@lasangredelvalor / lasangredelvalor.tumblr.com
So, to spare this blog from all the clutter of the last few days, I've moved some things about.
Find my RP hub at @mxsesmemories - this has my muse list and my rules, as well as starters and rp memes that can be sent to my writing blogs
Enjolras now writes from @unnuevo-amanecer
Grantaire now writes from @la-noche-que-se-va
You've been crying, I can tell (from Enjolras)
Grantaire sighed, quickly rubbed his eyes with the back of his hand. "It's nothing, Apollo." And yet, there was that little tremble to his voice that gave away that, yes, something was wrong, but he pushed it down, slouched, sat down on the very edge of the couch, eyes fixed down on a spot on the floor.
He let his eyes close, retreated back into the safety of his own head, which was also a place he could get lost in.
It'd be so easy to just... stay that way. Part of him wanted to, the other part of him wanted comfort. He opened his eyes, before changing his pose, knees pulled up against his chest, closed his eyes tightly.
"Leave me alone.." But don't. He thought in the same moment.
Enjolras sighed softly.
"I'm sorry, R... I tried, I really did, but I should have known that... Well, it doesn't matter. How do you feel about macaroni cheese? It's a good comfort food, right? Or... I don't know... spaghetti meatballs...?"
God, he was so bad at this. The absolute worst. No wonder Grantaire was trying to get rid of him.
"Yeah, ok, I'll find it. I won't be long, ok? Just... try to relax? Yeah, try to... relax..."
He pulled his coat tightly around his shoulders and disappeared into the cold, dark night.
"Spaghetti." Grantaire stated, preferring it massively compared to macaroni cheese. And likely needing protein as well. He nodded, closed his eyes, curled up on the couch. "I'm not going anywhere." He would likely end up calling him anyway, just to know he wasn't alone. Just to hear someone's voice.
He laid on the couch, allowed his eyes to close, exhaustion catching up.
By the time Enjolras returned, somehow having gotten himself lost in the dark, he was soaked through and shivering, feeling as if he was chilled to the bone. Stormy weather had rolled in; violent winds combined with ice cold rain had left Enjolras fighting against the elements as well as the darkness. But he was clutching his bag of Italian food and he proudly dropped it on the counter, still hot if the steam coming from it was anything to go by.
"S-Spaghetti m-meatballs," he smiled, teeth chattering. "I-I got some g-garlic bread too, if you w-want it."
Grantaire jerked awake, having fallen asleep on the couch, quickly made his way over to the bedroom, grabbing clothes that seemed to fit Enjolras relatively well. "Here. Go change." He said, handed the clothes over, without hesitating, before grabbing the bag of food, sat down at the table, grabbed a fork, hesitantly digging in.
He had to stop himself from eating too fast, forced himself to eat slowly, but he couldn't deny it was amazing. The spaghetti was just right, meatballs perfection, sauce just right. "They know their stuff.."
Enjolras took the clothes gratefully and went to the bathroom to change. Of course, it seemed strange to be wearing Grantaire's things; clothes that smelled like the artist's cologne, clothes that were stained with paint, clothes that were just so quintessentially Grantaire. But he had to say, he didn't mind it as much as he might have once thought. It was actually almost comforting, in a way. It was like being enveloped in a warm hug by a comforting presence. So he put the clothes on - and god were they comfy! - and made his way back to the kitchen, where he was pleased to see Grantaire eating.
[ bullet ] sender takes a bullet for receiver enj to r because HA
(How mean 😞)
Time seemed to slow down for Grantaire. One moment, he was caught up in the rally, fighting his way forward as the police forced them back. He'd been looking for his friends in the crowd, looking for him, looking to make sure he was safe. Then he'd burst through, he was free from the stifling heat and the noise and the sweat and he could breathe freely. He could see the police, the line of shields, the blue sky. They were shouting something, but his brain was buzzing, he couldn't hear. He could see, though, could see them raise their weapons. He'd stumbled back, but he still couldn't see the person he'd needed to see the most.
Then, cutting through the buzzing, his name, a voice so frightened and panicked that Grantaire couldn't help but turn his head towards it.
A violent shove, and he'd been on the ground, the weight of another person on top of him, the whole world frozen in that one moment where he recognised the shock of golden hair.
"Enjolras!"
And the world sped up again, loud and angry and cruel, as he carefully moved Enjolras out of the way, somewhere quiet where he could check his wounds.
"Shit, Enjolras, what have you done?!"
"Hey! Hey, Apollo, I need you to stay awake, alright?!"
The panic was rising again and he had to fight against it as he spoke quickly into his phone, begging for someone to send them an ambulance.
"Come on, Apollo, just... keep your eyes open! Don't you dare die on me now, you selfish asshole!"
He gently turned Enjolras' face towards him, tears streaming down his cheeks.
"Just... just look at me, ok? I'm right here. I just need you to stay awake. Talk to me, yell at me, just something, ok?"
❝ you have to invite me in. ❞ (@revoluutionaryenjolras)
"Enjolras...?"
Grantaire rubbed his eyes, roused from sleep by the light knock on his door in the early hours of the morning.
