Chapter Text
Enjolras watches Grantaire scroll through Combeferre’s ‘recently watched’ on the tv with an oddly tight feeling in his chest. It’s not that his heart is beating faster, it’s just that he can feel it pumping pressure through his entire body. He’s still leaning against Grantaire, who is warm and comfortable and really does smell very nice, but a moment ago he was relaxed and now he’s not.
Grantaire clicks his tongue and holds down the scrolling button on the remote. “Stay when,” he prompts.
“When,” Enjolras says. At least his voice comes out normal.
Grantaire releases the button and looks at the selected title. “The Secret World of Caterpillars,” he snorts. “Well, the universe has spoken.” He presses play.
“The universe wants us to learn about caterpillars?” Enjolras asks. He needs to calm down. There is literally no reason for his body to jitter like this.
“Clearly,” Grantaire nods gravely and when the voiceover begins he adds: “We should memorize at least two facts. Ferre will be so proud of us.”
Enjolras smiles distractedly. Combeferre doesn’t even know Grantaire is here. Actually, he doesn’t know about any of this. He was home so late last night that Enjolras didn’t have an opportunity to talk to him. This is not the sort of thing he wants to talk about over text. But maybe he should give him a heads-up? Combeferre should be home in an hour or two… Enjolras reaches into his pocket, but his phone is not there. Oh, right, he put it aside because it kept buzzing with Courfeyrac’s not at all subtle ‘just checking’ messages. Enjolras hesitates. Should he go get his phone? That would mean getting up. Grantaire has his arm wrapped properly around Enjolras’ shoulders now and the weight is nice. Enjolras is taller than him but Grantaire is so much broader. He’s soft and steady to lean against… Maybe if Enjolras gets up now, Grantaire will think that he doesn’t like this. That’s the last thing Enjolras wants him to think. Especially after-
“This is highly disappointing,” Grantaire breaks into his thoughts.
“What?” Enjolras asks, a knot tightening in his stomach.
“So far I’ve seen only two caterpillars,” Grantaire points out. “Two. This documentary contains a disproportionate amount of butterflies.”
Enjolras exhales. “Oh, yeah,” he mutters.
Grantaire looks at him. “You ok?” he asks uncertainly.
“No,” Enjolras says and the spike of frustration released by that word finds its way straight to the anger that’s been simmering just out of reach. “No I’m not and that is ridiculous.” He sits up so he can look at Grantaire properly. “I’m freaking out and doubting myself and that’s just such bullshit.”
Grantaire doesn’t respond, he just looks at him and Enjolras waves his hands about angrily. The tightness in his chest is gone now. Being angry feels good, way better than being anxious at least. The only downside to it is that Grantaire is no longer holding him.
“We literally just talked about what we want and agreed that we’ll work it out as we go along, because that’s how much we want to be together,” he snaps. His cheeks burn saying that, but he can pretend that’s just anger as well and he keeps going: “And here I am afraid of sending the wrong damn signals and not because of anything you did, but because I have had toxic societal norms about what relationships are supposed to be forced down my throat for twenty two bloody years!” He lets himself fall back, slumping into Grantaire a little harder than he meant to, but Grantaire clearly doesn’t mind and his arm is immediately wrapped around Enjolras’ shoulders again.
“That is kind of messed up, yeah,” Grantaire says, drawing him a little closer still.
“It’s not kind of messed up,” Enjolras fumes. “It’s a disgrace. I literally just got what I’ve wanted for months and I won’t even let myself be properly happy about it!”
“Yeah…” Grantaire says slowly. “But at least you have a good reason.”
Enjolras looks into Grantaire’s face and the flicker of repressed anxiety makes him forget himself for a moment. “Don’t devaluate your own feelings like that,” he says urgently. “We all get screwed over by internalized societal bullshit.”
Grantaire hums. In the background the tv is chatting away happily about life cycles.
“I mean,” Enjolras says indignantly, drawing his feet onto the couch. “I get told I’m cold-hearted, Courf gets told he’s a flirt-”
“Courf is a flirt,” Grantaire points out affectionately.
“Yes, but that shouldn’t be an insult,” Enjolras says discontentedly. “He shouldn’t feel guilty for being affectionate. Just like I shouldn’t feel guilty for having a relationship with you on terms that we just mutually discussed and agreed upon.”
Grantaire chuckles slightly at his exasperated tone and Enjolras leans more heavily into him. Maybe angry cuddling can be a thing.
