no but one time grantaire mentions something he wants like a specific kind of paint or materials for a sculpture or a dvd or a book or something and enjolras searches high and low to find it for him and when he gets it he wraps it up really carefully and takes it to grantaire’s place but he’s not there so he leaves it by the door and goes and then a few hours later he gets a rather hysterical phone call from grantaire thanking him profusely and he’s kinda shocked that something like this could make him get so emotional and then grantaire says “i didn’t think anyone knew it was my birthday”
whoops look who decided to write fic about this instead of studying for my finals
Grantaire is already slightly drunk, and it’s 8 PM. Even for him, that’s unusual. But it makes the fact that he’s twenty-seven years old today a little bit better. Some combination of impending mortality and the depressing fact that no one knows it’s his birthday and even if they did they wouldn’t care had driven him to the bar around the corner. The increasingly sympathetic eyes of the bartender had driven him back. He’ll spend the night in his apartment, alone with a bottle.
He notices a package on the front door when he arrives and bends down to pick it up. It’s wrapped neatly and precisely in red paper, with a small card on top. His eyes fill with tears so quickly that it takes a few seconds for him to blink them away enough to read the words written there.
"For R. From Enjolras. Hope it’s the right one."
He opens it up to find the volume of myths he’d vaguely mentioned wanting two months ago. He barely remembers the conversation himself. It’d just been more of his pointless babble, bitching about how he wants nice things he can’t afford. He remembers Enjolras staring as he’d said it. Grantaire had thought he was annoyed.
He unlocks his apartment and rushes inside, picking up the phone and dialing the number he spends so many hours staring at (wondering should I call him? should I tell him?) that he knows it by heart.
"This is Enjolras."
"Hi," Grantaire says, and he can’t breathe, he doesn’t even know what this tight feeling in his chest is.
"Grantaire? Are you all right?"
"God, Enjolras, I don’t know- Thank you so much, thank you, you didn’t have to-"
"So you like it?" Enjolras says, and Grantaire can hear his smile, sees it, and fuck he’s crying again.
"Of course I do. It’s perfect. Thank you, thanks so much, really, it’s wonderful, I didn’t think anyone would… you didn’t have to do anything."
"Are you okay?" Enjolras says. "You sound- I mean, it’s just a book. I just wanted to do something nice."
"I’m sorry," Grantaire says, laughing a little at himself. "I- it’s silly. I just didn’t think anyone knew it was my birthday."
There’s a long silence, and then Enjolras says, “Oh.”
"You didn’t know?"
"R, you should have said something."
"I just- then why the present? Not that I don’t appreciate it, just-"
"I just wanted to do something nice for you, for once. Y’know. I heard you mention it, and… anyway."
"Thank you, Enjolras."
"Do-" Enjolras begins, and then stops himself.
"What?"
"Do you want to come over? Since it’s your birthday? I hate to think of you spending it alone."
Grantaire hugs the book to his chest and smiles. “I’d like that.”
Enjolras’ apartment is about halfway across town. It takes Grantaire forty minutes to walk there, by which time he’s sober enough to be decidedly nervous. He knocks on the door.
"Enjolras?"
"Surprise!" comes the shout, and the door opens. His friends are crammed into Enjolras’ living room. There’s a store-bought cake and a stack of sloppily wrapped presents (Marius is still fumbling with the bow on his) and it’s obvious that everyone’s just run here in the last hour to surprise him. Bahorel punches him on the arm and insists that Grantaire has to tell them this stuff, damnit, and Jehan hugs him delicately and kisses his cheek, and Grantaire is already trying not to cry by the time Enjolras gets to him.
"You all didn’t have to do this," he says.
"Did you ever think that maybe we want to?" Feuilly suggests.
"When you said it was your birthday, and none of us knew… I may have panicked, and called Courfeyrac, and he, um, gave me this idea," Enjolras says. "I hope it’s not embarassing or anything."
"It’s perfect," Grantaire whispers. "I couldn’t possibly have a better birthday."
"Really?" Enjolras asks, and before Grantaire can process the thought He can’t possibly mean what I think he means Enjolras’ lips are on his and everyone is clapping and cheering and Grantaire thinks-
This is going to be a good year.
