Oh God, this was a mistake. What was he thinking? Grantaire's footsteps steadily approach the door. Enjolras feels like he might be sick. His heartbeat jumps into his throat as he sees the handle move. It takes an eternity for Grantaire to fiddle the door handle open.

Nothing could have prepared him for the sight of the man that opened the door. Grantaire has grown gaunt, pale, almost ghost-like, in the time since he had seen him last. Still, there was something of him in the eyes, hidden beneath his weary resignation, the crueler cousin of peace. He is still Grantaire. His gaze only brushes Enjolras' before settling quickly on the floor. Enjolras has to fight the urge to lift his chin and force him to see him as an equal, now understanding why he refuses to. The thought curls painfully around his chest, Finally sharing the weight of what Grantaire has been carrying for so long.

"Come in." Grantaire nearly whispers, stepping back to allow Enjolras to pass.

Grantaire's apartment has changed drastically since Enjolras had been in it last. Paintings and sketches were no longer scattered about, in fact, they were nowhere to be found. It was nearly empty, only three chairs and a cleared table residing in the main room. The paint splattered over the tabletop a fleeting reminder of what it had once housed. It was easier to see it in ruins, at least then it wasn't a skeleton, picked clean by the confines of time.

Grantaire passes him, settling heavily into a chair and waving for Enjolras to take the other in a wordless invitation. Enjolras does as directed, tracing the scattered lines of color with his eyes, where brushes and fingers and palette knives had once been dragged carelessly over the table, he wishes Grantaire would add some more. There is so much wood left to be stained, after all. It looks better this way.

A pregnant silence settles over the two and Enjolras searches his mind desperately for the right words. He wants to ask so many questions, but none of them step forward now to fill the void over the table. His lungs feel constricted, choked by the ghosts of everything left unsaid between them. He shifts uncomfortably, clearing his throat.

"I've- I got your letter." He says dumbly, pulling the letter from his jacket as though he needed to prove it. Grantaire freezes, going stiff with what Enjolras can only decipher as fear. That, too digs at enjolras, like a small painful jab to the ribs.

"I believe it's high time we put an end to all this," He gestures to the space between them, trying desperately to fill the silence, "Wouldn't you say?"

Grantaire nods sadly, angling even farther from him, a rattling, resigned, sigh escaping him. Enjolras realizes that he misunderstood. He panics, choosing to act on instinct to communicate his intentions, he takes Grantaire's hand in his own, reveling in the other man's warmth. To his surprise, Grantaire allows it, curling his hand into Enjolras'. Still, his gaze remains firmly on the ground.

Enjolras sighs in frustration, reaching out to angle Grantaire's chin up, forcing him to meet his eye. He regrets using force, but he must see Grantaire's soul when he speaks with him now, his soul and nothing else. There, underneath a thin, clouding, sheet of fear, it resides.

"It's time we stopped this nonsense. I can't allow cowardice to steal any more precious time from either of us." He corrects, hoping that this time, Grantaire truly understood.

Grantaire only stares at him, his eyes going wide, fear melting to shock.

"What-" He whispers, scanning enjolras' face for some other explanation, because surely, surely he didn't mean that.

Enjolras smiles at him, pressing a kiss to the back of his hand and cradling it closer to him, hoping that Grantaire could understand it well enough. Grantaire only stares back, unable to form a response. He had expected a good many things, but this? This had never been one.

"It seems to me, that all the most beautiful things are so incredibly fragile, fleeting," Enjolras brushes the side of Grantaire's face, marveling as the other man leans into his touch, "And terribly mortal. It is only fitting that this be the same."

"You don't hate me?" Grantaire whispers in wonder, speaking as much to himself as Enjolras.

Enjolras chuckles, shaking his head gently at the absurdity, "Quite the contrary, I'm afraid."

"And are you certain you..." Grantaire trails, not sure how to ask, not exactly sure what he was asking.

"So long as you permit it."

Grantaire nods, a relieved tear escaping, only to be caught where Enjolras' steady hand cups his face.

"I do. In this life, and always." He breathes.

Something pained flashes in Enjolras' eyes and he pulls back. Grantaire panics for a moment, unsure what he had done to upset him, but Enjolras only comes around the table to capture Grantaire in a firm embrace. This. This is what he had hoped for. He returns the embrace, not caring that he was weak and frail, so long as Enjolras didn't care, it was enough for him. He thanks whatever resides above for allowing him this, if nothing else and if far too late, he was thankful. It is, he feels, what he had lived for all this time anyway. Tears spill from his cheeks, but they are caught in Enjolras' shirt, and he finds that he is not the only one of them that is trembling.

For this small moment, Enjolras decides, everything is right. He is finally, finally, where he belongs. It was worth it all, every moment of pain, every lonely night, every argument that burned like acid on his tongue. If it meant he could be here, he would do it again. He pulls the other closer. This is right. Even if Grantaire is so much smaller than when he had last embraced him, even if Enjolras' eyes are shadowed from staring into the night, awaiting the fast-approaching end. Yes, even so.