Chapter Text
The door of a flat opened and closed, the art student living there locking it behind him before padding swiftly down the stairs leading onto the Parisian street which soon would be busy with work-goers and students alike. Grantaire pulled his too thin jumper more tightly around himself, then tugged a faded maroon hat onto his matted black curls to combat the unexpectedly biting cold.
It was a very crisp September morning, and Grantaire was late hence his rushing to the tube station at the end of his street. The weather had seemed promising when he’d drawn the curtains half an hour ago, so he’d left his leather jacket slung over the couch. This he now regretted. At least the train would be warm.
Hopping onto the very last possible tube that would ensure he wouldn’t be late for class again - it was only his third week after all, and he did want to at least try for a good-ish impression - he shoved in his earphones and turned the volume up high.
The train seemed surprisingly empty for eight am on a Wednesday morning, but the young art student decided not to complain, as it meant he managed to find a usually rare seat. He loved the Parisian underground, always had done - almost as much as he loved people watching. It was an off day if he didn’t catch the eye of at least one mysteriously handsome stranger, much to the amusement – but lately annoyance - of his friends. This morning was proving different so far though Grantaire thought to himself as the old woman a few seats along shot him a disapproving glance. He raised his eyebrows and let out a fleeting sigh before sinking back in his seat. This was the part of train journeys he loved most; closing his eyes, music blaring, and just relaxing, usually until he fell asleep causing him to miss his stops several times. For Grantaire this was starting to be a regular occurrence.
The first stop from his street to the university road always involved the train ending up more packed than it already was, but today was not the case. Mostly due to him missing his normal train and having to catch a later one. He opened his eyes sleepily to see who would get on today; one man, but not even into Grantaire’s carriage. The art student closed his eyes again, folding his arms across himself.
When the doors opened at the next stop, the art student didn’t even think to acknowledge the passengers that may or may not have entered, he wouldn’t know, until one of them sat directly opposite him and he heard a bag thump down on the seat. Then he really couldn’t help it.
Grantaire’s mouth fell open, embarrassingly, as the - he could think of no other word than “wow" - man adjusted a tightly fitted jacket and swept perfect golden curls from his breath-taking face. His icy blue eyes snapped up and met Grantaire’s momentarily, and the dark haired man - realising that he may have been staring slightly – looked down at his feet quickly, colour flushing to his cheeks.
In a flash of still cold fingers, he whipped out his phone and tapped out a message.
He grinned to himself, noticing the stranger now reading a book in his peripheral vision. He considered asking his name, basically searching for a way to start a conversation in any way possible. The man’s exquisite appearance had ruled out the worrying of sounding creepy in Grantaire’s brain. Seconds later though, his phone buzzed.
Despite his best friend’s unenthusiastic response, he persisted.
He paused, allowing himself another brief glance at his possible future lover (he definitely hadn’t imagined it, not at all) as he rubbed his scruffle-covered cheek, and again was caught off guard as he found himself greeted with a confused, even concerned, look. Even with his brows furrowed the man remained flawless; long eyelashes, lips pressed together… Grantaire was failing in his attempts not to stare at those lips. The intriguing man was almost lighting up the dim carriage and, when he brought out his own phone and typed his own message, the softer look that spread across his face could have warmed Grantaire through on even the coldest of days.
He was finding it incredibly hard not to gasp out loud. The student nodded his head decisively and dragged his eyes away heavily to finish the message to Eponine.
Locking his phone and putting it in his pocket, Grantaire pulled out his headphones and reluctantly, though taking his time as he did so, stood up as the tube drew close to his stop. His heart skipped in his chest as he heard the blonde man stand up behind him and clear his throat, making Grantaire bite his lip at the fact they might be getting off together, so to speak.
The dark haired student couldn’t help but imagine the feeling of the golden haired stranger’s soft breath on the back of his neck, and a hand running down his arm as he whispered his name into his ear in a low, rough voice… when the train stopped abruptly, sending the real-life stranger flying into Grantaire’s back. He couldn’t help but scream internally as he considered that he may have been bumped harder than necessary. Though this was probably his over-active imagination again.
“Sorry," came the to-the-point apology, the pink colour flooding into the man’s tanned cheeks, only increasing his appeal.
You’re not sorry at all, are you? Grantaire mused to himself.
"No, don’t worry about it, probably my fault!" he called back over his shoulder, as he tried to hide that he couldn’t stop smiling. Grantaire realised he might look slightly deranged so, as the doors of the tube opened, he rushed out and towards the steps leading up to the university. He did however permit himself one more glance back in the direction of his golden god - his golden god who seemed to be heading in the exact same direction as he was…
After a good few hours or so spent not concentrating on his lecture, but instead on daydreams about the stranger from the train, Grantaire walked across the grass out the front of the university and jumped as an arm linked with his on either side of him. Eponine and Jehan, their poet friend.
