hey! I'd love to see enjoltaire with prompts number 2, 8 or 10. it's your call! thank you and have a great day <3
10. Do I ever cross your mind?
This really got away from me, sorry about how long it is!! I wanted to make it angstier but it got soft. Basically what I'm trying to say is that I have no control over my writing.
Grantaire stood by Joly as he tried to patch up everyone who had been hurt. Bossuet and Bahorel were the only ones really injured, but no had escaped completely unscathed. Bossuet bit into the rag in his mouth as Joly pushed his shoulder back into place.
He watched Enjolras, sitting with Combeferre’s arm around him, a distraught and somehow vacant expression on his face. There was something else on his face that Grantaire could not place.
Grantaire blistered at the sight. What right did Enjolras have to look like that, when Bahorel had stepped in front of him and taken the knife instead?
He looked shocked, Grantaire realized, and felt anger bubble inside him. As if he had not told him a hundred times that this was a bad idea.
“You’re wearing that expression on your face like no one expected this to get violent,” he spat, “Yeah fine, you think I’m an idiot, but Combeferre said it too, remember? So did Jehan.”
“R,” Jehan was holding him by the crook of his elbow, “We’re all shaken up, and worried about ‘Rel, okay? Let’s not start yelling.”
“No, let him talk,” Enjolras said. The distress had melted off his face and was replaced with something much more familiar, anger. “That is clearly all he wants to do. Actions have consequences, Grantaire. I wouldn’t expect you to understand that. We are fighting a corrupt state, do you expect them to lie down and take it?”
Grantaire thought of the man with the knife who had been aiming for Enjolras’s heart. Halfway across the gathering, Grantaire had felt a helpless horror watching it in slow motion, his heart dropping as Bahorel’s considerably larger form stepped in front of him and took the knife in his stomach instead.
Enjolras would have died. Bahorel was in the hospital.
“And what about your friends' safety? Where does that stand in your little revolution? Do you care about that at all?”
Enjolras stood, and Grantaire felt a familiar awe wash over him. His lip was still bleeding a little. He was lovely every hour of every day, but he was magnificent when he was angry.
“Let’s not talk about caring, Grantaire, it isn’t your area of expertise.”
That stung, but it wasn’t the first time the jibe had been thrown. Usually it was after Grantaire spent hours arguing with him, or if he had had a particularly bad day. The incident had shaken him. Grnataire thought about Feuilly desperately trying to hold Bahorel upright after the riot and any pity he felt for Enjolras vanished.
“Ah yes, Enjolras. Try to make me feel bad because I said something true. It’s your go-to defense.”
Enjolras looked livid, “Why are you here? It is hard enough to fight for justice without people like you around,” he took a deep breath, “Don’t ask me what I care about when you don’t care about anything.”
Grantaire laughed. It sounded about as hysterical as he felt and for a moment he thought of telling him, if for no other reason, then to put the shock back on his face. Three simple words and Enjolras would have no idea what hit him.
Instead, he said, “You have three of the same red hoodie in different states of wear because you could not be bothered to select something new. You watch the news at 9 every single day without fail. You drink coconut water in little cans because you think it brings you closer to Combeferre’s heritage. You only ever drink breezers so you can drink with Courf even though you’re a lightweight.”
He had a smile, taut across his face even as Enjolras’s brows furrowed in confusion. There was a sick feeling in his gut
“You speak so much about ‘those in need’ and ‘the people’, you forget to look around and see the people who have devoted themselves to your cause,” Grantaire looked at the ceiling and thought of all the times he sat at the Musain, trying not to look for too long, “Tell me, Apollo, do I ever cross your mind? When you picture the downtrodden and unfortunate, do I sit amongst them?”
His phone was vibrating in his pocket. It was Feuilly.
Enjolras looked like he wanted to say something, mouth moving without a word.
“I have to go be with Feuilly as he watches his boyfriend get treated for a fucking stab wound.”
Logically, Grantaire knew he had been too harsh with Enjolras. He had been so angry and so afraid. The picture of the knife going into his chest wouldn’t leave his head.
Still, he didn’t deserve the brunt of his anger. He never asked for Bahorel to act as a human shield, and Grantaire knew he would have done that for any one of them. The expression on Enjolras’s face when he left had been a terrifying sight.
He groaned out loud. He hated this. He hated how often they fought and how harsh it got.
Grantaire startled as the doorbell rang and felt a mounting dread as he walked up to the door and opened it.
Enjolras looked rough. His eyes were dull and had grey shadows underneath them.
“Grantaire, I just-I’m sorry-“
Grantaire interrupter, “I should be the one-“
“R, please,” Grantaire stilled. It was a rare thing, Enjolras using his nickname, let alone in uch a soft voice.
“Okay, you can say your piece, but come in first. Coffee?”
Enjolras nodded and extended his hands. Grantaire noticed the box he was carrying.
“These are from Cosette,” Enjolras said, “She said you probably haven’t eaten yet.”
Grantaire smiled and took the box, leading Enjolras inside and letting him sit at the breakfast bar.
“I came here to apologize. I know that you are a good friend, R. I am so sorry, I shouldn’t have said that.”
“It’s hardly the worst thing you’ve said to me, Apollo, don’t sweat it,” Grantaire cringed as soon as he said it and Enjolras flinched. He handed him his mug and he took a small sip and looked confused.
“I do say such cruel things to you. I’m so sorry. What happened with Bahorel was….it was scary. I haven’t spoken to my parents or brother in three years, and Les Amis, well, Les Amis is my family. The thought that I was putting the people I love in danger was….unpleasant. I say such awful things to you sometimes.”
“Don’t worry about it, Chief. Water under the bridge.”
He offered a cookie from the box Cosette had sent to him, which he took.
“Combeferre told me you don’t think I consider you my friend,” Grantaire looked pointedly down at his mug as Enjolras continued, “And I understand. I have done such a bad job of showing you that you are important to me. Yesterday, when you said all that, and today when you knew exactly how I like my coffee, ah I couldn’t stop thinking. I couldn’t stop thinking that I don’t know what your favorite color is, or what your favorite kind of muffin is.”
Enjolras took a deep breath before continuing, “The point I’m trying to make is that I have been a bad friend, and I wanted to ask for a chance to do better.”
Grantaire gaped, and floundered.
“Apollo, Enjolras. I don’t know what to say. Ah, about what I said to you yesterday. That was a shitty thing to do, I knew you were stressed about ‘Rel and I said that anyway. I know you care about your friends. I know you canceled a meeting with your professor to attend Jehan’s first official poetry reading.”
Enjolras looked surprised at that.
“We do fight a lot, but isn’t all on you, okay? I rile you up on purpose sometimes. I can be a real piece of shit sometimes. But I get it, I get why you feel bad about it. I do too. I’m so sorry for all the times I tore down your arguments, and for implying that you are anything but devoted to your friends.”
“Our friends,” Enjolras corrected.
“They’re our friends. Not just mine.”
Grantaire laughed at the scrunch on his brow. “Our friends,” he conceded.
“Do you think we could try this again? Try being better at being friends? I really want to know you, R,” Enjolras’s voice was firm and his eyes were pressing.
“My favorite kind of muffin is sour cherry.”
Enjolras beamed. Grantaire could not peel his eyes away, He was a magnificent thing when he was angry. But this Enjolras, with his wide smile in Grantaire’s kitchen drinking coffee out of a chipped mug, this was something much softer.
Grantaire thought he was beautiful.
Someone please teach me to put a keep reading thing because these are LONG and I don't wanna bother people
