Grantaire was not so fond of the sunshine that burst through his open blinds that Saturday morning. His eyes fluttered open, then quickly shut when they met the sunlight. He groaned loudly and rolled over, entwining his legs beneath the white and green sheets of his bed.

The cellist stood from his bed, stretched, then stumbled into the bathroom. He brushed his teeth, showered and did all that he could with his hair before giving up with thoughts of a certain blonde angel on his mind. Then, reluctantly he inched back down the hall and to his room. His eyes landed first upon his cello. Then he looked to the stacks of music books and sheet music nearby.

His cello, who he named Zelter, stood tall and proud in the corner of the room. Grantaire came to his cello, with its worn edges and paint splatters and gave it a weary smile. Zelter was his cello. The cello he kept at home to practice with, and the cello he'd had for years. He had a cello at the studio that he played during recitals. Grantaire was not so much a fan of his recital cello. He told Jehan it was "hollow and soulless".

Grantaire picked up the bow, sat in the lone chair by Zelter, and he took the cello in his arms and began to play. He closed his eyes and his mind focused on his music, then drifted to Apollo. Apollo helping him clean up broken snow globes. Apollo's lips almost on his. Apollo sitting in a cafe at one am with him. Apollo at his show. His show. Recital.

The music stopped and Grantaire's eyes snapped open. He put the bow down, set Zelter aside and stood up abruptly. With a gruff sigh, he moved to the other side of his room and sat in front of his easel. The beginnings of a golden haired God rested upon the canvas in front of him. He smiled half heartedly before gathering his supplies and continuing his painting.

"Grantaire," Jehan burst into the room singing his flatmate's name with two cups of coffee in hand, "Grantaire, why oh why did you stop playing? I love the sound of cello in the morning!"

"I, uh, just wasn't feeling it, I guess." Grantaire shrugged as Jehan handed him a ceramic mug filled with his favourite coffee.

Jehan made a pouty face and flopped down on Grantaire's bed. He sipped his coffee and stared at the cellist with an expectant look.

"Why are you staring at me?"

"Staring? Who's staring?"

Grantaire sighed and turned back to his painting.

"So, how come you got home so late yesterday?"

"I had to stay longer to clean up some broken snow globes."

"And?"

"And what, Jehan," Grantaire turned around again, "I was staying back to clean up some snow globes and then I drove a friend home."

Jehan's eyes lit up, "Oh, a friend? What kind of friend? Was it the pretty guy you invited to your recital?"

"Yes, Jehan." Grantaire rolled his eyes and put his brushes away, deciding that he probably wasn't going to get much painting done with Jehan on his case.

"You have to tell me more about him, R."

"I don't have to, actually." Grantaire smiled and flopped down next to Jehan.

"I will never, ever make you morning coffee again unless you tell me about the boy you have spent so much time with."

"Whatever," Grantaire laughed, "His name is Enjolras, by the way. And there's not much to say. He was at the museum and he helped me clean up some snow globes his friend broke so I returned the favor and drove him home."

"You like him." Jehan stated.

"Jehan, no I don't."

"You do. And that's why you were out until a million o'clock the night of your last recital, and why you drove him home!"

"No I don't, Jehan."

Jehan squinted his eyes and stuck his tongue out at his friend, "I don't believe you!"

Before Grantaire could protest, his phone rang from the bedside table.

"Is that him?" Jehan grinned as he watched Grantaire lean back and pick up his phone.

[Enjolras: Please come to my home and save me from Courfeyrac.]

[Grantaire: Is that the one who knocked over all the snow globes?]

"What's he saying," Jehan gripped his coffee cup eagerly, "Is he flirting with you?"

[Enjolras: Yes. All of our friends were busy and he insisted on coming over. I have a headache and I can't deal with this he talks so much. He's my best friend but I need to study.]

Grantaire laughed.

[Grantaire: I'll drive to your place and bring my housemate, Jehan. He can distract anyone.]

[Enjolras: Thank you.]

"Get dressed, Jehan," Grantaire grinned and stood up from his bed, "We're going to Enjolras' place and you have a playdate."

The drive to Enjolras' apartment consisted mostly of Jean's rambling to Grantaire.

"Are we going to the pretty guy's house? Who do I have a 'playdate with'? Is he cute? Grantaire? Grantaire!"

"For fuck's sake, Jehan," Grantaire sighed and gripped the steering wheel, "Yes we're going to Enjolras' house. You're going to distract his friend, Courfeyrac, because Enj needs to study and Courfeyrac isn't exactly good study company."

"You called him Enj."

"So?"

"R, you gave him a nickname."

"Just drop it, Jehan."

