Chapter Text
From Courf: Where are you????? Aren't you on your way or something?
To Courf:The directions you gave me are useless.
From Courf:Are you lost?
To Courf: Not precisely.
From Courf: ...meaning?
To Courf: …Yes.
From Courf: hahahahahahahaaaah
Enjolras scowls down at his phone, then lifts his head and directs that scowl around the unfamiliar area he's been wandering in for well over an hour.
The closer he finds himself to La Tour Eiffel, the more lost he becomes. This isn’t a part of Paris he comes to very often. It’s too busy, and protests are rarely staged around here because there are too many risks, so many people, so he has no business spending much time in the City of Lights. He’s only ever found himself here for a couple of small rallies, and he’d been in the company of Combeferre, who has the ability go somewhere once and never forget how to get back. A skill that Enjolras himself does not possess.
He should have made the drive up with Combeferre and Joly, but he’d been invited to speak at a presentation on his campus. So here he is now, a day later than everyone else, and thoroughly regretting it. The only redeeming thing about the situation is that he’d sent his luggage ahead with them, so now he isn’t forced to drag it around.
It's not much of a win, though. Nothing seems familiar. Not even mildly. He’s been walking in circles for hours and hasn’t even come across a single one of the streets listed on the directions Courfeyrac emailed him.
This isn’t how he’d planned to spend his day. He's hoping it won't go on like this for much longer, grumbling as much as he dials Courfeyrac.
"Enjolras! Did you find your way?"
"In the course of the two minutes since I last texted you?"
"Is that your way of saying 'no?'"
Enjolras shuts his eyes as he finds a place to stop near the end of the street he's on. "Is one of you able to meet me? I'd like to check into the hotel before nightfall."
There’s a lag as he waits for a reply, during which Enjolras looks around to find a potential rendezvous point. There are bustling crowds around him. He’s not far from the most tourist-filled spots. He can hear Courfeyrac asking if anyone can stop what they’re doing. There’s also Jehan in the background, he thinks, instructing Feuilly to ‘use the green paper.’ And he hears the distracted fond noise that Courfeyrac makes over his boyfriend, right into his ear.
“Courfeyrac,” Enjolras urges.
“Geez, demanding,” Courfeyrac huffs, but his voice is full of his usual humor. “Depends on where you are. Jehan’s recruited most of us for decorating, so our presence is required here.”
Enjolras sighs, still searching for somewhere to head to. He settles on a slightly busy café that he can see further down, figuring that if it’s busy, it might be well-known and easy for one of his friends to find. That’s what he’s hoping for as he approaches, keeping his phone to his ear.
“What about Combeferre?”
Courfeyrac gives a malicious chuckle. “He’s dealing with Marius.”
“Why does Marius need dealing with?”
“The fact that you even have to ask is appalling. Honestly, it’s the night before his engagement party. Just picture him.”
Enjolras smirks as he files into the twisting line to the counter of the café. No doubt, Marius is probably rushing around stressing that nothing is going to be perfect enough for his Cosette, and she's probably not worried about it in the slightest. If that’s the way he is now, when the wedding itself comes around, Marius is going to be just ridiculous. “Yeah, Combeferre is certainly needed there, in that case. Is there nobody else who can come find me?”
“Like I said, I need to know where you are first. Maybe if I promise Jehan my firstborn, he might let me off duty for a few hours."
Enjolras snorts. "I thought that when you have a relationship Jean Prouvaire, it's understood you'll give him the world, let alone children." Courfeyrac's room-filling laughter echoes down the phone as the blond leans around the people in front of him and catches the name of the café on the side of someone’s cup as they walk back out past him. “I’m at a sidewalk café called Le Rouge et le Noir.”
Courfeyrac lets out a half-laugh, half-groan. “Ooooof course you are. That’s the complete opposite way from here! How long have you been walking for?”
Enjolras lets someone cut ahead of him in line so he can hang back on his call, even though there are still plenty of people in front of him. “I got off my train at ten this morning.” He glances down at his watch to look at the display. It tells him that he’s missed lunch and confirms that he’s been lost for approximately three hours.
“I think Bossuet and I can be spared here. But you’ll have to wait around for at least an hour for us to get there.”
There’s nothing else he can do without chancing getting even more turned around, so Enjolras grudgingly agrees. “Sure,” he sighs slowly. “Apologize to Marius for me over my lateness.”
“As if that won’t make him worse,” Courfeyrac snickers. Enjolras shares in the humor of it with a chuckle of his own. He can hear Courfeyrac say something not directed to him, a small bit of protesting from Jehan, then the noise of a kiss before, “We are on our way. Don’t go anywhere!”
The line goes dead, so Enjolras stuffs his phone in his pocket and waits for his turn to approach the counter. He orders the biggest size organic vanilla latte he can, pleased that they even serve organic products, then adds an avocado wrap and a slice of raspberry crumble to his order. There’s an open table for two set furthest back along the window-side of the building, which he nabs for himself, finding that he’s glad to be able to sit for a while. He’s even tempted to place his feet in the extra chair, but doesn’t want to appear so churlish or anger the staff, so instead his legs stretch out underneath the tabletop.
His lunch is placed in front of him in record speed, perfectly fresh. He makes a mental note to leave a tip in the jar on his way out before he starts eating. The wrap and crumble don’t last the next fifteen minutes, but he sips leisurely at his latte, watching customers come and go from his tucked-away spot.