Grantaire immediately began venting about his encounter on the train.
"I knooow, dear," Jehan answered, “this one told me."
He nodded at Eponine.
"And I think it’s terribly romantic!" he said sweetly with a smile.
"You think everything’s terribly romantic, you soppy mess," Eponine replied, meeting Jehan’s scowl with a grin.
"Buuut, I think it’s time to stop picking your future husbands on the tube, R.”
Grantaire let out a sarcastic whimper, matched with an, “‘Ponine, come on, at least let me dream!”
He noticed her smug smile then, and question it, “Wait, why?”
Grantaire’s tone was slightly suspicious as he narrowed his eyes.
“Becaaause…" she continued and, before he could open his mouth to argue, Jehan burst out with a ridiculous statement: “We think we’ve found your soul mate!"
The poet’s grin was ridiculous; there were almost tears in his eyes for god’s sake.
Grantaire frowned, “Wh- what?”
He did a nervous laugh as Eponine explained, “Seriously, you’re gonna love this guy!”
Grantaire dropped their arms though and began walking away towards the Musain ABC, a tall, slightly crooked, building on the corner of the street. To students it was known simply as ‘the Musain’, the ‘ABC’ part of the name referring to it being split into three different levels: attic, bar, and club.
The top floor was inhabited by a light-lit and quiet café, overlooking the Parisian streets below; it was always good for a quick drop-in after uni, or sometimes even before when Grantaire hadn’t had time to grab breakfast on the way out the door. The ground floor was a cosy, traditional, old-style pub, where Grantaire played sets every so often, when he felt like it; just him and his guitar. Eponine had always said to him he looked like the musician type, which kind of, he supposed, went hand in hand with his creative flair for art. Then, finally, lying underground beneath it all was the large nightclub. The Musain was a student’s dream so to speak, especially as it was situated so close to the university. It was ideal.
Eponine chased after him, cooing, “‘Taaire, just give this guy a chance! He’s tall, blonde and devastatingly handsome."
At this point, Jehan caught up and leant his head on Grantaire’s shoulder, “It’s true, his beauty is poetic!"
The blonde god from that morning smiled at Grantaire in his mind. If Eponine and Jehan were both saying this apparent soul mate of his was made for him then he must be something, they never agreed with the guys Grantaire had fallen for in the past.
He forced the image of the golden-haired wonder to fade; he had to be realistic. Grantaire sighed then with a small smile, “Alright, what’s his name then?"
He might as well try the guy before saying no completely. Eponine and Jehan grinned, first happily at each other and then more menacingly at Grantaire as they almost sang in harmony, “His name’s Enjolras!"
Enjolras. Eennjoolraass. Enjolras, Enjolras, Enjolras. Grantaire couldn’t stop repeating it to himself; he had to admit this guy did sound impressive. There was something intriguing about his name, almost as if he’d heard it before and yet, whenever he tried to put a face to such a name, his mind went blank. He could only dream of the man to whom the name belonged, surely he must be quite something with a name as strong as this. Jehan had mentioned he was the leader of the debate club, among other activist groups, so he’d decided he’d be dealing with a pretty strong-willed individual, which excited Grantaire; he liked a challenge.
Lying in bed that night after an evening at the Musain with ‘Ponine and Jehan, Grantaire’s mind strayed back to the blonde stranger on the tube, those bright blue eyes and impossible lips with those curls topping it all off. He couldn’t see personally how this Enjolras, no matter how incredible he sounded, could beat his god from the train.
Running a hand through his own curls, Grantaire read the overly-excited text he’d just received from Jehan.
Tomorrow, my dear, tomorrow you will meet your soul mate!
He rolled his eyes before replying.
You are ridiculous Prouvaire, I swear to god, he typed back, before rolling over and trying to succumb to sleep. He was still trying to picture the mysterious Enjolras when he finally drifted off sometime after two am, but was only successful in imagining what he’d do to the god-like stranger if ever given the chance.
“Grantaire!!”
He woke with a start to a harsh knocking on the door of his cramped apartment, and groaned when he heard Eponine practically scream, “I’ve called you four times you arse, how the hell can you even still be asleep?!"
She was going to wake his whole floor up if he didn’t move, and Grantaire could almost see the fury in her eyes so, considering the consequences (on himself more than anything) that might come along with ignoring her, rolled himself from his bed with a yawn.
Through the curtains strewn across the dirty window, the sun battled against surprisingly yielding clouds and Grantaire couldn’t help but smile thoughtfully: if the weather was this promising, what was to say the rest of the day wouldn’t be equally so?
Another inconsiderately loud knock threatened to splinter the wood of his already shabby-looking door and this, combined with a milder, “You don’t want to keep him waiting, do you?" from ever-the-poet Jehan, caused Grantaire to shake his head with a smirk. Jesus, he sounded like something from a trashy romance novel.
