AN: Heeey there fandom and fellow e/r shippers. It's 4 am and this is chapter one and it's short and I hope you like it please don't hurt me, thanks. I've never written a Les Mis fic before, even though I have a million plots in my notebook. Anyway yeah have fun.
Enjolras' shoulder collided with the stranger's, or rather, as Enjolras would think, the stranger's collided with his, on a dull Tuesday afternoon outside an even duller cafe.
"Ah, fuck," the Stranger gruffed as, what Enjolras presumed to be a sketchbook, fell to the ground, "Could you watch where you're going, possibly?"
In that quite infuriating moment, Enjolras' temper flared, "You're the one who ran into me."
"Let's just agree," the Stranger began with a smirk, while bending down to gather his things, "To disagree, and get some coffee?"
Enjolras, who was clearly taken aback at the sudden flirting, shakes his head, "I'm going to be late for-"
"And you knocked my sketchbook into a puddle, I think your lateness to whatever and a coffee will make up for that."
"Fine," Enjolras rolled his eyes, "I'll buy you a coffee."
"Great. I'm Grantaire, by the way." Grantaire grinned a cocky sort of grin as they walked into the cafe.
"Enjolras."
"Fancy."
"Sure," Enjolras smirked, "Pick your coffee quickly, before you make me even later."
"Just a black coffee will do, thank you."
Enjolras frowned at the thought of black coffee, but ordered it for the stranger anyway, then ordered his own sugary concoction (that Grantaire frowned at himself).
Once seated, Grantaire sipped his coffee with a smile, "So, Enjolras," he dragged the name in a way that sent the tiniest shiver down Enjolras' spine, "What exactly are you going to be late for?"
"Already late," he scowled, "I am already late for an important meeting."
"Well if it makes you feel any better-"
"It doesn't."
"Right, well, as I began, if it makes you feel any better, I'm late for my rehearsal."
'A rehearsal,' Enjolras scoffed at the very word, 'Probably for some indie hipster thing in the garage of his friend's parents.'
"Oh, well I'm sure your friends are dying without you at your rehearsal." Enjolras' eyes rolled again as he looked over Grantaire's appearance. Messy. Messy summed it up well. His jeans were ripped and his t-shirt faded. Atop his curly mess of dark hair sat an obnoxious red beanie and he, God for shame, was wearing sandals with socks.
"Hey, I'm a very important member of my group and my friends probably are dying, actually," Grantaire's eyes drifted to the- good God- Captain America watch on his wrist, "I'm literally half an hour late."
"Twenty minutes. I'm twenty minutes late."
"Well, Enjolras," he didn't drag his name this time, but it still sent something through Enjolras' veins, "I think we'd both do well by getting off. But I'd love for you to see my performance on Thursday."
"Oh really," Enjolras smirked, thinking of the high school dropout, ratty garage-band he was probably a part of, "Well maybe I'll come and see you perform."
Grantaire smiled, pulled a pen from the loop of his sketchbook and proceeded to scribble an address on a napkin. Once finished, he stood up quickly with coffee in hand and slid the napkin toward Enjolras, "Thursday night at 8 o'clock, don't be late, Pretty Boy."
And with that, he left and Enjolras sat at the table looking quite miffed.
'Pretty Boy,' what started as a scowl quickly turned into a grin, 'Maybe I won't be late'.
AN: Haha, did you have fun? No? Okay. R&R Please!
