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Enjolras looks out of the window of the Embassy for the tenth time. He can see the Eiffel Tower from there and the knot in his stomach tightens; he’s longed for this day to come for so long that being there seems a surreal experience. What he never imagined is he’d have to stay practically behind bars, away from the people, hidden in a golden cage. He looks out of the window for the eleventh time and his mind wanders around the city, projecting inside his head the places he’s seen in his mother’s photo album.
"Smile, Prince," Fantine says, trying to cheer him up. "You love Paris, don’t you? That’s what you've been saying since you were little."
He smiles to humor her, but he’s not that excited. He looks down at the album on his legs and he remembers. He remembers his mother, a beautiful woman from Paris; she lived in the heart of the city, long before meeting his father and becoming the queen of a faraway land. She’d promised him she’d take him to visit her home city, but she fell ill before she could make it happen. Now he’s there, complying his duty as future heir of the throne.
Fantine, his caretaker since his mother died, pats his knee affectionately and rises from her chair, speaking rapidly to someone on the door. “The Prince needs some rest,” she’s saying. “Let’s give him a moment.”
After a minute or so, Enjolras walks up to the door and pulls it open. The way is clear up to the front door, the few guards in charge distracted with something a few steps away. Seeing his chance, Enjolras grabs a black long coat and a hat, and approaches the door; he breathes normally until he’s on the other side, Paris splayed before his eyes, waiting for him to explore it.
————————————
Grantaire shifts in his chair, waiting for Cosette Fauchelevent to hang up the phone and speak to him. He has a vague idea of what she’s going to tell him, but the good thing about being a pessimist is that there’s always a chance to be surprised by a sudden turn of events. He hopes to be lucky that day; he really doesn't have the money he bet with Éponine.
"I apologize for making you wait." Cosette says, focusing all her attention on him.
"It’s okay. So, what’s the big news?"
"The editor asked me to fire you, Grantaire."
The other good thing about being a pessimist is that, a 95% of the time, you guess things right. Damn, now he owed a considerable amount of money to his photographer; Éponine would be so pleased.
"Well, that’s kind of a bummer," he says, scratching the back of his head.
"However, I think I’ll give you a last chance," Cosette adds with a smile. "You know, for the good ol’ days."
"A last chance? You’re giving me a chance?”
"That’s right." She leans back on her chair while sipping at her hot chocolate. "You probably know Prince Étienne landed today here, in Paris", she says.
"Of course." He sort of remembers Éponine saying something about that. Sort of.
Cosette rolls her eyes, still smiling. “Bring me that story, and you can keep your job a little longer.”
"That’s all?" he asks incredulous.
"That’s all."
"Don’t worry those pretty eyes of yours, Cosette. You’ll have that story."
He gets up, shaking Cosette’s hand, and walks out of the girl’s office. He has some money to snatch away from Éponine’s iron grip.
————————————
Enjolras is standing in front of the Cathédrale Notre-Dame, dazzled with the view before his eyes; it’s better than he’d imagined it. The people walk around him without sparing a glance at him and he’s both relieved and surprised. He forgot the coat and hat somewhere near the Arc de Triomphe, but his golden hair - usually tied up with a ribbon - falls freely up his shoulders, and he supposes is due to that that nobody seems aware of his presence.
He turns over his heels and bumps into someone, the unexpected hit sending him to the ground; he barely has time to stretch his arm to avoid banging his head against the pavement. The person tries in vain to hold him but soon, they’re on the ground as well.
The person, a tall man with a thick mop of dark hair, stares at him speechless for a few seconds, before standing and helping him up his feet. Enjolras fears the man has recognized him - would he send him back to the Embassy? -, but there’s no sign of realization in the stranger’s eyes. On the contrary, he’s frowning at him; Enjolras blushes slightly.
"Are you okay?" he asks. "You’re- you’re bleeding."
Enjolras looks down at his right hand. In fact he’s bleeding, a big scratch right in the middle of the palm of his hand. “It’s nothing.”
"Look, I feel terrible for your… accident. What if you come with me so I can take care of that?"
"That won’t be necessary." Enjolras insists. He’s not stupid and even if this is the first time he’s on the street on his own, his mother raised him well; she moved with the people, and now Enjolras knows what he’s doing.
"I won’t hurt you, I promise. Here," the man hands him his worn out wallet and Enjolras takes it hesitantly. "You can give it back when you feel safe."
