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Grantaire takes great care to believe in nothing (justonemorelie) wrote in valarlogs, @ 2014-04-14 16:23:00

Who: Enjolras and Grantaire
What: Grantaire has some unorthodox ways of making rent. Enjolras finds out.
When: Late Sunday (13 April) night, around 11:30pm
Where: Their apartment
Warnings: Talk of fight clubs, tending to injuries sustained from said fight club.
Status: Log | Complete


The good news was that Grantaire had won the fight in the end and had the money needed for rent, as well as groceries and supplies. The bad news was that it had been a close match. He was all for a challenge in the ring, but the more injuries he sustained, the harder it was to win and the then there was that whole roommate situation. Enjolras didn’t ask how Grantaire made the rent, just knew about the odd jobs that he would pick up. The fights and gambling, not so much. His watch read that it was eleven o’clock and the walk to the apartment was a half hour.

What he needed was a drink to numb the pain and then to pass out and stay in the studio until the bruises faded. Because there were definitely going to be bruises. His adrenaline was still pumping so that walking wasn’t as bad as it could be, for which Grantaire was relieved. He’d get groceries in the next few days once the bruising along his jaw and face faded.

Arriving at the apartment, the man grabbed his keys and headed to the locked door. It was late and everything was dark. Good. Or not good as it meant he ran into the corner of a counter before he could get the light on. With the side that was bruised from one too many punches and kicks. Grunting in pain, Grantaire turned the light on to inspect the damage.

Enjolras had spent the last few days with his books. He hadn’t even been paying attention to the fact that rent day was coming up because he’d been so distracted. There was a civil rights case coming up that the Freedom Project group members were counting on him to help with. To be able to help he needed knowledge, and for that-many many books. And so there it was. He’d spent the day studying into the night, and eventually fell asleep on top of several open ones.

His sleep hadn’t been that deep, actually it’d been entirely the opposite and he was having issues with it. He worried he wouldn’t lead effectively, or he’d stutter and look like an idiot, or really any number of possibilities that could go wrong-did in his nightmares.

When the lights flicked on and he heard movement, he woke and raised a tired eyebrow at the figure in the doorway. “Grantaire? What time is it?” He inspected his watch and stood with a stretch. It was only then that he looked over at his roommate and saw the bruises. “What the hell happened to you?” Worry written on his face as he approached him and gently tried to examine the damage.

Huh. Enjolras was in the main area this late? That was unexpected.

“After eleven-thirty… did you fall asleep on your books?” Because that really was the only thing that Grantaire could think of as to why Enjolras would still be out there and seemingly just having woken up. Last he checked, his roommate didn’t just sleep in the living room to sleep in there. Which made sense, he recalled something about a case about… something. Too much shit went on in the world that it was hard to keep up with the different projects.

By the time Enjolras had noticed the bruises, Grantaire had gone back to investigating on his own.

“Hmm? Oh, you should see the other guy.” He’d won, so the other guy had gotten off worse. But it was all fair. Hissing in pain as Enjolras did his own investigation of the bruising, Grantaire closed the door in case there were neighbors who showed up.

With his duffle bag on the floor, all he could do at the moment was stand there and be subjected to Enjolras’ fretting.

"The hell does it matter?" His frown only deepened at his pained sounds, and he reluctantly removed his hands after noting the touch was only bringing him pain. The last thing he wanted to do was be responsible for more discomfort. "The other guy?" He looked down at his watch and noted the date. Right, rent..odd jobs. Enjolras hated Grantaire's odd jobs. He was a talented artist, and he put up with this sort of abuse to pay the bills. Enjolras was by no means rich now, so he got it-but he didn't like it.

It showed as he commanded him into the kitchen. "Sit. We're getting ice on those." He got to work preparing ice packs and wrapping them in paper towels. He didn't leave room for Grantaire to argue with him, he just did exactly as he said he was about to.

"Fight clubs aren't the answer.." He chided, mostly out of worry.

Holding his hands up in mock surrender while managing not to aggravate the growing bruise on his side, Grantaire went to the seat he was commanded to. If there was one thing he had learned in living with Enjolras, it was to pick his battles. Actually it was a lesson he had learned long before this, he just tended to follow it a bit more. At least in situations when it mattered which apparently his ways of making the rent counted.

“Margot tell you to say that?”

When in doubt, blame the older sister in New York. And it wouldn’t surprise him at all if Marguerite called Enjolras to check on him. Especially given the fact he was disowned and their mother was dead. Well, he knew she worried but really, he’d be fine. He was always underestimated in the fights for his size and he used that to his advantage. Either way, the idea of her and Enjolras talking to one another wasn’t a stretch at all.

