wip for a semi-ish sequel to thrill me, chill me, fulfill me
Contrary to Grantaire’s frequently shouted assumptions, that Enjolras never considered what he said to have any value, Enjolras spent the next day thinking. And the next. And the next. In fact, he spent four days thinking, and then the fifth, he approached Courfeyrac.
Or, really, Courfeyrac’s door, which was opened by a tired Marius.
“Oh,” said Marius.
“Oh,” said Enjolras.
There was a long moment’s pause, where neither spoke, and then Marius startled.
“Goodness,” he exclaimed, more at himself than Enjolras, “please do come in, please! Apologies for keeping you on the doorstep, I’ve just woken up, it’s unforgivable, truly, I do apologise, really, I must-”
“Peace,” Enjolras said, raising his hands as he stepped through the door. “There is no harm, Marius. None at all. Thank you for letting me in.”
He looked about the space, with its wooden floorboards and low ceiling. Past Marius, two doors could be seen, and then a third even further down. Candles embedded in brass fittings led the way down the corridor..
“A lovely place you have,” he said, with as much enthusiasm as he could muster. There was nothing, really, to comment on, but still he tried: “I admire the brass fittings.”
Marius remained still, before slowly raising an eyebrow. “The brass fittings.”
“Yes,” Enjolras said, feeling a little out-of-sorts.
“You find them admirable?”
“Yes. Truly…fitting.”
Marius blinked, slowly, before nodding. “Uh, thank you. I - I believe it was Courfeyrac’s mother who selected them.”
“Fine taste,” Enjolras said.
“Yes,” Marius replied. There was another lull and then. “Can I interest you in some tea?”
“Yes,” Enjolras said breathlessly, and Marius let out a relieved laugh.
“Fantastic! I will have the housekeeper bring it up, please get settled in the lounge. I’ll be a moment.”
It was the second door, the lounge, and as Enjolras settled down in a seat, he really thought he ought to visit his friends more. He saw them frequently enough, in the Corinthe and the Musain, at lectures and during speeches, but he rarely visited them at home. These accommodations of Courfeyrac’s - and Marius’, he supposed - were new to him, although he was sure Courfeyrac had been there for at least a few months.
That then settled him into thinking about friendship. Courfeyrac’s, whose friendship he had had for decades; Marius, whose friendship he had had for a few months (and how meaningful they were - after all, he was in the lounge, waiting to meet with Marius for tea!); and then, finally, Grantaire’s.
Grantaire’s, which was said with a tied tongue and slight stammer. Grantaire’s, which was - in the man’s own words - “structured around arguments.” Grantaire’s, which was something Enjolras hadn’t considered before.
Of course they were friends. They were Les Amis de l’ABC, and even if Grantaire wasn’t a student - which he wasn’t. Or was he? Bahorel had dropped out, but had Grantaire? He certainly drank like he had. Students all drank, though; just because Enjolras mostly avoided inebriation, his academic associates did not.
Well, if Grantaire was or wasn’t a student, it didn’t quite matter. He was a member of their group, their collective, their cohort-
Except, was he? There were certainly no membership fees but Grantaire had never actually agreed to participate in their endeavours, be they mundane educational support for the proletariat or their larger, more radical plans. He had simply appeared one day, drunk and loud and waxing on about Greek mythology in an effort to upset Enjolras.
Which he achieved. Routinely, from then, but certainly that first day, with his bright eyes and wild gestures that had Enjolras’ teeth gnashing. Combeferre had thrust several glasses of wine his way that evening, and the next, when he had taken Enjolras’ place as Grantaire’s philosophical foe. The fight seemed less bitter that day, less prosaic, but Enjolras had also been three sheets to the wind with a fourth incoming, all in an effort to dull Grantaire’s arguments in his ears, and so he wasn’t the best at -
“I’m sorry for the wait,” Marius said, entering the room. “She’ll be up with the tea shortly; I fear we’re both waking late today, goodness knows what this winter chill is doing-”
“Am I friends with Grantaire?” Enjolras asked, unthinkingly, and Marius froze, half-stood, half-sat.
He laughed, a little hesitantly. “If what Joly says is true, I believe half the people of Paris are friends of Grantaire.”
“Yes,” Enjolras said, dismissively waving his hand, “but I am not half the people in Paris. Am I friends with Grantaire?”
“A- Are you friends with Grantaire?”
“I’m asking you. I believe I am, but I am rapidly coming to the conclusion that I’m not.”
“Ah,” Marius said, nodding once. He then sat down. “Ah.”
