Enjolras's mouth falls a little open. The figure who steps out of the shadows is clad in a floor-length evening dress and fur stole. His lips are painted, but not like the clownish makeup the Emcee wore. This is a dark red that only highlights the fullness of his lips as he smiles. His muscular shoulders are bare under the thin straps of his halter-neck dress, and it should be comical, the way his muscles stretch the satin of the dress's bust, like the dame from a pantomime Enjolras remembers being taken to as a child- yet somehow it isn't. Enjolras can't make himself look away.
'Hello, darlings.' R's voice is low and intimate, as though he's speaking only to Enjolras. 'This song is for…' He chuckles. Enjolras feels a shiver go down his spine. 'Well, that would be telling, wouldn't it?' He takes a drag from his long cigarette holder as the opening chords of the piano sound out and Enjolras swallows, watching the way his lips wrap around the stem.
'You have to understand the way I am…'
Enjolras feels dazed. Maybe it's the atmosphere, the warm smoky air that seems to envelop him like a blanket, or maybe it's the third mysterious, sticky drink that he doesn't remember ordering. Or maybe it's R's voice, rough and warm and so inviting.
It takes him a moment to realise when the song ends. He joins in the clapping about ten seconds after everyone else. R smiles through the applause and turns to disappear offstage, blowing kisses over his shoulder. Enjolras makes an involuntary sound of disappointment, earning him a knowing look from the man at the next table.
He hasn't seen Babet since he got here, and he wouldn't care, but he's not one hundred percent confident he remembers the way back to his lodgings. He looks around, not sure what to do, and half-stands before he feels a hand on his shoulder, warm even through his jacket.
'You're not leaving, are you?'
Enjolras sits back down with a thump. Face burning, he turns to see R, who appears to be suppressing a laugh.
'Oh, I, er-'
'You're English.' Belatedly, Enjolras realises that R is, too. He sits down opposite Enjolras. 'What a relief. So long without the verbal constipation of the British upper class- I can't tell you what an ordeal it's been.'
Enjolras has a vague feeling that he's being made fun of. He swallows the last of his drink. 'I'm glad to be of service.'
'Are you, darling? Do you know how you could keep on servicing me?'
Enjolras feels his face heat up. 'I- I don't-'
R laughs. 'Oh, nothing like that, I wouldn't dream of it. Could you just keep talking? I've been positively starved.'
'I…er…' He casts around for something, anything, and his mind lands at random on a poem he remembers reading as a teenager, for the sole reason that his father had denounced the poet as a 'traitor and a conchie'. 'Everyone suddenly burst out singing, and I was filled with such delight as prisoned birds must find in freedom, winging wildly across the white…'
R closes his eyes, tilting his head back in a parody of ecstacy. 'Oh, yes, darling. Don't stop, please.'
Enjolras blushes, stammering over his words. 'Orchards, and- and dark-green fields; on, on, and out of sight.' He coughs. 'Everyone's voice was suddenly lifted, and beauty came like the setting sun…my heart was shaken with tears, and horror drifted away…O, but everyone was a bird, and the song was wordless, the singing will never be done.'
R lets out a drawn-out sigh that's almost a moan. His eyes are still closed. 'Oh, thank you. Just what I needed.' He opens his eyes and leans in. 'You know, I don't even know your name yet. My mother would be shocked.'
'It's Enjolras.' He extends a hand to shake on reflex. R laughs. 'After all that, all I get is a handshake? You wound me, Enjolras. And here I was going to tell you my real name.'
Enjolras opens his mouth, but the voice of the Emcee cuts across him, filling the smoky air.
'Meine Damen und Herren, Mesdames et Messieurs, Ladies and Gentlemen…It is almost midnight. Husbands, you have only ten seconds in which to lose your wives. Ten… nine…'
All around them, voices join in the countdown. R joins in as well, laughing. 'Three…two…one…'
The room goes dark.
'HAPPY NEW YEAR!'
In the darkness, warm lips press against Enjolras's, leaving a taste of lipstick and alcohol. He feels warm breath on his ear, smells perfume.
'It's Grantaire.'
When the lights come back up, Grantaire is gone.
Enjolras is arranging his books on his dingy room's desk when there's a knock at the door. Fraulein Fantine comes in.
'Herr Enjolras, there is a young man to see you.'
He turns. 'A young man?'
'He said to tell you it was R. This is perhaps a code?'
Enjolras tries to ignore the way his heart thumps. 'Oh, well, er. Yes, I suppose. Ask him to come in, please.'
She leaves, returning moments later in Grantaire's wake. Somewhat to Enjolras's relief, he's dressed in men's clothes today.
'Enjolras! I've missed you so much, it's been awful. I don't know how I survived.' He descends on Enjolras, kissing him soundly on the mouth. Fraulein Fantine coughs. Grantaire turns to her.
'Could you be a dear and get my bag?'
Fraulein Fantine hurries out of the room again, muttering under her breath. Enjolras watches, mouth slightly open. He collects himself.
'Your- I'm sorry, your bag?'
Grantaire grins. 'Haven't you heard? We're going to be roommates.' Enjolras stares at him. 'Of course you haven't heard, how could you have? I didn't know until a few hours ago. It's your fault, you know, being so angelically handsome, and reciting all that beautiful poetry…Montparnasse just couldn't stand it. Kicked me out onto the street. So here I am, homeless, friendless…thank you, Fraulein Fantine, you're so kind.' Fraulein Fantine has returned, hovering just inside the room with a heavy-looking suitcase. 'Just put it anywhere, I'll unpack later.'
'Unpack?' says Fraulein Fantine in a voice like lead, while Enjolras blinks rapidly and tries to process what just happened. 'Herr Enjolras did not mention-'
'It's only a temporary measure, temporary as our fleeting existence. Only probably more so than that.' Grantaire takes the suitcase from Fraulein Fantine's hand and dumps it on the bed. She looks about how Enjolras feels.
'I cannot allow-'
'Fifty marks.'
'It is not-'
'Sixty.'
Fraulein Fantine opens her mouth, then closes it. 'Sixty-five.'
'Done.' Grantaire smiles. She rolls her eyes and turns to leave. 'I will let you get settled in.'
Enjolras watches her go in a daze. As soon as the door closes, Grantaire lets out a long breath.
'That was fucking terrifying. Look, I'm shaking.' He holds out a hand. Enjolras notices for the first time that he's wearing bright green nail varnish.
Enjolras clears his throat. 'About you staying-'
Grantaire deflates visibly. 'Please don't kick me out. Twice in one day would be a record even for me.'
'I'm not going to kick you out.'
'You're not?' Enjolras is as surprised as Grantaire, but he swallows and shakes his head. Grantaire lets out a breath and sits down on his suitcase.
'You know what I'd love? Some gin. You've got some, haven't you?'
'I, uh-'
'Well, we'll soon fix that.' There's a pause while Enjolras attempts to collect himself.
'Look', he begins, 'I don't know where- I mean, well-' He gestures vaguely around the room, blushing. 'There's only one…bed.'
Grantaire smiles. Enjolras's mouth goes dry. He is so very, very fucked. 'I'm sure we'll think of something.'
