

It was Enjolras’s turn to clear his throat, to steer things away from touching too closely on what they’d had – what they’d been. “Well the bar looks great,” he said, surprised to find he meant it. “Still feels like home.” He hesitated. “Dare I ask what you did with our meeting room?”

Grantaire brightened. “Oh, that’s the best part,” he said, hopping off his bar stool. “C’mon, I’ll show you.”

He held his hand out to Enjolras, who took it, letting Grantaire lead him to the back room, treading the same familiar path they’d walked hundreds of times before.

But the back room looked nothing like the dingy space they’d used, which had the main benefit of being free as long as they bought drinks and kept the noise mostly down. Now, it was bright and airy, with a small stage along one wall, books and art supplies along another, and even a few computers set up in the corner.

“Turned it into a community meeting center,” Grantaire told him as Enjolras looked around, impressed. “There’s a little library with all kinds of anti-racist and pro-trans propaganda. Jehan leads a poetry workshop twice a month, and Feuilly has a weekly art class that he teaches.” He shrugged as if it was nothing. “And of course we do a monthly drag reading hour for the kids.”

Enjolras nodded approvingly. “Any threats?”

Grantaire shrugged again. “Yeah but you know Bahorel thrives on that shit,” he said brightly. “Last time he did a TikTok basically daring the proud boys to show up.”

“Of course he did,” Enjolras said with a laugh.

Grantaire grinned. “Thankfully they didn’t, and Cosette had a really great story time.”

Enjolras frowned slightly. “Cosette?”

“She wanted to try being a drag king.”

Enjolras considered that mental image for a moment. “How’d that go?”

Grantaire laughed. “She loved it. Marius…I mean, he might’ve started the evening as a 0 on the Kinsey Scale but he definitely did not end that way.”

He sounded almost gleeful and Enjolras could only imagine. Still, he couldn’t help but counter. “Please. Marius lived with Courfeyrac for like 3 years. There’s no way he was ever a 0 on the Kinsey Scale.”

Grantaire barked a laugh. “Yeah, you’re probably not wrong.”

“Well this is really incredible,” Enjolras told Grantaire, sincerity in every word. “You’ve done amazing work.”

Grantaire waved him off, gesturing for them to head back to the bar. “Thanks,” he said, a little gruffly. “And we, uh, we might be expanding.”

“Really?”

Grantaire nodded as they sat back down at the bar. “Rumor has it Mabeuf is thinking of selling the Corinthe.” His grin turned sly. “We had some good memories there too, remember?”

“How could I possibly forget?” Enjolras said dryly. “That time where we got arrested?”

Grantaire’s grin widened. “Oh, I was actually thinking of that other time that we got arrested. Or maybe, uh—”

“That time?” Enjolras supplied, grinning as well.

“When we got arrested?” Grantaire said, and they both laughed.

Enjolras shook his head. “Our ill-spent youth.”

Grantaire’s smile slipped just slightly. “I don’t know,” he said quietly. “It doesn’t seem all that ill-spent looking back on it.” Enjolras didn’t know what to say, and stared down into his mug of coffee until Grantaire added, “And I definitely don’t think we were all that young either.”

Enjolras laughed again and Grantaire smiled at him before saying, in an attempt at casual, “All that said, I doubt you came all this way just to take a look at the bar.” He arched an eyebrow at Enjolras. “So why are you here?”

“For starters, you still make a killer cup of coffee,” Enjolras said, lifting his mug in a mock-toast. Grantaire’s expression didn’t change, and he sighed. “Truth be told, I’ve been thinking about us recently.”

Grantaire’s expression tightened. “Enj—”

“You let me go when I needed to figure out what I really wanted to do with my life,” Enjolras said, hoping it didn’t sound rehearsed, even if he had gone over this twenty times in his head and twice with Combeferre before finally coming over. “And I’m not pretending that we can just jump back in, but I want us to try.”

Grantaire shook his head slowly. “Enjolras, when you left—” He broke off with a sigh. “We left things between us on the best possible note. Why would you want to ruin that now?”

“I didn’t come here to ruin anything,” Enjolras said quietly.

“Then maybe it’s time to let things go,” Grantaire said with a sigh. “What you and I had—” His tone turned wistful. “I’m not gonna pretend like I don’t miss it, but it’s not as simple as you walking back into this bar and us trying again. It’s been two years. We’re both different people now.”

“Maybe,” Enjolras said. “But in my case at least, different means better. And I want the chance to prove that to you.” Grantaire was silent and Enjolras hesitated before adding, “I know what mistakes I made last time, and I know you have no reason to believe me, but I’m not going to make the same mistakes this time.”

Grantaire sighed again and shook his head slowly. “I do believe you,” he said softly. “I’ve always believed in you. But it’s not so simple—”

“It is,” Enjolras interrupted. “This time it is.”

“Enj—”

“The mistake that I made last time was leaving without you,” Enjolras told him. “And I’m definitely not making that mistake every again.”

