"I’m telling you, R, you’re going to get yourself kicked out soon," Cosette sighed as she dropped her back next to Grantaire and leaned beside him on the cool brick wall. "You’re only here on scholarship, if your grades drop, you’re out."
"My grades are perfect, I’m a varsity-level gymnast, and I’m featured in the school’s art gallery every month," he shrugged, taking another drag of his cigarette. "I doubt skipping one class is going to prompt them to get rid of me."
"Because this is the only class you’ve skipped," Cosette snorted, taking a cigarette off him.
"I thought you didn’t smoke. Daddy wouldn’t like it," Grantaire commented, ignoring her previous statement. Cosette only shrugged.
"It’s not that girl, is it?" he teased, grinning as a faint blush grew on her cheeks. "Ooh, Fauchelevant is giving in to peer pressure from a certain beautiful brunette. I thought I’d never see the day."
"Shut up, R," she laughed, playfully shoving him.
"Just don’t get caught. The headmaster won’t be very happy to find his only daughter sneaking out of bed to stick her tongue down the throat of a local girl."
"There have been no tongues anywhere!" Cosette insisted, unable to keep the grin off her face. "Besides, we were talking about you. You can’t distract me that easily."
Grantaire sighed, crushing his cigarette into the ground with the scuffed sole of his leather uniform shoes. “Okay, my little lark, what’s the lecture today?”
"No lecture. Just a detention slip. 5 o’clock in Javert’s classroom," she smiled as she handed him the notice. "And don’t ditch or you’ll be seriously screwed. See you later, R."
With a final wink and flip of her long brown hair, Cosette left for dinner, leaving Grantaire alone with the daunting hour of silence ahead of him.
"Mr. Grantaire, nice to see you’re actually showing up now," Javert sneered as Grantaire slumped into the classroom. He flopped into a chair without responding, immediately grabbing his sketchbook from his bag.
"Put it away, Mr. Grantaire," Javert commanded without looking up from his book.
"It’s just a sketchpad!"
"I said, put it away."
Grumbling his protests, Grantaire shoved the materials back into his bag, resigning himself to an hour of tracing patterns on his desk with his fingernail.
"My apologies, Professor, I’m not usually late."
Grantaire lazily raised his eyes toward the sneer, unsurprised to find himself joined by another student. Javert was the harshest professor the school had, there was usually never a detention with less than ten in it.
Of all the people in the school Grantaire had expected to be joining him, that was the last person on the list.
"Mr. Enjolras," Javert sighed. "For some reason, I don’t quite believe that apology is sincere."
Enjolras merely shrugged in response before carefully stepping into a seat, sitting straight-up in his chair.
"So what did Golden Boy do?" Grantaire smirked, ignoring Javert’s glare.
Enjolras ignored him, keeping his eyes trained at the front of the classroom. Grantaire’s smile only grew as he watched the other boy’s obvious effort to refrain from responding.
"Oh come on, you can’t ignore me forever," he whined, leaning forward towards him. Enjolras sighed dramatically, narrowing his eyes as he continued his staring match with the chalkboard.
"Mr. Grantaire, be quiet or earn yourself another detention," Javert warned, leering at him through his reading glasses. Grantaire rolled his eyes as he slumped back into his chair, his smirk still playing at his lips.
"I’ll find out eventually, you know," he teased. Enjolras glanced at him from the corner of his eye, chewing nervously on his lip. Grantaire held back his laugh, ignoring the blush rising in his cheeks.
"What the hell was that?" Enjolras asked angrily the moment the door to Javert’s classroom shut behind him, red flushing his cheeks as he faced Grantaire.
"Just messing around with you, what else is new?" Grantaire shrugged, trying to hide the smile creeping along his lips.
"I know what you’re trying to do," Enjolras snarled, his face hovering dangerously close to Grantaire’s.
"And what would that be, Apollo?" Grantaire smirked, eyes dropping down to the other boy’s lips. He was pressed between Enjolras and the wall, trying to ignore his hot breath on his face with every moment.
"It was one time, Grantaire."
Grantaire’s eyes snapped up at his words, surprised by the blatant admittance of what had been Unspeakable Events. He took a minute to ignore the twinge of hurt it had caused, regressing back to a cocky grin.
"You so sure about that?" he whispered, noticing with satisfaction that Enjolras had only gotten closer to him. He could feel the brass buttons of his blazer pressing through Grantaire’s own tattered uniform button-down, the silk of his tie brushing the skin exposed by Enjolras’s reluctance to button his own shirt all the way up. Grantaire could practically see Enjolras’s brain fighting with itself, subconsciously leaning even closer to him—
The boys jumped apart, Enjolras’s face a shade of red Grantaire didn’t think was humanly possible. He turned to see Éponine standing down the corridor, a bemused smirk on her face.
"Where’s Cosette?" she asked casually, ignoring Enjolras.
"Uh, dinner with her father," Grantaire stammered out. Éponine only raised an eyebrow, not satisfied with the response. He fished around his pocket hastily, throwing her a small key.
"That’s the key to her dorm," he explained. "She usually gets back in ten minutes, just wait for her."
"Great," Éponine smiled, tucking the key into the pocket of her skinny jeans. She looked horribly out of place amongst the tapestries with her combat boots and black t-shirt that hung loosely on her too-thin frame, eyeliner smudged carelessly and hair in a messy tangle of waist-length curls. She started to walk away before turning back, unable to keep the grin off her face as she winked at Grantaire.
"By all means, don’t let me ruin the mood," she teased, laughing at Enjolras’s mortified expression as she strutted away. The boys stared at each other for several tense moments, neither saying a word.
"I’ll, uh, see you later R," Enjolras breathed, avoiding Grantaire’s eyes as he hurried away. Grantaire was so flustered he barely noticed the nickname.
Sometimes he really hated Éponine.