I'd like to address a few of the reviewers first, thank you for your wonderful reviews:
Jenny: My favorite review! Very honest... but nevertheless encouraging. I am still finding my footing as an author of any kind, whether it be essays on nothing or more creative things. You caught me here on something I often do- which is to convince myself that unless every detail is described, the reader will not see it as I do! However, with this next chapter I considered all of my adjectives and found that some of them were extraneous (even to what I was trying to explain)-- and the first one I deleted was "lightly". I love that adjective, obviously, but it was certainly abused in the first chapter...
3: Oh random heart, you speak from mine! Javert is a STUDENT- and yes students can be nasty, ugly people but he is young and he is full of life and WHY is that attribute so forgotten? I think the musical is getting better at making him what he is; hiring better looking Grantaire's and making his blocking more frivolous-- I long for a new Grantaire.
And to the others, Thank you for your wonderful reviews. I was in a hurry to finish chapter 2 after them!
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By the time Grantaire was disengaging himself from the text and emerging into reality, he noticed that night had fallen and the noise had disappeared. All that remained of the boisterous early evening crowd were a few stragglers, sipping their wine and coffee and mostly keeping their eyes downcast. One conversation was being had in the corner between two students. A soft, feminine laugh was heard as their seats became closer and closer together; forgotten school material sprawled out in front of them.
Grantaire smirked and then focused his eyes to the student, Enjolras, who still occupied the space across from Grantaire. His eyes still darted sharply across the pages, as enamored as the first second Grantaire encountered him. If Enjolras felt Grantaire's eyes on him, he hid this knowledge well. Grantaire felt a moment's hesitation as he found himself suddenly completely packed and ready to head out the door. His bag rested on his lap as he finished off the very last of his wine (his third glass) and set the glass quietly on the table. He took a moment to study his companion for a last time before silently getting up to leave. He gave his bartender friend Sebastien a wave and thanks before stepping outside.
As the door of the Cafe slammed shut with the breeze and Grantaire's help, Enjolras's head jolted up. Puzzled eyes adjusted to reality slowly as he found the current situation completely different to when he had dove into his text. What of the man, Grantaire? He exhaled largely, sipping his now chilled tea and rubbing his temples. Government had proven a fair contender for his driven spirit, and he planned on conquering that exam easily. For all of his political beliefs, it would be an embarrassment to perform poorly there. He gathered his papers together and found a slightly worn notebook he did not recognize. He opened it carefully and saw unfamiliar writing. Thinking it to belong to the man who sat across from him, he slipped it in his bag in order to keep it safe.
"Thank you," Enjolras bowed to the bartender. The bartender accepted his cup and nodded in acknowledgement.
And, with that, Enjolras pushed the door open into the cool night and descended the steps. The flames that lit the lamps on the street flickered with the spring breeze as Enjolras hugged his waist. He kept his eyes mostly downcast for no reason other than tiredness, and reached his apartment quickly. Not bothering to light a candle, he kicked off his boots and relaxed onto his bed, falling into a deep sleep.
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As the morning light shone through his window, Enjolras awoke easily to the sound of the shops opening and people conversing. He rose quickly and went to his washroom, where he changed his clothes (it was about time) and washed his body and hair. He washed his mouth out and rubbed paste on his teeth, then put on his boots and a white shirt.
Feeling infinitely cleaner, he exited his apartment in the hopes of another studious day before his Friday exam. He bit into his breakfast apple and walked down the bustling streets, carrying his bag across his shoulder. His eyes searched for the streets that had brought him to the Cafe Musain yesterday; he had enjoyed their tea immensely. He turned a corner into a narrow street and looked to the floor, trying to visualize last night's walk back. He suddenly collided with a hard body and dropped his apple on the floor. Strong hands steadied him and he saw familiar brown hair as the man knelt to pick up his apple. When Enjolras saw his face, he realized it was the man who he had met at the Cafe yesterday.
"I suppose this is no good now, hm?" Grantaire noted, attempting to rid the apple of its grime. His eyes shone with recognition of Enjolras, though he made no indication that this meeting held any significance.
"I - I apologize," Enjolras stammered. He fixed his ruffled appearance and looked upon Grantaire who waved off his apology with a smile.
"Not to worry. Where were you headed, Enjolras?" He asked, barely touching his shoulder.
"Actually... I was on my way to the Cafe Musain; where we met yesterday?" Enjolras replied.
"Ahh, but you are headed in the complete opposite direction, my friend! Let me take you," Grantaire insisted, motioning for him to walk the other way. As they walked down the street, Enjolras studied Grantaire's appearance. Today the aroma of wine seemed to emit from his very clothing, though his hair and face did not indicate that he was anything less than a student. Enjolras took note of his deep brown eyes that seemed to contradict the probably drunken state of the man; they appeared as alert and expressive as a fully sober gentleman. He was not dirty, but had an overwhelmingly rough sense about him, paired with an attractive face.
To break the silence, Grantaire asked, "So now that your breakfast became acquainted with the floor, would you like anything to eat?"
Enjolras cleared his thoughts with a quick shake of his head, also responding to the question. "No," he began, "I am usually never hungry in the morning- the apple is to calm my conscience which tells me that I must eat breakfast, lunch, and dinner."
"And we are only too lucky to have that luxury," Grantaire mused, inclining his head to the poverty-stricken individuals that were sprinkled along the street.
"Yes; I suppose I take advantage of it because I feel as though I should," Enjolras realized, shaking his head a little. "...What do you make of this, Grantaire?" He asked pryingly, indicating the poverty. Little did Grantaire know, this question was a bit of a test for Enjolras. It had been submitted to all acquaintences before Grantaire, including his best friend to date, Combeferre.
Grantaire hesitated, then sighed lightly. "It is..." he began, "Terrible. Unacceptable. Inhumane." He glanced over to Enjolras, who was drinking his words, eyes wide and curious. Grantaire narrowed his eyes, and decided to be honest. "However... I have never believed that there will ever be a way to avoid it... I believe it is inevitable in human existence."
Enjolras allowed his words to sink in, and nodded. "Yes," he said distantly, "I suppose so..."
Grantaire hated to disappoint this friendly acquaintence. "My friend Courfeyrac and I- we- well, we study the politics of France avidly. He is the optimist, leaving me as the-"
"Pessimist," Enjolras added with a small smile.
"Yes. Pessimist. And pessimist is as pessimist does, my friend." Grantaire added. They reached the door of the Cafe and Grantaire pushed it open for Enjolras, nodding for him to ascend the steps.
By the way-- if you are all disturbed by the descriptions of any particular bathing habits; I tend to not disclude those from my writing because I usually find myself wondering how disgusting it must be that the character woke up, got out of bed, and left the house without worrying to do anything hygenic. And some characters don't call for that special attention but Enjolras most certainly would, I believe.