Grantaire snorted but didn’t quite meet his eyes as he said, “Then you’re gonna be here an awfully long time.”

Despite himself, Enjolras smiled, just slightly. “Yeah,” he agreed. “That’s kind of the point.”

Something in his tone seemed to take Grantaire aback, and he frowned. “What do you mean?”

Enjolras met his eyes squarely. “I mean what I said. I’m not leaving without you this time.”

Abruptly, Grantaire stood, making his way behind the bar and grabbing a rag like he was going to start cleaning, though he just twisted it between his hands as if he needed something to do with them. “Enjolras, as romantic as it may be in the movies to swoop back in someplace and whisk some guy you used to fuck away to the big city with you, reality’s a little different.” Enjolras started to interrupt, but Grantaire didn’t let him. “I own this place, and I know it’s not the amazing living you’ve made for yourself, but it’s mine and I love it. I’m not just going to pack up and leave because you came back and– and smiled at me.”

He obviously hadn’t meant to end on that note, and despite everything, Enjolras couldn’t help but laugh a little. “Smiled at you?” he repeated.

Grantaire jerked a shrug. “What can I say, I’m still a weak man,” he said.

Enjolras nodded slowly. “A weak man without great comprehension skills to boot.”

Grantaire scowled. “What—”

“I know you’re not going anywhere,” Enjolras told him. “I know you’ve made a life for yourself.” Grantaire still looked confused, and Enjolras reached out for his hand, his heart beating double-time when Grantaire let him take it. “I’m not asking you to come away with me. I’m asking to be a part of it.”

For a moment, Grantaire still looked confused, but then realization dawned on Grantaire’s face. “This time you’re not leaving without me.”

Enjolras nodded. “Exactly.”

A slow grin started to spread across Grantaire’s face before it faltered. “But what about your life in the city?”

Enjolras shrugged. “It wasn’t what I wanted,” he said simply. “Besides, there’s so much organizing work that needs to be done in the suburbs, exurbs and rural areas ahead of 2024, and—”

“And I’m sure you’ll tell me all about it,” Grantaire interrupted, but his smile was gentle as he raised their clasped hands to his lips, pressing a kiss to Enjolras’s knuckles. “So you’re really back.”

“Yeah,” Enjolras said softly. “Yeah, I’m home.”

Now Grantaire’s smile was blinding, and Enjolras let himself grin as well, leaning in to close the space between them, to finally do what he’d wanted to do ever since he saw Grantaire again, to—

Someone pounded on the door and Grantaire groaned. “Clearly our 15 minutes are up,” he said, but he was still grinning.

“Capitalism once again ruins everything,” Enjolras told him, and Grantaire laughed as he stood.

“Well,” he said, reaching out to cup Enjolras’s cheek, “maybe not everything.”

He kissed the top of Enjolras’s head and went to unlock the door. Enjolras stood, figuring he should probably leave, but Grantaire frowned at him as he returned to the bar. “Where do you think you’re going?”

“I was just—”

“Sit your ass back down,” Grantaire whispered. “Musichetta’s shift starts at 5, and then you’re gonna take me to dinner.” 

Enjolras hesitated. He had a million and one things that he needed to do, and— “Enjolras,” Grantaire said quietly. “You said you weren’t going to make the same mistakes.”

“And I’m not,” Enjolras promised. He drained his mug of coffee. “And in that case, I’ll have another.”

Grantaire grinned again. “Your usual, coming right up,” he said.

Enjolras grinned as well as he watched Grantaire pouring him another cup of coffee. They still had a lot to talk about, but Enjolras was a man of his word, and he’d never anything more than what he’d promised Grantaire.

Which it was, and Enjolras ground his teeth together. “Oh, right, because I’m going to walk into a Great Clips in the middle of a pandemic and demand a haircut,” he snapped.

Grantaire hesitated, a smile twitching at the corners of his mouth. “Please tell me you don’t actually get your hair cut at Great Clips.”.

“Well sometimes I go to Sport Clips…”

“Ok, after COVID is over, I’m introducing you to my barber,” Grantaire said. “In the meantime, have you tried styling it differently? We can buy some bobby pins or bows or sparkly barrettes—”

Enjolras shook his head. “As much as I love flouting gender roles, I’m not entirely sure now is the time.”

“Fine, so what do you want to do?” Grantaire asked.

Enjolras worried his lower lip between his teeth for a moment before blurting, “I want to shave my head. Or, more accurately, I want you to shave my head.”

“No.”

Grantaire didn’t even pause to consider it, and Enjolras sighed. “Grantaire—”

“No, I’m not letting you shave your head!”

Enjolras cocked his head, his tone turning cool. “Excuse me, letting me?”

Grantaire waved a dismissive hand. “Poor choice of words aside, I love your hair. You love your hair. You do not actually want to shave your head. And you especially do not want me to shave your head.”

Enjolras lifted his chin stubbornly. “Yes I do.”

