Chapter Text
They met on New Year’s Eve at a party that a friend of a friend of a friend threw.
(The only reason that Grantaire even went was because Jehan had begged her to come with her so she wouldn’t be alone and then she’d fucked off five minutes after they arrived when she saw someone she knew from class and left Grantaire by herself.
Not that Grantaire minded.
It just meant that the bar was going to be her friend for the night.)
She remembered seeing her across the room, the blonde divinity standing in the midst of revelry. She was wearing a short, black dress and her blonde curls were tousled artfully as they flowed past her shoulders. Her make-up was light and practically nonexistent. She was a golden beauty exuding a strange sense of authority; she stood out in the sea of smiling faces.
She was the only person Grantaire noticed for the night.
The only person worth noticing.
And while her exquisiteness was noteworthy, she stood out in more ways than one.
For the most part she looked miserable, which was something Grantaire thought was impossible when Icona Pop was playing. Strobe lights of every colour were flashing around her and she looked like she wanted to singlehandedly dismantle the lighting system herself.
When she walked over to the bar Grantaire was sitting at, she didn’t walk. She stomped. And for some bizarre reason Grantaire found it endearing. It’s what made her want to walk up to her in the first place. She’s always had a thing for the unapproachable.
Grantaire supposed that with all her tattoos and piercings, she looked a bit unapproachable too. She wore her hair long, although she often got irritated with it and cut it short only to grow it out again; she preferred it past her shoulders like it was tonight. She was wearing a black crop top and black denim jeans. Cloaking herself in black with red lips was typical for her, she liked it when most of her tattoos and piercings were visible, slight pudginess be damned.
Grantaire was aware of how she looked. Her nose was crooked, her teeth were always stained with wine, she was in that awkward place between not that short and not that tall and she was only just starting to get her abs back by getting out of her slump of inactivity.
She distracted from all of it with her tattoos and piercing, with her cleavage, her bright lipstick and her wild, black hair. On her best day she looked “okay” and on her worst day she looked like a homeless person. It was something she’d accepted a long time ago. In fact she thought she made up for it with her A+ personality- that is at least until you got to know her well enough- and her charm. So she wasn’t feeling that self conscious when she saddled up next to the beautiful woman and smiled at her.
However when the girl glared at her for daring to sit down, she decided to cut her losses and leave while she still had her pride.
Something flashed across the yellow haired goddess’ face when she stood up too quick for Grantaire to decipher and she grabbed her arm and stopped her from walking away.
“Ugh wait I’m sorry.” She sighed releasing her arm. “I’m just not really one for parties. It’s a free country.” She gestured to the seat Grantaire had just risen from. The girl obviously had no sense of what social niceties were necessary at clubs because she was being way too open for this kind of scene. It was another thing Grantaire found endearing.
Grantaire considered sitting down again when the woman glanced at the two girls who were aggressively making out next to them and wrinkled her nose at the display. She pointed at one of the girls (or both of them who could tell from that tangle of limbs?), her voice acerbic,
“That’s my friend. She’s the one who dragged me here actually. I’m assuming that her resolution this year is to get an STD. Do you want to say hi?”
“No I think I’ll leave them to it.” Grantaire replied taking her seat again. She was far more amused than her companion was it seemed, and far more sympathetic.
She’d been one of those girls more times than she could count, halfway close to fucking some nameless person on a barstool. She could empathize. “They look like they’re having fun at least.”
“Yes well, the entire point of me being here tonight was because my friends think I need to have more fun.” She stirred her barely touched drink with a droll air.
The room was smoky and dark. Lights were flashing and the music was loud, albeit less loud from where they were sitting. Everything about this club looked like the place to have fun really and Grantaire said as much.
“Do I look like the life of the party then?”
“’Course you do. I’m pretty sure you’re about five seconds away from serving at the altar of some wine goddess of revelry or the other. Let us drink and be merry and sing...”
“I’ve never been a fan of drinking.” The girl looked arched a perfectly sculpted eyebrow at her.
“Well we’re worlds apart then?” Grantaire shrugged.
“I’m Enjolras.” She said giving her a short nod.
“Grantaire.” She replied since they were obviously foregoing first names.
(Grantaire had referred to herself by her last name for as long as she could remember in any case. She never did like her own name.)
“What do you do then, if not drink?”
“I’m in grad school. I’m studying law. Most of my spare time I spend studying or in this club that I’m in. It’s a social justice type thing.” Enjolras replied and for some reason she sounded stilted and awkward as she said that, but Grantaire really didn’t know her well enough to ask why. “What about you?”
“I’m a tattooist.” Grantaire smirked gesturing at the ridiculous amount of tattoos on her body that were visible. “I did most of these actually.”
“They’re lovely.” Enjolras replied diplomatically and Grantaire chuckled.
“Yeah you don’t look like the type to have ink.”
“I’ve always wanted a tattoo actually. I keep saying I’d get one eventually but I just never actually got around to it. My friends say it’s because I’m no fun.” Enjolras rolled her eyes at that. “They’re really obsessed with that word I think.”
“Aw and here I had taken you for Venus, but perhaps I should take that back. I’ll call you Athena then, a fair haired Minerva. You’ll be the patroness of wisdom and inspiration tonight; the goddess of justice and intelligence.”
Enjolras looked shocked, like she didn’t know whether she wanted to laugh or to walk away from her and well, Grantaire certainly did have that effect. Eventually she just settled on asking- “Okay then. If I’m Athena, then who are you?”
“Ah I am Eris of course; goddess of discord.” Grantaire smiled into her drink before draining it completely. Enjolras obviously wasn’t expecting an answer because a startled laugh burst from her lips. “Or Amphictyonis; goddess of wine and friendship...or no. Maybe I’m not a goddess. No if anything, in a past life, I was a devout worshiper of Bacchus. I bent my knees to Dionysus and revelled in wine and debauchery.”
“Does this usually work for you?” Enjolras asked after a moment, when Grantaire had gotten another beer, and she didn’t look irritated just amused. “The whole mythology shtick.”
Truthfully Grantaire had never actually taken to waxing lyrical with random people at bars, but she wasn’t about to tell Enjolras that. She just shrugged noncommittally.
Enjolras was about to speak when she glanced left and noticed that her friend had gone off. She looked at the empty seat where her friend had disappeared and sighed. “I should go find her. I’m her ride.”
“Yes well I’m sure she’s having a ride somewhere.” Grantaire mumbled into her drink.
Enjolras’ cheeks had turned bright red and Grantaire almost felt bad but she was inappropriate to the core so that didn’t stop her from saying- “You know how sex works right? I mean I just want to make sure that I’m not giving a weird, half tipsy, sex ed lesson here.”
“I didn’t mean-I’m not a virgin if that’s what you’re asking.” And if it was possible for her face to get redder, it did. “I’ve just rarely had the time recently.”
“Do you have the time now?” Grantaire smirked. And Grantaire still doesn’t comprehend how that line worked for her but it did and she brought in the New Year being fucked very thoroughly against a bathroom stall.
She didn’t think much about that encounter again (except for the part where she really couldn’t stop thinking about Enjolras and her voice and her smell and her hair- who even has hair like that?).
Jehan had apologized very profusely and very, very loudly when she came home that night and face planted into the sofa. She claimed that she had met some friends and she didn’t even realise how long she spent talking to them (and drinking with them as the evidence showed) and that she’d lost track of time. Grantaire had just kissed her on the forehead and let her pass out on the sofa.
Life went on after the holidays were over.
She was back to work after a week.
Her parlour was small. It probably looked messy to outsiders or people who weren’t regulars. There were sketches and pictures of completed tattoos scattered everywhere. She thought it was more convenient for potential clients to just pick up drawings and pictures of the work she and Eponine had done so they’d know what they were getting into, which led to pieces of paper and sketchpads lying everywhere. Her station however, was pristine.
When she walked in, she was more than shocked to see her favourite (not that she’d ever admit that to her) customer already sitting waiting to be marked, chatting up Cosette.
