Chapter 22

The next day Grantaire had to face Enjolras. It was difficult, picking up the food, walking to that building. There were still guards, even though they had changed. Inspector Javert didn’t trust people too long around Enjolras, even when Enjolras was inside and the guards outside. The longer they were exposed to Enjolras’ charms (or spell, whatever you would call it), the greater the risk of them falling for it.

The paper inside his pocket seemed to burn. He was so aware of the looks he got. Did they know? Would they stop him and search him? What if they knew? What would happen then?

But nobody stopped him, until he was standing in front of the door of Enjolras’ room (his cell. It was his cell, even though they dressed it up nicely). It was his own gut that stopped him. How could he face Enjolras, while knowing about his soonly arriving fate?

But he had to face Enjolras. So he stepped inside, delivered the food and the paper, smiled, made some small talk. And then he left. He had no words to warn Enjolras, no idea how he could say something like that. Did Enjolras even want to know? Maybe it was for the best if he didn’t say anything.

Walking away with that secret made him feel nauseous.

For dinner he returned. And again he smiled. Again he made small talk, as far as you could call the current situation small talk. He told Enjolras about the guards patrolling the city. About the arrests, about the fear. And when he left the building, this time with Enjolras’ written answer inside his pocket, he still hadn’t told Enjolras about what he knew.

---

And the next day he returned with the food, and the new letter from the mayor. Did the mayor know, he wondered while handing it to Enjolras. Did he know they were running out of time, or were they planning something they needed more time for? Were their plans to fail, just by the face of time?

Enjolras smiled at him. “Thank you Grantaire,” he said. Grantaire wanted to smile. Wanted to feel his body react to that simple sentence. Feeling the gratitude of Enjolras, knowing he did something of importance for him.

And he felt it, some way. He still felt his heart react, but at the same time he felt like he was going to vomit. What if this would be the last time he felt like this? What if he would no longer hear his voice, feel his gratitude?

"You will be executed in a week's time," he blurted out. There was no subtle way of giving this news. He couldn’t keep this to himself, couldn’t let the man think he had all the time in the world, when the clock kept ticking the seconds away. He needed Enjolras to know. He needed Enjolras to find the solution. He needed this.

Enjolras barely looked surprised. "Yeah I know."

"You know?" How could he be so calm about it? Grantaire still felt sick, every time he passed the town center, where the noose hung as a silent warning to follow the law. He freaked out every time he saw guards walking, when he heard people whispering about some gossip. Every minute he waited for the news that the execution had been advanced.

"Yeah, Javert told me."

"He barely seems like a man to gloat about his victory." But how well did Grantaire really know him? He had met him only once. How unlikely it seemed, maybe he had visited Enjolras to tell him his story would be over soon, with some wicked grin. He wasn’t a man who showed his emotions easily, but perhaps he had made an exception for Enjolras?

"But he is a man of the law. He will give me a fair trial in a few days. I'm pretty sure they will ask you to testify."

"Then I'll tell them how good you’ve been to me! How you’ve treated me nicely, how you’ve saved me!" He would do anything to save Enjolras. He would say anything he needed to say. Would tell them how kind Enjolras was, how he was a good person, how he saved people. Anything they needed to hear to drop the charges. They needed to drop the charges!

Enjolras shook his head. "No Grantaire. I need you to tell them I'm a horrible person. How I kidnapped you, locked you down in chains. Anything to get that sentence."

Silence.

“But… but…” He shook his head. “I can’t. I can’t send you to a sentence like that. It won’t be jail. It will be the noose.”

Enjolras nodded. He stood up. “I know it will.” Was he really that desperate that he couldn’t stand the thought of being locked away and preferred death?

“I’m sorry, but I can’t. I just can’t. You have the wrong person here. Ask anyone else.”

Enjolras shook his head and took a step closer. “No, it needs to be you, Grantaire.” But why? Grantaire wanted to scream. Why had it to be him? Was he the only one who deserved to be punished like this? Knowing every day after that he had sentenced Enjolras to death?

“The others are planning to change the outcome of the trial,” Enjolras said. He kept walking closer, until Grantaire could have touched him if he had lifted his hand. “They will ask you to change your story, to tell only the good parts until the judges will change their verdict. And you will nod, tell them you can do that. But I need you to tell everyone exactly those parts. Tell them I’m a monster, tell them every bad thing you can.”

Grantaire should have felt relieved that the others knew of the trial, that they were trying to save Enjolras too. But that feeling was overshadowed by the question Enjolras had asked him. Was he really capable of telling those stories? He had been able to tell them to inspector Javert, but only to get this job. To get Enjolras a sentence was a whole different story.

“But… the others… they will save you, right? They need to know.”

