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Paris is a wonderful city; full of beautiful people, beautiful scenery, and of course, great food. But that’s not why Grantaire was there. No, he was there because of Jehan and his crazy ideas. The poet had practically begged him to come on this all expense paid trip that his parents had arranged for him. His argument was; “How could you leave me alone in a foreign country all by myself!?” Grantaire knew better than that since all through high school he saw what happened when someone pissed the smaller man off; it hadn’t worn off even in college.
And that’s how Grantaire found himself being whisked away on an hour flight to Paris. He spoke zero French, regardless if his whole family came from there. Jehan however spoke fluently because of his mother, who only spoke French and broken English. The first day they were there, it was like a whirlwind; Jehan to do all of the ordering of food, asking prices while they went shopping, but it's not like he seemed to mind; he felt at home there apparently.
It was on their fourth day that Grantaire knew that he was also, meant to be there. He had been idly sketching while they sat at a little café not too far from the Eiffel Tower; it was a quaint little place. It was painted blue with small tables seated outside that had green metal chairs with blue cushions to sit on and a matching wire table. The whole place smelt like the brewing coffee and baking croissants that were being prepared in the back of the building. Jehan of course had chosen it after he remembered the great recommendation he had from an old exchange student he had befriended his first year of college. They were actually meeting up with him and a couple of friends so they could go and have “a real French experience” since they were leaving the next day. And all the poet did the night before was talk about this mysterious Courfeyrac and how brilliant and dazzling he was. Grantaire felt that he played a bigger factor in why they came all the way to France than the poet led on.
“Grantaire!” The artist looked up to spy Jehan wandering over with who he assumed were his friends. It warmed his heart to see his friend so excited and happy. “Okay, so this is Courfeyrac,” Jehan pointed out the dark, curly haired man who was standing next to him. He gave a sly smile and said good morning in a heavy French accent. Next to be introduced was Combeferre; he was tall with shaggy red hair and glasses, he also gave the same awkward greeting.
Grantaire gave them all the empty smile he gave everyone, sweet but uncaring. They couldn’t tell, they began looking over their shoulders and chattering about something.
“Il est là!” Jehan shouted and everyone, including Grantaire, turned to see what he was pointing at. Grantaire froze as if on cue; he had found an angel. The blond came up with a huff of breath, saying something to Combeferre and Courfeyrac while giving a sweet smile to Jehan. Apparently, Grantaire was the only one that was out of the loop. The angel caught a glance of Grantaire and turned his attention towards him, “Qui est-ce? Votre ami?”
Jehan nodded and shoved the blond closer, “Grantaire, this is Enjolras. Enjolras, c’est mon ami Grantaire.”
Enjolras’ face brightened and began speaking again, but Grantaire was too far lost to even try to respond. A feeling was welling up inside the artist’s gut and he couldn’t quite describe what it was; it was warm and bubbly and just, odd. He had just met the man but he felt like he had known him for lifetimes, simply from the look they shared. The baby blue eyes in front of him showed concern and a fading excitement as they searched his face.
“Grantaire?” Jehan leaned closer, “Are you okay? Combeferre is a doctor if you’re not feeling well.”
Grantaire shook his head and turned to his friend with a smile, “No. I feel perfect. Do they speak any English?”
“Courf and Combeferre do, Enjolras still speaks very broken English surprisingly.”
Grantaire nodded and stood up, Enjolras automatically reaching a hand out in case he really was ill and decided to topple over. But the brunette simply smiled and took his hand and brought it up to his lips to kiss along his knuckles. “Très beau.” It was the only thing he knew how to say in French and that was only because he saw it in some movie and tried to use it as a pick up line from time to time. It never worked.
But Enjolras’ cheeks burst into a vibrant shade of red and his eyes widened at the small gesture. The other three stood still as if they were watching some sacred ritual and one little mistake could ruin the whole thing. They didn’t even breathe until Enjolras smiled and whispered a small, “Merci,” before pulling his hand away slowly so his fingertips could drag against the rough skin of Grantaire’s palm.
Staring was the best thing Grantaire had to do to keep himself from weeping. It was such a gentle exchange but, it meant the world to him. That small kiss could be the only one he could ever give the blond angel, and that was okay with him.
Jehan quickly shoved them off to go towards the shopping districts that lined the busy Paris streets. They explored everything from the soft fabrics of exotic clothing or the rich flavors of fresh grown fruits. Of course, it was only new to Grantaire really, but the rest enjoyed it just as much. Enjolras stayed surprisingly close to him the entire adventure, speaking to him in mainly French, once or twice in poor English which left Grantaire a laughing heap and Enjolras a blushing mess. He would yell something at him then storm off but always found his way back to the artist’s side with a small side comment. Grantaire could have sworn he heard him call him an “imbécile” at one point. But he didn’t mind. The casual glances over clothes racks and the playful nudges revealed no harsh feelings, regardless of the little arguments that they seemed to have over the smallest of things. They meant nothing since they were always filled with laughter. It could have been the silly sound effects Enjolras kept having to slip in his broken sentences to convey his messages across; but Grantaire would never tell him that.
At some point, they ended up with their fingers entwined while they walked. Grantaire didn’t question it and neither did Enjolras. They just would smile at each other and quickly look away to hide their blushes, but then look back as they tried to hide from the sly smiles of the other men. It was a cycle they never grew tired of.
Combeferre was the first to split away from the group due to an early shift at the hospital the next morning. They waved him off with farewells and promises to see each other again soon. Courfeyrac and Jehan exchanged a loving glance before looking back to Enjolras and Grantaire who were also looking back at each other with affectionate eyes. The two decided to slowly sneak off and leave them be, they’d find each other later.