Cosette was a great receptionist. She looked so out of place at the parlour with all her pastels and headbands and sundresses, but she was the best receptionist Grantaire’s ever had. She knew how to deal with even the drunkest, rowdiest customer and send them away with a smile. Her toughness cloaked itself in flowers and rainbows and bunny rabbits. She was just like Jehan. A rose so beautiful that you forgot it had thorns.
Bahorel grinned at her when she walked in and Grantaire lifted a brow. “Weren’t you in here just last week?”
“Aww you know me sugar.” Bahorel crooned, flipping her flaming red hair behind her and blowing her a kiss. “I just can’t stay away from you.”
“Oh baby, baby, baby.” Grantaire replied dryly.
Cosette smiled at her when she came closer, but it was tinted with a touch of worry. “Eponine’s not coming in today. Gavroche got sick last night and Azelma’s going to school this week so she can’t stay home with him.” Well that explained the worry. Eponine and Cosette’s relationship was new and she wasn’t used to the hectic mess that Eponine’s life usually was. “Apparently there’s a new guy that Azelma has a crush on so she’s probably going to have a perfect attendance this year, at least until she gets bored. Eponine says that she’s sorry and she’ll take him to the clinic today and she’ll be back by tomorrow.”
Grantaire just nodded at Cosette’s fast paced speech and waved her hand in compliance. Eponine was like family to her. She could probably miss an entire month’s work and Grantaire would still keep her on.
Grantaire really wasn’t meant to be a businesswoman.
Cosette took that with a smile and left her with Bahorel who had grown disinterested with their conversation and was idly flipping through a book of potential tattoo sketches that Grantaire kept in the back.
“What am I doing for you today?” Grantaire asked nudging Bahorel back into awareness.
She grinned at her and made to ruck up her shirt. “You know what I realised yesterday?”
Grantaire gestured as if to say “Amaze me.”
“I have every conceivable cliché of a tattoo and yet I still don’t have a tramp stamp.”
“Lemme guess?” Grantaire asked, grinning despite herself. “You want a butterfly?”
Bahorel had taken it upon herself to get every stereotypically ridiculous tattoo in existence.
When she came for her first tattoo from Grantaire, she literally got ‘Water’ in Chinese on her arm and told everyone it meant ‘Peace’. She researched it and everything to make sure it was actually saying the wrong thing.
Grantaire for one could appreciate the irony.
“You know me so well.”
When Grantaire got home, Jehan was abuzz in the kitchen. Grantaire cringed. She wasn’t the best cook, but she could feed herself without getting food poisoning. Jehan on the other hand; Grantaire didn’t know which god she should pray to, to get her to just stop cooking.
Jehan’s cooking was probably the only bad part of being her roommate.
Jehan and Grantaire met at a slam poetry night in a dingy cafe, when she still called herself Jean and had an awful buzz cut. Weirdly enough Grantaire was the one who was (very drunkenly) giving a performance that night. She’d drank more than she should have and then proceeded to go up on stage and give one of her famous ‘drunken rants’. Then Jehan had come up to her after to commend her on her delivery:
“You really seemed like you were tipsy. It’s refreshing to see people actually care about the performance part of performance art.”
Grantaire then went on to throw up all over her shoes. Classy. But Jehan was never not an absolute darling and she herded her to the bathroom and helped Grantaire clean herself up before attending to herself. Grantaire called her up a few days later- because Jean was the type of person to exchange numbers with the crazy, drunk lady who threw up on her- to meet up for coffee in apology.
Their friendship progressed quickly from there. In two months they were living together. In a year they were dating each other. In three years they were broken up, finished with college (well, on Grantaire’s part) and still living together, not because they couldn’t afford decent flats on their own, what with Jehan being a trust fund baby and Grantaire being a respectable business owner, but because they’d lived with each other for so long that it just felt wrong not to.
“So...” Grantaire stated as she walked into the kitchen hesitantly. “We’re getting take-out then?”
“You’re not funny.” And Grantaire could tell that she rolled her eyes without even seeing her face.
“Wasn’t trying to be.” She muttered under her breath and then she rose her voice. “Weren’t you supposed to be out this evening?”
“I was. Do you remember that group that I was talking about on the phone with you yesterday?”
“Vaguely. The feminist group right? The one where you all sit about and braid each other’s hair and masturbate to Gloria Steinem?”
Jehan rolled her eyes. “The head of our group actually has very...interesting views on Steinem. That’s beside the point.” Jehan waved the hand that wasn’t stirring the pot. “You’ve been promising to come to them with me for the past year. Most of my friends that you don’t already know are in the club and I really want you to meet them. You’ll like them. I promise. ”
“Outside of you and Bahorel, I probably won’t.”
“Grantaire!”
“Speaking of, she asked about you today.” Grantaire said changing the subject as she sat by their breakfast nook (which was really just a tiny table and a few stools in walking distance from their kitchen, but Jehan insisted that it was a nook and who was Grantaire to say that she was wrong.)
Jehan hummed, setting the pasta with congealed green sauce onto a plate and setting it in front of Grantaire. “What did she get this time?”
“Tramp stamp.” Grantaire replied looking at the questionable food in front of her.
“I saw her at the meeting tonight. You should with me come with me next time!” Jehan sighed as she doled out some pasta for herself.
“You and I both know that I don’t give a shit about your activism bullcrap.” Grantaire replied.
“You and I both know that that’s a lie.” Jehan said sitting opposite her and looking at her severely.
“Everything’s a lie then.” Grantaire uttered grumpily. “This food is a lie. This flat is a lie. The cake is a lie. We’re all li-.”
Jehan rolled her eyes, quite used to Grantaire and her spiels; she cut it off before she could go any further. “You don’t have to be contrary about everything. It’s unbecoming of you.”
Grantaire chose not to respond to that, instead she dangled the pitiful excuse for spaghetti on her fork. “This shit really does suck though.”
Jehan grumbled lightly before taking a bite and then making a face. “...Perhaps we should get take-out?”
Grantaire just laughed.
Grantaire didn’t take her up on her offer until late spring. Everything about Paris felt brighter in the spring. The leaves were newly bathed with the morning dew. Flowers of many colours were springing up from the grass. The birds were soaring through the sky, making their homes on the branches of isolated trees. The Seine glittered in the night and gleamed in the day. The sun shined more often than not and when it rained it was a fleeting caress against your skin. It was one of the reasons that Grantaire adored Paris.
It made you want to stop and breathe in everything around for a day or two and just pause.
And Grantaire was busier than ever.
Her shop was starting to get something of a reputation thanks to her experiments with watercolour tattoos and she was booked solid for the month, which rarely happened. She was just used to dealing with walk-ins and a few regulars.
Still, there were only so much doe eyes and sad disappointed looks that Grantaire could take, not to mention Bahorel’s loud whining about why she’s purposefully leaving her with all the serious people who are only barely decent at throwing a punch.
Grantaire caved.
She let Jehan drag her to her convention of bra burners without much complaint. When she told Jehan it was because she was too busy to complain Jehan just laughed her off. Grantaire was never too busy to complain.
It didn’t matter though. She would just go one night to appease Jehan and then she’d never have to come back again.
That train of thought vanished immediately when she saw her standing in the middle of the room.
She didn’t even notice her at first, which in retrospect seemed impossible. The first thing she noticed was the group of people sitting around the cafe with their eyes glued to the front, as though they were hanging off every word that the person was saying. Then she looked up and it made sense.
She wasn’t sure if this was the best or the worst decision she’d ever made. Her eyes were wide and she glared at Jehan accusingly. Technically she never told Jehan about that night, she made no mention of Enjolras or that she even talked to anyone at all that night but Grantaire wasn’t exactly thinking rationally.
Two girls were standing beside Enjolras, a tiny girl with freckles and hair almost as wild as hers, and a tall girl with a pixie cut and glasses. They were both incredibly pretty, but with them standing next to Enjolras, she barely noticed.
