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Grantaire opens his mouth. Closes it again. Stares at the spectacle for a few more seconds. Turns to Enjolras and says, “I’m feeling that there should be a reason behind this.” Enjolras’ mouth is still open. The plastic bags full of Chinese Takeaway drop from his nerveless fingers.
In front of them, Courfeyrac has a broomstick in between his legs wearing nothing but a banana hammock and some neon pink paint, singing ‘Uptown Funk’ into a cocktail that is apparently on fire. He doesn’t seem to notice them from his lofty perch on Grantaire’s coffee table.
Marius giggles from somewhere behind Courfeyrac, and Jehan appears with another cocktail, similarly dressed. Un-dressed may actually be a better word. Enjolras slaps a hand over his eyes. “Jehan,” Grantaire greets him with all the wariness of somebody taunting a starving alligator with a raw chicken, “What the fuck is going on here?”
“Wouldn’t you like to know,” Jehan replies breezily, and sets his cocktail on fire, almost catching Grantaire’s hair alight as well.
Grantaire yelps and leaps backwards, stumbling, and Enjolras reaches to steady him.
Bahorel comes streaking through the living room covered head to toe in green body paint screaming, “Shrek is love, Shrek is life!” With Joly and Bossuet hot on his heels, shrieking. They disappear through the corridor and out of the apartment. Enjolras whimpers.
Grantaire snaps out of his daze and shakes his head like a dog. “Where’s Combeferre?” Enjolras asks, trying desperately to ignore Courfeyrac, or, more accurately, Courfeyrac’s crotch, which is swinging about eye-level. The banana hammock leaves very little to the imagination.
“I set him up.” Jehan shrugs, completely unapologetic of the clusterfuck he’s made out of Grantaire’s apartment.
“What?”
“With Eponine. They hit it off. I think they went to the Musain.” He stirs his cocktail.
“How the fuck do you do these things, Jehan?” Grantaire’s voice hits a pitch usually reserved for calling dogs. “And why in my apartment?” Now his tone borders on whining.
Jehan just shoots him a cheeky grin. “I love you too, dear.” His dreads whip out behind him as he goes to sit on the sofa, watching Courfeyrac dance atop the table with an appreciative look in his eyes.
Marius finally materializes from behind the sofa. Yellow paint covers his chest and he has a yellow banana hammock to match. He flops over the back, and warbles something about Cosette.
Enjolras and Grantaire look at each other, and then glance back to the scene. Soft snores now emanate from Marius. Courfeyrac doesn’t look like he’s going to stop dancing any time soon, and Jehan might actually be starting to throw money at him. They look back at each other, and Grantaire struggles to keep down laughter, and Enjolras’ mouth is trembling.
After a few moments of facial twitching, they burst out laughing, leaning on each other for support.
Feuilly wanders out of Grantaire’s bedroom, mumbling about Poland, wearing nothing but a well-placed fan.
**
A few hours earlier, Grantaire was trying to keep Bahorel’s not-inconsiderable weight upright. Enjolras shot him a sympathetic look while easily supporting Courfeyrac, and the rest of their friends spilled out from the bar. Grantaire wondered how he had got stuck with being on the sober crew on this clusterfuck of a bar crawl. Probably had something to do with the fact that Enjolras gave him a disapproving look every time he went to call the barmaid. Grantaire thinks that he might’ve actually met someone who’s a good influence on him.
He’s kind of shocked about it.
“And don’t come back!” The owner shouted after them.
“Jeez,” Jehan skipped up beside Grantaire, completely ignoring his predicament. “You start one brawl and suddenly everyone thinks you’re the bad guy.”
Before Grantaire could answer, Courfeyrac called drunkenly to Jehan, “You’re n’v’r th’ ba’ guy to me, J!”
Jehan blew a kiss back at him, and Courfeyrac almost tripped Enjolras up trying to catch it. He righted both himself and Courfeyrac with an irritated huff. Bahorel giggled, head lolling loosely on Grantaire’s shoulders.
“He’s so sweet.” Jehan said, smiling. “Speaking of sweet,” Jehan started and swivelled his head toward Grantaire. Grantaire rather felt like a small cuddly thing pinned by a slavering wolf, even though Jehan is almost two heads shorter than him, with candy pink lipstick on, and his dreads tied with a ribbon. “What about you and Enjolras? Have you two—“ He wiggled his eyebrows suggestively, “y’know. Fondued.”
Grantaire blushed and stole a glance at Enjolras, whose eyes immediately turned forwards, red staining his cheeks. Jehan followed Grantaire’s gaze, and gave him an approving smirk.
“No, we haven’t.” Grantaire replied, clipped, readjusting Bahorel, who just giggled again, on his shoulders.
Jehan’s face slipped into a pout. “C’mon,” he jabbed at Grantaire’s arm with a soft finger, “I gave you the perfect opening, you were as cute as a button, oh my God, you wasted an opportunity to tap something that fine, I can’t beli—“
“We’re dating,” Grantaire said hurriedly under his breath, as Jehan’s loud voice started to attract everyone’s attention, including the man in question. “And taking it slow.”