“And when you regret it tomorrow and want to blame me?” Grantaire challenged.

Enjolras rolled his eyes. “That’s not going to happen,” he scoffed.

Grantaire gave him a look. “You say that now, but who got blamed for letting Bahorel talk you into getting a tattoo?”

Enjolras matched both his look and his tone. “You were literally the one who got me drunk and told me it was a good idea.”

“Ok, I may have bought you the shots, but I did not make you drink them,” Grantaire said. “And besides, I stand by telling you it was a good decision because I love your guillotine tattoo.”

Enjolras seized on the opportunity to return to the topic at hand. “So do I, which is why I think this may end up being a good idea, too.”

Grantaire hesitated. “What if you have a weirdly shaped head?”

“What?”

“If you shave your hair, you may end up realizing that you have a weirdly shaped head, and by then, it’s too late, and you have to go out for several weeks with the lumpy head. Do you want that?”

Enjolras stared at him. “Grantaire, we’re in the middle of a pandemic. I think I can handle the grocery store cashier and the occasional delivery driver seeing my oddly shaped head. Besides, it’s also December, so chances are I’ll be wearing a hat.”

Grantaire rolled his eyes. “Great, so you’ll look like you have cancer. Is that what you want? You want to take the attention away from the actual cancer patients who need it?”

Enjolras frowned and crossed his arms in front of his chest. “Ok, what is this actually about?”

“The cancer patients, Enj,” Grantaire said patiently. “I just said that.” Enjolras’s expression didn’t flicker and Grantaire sighed. “Fine. It’s about the fact that I love your hair.”

“You said that already.”

Grantaire sighed again. “No, I know, but I mean…”

“Are you afraid you won’t be attracted to me anymore without the hair?” Enjolras asked.

Grantaire snorted. “God, no.” 

“Then what?”

“You’re going to think it’s stupid,” Grantaire hedged.

“I promise I won’t,” Enjolras said, before hesitating. “Wait, unless...is it a sex thing?”

Grantaire arched an eyebrow. “What would you do if it was?”

Enjolras’s mouth opened and closed again and he shrugged somewhat helplessly. “Honestly I have no idea.”

Grantaire laughed lightly. “Well luckily, it’s not a sex thing.” He hesitated once more, but this time, when he spoke again, it was with a reluctance that sounded to Enjolras like honesty. “I love your hair because it’s the one imperfect thing about you.”

Enjolras frowned slightly. “What do you mean?”

Grantaire sighed and leaned against the bathroom sink. “I mean I wake up every morning and the first thing I see when I look at you isn’t your gorgeous eyes or your beautiful lips or that perfect bone structure. I wake up and I see your golden rat’s nest sticking up in eighteen different directions.” Enjolras raised a defensive hand to pat his hair but Grantaire caught his hand, twining their fingers together. “And I love seeing that. I love seeing you, the real you, the you that only I get to see.”

Enjolras nodded slowly. “I guess I can understand that.”

“I sense a ‘but’ coming,” Grantaire teased.

Enjolras half-smiled. “But Grantaire, you get to see the imperfect me in a hundred different ways every day. I mean, look, I haven’t worn real pants in six months. Do you know what Courfeyrac would pay to see me in ratty, stained sweatpants?”

Grantaire looked pointedly at Enjolras’s crotch. “Honey, it’s not the ratty or stained part he wants to see, trust me.”

“You know what I mean,” Enjolras snapped, flushing, though he carried doggedly on. “You get to see me in all kinds of imperfect ways. Hell, if it weren’t for the hair, you’d get to see me wake up in a puddle of my own drool.”

Grantaire wrinkled his nose. “That’s disgusting.”

“If you think that’s disgusting, don’t forget: you get to hear me fart in my sleep.”

Grantaire winced. “I love you, but we really need to differentiate here between things that are imperfect and sexy, and things that are imperfect and never need to be discussed.”

Enjolras grinned triumphantly. “Fine, but that doesn’t change the fact that you get to see me in ways no one else does, and that won’t change if I have a shaved head.”

Grantaire made a face but didn’t outright refute him. “I guess you’re right…”

Enjolras squeezed Grantaire’s hand. “Besides, like you said, you may get to wake up every morning and see that I have a weird, lumpy head.”

Grantaire laughed. “Now that is a thought,” he said, bending down to press a kiss to the top of Enjolras’s head. “Fine. For the potential of your lumpy, misshapen head, I’ll do it. I will shave your head.”

“Great,” Enjolras said bracingly. “Let’s get started.”

Grantaire looked amused. “Not so fast, I need to go get my clippers.”

Enjolras frowned, picking up the clippers from the sink. “What’s wrong with these clippers that I found under the sink?”

Grantaire eyed them warily. “Trust me, you don’t want me to use those.”

“Why not?”

“Because they’re for trimming pubic hair.”

Enjolras dropped the clippers. “Gonna file that one under imperfect and never needs to be discussed.”