They only noticed alone when Grantaire looked up to ask Jehan to tell Enjolras something for him in French. At first, he panicked but when he noticed Courfeyrac was gone as well, he knew they would somehow be able to contact him.
He looked back to Enjolras, whose cheeks were starting to turn a pale pink from the cold that was sweeping in from the sun setting over the city. Grantaire couldn’t help but reach up and stroke his cheek lightly, Enjolras leaning into the touch for a moment before taking Grantaire’s hand and pulling him, “suivez-moi.”
The art museum was like a beckon in the on coming night, filled with white walls and bright lights encasing the many pieces of art. It was nothing compared to the Louvre which he had seen a few days before, but it was just as magical. The wound through the long hallways and alcoves filled with framed art of landscapes, kings and queens, and romantic scenes of ladies in waiting and their good sirs. Grantaire imitated one, earning a laugh from Enjolras who whisked him away before the workers grew tired of their childish antics.
They found themselves in a small room alone as they gazed at a painting of a young woman playing the harp. They stood with their shoulders touching, hands linked together at their sides. They said nothing but gave sideways glances at one another which lead to more giggles. It only lasted a moment though before they were lost in each other’s eyes. Grantaire felt Enjolras’ face growing a little closer, close enough to feel his breath against his lips. He would very much like to kiss him. But a barrage of laughter fading into ear shot was enough to get them to pull away. On the inside, he was sulking, but it faded once he noticed the small smirk on Enjolras’ perfect lips. He didn’t need to ask, he simply followed once again into the chilled night.
Enjolras looked marvelous in the low glow of city lights. His curls cased his face like a halo, his nose had turned pink from the cold, but his eyes glistened like a pool of clear water. Happiness. That’s all they could convey. Here he was, showing a stranger his hometown with more enthusiasm than he’s ever had about anything. There was just something about Grantaire that made him giddy and want to run in a field with him, like the cheesy movies always had. Whatever this feeling was, he didn’t understand it and he was okay with that.
They reached the hilltop several hours after Enjolras planned. But with so many detours and so many temptations to stop and kiss one another, no wonder they made it up so late. But it didn’t matter, they would have to wait a few hours anyways.
The hill was made of all stairs, with trees poking out of the concrete all the way down. Small lamps lit the way, giving them barely any light to see one another in. So they relied on the moonlight to give them a helping hand.
Enjolras patted the stair on which they sat “It’s called uhm… Exorcist stairs. Sacré Coeur that way.” He pointed down the steps, “Church there. C’est Grand.” His hands rose to show the large size, mimicking a growling sound to show the growing as his arms grew wider.
Grantaire smiled at him as he leaned on his hand. Enjolras continued to talk and Grantaire only could guess that it was the significance of the stairs they sat on, not that it made a difference, the view was great with or without the history. But after a moment, Grantaire realized Enjolras stopped talking and was staring with quizzical eyes.
“What?” He said lifting his head up from his hand.
“When you leave?” Enjolras asked, for what was technically the second time.
“In the morning.” Grantaire said with a sad sigh.
“Time?”
Grantaire held up nine fingers and Enjolras’ shoulders slumped lightly. “Should stay here.” Enjolras pointed at the brunette, “Fun to be with.” A chuckle came from Grantaire as he looked out to the sky. They had wasted the night away and the sun would be rising any moment now. He almost didn’t believe it that they had been gone so long, he hoped Jehan wasn’t worried about him.
“I’m going to miss you.”
“Je vais te manquer.”
Grantaire looked at him “I don’t know what you’re saying, but I hope it’s good.” When he got back home he would really consider having to take French classes so that they could actually have a decent conversation. If they ever met again.
Enjolras reached out and took Grantaire’s hand, pulling it close so they could continue to stay warm. He stayed silent as he traced lines on the back of the artist’s hands, memorizing ever scar and bump he had on his creamy skin. Grantaire watched him intently, doing some memorizing of his own. He watched how Enjolras’ eyelashes looked as they fluttered again his cheekbones and how his lips pushed together as he thought. He chuckled lightly to himself as he curled his fingers under the blond’s chin and tilted his head up, “I think I might be in love with you.”
Enjolras’ eyes glistened like the first time they saw each other, full of wonder and hope. “Je pense que je t'aime aussi.” He reached up and ran a thumb along Grantaire’s bottom lip lightly, “permettez-moi?”
Grantaire’s brain fizzed out, as if what was happening was really a dream. He simply nodded and leaned in, their lips locking together as if it were meant to be.
The kiss lasted so long that they ended up missing the sunrise.
The airport wasn’t busy seeing how it was on a Sunday morning. Most flights had already left or were departing later in the day. A few stragglers here and there, but for the most part, it was just the four of them. Jehan and Courfeyrac stood by the gate, sharing lazy smiles and brief strokes on their cheeks. It was young love, no doubt about that.
Enjolras and Grantaire stood together a few feet away, watching them, staying completely silent. They hadn’t shared any words since their kiss earlier that day. The goodbye that was quickly coming was something neither of them wanted to face. Their hands were still clasped together tightly, not wanting to let the other go. But when the final call for their plane rang, their hands tightened.
Grantaire turned and looked at Enjolras with a sad smile “I’ll see you again soon.” He pressed their lips together for a moment before slowly letting his hand go.
Enjolras took a deep breath as he fought the urge to chase after him and keep him from leaving. Luckily Courfeyrac came up to him and rested an arm around his shoulders, teary-eyed himself.
And that’s how Enjolras ended up with a small painting of the little blue café with the green metal chairs, signed with a red ‘R’ and a note saying, “Soyez prêt dans quelques semaines. Une surprise vient à votre rencontre.”
Be ready in a few weeks. A surprise is coming your way.