Chapter Text
- Grantaire
Grantaire sighed as he pushed open the door to his tiny, dingy apartment. His head ached and his knees were skinned and the twinge in his hips told him there would be bruises there for the new couple of weeks at least.
But at least he would have enough money to pay his rent this week. Maybe not his food but he’d rather go starving then live on the streets. Living on the streets was bad news, especially for someone like him.
He collapsed on his bed. Actually it was sort of presumptuous to call it a bed, it was really a mattress he had saved from the dumpster a year or so ago which he dragged to the corner of his room, dropped it and hadn't moved it since. It was the only real bit of comfort in the bare room his landlord (slumlord more like) Montparnasse called an apartment.
He stuck his hand over the side of the mattress and pulled over the last of his cask wine, downing it to get rid of the gross taste that had been left in his mouth from work and almost gagged when it made it worse. Sadly there hadn't been enough to get him drunk, although there wasn't the money for the amount of alcohol that got him drunk nowadays.
As his gaze landed on a cockroach scuttling across his dirty floors Grantaire sighed, wondering if there was any point telling Montparnasse. Probably not. With the little rent he let Grantaire get away with there was no point complaining. Montparnasse would probably proposition him for the millionth time then leave in a dirty mood when Grantaire turned him down. It wasn’t that Montparnasse wasn’t good looking, because he was, he could probably have been a model in a life where his drug addicted mother and alcoholic drug dealing father hadn’t pimped him out as a teenager and left him some sort of sociopath with a penchant for designer clothes. And Grantaire preferred to bed men who paid him rather then bed slumlord drug dealers suspected on multiple counts of murder.
He had his pride after all.
Grantaire shuffled through his empty cupboards looking for the vodka he couldn’t remember drinking the night before, glaring at the pockets of cold snow glazed sunlight streaking into his kitchenette from the holey moth eaten curtains on his windows. He hated working so long that he was awake when the sun came up but the pickings had been scarce this week, Christmas time always awakening people’s mind to the fact that paying to fuck a guy was probably considered a sin and severely frowned upon by Jesus, God and or any other spiritual entities.
Grantaire snorted, it would pick up again after new years, it always did. Once the Christmastime goodwill and excitement settled and new years resolutions were broken people’s thoughts about sinning and hell went back into their predictable patterns, which was that they were forgotten about, hidden, kept safe until next Christmas. Once again married men, (supposedly) straight men, bi-curious college kids and poor lonely souls were back in droves and Grantaire might be able to feed himself again, or get blackout drunk so he could forget his miserable, shitty excuse for a life. Lots to look forward to.
Grantaire flopped own onto his mattress ignoring the pain from his ass and hips as he reached for his bottle of vodka frowning at his grimy fingernails, Grantaire vaguely thought about cleaning himself up, he could feel the gravel in his knees and he didn't fancy them getting infected, not again; you cant give blow jobs in an alley when you can’t kneel. His decision, however, was made for him when his eyelids slid closed of their own accord and he drifted into an exhausted sleep.
The next time Grantaire awoke the sun streaks were still on his floor but were more orange then blue, which meant it was sunset and time to wake. He groggily pushed himself up, wincing at the sharp pain in his head; which wasn't the result of a non-existent hangover but rather that bastard john last night pulling Grantaire’s hair way too hard when he came down his throat and now his head felt like it was on fire. He shuffled his way to the corner of his room contemplated his dirty clothes situation. It was not good, he would probably have to use his precious coins down at the laundromat in the next few days.
He stumbled his way to the bathroom and inspected himself in the cracked full-length mirror grimacing when he saw his knees, yeah they looked like shit, he’d have to invest in some sort of knee pads at the amount of blow jobs he had given the past few months. He also saw the hand shape bruises on his hips, a faint blue purple color looking horribly stark against his very pale skin. Grantaire grimaced as cleaned himself as well as he could, tweezing the majority of the gravel out and watching as the water swirled pink down the drain. He did an OK job given the shitty water pressure, and he stumbled into some clothes. Tight black jeans that wouldn't show dirt and a skintight green sweater that sometimes rode up. It was a concession to the weather that he wasn't wearing a skimpy t-shirt but rather a knitted beanie he had shoved onto his head. He was looking more twinkish by the week as the muscle he used to have after years of boxing wasted away from disuse and not eating properly and his ribs started to poke through. Grantaire both welcomed and despised his newfound skinny; men would always pay more to fuck someone who looked like a teenager, and with his hair growing longer and his face thinner he looked like he was almost 16 again. Thank god for perverted johns and their underage teenage fantasies. It paid his rent. Great, like his teenage years were any better then the life he lived now.
Grantaire grabbed the last of the shitty vodka from beside his mattress and downed it before brushing his teeth and then headed out to his favorite coffee place for something to wake himself up. It was a few hours before business would pick up and he liked to people watch at the Corinth, imagining what their lives were like, downing black coffee like it was soda to get some life back into his cold, dead limbs.
