The City That We Loved

Enjolras bit his lip, trying to hide his smile. For the first time in a very long time, he felt a rush of excitement. He stood in the back room of the café Musain. Combeferre stood behind him, waiting for Enjolras to answer to him.

"Enjolras?" Combeferre asked. "Can I assume with that smile that this is our meeting place?"

"It's...perfect," Enjolras said, stepping further into the room. "We can put the map of Paris up on that wall and then push the tables back and--"

Combeferre chuckled.

"Let's not think that far ahead, Enjolras," he said. "First we need Courfeyrac to convince the owner. You may be just as charming but you also get very, very angry very easily. Especially when it comes to the revolution."

"I don't angry," Enjolras said. "Do I?" Before Combeferre had the chance to answer him, Courfeyrac came running in, a smile on his face.

"Did you see those girls out front--"

"Courfeyrac," Enjolras said. "What did they say? Can we meet here?"

"What?" The flirt looked slightly confused and Enjolras was just about to lose it on him when he remembered. "Oh, right! Madame Hucheloup--the owner's widow--said the back room is all ours. Apparently they never get enough patrons to fill the front room, let alone the back one."

"Well soon they will have more than enough," Enjolras said. "Once the people begin to gather, the entire café will be filled."

A few days later the back room in the café Musain had been redecorated to Enjolras' liking. They were preparing to have their first meeting that night.

Courfeyrac had run out to put up flyers. Combeferre had been conversing with one of the early arrivals. Enjolras simply sat with his feet up on the table, flipping through one of his many books about revolution and social justice. He probably should've been reading his law textbooks but he had no interest in it. The only reason he was going to school was because his father had insisted on it.

And one wouldn't want to displease Monsieur Enjolras.

Enjolras put his book down on the table and then popped in his headphones. He tapped his foot to the music.

Just as the song got to the best part, Combeferre walked over and motioned for Enjolras to take the headphones out. He sighed and did so.

The guy Combeferre had been talking to had come over with him.

"Gabriel Enjolras, this is Jean Prouvaire," Combeferre said. Enjolras stood up and shook the redheaded man's hand. The blond revolutionary only faintly noticed the flower in the other man's hair. "He prefers to be called Jehan."

"It's nice to meet you," Enjolras said. "Are you here for the meeting tonight?"

"Yes," Jehan said. That was all he said. Enjolras was quite taken aback at how...shy this man must be.

"Jehan and I work at the bookstore together," Combeferre explained. "I told him about our plans yesterday."

"I thought it was interesting," Jehan said, clasping his hands together in front of him and shrugging. "Gabriel--"

"Please, call me Enjolras...Gabriel is a terrible name," the blond muttered.

"What about Gabe?" Enjolras shuddered at the thought. "Alright, Enjolras...it doesn't sound very nice but Enjolras it is...How do you two know each other?"

"Enjolras and I have known each other since we could walk," Combeferre explained. "We've known Courfeyrac--the other guy who you'll meet soon--since grade...seven? Grade eight?"

"So basically we've all been friends for a very long time," Enjolras said. He just wanted to get back to his music.

"How old are you, Enjolras? I know Combeferre is twenty-two," Jehan said. His cheeks were really red. Obviously this guy wasn't used to being so social with someone he just met.

"We're the same age," Combeferre explained. "We both go to the university around the corner."

"Oh!" Jehan exclaimed. "What are you studying, Enjolras?" Now it was starting to sound like an interrogation and he didn't like it. But Combeferre would be upset with him if he made Jehan cry...why did he get the feeling that could be easily done?

"Law," Enjolras explained. "My father is a lawyer. He wanted me to be one, too. I didn't have much of a choice in the matter."

"I'm studying biological sciences," Combeferre interjected, before the awkward silence began. "I like moths." Enjolras sighed. It was as if his friend believed he was socially awkward.

He could socialize...when he wanted to.

"Do you go to school?" Enjolras asked, twirling his earbud in between his fingers.

"No," Jehan said. "Well...I used to until I dropped out. The angry professors were too...grumpy." Enjolras laughed. Amen to that.

"What did you study?"

"Biology, like Combeferre," Jehan explained. "But I've realized I like looking at flowers more than knowing the inside out of them."

"I see," Enjolras nodded. "Now, if I dropped out, my father would disown me, take every penny I earned for myself, and kick me to the streets, spitting on me in the process." Jehan moved his hand to cover his mouth. "Yeah, I have a great dad."

Jehan awkwardly excused himself to go to the bathroom.

When he was gone, Combeferre hit Enjolras on the arm.

"What the hell?" Combeferre exclaimed.

"Shouldn't I be saying that?" Enjolras asked.

"Jesus Christ, Enjolras, who taught you your social skills?" Combeferre asked. "Don't answer that. You scared him."

"Well it's not my fault he's sensitive," Enjolras said. "He's going to have to get used to it. Revolution will involve violence and anger."

"It doesn't have to."

"No it doesn't. But that's the king's decision, isn't it?" Enjolras patted his friend's back as more people piled in. Enjolras walked to the front of the room, popping in his headphones as he waited for the rest of them to join them. There were many interesting people to join them.

But it didn't matter because they were all there for Enjolras, Combeferre, and Courfeyrac's vision.

The vision of freedom.