"What are you doing here? Is everything alright?"
He yawned, stretched, muscles of his bare torso tensing as he did so.
"Shit, whatever, come in. Do you have any idea what fucking time it is?"
When Enjolras smiled, Grantaire felt his breath catch in his throat. He could have sworn he'd seen, glinting in the moonlight...
He shook his head, busying himself with making up the couch. He was seeing things; a trick of the light, the tiredness clawing at his brain. Of course Enjolras didn't have... The very thought was insane! He obviously needed to get himself back to bed, and soon.
Once the couch was ready for sleeping on, Grantaire took the glass from Enjolras, taking it to the sink to wash it. But he was tired and he was shaken and the soap was slippery against the wet glass. He dropped it and it smashed, and Grantaire was left with a deep cut on the pad of his thumb.
He cursed, lifting the injured digit to his lips, almost instinctively. He winced at the taste of copper on his tongue.
"Shit. I need to go get a bandage or something. Just... make yourself at home, I guess."
Enjolras smelled it before he even lifted the finger up. Fuck. Everything in his instincts screamed at him to hunt Grantaire down, to just taste. But that was exactly what he wouldn't do. Shouldn't do. The human thing would be to just get a bandage.
"Uh.. are you okay?" He asked, through gritted teeth, turned away, every muscle in his body tense, ready to hunt, but this was Grantaire for whatever sake there was, and attacking him was out of the question.
"Excuse me.. I'll be right back, I just.. hate blood, so I need some air." He made his way outside, to take a few deep breaths of the night air, closed his eyes to calm down.
"I'm fine, Apollo, don't worry. It happens all the time."
He noticed the tension in Enjolras' body, and had to suppress a shudder, though he couldn't be sure why. It was just Enjolras, right? No need to worry. And when Enjolras said that he didn't like the sight of blood, he could almost make himself relax.
With Enjolras stepping outside, Grantaire hurried to the bathroom to find a bandage to cover the wound and stop the bleeding. He scrubbed his skin clean and returned to the kitchen to clean up the glass and the blood in the sink. Why did he feel so on edge? Why did it seem like every instinct in his body was telling him to run? Enjolras was his friend, Enjolras would never harm him...
Why was he even considering that Enjolras might harm him?
When the blood was cleaned up, Enjolras returned inside, sat on the couch. "Are you sure you're okay?" He asked, keeping a distance, his breath shallow, slow, and long in between.
It wasn't the sight, it was the scent, but that was hard to explain.
"Can I ask you something..?" He wanted to confess, but that'd send Grantaire into panic, no doubt. He'd just ask, a question in passing, and not about vampires.
"You should go to bed by the way.."
"I'm fine, Apollo. Really."
He made sure all the glass was cleaned up in the kitchen, then made his way back to the living room, preparing to wish Enjolras goodnight. But Enjolras spoke first and Grantaire stopped in his tracks.
"Uhm... sure? Ask away. Just nothing too complicated. I'm a bit too tired for discussions about your next research paper."
He gave Enjolras a small smile, trying to convey a little of his typical teasing, to make this exchange feel a little more normal.
"But seriously, yeah, you can ask me anything."
[ hospital ] sender wakes up in a hospital bed and finds receiver sitting by their bedside (From Grantaire for Enjolras @t0daysgoneby)
Enjolras was exhausted. He hadn't moved from the side of Grantaire's hospital bed in days, not once since he had been brought there. Whispered apologies, gentle caresses, the constant pressure of Grantaire's hand in his, it was all he could do to keep himself grounded. He had to be strong.
Grantaire needed him to be strong.
After all, it was all his fault.
Grantaire had warned him that people were going to get hurt, and he hadn't listened. And now Grantaire was here, and Enjolras felt overwhelmed with the guilt of it.
So he'd whispered apologies, pleas for Grantaire to wake up, to squeeze his hand, anything to show that he could hear him. But no signs had been forthcoming.
He'd finally allowed himself to rest his eyes by the time Grantaire began to stir, asleep in his chair, bent over to rest his head on the edge of the bed, Grantaire's hand still clasped in his own.
Yes. Grantaire was here. Grantaire was alive. That was what mattered. And yet Enjolras still felt as if the guilt could swallow him whole.
"You told me this would happen... You told me people would get hurt... I just never stopped to think that those people wouldn't be me..."
His grip tightened on Grantaire's hand again, no longer sobbing, but bowing his head to hide his silent tears.
"I'm not going anywhere, so long as you permit me to stay. But I'll call the nurse for you, I don't want you to be in pain. Shit, R, they took a shot at me, and you...!"
"I did, but I'm just glad it's not you. Honestly." Grantaire said, and winced. "Apollo. You are safe, that matters." He said, closed his eyes, tightly.
"I'll admit, it hurts like hell, but it'll pass." He stated, absentmindedly searching for the call button, with his eyes closed, failing miserably.
"I want you to stay. You're here, and... I want you here."
"Hush now, Grantaire. Rest. I'll stay with you."
Enjolras pressed the call button, urged Grantaire to lie still. He kept the other man's hand clasped tightly in his own, pressed his forehead to them in a silent plea for forgiveness.
