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Enjolras doesn’t mind the delay. In fact, they’re happy about it- any excuse to put off the visit their parents is completely welcome, and the fact that it’s due to a delayed flight and therefore totally out of Enjolras’ control just makes it even better.
Then the announcement comes that the flights are no longer just delayed, but cancelled, and they have to stomp out the urge to do a terribly childish fist pump of victory.
"Non sta succedendo davvero," comes a despairing moan from the seat next to them, and Enjolras looks over from where they’re gleefully texting Combeferre to see a young man with one hand clenched tightly in his (very lovely) dark curls while he glares at the nearest intercom speaker as though it has personally wronged him.
Enjolras’ smile fades in the face of their neighbor’s obvious distress.
"Stai bene?"
"Are you alright, he asks!" He exclaims in English, without even sparing a glance for Enjolras, "Stuck in the middle of a snow storm in Rome when I must be in Paris by tomorrow night, my life is ruined, and he wonders if I am alright! Hah!”
A moment of silence passes, with the man scowling now at one of the many employees wandering the area and Enjolras raising an eyebrow at him.
"I don’t think the heat of your look will make the snow melt any faster," they say after a moment.
With that glare now focused on them, Enjolras notes that the man’s eyes are also quite lovely, if cutting. The look only lasts a few seconds though, before his mouth (also lovely, for fuck’s sake) drops open and he seems to almost choke on nothing.
He is very strange, Enjolras decides. But they have always liked the strange ones.
"My name is Enjolras," they say, extending a hand.
His eyes dart down to it and then back to Enjolras’ face, then back and forth again, and then once more before he seems to come to a decision.
"Grantaire," he says, encasing the proffered hand in both of his own.
Enjolras huffs a surprised, delighted laugh.
"Grantaire, grand ‘R’, c’est drôle," they say with a smile.
Grantaire’s face scrunches in confusion, “Uhm? I don’t…are you laughing at my name? Because I will have you know, Ange-“
"Sorry, sorry, but it is a…play on…a pun! In French."
"Oh."
Another moment of silence between them.
"Posso offrirti un caffè" Grantaire says quickly, as though needing to get the words out before he talks himself out of it.
"I…coffee? I’m sorry, my speaking Italian is very limited," Enjolras says hopefully.
"Yes! Would you like to get coffee? With me?"
”Oui.”
——-
"Wait," Grantaire says over his mug, "you speak English, so that means you heard when I was…"
"Talking about my incredible cheekbones and defined jaw? Yes."
"Fuck, oh mio-"
"Je vous trouve très beau," Enjolras says, leaning in to whisper in his ear.
Grantaire has no idea what he said, but can’t help blushing anyways.
——-
Enjolras gives Grantaire their ticket for the first flight out after the storm has cleared, making a show of writing his number in the booklet, and waves goodbye to him while telling Mother that yes, he will be back in Paris within a few days, and no, there were no earlier flights.