She sat down in the back where no one needed to see her or know that she existed. Jehan frowned but sat next to her nonetheless. She didn’t need to acknowledge anything. She could just sit and listen to what they had to say and not think about hot and dirty sex in a bathroom stall.
All of that flew out of the window when Jehan- of course- decided to interrupt Enjolras to say hi. She schooled her face into something less frantic and smiled as Jehan introduced her shyly.
Some people turned and nodded at her briefly, a few of them smiling, before turning back. Enjolras looked thrown for about a moment before she started talking again. And if she was beautiful in the dark, smoky cloudy room while Grantaire was half-drunk, now she was unearthly. It took Grantaire a few minutes to even begin to listen to her. She looked like an avenging angel, hair flinging wildly, her hands raised in defiance.
Ever since she started taking her tattooing seriously, Grantaire hadn’t really had time for painting, but now her fingers itched for a paintbrush. Maybe she’d paint her as La Liberté Guidant le Peuple. That’s what she looked like; the forceful leader of the masses there to guide them through torment for justice and peace.
That train of thought was interrupted when Enjolras stood in front of her, the two girls who were standing with her, trailing behind. Jehan was somewhere in front talking to Bahorel and Grantaire really must have been daydreaming to have missed her getting up and leaving.
“ I-“
“We have to introduce ourselves to all potential members.” Enjolras said bluntly interrupting whatever Grantaire was about to say.
“What Enjolras means to say,” The one with the hair blinked strangely at Enjolras before blinding Grantaire with a bright smile. “Is that we’re happy to meet you. It’s always good to see new blood around here and Jehan’s told us a lot about you.” When Grantaire looked at her closer, she realised that she was Enjolras’ friend who was with her that night. It was the hair that made her stand out.
“All lies I’m sure.” Grantaire smiled taking her outstretched hand. She didn’t even know that people still shook hands, but when in Rome and all that.
The one with the glasses smiled kindly. “It was all good. I promise.”
“Definitely lies then.” Grantaire gestured for them to take a seat.
The three of them sat down and immediately began talking about the meeting and trying to get her opinion on it. They wove her into the conversation so seamlessly that she didn’t even have the time to be taken by surprise.
Enjolras didn’t make any mention of the fact that she knew Grantaire, but she drilled her on her knowledge of Fanon, Marx, Condorcet, Kant and Montesquieu. She asked her opinion on Mirabeau and Louise Michel, Dmitrieff and almost every political theorist or person that even had the slightest political opinion in the history of...well everything. She wasn’t sure how well she passed that test because Enjolras’ gaze upon her remained scrutinizing.
The one who introduced herself as Combeferre started to talk about their last rally and what they needed to do differently the next time. Grantaire was only vaguely interested in what they did, but listening to them talk was fascinating.
“France is at the top of the world.” Enjolras was stating plainly. “And Paris is its centre. That is something we should be able to capitalize on.”
“Well it’s easy to say that.” Combeferre’s mouth twisted into a frown. “But we have our troubles here as in every other country.”
“Yes, and we try to fix what we can.” Enjolras responded. “We just have to be more detailed about all of our actions and how we carry them about.”
“The timing with everything we do always has to be specific.” The one with the hair explained most likely for Grantaire’s benefit. “The real trouble we have lies in rousing people into action and not just dormant anger.”
Grantaire has never not had a big mouth, so she added- “Well as they say, to err is human. To loaf is Parisian.”
The one with the hair laughed and she was about to open her mouth to say something when Enjolras frowned reproachfully - “I’ve always hated that quote. There’s more to being Parisian than just laziness.”
And apparently she wasn’t going to say anything right tonight so she just replied:
“Nothing of consequence.”
Enjolras didn’t even bother answering her; she just looked at her with vague disapproval before turning away and talking to the one with the glasses.
**
“Her name is Combeferre.” Jehan rolled her eyes after Grantaire finished telling her everything, omitting any mention of the weird mythology thing she was doing and the really strange urge to paint Enjolras as Delacroix’s Liberté. “And the one with the hair is Courfeyrac.”
“And that’s what you take away from this story?” Grantaire stared at Jehan incredulously from her place on the couch.
“I just...I need a moment to actually think of Enjolras having sex, having casual sex and not get freaked out by it.” Jehan scooted closer to her.
“Yeah. I got the vibe that that wasn’t something she did often?” Grantaire phrased it as a question because she’d be damned if she wasn’t going to find out more about Enjolras if she could.
“We used to call her the red virgin. I think she was pleased by the comparison though. I mean she’s had one or two girlfriends before of course.” Jehan shrugged. “But they were all long term relationships. I just can’t imagine her treating any aspect of her life casually. Ever. Everything she does, every decision she makes always seems so deliberate and made with such care. Even her impulsiveness seems planned. It’s daunting sometimes. She’s just never been that person.”
Oh. So that night was a fluke then. And Grantaire really needed to shake herself off, because she was genuinely getting disappointed about a one night stand.
“You should still come back though.” Jehan wrapped her arms around Grantaire’s shoulders. “It sounded like you were interested in what we do, even if it was just vaguely.”
Grantaire grumbled and rested her head on Jehan’s shoulder but she didn’t give a discernible response. She even wasn’t sure if she actually wanted to go back. Awkward situations were not something she liked putting herself through and the crazy beautiful one night stand who quite possibly didn’t ever want to see her again, was awkward enough for a lifetime.
She went back.
Not only because of Enjolras, she told herself. She really did want to meet Jehan’s friends and she’d sort of abandoned the idea that night in favour of running out of the door after Enjolras and her friends left, the moment Jehan took her eyes off of her for a minute.
She was glad that she did come back.
She didn’t really focus on any other face except one when she was there before but this time when she came she noticed Feuilly and Bossuet, who had gotten a few of their tattoos done by her and Joly who she met in college in an eerily similar way to the way she met Enjolras and Marie who used to come by the shop to talk to Cosette. It was something of a relief that she didn’t have to ‘make new friends’ so to speak, but just get reacquainted with people she already knew.
It was easier. Even with the people she had to start fresh with. Courfeyrac had taken a liking to her thankfully, and Combeferre, whose gaze was sometimes inexplicably searching, seemed to like her too.
Enjolras didn’t really speak to her much again and Grantaire tried not to let it bother her. She was a one night stand, if she could even be called that. Just some random fuck that happened to be prettier than what Grantaire usually went home with. That was it.
When she came to the second meeting Enjolras just looked at her funnily and her voice was stiff as she said: “I didn’t we’d see you again. Well we’re always happy to have new possible members.” Before walking to the front of the room and bending her head over a book Combeferre was reading.
The meeting, when it started seemed to consist of less Enjolras giving a speech and more of the other members having interloping discussions.
It didn’t take much prodding from Jehan to get her to keep going back.
She really did like Jehan’s friends and being able to listen to Enjolras speak words of righteousness and see her face aglow with fire every once in a while was just a plus.
How she got Eponine and Cosette to start going was a different story. For one, she didn’t even ask them to come initially. They said they were beginning to grow weary with what they called her “ridiculous fawning” which Grantaire really thought was uncalled for. She didn’t fawn. She didn’t even know the word. She watched with intrigue if anything. No one could deny that Enjolras was a captivating speaker once they’d heard her.
After much teasing and hinting she dragged them with her after work one evening (because well fuck it if she was going to keep going to The Musain with only Jehan and Bahorel’s unbridled enthusiasm to keep her company) which turned out to be a huge fucking mistake. Cosette- the traitor- who’d never before shown even an ounce of revolutionary fervour, interrupted Courfeyrac’s speech to quote fucking Lenin which then immediately made everyone fall half in love with her. Then again Cosette tended to have that effect on you regardless.
Eponine seemed to be the only one who to have some form of desire to preserve Grantaire’s sanity, so she just sat in the back with her and drank and chatted with her as though there wasn’t even a meeting going on. She only paused in her conversation with Grantaire to laugh at something Combeferre was saying before turning back to her and saying “Are they seriously all that full of shit?” and ignoring the shocked glances directed towards her.