"You shouldn't sacrifice yourself so easily..." he finally whispered. "My life does not matter any more than yours, so you should have let fate take its course..."
(taken): sender is taken prisoner by receiver on their ship at sea after a shipwreck.
(@t0daysgoneby , Grantaire)
"Well. What have we here?"
Enjolras crouched over the unconscious young man that they'd fished from the water. He was rugged, handsome, somewhat familiar.
And valuable to their cause.
"The young princeling..." he mused, as his crew busied about them. "What were you doing alone out here, in these dangerous waters? Haven't you heard of the pirate scourge?"
Not that Enjolras would ever hurt him; that wasn't his aim. But if he could obtain pardons for his crew, ransom money to distribute to the poor, some kind of reward for the safe return of the king's son, he'd be a fool not to take it.
"Have him moved to the bed in my cabin," he told Combeferre, his first mate and closest friend. "He may be our prisoner, but I will not see him treated poorly. I want Joly to make sure he is in good health, and I want him comfortable."
"So you have heard of me," Enjolras mused. "That is good, I suppose. I want the king to know that I am feeding his people where he is failing."
He risked a glance over his shoulder and, seeing Grantaire changed into his dry clothes, allowed himself to turn back around.
"Please do not misunderstand; we are indeed pirates by the definition of the law, but we mean no harm to anyone. We take gold from those who can afford it, and distribute it to those in need. We do not aim to take lives, though we will if it is necessary. We fight for justice and liberty, no matter what the cost."
He returned to his seat, watching the prince with a curious eye.
"You wish to be of use here? On the ship of your captors? That is a strange request. Tell me, princeling, what were you doing all alone in these perilous waters?"
"Everyone has heard of you. Myself included." Grantaire said, watched him. "The king has little love for you, and if you were expecting bounty for my safe return, you will find, he cares not for me." The king cared about forming alliances, and Grantaire was just a pawn.
"As I said, I have sailed. I have sailed plenty. I was on that ship on the way back home, where my future bride awaits. I am supposed to choose one." Grantaire explained.
"What do you say, captain?"
Enjolras sat, watching the prince with quiet contemplation for a few moments. He was certainly not what the captain had expected; far from a privileged royal brat, and more like a young man searching for freedom.
"And I assume you have no desire to choose a bride? Why else offer your services to a pirate such as me? Especially when you know the dangers. If this ship were to be taken, every last person on board would find themselves at the end of a rope."
He leaned forward, surveyed Grantaire with a keen eye. He seemed strong enough, and willing to be put to the test. He didn't have the air of a traitor about him either; his eyes seemed honest, not guarded.
"Well, I suppose we could find some use for you, if you still desire it. What do you propose?"
You've been crying, I can tell (from Enjolras)
Grantaire sighed, quickly rubbed his eyes with the back of his hand. "It's nothing, Apollo." And yet, there was that little tremble to his voice that gave away that, yes, something was wrong, but he pushed it down, slouched, sat down on the very edge of the couch, eyes fixed down on a spot on the floor.
He let his eyes close, retreated back into the safety of his own head, which was also a place he could get lost in.
It'd be so easy to just... stay that way. Part of him wanted to, the other part of him wanted comfort. He opened his eyes, before changing his pose, knees pulled up against his chest, closed his eyes tightly.
"Leave me alone.." But don't. He thought in the same moment.
Enjolras sighed softly.
"I'm sorry, R... I tried, I really did, but I should have known that... Well, it doesn't matter. How do you feel about macaroni cheese? It's a good comfort food, right? Or... I don't know... spaghetti meatballs...?"
God, he was so bad at this. The absolute worst. No wonder Grantaire was trying to get rid of him.
"Yeah, ok, I'll find it. I won't be long, ok? Just... try to relax? Yeah, try to... relax..."
He pulled his coat tightly around his shoulders and disappeared into the cold, dark night.
"Spaghetti." Grantaire stated, preferring it massively compared to macaroni cheese. And likely needing protein as well. He nodded, closed his eyes, curled up on the couch. "I'm not going anywhere." He would likely end up calling him anyway, just to know he wasn't alone. Just to hear someone's voice.
He laid on the couch, allowed his eyes to close, exhaustion catching up.
By the time Enjolras returned, somehow having gotten himself lost in the dark, he was soaked through and shivering, feeling as if he was chilled to the bone. Stormy weather had rolled in; violent winds combined with ice cold rain had left Enjolras fighting against the elements as well as the darkness. But he was clutching his bag of Italian food and he proudly dropped it on the counter, still hot if the steam coming from it was anything to go by.
"S-Spaghetti m-meatballs," he smiled, teeth chattering. "I-I got some g-garlic bread too, if you w-want it."
[ bullet ] sender takes a bullet for receiver enj to r because HA
(How mean 😞)
Time seemed to slow down for Grantaire. One moment, he was caught up in the rally, fighting his way forward as the police forced them back. He'd been looking for his friends in the crowd, looking for him, looking to make sure he was safe. Then he'd burst through, he was free from the stifling heat and the noise and the sweat and he could breathe freely. He could see the police, the line of shields, the blue sky. They were shouting something, but his brain was buzzing, he couldn't hear. He could see, though, could see them raise their weapons. He'd stumbled back, but he still couldn't see the person he'd needed to see the most.