“…it will take about a day for the cocoon to-”
Enjolras gives the TV a distracted glance. Cocoons… His mind makes a leap. “And this is me,” he bursts forth. “I’m anxious about this and I was brought up by incredibly supportive parents, surrounded by amazing friends. And somehow this is still an issue for me!”
“Now who’s devaluating their own feelings,” Grantaire says softly and he shifts his weight so Enjolras can lean into him even more.
“No,” Enjolras protests, following his movement and nestling against Grantaire without even thinking about it. “I just mean…can you imagine how bad this must be for people that don’t feel accepted? Or that haven’t been allowed to figure out what they want yet? And every day in every damn book, movie and tv show they have to see the same crap with a big ‘everybody wants this’ label slapped over it.”
“Yeah…” Grantaire says.
He sounds a little low and Enjolras wants to stop before he brings the whole mood down, but the words just get away from him. “There’s nobody here,” he says hotly. “It’s just us and it still feels like there’s some judgmental faceless thing going: you really think this is going to work?”
Grantaire is looking at him with a frown that’s half resigned and half a reflection of Enjolras’ own frustration.
Enjolras makes a vexed sound at the back of his throat. “This my house,” he says angrily. “My own damn house.” He shouldn’t have to worry about his feelings being policed in his own private space.
With a frustrated grunt he lets his head fall sideways against Grantaire’s shoulder. Grantaire doesn’t say anything and just when Enjolras begins to wonder if he nudged Grantaire into one of his rare philosophical silences, he feels a tug at his hair. Grantaire’s hand is suddenly resting at the back of his neck and he begins to gently scratch Enjolras’ head, weaving his fingers through his curls. Enjolras closes his eyes. His thoughts go silent.
“…uses it’s colours as a defence mechanism rather than a…”
“I wasn’t trying to make you shut up,” Grantaire says softly after a while. “I just didn’t know what to say in reply.”
“I’m shutting up because I want to,” Enjolras clarifies. He still hasn’t opened his eyes. The movements of Grantaire’s fingers make pleasant shivers trickle down his spine and it’s like he’s tugging the frustration out of his mind with every tug on his hair. “I’m… I like this,” Enjolras mumbles.
“Ok…” There’s a smile in Grantaire’s voice and Enjolras feels a sudden burst of happiness at the thought that that smile, that tone of voice, is meant just for him. Just for this moment.
“…uses its wings to generate…”
Enjolras opens his eyes. A multitude of coloured wings is scattered across the screen. “There really are more butterflies than caterpillars in this,” he observes.
“I know,” Grantaire says with mocking indignation. “This thing better deliver in the second half, or I’m writing a letter to the editor.”
“Producer,” Enjolras says, grinning slightly.
“Editor,” Grantaire says decidedly. “Angry letters are for editors.” He’s still scratching Enjolras scalp and Enjolras really hopes he won’t stop. Ever.
Twisting his shoulder slightly, Enjolras puts an arm behind Grantaire’s back and tries to find a place to put his hand. It ends up on Grantaire’s hip. Grantaire makes a humming sound that Enjolras guesses is appreciative.
“Is my hair in your face?” he asks softly.
“If me saying yes means that you’ll move, my answer is no,” Grantaire mutters.
Enjolras feels a jolt in his stomach again, but it’s not unpleasant this time. He’s smiling before he realises it. Silently he reaches out with his free hand and smooths his hair down a bit. His hand brushes against Grantaire’s, which is still tangled in his curls, and there’s another jittery jolt in his middle. Still ridiculous considering Enjolras is practically hugging him around the waist, but he can deal with this kind of ridiculousness. He’ll have to, because Grantaire just leant his head against his a little and Enjolras’ entire midriff vibrated for a second. It might have kept going actually because now he just feels like there’s a constant humming inside of him.
“…crowding together in a nest of up to three dozen caterpillars from the same hatching…”
“Finally,” Grantaire says dramatically.
Enjolras snorts. All the resentment is gone. There’s simply no room for it inside of him right now. He can’t remember the last time he was this comfortable. The humming is comfortable. Holding Grantaire is comfortable. The slow, gentle head scratches are more than comfortable. And that faceless figment of his imagination can fuck right off.
“Hey,” Grantaire says softly.
“Hm?”
“About words…”
Enjolras smiles. “Yeah?”
“Would you call us a couple?” Grantaire asks.
Enjolras can literally hear his mother’s voice in his head, delightedly asking: ‘Sure, but a couple of what?’ and the corners of his mouth twitch upwards. He likes that term though…and he likes the idea of being a couple. “Yeah,” he says. “I would.”
