Who: Enjolras and Grantaire What: Taire gets a late Christmas present courtesy of Enjolras' desperate need to DO something When: Friday afternoon Where: The Inn Status: Complete
It was still hard.
Oh, it did get easier, everyone was right about that. Enjolras was now able to get out of bed. He did daily activities like get dressed, check his email, go for his usual run. Though guilt gnawed at him, he still hadn't convinced himself to go down into the city to check on the homeless. But he was getting there. That didn't mean it didn't burn. Not like a fiery rage, but a constant dull simmer that never quite went away. Reminders of her lingered everywhere. It was miserable. Still, he didn't want to forget. He wanted to still hold on to her with everything he had, always hoping she'd be returned.
He had to keep busy, though. Allowing himself too much time to dwell was only causing him more pain. And he didn't want to try and find a new job in his current state and he didn't want to go down to the people he had so loved helping and try to explain to them why Eponine had stopped visiting.
So he returned to a project that had occurred to him when he'd made his bauble wish. He had hoped to get it done closer to Christmas but then the crippling misery had set in and he hadn't. Now, though... Now maybe he could.
The larger of the spare rooms had rarely been used since it was more set up for families and most of the Inn's guests had been single travelers or couples. It also faced a setting sun, perfect for what Enjolras had in mind. It had taken a lot of effort to keep it a secret. Working when his best friend was out, reading lots of do it yourself books and instructional videos online. For a couple of projects he'd had to call in professionals, and he'd done that on days that Grantaire took Gavroche out, or visited with his other friends.
It had taken almost three full weeks but it seemed to be complete. The floor was concrete and the walls were a stark white. Perfect for getting paint splattered everywhere. The entire main wall had been torn down and replaced with a large window that caught the afternoon's light. No morning sun for his sleepyhead friend. A number of canvases were already set up and a cabinet in the corner held various art media: watercolors, oils, chalks, charcoal, even things Enjolras didn't think Grantaire currently used but might enjoy trying like sculpting clay and wax. A large table sat near the window, laid out for sketching, though Enjolras knew his friend could find just about any position for drawing if he got the urge.
It was as close to an artists studio as they would find in a house and he hoped his friend would like it. Grantaire certainly deserved it for what all he had put up with the last few weeks. What little energy Enjolras did have went into Gavroche, or whatever projects he created. Projects such as this room. It was a bit late to be a Christmas gift but that's what it was meant to be.
He left a note on Grantaire's bed to meet him at the room down the hallway from his own. No explanations. And he stood and waited. Knowing Taire, it wouldn't be long. He rarely made Enjolras wait for the things he wanted.
He'd been out for the day with Lydia. It was late afternoon by the time he got back to the inn. It wasn't that he was avoiding Enjolras. He cherished every moment his friend had accepted his company over the weeks he'd been so intent on seeking out solitude. But now, when he was starting to do so much better, getting back into a routine again, Grantaire needed to get out again. And so he spent the day with Lydia, or Rebekah, or Gavroche. It didn't bother him much what they did. Just that it was something. He was as bad at sitting still as Enjolras now seemed to be. Always had been. And it served as a distraction on the days when his fingers itched to hold a bottle.
Enjolras had gone seemingly overnight from hiding away in his room at all hours to getting up at a reasonable hour, running again, going out with Gavroche. It was a reminder of one of the many reasons he felt for his friend what he did. Enjolras, despite what he had been through, was strong enough to come through it. He hadn't let himself sink into his despair the way Grantaire had.
Finding the note on his bed was a little bemusing, considering that Enjolras could simply come and find him if he wanted something, or send a message to his phone if he was out. Still, he was hardly going to ignore it. Setting down the sketchbook that he so often carried with him, he walked down to the room at the end of the hall, to find his friend waiting. Part of him wondered if this was something to do with Eponine. His mind conjured thoughts of this room holding things of hers. He hadn't seen the door of the room open in weeks. Curiosity hadn't stopped him from avoiding it though. If it was a room she'd used, he hadn't considered opening it.
