Notes: Ok this is really long (compared to my other chapters) and is pure fluff in preparation for the angst I'm gonna drop on you in a few chapters. Translations at the end. (It's a really long end note.) Thanks go, forever and always, to Meeni ( .com) for being a positively wonderful beta and translator.
Paris, France
102 Rue Gabriel Peri, Saint-Denis
Enjolras hadn't managed to sleep until 3:56 AM. He remembered because he had been staring at the clock counting down the hours until he could see Grantaire again.
This was strange for him. Very rarely did he even like someone platonically after first meeting them, let alone whatever this feeling was. Were Courfeyrac there, he would bat his eyelashes and sing-song "Enjolras is in loooooove." Enjolras wouldn't be so stupid as to say that, but he did find himself replaying Grantaire's laugh in his head and longing to hear it again. He found himself at 3:43 AM remembering how Grantaire's lips felt on his own, how his hands felt teasing along his sides and chest and pressed firmly against his back. He remembered the little moans and sighs and groans Grantaire made. He thought about how they should be made illegal, not just in France, but internationally.
It wasn't just lust, either. Enjolras stared at the ceiling wondering what they would do that day, where Grantaire would take him, what he could see with the Paris native by his side. He wondered if they would hold hands while walking down the streets. He hoped when they ducked into a restaurant for lunch, they would sit so close he could feel their breath mingling. He wanted them to kiss softly and sweetly under a street lamp when twilight hit.
He realized he was acting like a teenage girl. He couldn't find it in him to care.
People often thought that Enjolras couldn't be attracted to anyone. They were very wrong. Enjolras as a teenager, before he found his cause, had been a raging mass of hormones, although he never had enough courage to act on his thoughts, emotions never being his strong suit. He never stopped being attracted to others, it was more that when he found his cause he stopped seeing them at all. His vision became tunneled and all he could see was Patria.
When he was relaxed, however, or when his friends forced him out and a couple drinks in, his vision expanded. It was extremely rare, but throughout college he managed to be relaxed enough to have a net total of five one night stands, never a relationship though. Now that he had a month off, he could see the possibility. He could see Grantaire every day. He could become fluent in French. He had a month with this man. What would happen at the end of the month he didn't like to think about. He pushed it out of his mind.
It was with thoughts of black curls and blue eyes and tattooed arms that he finally drifted off to sleep and at 7:00 AM these thoughts woke him from his dreams.
Enjolras woke to the sun streaming on his face from the window. His eyes fluttered open and he immediately covered them with his hands. Too bright, too early. He stumbled out of bed and into the shower. The water was helpful in waking him up.
He was halfway through shampooing his hair when he realized shitshitshit he has an actual date today. His eyes shot open, shit I have a date today. His eyes clenched shut, shit there's shampoo in my eye. The next five minutes were spent trying to wash said shampoo out with the horrible water pressure the hotel provided. He finished quickly and stepped out, wrapping a towel around his waist.
He walked into the room where he turned to the closet. He had hung up the small amount of clothes he packed. They consisted mostly of jeans, screen printed t-shirts mocking the government, and sweaters. He also brought along one nice top with black slacks and a tie, just in case.
He stared at his clothes for a while without deciding. He wasn't sure where Grantaire was taking him, and so he didn't want to risk wearing one of the more inappropriate political t-shirts. He didn't know what the weather would be like that day (because his friends also conveniently blocked weather forecasts from his laptop), so he didn't want to wear a sweater. He was almost positive Grantaire wouldn't take him anywhere that required his good clothes, so at least that was one option cancelled.
He considered calling Courfeyrac for help. He looked at the clock and calculated the time change; it would be 2:00 AM in New York. He figured they would probably be asleep considering how Joly woke them up early the day before. He considered this for a moment, then thought fuck it. They were the ones who sent him on this trip anyway.
He called Courf's phone. It rang eight times before he answered.
"What the fuck, Enjolras? I don't know what time it is in Paris but it's fucking two in the goddamn morning and I was asleep and dreaming pleasantly about-"
"Get on Skype now, it's important," Enjolras cut him off then promptly hung up.
He opened his computer and the program and the call came immediately. Courf was sitting in a pitch black room, the computer screen casting stark shadows on his face. He was frowning and there were dark circles under his eyes.
"What the fuck was so important?" he asked grumpily.
"I need help deciding what to wear."
