The City That We Loved

Pontmercy

It had been a few months since Enjolras and Grantaire's conversation. They never mentioned it.

Ever.

Enjolras didn't even tell Combeferre about it. They just continued their regular relationship as before. Fighting and bickering. But it just got worse, especially since Grantaire had started drinking during meetings and he was much louder and obnoxious than when he was sober.

Enjolras had to kick him out numerous times.

But the others were satisfied with how things were coming along. More and more people were joining Enjolras and his friends in the café. They'd even had a protest a while back. Things were looking up, as Jehan would say.

The group of friends had formed quite the bond. Enjolras, Combeferre, Jehan, Courfeyrac, Feuilly, Bahorel, Bossuet, Joly, and even Grantaire had all formed the bond of brothers.

That was until Courfeyrac threw a wrench into the mix.

The student was walking down the street one day after classes, his books in his bag, checking out the occasional girl who would inevitably look back at him. He was making his way towards the café Musain. Just as he approached he noticed Bossuet talking to a unfamiliar young man.

"...live in your car?" Bossuet said. Courfeyrac walked over and cocked an eyebrow. The young man looked quite distressed.

"I don't have any money for a flat," the young man explained.

"Sell the car," Courfeyrac said. "Simple." The young man looked at his black convertible. Courfeyrac was a little confused on how this man couldn't have a home. Convertibles were expensive.

"It has...history," the young man said. "I can't sell it but...I guess I'll have to, then. Know any people interested in cars?"

"I believe Bahorel might be," Courfeyrac said. "If not, you can stay at my place until you can get your own."

"I don't even know who you are, Monsieur," the young man said. "How can I trust you?"

"Why don't you come inside the café and I'll show you why you can," Courfeyrac said. "I'm Sebastien Courfeyrac, by the way. Bossuet--"

"Bossuet?" the young man asked. "I thought it was Jaques Lesgles?"

"It's a nickname," Bossuet shrugged.

"Anyway, why don't you let Enjolras know we have a new comer?" Courfeyrac asked. "I'll give..."

"Marius," the young man said. "Marius Pontmercy."

"...Marius the down low on what we do here in the good old café Musain," Courfeyrac said. Bossuet nodded and went inside, nearly running into multiple people on the way in.

"Who's Enjolras?" Marius asked.

"Gasp! You don't already know?" Courfeyrac asked, over dramatically. "He's only the blond-iest, most passionate revolutionary out there. But stick a girl in front of him and he'll fall over. It's the truth. I've seen it happen." Marius made the wise choice and didn't respond.

Courfeyrac led him inside, through the front room, down the hallway, and into the back room. It was bustling with noise and at the height of it was Enjolras and Grantaire's argument.

Courfeyrac cleared his throat and Enjolras stopped scolding Grantaire. The latter took a smug sip from his green bottle of absinthe.

"Enjolras, this is Marius," Courfeyrac said. "He's new."

"I see," Enjolras said, cocking an eyebrow. "Welcome, Monsieur. Make yourself comfortable."

Courfeyrac sat down at a table and motioned at the seat across from him for Marius to sit. The young student was hesitant but slowly sunk down in the seat.