Then, cutting through the buzzing, his name, a voice so frightened and panicked that Grantaire couldn't help but turn his head towards it.
A violent shove, and he'd been on the ground, the weight of another person on top of him, the whole world frozen in that one moment where he recognised the shock of golden hair.
"Enjolras!"
And the world sped up again, loud and angry and cruel, as he carefully moved Enjolras out of the way, somewhere quiet where he could check his wounds.
"Shit, Enjolras, what have you done?!"
It was meant to be a peaceful rally. It was ALWAYS meant to be peaceful, but somehow, it rarely ended up that way. He looked around, trying to set his eyes on everyone as things began to get chaotic, just in time to see the police raise their weapons, as Grantaire stood, exposed, in front of them.
He had complicated feelings about Grantaire. To a point, he couldn't stand him, but at the same time, there was something about him that made him irresistible... inevitable, almost. He didn't understand it, but he most certainly wasn't going to stand by and let this happen. He yelled through the chaos, but knew his voice was lost. Without thought, he leaot forward, sprinting, until he was close... so close... he pushed Grantaire out of the way, just in time to be shot himself. He didn't cry out, but he collapsed heavily to the ground, shaking.
He was of no help as he was moved to the side, shaking and in pain as he looked up at Grantaire. He put pressure on his side and gave a cry of pain. He rolled his eyes. "W-well, I could hardly let them shoot you, could I?" He didn't give anymore explanation than that. He grimaced in pain and struggled to breathe evenly, his breath quickening in panic and pain.
"You bloody well should have!" Grantaire protested, running a hand through his hair as he tried to swallow down the fear and the panic that threatened to overwhelm him. "Better me than you! Fucking hell, Apollo!"
He knelt by Enjolras' side, gently moved his hand away so that he could see the wound. Shit, it was bleeding a lot... He pulled his shirt over his head and pressed it against the wound to staunch the flow of blood.
"Hold this here, ok? I'm going to call for an ambulance. There must be one nearby, with all this going on..."
❝ you have to invite me in. ❞ (@revoluutionaryenjolras)
"Enjolras...?"
Grantaire rubbed his eyes, roused from sleep by the light knock on his door in the early hours of the morning.
"What are you doing here? Is everything alright?"
He yawned, stretched, muscles of his bare torso tensing as he did so.
"Shit, whatever, come in. Do you have any idea what fucking time it is?"
When Enjolras smiled, Grantaire felt his breath catch in his throat. He could have sworn he'd seen, glinting in the moonlight...
He shook his head, busying himself with making up the couch. He was seeing things; a trick of the light, the tiredness clawing at his brain. Of course Enjolras didn't have... The very thought was insane! He obviously needed to get himself back to bed, and soon.
Once the couch was ready for sleeping on, Grantaire took the glass from Enjolras, taking it to the sink to wash it. But he was tired and he was shaken and the soap was slippery against the wet glass. He dropped it and it smashed, and Grantaire was left with a deep cut on the pad of his thumb.
He cursed, lifting the injured digit to his lips, almost instinctively. He winced at the taste of copper on his tongue.
"Shit. I need to go get a bandage or something. Just... make yourself at home, I guess."
Enjolras smelled it before he even lifted the finger up. Fuck. Everything in his instincts screamed at him to hunt Grantaire down, to just taste. But that was exactly what he wouldn't do. Shouldn't do. The human thing would be to just get a bandage.
"Uh.. are you okay?" He asked, through gritted teeth, turned away, every muscle in his body tense, ready to hunt, but this was Grantaire for whatever sake there was, and attacking him was out of the question.
"Excuse me.. I'll be right back, I just.. hate blood, so I need some air." He made his way outside, to take a few deep breaths of the night air, closed his eyes to calm down.
"I'm fine, Apollo, don't worry. It happens all the time."
He noticed the tension in Enjolras' body, and had to suppress a shudder, though he couldn't be sure why. It was just Enjolras, right? No need to worry. And when Enjolras said that he didn't like the sight of blood, he could almost make himself relax.
With Enjolras stepping outside, Grantaire hurried to the bathroom to find a bandage to cover the wound and stop the bleeding. He scrubbed his skin clean and returned to the kitchen to clean up the glass and the blood in the sink. Why did he feel so on edge? Why did it seem like every instinct in his body was telling him to run? Enjolras was his friend, Enjolras would never harm him...
Why was he even considering that Enjolras might harm him?
(taken): sender is taken prisoner by receiver on their ship at sea after a shipwreck.
(@t0daysgoneby , Grantaire)
"Well. What have we here?"
Enjolras crouched over the unconscious young man that they'd fished from the water. He was rugged, handsome, somewhat familiar.
And valuable to their cause.
"The young princeling..." he mused, as his crew busied about them. "What were you doing alone out here, in these dangerous waters? Haven't you heard of the pirate scourge?"