"A note, Apollo?" He didn't tease, not quite. But it didn't stop the amusement spread across his face.
"I can still be old fashioned," Enjolras protested, the slight smile he usually wore now on his face. It was a vast improvement from the solemn expression he'd worn only weeks earlier but it still wasn't the wide grin the people he was close to would be used to. Sometimes he wondered if it ever would be again. Such an intense loss changed a person. Enjolras had seen that any number of times thanks to Lawrence. But he was trying.
So instead of making a big to do over a note, he simply stepped aside and pushed the door open, letting Grantaire take a look inside. And, knowing his friend would never have thought something was made specifically for him, he shrugged. "Merry Christmas? Bit late. I sort of got side tracked."
Which was no excuse but the funding for said gift had come from the bauble. And only days after... Well. Whatever it took, he would keep his head up. And if that meant spoiling someone who deserved it, then that's what he would do.
He chose not to reply to that. In part because anything that came to mind was simply to be contrary, as was his habit. Even when he didn't truly disagree, it was something he'd always done. To spark an argument and see that righteous determination, or simply in a pathetic attempt to hold Enjolras' attention for a while longer. He'd always done it. But things had been different the last few weeks, and though he'd never truly be any good at being mindful of his words, he'd been treading a bit more carefully with his friend.
"Christmas?" It didn't register immediately as the door was pushed open and he took a step inside, eyes drawn immediately to the window. The rest of it barely registered as he took in the view from the wide expanse of glass. "This explains what's kept you so busy." Finally looking away from the view, he took in the rest of it. The table, the cabinet in the corner. "You did all this? For Christmas?" The for me? went unspoken but hung loudly. "It's too much, Apollo. Even by your standards." His generosity knew no bounds, and Grantaire knew it. But this? He'd been battling grief at losing his wife, and still he had put all his time and energy into a gift that he knew he could never match.
The reaction was the first thing to make Enjolras genuinely smile in weeks. Of course he was baffled. He should have been. "I needed to be kept busy," he replied with a simple tilt of his shoulders. No need to explain why. Grantaire knew. It was Enjolras' method for dealing and they both likely knew that.
"Do you like it?" His voice was hesitant, even childlike. Desperately seeking acceptance. Admittedly he knew he hadn't always done right by Grantaire. Occasionally treating him like dirt, talking down to what he'd become, and even the last few weeks, all but ignoring him when he was just trying help. A simple room wasn't going to mend all of that.
But he certainly hoped it would help.
"I thought about maybe a studio in the city, you know? I know it's not Paris but... Anyway. I thought you might like to be here instead. But if you'd rather that, we still can." Generosity was, in fact, one of Enjolras' strengths. He was richer than he had ever been in his life and he was using it to spoil the people who meant something to him. The ones who stood by him while the world fell apart.
“Like it?” He repeated somewhat dumbly, finally giving in to temptation and opening the doors of the cabinet in the corner, taking in its contents. “Apollo it’s…” Perfect. It was perfect. “It really is too much, you know that, don’t you?” He turned back to face his friend, finally.
He shook his head when Enjolras said it wasn’t Paris, his gaze drawn to the window again. “Paris is beautiful, but I never had anything like this in Paris. Nothing close to this.” Mostly because they both know exactly where the majority of his money had gone in the end.
“Did you do all this yourself?” Not that he doubted he was capable, of anything really, but it was a lot. More than he could take in.
"No," Enjolras protested, shaking his head. "It really isn't." As far as he was concerned, it wasn't enough to make up for all their wasted time. But if it was even a bit of a pleasure to Grantaire, then it was a start.
