I couldn’t resist any longer @deboracabral
“Okay,” Grantaire mutters. “So this is happening.” He shifts uncomfortably on Montparnasse’s leather couch.
“It absolutely is,” Jehan whispers, but they’re only keeping their voice down to keep Enjolras from hearing, not because they’re uncomfortable. They’ve accepted this glorious improbable reality a while ago and now they’re just enjoying it, sitting on their knees, half draped around Grantaire’s shoulders.
Enjolras is sitting on a kitchen chair with an utterly unimpressed look on his face, while Montparnasse is brushing his hair. His movements are so quick, careful and elegant that it almost looks professional. Or it would, if he wasn’t smirking like that.
“I’m not wearing my hair down,” Enjolras insists. “It’s impractical.”
“I wasn’t going to keep it loose,” Montparnasse informs him, snapping Enjolras’ own hair tie at him. “But if you’re going to keep bitching like this…”
“Just get it over with,” Enjolras scowls.
“I would if you’d sit still,” Montparnasse scowls back.
The blue and the green eyes meet for a disgruntled second and then Enjolras looks straight ahead again and Montparnasse continues brushing.
“It’s like watching a tornado circle a forest fire,” Grantaire whispers.
“Who’s the fire?” Jehan asks, their eyes never leaving the sight of Montparnasse’s slender fingers lifting Enjolras’ golden curls.
Grantaire doesn’t answer that. He seems to have trouble breathing at times.
“Enj looks like he’s trying really hard not to enjoy this,” Jehan whispers in fascination.
“Yeah…” Grantaire says, also without averting his eyes for a second. “He likes…likes having his hair stroked.”
Jehan hums in agreement. So do they. And they also happen to know Montparnasse is very good at brushing hair.
“There,” Montparnasse says, pulling Enjolras’ hair back, leaving only a couple of locks free to frame his beautiful face. “See, I hardly had to touch it. Learn to use a brush.”
“I brush my hair,” Enjolras bites at him.
“You brush it straight down, top to bottom,” Montparnasse sniffs. “You might as well leave it altogether.”
“Whatever,” Enjolras rolls his eyes. “Are you done?”
“Yes,” Montparnasse grins, turning to Jehan and Grantaire.
“Finally,” Enjolras sighs and he gets to his feet.
When he turns around Jehan and Grantaire are treated to a full view of Montparnasse’s vision. They both stop breathing for a second. Enjolras, clad in deep red, immaculate black and spotless white, his golden curls glossy around his face, but pulled back into a ponytail to leave his jawline and cheeks uncovered. Montparnasse stands beside him in blue that’s so dark it flirts with black, sleeves rolled flawlessly to his elbows. Standing there they look to be the same height, share the same figure, the same-
“I know Parnasse has been touching his hair all this time,” Grantaire mutters. “But I still feel like if they touch now the universe will implode or something.”
“Maybe it already has,” Jehan giggles, jumping off the couch and bouncing on the balls of their feet.
Montparnasse shoots them a self-satisfied grin.
“Can we go now?” Enjolras asks impatiently.
“If R plans to ever move from that spot, sure,” Montparnasse says nonchalantly.
Enjolras spins round and looks at Grantaire. “You ok?” he asks, frowning slightly.
“Fine,” Grantaire rasps and he gets to his feet too, but he looks like he’s blaming the universe for some very specific things.
“I hope I am at least allowed to wear my own coat?” Enjolras asks sarcastically, walking to the coatrack beside the door.
“I’m not stopping you,” Montparnasse says with an equally sarcastic wave of his hand.
Jehan skips to his side and laces their fingers through his. They lean their head against his shoulder and whisper: “You know… It can’t take Enj that long to feel that you put a bow in his ponytail.”
Montparnasse grins down at them. “We only have to make it to Bossuet and Joly’s. Bahorel and Courfeyrac will never let him take it out.”