Not that Enjolras would ever hurt him; that wasn't his aim. But if he could obtain pardons for his crew, ransom money to distribute to the poor, some kind of reward for the safe return of the king's son, he'd be a fool not to take it.
"Have him moved to the bed in my cabin," he told Combeferre, his first mate and closest friend. "He may be our prisoner, but I will not see him treated poorly. I want Joly to make sure he is in good health, and I want him comfortable."
"So you have heard of me," Enjolras mused. "That is good, I suppose. I want the king to know that I am feeding his people where he is failing."
He risked a glance over his shoulder and, seeing Grantaire changed into his dry clothes, allowed himself to turn back around.
"Please do not misunderstand; we are indeed pirates by the definition of the law, but we mean no harm to anyone. We take gold from those who can afford it, and distribute it to those in need. We do not aim to take lives, though we will if it is necessary. We fight for justice and liberty, no matter what the cost."
He returned to his seat, watching the prince with a curious eye.
"You wish to be of use here? On the ship of your captors? That is a strange request. Tell me, princeling, what were you doing all alone in these perilous waters?"
❝ you have to invite me in. ❞ (@revoluutionaryenjolras)
"Enjolras...?"
Grantaire rubbed his eyes, roused from sleep by the light knock on his door in the early hours of the morning.
"What are you doing here? Is everything alright?"
He yawned, stretched, muscles of his bare torso tensing as he did so.
"Shit, whatever, come in. Do you have any idea what fucking time it is?"
When Enjolras smiled, Grantaire felt his breath catch in his throat. He could have sworn he'd seen, glinting in the moonlight...
He shook his head, busying himself with making up the couch. He was seeing things; a trick of the light, the tiredness clawing at his brain. Of course Enjolras didn't have... The very thought was insane! He obviously needed to get himself back to bed, and soon.
Once the couch was ready for sleeping on, Grantaire took the glass from Enjolras, taking it to the sink to wash it. But he was tired and he was shaken and the soap was slippery against the wet glass. He dropped it and it smashed, and Grantaire was left with a deep cut on the pad of his thumb.
He cursed, lifting the injured digit to his lips, almost instinctively. He winced at the taste of copper on his tongue.
"Shit. I need to go get a bandage or something. Just... make yourself at home, I guess."
(taken): sender is taken prisoner by receiver on their ship at sea after a shipwreck.
(@t0daysgoneby , Grantaire)
"Well. What have we here?"
Enjolras crouched over the unconscious young man that they'd fished from the water. He was rugged, handsome, somewhat familiar.
And valuable to their cause.
"The young princeling..." he mused, as his crew busied about them. "What were you doing alone out here, in these dangerous waters? Haven't you heard of the pirate scourge?"
Not that Enjolras would ever hurt him; that wasn't his aim. But if he could obtain pardons for his crew, ransom money to distribute to the poor, some kind of reward for the safe return of the king's son, he'd be a fool not to take it.
"Have him moved to the bed in my cabin," he told Combeferre, his first mate and closest friend. "He may be our prisoner, but I will not see him treated poorly. I want Joly to make sure he is in good health, and I want him comfortable."
Grantaire stirred to life moments after he had been moved to the bed. Coughing slightly, he made the attempt to sit up. This was not the ship he had left behind. His head hurt, but nothing appeared broken, as far as he could tell. This was a cabin, not some below deck crew quarter, nor a doctor's quarters.
Some ship had taken him in. The question remained. Who owned it?
"Hello?" He asked, his heart pounding in his chest.
"Hello, princeling."
Enjolras was sat in the shadows of the cabin, which was warm and spacious, the bed draped in red velvet. His elbows rested on his knees, hands steepled under his chin, as he pensively watched the other man.
"How are you feeling? I hope your little dip in the sea hasn't left you feeling too many ill effects. I have sent for the ship's doctor to come and check you over."
"Who are you?" Grantaire asked, coughed again. The cabin was warm, which was welcomed, and yet, he shivered, in soaked clothes, chilled to the bone. "I am alright." Breathing hurt, but he would not tell the other that information, he coughed again.
"It has not, but I would like to know what you have for reasons for this? The doctor, that is. I am no prince." A lie, but Grantaire would try it none the less.
"My name is Enjolras. Perhaps it is known to you, princeling."
Enjolras stood then, and lifted a pile of dry clothes from where he'd left them warming by the fire.
"I apologise that you are still in your wet garments, but it didn't seem appropriate to rectify that while you were still asleep."
He handed the clothes to Grantaire and turned his back.
"I will trust you to be chivalrous and not attack an unarmed man from behind. And I will warn you that upon the slightest sign of distress, my crew will come running. I trust we have an understanding."
He walked across the cabin a couple of paces, his eyes carefully averted from his captive, and lifted down a large, heavy book from one of his shelves. He scanned it, and, with a satisfied nod, returned it to its place.
"I would not see you catch a chill, or otherwise become unwell. That is why the doctor will come to see you, as a precautionary measure. As for who you are, please do not lie to me. Your face is well known to all in this kingdom."