Pulling on faded jeans and a t-shirt of more than questionable cleanness, he made a mental note to stop hanging around with a poet. Then, squirting on some aftershave and grabbing his keys and phone, Grantaire headed out the door to a cheer from Jehan and a, “Fiiiinally!” from Eponine.
Grantaire struggled to wake himself up properly as he was dragged too quickly across the university campus, an already cold coffee bought hastily by Jehan spilling onto his hand. At the edge of the grass, he could just make out the outline of an awkward young man through bleary eyes and, judging by the awkward grin Eponine was sporting, decided it must be Pontmercy.
The grin faded as they grew closer and a smaller, slimmer frame became visible, latched onto Marius’ waist, and the surprisingly strong girl’s grip tightened on his arm.
“That’s Cosette.”
Eponine all but sneered, sensing Grantaire’s confusion.
“I thought you two were… I hate her already,” he decided, furrowing his eyebrows apologetically in her direction and elbowing Jehan lightly for some support. She sighed before replying, “No you don’t, no one hates her, she’s a fucking ray of fucking sunshine!”
Her mouth fixed in a wholly unimpressed pout, but proceeded to advance on Marius, jabbing him in the back and chuckling when he jumped in shock. The Cosette girl laughed along with them, but seemed to instinctively tighten her grip on the tall man separating them - Grantaire instantly sensed the tension.
He shot Jehan a concerned look, who whispered quietly to him, “It’s true R, she’s enchanting - try to hate her I dare you!”
He tried, my god did he try in those first few minutes, but there was something impossibly friendly about Cosette’s lark-like voice, and her smile was so infectious that, if he wasn’t struggling so hard to maintain loyalty to ‘Ponine, Grantaire would’ve warmed to her immediately. And Grantaire never liked anyone immediately, apart from strangers on the train… It was definitely understandable why Marius never let his eyes slip from hers for more than a few seconds anyway, and Eponine’s own eyes spoke way more than for her; “Tell me about it,” she said, without saying anything at all. Grantaire smirked at her.
The five students, after a few minutes of introductions between Grantaire and Marius’ new (and seemingly permanent) fixture, began making their way to the gates of their university where a reasonable number of people had gathered. They must have looked like quite an odd bunch, Grantaire thought as he acknowledged the bright little flowers tucked intricately into Jehan’s hair, before it dawned on him: “Where are we actually going again?” he questioned, only loud enough for the poet and possibly Eponine, if she’d stopped gawping at Marius and shooting daggers at Cosette’s back for at least a second, to hear.
“I think it’s some form of protest? Loves a bit of anarchy, does your soul mate,” Jehan answered in an equally hushed tone, leading him into the already growing crowd.
Dragging herself away from her attempts at making Cosette visibly awkward – update: it was working – Eponine squealed excitedly in his face; if he hadn’t been properly awake before, he certainly was now.
“He’ll be here soon!!”
Grantaire’s eyes widened at the haughtiness of it all, “Waiting to make his grand entrance, are you sure I’m gonna like this guy?”
Grantaire had never been one for politics, ever, and his cynicism was already getting the better of him. His expectations were already set reasonably low as always, and his friends rolled their eyes almost simultaneously as he spoke. Surprisingly, it was Marius who replied this time, “You will, trust me, just… have patience.”
His voice was surprisingly earnest, and it worked in silencing Grantaire instantly. The two had never been particularly close – only truly linked through Eponine rather than their own personal friendship – although, thinking about it, Pontmercy had always been there, despite being in the year above in school and now uni, no matter how much of a wet blanket he was at times.
So, defying his initial instincts, Grantaire decided to take their advice and settled himself into the throng of people talking enthusiastically about medical ethics and the ozone layer and saving the whales, awaiting the arrival of the acclaimed leader.
While they waited, Grantaire was introduced to a few more friends of friends – mostly Marius’, but a few seemed familiar with Jehan and his expressive ways.
There was charming Courfeyrac, a cheery man with a wicked laugh and dark curls, not unlike his own; worried-looking Joly, who refused Grantaire’s handshake when he offered in fear he might catch a cold; giggling Bossuet, apologising on his hypochondriacal friend’s behalf.
“First year of medicine – he’s become hyper-aware of germs and it’s going to be the death of us … or him!” he’d only half joked, as he clapped Grantaire warmly on the back.
