Notes: First off I apologize for the long wait. I was hit with a bout of writer's block, but I overcame it.
Secondly, there is less French in this chapter than the last, but it's not translated in text so translations will be at the end. Once again thanks to my beautiful beta and translator, Meeni ( .com)

Paris, France
Le Café Musain, Rue des Grès

The two men sat and talked for hours. The conversation was stunted, having to rely on online translators and Enjolras' French book, but over the course of three hours, Enjolras managed to learn more French than he thought he ever would and Grantaire could now easily understand most of what Enjolras said and speak haltingly.

Enjolras had learned that Grantaire went to art school in Paris but left after two years. He wouldn't say why and his smile became sharper around the corners when Enjolras asked. He worked at the Musain afterwards with Jehan and Éponine although he still painted and when he was up for it (and Enjolras was beginning to expect that "up for it" meant "sober enough for it" by the amount of whiskey he drank during this discussion) he would sell his art on street corners. He never really learned English because 1) he didn't own a TV, 2) he skipped half his classes in high school, English being one of them, and 3) it was never really a problem before. But, according to the brunette he now had plenty motivation, a sentence spoke in low baritone voice made rough with alcohol and punctuated with a wink over the rim of a tumbler.

Grantaire had learned about Enjolras' degree which earned a scoff, which in turn ignited an argument, half in French, half in English, but was mostly attempting (and failing) to keep their voices down. Jehan broke it when he placed an espresso in front of Enjolras and a refill of whiskey in front of Grantaire. They continued to glare at each other, but eventually the conversation turned to lighter topics. Grantaire learned that Enjolras' favorite color is red and laughed at that because"prévisible." Enjolras talked happily about his friends and Grantaire said he would love to talk to them sometime. Enjolras asked if he was sure.

Enjolras felt properly relaxed for the first time in years.

The pair talked for three hours and the café slowly emptied around them. They stayed the constant in the waves of customers and passersby. The fumes of cigarette smoke and brewing coffee swelled around them, but they remained untouched and isolated. They did not touch. They remained separated by an invisible force. They talked through it and their closeness grew in the space. There they remained.

Grantaire leaned back, pulling out a pack of cigarettes from his pocket and lighting it. The smoke curled through the air and caressed Enjolras' face.

"What are you doing tomorrow?" Grantaire asked, leaning back in. Closer, but not breaching that space that kept them separated.

Enjolras thought for a moment, his brows knitting together. "Je ne sais pas, my friends gave me some ideas, mais j'ai fait tout aujourd'hui."

"I could show you around Paris," Grantaire suggested. "The stuff not in the tourist books."

"That… I'd love it," Enjolras stuttered, smiling sweetly. "Merci."

"C'est rien," Grantaire replied. He looked around the restaurant and noticed that it was empty. He noticed that Jehan was cleaning the bar and Éponine was clearing the tables in the non-smoking section. He checked his watch and laughed; Enjolras raised an eyebrow in questioning. "The café has been closed for thirty minutes."

Enjolras swore softly and started gathering up his stuff. Grantaire rose with him and gently grabbed his wrist. Enjolras looked up, startled from his frantic item-gathering. "Can I walk you to your hotel?"

Enjolras nodded. He finished packing his stuff and placed money for his coffee and a heavy tip on the table. He turned and Grantaire walked him out, a hand hesitantly laid on his waist. When they were on the street, Grantaire removed his hand in favor of lighting another cigarette. Enjolras found he missed the warmth.

They walked in comfortable silence, both already felt safe and secure in the other's presence. They did not touch; the space between them that was momentarily breeched returned. Their shoulders were close, not close enough to bump together. Their hands swung slightly, fingers reaching out minutely but never intertwining. The smoke from Grantaire's cigarette curled away from them, fading into the night sky; the stars appeared to drink up the white tendrils like whiskey. They exchanged glances, never speaking, maybe smiling, the corners of their mouth turning upward just barely, never enough for either of them.

Soon, too soon, they reached the hostel. They paused on the dimly lit doorstep hidden in the shade of a tree. They turned to face each other, the space still there.

"Merci, Grantaire. Je l'ai aimé," Enjolras said.

Grantaire smiled and laid a hand on Enjolras' cheek, thumb caressing the bone beneath. Enjolras found himself leaning into the touch. Grantaire leaned closer.

"Permets-tu?" Enjolras nodded against Grantaire's hand, then his lips were on his own.

The kiss was soft, but Enjolras wanted more. He tugged Grantaire's hips to his own, backing them into the tree trunk; Grantaire placed a hand on the back of Enjolras' neck, pulling him closer, deepening the kiss. His fingers carded through the blond hair. Enjolras was holding Grantaire by his belt loops flush to his body. Enjolras licked into his mouth. Grantaire relished in the new closeness and reciprocated his movements. Their noses were crashing together. Their hands were all over each other, fingers teasing at waistlines, raking up shirts, scratching faint lines along sides.

Grantaire broke for air but quickly reattached his mouth to Enjolras' neck. Lips kissing, teeth raking the surface, tongue teasing. Enjolras had his fingers wound in Grantaire's black curls, holding him in this closeness. Enjolras pulled him back up and reconnected their mouths. It was a clash of lips, and teeth, and tongue.

They leaned their foreheads against each other. Both were panting; both were flushed; both had lips red as blood. "Mon Dieu," Grantaire whispered, kissing the corner of Enjolras mouth. Enjolras pulled Grantaire closer and he ducked his head to Enjolras' neck, biting gently at the juncture of neck and shoulder. Enjolras shuddered and immediately wondered if the hostel allowed him to bring a guest to his room. Grantaire groaned obscenely against his skin.

"Meet me at the Musain demain," Grantaire said, lips fluttering against Enjolras' skin.

"Stay," Enjolras said, pulling Grantaire back up to face him.

He shook his head. "This hotel does not allow guests."

"Then why didn't we go to your place?" Enjolras asked, a pout creeping onto his face.

"Je pensais que ce serait trop direct."

Enjolras kissed him again and whispered against his mouth, "Quelle heure?"

"Je m'en fiche. Some time. Any time." He kissed him again, forcing himself to pull away before he wouldn't be able to leave at all. "À demain."

Enjolras followed his lips, kissing him quickly again. "À demain," Enjolras agreed.

Grantaire pulled back and walked away. Enjolras followed him with his eyes and just before Grantaire was about to round the corner, he turned and waved goodbye, the only streetlamp on the road illuminating his soft smile. He turned and he was gone.

From Courfeyrac: its midnight over there and every1 knows you dont sleep until 3 the earliest so if you dont answer this im assuming u got laid.
From Enjolras: no additional guests allowed in this hotel.
From Courfeyrac: goddamnit
From Courfeyrac: wait so r u at his place?
From Courfeyrac: Enjolras
From Courfeyrac: Enjolras!
From Enjolras: no, I'm not at his place.
From Enjolras: but I'm seeing him tomorrow.
From Courfeyrac: good.
From Courfeyrac: get it son.

Notes: prévisible: predictable
Je ne sais pas: I don't know
Mais j'ai fait tout aujourd'hui: But I did it all today.
Merci/C'est rien: Thank you/It's nothing
Merci, Grantaire. Je l'ai aimé: Thank you, Grantaire. I loved it.
Permets-tu?: Do you permit it? ((Did you like my little canon reference?))
Mon Dieu: My God
Demain/à demain: tomorrow
je pensais que ce serait trop direct: I thought it would be too forward.
Quelle heure?: what time?
Je m'en fiche: I don't care. The feedback for this fic has been so lovely! I appreciate everything so much more than you can imagine.
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