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I'm in very very very deep in the Les Miserables fandom now...


Grantaire sat in the coffee shop with his head on the table and his backpack as a pillow. The rings of his sketchbook poked out from the bag, leaving indents on his arms. His ratty jacket hung behind him on the chair. His curly, black hair flopped over his bare arms, lifting slightly with every exhale. He could hear the last employee clearing the tables and cleaning off the tables, preparing to close up the shop. They were usually kind enough to let him stay until the last minute, then again, he just refused to move from his seat until he finally got kicked out.

Everyday was the same. The lights would flash on and off and eventually turn off and the last employee would yell at him to get out. But, unexpectedly, tonight was different.

Just as Grantaire was beginning to doze off, the bell over the door rang and the door slammed behind whoever came in. The shuffling and moving of chairs stopped as the worker said, "Hey dude, we're closed, get out."

"Your sign says you're open. Come on, I'll pay. Just get me some coffee," a tired and dreary voice said. Even with such an exhausted tone, the voice was still strong and confident, almost making Grantaire wanting to look up to see who it was. Almost.

The worker sighed and asked what the newcomer wanted. Grantaire paid no attention to what he ordered, just adjusted his bag and tried to get back to sleep before he was kicked out of the warm store.

All of a sudden, Grantaire heard a swoosh of fabric, a small gasp and then hot liquid splashed onto Grantaire's arm. His head popped up as the burning coffee stung on his arm and stained the edge of his sleeve.

"Ah! I'm sorry!" the man said and Grantaire looked up. The man was, in one word, godlike. His wavy, golden hair framed his defined face. He had blue eyes like the sky with pale eyelashes casting shadows on his cheekbones. The fluorescent lights behind him gave him halo, but he wasn't a mere angel, he was Apollo.

"Uh, it's fine, no problem," Grantaire said, although it was a problem. This shirt was one of his only shirts. He was tongue tied, something that would never happen if he had had any form of alcohol in his system. He had a bottle of beer earlier but that barely affected him now.

They stood there for a moment in silence until that employee shooed them out. Grantaire stood up slowly and stretched his arms over his head. "Well, it's time to go. I'll see you around," he said casually (even though he wanted to stare at that man for — oh, he didn't know — an hour or so), glancing back at the man as he walked towards the door.

He was already out the door and halfway down the block when he heard someone call from behind him, "Wait!"

Grantaire turned around to see that handsome young man standing in the doorway, clutching his half full cup of coffee. "Wait. Wait, what's your name?"

After a pause, Grantaire answered, "Grantaire, or R, either one."

"I'm Enjolras," he said, smiling slightly.

"Enjolras," Grantaire repeated, the name rolling off his tongue like the sweetest chocolate, or in his case, some delicious vodka. "Well, Enjolras, hopefully I'll see you here again." he raised his hand in farewell and left with a secret smile on his face and his heart pounding in his chest.