“She’s not the only one who worries.” The frown couldn’t deepen further, but it remained as it was as he focused on treating the visible injuries. As annoyed as he was with Grantaire he was gentle. Causing him as little discomfort as possible. If he hadn’t chosen being a lawyer, he probably would have made a fairly good nurse. He wouldn’t admit to it though. His heart belonged to the court. And the man in the chair, but that was another thing he refused to admit.

No matter how many stupid things Grantaire did, Enjolras put up with them all. Never once had he thought to turn the man away no matter the worry he was put through by it. Nor did he scold him or let on to the worry, but it showed subtly. It showed in the little ways he focused on the bruises, trying to numb the pain, it showed in the way he told him to hold the ice packs while he got him a pain killer or two. And later on at night it would show when he got through yet another sleepless night of worrying while the man healed.

The only one who didn’t see it, was him. Grantaire was just a friend. A hapless, magnet for trouble-friend. Enjolras was fiercely loyal to those he called friend. They were few and he intended to keep them close. Grantaire fell into that category. There was little he wouldn’t do for him, but that didn’t mean from time to time he didn’t want to ring his neck a little.

This was one of the reasons Grantaire had kept the fight clubs secret. The worry. For all the jokes and comments about how all Enjolras did was wound him with cruel words, he knew that he worried. It wasn’t a friendship that made any sort of sense to most, but it was the most important one in Grantaire’s life. At the same time, he wasn’t ashamed of who he was, or what he felt. That would just become a mess if he started doing that. He’d been disowned for that very reason. Not pretending to be someone else, a businessman or whatever his father expected him to be. Life was cruel, there wasn’t much hope in it, but some part of the cynic grasped for hope anyway.

“Mmm.”

No, Marguerite wasn’t the only one who worried. It was just strange when Enjolras did. Taking the pain relievers, Grantaire remained still. Enjolras was in his ‘fix it’ mode, so the fact that it really wasn’t the worst he’d dealt with didn’t seem relevant at the moment.

“It’s not a monthly thing.”

Because that would help. Really. But it just depended on the odd jobs he got and what the payout was. He knew how to work the odds in his favor.

"If it's not this it's something else." He frowned as he finished doing what little he could for visible bruises and went to wash his hands in the sink. He was quiet as he did. Grantaire had fully intended just to sneak back to his studio and suffer just to get the rent on time. It both infuriated and eased his mind. He knew he couldn't be that angry. Grantaire wasn't the working stiff type of guy, but he wished he were sometimes.

Enjolras splashed some water on his own face and wiped it down with a paper towel. Tiredness still in his eyes, but there was going to be little sleep for him tonight. Instead he set up a coffee pot.

"That makes it all better of course." He said in exasperation as he finally did turn to look at him a bit more properly now that the injuries had been tended to the best he could. "Is anything broken? And don't lie to me, you know I'll find out anyway."

Grantaire just shrugged and lowered his shirt once Enjolras was done. It was always something, it seemed. At least in the aspiring lawyer’s eyes. Grantaire was fine with how things were. He didn’t get into too much trouble. Though it was clear that he’d intended to just sneak in and pretend none of it had happened. Nothing he could deny there. Not that he would. Sarcasm and joking was often used to mask the truth of things, anyway.

The notion of being a regular working guy was a laugh though. He had tried before, it had ended badly. Needless to say, odd jobs here and there, gambling, fighting, those tended to work out better for him. And he never missed a deadline on the rent, so really, what was the big deal?

Letting silence fall, the artist looked to his roommate as he washed his face and just quirked a brow. Coffee this late at night? Really?

“Just some bruised ribs.” He had already taken stock of the injuries on his walk back to the apartment and then when Enjolras had been tending to the injuries. Picking up a discarded ice pack, he leaned his head back and placed it over the bruised side of his face, closing his eyes.

“Don’t you have court tomorrow?”

At this point Enjolras knew not to even try to get Grantaire to get a regular job anymore. As much as he hated his random money schemes at rent time, it worked. Grantaire had his half of the rent and they weren't thrown out. Enjolras was paid through the internship he took on, so he didn't worry as much. It was just Grantaire he had to look after.

And that was exactly what he intended to do. Shooting Grantaire an annoyed look as he waited for the coffee to brew, he leaned against the counter. "I do. But I still have more work to do." He lied. Whatever.

Grantaire would resent such a sentiment if it was actually voiced. He could survive on his own if he needed. He just didn’t because Enjolras was in need of a roommate and well, they were friends so it didn’t matter. Either way, the shorter man shook his head at the comment on having more work to do.