You've been crying, I can tell (from Enjolras)
Grantaire sighed, quickly rubbed his eyes with the back of his hand. "It's nothing, Apollo." And yet, there was that little tremble to his voice that gave away that, yes, something was wrong, but he pushed it down, slouched, sat down on the very edge of the couch, eyes fixed down on a spot on the floor.
He let his eyes close, retreated back into the safety of his own head, which was also a place he could get lost in.
It'd be so easy to just... stay that way. Part of him wanted to, the other part of him wanted comfort. He opened his eyes, before changing his pose, knees pulled up against his chest, closed his eyes tightly.
"Leave me alone.." But don't. He thought in the same moment.
Enjolras sighed softly.
"I'm sorry, R... I tried, I really did, but I should have known that... Well, it doesn't matter. How do you feel about macaroni cheese? It's a good comfort food, right? Or... I don't know... spaghetti meatballs...?"
God, he was so bad at this. The absolute worst. No wonder Grantaire was trying to get rid of him.
"Yeah, ok, I'll find it. I won't be long, ok? Just... try to relax? Yeah, try to... relax..."
He pulled his coat tightly around his shoulders and disappeared into the cold, dark night.
❝ you have to invite me in. ❞ (@revoluutionaryenjolras)
"Enjolras...?"
Grantaire rubbed his eyes, roused from sleep by the light knock on his door in the early hours of the morning.
"What are you doing here? Is everything alright?"
He yawned, stretched, muscles of his bare torso tensing as he did so.
"Shit, whatever, come in. Do you have any idea what fucking time it is?"
"Everything is alright, I just.. I know it's late, but, I was wondering if I could stay here tonight?" Enjolras kept the details to a minimum, not giving away why. The sun was coming up, and that alone was reason enough. He deliberately didn't look at the, tempting, exposed skin, swallowed a few times to not give in to it.
"It's... 4 am, and I'm sorry, but I just had to come here." His pose was easy, surprisingly relaxed, as he walked in, closed the door behind him. "Thanks, I appreciate this. Won't forget it." As if he'd ever forget anything. His memory was flawless, everything crystal clear.
"I can explain in the morning."
"What the fuck were you doing wandering the streets at 4am?" Grantaire grumbled, mostly to himself, as he locked the door behind them, stifling another yawn. "Don't you know how dangerous that is?"
Blinking a few times, making a stop by the kitchen sink to splash water on his face, he tried to wake himself up.
"Give me a minute to make up the couch so you can rest. Sorry, I only have one bed. I mean, if the couch is really uncomfortable, you can have the bed and I'll sleep on the couch. Whatever."
Why was he offering this? It wasn't his fault that Enjolras had shown up unannounced at 4am and practically demanded a place to sleep. He was lucky Grantaire had let him in at all, so why would Grantaire go so far as to offer him his bed?
Of course, he knew why, knew he would never subject Enjolras to any discomfort that he could prevent, but at least in his sleep addled state, he could pretend to deny it.
"Can I get you anything while you wait?"
Enjolras almost laughed, but bit his tongue for a moment. "Depends on where you're going." He shrugged, took a seat on the couch. "It'll be fine, R. I'll move out of the way, and you don't have to make it, I can do that. The couch is fine. You can keep your bed." He said, smiled, without showing teeth, just for now. The couch would serve his needs fine. "I'm good, but water? If you insist." Just to rinse off any, potentially, lingering remains of the meal he had had.
"You can just show me where you keep the bed stuff, and I'll fix it for myself. Go to bed, R." He said, yawned, mostly for good measure, even if he did have the ability to sleep, he wouldn't need to right now, with fresh blood in his body.
Grantaire went to the kitchen and filled up a glass with cold water from the tap, which he brought back to hand to Enjolras.
"Come on, don't make me feel like a terrible host," he mumbled, going into the hall closet to fetch some linens and a warm blanket. "You must be freezing! Did you seriously go walking in the middle of the night without a jacket?"
He put the bundle of linens on the arm of the couch and yawned again, rubbing the back of his neck.
"Really, Apollo, you need to look after yourself better."
(taken): sender is taken prisoner by receiver on their ship at sea after a shipwreck.
(@t0daysgoneby , Grantaire)
"Well. What have we here?"
Enjolras crouched over the unconscious young man that they'd fished from the water. He was rugged, handsome, somewhat familiar.
And valuable to their cause.
"The young princeling..." he mused, as his crew busied about them. "What were you doing alone out here, in these dangerous waters? Haven't you heard of the pirate scourge?"
Not that Enjolras would ever hurt him; that wasn't his aim. But if he could obtain pardons for his crew, ransom money to distribute to the poor, some kind of reward for the safe return of the king's son, he'd be a fool not to take it.
"Have him moved to the bed in my cabin," he told Combeferre, his first mate and closest friend. "He may be our prisoner, but I will not see him treated poorly. I want Joly to make sure he is in good health, and I want him comfortable."
Grantaire stirred to life moments after he had been moved to the bed. Coughing slightly, he made the attempt to sit up. This was not the ship he had left behind. His head hurt, but nothing appeared broken, as far as he could tell. This was a cabin, not some below deck crew quarter, nor a doctor's quarters.
Some ship had taken him in. The question remained. Who owned it?
"Hello?" He asked, his heart pounding in his chest.