Gods bless that Eponine.
Grantaire’s admiration of Eponine’s tenacity lasted for all of an hour.
That was when Marie came by.
She bumbled into the meeting late, with papers flying out of her knapsack and light brown hair falling out of a ponytail. She sat at the back, next to both of them which was fine, until she took out a copy of A Clash Of Kings and Eponine went stupid for a minute or two until she started babbling like a moron about it.
Grantaire glanced at Cosette helplessly who was looking at the three of them with unconcealed amusement as Eponine and Marie’s conversation got more enthusiastic by the minute.
And there she had lost her only ally in the silent but unwavering war of wills against the wide-eyed.
Still she kept going back.
Somewhere along the line Grantaire had stopped referring to them as ‘Jehan’s friends’ and started calling them her friends. Eponine, Cosette and her had fit into the group like they were just meant to be there. Jehan was unbearably smug when this happened, but Grantaire didn’t really have the footing to tell her she was wrong.
She found new drinking partners in Joly and Bossuet.
She found someone she could discuss art and styles with in a much more detailed way than she did with Jehan in Feuilly.
She started taking up kickboxing again with the help of Bahorel.
Combeferre became her newest client, surprisingly revealing a stomach and thighs already filled with artwork. She was planning on starting on her back with Grantaire. She wanted a vine of cherry blossoms to cascade down from the nape of her neck to the small of her back and Grantaire couldn’t even laugh at the cliché with how earnest she was in explaining how much the symbolism of humanity meant to her.
Courfeyrac was like the hyperactive little sister she already had in Cosette and they both took astoundingly great pleasure in teasing her about everything, from her clothes (which was fucking perfect thank you very much) to her growing infatuation with their fearless leader.
And that...that was a whole new category.
She was astoundingly good at keeping the entire thing a secret, that is until she and Enjolras began to argue. A lot.
Their arguments tended to be teasing (on Grantaire’s side) and intense (on Enjolras’).
Jehan was right. Grantaire loved being contrary.
Enjolras idolised Ségolène Royal so obviously Grantaire saw it fit to criticize her shitty thoughts on foreign policy. She respected Rousseau so Grantaire talked loudly and often about his misogynistic, paternalistic views on women’s rights. She loathed Nietzsche so Grantaire decided to extol his wisdom and quote him at every given opportunity.
Yet no matter how severe it got, Grantaire couldn’t seem to be able to keep the fondness out of her eyes during their disputes.
This game was probably more amusing to Grantaire than it was to Enjolras, who would look at Grantaire with an almost unbearable amount of disdain when it happened.
Jehan said that their arguments were like being in the front seat to a war and she was probably right.
They both used their words as shields and arrows, a thrust to the side and a blow to the face.
Grantaire was a skilled fighter. She could duck and feint with the best of them, missing every shot intended to wound, but sometimes-sometimes-she would slip and a blow would land in its intended destination.
Grantaire would smirk and her eyes would twinkle as her words cut deeper and Enjolras’ face would in twist pure fury and spit her words like they were venom, venom that poisoned Grantaire’s thoughts and left her floundering and unable to argue back.
(Grantaire, a masochist at heart, would find herself replaying those moments over and over in her bed with her hands down her pants and Enjolras’ name on the tip of her lips.)
Enjolras’ words were like bullets and Grantaire’s were like a sword and there was that saying about bringing a knife to a gunfight.
It was around that time that Grantaire started trying to fuck Enjolras out of her system. As if that ever worked.
The barrage of tall, auburn or brunette or ginger-just anything but blonde- conquests that left her flat at odd hours in the morning was beginning to concern Jehan but Grantaire just brushed her off whenever she tried to talk to her about it.
They helped in their odd little way.
It also helped Grantaire to know that even with everything; she wasn’t in love with Enjolras, not like Courfeyrac teased or Jehan suggested. So there was still some semblance of hope.
She got crushes all the time in any case. She was an artist. She wasn’t just attracted to beauty. She’s attracted to people who were different. People who seem to transcend the shackles of societal expectations intrigued her.
At first glance, Enjolras didn’t really seem like that sort of person, but getting to know her changed that perception. She fit every standard of beauty in a way that she’d never seen before. There was a purity about her (and Enjolras would bristle to hear that word used in regards to her or anyone for that matter) that felt almost as if Grantaire had travelled to a land of fairies and elves and wood nymphs and found this creature of fancies, but Enjolras made sure to challenge that idea of beauty with every action and every word that came from her mouth.
So when she tried her hardest to get even the tiniest scrap of acknowledgement from Enjolras, she did it because of artistic interest.
Every artist needs their muse, even artists who haven’t picked up a brush in years.
It made sense for her to be infatuated.
That was all it was.
An infatuation.
The Musian eventually became one of her favourite spots.
She loved it there.
The food was awful and the beer was even worse. The wine however, was perfect and Joly and Bossuet were almost always there. Out of all of her new friends, she felt like she knew Joly and Bossuet best. She could never have asked for better drinking partners than those two. They put Eponine to shame and that was a hard thing to do.
The best thing about drinking partners, outside of the fact that these were the people you formed lifelong alcohol dependency problems with, is that they’re fucking amazing gossips. Courfeyrac was good for that too and so was Jehan, but they were both irritatingly tight-lipped when it came to a certain blonde.
She found out so much with the help of those two. They told her about the time Enjolras got drunk for the first time and she kept yelling “To the barricades!” and locked herself in Courfeyrac’s bedroom crying about the poor structure of their impromptu barricade which consisted only of three chairs and a bookcase and of the time that Feuilly first met her and tore down every single argument she was making on education reform for underprivileged youths and helped her build better and more solid points and the subsequent crush that followed.
(She wasn’t jealous about that at all. She wasn’t.)
She reciprocated with her own gossip of course.
She told them how Bahorel actually tore up a little when she got her ankle tattoo. She told them about the time she and Jehan were jumping on their bed and genuinely rocking out to Taylor Swift when Jehan fell off the bed and twisted her ankle.
Neither of them actually liked talking about that for different reasons, but hey embarrassing story for embarrassing story.
They didn’t only talk about their friends though. They talked about almost everything from school to work to Joly and Bossuet’s shared girlfriend (Grantaire wasn’t sure how that worked but she wasn’t going to ask) to Grantaire’s moon shaped birthmark on her ass. They kept trying to get Grantaire to come to meet their girlfriend sometime but she always refused.
It wasn’t because she didn’t want to. It was because she really didn’t have the time. From the shop to these meetings to kickboxing to gym time she barely had the time to sleep.
Their girlfriend wasn’t fond of these meetings, mainly because she was disinterested, but also because they tended to coincide with her job. She was a bouncer at a new club on Rue Violet.
Musichetta came to a meeting a few weeks later and Grantaire began to wonder if they had flyers up at all the tattoo parlours around Paris or if this was just where her old clients met for drinks.
The minute she walked in Joly shot up off her seat and Bossuet tried to do the same, but she bumped her knee on the edge of their table and hissed causing Joly to look away from Musichetta and to her in concern. When Musichetta saw this, she ran to them and immediately started fussing and cooing over her. Bossuet ran her hand along the bald part of her freshly shaved Mohawk and just let herself get pampered by the two as Grantaire looked on amused.
“I’m sure you’re getting great laugh from this.” Bossuet glared at her without any real malice causing Musichetta to look up at her.
Upon seeing her, the first thing Musichetta did was squeeze the air out of her lungs by hugging her and then yell at her for losing contact when she stopped working with Mabeuf three and a half years ago.
“Didn’t you notice my style on your-” She waved her had as if to signal ‘whatever’s’ “stomach?”
Musichetta settled on Joly’s lap, her hand still on Bossuet’s leg and smirked at Grantaire. “It’s fucking awesome. So naturally I assumed anyone but you did it.”
