Chapter Text
Grantaire walks a step or two in front of the formidable trio for once, leading the way. It’s not exactly shocking anymore for him to spend time with the three of them, but still rather unusual, they’re usually with a bigger group. Feuilly and Bahorel had to drop out last minute though today, and since they originally were going to meet up at Feuilly’s cafeteria, Grantaire offered to take care of the change of venue.
“Here we are,” he declares, slowing down as they approach the café.
Enjolras opens his mouth.
“Yes, Themis,” Grantaire interrupts before he can speak. “It’s all fair trade and slavery free. Well, the production at least, I give no guarantees about behind the counter.”
Enjolras shuts his mouth, but instead of glaring he merely rolls his eyes. A definite victory, as far as Grantaire is concerned, and he pushes the door open with enough enthusiasm to make the bell ring out rather loudly.
“Ohh, this looks nice!” Courfeyrac says approvingly.
“Needn’t sound so surprised,” Grantaire huffs. If there’s one thing he’s good at it’s coffee shops and take-out places.
Courfeyrac teasingly pats his arm. “Go on and order something, you’re grumpy.”
“Don’t mind if I do,” Grantaire says, but before he can ask the others what they want, Combeferre joins him, instead of sitting down with Courf and Enjolras.
“I’ll come with,” he says measuredly. “Before you try to get me tea again.”
“That was one time.” Grantaire leads the way to the counter. “And you should really work on your aesthetic, cause you look like someone who drinks tea.”
“Insulting,” Combeferre hums, looking up at the menu.
The barista comes towards them, her customer service smile relaxing slightly as she sees Grantaire.
“We have come-” he declares, clasping his hands on the counter. “-Nicolette, oh goddess of caffeinated wonders, to beg for your favour.”
“Hi R,” she says with amused exasperation. “Your usual?”
“Please,” he nods. “I’m too harassed today to feel adventurous.”
“So I see,” she hums neutrally, glancing from Combeferre to the two others at the table while she reaches for a cup.
Combeferre draws near and she answers his greeting with a smile. “What can I get you?”
“One black coffee, light roast, one hot chocolate, extra whipped cream, and one caffè mocha, also with extra whipped cream.”
Grantaire stares at him with faint horror, but Combeferre merely raises an eyebrow at him and offers neither apology, nor explanation, both of which are sorely needed in Grantaire’s opinion.
“Coming right up,” Nicolette confirms and Grantaire is pleased that she’s in a good enough mood – they’re the only people waiting at the moment and the café isn’t too full – to indulge him with an update on the café’s beloved cat. Who is, as the notice behind the counter proudly proclaims, on maternity leave.
“Here you go,” she says, finally placing the hot chocolate and the mocha next to the simpler orders.
They both try to pay and end up just leaving it at a rough split and a generous tip. So they leave Nicolette with the tip and some heartfelt well-wishes for the cat and join Courf and Enj at their table.
“You do have some nerve,” Grantaire tells Combeferre, putting down the hot chocolate Courf is already making grabby hands for. “All that bitching about being a coffee drinker and you order that monstrosity. Can you even find the coffee in between all that sugar?”
“Mm,” Combeferre hums philosophically and he sits down with the plain coffee, pushing the mocha towards Enjolras.
Grantaire eyes widen in unadulterated shock. “You’re kidding.”
Enjolras pulls a defiant face, immediately proceeding to hide it in the giant swirl of whipped cream topping his cup.
Grantaire gives Ferre and Courf a bewildered look. It had not even occurred to him that someone like Enjolras could be fuelled by anything other than undiluted caffeine.
Combeferre smirks.
“Unbelievable,” Grantaire breathes, sinking into his chair with appropriate
“I know,” Ferre chuckles, raising his own cup.
“You two drink your insomnia juice,” Courfeyrac hums unconcernedly, cosying up to Enjolras with his cup of cocoa cradled in his hands. “We have no regrets.”
Grantaire swallows his despairing grunt with a big gulp of coffee. What has the world come to.
“Hey,” Combeferre says, looking up. “This is really good.”
“Damn right it is.” Grantaire leans back in his chair. “Best coffee in the whole neighbourhood, Bossuet can fight me.”
“Oh?” Ferre raises his eyebrows curiously.
Grantaire gives a dismissive wave with his hand. “There’s a place a few blocks over and he insists it’s better, but he’s just biased because he likes the pastries there.”
“Mm,” he hums thoughtfully. “The food should facture into how good a café is, though.”
“Yes,” Grantaire retorts. “But that place doesn’t do abominations like those.” He waves at Courfeyrac and Enjolras. “How are your offences against nature, by the way?”
Courfeyrac gives a defiant little flounce of his head. “Delicious, thank you very much.”
Enjolras doesn’t answer, either because he has his mouth full, or because he didn’t like the question. About a fifty-fifty chance, Grantaire supposes, so he adds:
“If you like stuff like that, you should try their hazelnut mocha with syrup.”
Enjolras’ eyes dart up from his cup, giving Grantaire a nearly suspicious look. Because of course, any attempt of his to be helpful must be regarded with incredulity.
“What,” Grantaire grunts. “I’m thorough in my coffee shop research.”
For a moment Enjolras looks a little taken aback and then he nods. “That sounds really good actually.” He lifts his cup back to his lips. “So is this, by the way.” A vague sort of amusement lights up in his eyes. “And the barista doesn’t seem too unhappy to be here.”
Grantaire is very grateful that Enjolras immediately averts his eyes to take another sip, because he doesn’t know how to handle Enjolras making jokes at him yet, he really doesn’t. He also, at this moment, doesn’t know what to do with his hands. Which is amazing, because he’s still holding the damn cup of coffee.
“Quite the contrary,” he says, clearing his throat. “Having to work while the cat’s on leave definitely counts as inhumane working conditions.”
“This place has a cat?”
Grantaire nods, but merely out of reflex, Enjolras’ smile is always enough to make him forget what he was thinking. He shouldn’t have brought up cats, Enj already looked plenty endearing enough, trying to drink without getting covered in whipped cream.
Courfeyrac leans on his hands with a grin that is not entirely innocent. “Do tell us about the cat, R.”
“Yes, do,” Combeferre says. “But also, tell me about your rating system, for the coffee shops. Because I may want in on that.”
“Cats first,” Enjolras demands, wiping some cream off the side of his cup with his finger.
The smile on Grantaire’s face might just be a touch helpless at this point. It’s a good thing he’s very eloquent on cats, and coffee, because he definitely doesn’t have more than 50% of his brain to bestow on either subject.