Jehan threw Grantaire a pouty look before turning his head to the passenger side window. The rest of the ride was thankfully silent.

Grantaire pulled up to the building he'd been to the night before. When he and Jehan got out of the car Grantaire folded his arms and sighed, looking up at the apartments.

Jehan frowned, "What is it?"

"I, uh, don't actually know which apartment Enjolras lives in."

"Then text him, dummy."

[Grantaire: I'm outside your building but I do not know which apartment is yours. I don't want to walk in on an unsuspecting old woman or something.]

[Enjolras: Second floor, apartment number 8. Courf's getting the door.]

Like Enjolras had said, Courfeyrac swung apartment number eight's door open with a grin, "Hey- oh. Who's your friend, man?"

"This is my flatmate-"

"Jehan, my name is Jehan."

"Well, Grantaire, Jehan, why don't you two come in?"

Grantaire nodded and walked in, Jehan coming in after and lingering by Courfeyrac. Enjolras sat on the leather couch with a text book in one hand and a cup of coffee in the other. The cellist grinned and flopped down next to him.

"I'm here to save the day."

"Thanks." Enjolras stated simply, while continuing to read and reread highlighted passages in his book.

Grantaire could hear Jehan and Courfeyrac talking animatedly by the front door before they both came in and sat on the loveseat opposite of him and Enjolras. Courfeyrac whispered things to Jehan that made him laugh while Enjolras studied.

Eventually the room fell completely silent save for the flipping of book pages. Grantaire vaguely wondered why Enjolras didn't have a television.

"Well," Jehan stood up, clapping his hands together, "This has been swell. But uh, Courf why don't you and I go somewhere else?"

Courfeyrac stood up as well, "I think that's a fantastic idea! The silence in here was starting to frighten me."

Grantaire watched the two of them walk out of the apartment practically holding hands, then sighed.

"Enjolras, can I ask you something?"

"What is it?" Enjolras looked up from his book.

"Why don't you have a t.v?"

"It's too distracting. I have a laptop, though."

"That's not the same." Grantaire sighed and leaned on Enjolras.

"What're you doing?"

"I'm bored."

Now it was Enjolras who sighed this time, shutting his book and standing up.

"Are you hungry," Enjolras asked, "We could order take out."

Grantaire smiled, "You know what goes great with take out? A movie. On a television."

"You're impossible." Enjolras rolled his eyes.

"Only a little. But yes, take out would be nifty."

In an hour's time, Chinese take out boxes littered the coffee table and Grantaire found himself sprawled out on Enjolras' couch, with Enjolras sitting on the floor in front of him.

"This couch is the most comfortable thing I've ever placed my ass upon."

"More than your ass is laying on my couch, actually."

"Well, still. It's comfortable."

"I know, and I'd like to enjoy it except there's a giant oaf laying all over it."

"There is plenty of room for your tiny ass to be on this piece of furniture, Enjolras."

Enjolras stood up, then reluctantly sat on Grantaire's legs.

"See? Plenty of room."

"I'm on your legs, not my couch."

Grantaire rolled his eyes before taking the sleeve of Enjolras' sweater in hand and pulling the blonde on top of him.

"And now you're on me. Hello."

Enjolras stared down at Grantaire, and Grantaire stared back up. They sat that way for a while before either of them said anything.

"I'm going to get off of you now." Enjolras said.

"No you're not," Grantaire smirked and pulled Enjolras closer to him, "You're going to stay right here."

"Grantaire-"

And though somewhere in the back of his mind he knew what was about to transpire, Enjolras was still very caught off guard when Grantaire's lips connected with his own.

Enjolras pulled back, "That was-"

"Fantastic?" Grantaire suggested.

"Yeah."

"Then lets keep doing it."

This time, Enjolras leaned forward quickly, placing a hand on Grantaire's neck and kissing him vigorously. Grantaire smirked and ran his tongue across Enjolras' bottom lip, causing Enjolras' breath to hitch in his throat.

Finding that he liked this sound very much, Grantaire decided he wanted to hear it again. He took Enjolras' lower lip between his teeth and pulled gently, inciting a moan from the man above him.

Enjolras smirked and found his hands moving to the hem of Grantaire's shirt, tugging it upwards needily. Grantaire quickly moved to grab Enjolras' wrist, sliding his hand down to entwine their fingers.

"Grantaire," Enjolras breathed, followed by a soft laugh. He pulled back with a grin, making note of Grantaire's kiss-bruised lips and moving to his neck. There he placed open mouthed kisses on the cellist's unshaven skin.