Paris was beautiful and Enjolras knew Grantaire's heart was still there. Maybe someday, when it wasn't so painful, the three of them could take a trip there. Trocadero was beautiful in the spring with the Tower looming over you. Gavroche could run and be ridiculous in the parks and Grantaire could sketch the entire city and he... Well. He would decide there. That wasn't until later anyway. All that mattered was that Grantaire didn't mind not being in the heart of the city.
"Most of it," he admitted with a bashful expression. "The window was no project for a beginner and I had someone come help with that part. I had some trouble with the flooring, too. The rest though...yeah." It hadn't taken that much effort. Laying out the minimal furniture, painting and laying down the concrete. Other than tearing out the wall to place the window, it had been fairly simple. "Maybe I'll help build homes for my next project. I'm halfway to helpful."
Turning back to the window, he moved the few steps to the table, picking up one of the pencils that already lay there. “Too much or not...thank you. Really. It is more than I’d have imagined.” More than he deserved, too. If Enjolras didn’t recognise that, he was dreaming.
“And the view. Well, whether you did it or not the window is perfect.” Turning back again, he leant against the edge of his desk. “This makes everything from my wedding gift to Christmas rather pale in comparison, doesn’t it?” He rolled the pencil between his palms, considering his friend. “You have been through more than what’s fair. And you still found the time to do this. It means more than thanks can cover, Apollo.”
And in return? He’d have to think of something. All that came to mind was another picture. Something of the view out the window, maybe. His only real talent put to use as best as it could be.
Enjolras knew he would now have to come up with another project or face what happened when he didn't. Perhaps something huge for Gavroche. A play area in the grounds of the Inn, maybe. A new cause to care for. New people to fight for. He had to stay busy and his mind knew it. But for the moment he was content to simply revel in the aftermath of this project. Of Grantaire's baffled expression and his insistence that it was too much for him.
"Stop," he insisted, shaking his head. As he hadn't been working in ages and he didn't go in public much anymore, his hair was in its natural state and flopped in his face as he did. "It is not. Every talented artist deserves a proper place to work. And maybe I was just getting tired of finding pencils everywhere and cleaning charcoal off the couch, you don't know." But his grin was wide, nearly his true smile, and anyone would be a fool to think he hadn't meant this from the bottom of his heart.
Perhaps Grantaire was right. Perhaps he had been through more than was fair. But sitting and doing nothing wasn't helping him any. In fact, it would likely kill him. "It doesn't matter," he protested half-heartedly. "I needed the distraction. It helped me as much as I hope it's going to help you."
He had the unbidden thought of wanting to push the hair back off his face, and as soon as that traitorous thought entered his head he dismissed it. He was such an idiot, holding to foolish notions. He clung to the joking yet accusing words that followed like a lifeline. “I do not get charcoal on the couch.” Not much, anyway. Still, who could begrudge Enjolras those words, and this moment, when it prompted that smile? He had missed it, and hadn’t realised just how long it had been since he’d seen it.
Setting the pencil he was still holding down on the table beside him, he walked back over to the door, so they were not speaking across the room.
“I’m glad it helped you. And I appreciate it.” Even if he disagreed with Enjolras’ assessment of his talent. He didn’t want his friend to think any differently about his appreciation. “Now that it’s here you can make that attempt with watercolours you mentioned.”
"Sure you don't," Enjolras replied placatingly. "Those are just bits of dust, then." It was common though. For them to be sitting on the couch watching TV and Grantaire to be drawing next to him. Usually Enjolras had some book or another, occasionally making notes, but Grantaire was always sketching.
He may not have had any artistic abilities of his own, but he was well-studied, both in his time and this one. Good art was something he knew. Something he could see. And he saw it in Grantaire's work. Strong lines, vibrant colors, tiny details most people would miss. He was brilliant, whether he could ever say so or not. "Maybe I will. It'll be abstract of course. Or interpretive. Water color stick figures will be my new thing."