Grantaire poked her tongue out at her while Joly and Bossuet watched on curiously.
“I’ve heard a lot about you Mademoiselle Grantaire, but no one referred to you as R so how was I supposed to know it was you. I should have guessed because, how obvious a pun, but I didn’t and it’s my deepest shame.”
“You two know each other?” Joly asked inquisitively.
“We didn’t fuck in the library senior year at uni or anything. It’s nothing exciting like how you two met.” Musichetta stared pointedly at Joly and her cheeks reddened to Bossuet’s utter delight. “She did my first few tattoos actually.”
“Damn right I did.” Grantaire laughed loudly, a few people looked her way but she didn’t pay them any mind. “She’s probably never had anybody like me since. It’s sad really.”
Bossuet began to sputter outrageously until she realised Musichetta, Grantaire and Joly were laughing. She flipped Grantaire the bird before joining in on the laughter.
Neither Cosette nor Eponine knew Musichetta from back then. She was one of Grantaire’s clients before she got a shop of her own and Grantaire realised that keeping them apart for so long was in the best interest of everyone involved. They got along with each other so well it was almost frightening. The way they would whisper to each other each with devious grins on their face. Grantaire had no idea how it didn’t scare Joly and Bossuet as well.
Maybe she had some sort of clairvoyance or maybe it was just Grantaire that they stared at while they were whispering together, but she knew trouble when she saw it and those three were trouble.
“You have a walk in.” Cosette said with a sly smile. “I know you’re ready to go home, but just fit her in okay.”
“Yeah. Sure.”
“Ep and I are done for the day. You can close up tonight right.” Cosette asked, but she didn’t phrase it as a question and Grantaire was barely even listening to her as she nodded and walked out to the front room.
When she saw Enjolras she didn’t drop her gun like a fucking idiot (thank god) but she did silently curse the day Cosette was born so that was something.
“What are you doing here?” She squeaked and Enjolras looked confused. So obviously being a fucking idiot wasn’t out of the question for the day.
“I want a tattoo.” Enjolras said slowly as though Grantaire were stupid. She looked uncertain, like she regretted even coming to her shop which was just great. She’d never seen Enjolras look that way before and she silently cursed herself this time. Uncertainty looked just as good on Enjolras as blind optimism did on Grantaire.
“No-yes I mean do you know what you want?” She asked as she led Enjolras to her station.
“I want the word liberté on my shoulder.”
“That...fits-I mean. You can sit.” Grantaire gestured to the stool in front of her and began sterilizing the needles where Enjolras could see. It was standard procedure. “Do you have any specific font, or size or...”
“No you know what you’re doing.” Enjolras gripped her denim covered thighs firmly. “I trust you.”
Grantaire didn’t bother to tell her that it was going to hurt or that it would be fast, she knew Enjolras already knew those things. They fell into silence as Grantaire traced the words on her left shoulder and ignored Enjolras’ fidgeting. The script was gorgeous and elegant if she would say so herself, just like Enjolras.
She remembered thinking that Enjolras was just woefully undertattooed when they first met, but she never thought she would be the one to change it. She supposed it made sense in a way. She and Enjolras were friends in an indistinct, formless sort of way. First tattoos were terrifying if you really care about it. It’s easier to have someone you know do it for you.
The gun buzzed to life in her hand and Enjolras stilled. She stiffened at what Grantaire assumed was the initial pain and then she relaxed. She wished she could soothe it or stop it all together, but there was no way of doing this without a little pain. The room was silent except for the buzz of the gun. She paused and dipped the needle in ink every now and again.
When she was done and she could actually look at Enjolras properly, her eyes were glazed over and she looked like she was far away. That was another look she’d never seen on her and she was loathe to interrupt it, but still she reluctantly cleared her throat and Enjolras jumped. ”You’re done?”
“Yeah.” Grantaire grinned as she looked at it. It was small and simple and understated; it was everything Enjolras wasn’t and yet it suited her beautifully. Something about that felt significant, but for the life of her Grantaire couldn’t figure out what.
She let it be and started cleaning up and packing away while Enjolras checked out her new ink. When Grantaire finally turned around Enjolras was smiling at her and it was the sun. “It’s wonderful.”
Grantaire flushed red and felt immensely stupid about it, but she couldn’t find it in herself to care as she covered the tattoo with a piece of cling film and mumbled out warnings and instructions.
The majority of the ABC were a part of her clientele so they knew her style and when they saw Enjolras’ tattoo they fussed over it and Grantaire preened. She felt a stupid sense of pride every time she glimpsed Enjolras’ tattoo. It didn’t come from a job well done or anything like that. The tattoo itself wasn’t anything fancy or anything that people would stop and stare at, but Enjolras trusted her enough to let her permanently mark her skin and that meant more to her than she could put in words.
Their relationship didn’t really change after and Grantaire didn’t expect it too. Sometimes she would catch Enjolras staring at her with an indecipherable look on her face before looking away quickly the moment she saw Grantaire’s eyes on her but they still only ever talked to argue with each other and Grantaire still spent some nights fucking her hand and biting her lips so she wouldn’t call out Enjolras’ name, so when Enjolras saddled up to her one evening a few weeks later Grantaire geared herself up for a row.
She wasn’t shocked when Enjolras glared at her the moment she sat down. The words that left her mouth however, were something of a surprise.
“We haven’t talked in a while. How’ve you been?”
Grantaire was thrown for a moment but she collected herself enough to respond- “Since when do you know what small talk is Artemis?”
“Artemis?” Enjolras wrinkled her nose. It wasn’t one of her usuals. Grantaire usually alternated between Athena and Themis, but earlier today she had watched Enjolras verbally eviscerate a guy who had come to their meeting to make fun of them and to try to tear down their arguments for laughs and sent him away near in tears. Artemis fit her today.
“Artemis.” Grantaire didn’t feel the need to explain.
“I wanted to talk to you about something that might be-strange.” She asked awkwardly. Grantaire motioned for her to go on and she did. “The night that we met, it was fun” And this was the first time Enjolras had admitted that that night was real and not some weird, fucked up figment of Grantaire’s imagination and Grantaire really didn’t know what to do with that. “And if you don’t mind, I’d like to try it again with you sometime.”
Grantaire wasn’t sure what she was hearing. Enjolras’ words were awkward and her posture was stiff. She wanted to reach out and smooth out the crease in Enjolras’ forehead and say something that made sense but she was mentally BSOD-ing. Enjolras actually wanted her and not in an ‘I’m drunk and I can barely see your face so you’re a passable enough fuck’ kind of way.
“You mean like in a ‘friends who fuck’ kind of way or-”
“Yes. Exactly.” Enjolras relaxed and smiled her soft, disarming smile that was never reserved for Grantaire, at least until now.
She didn’t know how she felt about that.
She didn’t know how she felt about Enjolras.
Part of her wanted more than just sex and the other part was yelling at her for even thinking she could ever have more. She would take what she was offered. Beggars can’t be choosers.
“Sure I’d...yeah.”
The trip back to Grantaire’s flat was somewhere between the line of awkward and boring. They didn’t hold hands or even talk to each other that much outside of mumbled directions. When they actually made it upstairs into the living room Grantaire wasn’t sure whether or not to offer her a drink or to sit and make small talk at first.
It was embarrassing. It wasn’t as if she’d never done the friends with benefits thing before.
Both she and Cosette and she and Eponine had casual sex until they both decided to do the more serious sex thing with each other but it was always fun and easy every time and there were no hard feeling left over. And Jehan was her ex-girlfriend and they still managed to be the best of friends, who randomly had sex with each other when they were both lonely and in the mood and nothing about that situation was awkward for them. Potentially awkward situations that never actually became awkward were apparently sort of her thing, but in this case her nerves were winning.
She was about to ask Enjolras whether or not she wanted tea or wine when she looked at her and saw that she was divesting herself of most of her clothing, leaving only her bra and panties on and- well that settled any ‘will there be any niceties?’ questions she had.