“Oh.” Jehan stopped, breath rushing from him. “Good. Now I have to give him the shovel talk.” He grinned a grin that made him look like a very pretty shark. “That’s going to be fun.”
“What? No! No, don’t do that Jehan you meddling little motherfucker, I swear to God if you scare him off I will hide all your nail polish and lipstick don’t test me I’ll do it,” Grantaire breathed out in a harsh whisper, eyes forward.
Jehan snickered. “Fine.” He turned away to go and pester someone else. “But if you do hide my make-up, they’ll never find the body.”
“Yeah, yeah,” Grantaire grumbled back, rolling his eyes.
“Which apartment?” Enjolras asked over the waving arms of Courfeyrac.
Grantaire’s eyes scan the street. They’re quite close to Grantaire’s and Enjolras’ buildings. “Yours or mine?” He returned, struggling to keep his feet while Bahorel flopped about like a fish, calling around wildly, “Feuilly, Feuilly, where are you, I miss you bro!” Grantaire cursed as more weight attached to Bahorel.
“Brooo! Bro, I missed you too! I miss you like I miss my toy pirate ship!” Feuilly careened into Bahorel’s side, making Grantaire stumble. Grantaire shot Feuilly a stare full of daggers. He ignored him, and continued clinging on to Bahorel.
“But-- but bro! The only ship you need is our friendship!” Grantaire swore he could see actual tears glimmer in Bahorel’s eyes.
“Bro!” Feuilly wailed and hugged tighter. Grantaire almost lost his footing again.
“Fuckwits,” He told them with no real venom. He looked over to Enjolras and saw him hold back laughter, eyes gleaming, while he hauled the much easier cargo of Courfeyrac.
“Not a word.” Grantaire warned him. Enjolras mimed zipping his lips shut, shoulders shaking all the while.
The sound of someone being sick made Enjolras and Grantaire tense. He sighs, and he and Enjolras shared a Look.
Enjolras said “Yours.” At the same time Grantaire said, “Mine.” They’ll be better behaved in more familiar circumstances, he reasoned with himself. Or hoped. One of the two. Anyways, he didn’t want Enjolras’ apartment to get all messed up.
They smiled at one another, and Grantaire thought he had never seen anyone so beautiful.
**
He dumped Bahorel onto the sofa. He started snoring immediately. Feuilly crashed on Bahorel’s chest and didn’t move. Grantaire dusted off his palms.
“Should we be worried about that?” Enjolras inquired, gesturing to the way Feuilly’s nose was squished against Bahorel’s chest in a way that had to be uncomfortable. Grantaire jumped, but recovered himself with excellent panache, or so he thought.
“Nah,” He threw a hand out in a way that he hoped was nonchalant. “They’ll be fine.” Grantaire put his hands on his hips and surveyed his living room.
Marius and Courfeyrac were collapsed against each other on the floor, muttering drunkenly to each other and chortling intermittently. Joly and Bossuet were slumped on the tatty loveseat together, making out with vigour that could only be matched by the way an experienced gamer greets a game they’ve been waiting at least a year for.
Combeferre, Eponine and Jehan were talking together, Combeferre looking a little frazzled; he kept glancing at Eponine and smoothing back his hair, while Eponine sent him coy little smiles. Jehan looked too innocent to be anything other than an evil mastermind.
“It looks like your dear Combeferre has a crush, E. That, or Jehan is waving his magic wand and chanting love spells. I wouldn’t put it past him, to be honest.” Grantaire said, turning to face Enjolras. They were closer than he expected, and Enjolras was smiling at him.
A small smile, soft and intimate. Only for Grantaire.
Enjolras leaned in and brushed that smile against Grantaire’s lips, hands curving around his cheeks. Grantaire was frozen in shock while his brain screamed BE COOL BE COOL ARE YOU BEING COOL I DON’T THINK YOU’RE BEING COOL
Somehow, Grantaire got his arms to function, and he wrapped them around Enjolras’ shoulders, brought him closer. Enjolras’ smile widened in the kiss.
They broke apart with a wolf whistle from Jehan, “Get a room!” He hollered. They blushed.
Grantaire cleared his throat. “Are you hungry?” He could see Jehan giving him two, almost maniacal in their enthusiasm, thumbs up from the other side of the room.
Enjolras scratched at his curls. “A bit. I could go for some Chinese. I know a great place round the corner?”
“Yeah, sure. Let’s go.” Grantaire reached tentatively for Enjolras’ hand. They met halfway. They both looked away, smiling.
They were at the door when Enjolras said, “Wait, should we leave them alone?”
Grantaire glanced over his shoulder. Combeferre, Eponine and Jehan were talking amongst themselves. He didn’t trust to leave those two alone in his apartment – who knows what sort of havoc they could wreak (he shudders internally at the memory of microwave explosion of ’08) – but Combeferre is a stabilizing influence, even if he’s awkwardly trying to hit on Eponine.
“Nah,” He said, swinging their hands between them, “They’ve got Combeferre. What’s the worst that could happen?”
When they get outside of the apartment building, he swore he could hear Jehan’s cackling, but Enjolras doesn’t mention it, and he doesn’t want to ruin this blissful moment, and what’s the worst thing that could happen?