It was then that Courf noticed how little clothing Enjolras was wearing at the moment. "You could always just wear that out. I heard the French are more free with their clothing choices."
"Shut up and help me." He stood then and walked to his closet, pulling out a pair of jeans and holding them up for Courf to see.
"Those are fine," he said. "I'd never thought I'd see the day. Enjolras, nervous for a date. This guy must be a catch."
Enjolras pointedly ignored Courf's statement in lieu of saying, "You blocked the weather network on my computer. What's the temperature going to be in Paris?"
"Did we?"
"Yes," Enjolras replied dryly, hoping Courfeyrac could feel his glare through the computer screen. "You only left porn and tourism."
Courfeyrac laughed at the memory as he pulled up the weather. "Mid seventies for the day."
"Ok. Which t-shirt?" Enjolras asked holding out three of his least offensive t-shirts, one that said Think. It's not illegal yet. another that had a hands grasping at lines on a barcode as if in a prison, and his Work. Buy. Consume. Die. shirt.
"Do you have any plain shirts or is your closet filled solely with anti-capitalism and anarchy?"
"There's some feminism too," he replied. "Which one?"
Courfeyrac sighed. "The barcode one."
Enjolras smiled as he walked to the laptop. "Thank you." He smiled as he ended the call.
He quickly got dressed and ready, packing his bag with his laptop, French book, and phone. He left the hotel and walked to the metro station. He would be at the café by ten. It was when he was walking to make his line change that he realized that he might be too early. That thought set off a string of panicked thoughts wondering if Grantaire forgot, or what if he got mugged on his way to his flat last night, or what if he just decided that he didn't like Enjolras at all. He was holding onto the rails with a death grip now, so he forced himself to calm down and take deep breaths.
He got off the train and walked to where he remembered the Musain was. He looked in through the windows while trying to stay hidden in the crowd, but Jehan spotted him and waved. He didn't see Grantaire, but if Jehan (who was obviously a close friend) was being nice, that had to be a good sign, right?
He tried calming his nerves (God, when did you start having nerves, you are acting like a hormonal teenager). He smiled as he walked in and sat at the bar across from Jehan.
"Bonjour, Enjolras. You're out early," Jehan said with a kind smile.
"I'm always up this early."
"You must see a lot of sunrises," he replied. "But sunrises come with exhaustion. I'm assuming you want coffee; you did stay out quite late last night."
Enjolras definitely didn't flush at that. "Coffee would be great. A double espresso, s'il vous plaît." Jehan began to make the order. "Sorry about that, by the way, staying after the restaurant closed. I also never said thank you for translating a whole conversation for us. Not many people would do that."
Jehan smiled sweetly as he placed the coffee in front of Enjolras. "It was no problem. It was worth it for love."
Enjolras sputtered as he burnt his tongue on the coffee. "We're not in love."
"I have seen love, Monsieur Enjolras, and one day there will be songs written about you two."
Enjolras averted his eyes and took a slightly more dignified sip of coffee- well as dignified as one can be when one's face is flushing the shade of red of their favorite jacket. He sat there for a while, sipping his coffee and looking around the empty café.
The place was quite nice. It was dimly lit, most of the light coming in from the wall of windows which opened onto the terrace, so there was a gradient of darkness heading towards the back. There were a few booths lining the walls and small tables in the middle. In the very back there was a small bookshelf; Enjolras couldn't see what types of books it held, but they all looked very old. The bar was a dark wood with leather covered stools that looked old and musty, but strangely and contrastingly held an air of elegance. The whole café was that way. It looked old and outdated and uncared for, but it still felt like a home and it seemed as though, if you looked close enough, you could see the remains of when it was new and shiny and gentlemen wearing cravats sat at the bar, smoking cigars and talking politics.
He turned to look out the window. It was a Saturday and few people were out this early, but there were some passersby holding a couple bags of groceries, walking a dog, etcetera. The sun was shining brightly now, descending its rays onto the scene before him. The light reflected off metallic fixtures, making them seem simultaneously more beautiful and harsher. He checked his watch.
"Excusez-moi," Enjolras called into the kitchen. Jehan peeked his head out from the door. "Mais… do you have any idea when Grantaire will be here."
Jehan glanced out the window. "Oui. Maintenant," he said as Grantaire walked into the café. He immediately spotted Enjolras and strolled over to him, hesitantly kissing him on the cheek.
"Tu es là tôt. Sorry I did not come sooner."