There wasn’t going to be any talk about the weather or how their days went, it was just sex. Grantaire could do that.
Grantaire started to follow her example, but she was a lot slower because she really wanted to look at Enjolras. Just stare at her and take it in without seeming creepy, but as fate would have it, Enjolras was not a patient person. Grantaire’s shirt was barely off before she took Grantaire’s hand and pulled her close to her. Their bodies were pressed flushed against each other.
“I really want to kiss you.” Enjolras said, her hands coming up Grantaire’s waist. “I mean is that okay? If I kiss you I-“
Grantaire cut her across by pressing their lips together. The kiss was awkward at first. Their teeth clacked together and their noses bumped awkwardly as they adjusted to each other. It wasn’t until Enjolras, who was more in control of herself than Grantaire was, gripped her sides firmly that Grantaire actually sank into the kiss.
All she could think about was about how much she wanted this to be good. She wanted Enjolras to remember it. She wanted to blow her mind- but she didn’t have time to think about that when Enjolras deepened the kiss, her tongue seeking entrance and Grantaire granting it. Enjolras’ hands reached in her wild, crazy hair and ran her hands through it it gently. Grantaire’s heart started to pound in her chest. If Enjolras noticed how hard her heart was beating when she lowered them to the ground in front of the couch and straddled her hips, she didn’t call attention to it.
“Your tattoo.” Grantaire mentioned idly, thinking about it last minute.
“It’s covered.” Enjolras replied and started placing small kisses along her jaw line. She could feel herself getting wet and she grinded her hips upwards.
Grantaire ignored the loud pounding in her chest and ran her hand through Enjolras’ hair, gripping the back of her head and directing her to her mouth.
Enjolras’ hands moved down her body and Grantaire couldn’t suppress the shiver when her hands kept going lower.
Enjolras wasted no time. She unbuttoned her jeans swiftly and she shoved her fingers down her pants, without bothering to remove it.
Grantaire was too lost in the moment to care.
She both loved and hated comparing Enjolras to any kind of deity, but the woman sitting on top of her with her hair falling past her shoulders and her eyes piercing, looked like the image of a goddess in all her debauched glory.
That thought was lost when she pushed two fingers into Grantaire and started thrusting them ruthlessly, all Grantaire could do was twist her head to her side and gasp into the carpet.
The last time this happened they were tipsy and in retrospect very sloppy, because now Enjolras fingers moved expertly inside her, twisting and curling in all the right ways and Grantaire was never very loud but she was panting and gasping, her hips thrusting upwards and her eyes squeezed shut. Fuck. She just wanted Enjolras’ hands everywhere. She wanted Enjolras everywhere.
She tilted her face up and Enjolras seemed to get the hint because she kissed her as Grantaire panted in her mouth, babbling nonsense.
Words were falling from her lips and really didn’t know which ones because there were stars forming behind her eyes and her skin was tightening and a familiar heat was pooling in her stomach. She really wished she could have seen Enjolras’ face. To see if she looked as determined as she did on a day to day basis, if she was disgusted by the way Grantaire’s face was contorted (She never did have the prettiest orgasm face, so she was told), if she was bored and this was just a means for her to get off too (equality in everything after all), if her incessant babbling was irritating her.
She couldn’t though, because she kept her eyes shut as Enjolras’ lips moved down her neck. Enjolras’ thumb found her clit and she started rubbing mercilessly. Grantaire tossed her head to the side and she raised her hand to her mouth and bit down hard as she came hard with a squeak. Enjolras fucked her though her orgasm silently until her thrusts slowed down and Enjolras withdrew her fingers.
Grantaire took a moment to catch her breath before opening her eyes. Enjolras was looking down at her with a confused look on her face and instead of trying to figure it out, she hooked her leg around Enjolras’ hip and flipped them so that their positions were reversed.
Grantaire started kissing her again, and their kiss was more languid this time. She used less force. She was still fucked out and moving unhurriedly.
She lavished kisses down Enjolras’ throat before returning to her lips. Grantaire’s hands roamed her body blindly, cupping her breast in her hand and rolling the nipple lightly through her thin laced bra before squeezing it harshly. Enjolras gasped against her mouth and her fingers were pressed against her sides. When Grantaire’s hands started going lower her barely there fingernails pierced her skin. Grantaire ignored the sting. She wanted to see Enjolras’ face as she came.
She rubbed her through her underwear and Enjolras let out frustrated sighs. “Your hands are so perfect. I just want to keep them forever.”
Grantaire was pleased to know that Enjolras was a talker. Grantaire, for all her lengthy rants, never really talked clearly during sex. Enjolras didn’t know how to shut up. “I need-You need to-harder!”
Grantaire was torn between wanting to kiss her and wanting the words to continue pouring out of her mouth. She settled with mouthing her neck as that hand that wasn’t otherwise occupied travelled back up her body, past the nape of her neck to tug at her hair.
“You’re so fucking-God!” Enjolras gasped as Grantaire’s hand pushed her underwear down and ran a finger down her silky wetness. Her finger found her clit again she started to rub her harder. “Next time we –fuck! Next time we do this I’m going to fuck you so hard that you’ll scream my name. I’m gonna tear you apart and put you back together over and over again until you can’t take it anymore and you’re going to-fuck.” And Enjolras swearing had to be Grantaire’s new favourite thing. Enjolras’ hips bucked upwards and Grantaire’s hand sped up, inserting a finger inside her as Enjolras’ moans grew louder and her words descended into nonesense.
They were both covered in a sheen of sweat and Grantaire bit at Enjolras’ collarbone and swiped her tongue over it, tasting the sweat, to soothe the sting. Enjolras’ breath started to hitch and well the way she came was exactly what you'd expect. Loud gasping and soft breathy moans, incoherent mumbling and her face contorted yet somehow still beautiful while Grantaire’s fingers continued to work their magic and she rode out her orgasm. Grantaire’s hands kept moving until Enjolras’ body stopped shuddering from the aftershocks.
Grantaire rolled off her after a moment and they lay on the living room floor.
Enjolras kissed her once more before quickly re-dressing and leaving with a soft: “I’ll see you later.”
Grantaire was still lying flat on her back, half naked with her chest heaving when Jehan had reached home.
It was ridiculous how easy it was for them to settle into a routine. Enjolras would sit next to Grantaire after a meeting, they would get into a pointless argument, each one more preposterous that the last, then they would walk to Grantaire’s and have very loud, vigorous sex on the first flat surface they could find.
Grantaire took great care not to be careful while they did it. Outside of closed doors she was as gentle as she was with the rest of her friends, never any less, never any more, but during the act. Her lips bruised, her fingers were fast and brutal, her grip was tight and she did everything that she could not to give herself away. Anything not to let her hands linger too long, or her gaze soften too much. She was rough where she wanted to be tender, hard and fast where she wanted to be slow. Enjolras, for her part, seemed to enjoy the treatment.
They had more sex than Grantaire even thought was possible. They fucked in every position. They used multiple toys. Grantaire’s tattoo shop was off limits but they fucked in The Musain, in the library, one time in Enjolras’ bathroom while they were doing their Saturday Night Movies. They fucked on the kitchen floor, on the living room floor, on the couch, on the loveseat, on the single chair, on the coffee table, on the washing machine, on the kitchen counter, one eventful time on top of a fallen bookcase, but never in each other’s beds. It wasn’t because fucking in a bed was something special or to either of them-well at least it wasn’t to her-but because they couldn’t stop touching each other long enough to detangle themselves and actually make it to a bed.
It did nothing to strengthen or weaken their friendship. They didn’t really talk about it to each other or to anyone else. No one mentioned it aloud to them, but it was obvious that they all knew. Neither Enjolras nor Grantaire made any attempt to hide it. Jehan approached her about it only once.
“Is this a good idea Grantaire?” She asked.
“Why not?” Grantaire asked as she started colouring in the rose that Jehan was getting on her neck. “I thought you were all sex positive. Yay sex!”
