Chapter 17

It was… it was surreal feeling Enjolras' lips on his. Knowing it was Enjolras who had initiated this. Tasting Enjolras, feeling how their mouths fitted perfectly together.

Letting his hands run through Enjolras' curls. Enjolras pushing him against the wall, pressing his body against Grantaire's. Keeping their mouths locked, until they were both out of breath.

And then just standing together, breathing heavily. A little smile. Just lingering in the moment for a short while.

"We should get back to the others."

"Yeah." But why didn’t he feel like reuniting with the others at this moment?



It was a long, silent walk back to the pub, even when their walk consisted of only a few streets. It felt so long, and Grantaire had no idea how to act around Enjolras - again. His lips still burned where Enjoras' had met his.

And still there was the uncertainty, the not knowing what was going on between them. But this time he knew Enjolras wanted to kiss him too, even when it was only in private. Even if it would never happen again. For a short moment he had wanted Grantaire, and Grantaire could live with that.

Even if that craving kept existing.

The moment he entered the pub, he had no time to think about them. He was immediately flocked by almost the entire crew.

Éponine was the first to reach him. "R!" she yelled, almost like she wanted to say 'you’re still here. You stayed'. Of course I stayed. Of course I waited. I could never leave. I've tried, god, I’ve tried. But I can’t.

She hugged him. Somewhere along the attack on the Patron-Minette and them boarding the Mussain she had turned into a hugger. Thinking for days, weeks, that she had died, had made Grantaire appreciate it more.

Even though Grantaire had to work early in the morning, he knew he wouldn’t go to bed anytime soon. Not when Bahorel pulled him in a rib-crushing hug. Not when Bossuet wanted to show off his new scar, with Joly immediately following him to make sure he still took his rest, and Musichetta just looking at them while talking to Feuilly.

When the first chaos had slowed down, and everyone found their places somewhere with a drink, Grantaire ended up with Éponine. Enjolras was placed on the other side of the bar. Since entering the pub, he had gradually increased the space between them.

Éponine looked at another table, where Marius and Cosette were sitting, holding hands. "How are you holding up, Ép?" Grantaire asked her. Staying on a ship, day after day, seeing the two love birds together, knowing you can never have it, but still wanting it. Grantaire couldn’t imagine how difficult it must have been for Éponine. (Or could he?)

She shrugged. "It's difficult, but what choice do I have? He is happy. I'm not gonna destroy his happiness." She wasn’t finished talking, Grantaire could see. So he waited, until she was ready to talk again.

"You know what the worst part is? She is fucking perfect. She is kind, and sweet, and genuinely cares about him and about the rest of the crew. I can’t even hate her, because without him I would really like her." Cosette was such a kind person who actually saw the good in people, and Grantaire liked her for that. She and Marius seemed good for each other. She made Marius even more blushing and stammering than usual, he made her smile, made her giggly. They were cute together.

He wouldn’t tell Éponine that of course.

But she sighed again and waved her hand around to say she didn’t want to talk about it anymore. She grabbed her drink and took a large gulp. "I'm holding up because I have no choice. He doesn’t even know."

Grantaire laid his hand on her shoulder and squeezed it. "You’re not alone Ép."

Éponine grimassed and tilted her glass in a toast. "To not being alone, but always being second choice," she said.

"To being second choice," Grantaire repeated. The way Enjolras had left him the moment they had entered the pub, the way he wasn’t looking at Grantaire, again, made him wonder whether it had just been his imagination before. Maybe it had never happened. Maybe he was the second choice, just a throwaway in times of emptiness.

They were interrupted by Bahorel who was gathering everyone for a drinking game. Maybe it was for the best. Their conversation was turning dark rather quickly.

The game turned out to be just a very good opportunity to drink, and by the time Grantaire went back to his rented house, he had passed the stage of 'drunk' by a lot.

He had had merely an hour sleep before getting up again for work. The ship builder wasn’t very happy about Grantaire’s state of mind. Grantaire was used to the way his boss talked to him, even though he started to sound more and more like Claquesous. He just nodded, said he was sorry and went to work - a lot slower than usual. Of course he knew he shouldn’t have stayed this long in the pub, but talking to his friends, he had felt more human than he had had in a long time.