"It's fine," Enjolras said, giving Grantaire a quick, closed-lipped, but still passionate kiss, because if there was one thing Enjolras was, it was passionate. He felt Grantaire smile against his mouth before pulling back and spotting Jehan. He smiled jovially at him.
"Bonjour, Jehan! Comment vas-tu en ce merveilleux jour?" He asked, gesturing wildly and happily.
Jehan smiled fondly, "Je vais magnifiquement bien, maintenant pars et profite de ton rendez-vous. Marius te remplace ce soir donc tu n'as pas à t'inquiéter."
"Merci beaucoup," Grantaire said sincerely, pulling Jehan into a hug.
Enjolras watched this exchange with a slight smile. He couldn't understand everything, but he was pretty sure that Grantaire had someone covering for him so they could spend the whole day and night together. His smile grew at the thought.
Grantaire broke the hug with Jehan and turned to Enjolras. "Ready?" he asked, holding out a hand. Enjolras grabbed it and allowed Grantaire to pull him from his seat and out the door. When the wooden doors of the Musain were shut behind them, Enjolras pulled Grantaire into another kiss. Grantaire reciprocated him greedily, drinking him up like a plant does the sun when kept too long in the dark.
When they pulled back for breath, foreheads leaning together and noses bumping slightly with each heavy breath they took, Grantaire whispered, half to Enjolras, half to a deity he thought he didn't believe in, "Qu'est-ce que je fait pour te mériter?" Enjolras kissed him again in response.
They broke apart, laughing and smiling; Enjolras was relaxed, Grantaire was happy. They held hands, arms forming a V between them.
"Où est-ce que nous allons?" Enjolras asked, pausing a bit to think about verb conjugation. He may or may not have stayed up last night studying from his book.
"Je ne sais pas, I thought we could wander. See where we end up. Although as a starting place, there is a museum not too far from here. Is that ok? They are having a Chagall exhibit and I know he is not one of th-"
Enjolras had cut him off with a kiss. "The museum would be great."
Grantaire pulled him to the crosswalk and when it was time they crossed the road. He started gesturing at the shops and cafés surrounding them.
"This is Saint-Michel. We are in the Quartier Latin; in the middle ages, the students at the university would live here and they all spoke Latin, so Quartier Latin. We have just come from Place de Saint-Michel and this, Boulevard Saint-Michel, has seen many protests, writers, and artists."
Enjolras loved watching Grantaire talk like this, passionate and knowledgeable. The night before, he had stayed apathetic about most things, only getting riled up when they argued briefly over politics. But now- now his eyes were lit up, his mouth was turned up in a smile as he spoke, struggling here and there to find the right English word, he gestured at the streets, the people, the shops with one hand, the other grasped firmly in Enjolras'. It was clear to Enjolras that Paris was his home and his soul.
Instead of expressing all this, Enjolras simply said, "Your English has improved."
Grantaire smiled down at Enjolras, "I couldn't sleep."
Enjolras returned the smile. "Moi aussi."
Grantaire wrapped an arm around Enjolras' waist, and Enjolras leaned into the touch. "Have you eaten yet?" he asked.
"Non, juste un café. Et toi?"
"Rien. There is une patisserie near us. Is that ok?"
"C'est bon."
They walked hand in hand to the bakery. The smell of pastries permeated the air and underneath the glass case they could see the rainbow of desserts. While Enjolras stared dumbfounded at the sheer amount of food, Grantaire rambled off an order to the baker who placed the pastries in a small box for them. Enjolras watched Grantaire point at the different desserts; he decided to just let him take care of the order.
Grantaire turned to Enjolras. "Would you like anything else?" he asked with a smile.
"No, I'm good. Thank you."
Grantaire paid for the food and took it out to the terrace where he sat at a small table across from Enjolras. Grantaire picked up a macaroon and bit into it. "Try the éclair," he told Enjolras.
Enjolras took the pastry and bit in. "Jesus Christ," he muttered. "This is quite literally the best thing I have ever tasted."
Grantaire laughed and asked, "They do not have these in America?"
"Not like this," he replied taking another bite.
"The patissier here is very good. The best in the city, some say."
"Tu le connais?"
"Oui, c'est un ami. Il s'appelle Feuilly."
"When can I meet him to thank him for teaching me what it means to live?"
"He is not in today. It looks like Cosette is working instead. He must have taken the day off. C'est bon pour lui, il ne fait pas très souvent."