Jehan hissed. She had so many tattoos and the pain still got to her. Necks were a tricky business with the pain though. Some people said they barely felt it and others said it hurt like hell; Jehan was probably in the latter.
“You two keep pawing at each other like horny teenagers. Being this casual with someone you love is a bad idea.” Jehan sighed. “You’ll get hurt.”
Grantaire hummed and the buzz of the gun was the only sound for a while in the room.
“It’s worth it.”
Grantaire was not in love. Sure she liked Enjolras. That much was obvious, but every time she said that Jehan tutted and shook her head, Eponine smirked, Courfeyrac and Bahorel outright started laughing, Feuilly nodded sympathetically, Musichetta patted her head indulgently and Cosette sighed mournfully.
So it was just easier to let them go on and on about love and the like.
She was not in love.
She, Bahorel and Joly were at the Corinthe when Enjolras texted her about the upcoming rally. Joly was chatting loudly about how most surgeons were either psychopaths or they committed suicide which was distressing because it was the perfect job for her since surgeons rarely deal with communicable diseases. Grantaire only glanced at her phone briefly during her tirade to shoot back a message.
Grantaire: yeah well you’re wrong
Enjolras: Excuse me?
Grantaire: yelling at people wont make them listen to u
Grantaire: it just makes you loud
Grantaire glanced up when she noticed the silence coming from beside her and saw two pairs of eyes on her. She cleared her throat: “Um what?”
“Oh nothing.” Bahorel replied loftily. “You’re phone’s buzzing again.”
Enjolras: And what do you propose then? Silence?
Grantaire: i propose nothing but another drink
Grantaire ignored her friends’ knowing smiles as she ordered another round of drinks. ‘On me!’ she had declared. Their night descended into chaos as they ordered shot after shot. They grew noisier and gayer as the night proceeded. Joly was the most fantastic drunk. She went from bemoaning the way Musichetta obviously had a vendetta against the feng shui in her apartment to cheering about the fact that she only had one year left in med school and then she could rearrange whatever ER she landed in however she liked to fit her needs and Grantaire was pretty sure that she couldn’t, but she let her chatter on about it anyway. Bahorel was even better. Grantaire was sure that she had broken up at least three potential bar fights before the night was out. Anyone who let Bahorel’s femininity make them underestimate her was an idiot indeed.
She almost forgot to check her phone. When she did though, her spirits dampened.
Enjolras: You can’t even give me an answer of purpose.
Enjolras: This is why I never listen to you.
She slammed her phone on the counter more harshly than necessary as she signalled the bartender for another shot. It wasn’t even Enjolras she was irritated with. Enjolras is Enjolras, it’s her who keeps messing up and saying the wrong things around her. She didn’t let her anger at herself show for too long. If anything she was merrier and louder as the night went on, until the barmaid told them they needed to get the fuck out.
“How’s Enjolras?” Joly asked innocently as she gathered their coats.
“She’s fine.” She replied without a thought. It wasn’t until they were almost out the door that she remembered that she never mentioned who she was talking to, to either of them.
The thing about Enjolras is that she’s awful and Grantaire meant that in both the awe-inspiring way and the terrible way. Social norms were not her thing. She was cold and harsh. Her words were like unsheathed daggers, ready to pierce at the slightest disturbance. She thought warmness and love and flowers and butterflies were nice, but only in theory. Only because other people thought they were important. Nothing was more important than justice and anyone who disagreed with her fundamentally was, in her eyes, not worth arguing with. Having regular sex with her didn’t change that.
It wasn’t even that Grantaire didn’t agree with what she had to say. She just thought that there were better ways of saying it.
Grantaire didn’t know why anyone even paid attention to her when she spoke in any case.
Her words weren’t like Enjolras’ or Courfeyrac’s or Bahorel’s; they didn’t burn with intensity and conviction. They didn’t hold Joly’s joy and charisma. They weren’t like Combeferre’s or Feuilly’s; they didn’t cut swiftly and deftly. They didn’t have Jehan’s low sombreness that came from the heart. They weren’t like Bossuet’s; Bossuet’s sarcasm and light-heartedness wasn’t feigned and they weren’t used to mock instead of teasing gently. Her words were a distraction at best. Her words weren’t even hers, they were plagiary. She stole from philosophers, from writers, from artists, from poets. Her words beheld every opinion but her own. If you just listened to her talk, you’d never know who she was. Her words were a thicket of thorny vines that you had to untangle to find the truth, whatever the truth may be. Grantaire herself didn’t care to know the truth.
Grantaire was her actions. She was her inactions. She would insult you while stroking your hair. She mocked her friends’ beliefs while making flyers and posters and signs and helping Combeferre with their web design.
Grantaire knew she was hard to figure out, especially if she didn’t want you to. She was a difficult person to care about. She was a difficult person to be around. She was rude and loud and she refused to let people see her for who she was and she didn’t know how to change that.
They had Girls Night In every few months to just take a breath and catch up, according to Jehan. She and Jehan lived together and she saw Eponine and Cosette every day so she wasn’t sure exactly what she had to catch up on.
Girls Night In was basically a sleepover, but anytime she actually said that everyone basically hissed at her so she just gave up on getting them to see the truth.
They had just finished watching all three Cheetah Girls movies and discussing the feminist messages in them that were frequently ignored by the general public and now they were just lazing.
Jehan was painting Cosette’s toes a bright pink and Eponine and Grantaire were trading a small bottle of gin back and forth. Cosette still lived with her father and Eponine had two kids at her flat, so they always did this at Grantaire and Jehan’s.
In the period that Grantaire and Jehan were dating and Eponine and Cosette had their weird UST thing going on, there was always a slight tension in the air. Grantaire and Jehan didn’t want to be too overtly affectionate because they didn’t want to make them uncomfortable or jealous. Cosette and Eponine always knew what they were doing and they were torn between gratitude (mostly on Cosette’s side) and irritation (mostly on Eponine’s side), but the way they were now was the perfect balance.
Grantaire went to the kitchen to get more alcohol, (Beer for Eponine, wine for Cosette, tequila for Jehan and whiskey for herself) leaving the empty bottle of gin discarded on the living room floor since Cosette decided to travel back to when she was twelve and play Truth or Dare.
They were all free that night since all their friends were respectable would-be lawyers and doctors and they had midterms creeping up on them. Still she checked her phone out of habit. She and Enjolras had taken to trading messages back and forth. Enjolras claimed she did it to help strengthen out her arguments. Grantaire just liked talking to her.
Playing Truth or Dare was a fucking stupid idea, because it generally ended in debauchery when Cosette was involved (and to think people thought of her as an innocent flower), but no one objected.
Grantaire sipped from the bottle in her hand and put it the other one in the centre as Cosette sat opposite her, Jehan to her right and Eponine to her left. Cosette called to go first because it was Cosette and no one expected any different. As luck would have it, it landed on Jehan first.
“Truth or dare?”
“Dare.” Jehan shrugged and as shy as Jehan was she never backed down from a dare.
“Good. I dare you to snog Bahorel when you next see her.” Cosette grinned.
“Technically you’re supposed to dare people to do things they can do immediately.” Grantaire interjected for Jehan’s sake. It was only because she knew Jehan well that she knew that the light blush staining her cheeks had nothing to do with the alcohol.
“Fine.” Cosette conceded. “I dare you to snog Eponine. Now.”
“Easy.” Jehan shot back. Jehan crawled the short distance between her and Eponine and kissed her firmly on the mouth. When she pulled away, Eponine’s cheeks were also red.
“My turn.” Jehan smirked as she settled back down next to Grantaire. It landed on her this time and Grantaire sighed. Jehan always had to worse fucking dares so before Jehan could even open her mouth to ask the age old question she said “Truth!”
“Who’s better at giving head, me or Enjolras.” Eponine started laughing loudly and Cosette looked at her slightly sympathetically, only slightly because she was laughing almost as loudly as Ep. And apparently tonight would be a night of blushing for all, because Grantaire felt her face start to heat.
