They’re close, so close. Alexander has fixed him with such a violently important stare and neither are breathing, not really. Not well.
Finally, Alexander whispers, “You told me you love me.”
Peter can’t speak, so he nods. Yes, he loves him, of course he loves him.
“Still?” Enjolras asks like this is the most important question in the universe.
Grantaire heaves a sigh. “Always,” he almost sobs.
And that’s enough. Enjolras takes a step forward. His hands light on Grantaire’s waist like he’s afraid to hold too tightly, like Grantaire might slip away. Grantaire closes his eyes. He can feel the heat from Enjolras breath, from his body.
And then lips press against his lips and he gasps and opens his eyes again and he’s falling, drowning. He knows this kiss. He missed this kiss. This is like air and now — now he can breathe. He’s spent two whole lives suffocating, asphyxiating, but now — as hands tighten over his waist and his mouth opens into the sweetness of the man he’s always, always loved — he can.
Finally, he can breathe.