They continued talking like this until they finished the sugar-loaded and entirely non-nutritious breakfast. When they were done, they both stood and continued walking. They turned right on Rue de Vaugirard. The streets were lined with little shops and restaurants and people walking along. The pair walked slowly, Enjolras taking in the scenery, Grantaire taking in Enjolras. They made a left to get to the Musée du Luxembourg.
They paid for their tickets and walked into the exposition. Various paintings hung on the wall, colors filling the room as spectators walked quietly through, observing, noticing, absorbing. Grantaire and Enjolras stopped in front of a painting.
"Je l'aime," Enjolras said, "but I don't really know why I like it."
"Chagall est un maître de la couleur. He does not try to show life so much as representer réalité. There is une qualité fièvreuse à ses peintures. The shapes, the people, the colors, they… te transportent. It does not look like life, but it feels like it. Cela t'emmène dans un rêve. You are dreaming. You are… en train de vivre la vie comme elle faite pour être vécue. Fièvreuse, déchaînée, libérée. It is an idealisme né dans sa proper vie, given to us through his paintings. It is free and wild, and ça n'a pas de frontières." Grantaire gestured wildly, his eyes were lit up with a passion he didn't normally have. He switched between French and English, one language not enough to express himself. He carried on, a smile on his face, pointing out certain features on the painting. He struggled sometimes for exactly the right word to express the magnificence he found in the painting.
Enjolras watched, a small smile turning up the corners of his mouth. His eyes were softened, looking at the man as passion overtook him. Yes, this is where he chose to lay his affections. Grantaire had stopped speaking by then, unable to find the right words, an opened mouth smile on his face, breathing deeply from not taking a breath during his tirade.
"Don't stop," Enjolras said, taking both Grantaire's hands in his own.
Grantaire turned to look at Enjolras, and his speechlessness was exemplified. "The colors…" he choked out. Enjolras nodded in encouragement. "The colors are… good. Very good. Très bien," he said, inching closer to Enjolras. "Très bien," he repeated, connecting their lips.
The kiss was more than a little indecent for a public place, much less an art museum, but they couldn't find it in themselves to stop. Enjolras hands were raking through Grantaire's curls and Grantaire was fisting Enjolras' t-shirt. When they broke Grantaire nuzzled into Enjolras' neck and the blonde whispered in his ear, "I think they're judging us." He glanced at the other people in the exhibit, some where flat out glaring at the pair, others were pointedly ignoring them, choosing to awkwardly stare at the paintings instead. Grantaire looked up and saw this, laughed, and quickly pecked Enjolras again before grabbing his hand and running out of the museum before security could get to them.
When they got out on the street, they kissed again, more chastely this time, laughing against the other's mouth. They broke and continued walking, hand in hand.
"Où est-ce que nous allons maintenant?" Enjolras asked.
"Je ne sais pas." He shrugged his shoulders. They turned right on Rue Vavin. On the corner there was a souvenir shop filled with typical tourist items like cheap plastic replicas of the Eiffel Tower and paperweights shaped like the Louvre's glass pyramid.
Enjolras remembered then that he had to get stuff for his friends. He stopped Grantaire and pointed towards the shop. "Can we stop in there real quick, I need to get things for my friends."
Grantaire saw the shop and disappointment was written on his face. He slowly shook his head. "No." He said simply.
"But why not?" Enjolras said angrily.
"You are not going into a shitty tourist place when there are better shops all around you."
"But it's so easy, it's just right across the street."
"There is a shop just around the corner. Crois-moi."
"Just-"
"Listen to me or you will regret ever coming to Paris."
Enjolras sighed petulantly and followed Grantaire, mouthing the words, "I didn't want to come anyway."
Enjolras followed Grantaire to the shop. "Les Bibelots de Hucheloup?" Enjolras said, reading the sign above the doorway.
"People come in and give her what they do not want. You will find what you need here. And at better prices."
They walked in and the woman behind the counter greeted Grantaire warmly with a kiss on both cheeks. Enjolras took her to be Madame Hucheloup. She was rotund with a kindly face and an easy smile which was now turned on Grantaire. The shop was small and crowded. Small tables were littered with trinkets and objects and the whole shop had an air of age. When one stepped through the doorway, the world seemed to take on the sepia tint of an old movie.
