It's only in the anonymity of the darkness that Grantaire is finally allowed to touch him; even then, Enjolras will sometimes turn his back on him so that all he can see is that halo of golden curls. He reaches out a timid hand and touches his shoulder very lightly, just once, and waits. Enjolras shrugs off his hand and curls in on himself. Hurt, he stays still for a moment before shuffling away from him on the mattress that lies on the floor and turns, so that they are back to back. After a moment's pause, strong arms snake around his waist and a head rests gently on his shoulder.

"Don't be mad, Grantaire." whispers Enjolras, smoothing back some of his thick black curls to plant a delicate kiss on his pale cheek. Grantaire doesn't answer, just scoots back further so that he is held more securely in Enjolras' arms. "Come now, don't be like that. I'm sorry," this last part is so quiet that Grantaire isn't sure if he imagined it or not. Enjolras pulls on his arms until Grantaire turns over to face him.

Their arms are wrapped tightly around each other, faces so close together that their noses bump when Enjolras whispers it again, "I'm sorry." Their lips brush together in the briefest of kisses. Grantaire leans in and tucks his face against the place where neck meets shoulder on Enjolras and begins to shower kisses onto his skin.

Enjolras gasps and tightens his grip on Grantaire, tipping his head back to allow him better access to the long, graceful expanse of pale skin. Grantaire pauses in his kisses and forcefully pulls at the shirt Enjolras wears until it goes over his head, before turning his attentions back to his neck. Enjolras pushes Grantaire off of him and straddles him, hands on either side of his head, knees on either side of his waist. Their lips meet once more and merge together, the very puffs of their breath screaming exclamations of love.

In the darkness of nighttime, only the sounds of their whispers and groans puncture the heavy silence. They make love that night, slowly, earnestly and fall back onto the mattress, tangled in the sweaty sheets. Enjolras lies with his head on Grantaire's chest, eyes struggling to stay open, his body wrapped in post-coital bliss. Grantaire murmurs a sleepy, "I love you." into the soft, sweaty ringlets and tightens his grip around him as he struggles to stay awake himself.

He falls asleep without knowing that Enjolras never says it back.