Behind them, the insanely pretty Musichetta, who they discovered had recently started working in the Musain since starting university, kept a close eye on the two of them – her “boys”. Grantaire didn’t know who to ask about the nature of their relationship, but it was still far too early in the morning to let his mind wander over such things. Next was Feuilly, a Polish exchange student with an accent that kept everyone entertained and who just looked plain happy to be there taking part. He was lead around like a lost puppy by the infamous Bahorel, already Grantaire’s occasional drinking buddy on rainy nights once they’d all finished with the Musain and were looking for something stronger than coffee. Bahorel was taking great joy in giving the poor exchange student terribly offensive phrases to use to greet strangers.
Last but not least, Grantaire was introduced to Combeferre: blatant mother hen with a welcoming kindness about him who also happened to be Enjolras’ best friend due to them being in the same year – third year. Grantaire considered asking about the still missing member of their party but thought better of it, allowing the academic to wax poetic about the work that had gone into this event and how proud he and Enjolras were.
“It’s like they’re new parents or something!” Grantaire hissed into Eponine’s ear as Combeferre left to busy himself with setting up a microphone for the so-far absent leader. When she failed to reply, he glanced down to find her momentarily distracted, dark eyes following the spectacled man with a spark of intent. He’d only just committed the moment to memory for future blackmail purposes when the microphone crackled loudly and they were granted the presence of their leader. And what a presence it was.
Grantaire’s jaw went slack when he saw him: Enjolras, an absolute vision in a bright red coat. The young art student tried to reason with himself, deciding that he was still asleep as icy blue eyes scanned the lively crowd and a sense of overwhelming déjà vu crept over him.
After deciding against pinching his forearm fairly hard a number of times just to be sure this was in fact real life, Enjolras seemed to have done, what looked to Grantaire like, a double take and was now looking him right in the eye.
The stare pierced him amongst the rabble, catching him off guard, and before Grantaire thought to control his own facial expressions, he found himself grinning wholeheartedly at a man he barely even knew. Or rather, wouldn’t have known at all if it wasn’t for Eponine and Jehan’s meddling. Although, maybe he would have…
Was it? Surely it couldn’t be. Had Eponine known who he meant? Surely she couldn’t have, he hadn’t even known himself. Grantaire’s insides flipped repeatedly, turning somersaults over and over, when the beautiful not-so-strange stranger gave him a stern look, with just the smallest hint of a smile. It was only slightly, and only for a second, and he was probably only doing it to be polite, Grantaire had to remind himself with a deep breath… But still, his mouth fell open as it had done the previous day when being in this Enjolras man’s presence; he seemed, so far, to be having this effect on Grantaire upon arrival.
The art student felt another pair of eyes on him then, and only just managed to tear his own from that icy blue stare, finding Eponine wiggling her eyebrows suggestively.
“We kneew you’d like him, you should see your face right now it’s priceless!” she exclaimed, throwing her head back in glee and clutching at Jehan’s shoulder to steady herself.
Grantaire had to stop himself laughing out loud before he replied, “It’s him ‘Ponine, holy shit it’s him!”
He had to fight back a frown when he looked back to find Enjolras’ mesmerising eyes focused on something else entirely, though he wasn’t surprised, and looked back to his friends expectantly. Or at least the ones not distracted and listening to the leader’s speech.
“It’s who?” the few of them asked, followed by a belated, “Who’s him?” from a terribly confused Feuilly, bless him.
In order to at least try to keep his affairs reasonably private, he yanked Eponine and Jehan to the side after excusing himself rather bluntly.
“It’s him!” he repeated again, trying and failing to wipe the smile from his face, “the guy from earlier, from yesterday. THE guy!”
Finally something clicked inside Eponine’s head and she reeled back, letting out a loud gasp, “Oh my god, train guy? Enjolras is train guy?!” she started jumping up and down on the spot; Grantaire could tell she’d be screaming were they alone.
Grantaire nodded fervently, adding, “Not just train guy, Enjolras is train GOD!”
He made sure not to roll his eyes quite as obviously as he would’ve liked as the three as of them giggled like kids in Disneyland – or anyone in Disneyland actually.
“I told you, I told you were soul mates!! Oh my god!”
She quite literally couldn’t stop cackling.
“So you see, the two of you were meant for each other,” Jehan murmured, and Grantaire felt ever so slightly sick when he considered the poems he might be forming in his mind. He gave Jehan an almost disturbed look as Eponine grabbed his arm; he didn’t think he’d ever seen her looking so excited before this ever, as she spoke again.
“Now all you need to do is actually meet him, properly this time!”
Grantaire honestly thought he could faint at the thought of coming face to face with the god-like man in front of him, whom he had turned again to watch. And speaking to him?! Actually holding a conversation and having this Enjolras’ full attention on him… He couldn’t help it this time, Grantaire just laughed out of pure elation as he turned back to Eponine, who grinned back up at him, resting her head on him for a second before giving his arm a squeeze.
“Tonight at the Musain, you can meet him,” she squealed, and Grantaire kissed the top of her head, before gazing back up at the golden haired god in front of him.