While Enjolras looked through the items in the shop, Grantaire and Madame Hucheloup (or Maman Loupie as Grantaire called her) conversed animatedly and happily. Eventually Enjolras found all he needed; an old Fourier philosophy book for Combeferre, a vintage bowtie for Courfeyrac, a framed vintage medical plate of a skull for Joly, a pair of antique boxing gloves for Bahorel, a mug with a four leaf clover inlay for Bossuet, and a beautiful white hair comb for Musichetta. He brought all these items to the counter and set them down.
"Bonjour, Enjolras," Madame Hucheloup said, ringing up the items. "Grantaire m'en a dit tellement à propos de toi."
"J'ai entendu," Enjolras replied with a smile, taking out the money.
"Ton français est trés bon."
"Il a un bon professeur," Grantaire said, wrapping an arm around Enjolras as the blonde took the bag with items.
"Merci," Enjolras said. "It was lovely meeting you."
Grantaire waved goodbye as they walked out of the shop. "Ne commence pas à m'oublier juste parce que tu as un petit copain maintenant," Madame Hucheloup called after them. Grantaire definitely didn't flush at the farewell.
Enjolras looked confusedly at Grantaire for a second. "Petit copain, what does that mean? I understood the rest, but that part doesn't make sense."
"It means 'boyfriend,'" Grantaire said, looking anywhere but Enjolras.
"Is that what this is?" Enjolras asked, gesturing between them, at Grantaire's hand still around his waist, trying to keep from sounding too hopeful.
Grantaire looked back to Enjolras and said with complete sincerity, "If that is what you want." Enjolras kissed him in reply. "Est-ce que c'est un oui?" Grantaire asked when they broke apart.
"Oui. Oui. Toujours oui," Enjolras muttered, eyes fluttering shut as he kissed the corner of his mouth.
Grantaire kissed him again briefly before burying his face in the crook of Enjolras' neck and shoulder. Enjolras had his face buried in Grantaire's curls, arms wrapped around him, and humming appreciatively.
"This is insane," Enjolras muttered. He looked at Grantaire, "I've only known you for two days, and we're already dating?"
Grantaire's heart fluttered at the word 'dating.' "J'ai dit, if that is what you want, that is what it is. I understand if you do not want-"
"Je veux. Je le veux. Je te veux."
Grantaire's heart skipped a beat as he kissed the man again. How blessed he was! He didn't understand how something so good could happen to him. He marveled at the luck he had, if Enjolras hadn't walked into the Musain on a whim he would not be kissing the man right now as though his life depended on it. They broke, Enjolras' hands resting on Grantaire's face, and Grantaire's hands on Enjolras' waist. Grantaire's head was bent, and Enjolras' lips rested on his head. At that moment Enjolras stomach growled, it had been four hours since they had eaten and pastries, no matter how delectable, are never much of a filling breakfast.
Grantaire laughed as he looked up and asked, "Veux-tu prendre le déjeuner?"
"Yes," Enjolras laughed. Grantaire took his hand and turned onto Boulevard du Montparnasse.
"There are restaurants all down this street. Just pick what you want."
"Qu'est-ce que tu préfères?"
"There are three close to us that are very good. Un italien, un chinois, et un français."
"Italian sounds nice."
They continued walking for a moment before Grantaire steered him into the restaurant. They sat down next to a window. The restaurant gave off a warmth of the heart, it felt very welcoming and hospitable. They made their orders quickly and continued their conversation. When their food came, they ate while conversing and when their plates were removed, they continued talking. They greatly enjoyed such conversation, both leaning closer to the other, knees bumping under the table. The topics remained light, they did not want to bring gloom on their day. They stayed clear of politics and ideologies, remembering what could happen when such subjects were broached.
"What did you get your friends?" Grantaire asked, nodding towards the bag containing the aforementioned trinkets.
"A mug for Bossuet, a comb for Musichetta, a picture for Joly, some boxing gloves for Bahorel, a bow tie for Courfeyrac, and a book on philosophy for Combeferre."
"Combeferre, he is the one who forced you on this trip, non?"
Enjolras rolled his eyes at the memory. "C'était plus un effort de groupe."
"You must remind me to thank them."
"Pourquoi?"
"It is because of them that you are here with me."
Enjolras grinned. "Parle-moi plus de tes amis."