“Then-” Grantaire says with an odd sort of happy restraint in his voice. “-we’re a couple watching tv together.”
A couple watching tv together… Enjolras smiles. “I guess we are,” he says. They’re a couple. They’re together. Because Grantaire wants to be with him. Just like he wants to be with Grantaire.
Grantaire makes a happy, incoherent sound that reflects exactly how Enjolras feels inside. They both watch a long string of oak processionaries march across the screen.
“Okay,” Grantaire says. “Now I feel like I’m getting my money’s worth.”
Enjolras laughs and he can feel Grantaire’s head move so he looks up.
Grantaire is looking at him with a very wide grin on his face. “Would it be rude for me to ask you to pinch me?” he smirks. “I’m still not fully convinced this is happening.”
He’s not convinced. Enjolras turns around, wraps his other arm around Grantaire as well and squeezes.
When Enjolras turned towards Grantaire his face flushed for a moment, but now he’s laughing. “I think I feel something vaguely pressuring,” he says, pretending to be thoughtful. “I wonder what it is.”
Enjolras squeezes harder, but he feels Grantaire tense his abdominal muscles in near effortless defence. There’s no way Enjolras can match Grantaire’s strength, so he changes tactics and abruptly digs his fingers firmly into the muscles of his lower back.
Grantaire yelps and kicks at nothing with his feet. “Dishonourable conduct!” he rasps, squirming in Enjolras’ arms.
“Convinced?” Enjolras laughs, refusing to let go. His heart is racing, but in the best way possible.
“Mercy,” Grantaire pants and Enjolras relaxes his grip.
They’re really lying on the couch right now. More next to each other than on top of each other, but still. For a moment Enjolras considers getting up, but Grantaire looks so happy. Enjolras rolls a little more onto his side and rests his head against Grantaire’s chest. Which is possibly the best thing he has done so far, it really might be. Enjolras relaxes against him and Grantaire gently moves his arm until Enjolras feels his hand hover over his head. Apparently he can’t quite reach the nape of Enjolras’ neck in this position. Very gently Grantaire strokes though the loose waves on top of Enjolras head. Enjolras hums appreciatively and the strokes become more confident. The next sound that leaves Enjolras’ lips is luckily drowned out by the tv.
“…which is in fact repulsive to most predators…”
“This is a really long documentary,” Grantaire observes.
“I don’t think it is,” Enjolras smiles. “But I don’t know about your sense of time, but mine’s rather m-”
There’s a rattling of keys at the door and they both look up. Combeferre. Enjolras completely forgot.
The living room door swings open and Combeferre walks in, searching through his bag. He looks up. And freezes.
“Hi,” Enjolras says, sounding as apologetic as he can without moving from his spot. Because he is not moving. No way.
Combeferre looks at them silently for a moment. Then he says, very calmly: “You realise I’m going to have to take a picture, right?”
Enjolras can feel Grantaire’s soundless laughter.
“You have a say in whether I send it to everyone or just Courf,” Combeferre says, taking out his phone. “But the picture is non-negotiable.”
Enjolras pulls a face, but he’s at least halfway smiling by the time Combeferre takes the picture. Combeferre is smiling too. He’s smiling so wide his cheeks are pushing his glasses up. Come to think of it, he doesn’t look surprised in the least.
“Courf told you didn’t he,” Enjolras remarks.
“Maybe,” Combeferre says, still looking at his phone and still smiling like mad. “Shall I send this to you as well as to Courf?”
“Please,” Grantaire grins and Enjolras rolls his eyes.
Combeferre lowers his phone and his eyes meet Enjolras’ for a moment. He’s glowing. Enjolras smiles at him. He’s thankful for his friends every single day and that still doesn’t seem like he appreciates them enough. Without saying another word Combeferre disappears to his room.
Grantaire’s phone pings and he pulls it out to look at the picture. He holds it out for Enjolras to see. It’s nice. Really nice.
About two seconds later a notification pops up on the screen:
*Courf has changed the cover picture for Absolutely Bestest Companions groupchat*
Enjolras sighs. “He didn’t-”
“Yeah he did,” Grantaire says, opening the notification.
There they are, cuddling on the couch, for all their friends to see. Enjolras smiles, warm and comfortable and humming with happiness.
“Put your phone on silent,” he advises, putting his head back on Grantaire’s chest.
“I think I just might do that,” Grantaire grins.