“En’rlas” Grantaire mumbled almost wordlessly into her bottle. Jehan gasped in mock offense and Cosette was looking at her in a thoughtful manner that she did not like. She grabbed the bottle and spun it quickly.
“You know the question.” Grantaire asked Cosette when the bottle landed on her.
“Dare.” She smirked challengingly.
Grantaire was also admittedly bad at dares. “Call Marie and get her to say ‘I love you’.”
Eponine’s eyes widened and Cosette’s mouth dropped and apparently they really needed to catch up because that was just a shitty dare that Grantaire barely thought up. What was she missing here?
“Okay what’d I miss?” Jehan voiced Grantaire’s question.
Eponine cleared her throat first “Who says you missed anything?”
“You two are about as subtle as an explosion.” Grantaire rolled her eyes.
“Tell!” Jehan demanded.
They glanced at each other, their weird- secret-superpower-lesbian-glance before Cosette said: “No.”
“Fine then.” Grantaire shrugged. “I change my dare. I dare you to invite Marie over.”
“You can’t just change your dare! That’s not how it works!” Cosette protested.
“There are no rules that say she can’t.” Jehan replied loftily.
“No but there’s the rule of fairness and common decency-“
“WE’RE DATINGOKAY!” Eponine yelled at them and caused them all to fall silent. “I’m sorry but this is pointless.” Eponine glanced at Cosette in apology. “We were going to tell you two soon, but it’s still new and we’re not sure what we’re doing and we’re trying not to fuck it up.”
It was very obvious at which parts of that speech where she meant ‘I’ when she said ‘we’. Cosette noticed too and she squeezed her arm gently.
Grantaire and Jehan were silent for all of one moment before a barrage of questions started spilling out of their mouths.
“How long?”
“Is the sex good?”
“Does Mari even know what sex is?”
“If I start observing you guys and writing about it, it won’t be weird right?”
Cosette looked relieved and Eponine just sighed as she answered their questions, the game entirely forgotten.
Work was stressful. She liked people, she liked having a job where she dealt with them every day. Sometimes though, people were fucking irritating. Sometimes people forgot that tattoo artists were actually artists. Sometimes you have to let them do their jobs without interjecting every five minutes with pointless ‘helpful’ insights that they already know.
After a day of dealing with people like that, people who thought they could do their job better than her even though they probably didn’t even know how to draw a straight line without a ruler, she was usually tired. All she wanted to do was curl up on the couch with popcorn and wine and watch reruns of Project Runway. So that was her plan when she was heading home today.
She didn’t mean to eavesdrop, but it was her flat and when she came home from work she didn’t actually expect to walk in on Jehan and Enjolras gossiping. Grantaire didn’t even know that Enjolras gossiped. She was even planning to be the big person and ignore them and go about her business until she heard her name.
“Grantaire and I-“ and there was a pause where Jehan was probably searching for words. “We were very volatile together. I suppose it’s because we’re too similar. Our relationship was like trying to out a fire by lighting a match. We finished it before our inevitable crash and burn.”
And wasn’t that an apt analogy. She and Jehan had a whirlwind of a relationship. When they fought, they fought bitterly. Their words were scathing and they lashed out at each other more often than not, not unlike her and Enjolras. There were obvious differences of course. She and Jehan had the tendency for periods of melancholic moods. When Jehan was in one of her tempers, she grew unbearably silent. She would brood and write and write and brood and grow more and more increasingly distant. Grantaire was different. She was incredibly needy during these periods. She would bury herself in her bottle and her work but she would cling to the nearest source of comfort wherever she found it.
When their moods coincided, it was catastrophic.
Jehan’s remoteness combined with Grantaire’s need for attention didn’t mix too well and it was the main source of their arguments. They understood each other better than anyone and no one knew how to take care of them like the other, but they also had the habit of getting on each other’s nerves just as often.
“We make much better friends than lovers if that’s what you’re asking.”
Grantaire could imagine Enjolras’ face at the moment. She would look mildly confused, but still so attentive, like she was in class. “I didn’t mean-“
“I know what you meant.” Jehan replied and her tone was far too sharp for Grantaire’s liking. She almost gave herself away to ask what the hell this was about because she couldn’t even figure out what led to this conversation when Jehan’s tone softened. “I get where you’re coming from Enjolras, I really do. You’re trying and I’m glad, but if you even think of-“
“I understand.” Enjolras replied, far too calmly. “I just wanted to know okay.”
Grantaire didn’t bother listening to the rest of their conversation. She just made her footsteps louder as she walked in the kitchen and smiled at them. They had books scattered all across the kitchen table and they were both dressed casually enough that Grantaire knew they just got back from class, which was weird because they shared a sum total of zero classes together.
Enjolras barely glanced at her and Jehan just frowned. After a few minutes of awkward silence and Enjolras pointedly not looking at her she gave up the ghost and took an apple and headed to her room.
Grantaire understood absolutely nothing of that encounter.
When Enjolras came for her next tattoo Grantaire didn’t even pretend to be surprised. She came after work, when Grantaire was about to close up. She didn’t bother smiling or making small talk, she just strode in past Grantaire, sat in the chair and said:
“I want a red carnation on my wrist.” And Grantaire didn’t even have to ask why. She just put her satchel down in resignation and set about sterilizing her needles.
“Ever the nationalist.” She said conversationally.
“I’m a patriot.” Enjolras affirmed. “There’s a difference.”
Grantaire’s hands didn’t shake as she set about her work, but her insides did. Enjolras in this mood did things to her. She talked herself into her typical state of detachment as she did her work almost in absolute silence but for the buzz of the gun.
Enjolras’ skin was soft and smooth. Completely unmarred except for where Grantaire had marked her previously. It made sense.
Enjolras was the embodiment of purity, even as she writhed beneath Grantaire’s touch; her presence was that of the innocent. Enjolras would hate those words to be used in comparison to her and Grantaire knew that now more than ever. Pure. Innocent.
Words created by a patriarchal, male driven society that deems innocence as the most important thing a woman could have all the while demonizing it as frigidness. They’re words that set about double standards that no woman could ever win. You can’t be a slut but you can’t be a prude. You should be a virgin but you shouldn’t say no when a man asks. It’s a system that’s designed to make sure that we never win. We shouldn’t let ourselves give in to their bullshit. Fuck them. Fuck the society they created to make themselves superior.
Enjolras’ words poured into her thoughts and she agreed with them for the most part.
That was Grantaire’s problem where Enjolras was concerned. She agreed with her, but only partly. Her words registered as correct but she didn’t understand how things were ever supposed to change. She wanted to believe in what Enjolras and Combeferre and Courfeyrac and most of her friends preached, but she could only do so up to a certain point. She didn’t know how to believe in anything completely.
Except for Enjolras.
She believed in Enjolras.
What else was there to believe in?
The girl in question was looking at her hand thoughtfully as Grantaire covered it gently with the cling film.
“Do you like it?” She asked nervously.
“It’s beautiful. Your work always is.” Enjolras looked down at the covered patch of skin. “Thank you.”
“I should be thanking you.” Grantaire smirked teasingly and it was her normal reaction to Enjolras but something about it felt off. “I didn’t think you even knew how to flatter me.”
“Of course I- I mean I’m sorry I don’t tell you more often, but your work is amazing. I don’t think I could ever do what you do.”
“Shit.” Grantaire tugged at the cuffs of her sleeve uncomfortably. “I didn’t mean to guilt you into complimenting me. That’s a shit thing to do. I’m sor-“
“No! I meant it.” Enjolras eyes burned as she gazed at her with something completely out of place and way too familiar for her to not be able to name.
Something about the entire exchange struck her as weird, but she didn’t dwell on it as they both left the shop together. Everything Grantaire noticed about Enjolras recently seemed strange but she was sure it was all in her head.
Enjolras had her rally in two days. She didn’t need Grantaire’s weirdness on top of that.