"You have met Jehan. He is the kindest person I know. He writes poetry that could be better than Agrippa d'Aubigné. He speaks five languages, English, Latin, Italian, Hebrew, and French. Feuilly is so smart; he taught himself to read and write in his foster homes. He worked every day for years, never taking a day off, to earn enough money to pay his way through culinary school and open his patisserie. Cosette works for him, you saw. She is so sweet and so… qu'est-ce que c'est… wild. She has… une langue acérée et un esprit vivace. She is fearsome, but she is the best person you will know. You will love her, I can tell. She and Marius are dating, on a placé paris sur quand il serent fiancés. Marius is shy, but smart. He speaks German and English and is the perfect man for Cosette. Éponine is a wolf. She is frightful and lovely and has seen things a person should not see at her age and she is my best friend." Grantaire's face was once again lit up with a passion. It seemed as though he only cared for a few things, Paris, art, and his friends. Enjolras could feel his love when he spoke.
"J'aimerais beaucoup apprendre à les connaître," Enjolras said.
"Demain, if you want. C'est dimanche, everyone will be off work."
"Parfait," Enjolras replied.
Grantaire called for the check and as he placed the money down he said, "I was thinking… peut être nous pouvons aller à ce cinéma que je connais?"
"Sure. Quel film… would we see?" he finished in English, not knowing the exact French words.
"Whatever is showing next."
The pair stood and walked together, up Boulevard du Montparnasse, left on Rue du Montparnasse, continuing onto Rue de la Gaité, right on Rue du Maine. They passed shops and large intersections, tree covered terraces that sent them back to the nineteenth century, construction sites that brought them back to the twenty-first. Graffiti covered the walls in the side streets they passed through, tags and complex stencil art covering the surface. They crossed Boulevard du Maine, took a right on Rue Falguière, continued on to Rue du Cherche-Midi, merged on Rue du Dragon. Sometimes they walked hand in hand, sometimes Grantaire's hand was placed on Enjolras' waist, sometimes it was the other way, but in all scenarios their physical contact was constant. Sparks ran through their fingertips, electrifying whatever they touched. Right on Boulevard Saint-Germaine, left on Rue Mazarine, right on Rue Dauphine which changed into Pont Neuf. They strolled along, both carefree for the first time. They had a bounce to their step and stopped occasionally to kiss under a tree or on a bench when they became fatigued. When they tired of kisses, Enjolras would lay his head on Grantaire's shoulder, or Grantaire's head would fall into Enjolras' lap, and they would tangle their fingers in the other's hair. Their eyes would fall shut in pure contentment and safety. They crossed Pont Neuf over Ile de la Cité. They reached a park and crossed through. At one point, Enjolras, laughing, pulled Grantaire down into the grass and kissed him on the ground, arms bracketing his head, and legs a tangle of limbs. They lay like that for a while, the movie momentarily forgotten; Grantaire's arms behind his head, Enjolras' head on his chest, a hand laid softly on his stomach. They stared silently at the clouds, marveling their luck at finding each other.
It had only been two days that Enjolras had been in Paris, and here he was, lying on the ground in pure happiness with this man. They knew so much about each other already, not everything, they understood, but that would come later. They had all the time in the world to learn their faults and quirks and idiosyncrasies, but now they watched the clouds above Paris move slowly over them.
Eventually they were reminded of the movie they promised to see. Enjolras got up first and offered a hand to help Grantaire. They continued walking through the park until they reached the cinema at the end. Enjolras paid for two tickets to the movie showing in five minutes, Le Fabuleux Destin d'Amélie Poulain the marquis read.
"C'est un classique moderne," Grantaire said.
"It sounds familiar," Enjolras replied. It was only when he saw the movie poster did he recognize it as Courf's favorite film (one which he attempted multiple times to get Enjolras to watch, but to no avail). He related this to Grantaire who laughed, but promptly shut up when the movie began. It was clear to Enjolras the respect held towards the cinema by the French.
There were no subtitles, but Enjolras was able to understand the movie with minor difficulty. He held Grantaire's hand and they lay clasped on his thigh. They viewed the movie in complete silence, laughing only occasionally at an amusing part, but nothing more. Sometimes one or the other would squeeze their hand a bit tighter and immediately after it was returned; it was a reassurance to both that they did not disappear in the dark of the theater and that the pressure of their hand was not merely a ghost.
The movie over, they filed out of the theater. It was turning dark now and dusk was settling. They stood outside the cinema, hands still clasped tightly.
Grantaire turned to Enjolras. "Dinner?"
"Dinner."
