When he gets home after exhausting himself at the climbing wall, it’s late. The apartment is dark, Combeferre and Courfeyrac evidently not home, but the door is unlocked. He immediately drops his bag and prepares himself to attempt to fight off any intruder, creeping through the hallway to reach the living room and kitchen.
Enjolras stands in the middle of the living room, two suitcases next to him, Geoff cradled in his arms. Grantaire can hear his purring from here. He stands frozen for a moment, then forces himself to speak. It comes out hoarse. “Hi.”
Enjolras turns, his blue-eyed gaze washing over Grantaire, fixing him in place. “Hi,” he replies softly, shy.
“You’re back,” Grantaire says, stating the obvious. He’s not sure what to do. Run away? Kiss him? Cry?
“Yeah,” Enjolras says. “I’m back. It seems someone’s moved into my old room, though.”
Grantaire swallows and musters every ounce of courage, every sweet thing written on the back of a postcard for the last three months, every word whispered the night before he left, every glance and smile in the months before. “Yeah. We can share, though. If you want?”
Enjolras smiles. “I was hoping you’d say that.”
And steps forward into Grantaire’s arms.