This is my first foray into the Les Mis fandom here. Thanks to Zimyria for the push last night. I don't have a beta, so all mistakes are mine. I hope to continue this, so let me know what you think. This idea has been in my head since I saw it on tumblr last week.

Grantaire cursed the crisp fall air. It had been summer when he entered this damn place. He zipped up with leather jacket and pulled his knit cap down over his ears. Tufts of dark brown, almost black curls stuck out from under the cap. He pulled a scarf out of his messenger bag and tied it around his neck.

"Of course my ride would forget about me," he sighed. Thankfully he had enough cash on him to take the bus to his apartment. Looking around to get his bearings, Grantaire headed for the closest bus stop. I could call a ride. They let me charge my cell phone, well more insisted upon it. I don't feel like dealing with people right now, though, he thought to himself as he walked along the sidewalk.

While he sat at the bus stop, Grantaire pulled out his sketchpad. It had been his one constant the six weeks. Flipping through the pages showed a myriad of sketches, full drawings, doodles, writing, imagery, ect. Some might call it chaos, but it made sense in his head. He was the only one at the bus stop, so he pulled out his pencil and just started sketching. That's when Grantaire saw something out of the corner of his eye.

The blond curls of the gentleman walking towards the bus stop looked like sunshine on the gloomy day. Grantaire looked up from his sketching, and he couldn't look away from the man's structured face. Do I know him? I don't think so, but he looks familiar to me, he thought. Grantaire watched him cross the street. He was wearing a well-tailored dark grey suit that fit him correctly in all the correct places. Grantaire could easily say he looked like one of the Greek statues he had to draw more times than he cared to remember in art school. As the man got closer, Grantaire noticed his bright blue eyes that stood out from his pale skin and mess of blond curls. His dark green button up shirt did nothing but make his eye pop more. Grantaire knew he was starring, but he couldn't look away. The back of his head ached trying to place this guy.

Probably the damn meds drowning out any of my ability to think, he thought. Grantaire was glad to be free of them now. His thoughts were broken by a strong voice, "You know you've been watching me the entire time I've been crossing the street."

Grantaire's heart raced, and he didn't know why. "Oh, I'm sorry. You remind me of someone or I think I've seen you somewhere before."

"I just recently moved here, so I don't think we've met before." The man replied.

Before Grantaire could say anything else, not that he had the nerve to, the bus arrived. He gathered his things and walked to the back. The enchanting man sat near the front. Grantaire sketched him until he got off of the bus near downtown, one stop before Grantaire's apartment.

Grantaire walked into his apartment and sank down into the sofa. He knew he'd have to go back out for groceries, but for now, he was relaxing by himself. The blond still hung in his memories, which was frustrating him. Grantaire pulled out his cell phone and texted his mother – I'm home and alive. Guess you forgot you were supposed to give me a ride. He set the phone on the coffee table and ignored any beeps it made. Starting to feel hot, he pulled off the knit cap and his curls went in every direction, and he slipped out of his leather jacket. Grantaire walked around his apartment, fidgeting with the cuffs of his long sleeve t-shirt. Everything was familiar to him, but it was different than the cold generic walls he had grown used to lately. He looked at himself in the bathroom mirror. His hair was long enough to hang in his eyes some, not that he cared. Dark circles etched themselves under his bluish green eyes. Grantaire splashed some cold water on his face before he left to go back to the living room.

He looked through his pile of art supplies and found a blank canvas. Grantaire got a brush and applied a base layer of gesso. While that was drying he searched the kitchen for some wine and succeeded. Grantaire flipped to the sketch of the blond from earlier. "I know you." He said out loud. "But how?" Grantaire grabbed a sketching pencil and began to sketch the blond from memory. He didn't feel like water colors on his first day back at it, so he grabbed his acrylics. It felt nice to have his hands messy with paint again, and Grantaire lost himself in that feeling and the wine for a few hours.

It was almost five when Grantaire's stomach took over his ability to concentrate on the painting. Grantaire was pleased with it for his first one since being home. He tossed his brushes into the sink to wash later and barely washed the paint off of his hands. In reality, he really didn't care if his hands were stained with paint. Grantaire put on his jacket and decided to walk down to the pub near his apartment. It was small and had tables in the back where he could sit and people watch. One the way out of the door, he tossed his sketch book back in his bag with some sketching pencils.

Grantaire was happily seated in his favorite corner table in the back. It gave him the best view of the pub. He could people watch here all night and had done just that many times. The whiskey he was sipping tasted wonderful, even if it didn't really match the burger and fries he had been munching on. Grantaire was finishing the last sip of his current glass when the blond walked in. He choked at the sight of him. Then cursed just how much whiskey burns if it tries to go out your nose.

The blond still wore his suit, but he had the jacket unbuttoned now, his tie loosened, and the top button of his shirt undone. Grantaire felt himself blush for some reason. "Where the fuck do I know you from?" He muttered under his breath. The blond was alone still, and he sat at the bar. Grantaire could see that his mess of blond curls stopped just at his chin. The sudden urge to run his fingers through them shocked Grantaire. "Maybe I am crazy," he scolded himself, as he got up to walk over to the bar.

He stood next to the blond at the bar. Grantaire couldn't shake the urge to look over at him. Before he could speak, the blond spoke first, "Bus stop guy, right?" Grantaire nodded, his voice suddenly failing him. "You live near here?"

"Yes. About a block away." Thank you for returning voice, he thought.

"Me, too. Close to work." Oh man, his smile was captivating. Grantaire felt himself wanting to touch him.

The euphoric feeling Grantaire had crashed in his gut the moment the blond held out his hand, and Grantaire grabbed it in a return shake. "My name is Enjolras. Your's?"

Grantaire felt like he was being shocked; and yet, he felt blissful all in the same moment. "Grantaire, but people sometimes call me R." The bar tender returned with Grantaire's drink.

"Nice to meet you, Grantaire."

"Same. I still swear I know you from somewhere before the bus stop." Grantaire stuttered.

"Doubt it."

"Well, I need to go." Grantaire lied. He'd stay there all night, but he was starting to panic. Grantaire went back to his table and downed his glass of whiskey in one gulp. The burn of it going down dulled his brain enough to pack up his things and get home.

Grantaire slammed the door to his apartment. He quickly shed his jacket as it felt like he was suffocating. His hand still tingled where Enjolras had shook it. He had a firm, strong grip. Grantaire leaned back against the wall of his living room. His painting for earlier stared at him. "Enjolras." Grantaire's heart was racing. He pulled his knees to his chest and closed his eyes. All he could hear was the sound of riffles firing and he could feel Enjolras holding his hand.

"What is happening to me?" He cried.