Grantaire let out a rich laugh and squeezed Enjolras' hand, making the blond move back up to his lips again, and rolled his hips against Grantaire's. Removing his hand from Enjolras', Grantaire gripped the ends of Enjolras' shirt and pulled it off of him in a swift motion.

His eyes locked on to Enjolras' chest while his hands moved gently across the marble skin before him. Grantaire leaned up forward and brought his lips to Enjolras' neck, while Enjolras began to lift the other man's shirt away as well.

Enjolras and Grantaire couldn't be bothered with anything in their present moment. Not with the erratically changing weather outside, not with the half empty take out boxes lying about the coffee table and certainly not by Courfeyrac and Jehan stumbling and giggling into the apartment.

Courfeyrac and Jehan's laughter stopped abruptly when they realised what they walked in on.

"What." Courfeyrac stared wide-eyed at his friends, who began to scramble off of eachother.

"I thought Enjolras was suppose to be studying." Jehan giggled.

Courfeyrac laughed, "He is, Jehan. He's studying Grantaire!"

Enjolras' cheeks burned as he threw his shirt back on, standing up and folding his arms. Grantaire puffed his cheeks out and sighed as he sat up, running a hand through his hair.

"You guys are back already?" Grantaire frowned a little.

"We went to this pub just down the road," Courfeyrac grinned, "And we had a lot of fun." He looked joyfully at Jehan as he said this.

"You should have knocked, Courfeyrac. You don't live here." Enjolras dropped his arms to his side and made to pick up the take out boxes.

Grantaire picked up a few boxes and followed Enjolras into the kitchen, "So, I should probably drive Jehan home. He's a little, er, drunk."

"Yeah," Enjolras ran a hand through his hair after tossing the boxes out, "Courfeyrac will probably just..sleep here I guess."

"So, I'll see you later then, I guess."

"Yeah." Enjolras smiled a little.

Grantaire laughed and came forward to kiss Enjolras' cheek. It was soft and chaste and very different from the events of earlier.

They walked back out to the living room where Grantaire grabbed Jehan by the arm and pulled him down out the door, down the stairs and into Grantaire's car.

Once they'd driven down the road a bit, Jehan exclaimed, "I am in love!"

Grantaire laughed, "You've just met him."

"I don't care, R. I'm in love! I'm in love, love l-o-v-e!" Jehan clapped his hands together and giggled. He told Grantaire about Courfeyrac in excruciating detail, while Grantaire's mind lingered off to the events that transpired on Enjolras' couch.

Once they reached their home, Jehan danced into the kitchen singing about Courfeyrac and Grantaire threw his keys on the table by the door. He smiled and dragged his feet to his bedroom, where his cello sat in the corner.

Grantaire stared at his cello a long while. Then he stared at the new sheet music he hadn't learned yet. After that his eyes darted to the nearby calendar that marked the day of his next recital in red marker. Four days. He had four days left.

Closing his eyes, he imagined Enjolras sitting there, in his room on the edge of his bed. He imagined himself playing his cello and Enjolras listening with rapt attention. Then he imagined himself painting, and Enjolras watching intently while he sipped warm coffee on Grantaire's bed.

But Enjolras is not there in his room. Grantaire realised this as his eyes shot open again. Enjolras is not there, but his sheet music is. His cello is there. The things he needs to practice and learn and master in just four days are there, staring at him. He stared at his cello again, and he felt as though it stared back. It stared back and scolded him for not practicing. It scolded him for placing his attention on Enjolras instead of his music.

Grantaire bolted from the room and picked his keys up from the table by the door.

"Where are you going," Jehan asked as he stepped out of the kitchen, "I was going to make celebratory sleepy tea for us."

"Just out to the convenience store." Grantaire mumbled before exiting the apartment.

Grantaire's eyes scanned the multiple isles of liquor nervously upon his arrival to the convenience store. He grabbed three bottles and set them on the counter along with his money. After paying for his things, he returned to his car and drove home.

He opened the front door slowly, looking around cautiously for his flatmate. It appeared that Jehan was in his room, so Grantaire made quick work to lock himself in his bedroom.

Once there, he opened the first bottle and brought it to his lips. The alcohol burned down his throat, but he didn't care. He felt some of the stress fading from his mind, and he drank more. When he finally pulled the bottle away from him, he wiped his mouth with his sleeve and staggered to his cello.

He picked up the bow, cradled the instrument and began to practice. Grantaire played. Then drank. Then played, and then drank again. He drank until the bottles ran dry, and his fingers felt numb, and he felt like doing nothing more but sleeping.

Instead, he continued to play.

AN: sorry not sorry for the pain. at least they kissed. -xoxoxEmm