After some time has passed, a head of dark waves catches his attention from out the window. He sits up straighter, ready to wave Courfeyrac over to him. But he realizes just before he’s raised his hand that it’s not his friend.
The man seems around the same age, though. And he’s strikingly attractive. He has a burlap backpack over one shoulder and is pulling a thick book from it as he takes a seat at a table outside, directly in Enjolras’ line of sight. Enjolras briefly watches him jam a deep red beanie over his inky curls and fold his feet up under him on his chair, before he forcefully breaks his gaze to continue keeping an eye out for Bossuet and Courfeyrac in the passing crowds.
Only his gaze ends up back on the same guy ten minutes later, attention grabbed by the motion of the man dropping a pen and leaning down to pick it up from the ground. Enjolras catches how he glances around sheepishly as he straightens back up. And he doesn’t miss how, when their eyes lock for a second, the man flushes, swallows, but doesn’t look away.
Enjolras is the one to break the contact, blinking and getting up to look at the row of magazines and newspapers set out on a counter for customers, letting himself linger there until the alarming tingling under his lungs has stopped, before bringing one back to his table. He busies himself getting absorbed in the new issue of La Barricade, even though he already has a copy of it waiting for him in his suitcase.
Two articles over issues raging in Egypt have been thoroughly read through before he lifts his head to check the time on his watch. And as he raises his wrist up, beyond it he sees the guy outside. Who is still staring at him.
He’s about to get up and move to a different table, beginning to feel unsettled by the squeeze in his ribcage. But he’s distracted by a text lighting up his phone. He sees the man turn his head down to his book and scribble something very quickly before Enjolras’ focus is drawn to opening his messages.
From Courf:Guess what happens when you get in a car to go somewhere with Bossuet.
Apparently he doesn’t actually need to guess, since he isn’t even given time to type half a reply.
From Courf: You get stuck behind a group of drunk tourists who won’t get out of the road and get aggressive when you honk at them. Hooray for pressing charges and Cosette’s father’s history with Inspector Javert!!!!!!
Enjolras is stiff with concern as he furiously begins texting Courfeyrac back, demanding to know what happened. He’s ensured that nothing and no one but the side-view mirror of Combeferre’s car was harmed. Courfeyrac is obviously trying to make light of the situation, but he doesn’t dodge the fact that now Enjolras is even more stuck.
From Courf: We’re still coming to get you, but who knows how long this will take.
Even though it’s not what he’d wanted or anticipated for his day, Enjolras dismisses the fact that it might well be hours until his friends arrive. It is something he can more than readily forgive, due to the circumstances. Not to mention the fact that it’s his own fault for being stubborn, staying behind a day, and getting so turned about once he’d gotten here. He just tells Courfeyrac to call him whenever they are nearby. All he can do after that is hope that it won’t take too long.
The barista looks pleased when he returns to the counter for a re-fill of his latte. She even gives him a small discount, which causes Enjolras to pull out the difference plus a little extra from his wallet and drop it into her hand, insisting she keep it for herself.
He sips it as he makes his way back, and sets down his recycled cup at his table before dropping back into his chair.
And he ends up looking straight into a pair of striking blue eyes. They’re slowly becoming familiar, even though they dart away this time.
Finally annoyed, Enjolras knocks on the glass of the window, and the man outside brings his eyes up again, frozen otherwise. His expression looks a little like he’s been caught committing a crime, guarded and alert.
Enjolras leans back into his chair, throwing his arms out some, and mouths, “Do you mind?”
The grin that instantly stretches over the man’s face is wild, full of mischief. He leans back in imitation of Enjolras’ posture, which strikes a nerve in Enjolras, who clenches his jaw. There’s a cheekiness behind the shine in his eyes. And, at the top of his voice, the man calls through the glass, “NO, I DON’T MIND! NOT AT ALL! I COULD LOOK AT YOU ALL DAY!”
Not only do the people inside the café all pause in their activities, conversations, and jobs, but so do the people out in the street passing by. Every single person looks over at the guy, at the way he’s beaming. Many of them follow his gaze to Enjolras.
Enjolras draws in a long, steady breath, flips a page of his magazine, and resolutely turns his glare down onto it. The rest of the café gradually begins to return to their own devices as well, forgetting the disruption.
Until another shout comes through the glass, this one louder than the first. “MIND IF I JOIN YOU?”
This time silence doesn’t fall over everyone, but instead, a few sounds of various emotions are expressed. The suited man laboring over an inch-thick stack of papers sitting not far from the door makes an irritated grumble that Enjolras feels like mimicking. But instead, the blond just continues staring down at the headline on the page he’s open to, acting as though there’s nothing to respond to. Two girls at the counter, and the barista as well, all make delighted, giggling noises that they must think are encouraging. Enjolras sighs, taking a large gulp of his latte.
The chair on the other side of his table suddenly scrapes against the floor. His head raises quickly, mouth starting to open, but he’s unable to say anything before the man is talking.
“Hello. I wasn’t sure if you could hear me or not,” he says, situating himself, placing his burlap bag by his feet once he’s seated.
Enjolras frowns severely.
But his heart is having trouble deciding if it’s stopped or if it’s racing.