After long minutes pondering pros and cons, Enjolras accepts and follows the man to his apartment. The place it’s not really big, and it’s stacked with books and old newspapers all around. There’s a tabby cat sitting on the windowsill licking its paw, and purrs when the man pats its head fondly.
"Sit down, I’ll go find something for that hand."
Enjolras takes a place in the biggest couch and remains silent, even when the man put some hydrogen peroxide on the cut of his hand. He’s sitting across from him on the coffee table and his curly hair covers his eyes.
"Your accent is different," Enjolras says after a while, when the man is wrapping a bandage around his hand gently. "You don’t speak like Parisians."
"I could say the same about you, my friend. But you’re right, I’m not French; I’m from Belgium." He adjusted the bandage and squeezes his hand gently. "You never told me your name."
"I… I’m, is E- Enjolras."
"Enjolras?"
"Yes. It’s actually a last name, but-"
"You preferred being called by that, got it. I’m Grantaire."
"I better go, I abused your hospitality enough."
"You have a place to stay?" Grantaire asks and Enjolras’ forgotten flush from before comes back with a vengeance. "Come on, let’s find you something more comfy."
Enjolras spends the night in Grantaire’s couch and when he leaves the next morning, before the dark-haired man wakes up, he makes sure to place the wallet on the coffee table.
————————————
When Grantaire walks inside the newspaper the next day, immediately notices the entire office is upside down. Some are typing fast on their computers, others making shouting calls and others, simply staring at the TV. in the center of the room; one of them is Éponine, his photographer and best friend.
"What’s going on?" he asks unceremoniously, stopping beside her.
"The Prince cancelled all his press conferences and interviews. I think he’s ill."
"Oh." The image on the television, that until then showed a shot of the Embassy, changed by a photograph of the Prince. Grantaire is sure he’s seen it somewhere, but that shouldn't be a surprise, he’s a famous person, but Grantaire thinks there’s something else. Other photos are being displayed on the screen, and it’s there when Grantaire realizes. “‘Ponine, you've got a minute?"
In the office, he opens a folder on his laptop and slams his fist on the desk triumphantly; Éponine flinches before him. “Why was that for?!”
"Éponine, is him! Is the guy I bumped into yesterday! He’s the Prince!"
"Are you sure?"
"Yes! And he wasn't ill at all… He must be running away! That explains it all! Here, I did a research-"
"Oh god…"
”- and I found something interesting. His name’s Étienne, right? But guess what?”
"I really don’t wanna know but you’re gonna tell me anyways."
“‘Enjolras’ was his mother’s last name before she got married, that’s where he got it from. And it’s actually pretty clever. Look,” he slides the laptop to her, pointing at the screen. “The crown kind of erased her past, including her last name, that way practically no one would know who he is.”
"How the fuck did you find all this in less than twelve hours?"
"I… Science. I was searching were that last name came from."
"You’re a creep."
"No, I’m not. I thought I’d taken a wrong path on my investigation, but no, he really is the Prince."
"So what? What does that mean?"
"Don’t you get it? He’s out there alone, the only thing I have to do is to find him and we’ll sell the story to the highest bidder. He already trusts me, we won’t have any problem."
"So you’re willing to sell your golden boy?"
"That’s not the point! Think about it, Ép, this is big. What you say?"
"Okay, I’m in."
————————————
Wandering outside the Musée du Louvre proves to be really calming to Enjolras. He’s thought about going in, but he doesn't feel like it. Not alone. That would remind him of his endless art lessons on the big library of the palace, where he’s forced to stay during eight hours a day, listening to Professor Mabeuf reading old books at loud. Enjolras knows about art; knows about the basic principles, the movements, the artists’ biographies. But he doesn't know how to appreciate it. There’s no point in coming inside the museum.
He looks behind him one last time and takes on the road to his new destination. That's it until he sees a familiar face among the crowd. Valjean, head of the royal guard, is walking down the street, accompanied by other men in black suits. They must be trying to go unnoticed, judging by the clothes, but Enjolras knows them quite well. He turns around, deciding to finally enter the museum.
He’s barely done it to the reception when he sees someone whom he can trust. Grantaire’s there, smiling at him and waving his hand; it is too perfect for his taste, to be hones, but Enjolras thinks that maybe this is his lucky day. He strides up to him and grabs his arm, pulling him alongside with him to the first hall.