The coffee crowd was slightly different tonight Grantaire noticed as he half smiled at the pretty woman at the counter who normally served him. There were the usual businessmen in suits coming in after work (a few carefully avoiding his eyes - those were the ones he would see later tonight no doubt), a few old timers hauled up in the booths. Other regulars whom he recognized including the group of college boys (books, un-ironic sweater vests and oversized hipster glasses) laying claim to 3 or 4 tables at the back of the cafe like they did every week or so. They were bundled up for the cold, Grantaire noticed eyeing their expensive coats and scarfs with envy, his eyes inevitably resting on the beautiful blond headed guy he had nicknamed Apollo. Apollo seemed to be their leader of sorts, and Grantaire could see why, not only did his outstanding looks draw almost every eye in the coffee shop but when he spoke it was with a passion and intensity that Grantaire had yet to witness before in his short 24 years, not that his life brought him many opportunities to mingle with men of integrity.
Apollo was like a beacon, his voice never raised but always holding his audiences attention. From the snippets of what Grantaire overheard they were some sort of political advocacy group which really should had really put him off Apollo from the get go and normally would have, Grantaire couldn't stand any of that do-gooder idealist shit, especially from fresh faced boys who no idea what the real world was like. But Grantaire was fucked up like that, show him something that was in any way bad for him and he ran at it head first. And Apollo was bad for him, no doubt about it, he was the only reason he drank coffee at the overpriced coffeehouse 4 blocks out of his way.
He surreptitiously watched them for a while as they conversed between each other with the ease of close-knit friends and he felt another stab of envy. He once had friends like that, back in the day; back before his life turned to shit or worse then it was, which wasn’t hard.
When he felt suitably buzzed from the caffeine and the alcohol in his system and it turned to full night outside he slipped out of the cafe, oblivious to a few glances from the college boy group still inside. He walked briskly to ward off the biting cold before he found his corner he shared with the usual group of characters, a few guys like him (skinnier and more haunted, Tom and Jim) as well as Gem (who was a meth head and other from the crazy mood swings was actually quite sweet), Casey (blonde and skinny with track marks up her arms) and Lu-Lu (the newest and most healthy looking of the lot). Grantaire situated himself by the street lamp; not only did it give him something to lean on but the light showed off his blue eyes and cheekbones and he needed all the help he could get to attract customers.
By the time 10.30pm rolled around Grantaire was getting antsy, the caffeine was wearing off, the cold was starting to burn up the alcohol in his system and he had counted only 5 cars that had rolled through and no one was looking for what he was dishing. He was so fucking thankful that he decided on the beanie as the air he breathed out turned to mist in front of him and he surreptitiously tried to rub feeling back into his alarmingly pale fingers.
Finally a clean looking van pulled up at the end of the street where a lot of the homeless slept and Grantaire almost got his hopes up until a group of guys got out of the van and Grantaire realized who they were. They were the do-gooders, the (usually) religious hacks who came out every so often to give out blankets, clothes and food to the homeless but kept their distance from the likes of Grantaire and Casey. Grantaire usually ignored them as much and they ignored him. He had a job to do and he’d rather not be judged by religious fanatics and other charities that preached acceptance, but practiced exclusion on the shaky basis of their “morality”. He still shuddered at the memory of being called a fag and being spat on by one as they drove past him. Who were they to judge him when the only way he was able to keep a roof over his head was to whore? Would they rather him be homeless and losing limbs to frostbite like the ones being tended at the end of his street? He was a least lucky that he had relative youth and wasn’t squeamish about giving head. He did what he had to, to survive. So now he steered well clear.
In fact the cold had gotten so bad that Gem had already left and Tom and Jim were debating it. Grantaire was sorely tempted to as well, his fingers were completely numb and turning blue and his nose felt like an icicle. His internal debate between paying his rent this week and staying out in the cold raged until his attention was drawn to what looked like an argument between two of the do-gooders. He could barely make them out in the lightly falling snow but one was slightly taller with blonde hair and pale features and Grantaire’s eyes widened as immediately recognized the blond; it was Apollo. The shorter brunet was gesturing toward Grantaire’s end of the street and their voices were raised.
Apollo dropped his shoulder and huffed out a breath before walking back to the van and returning with some bundled items in his hand and heading for Grantaire’s end of the street. Grantaire watched the two figures curiously as they made their way past the homeless and the other guys in their group handing out what look like soup and blankets, and toward Lu-Lu who looked at them warily, her eyes sweeping up and down the street no doubt for a quick getaway if she needed, Grantaire did the same when he approached by john that alerted his internal alarm. A conversation was had between her and the guys and then she smiled at them in gratitude, well at the shorter one at least. And Grantaire was a little surprised, Lu-Lu didn't smile at anyone, not even the johns she picked up, it was all part of her charm she had once confessed to Grantaire. Grantaire suspected she had had any happiness beaten out of her by her pimp years ago. But here she was, smiling at the bundle of something Apollo and the short guy had given her.