"For all that you say you have no artistic talent, I've no doubt you could do more than simply stick figures, Apollo. Still. I'd hate to trample your creativity." Grantaire had studied under Gros, and whilst he might not have placed much confidence in his talent he knew good art when he saw it. Knew how a picture should should come together. And somehow he knew Enjolras would be a natural if he had a want to try.
He didn't know that he could think of a thing Enjolras had attempted that he did not master. If he weren't so in awe he might have been jealous. As It was he was too enraptured by what he could do, how he could convince people. Even when he did disagree with him.
Enjolras would have rolled his eyes at Grantaire's train of thought if he'd had any idea. Everyone who knew them knew Grantaire was the natural talent. His art was hardly his only strength. He was actually quite intelligent, at least as smart as he himself was, if not up there with the likes of Joly and Combeferre. The alcohol may have dulled what could have been an incredibly talented genius, but he was still charming and graceful and known for at least half a dozen skills.
Fortunately, Enjolras had never longed to be that sort of man. There had never been any hope for fun skills. He needed to use his words as they were the only true talent he had. The ability to spin them into a convincing argument, the constant urge to turn them into something real. Something important. Even if those he was closest to didn't always back him.
"I'll leave painting the sky to you, mon ami. I'm afraid what little I have tried never follows my brain to the paper." He gave a shrug and then entered the room. "I should get you a sitting chair for in here, too. So Gavroche or I can come pester you while you work." As if in an afterthought he added "and a Do Not Disturb sign. You're going to need that."
"It's hardly something that goes right the first time. Or so I was told at all my woeful attempts when I first started. Still, it's no secret you sway more people with your words than the most incredible piece of art ever could. No need to alter what works so well."
He smiled, amused at the thought. "if Gavroche wants to pester me we both know he doesn't need a chair to do it. Besides, I might like to claim it for myself. A do not disturb sign, though. Definitely. And perhaps a lock." To keep prying eyes out. He already had his one sketch book which held pictures he considered completely private. He didn't need everything he drew being seen.
He so desperately wished he could believe him. The confidence Enjolras had once had in his speeches had dampened considerably. Eponine had worked consistently trying to build it back up. But the fact remained that, though he had stirred an entire city with his words, in the end it hadn't been enough. In the end, the people of Paris abandoned the only men willing to stand for them and make the world better.
If he dwelled too long, though, he would end up back in the dark place he had spent well over a week and he refused. Shaking himself slightly, he shrugged. "I think you underestimate the power of art, especially a powerful piece in an ever changing world." And now, in a time where a piece could be seen by millions in an instant, he could make change happen probably even better than Enjolras himself. If he believed in his work enough to let it be seen.
"I believe we can arrange for a lock. Though don't think it'll mean you can hide in here. I did learn a few things about lock picking from..." Her name was still difficult, particularly out loud. "From the war and all. Use it as a reason to hide away and I'll come drag you back out."
“I think this will have to be the all too familiar case of us agreeing to disagree.” People could look at a picture, could appreciate its beauty (if that’s what it was), and then they’d move on. It couldn’t change the world or move mountains. It couldn’t do the things his friends speeches could do. He hadn’t believed in a lot of what he was saying, but he couldn’t miss how it had affected people.
“Who said anything about hiding? I don’t hide.” He preferred to consider the times he sought out solitude to be a consideration of other people. They didn’t need to be subjected to his mood when he felt that way. Enjolras himself had called his morning disposition ‘rude’.
He wisely steered clear of the pause in his friends words, knowing exactly what he’d been intending to say. The war hadn’t made it necessary for him to learn how to pick locks. And he knew what Eponine had been capable of.
"I really hate when you do that," Enjolras said quietly. "We can agree to disagree but I truly hate when you refuse to see how important you could be to this world." Honestly, Enjolras had no idea when Grantaire had lost nearly all of his confidence. For a man with so much to offer, he truly saw nothing good in himself. A part of him blamed himself. If he hadn't spent the better part of a year or so talking down to the man, maybe he wouldn't have dug himself so deep. "For all your talk, I could rule the world, so long as I had you at my side." He gave a tiny smile at that to show he wasn't angry, and perhaps to show he had no intentions of actually taking over the world.