"I’m happy to see you, too." Grantaire says between a chuckle.
"I need your help. I- someone’s tracing my steps, they can’t find me."
Grantaire gives him a lopsided grin, but doesn't ask questions. “Then let me be your tour guide for the day, monsieur Enjolras.”
Grantaire makes a mocking bow down and offers his arm. Enjolras eyes him warily, but accepts. What are the chances Grantaire knows he is a prince?
Grantaire proves quickly to be very versed on the arts. He guides Enjolras through the museum with ease and grace, telling stories about the paintings and encouraging him to see the colors, the movement, the distribution and composition on the canvas. Enjolras has never seen a painting like this, through the eyes of an artist.
When they leave the museum, Enjolras finds himself face to face to a new challenge. “To where now?” Grantaire asks, handing him a helmet and climbing on his enormous motorbike.
Enjolras has never ride one, he’s not sure he can do it now, so when Grantaire finally convinces him that is safe, he flushes completely against him, hiding his face in the back of Grantaire’s neck and wrapping his arms tightly around his waist. Grantaire smells like soap and something vaguely sweet that reminds Enjolras of chocolate; he can hear Grantaire’s soft laugh and, contrary to every forecast, he’s smiling himself cheekily.
————————————
They stop outside the Sainte-Chapelle around the sunset. The view is mesmerizing, but Grantaire isn't watching the temple; he can’t stop looking at Enjolras and the way his bright eyes follow the lines of big columns and stained glass windows with a small smile tugging at the corners of his lips. And he thinks about saying the truth. Saying he’s a reporter and that he is his new story. Except maybe it isn't anymore.
They've been pacing around Paris the whole day. They stopped to have ice-cream, he took him to the most beautiful places around the city… And Grantaire can’t stop thinking this looks a fucking lot like a date. Especially now that Enjolras is holding his hand gently, squeezing every now and then. He catches a glimpse of Éponine’s camera on his left side, but turns around quickly so no to alert Enjolras.
"You wanna go in?" he asks, but Enjolras denies, eyes still glowing.
"Where I came from, there’s still a king" he says suddenly, almost to himself. "A monarch ruling over innocent people that deserve a lot more than what they have with him. Nobody wants him on the throne, he’s a traitor."
"But… that’s how things are, you can't do anything abut it."
"They shouldn't. We need a fair election."
"Come on, dude. Why all the fuss? Regimes come and go, how you know a president would be better?"
"Because it’d be elected democratically by the people!"
"Please, that’s not guarantee of anything. As soon as they put a hand on the money, their patriotic love will worth a shit."
"No, you don’t understand! People are starving, Grantaire, starving while the king rejoices in wealth that do not belong to him! He and his entire lineage ought to be overthrown. The people need to stand against him!"
Grantaire is stunned. Because this is Enjolras talking about his family, the people he grew up with, himself. And he wouldn’t think twice before giving all that up in favor of those in need, his people. A revolution started by a future King… What most troubles Grantaire is he can’t tell him how much he admires him for thinking this is possible, that even when his efforts are futile, he would gladly die by his side trying. He can’t tell him any of this because he, Grantaire, is pretending he doesn’t know who he is. So he chews the inside of his cheeks, swallowing down his words.
"Good luck with that, I guess."
"Look, I really don’t want to fight, okay? Just… let’s forget about this, please."
"Sure… Coffee now? We can hide from that weird man over there."
And there it is, Enjolras is smiling beautifully once again.
————————————
It’s already dark outside when they go back to Grantaire’s apartment, exhausted after their adventure. They ran into Valjean a couple of times, but miraculously managed to escape. Grantaire doesn't ask questions and, for a moment, Enjolras considers telling him the truth, that he is a prince and that the horrible man he talked about is his father. He is afraid, though. How would he take it? Would he be mad at him for lying? Enjolras is aware he can’t run away forever; sooner or later, Valjean would catch him and he’ll have to say goodbye to Grantaire. This between them - whatever it is - can’t be, and as the night goes on slowly, he realizes their time is growing short.
"Hey, uhm… Wanna lie down for a while? Maybe take a nap? I bet you’re tired."
Grantaire guides him to the bedroom, tilting his head towards the bed with a small smile. Enjolras blushes furiously, but asks anyway. “Stay? With me?”