Grantaire stiffened as they made their way over to Casey, then Tom and Jim who all smiled gratefully at them, Jim even pulling on the warm coat they had given him as he and Tom headed out of the street, and then finally to Grantaire. As they ambled over, he stiffened even more watching them cautiously, he didn't really want to be lectured about sinning against god and going to hell, not tonight, not when he felt like his nose as about to freeze and fall off.
The shorter one had brown hair stuffed under a glaringly blue and yellow striped beanie, which clashed with his bright orange scarf and burgundy jacket. But he had kind eyes. Grantaire turned his attention Apollo and sucked in a breath, he was even more beautiful up close, pure and utter magnificent beauty and Grantaire felt his hands itch to sculpt, as they hadn't in a long while. He studied the man’s features, Apollo, Grantaire decided was an apt moniker, he was the living embodiment of the statues and paintings Grantaire used to pore over to give him inspiration; porcelain skin and blonde curls, icy blue stare that cut right through him so much so that Grantaire struggled to tear his gaze away when the shorter one started talking. When he did he was met with a blinding smile and an outstretched hand.
“Jehan’s the name and this here’s Enjolras”, he said gesturing to the stone faced beauty incarnate next to him. Grantaire had to give a grim smile, Enjolras certainly lived up to his name, if he wasn’t mistaken Enjolras meant ‘to terrify’.
Grantaire cautiously eyed Jehan’s hand and decided against shaking it, his own hands having difficulty grasping as numb as they were. Grantaire noted that Apollo, sorry Enjolras, didn't seem as forthcoming with words here then he did back in the cafe, “Uh, I’m Grantaire.”
Jehan dropped his hand and looked at him quizzically before his expression cleared and he clapped his hands, “Grantaire! You looked so familiar for a moment, were you at the Corinth earlier this evening? I could have sworn that was you in that beanie.”
Grantaire nodded, “Yeah that was me”, he said slowly waiting for the pin to drop. They were, or Jehan was at least, being very nice for a neo conservative religious do-gooder, maybe this is how they lured you in with smiles and kindness before indoctrinating people into their cult. And Enjolras? Well Grantaire couldn't make heads or tails of him, except that he looked slightly uncomfortable and a little pissed off, not an unusual reaction people had upon meeting Grantaire, so he got a pass for now.
“Anyway, we were just doing a spot of Care down this end and we spied you guys here at the end, freezing your butts off and we thought you might want some soup!” Jehan said enthusiastically, holding out what appeared to be a steaming thermos.
Grantaire blinked at him for a second and looked down at the soup before cautiously taking it from Jehan’s outstretched hand, his freezing hands clumsily fumbling with it before almost dropping it. Jehan yelped and Grantaire fought with himself not to shrink back from the noise, it wasn’t a conscious reaction, Grantaire had just developed a sort of instinctive reaction to loud noises because in his line of business it usually meant trouble in the form of police sirens, drunken yelling or the beginnings of a fight.
“Holy shit your hands are cold!” Jehan said grabbing Grantaire’s soup free hand in his and looking at the blue tipped fingernails.
”Fuck. Enjolras look at this.” Jehan said worriedly shoving Grantaire’s hand in Enjolras’ face, as Grantaire was too surprised to resist. He could feel his face heating slightly as Enjolras’ studied his hands and prodded at his slightly blue fingertips.
”Early signs of hypothermia. You need to go to the hospital.” Enjolras said in a clipped voice, his features stone, and his eyes intense, such as contrast with his angelic features.
Grantaire grimly noted that the first words Enjolras deigned to say to him were orders and his own eyes narrowed, they might not be religious nutjobs but he didn’t like being ordered around, not one little bit.
Grantaire snatched his had back shoving it into his back pocket, “I’m fine thanks. I don’t need to go anywhere.” Even as he said it he could feel himself growing dizzier by the second.
Enjolras’ glare solidified, “You’ve lost dexterity in your fingers, your speech is slightly slurred, you’re trembling and you’re breathing shallowly. If you don’t go to the hospital you need to go to someplace warm at least.”
Jehan peered at Grantaire worriedly, “We can take you to hospital if you like. Or to a friend’s place? You don’t look so good you know.”
Grantaire wrapped his arms around his shaking torso and gave a bitter laugh, “Do I look like someone who has health insurance? I’m not going to hospital just so they can kick me out on my ass. And I’ve got no one to go to. Just leave me. I’m fine.” He wasn’t fine, he could tell as his sight started to blur slightly and he leaned more heavily against the lamppost.
Jehan bit his lip and looked at Enjolras beseechingly. Enjolras was still glaring at Grantaire before he cutting back to Jehan and finally sighed, “Fine Jehan. He can come back to ours.”
Before Grantaire could protest going home with two strangers, Jehan nodded and went to put an arm around him, once again instinctively Grantaire flinched back from his touch and lost his balance on the slippery sidewalk. The last thing he saw before going down onto the icy sidewalk was Jehan and Enjolras outstretched arms and worried faces. At least he would die looking at true beauty his mind supplied helpfully before it all went black.