sorry seems to be the hardest word
Enjolras wipes the back of his hand across his face. “We fought,” he says, sniffling a little.
“We fight all the time,” Grantaire says, but it’s evidently the wrong thing to say because Enjolras’ face crumples as he starts to cry again. “Are you- Are you breaking up with me?”
In Defiance of all Geometry
Amis House might not be the biggest student co-op, or the fanciest, but it’s got something all its own. Specifically, smoke damage on the kitchen ceiling from that time Courfeyrac lit a political pamphlet on fire.
In which there are secrets, pining, pancakes, and revelations, and sometimes the shortest distance between three points is not a triangle but a circle.
just a minor inconvenience
Fall Into Place
“Oh, no, that’s your I’m going to do something fucking stupid face,” Joly says. “Stop whatever it is you’re thinking.”
But it’s not something really fucking stupid; it’s genius.
Enjolras can’t say no to moving in with Grantaire if he has already moved in with him.
don’t go far off, not even for a day
the way i tend to be
“It wasn’t a big deal.” He said it like he dragged drunken idiots home every day, like it was something that everyone would have done. Which it most certainly wasn’t. “But I appreciate that you came here to say thank you,” he said, smiling, “and maybe you’re sober enough to tell me your name today?”
“And maybe I’m sober enough to remember yours,” Grantaire replied and held out his hand for him to shake. “I’m Grantaire.”
“Combeferre,” he said and shook his hand.
The Flower Seller On The Rue De La Chanvrerie
Written for a prompt on the Les Mis kink meme. Combeferre finds himself completely bewitched by one of the florists in Paris, and (not so subtly) makes an effort to see him as often as he can.
Enjolras’s mouth fell open. “You have tattoos.” Grantaire, not trusting his voice, gave a little nod.
Enjolras groaned, moving quickly away from Grantaire, putting his face in his hands. “That information was not helpful at all,” Enjolras said, his voice muffled by his palms. He was slightly hunched, as if trying to physically keep himself from straightening and looking Grantaire in the eye. “I don’t know what’s going on with me.”
“I don’t either,” he replied, his voice slightly hardening through his confusion, and he pulled himself away from the depths of his reactions with it. “Why don’t you try to explain it as best you can? Because, to be completely honest, you’re kind of freaking me out here.”
(In which Enjolras is pining and Grantaire is… also pining.)