They walked to a restaurant near the theater. When they were seated, even though the table separated them, they could feel their breath mingle, their hearts beat in time. They continued their conversation, learning each other's quirks as they went along. Enjolras had to have either complete silence or Green Day when he was stressed. Grantaire, when he painted, had a habit of getting paint everywhere, and no, it could not be helped. Enjolras when nervous could obsessively clean bathrooms for hours. Grantaire played guitar and drank tea made with four bags when he woke up too early. Enjolras sang the national anthem and recited the preamble to the Constitution when drunk (but that was okay, because Grantaire mockingly sang La Marseillaise). Grantaire preferred vodka to tequila, but mostly drank cheap wine (he didn't say how often he drank though; a conversation saved for another time). Enjolras said he rarely drank, but when he did it was with a preference for rum and cokes. Grantaire preferred to paint impressionistic styles than any other; Enjolras preferred Lincoln-Douglass debates to British Parliamentary.
Enjolras loved Grantaire's personality while simultaneously being frustrated by it. He loved how he could flit from topic to topic, how when he got really riled up he would default back to French without realizing it. He loved the way his eyes gleamed when talking about art. He loved the faint smell of cigarettes that lingered on his clothes and the bits of paint he discovered on his neck that just wouldn't wash off. But he hated how he didn't seem to care about much else besides his disdain for the world. He hated how he was so knowledgeable and smart, yet a strain of self-hatred and mockery ran as a constant throughout his voice, unless he was speaking of Enjolras. He felt a sadness in the pit of his stomach when he realized that Grantaire always looked at him as though he were a god, one to be worshiped, one believed to be higher than himself. He noticed how Grantaire's eyes seemed to look upon him as if he were too good to be true, as if he could flit away at any moment, return to the heaven from whence he surely came. If he knew the words in French to say, "No, we are equals. And you are just as lovely, and worthy, and beautiful as I am. You have no need to think down on yourself. You are not a worm and I am not Apollo. We are Achilles and Patroclus and we are equal." But he did not know how to say such things, and so he kept them to himself and tried to show Grantaire in his touch that he need not think such self-depreciating thoughts.
Grantaire, a cynic, a drunk, a non-believer and one who looked at the world through the lens of crushed ideals and depression, found faith in Enjolras. His heart soared with Enjolras. He was, in his mind, a worm picked up by a bird, soaring above the ground and about to be devoured, it was no matter though, for now he was flying. It would be worth it to be consumed by such a majestic being to fly by its side and to feel its burning touch. Too often in the past two days had Grantaire asked himself, "What god looks kindly upon me?" To be in Enjolras' presence was a dream he did not know he dreamed until the man walked into his café two days ago. Two days is a short time, but it is not so for one who has not long to live.
Their dinner was finished and the check paid. They stood outside, about to decide what to do when a sudden rainstorm hit. Grantaire grabbed Enjolras' hand and they both ran, laughing and attempting to shield their heads, towards the nearest metro station. Grantaire led the way, pulling Enjolras along by the hand. They reached the station and ran down the steps where they purchased their tickets. As Grantaire was paying, Enjolras followed a droplet of rain make it's way down his neck and disappear into the collar of his shirt. He found himself longing to follow the raindrop. The water soaked his curls and pushed them from his face. Droplets dripped down from his hair and fell onto the shirt that now clung to his body.
The tickets paid for, Enjolras grabbed Grantaire and pulled him into the nearest outcropping he could find, pushing him against a wall and kissing him with a passion only his speeches had ever brought out. Grantaire reciprocated, move for move. Enjolras began tugging at the wet strands of Grantaire's hair; Grantaire started dragging up Enjolras' shirt. The blond licked into the other's mouth; the brunet bit lightly at his bottom lip, pulling just slightly so as to elicit a positively illegal moan from the blond that settled below his belly. Enjolras licked and kissed his way up Grantaire's neck to settle on nipping on his earlobe; Grantaire sucked at Enjolras' pulse point until the man was scraping lines down his back. Enjolras slotted his leg between Grantaire's and Grantaire rolled his hips upward, rubbing against Enjolras, and was rewarded with a broken half-groan, half-sob.
Eventually they had to break apart for air, at which point Grantaire said, "The train leaves in three minutes," his accent made thicker with arousal.
"Did I ever tell you how much I love your accent," Enjolras said, kissing along Grantaire's jaw line, "because I fucking love it."
