Both men should have been in their beds hours ago, back when the candles still flickered cheerfully on the tables in the café and the sound of passersby in the street could still be heard drifting through the window.
The candles had long since flickered out, mere stubs barely able to be seen, and not solely from the dim light, and the passersby with places to go had long since returned there. The city was never truly silent, and that night – or morning, perhaps, given the hours that had fled while the two men talked and laughed and argued – was likely no different, but to Grantaire, it was as if all the sound in the world had faded, just as the background had blurred into indistinct shapes that made Enjolras’s features stand out even clearer, mere inches from his own.
Enjolras’s fingers carded through Grantaire’s dark curls, and would it not have moved his lips further from Enjolras’s, Grantaire would have leaned into the touch. As it was, he pressed forward, for Enjolras’s other hand rested lightly on his chest.
Grantaire might have commented on how apt it was, or at least how apt it felt, but he could not bring himself to disturb the silence, to break this moment in which they found themselves, breathing the same air as they did no more than exist together in the moment that the sun broke over the horizon.
That moment before the world broke from Morpheus’ hold, and they too would wake up from what at least felt like a dream.
When the sun rose, they would part, however reluctantly. Enjolras would return to the Cause that gripped his waking moments, Grantaire to whatever he felt like using to occupy his time until he could next see Enjolras. They would go about their days, seeing friends, doing work, eating, drinking, living. They would spend their days apart, both men complete in the parts of their lives that did not intersect.
And when next their lives did intersect, it would be as friends, surrounded by comrades, and neither would make mention of this. They would laugh and plan, the world in sharp relief around them.
But it would always pale in comparison to these moments, few and fleeting though they were. It would always like it was missing something, something that Grantaire could only ever find when both men lingered too long, drawn to each other in the last vestiges of night, both sharing one single, infinite and all too short moment.
Enjolras shifted, just minutely, but enough for Grantaire to notice that light had started to halo Enjolras’s face, a sure sign that the hour drew late, or early, and that the moment was almost broken.
Almost, but not quite, and Grantaire would not allow himself to hasten it.
Not when they could stay like this for even one second more.
Enjolras may have blocked the sun slowly creeping over the horizon, but it mattered not to Grantaire. He felt the warmth of the sun whenever Enjolras looked at him, and the sun had never been as sweet as the breath they shared together in that moment.
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