“You always have more work to do because you’re never satisfied. You need to learn to relax a little.”

Said the college dropout who indulged in alcohol and small time jobs and his art, be it painting or the guitar. Again with the opposites, but it was a normal situation, really. Enjolras working all the time and burying himself in said work while Grantaire… buried himself in his art. Okay, so they were just passionate about different things.

“And you already fell asleep on your books. I think that means you need sleep.” Logic. He could use it. He actually could do a lot of things that most didn’t realize because he tended to come off as uninspired and not caring. He just knew it didn’t work, but he had his passions and he did believe, at least he did in Enjolras

"I relax just fine. Just not when there are things that need doing thank you. Time and a place and this isn't it." Enjolras shrugged as he poured himself his coffee and sat across from Grantaire. He knew Grantaire had his pride, which was why he made up the story of having more work to do. He often did when he wanted to look after his friend without letting him know in so many words. He cared. Probably a little too much, but he did.

"This is a big case." Another lie. There was really no stepping stone toward Enjolras' ultimate goal of Supreme Court, but at this point he would take any case he were able. A case won was a case won, and another thing for the resume. He took them all seriously.

"Later. I'll be fine, really. " He took a long drink from his coffee and made a face, adding in a generous amount of sugar and milk to make it actually drinkable.

“Whatever you say, Apollo.” If he was going to stay up, he was going to stay up. Grantaire just didn’t buy that he was fine since he had already fallen asleep on his books. Just like he wasn’t certain this was the time and place to stay up. But Enjolras seemed quite adamant. Which was also a normal reaction from him.

Letting silence fall for a bit, the artist kept his eyes closed, head still leaning back. There wasn’t much to say at the moment. No one knew exactly how the man prioritized his cases. How he used them and saw them. Grantaire certainly couldn’t keep up with the cases, what they were for, what new thing was being fought for. There was always some injustice in the world that needed fixing.

“So you plan to risk falling asleep in court for such a big case.”

“Must you call me that?” He said with an annoyed eyebrow raised at him from behind his coffee cup. Coffee was basically his saving grace then. If not for it, he’d have probably fallen back asleep on the table instead. That would have been embarrassing.

“Please, it doesn’t affect me that much.” He rubbed at his eyes to remove some of the exhaustion from them, but it failed. He instead leaned his cheek against his fist and looked over at him. “How do you feel?..if you keep the ice pack on it the pain should numb..” Enjolras set the coffee down, he really didn’t feel like drinking it after all. And after he’d made it already, that was obnoxious.

Smirking at the annoyance, because when in doubt, aggravate Enjolras by calling him Apollo, Grantaire just shrugged before reciting part of a poem.

“GOD of the golden bow,
And of the golden lyre,
And of the golden hair,
And of the golden fire,
Charioteer
Of the patient year,
Where---where slept thine ire,
When like a blank idiot I put on thy wreath,
Thy laurel, thy glory,
The light of thy story,
Or was I a worm---too low crawling for death?
O Delphic Apollo! “

Really, it was just too perfect an opportunity after Enjolras’ question. Of course he had to call him Apollo, for he could basically was the embodiment of Apollo. And it was just amusing to see his reaction. There was always that part as well. Sitting up again, Grantaire rolled the eye not presently under and ice pack.

“Of course it doesn’t.”

The suggestion about the ice pack was met with a nod. He was used to taking care of injuries and bruises following a fight.

“I’m aware. Really. It’s not that bad.”

Enjolras gave him a look yet again that he must be veery familiar with by now. How many times had he told Grantaire not to call him Apollo? That was equally how many annoyed expressions the young man opposite of him had received- if not more. "You done?" He'd asked him at the Charioteer line, but of course he wasn't.

"Fine. you enjoy that." He said with a grumble and turned to go to bed.

Enjolras’ interruption didn’t even warrant a stuttering in the recited poetry. No, he just finished the verse of the poem and, had he not been sitting, would have bowed. No matter. Sometimes, in the back of his mind, Grantaire wondered why he kept pushing, as if an actual answer might make him stop. Once he was started though, he just wouldn’t finish.

Even so. It seemed as though Enjolras had decided sleep was the better course of action instead of dealing with Grantaire and his late night antics. Watching as his roommate headed to his room, Grantaire’s make of amusement faltered as he stood up and poured himself some brandy. This was all he had really needed that night, anyway. Brandy at the ready, the brunette man moved to his duffle bag to put the rent money on the table then grabbed his things and headed to his room to ice his injuries alone.