"Vraiment? Je continuerais bien à parler, mais notre train va bientôt partir," he said cheekily- well as cheekily as he could considering Enjolras was still attached to his neck. "But we really have to go. The next train won't leave for another hour."
"I can do this for an hour," Enjolras said, nipping at Grantaire's lower lip.
"But it would be better at my house." And with that Enjolras was dragging Grantaire down the stairs to where they just barely made their train.
Notes: Translations:
Bonjour: good morning/hello
s'il vous plaît: thank you
Excusez-moi, mais: excuse me, but...
Oui. Maintenant: Yes, now
Tu es là tôt: you're here early
Bonjour, Jehan! Comment vas-tu en ce merveilleux jour: Good morning, Jehan! How are you this wonderful morning?
Je vais magnifiquement bien, maintenant pars et profite de ton rendez-vous. Marius te remplace ce soir donc tu n'as pas à t'inquiéter: I'm great, now go enjoy your date. Mariuis is taking your shift tonight so don't worry
Merci beaucoup: thank you so much.
Qu'est-ce que je fait pour te mériter: what did I do to deserve you
Où est-ce que nous allons: Where are we going
Je ne sais pas: I don't know
Moi aussi: me too (I know that this is technically a mistake, but cut him some slack he's just learning)
Non, juste un cafe. Et toi?: no, just a coffee. you?
Une patisserie: a bakery
Rien: nothing
C'est bon: that's fine
Tu le connais: you know him?
C'est un ami. Il s'appelle Feuilly: He's a friend. His name's Feuilly.
C'est bon pour lui, il ne fait pas très souvent: It's good for him, he doesn't do it too often
Je l'aime: I like it.
Chagall est un maître de la couleur: [he] is a master of color
representer réalité: represent reality
une qualité fièvreuse à ses peintures: a hectic quality to his painting
te transportent: transport you
Cela t'emmène dans un rêve: it brings you into a dream
en train de vivre la vie comme elle faite pour être vécue. Fièvreuse, déchaînée, libérée: living life as it's meant to be lived: hectic, unchained, free.
idealisme né dans sa proper vie: idealism born from his own life
ça n'a pas de frontières: it doesn't have boundaries.
Très bien: very good
crois-moi: trust me
Les Bibelots de Hucheloup: Hucheloup's Trinkets
Grantaire m'en a dit tellement à propos de toi: Grantaire has been telling me about you
J'ai entendu: I heard.
Ton francais est tres bon: your french is very good
il a un bon professeur: he has a good teacher
Ne commence pas à m'oublier juste parce que tu as un petit copain maintenant: don't be stranger just because you have a boyfriend now.
Est-ce que c'est un oui: Was that a yes?
Oui oui, toujours oui: yes yes, always yes.
J'ai dit: I said
Je veux. Je le veux. Je te veux: I want. I want this. I want you.
Veux-tu prendre le déjeuner: do you want lunch?
Qu'est-ce que tu préfères: What do you want?
un italien, un chinois, un francais: Italian, Chinese, French
C'était plus un effort de groupe: It was a group effort.
Pourquoi: why?
Parle-moi plus de tes amis: tell me more about your friends
une langue acérée et un esprit vivace: A sharp tongue and a quick wit.
on a placé paris sur quand il serent fiancés: we have bets on when they'll get engaged.
J'aimerais beaucoup apprendre à les connaître: I would love to meet them.
Demain. C'est dimanche: tomorrow. It's Sunday.
peut être nous pouvons aller à ce cinéma que je connais: maybe we could go to this cinema I know.
quel film: what movie
c'est un classique moderne: it's a modern classic
Vraiment? Je continuerais bien à parler, mais notre train va bientôt partir: really? I would keep talking but our train is about to leave. I based the route they took around Paris (well technically just around three neighborhoods) off of this passage in the brick, using all the roads that still exist: "'I am capable of descending the Rue de Grès, of crossing the Place Saint-Michel, of sloping through the Rue Monsieur-le-Prince, of taking the Rue de Vaugirard, of passing the Carmelites, of turning into the Rue d'Assas, of reaching the Rue du Cherche-Midi, of leaving behind me the Conseil de Guerre, of pacing the Rue des Vielles Tuileries, of striding across the boulevard, of following the Chaussée du Maine, of passing the barrier, and enter Richefeu's. I am capable of that. My shoes are capable of that.'" My tumblr is .com vist me anytime and feedback is greatly loved and appreciated.