"Don't tell the others," Enjolras whispered. They were standing far too close.

"Yes, they will hate you. They will think you’ve betrayed them and their plan. But you will tell everyone what a horrible person I am. What I did to you. Why I need to pay." He moved even closer to Grantaire until their faces were merely centimeters away. Grantaire could feel Enjolras' breath on his face.

"It's for the greater good," Enjolras whispered. One hand cupped Grantaire's face. "Can you do that? Do you trust me?"

Grantaire swallowed. He nodded. "Yes," he whispered, barely audible. He was so, so aware of how close Enjolras' face was. He couldn’t think of anything but that face. About that hand on his check.

Enjolras' face lingered for a moment, still centimeters apart from each other, before he closed the final space. Their lips met again.

And once again it felt like coming home, but it felt more desperate. Grantaire wasn’t able to think anything, but at the same time he just knew this could be the last time he would be kissed like this. So he clung onto Enjolras, held him close to him like Enjolras would disappear if he ever let go.

Enjolras’ hands on the back of his head, on his back, fumbling with his shirt, until his hand slipped under it, on Grantaire’s bare skin. It felt like his back was on fire every place Enjolras touched.

Enjolras softly pushed him backwards, step for step until Grantaire was softly pushed onto the bed. All this time their lips hadn’t broken their contact. They were tasting each other, almost hungry. Enjolras’ hands kept playing with Grantaire’s shirt until he pulled it over Grantaire’s head. Grantaire felt so vulnerable, lying there on Enjolras’ bed, chest naked. Even with his trousers still on, it felt like Enjolras could see every imperfection of him. Of the cut he had gotten while fighting some other bandit. The freckles that always seemed a bit off. The scar of when he had fallen off a roof when he was child.

And every imperfection underneath that. His tendency to drink too much when feeling unsure. The way his quick mouth and sarcastic responses had saved him many times, until he had forgotten who he was without it. It was all laying bare in front of Enjolras, to be weighed, to be measured and to be found wanted. It was only a matter of time until Enjolras would see every shortcoming of Grantaire.

But now Enjolras only looked down at him. His fingers tracing the lines of Grantaire’s collarbone, his chest. They too left a burning trail.

And when his hands stopped touching Grantaire, Grantaire wanted to protest. He wanted those hands on his body, wanted to feel the heat. Even when knowing that every thing he did would hit him in the face later, he wanted it all. He needed it. He needed to be able to remember those hands, how their lips felt together.

Enjolras slowly pulled his own shirt over his head. His chest was covered in more scars. Some just small invisible lines, other wounds who had healed a lot more messy. Slowly Grantaire reached forwards to trace one of them.

Had it felt vulnerable to lie halfnaked in front of Enjolras, then this felt vulnerable in a whole different meaning of the word. Being able to trace the scars, to touch Enjolras. To know this was a privilege not meant for many. But he had been found worthy to see this side of Enjolras.

Enjolras slowly bend over, his hands on both sides of Grantaire’s face, like he trapped the man in a cage. It was almost ironic, wasn’t it? How they had started in a cage, with Grantaire being the one locked up. How they had ended here in a cage, with Enjolras hidden behind bars. But how Grantaire was the prisoner all along, completely powerless for the fearless leader’s charms.

Barely a centimeter before touching Grantaire’s lips, he stopped. A protesting sound left Grantaire’s mouth involuntarily. He needed those lips on his. Enjolras was teasing him and it was definitely working. Enjolras merely smiled, knowing exactly what he was doing to Grantaire.

He felt Enjolras’ breath on his face. He saw Enjolras’ eyes looking at him. He felt how Enjolras moved his position a bit, how he freed one of his hands to softly stroke Grantaire’s chest. It was enough to make Grantaire shiver.

And when their lips finally met again, it was like fireworks. Enjolras’ hand on his chest, and when Enjolras moved, their hips stroked each other. This time Grantaire let out an audible moan.

His own hands grabbed Enjolras tight, pulled the man even closer, until their chests touched, until their hips touched again. One of his hands grabbed Enjolras’ curls tight, not wanting to let the man get away. It almost felt sacred, to touch that golden hair. He was almost the chosen one, allowed to even touch those curls. To touch that back, to even put his hand on Enjolras’ ass while they slowly moved their hips, found their rhythm. It shouldn’t feel this good, and Grantaire almost cursed the layers of fabric between them. But maybe it was for the best. Grantaire had gotten way too much involved in Enjolras’ life. Had allowed himself to care too much about the man. Every single step they took now, would bite him in the ass later. It would crush him, and he knew it.

And yet it felt so good. And yet he walked to that inevitable doom with both eyes open.