"You don't hide because I won't let you," he reminded him. "Just as you didn't allow me." There was unspoken gratitude in those words. His expression was earnest, even hopeful. Thanks to the Seal, Enjolras didn't have a great deal of people left who mattered to him. He wouldn't allow Grantaire to think even a minute went by that he wasn't thankful for all he had done.
That made him pause, because he didn't know how to respond at first. It used to be that the earnest, hopeful things Enjolras said would make him roll his eyes. It was a bit different when it was directed at him alone. He didn't like to simply brush off his friends words when it was so clear what he was doing, but he simply had no answer for him. Because he didn't agree. He was in no position to be important to this world. He had no desire to. What difference could he make? The seal would still send them to horrible places, would still send away the people that they grew to love. No amount of nicely drawn pictures could change that.
"There is something truly terrifying at the thought of you attempting world rule. Probably because you'd manage it." He was making light of it again, but his expression mirrored that on Enjolras' face. His friend knew him well enough to know that he had heard the words, had understood them for what they were. Even if he didn't, couldn't, agree.
"You haven't, not since I got here. I could hardly let you do it." When he'd been returned from Panem, a shaking, delirious mess, Enjolras had been there for him. Every step of the way. He wouldn't forget that in a hurry. He knew there was regret there, that he believed he had abandoned Grantaire back home when he had needed him, and he knew this was his way of making up for that. It wasn't true, and he didn't blame him. But that didn't mean he wasn't truly grateful for the result. And who could deny that look on his face? He'd defy anyone to ignore that sincerity. He closed the small space between them, putting his arms around his friend in an embrace as he spoke. "Merci, Enjolras. I have never been given such a gift."
He supposed by then he had to accept that Grantaire would never truly long to change the world as Enjolras himself did. He often even wondered why the man had bothered attending the meetings and rallies when he so clearly found the purpose behind them pointless. That didn't mean Enjolras was willing to allow him to sit on his talents, wasting them away. Maybe, somehow, he could convince him to see things the right way.
"I would be a brilliant world ruler and you know it," he teased right back. "Just relax and wait until I assign you your new position." It was a typical exchange for them, but given how dark the last few weeks had been for Enjolras, it was a huge step in the right direction.
The hug surprised him. Grantaire had never been one for physical affection and, for that matter, neither had he. Usually if there was any, it was caused by life and death matters. Still, he wouldn't turn it down. It had only been a few weeks and already he craved the affection and the attention he had gotten from his wife. Just seeing the happiness in Grantaire's eyes helped soothe that over. "Just do great things with it," he urged. "Do what we all know you're capable of and it will be worth every minute put into it."
Enjolras hadn't been alone in not understanding why he kept turning up. He'd been questioned often enough by Joly and Bousset. He thought Joly might have known, and understood. Bousset had never been quite as perceptive though, and Grantaire was grateful for that. When his own life had seemed so dark and hopeless, he had clung to the hope and certainty in Enjolras like a lifeline. He had known from the start with all the certainty he could muster that they would fall. But he could never have left them. And in the end, there had been no doubt in his mind of where his place was.
"You are certainly my pick over most of the alternatives." He'd missed this, the easy banter and teasing they had shared up until only recently. It had taken a while to get it back, when he'd first arrived here. They'd kept clashing, arguing when he hadn't even intended them to. But finally, they'd reached that place where they'd been back when they were so much younger, before everything changed. And then the seal had gone and taken Eponine and turned everything on its head again.
He wasn't sure he knew who the 'all' was, that Enjolras referred to as. But he knew for his friend, the least he could do was make an attempt at what he was asking of him. "I'll try," he promised as he lowered his arms again. Because that was the best he could offer.