"Hello, princeling."
Enjolras was sat in the shadows of the cabin, which was warm and spacious, the bed draped in red velvet. His elbows rested on his knees, hands steepled under his chin, as he pensively watched the other man.
"How are you feeling? I hope your little dip in the sea hasn't left you feeling too many ill effects. I have sent for the ship's doctor to come and check you over."
❝ you have to invite me in. ❞ (@revoluutionaryenjolras)
"Enjolras...?"
Grantaire rubbed his eyes, roused from sleep by the light knock on his door in the early hours of the morning.
"What are you doing here? Is everything alright?"
He yawned, stretched, muscles of his bare torso tensing as he did so.
"Shit, whatever, come in. Do you have any idea what fucking time it is?"
"Everything is alright, I just.. I know it's late, but, I was wondering if I could stay here tonight?" Enjolras kept the details to a minimum, not giving away why. The sun was coming up, and that alone was reason enough. He deliberately didn't look at the, tempting, exposed skin, swallowed a few times to not give in to it.
"It's... 4 am, and I'm sorry, but I just had to come here." His pose was easy, surprisingly relaxed, as he walked in, closed the door behind him. "Thanks, I appreciate this. Won't forget it." As if he'd ever forget anything. His memory was flawless, everything crystal clear.
"I can explain in the morning."
"What the fuck were you doing wandering the streets at 4am?" Grantaire grumbled, mostly to himself, as he locked the door behind them, stifling another yawn. "Don't you know how dangerous that is?"
Blinking a few times, making a stop by the kitchen sink to splash water on his face, he tried to wake himself up.
"Give me a minute to make up the couch so you can rest. Sorry, I only have one bed. I mean, if the couch is really uncomfortable, you can have the bed and I'll sleep on the couch. Whatever."
Why was he offering this? It wasn't his fault that Enjolras had shown up unannounced at 4am and practically demanded a place to sleep. He was lucky Grantaire had let him in at all, so why would Grantaire go so far as to offer him his bed?
Of course, he knew why, knew he would never subject Enjolras to any discomfort that he could prevent, but at least in his sleep addled state, he could pretend to deny it.
"Can I get you anything while you wait?"
You've been crying, I can tell (from Enjolras)
Grantaire sighed, quickly rubbed his eyes with the back of his hand. "It's nothing, Apollo." And yet, there was that little tremble to his voice that gave away that, yes, something was wrong, but he pushed it down, slouched, sat down on the very edge of the couch, eyes fixed down on a spot on the floor.
He let his eyes close, retreated back into the safety of his own head, which was also a place he could get lost in.
It'd be so easy to just... stay that way. Part of him wanted to, the other part of him wanted comfort. He opened his eyes, before changing his pose, knees pulled up against his chest, closed his eyes tightly.
"Leave me alone.." But don't. He thought in the same moment.
Enjolras slowly guided him to his feet, holding his hand ever so gently, leaving him the option to pull away if he wanted to.
"I am far from perfect, Grantaire. You seem to think so highly of me, when I am just human, like everyone else. You haven't seen me the week before exams, where I forget to eat or sleep. You haven't seen me in the pits of despair when doubt starts to creep in, but I know I can never show it..."
Why was he admitting this, to Grantaire of all people? His weakness was something that he'd sworn never to show. He had to be brave, had to be strong. If not, how could he ever inspire confidence in his friends, never mind the people. Yet, here he was, telling Grantaire how he doubted, how he was afraid. Maybe it was the feeling of a kindred spirit, of someone who just might understand.
"If you need somewhere to stay, you would be more than welcome to take the spare room at my apartment. It might be a little crowded, with Courf and Ferre and I, but you would have your own space and you wouldn't need to worry about landlords."
Practical advice, at least he could offer that. What good would platitudes be regarding his job, or empty promises of another coming up soon? He could do very little about that, but at least he could offer a stable home.
"Yes, might. I don't want to promise that it will, because I have no way of knowing that, but it might, and that's better than nothing."
He guided Grantaire through to the bathroom and, after some searching, found half a bottle of shampoo and some soap.
"Do you need help or would you like me to wait outside?"
"Still makes you way more perfect than I am. You're a better person. You care. Me.. I don't care at all." Grantaire said, allowed himself to be pulled up, the gentleness being almost worse than being yelled at. Or ordered to do this or that.
"You doubt? I thought you had enough faith for everyone on the planet." He probably looked shocked, at that revelation, but what came next was worse. "You... want me to move in? With you?" It was a bit of a lifeline, thrown out to someone who was drowning, and he found himself kind of wanting to accept it. "Would.. would they be okay with that? I mean I... haven't really checked the eviction notice, but I'm pretty sure it's sooner rather than later. Fell behind on rent, and it's all just a mess."
"Wait outside. I'm not uncapable, just really unmotivated." He took the soap, and shampoo, stuff he hadn't even known he had, pulled the shirt off, without a second thought, turned to look in the mirror.
"Should probably shave and all that crap too, but I really don't feel like it." He turned, leaving the bathroom, disappeared into his bedroom and returned with some clean clothes.