He can see Grantaire’s Adam’s apple bobbing when he swallows, but let’s himself been pulled down on the bed and tucked between the sheets with Grantaire very close to him, surrounding his waist with a confident arm. They stay silent a minute, maybe five, maybe an hour; Grantaire strokes his hair and Enjolras sighs calmly.
"Grantaire?"
"Hmmm?"
"It’d be weird if I stay here tonight?"
"Of course not…"
Grantaire strokes his cheek gently, tracing the line of his bottom lip with a thumb, eyes trained on his. Enjolras is conscious this might be the only chance he’s got, so very, very slowly, he inches closer to him and kisses his lips softly, hoping - begging Grantaire is okay with it.
He is, because the lips that kiss him back are firm, eager but still gently and sweet. They’re both reluctant at withdrawing from each other, so when they break the kiss, their foreheads are still joined together.
"I have to go back. Tomorrow morning."
"I know… Don’t think about it now, okay? Just… let us have this while we can."
Enjolras nods before kissing him again, cupping his face between his hands and rubbing their noses together; Grantaire’s laugh is something he will never forget, neither is the warm feeling of his hands and the soft brush of his lips. They are exhausted, but neither of them can sleep. They spend the night between kisses and caresses, talking about nothings until their throats are sore and their lips kissed red. By the time the sun rises, Enjolras snuggles closer to Grantaire, knowing that, as soon as his toes touch the floor, he’ll have to go back to his life.
"I know you’ll change the world, ange," Grantaire says against his neck. "If someone can, that’s you."
————————————
Grantaire takes a deep breath and opens the door to Cosette’s office. The young woman is reading a file, her light brown hair braided neatly over her shoulder. Grantaire knows what is about to talk to her would literally change his life, but he’s taken a decision, and even when it’s probably not the wisest thing to do, he’s never been more sure about something in his life. He stands in front of her and says:
"I’m sorry, Cosette… I can’t give you that story."
Cosette lifts her eyes and frowns. “Excuse me?”
"You heard me. I can’t give you the story about the Prince." He clenches his hands on the back of the chair he’d occupied a few days ago during his first meeting with Cosette. He was so determined back then. "I- I met him, okay? And I talked to him, but what I did was wrong. I lied to him and that’s not fair. I can’t- I can’t betray him like this, not after… After we… I’m so sorry, Cosette."
"You’re trying to tell me… that you did what I asked you to do, and now you won’t write the reportage?"
"That’s what I said. I made my mind. Fire me, I don’t care."
He turns around and abandons the office before the young woman has any chance to say a word; he knows what she’d say anyway. He enters his own office to take a few of his stuff; the laptop, a few files and some personal belongings. He’s on his way out when he bumps into Éponine.
"Hey, where’re you going?"
"Back home, I just got fired."
"Wow, why?"
He shrugs. “I refused to write about Enjolras.”
"Yeah, that wasn't very smart of you."
“‘Ponine, I can't do it! What we did- what I did was low, even for me. He trusted me and I… I fell in love with him. And I think he fell for me, too, I don't know. I can't betray him like that.”
He sees Éponine twisting something between her hands, a folder, and then biting her lips; she's taking a decision, Grantaire practically can hear it. After a few more seconds, she pats his back kindly.
"Okay, lover boy. We'll do it your way."
————————————
"Étienne, what you did was extremely dangerous and irresponsible."
"I know. But I don’t regret it."
Fantine sighs tiredly and lowers her head. Enjolras knows she’s disappointed on his behavior - she only calls him by his name when she’s scolding him - but he said the truth; he’ll do it again having the opportunity.
"I hope you're aware your father has been informed about this", she continues. "He has demanded an audience with you as soon as we're back."
"Thank you, Fantine."
She nods reverently and opens the door. Enjolras doesn't lifts his head from his mother’s photo album until he hears an unknown voice coming from the hallway. Is a woman, and she seems to be arguing with Valjean.
"I need to see the Prince."
"I’m afraid that’s not possible, miss."
"Tell him Grantaire sent me?"
He doesn't wait before coming to his feet and stride to the door. “Valjean? Let her in.”
The woman smiled mockingly at the old man and approaches Enjolras, making a simple bow before talking. “Good afternoon, Your Highness.”
"Please, come in. You said Grantaire sent you?"
"Yeah, not exactly. He doesn't know I’m here…"
"Then why are you here?"