"I can't even remember when I changed my clothes last.. or slept a full night without 'help'." Or ate a full meal for that matter. It probably showed too. Definitely showed.
"I get the feeling you care way more than you like to admit," Enjolras sighed. "And I am certainly no better a person than anyone else. As I say, I have flaws, I have doubts, I have fears. I'm just too proud to admit them. The facade I maintain is important to the Cause, and I can't afford to let it slip, even for a moment..."
He ran his free hand through his golden curls, a nervous habit of his, and let out an almost imperceptible sigh.
"The three of us would always be happy to house a friend in need. And you are good company. The room is yours if you want it."
Enjolras stepped out of the bathroom, returning to his perch on the couch. He watched, satisfied, as Grantaire fetched clean clothes and went back into the bathroom to shower. Then it occurred to him how tired Grantaire looked, and how thin he'd gotten. Without another thought, he stood, rummaging through the cupboards to see what he could find. Managing to scrounge up some pasta and some sauce, he set a pot of water to boil on the stove. Surely pasta couldn't be too difficult? He'd never been good in the kitchen, despite Combeferre's efforts to teach him, but he could make a decent soup, and pasta had always seemed quite simple.
So he waited until the water came to a boil, added some salt as he'd seen Combeferre do, and dropped the pasta in, hissing as some of the boiling water splashed over his hand.
"Shit!"
"I used to. Not anymore." Grantaire shrugged, indifferent to it all, past caring. He'd have to take Enjolras up on the offer, no matter how reluctant he was to do that, and how much he really didn't want to intrude.
"Good company.. yeah, obviously. Perfect company." He muttered, before making his way to turn on the shower, closed the bathroom door and took a long shower, if not putting too much of an effort into it, just the bare minimum. He dressed, in a faded, paintstained T-shirt and some sweatpants, then left the bathroom. Was something cooking..? No, he was pretty sure he had nothing that could be cooked. Nothing that didn't require an effort, anyway.
"What are you doing?" He asked, saw the pot, and understood.
"You don't have to cook for me, I'm not hungry.." He stared down at his feet, touched by the kindness, even though he refused to admit to that.
"You care a lot about your friends."
You care about me...
And Enjolras, deep down, knew that to be true, even if he found it difficult to accept. He knew Grantaire cared about him, little as he may have deserved it, but now wasn't the time to bring that up. Grantaire needed help, practical help, and Enjolras couldn't let the confusion of his feelings get in the way of that.
So by the time Grantaire emerged from the bathroom, he had his hand wrapped clumsily in a towel, ignoring the persistent sting - why wouldn't it stop stinging? - and was dishing out the pasta, now mixed in with some slightly burnt sauce.
"What does it look like I'm doing?" he retorted, unable to quite stop himself, before turning to Grantaire with an apologetic smile. "I'm afraid it might not be very good. Sorry about that. If it's really terrible, I can order something instead."
He brought the two plates over to the table, then a jug of water and some cutlery.
"Grantaire, when was the last time you ate?" he asked gently, sadly, at Grantaire's protest. "Please, at least try to eat a little...?"
Grantaire watched him. "If you burnt yourself, turn on the tap, cold. Trust me, it helps." He said, watched whatever culinary, burnt, by the smell of it, dish Enjolras had prepared.
"No I see what you're doing, but why? I don't get it.. I.." Reluctant, he sat down, mostly picking at it.
I even like pasta..
Well, used to. These days, he wasn't much of an eater, and it all boiled down to worrying about everything.
"You've got a more gentle approach than.. Éponine does. She'd have forced me to take a bite of it. She's out of town." But she'd secretly have ordered his all time favorite takeout behind his back, the kind she knew that even during one of his lows, he wouldn't be able to resist. It was also, in a way, advice. Don't coddle.
"If you're in the mood for takeout, there's a pretty good place down the street.. They have good pasta.." There it was. The 'you' instead of 'we'. Deliberately leaving himself out of the equation/meal plan, even if the suggestion was to one of his favorite places.
"Uh.. I don't know.. a week? Two?" Truth was, the days blurred into one whenever this happened, and he didn't even know what day it was. "What day is it, anyway?" He picked at the pasta, thinking about just how rude it'd be to push the plate away untouched. How the sight still, regardless of that is was burnt made his mouth water, and the ignored rumble of his stomach made a return, loudly.
Enjolras moved to the sink, hissing softly as the cold water poured on his burnt skin. But he had to admit, it was soothing. The water brought a welcome coolness and a relief to the stinging sensation, so he persevered. And as he stood with his hand under the tap, he watched Grantaire, who was picking at his food with barely disguised reluctance.
"It's awful, isn't it? I'm sorry, R. Just give me a minute until my hand stops hurting and I'll go to that pasta place and get you something that you'll actually like, and then you can eat."
Enjolras closed his eyes then, silently berating himself. How could he possibly have thought that this would help Grantaire in any way? Of course his mediocre attempts in the kitchen wouldn't coax the other man to eat. But he would get him something good, and maybe that would help a little better.
"It's Thursday..." he murmured softly, carefully drying off his hand and fetching his coat. "I won't be long, ok?"