"I needed to give you something. And tell you, sir, a story if you let me."
The woman, Éponine, tells him about Grantaire’s job. She says he’s a reporter and that he was hired to write a story about him, Enjolras. She tells him about the plan to gain his trust, about how she’d followed them around the city taking pictures and that they intended to sell the pictures to the press. Enjolras was perplexed; a part of him felt betrayed, the other, hurt.
"But he didn't," Éponine says. "He didn't sell the story."
"Why?"
"Why do you think? He… He fell in love with you."
Enjolras ducks his head to hide his blush and the tender smile that spreads on his lips. “Did he?” he inquiries.
"Yup. Well, I have to go. But before that…" She hands him a yellow envelope, smiling broadly. "I thought you'd want to have this."
Inside, there are photographs. Dozens of photographs of him and Grantaire on their journey around Paris. He smiles at her grateful. “Miss, before you go. Can I ask you a favor?”
"Sure, what is it?"
"I need you to give Grantaire something for me."
————————————
Grantaire closes his eyes as he rests his feet on the coffee table. He’s unemployed with nothing of value except for the cat and no money to live in a foreign country. He’ll have to call the newspaper in Belgium tomorrow morning, maybe even travel back there and find a new job. He could find something in Paris if he tries, he can do a lot of things, but… does he really want to stay there?
He’s immersed in his own existential crisis when someone knocks on his door. The patters grow louder and steadier every second so Grantaire is forced to leave behind his comfortable spot on the couch in favor of opening the door and put an end to the annoying sound. Éponine is at the other side, leaning her shoulder against the door frame and smiling widely when he opens it for her.
"Hey, Romeo. Why the long face?" She walks past him and flops on the couch, lifting Aramis to her lap and scratching behind its ears.
Grantaire growls, not in the mood for Éponine’s jokes. He glares at her and rests his back on the door, folding his arms over his chest. “What’d ya want, Ép? I really don’t have time for this.”
"Well, I came here to tell you everything about my little visit to the Embassy, but since you’re being kind of a dick-"
"Wait, you went to the Embassy?" Grantaire gasps, and in a blink he’s kneeling on the couch next to Éponine, staring at her with pleading eyes. "Did you see him? Is he- did you talk to him?"
"I saw him, I talked to him and he’s perfectly fine. And he probably-most-likely-he-actually knows about what we did…"
"What?! Did you tell him? Why did you do that?!" He stands up pulling at his hair. He can’t believe she did that. "Now he hates me. Yeah, he totally abhors me. Thank you so much, Éponine."
"I needed to tell him the truth so I could show him this."
She stretches her arm and hands him a photograph. Is a picture of Enjolras and him, standing in les jardins de Versailles. Grantaire is saying something, judging by the expression on his face, and Enjolras listens without missing a word, his blue eyes trained only in him and a smile playing on his lips. Grantaire swallows hard.
"He has the others." Éponine says. "I thought since you weren't writing down the story, you wouldn't need the photographs. That way Enjolras would have memorabilia of his adventure around Paris. Oh, and I saved this one for you, I thought you’d appreciate it."
"Thanks, Ép…" he whispers, unable to remove his eyes from Enjolras’ face on the picture between his hands.
"Hey, uh… While I was there, Enjolras asked me to give you something."
Grantaire withdraws his eyes from the photo and looks at Éponine with a frown. She’s handing him an envelope sealed with the Coat of Arms of the Crown. Grantaire opens his mouth, his hand shaking slightly when he takes it. He breaks the seal with trembling fingers and reads in silence.
Grantaire:
I thank you for showing me the city. You made the experience unforgettable and I would be forever in debt with you. I am sorry I had to go so suddenly; I would have loved to give you a more proper goodbye, especially after everything you did for me.
You were right, the citizens need me and that is the reason why, by the time you get this, I will be traveling back to my home, to my people. But now I want to ask you something. Promise me you will never forget me. I can assure you that the moments I spent with you, every single one of them, will accompany me for the rest of my life.
You are a beautiful and gentle soul, Grantaire. With you, I was able to be myself, just Enjolras, and nothing will ever top that. Paris will always have a especial place in my heart, but not for the places we went to, but because I will know is there where you are, where we met.
I am going to miss you, Grantaire. You are the best that has ever happened to me.
With love,
Enjolras