A/N: So, I've had variations of this idea swimming around in my head for a while now and have only just now made it to fruition. I'm pretty much preoccupied with the idea of Combeferre and Eponine. If you've read my Enjolras/OC story "A Dawn of a Doom of a Dream", this story is a companion to it - sections of it will coincide with the other story, so they mesh together...if that makes any sense. And even if it doesn't make sense, enjoy anyway! As always, reviews are MUCH-APPRECIATED.

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"My apologies, madame!" Combeferre shouted over his shoulder as he passed a middle-aged woman and had, inadvertently, narrowly avoided bowling her over as he rushed to the campus. He was already late for his first lecture of the morning and knew that he would receive a strict reprimand from the professor, but there was nothing that could be done. Sometimes Bahorel tested his last nerve.

Bahorel had been roommates with Combeferre for several months now and had neglected more than his fair share of responsibilities. He had been instructed that his room in the flat should be kept tidy in case of guests, but Bahorel ignored this rule and could be quite the slob. He was also in charge of waking Combeferre on weekdays so as not to be late for his lectures, but on this particular morning, that had also been neglected.

He'll hear it from me when I find him, he thought bitterly to himself as he rounded another street corner and heard the wonderful sounds of Paris as it sprung to life. Markets were opened, children began playing the streets, and struggling musicians played for small, voluntary donations, just enough to get them by.

As he approached the next street corner with every intent to keep straight along the road, little was made aware to him that on this day, within moments, everything in his life would change.

A mere footfall from where the road met cobblestone, Combeferre's deep focus was shifted as his body became aware that he had just run into yet another being.

"Oh, I'm sorry, monsieur," a meek but stable voice apologized. "I did not see you there."

Combeferre's eyes searched for the source of the voice and found it had been emitted from a woman standing just in front of him. His heart sunk within his chest at the mere sight of her and he found her beautiful.

Long, dark waves fell past the woman's bosom, which was tucked gently into the raggedy dress she wore. Her raiment was simple and there were no shoes on her pretty feet, all dusty from the road she walked each day. Her eyes were pools of brown that Combeferre knew with certainty that he would drown in, and her nose was shapely. The stature she bore was much smaller than his own, but he didn't mind. Thin-waisted, dirt-poor, and sad in appearance, this woman was a stunner and Combeferre found himself rendered speechless.

"Monsieur?" she repeated, recoiling from him slightly.

Combeferre snapped back to attention, not wanting at all to scare her away. "Pardon me, mademoiselle," he said gently, attempting to smile at her while realizing he was failing miserably. "I am afraid I am not myself at the moment."

The woman's face softened and a smile upturned the corners of her mouth, causing Combeferre to feel weak at the knees. Shoulders relaxed, she pointed downwards towards the pavement. "You dropped a book." When he stooped to retrieve it, she shook her head and bent over, picking it up for him. "Allow me - it's the least I could do for startling you so." Standing, she had significantly closed the gap between herself and him, now much closer - so close, in fact, that Combeferre could hear the sound of her breathing. "If you are not yourself at the moment, then who are you at the moment?"

Combeferre cleared his throat upon feeling goosepimples cover the span of his flesh. "When I am myself, I am called Combeferre." He took his book from her slowly, his eyes never leaving hers. "What may I call you, mademoiselle?"

The woman smirked and shook her head. "You'll find out soon enough." She backed away from him, her gaze taunting. "I know my way around." And with a spin on her bare heels, she darted off, leaving a breathless admirer in her wake.

Her voice echoed in his head for the rest of the day, pounding away as though she was standing beside him, taunting him aloud with her words. Why had she brought such a deep attraction to him? Perhaps he just wasn't used to having such a strong attraction to anything or to any one person and, though he was a rather young twenty-one, there had been little experience by way of romance. He was not his comrades.

Beside him in the afternoon lectures of European History was Courfeyrac, a young man known for taking avid, detailed notes on historical lectures, which was an excellent attribute for the disconnected mind Combeferre bore that day. He would be forced to copy his friend's notes at a later time.

"What has gotten into you today, 'Ferre?" Courfeyrac asked of his friend post-lecture as they strolled towards the center of campus. "You have been nothing but disconcerted all day and I demand to know what is wrong."

"Wrong, Courf?" Combeferre said, the fresh air reawakening his deadened senses. "Nothing is wrong - in fact, I do believe everything is right."

"How do you figure?"

Combeferre licked his lips as he spotted Enjolras, Bahorel, and Bossuet in the epicenter of the courtyard, all seated on the rim of the fountain. "There is a woman - "

"Oh, jolly day!" Courfeyrac said too loudly, loud enough that the other three on the fountain turned their heads towards them, all paying attention too closely. "It would seem that our magnanimous Combeferre has met someone."

"A just cause!" Bossuet marveled with a clap of his hands.

"I shall discuss this with you before I retire," Bahorel warned closely, his eyes indicating that they had much to discuss upon arriving home that night.

"Who is she?" Enjolras questioned, also under the charms of a young Parisian he was in the midst of courting. Naturally, Combeferre had expected the young man to be stoic about such a topic and dismiss it as folly, but, instead, the curly-haired marble lover of liberty showed a vested interest.

"That is just the thing that worries me," Combeferre confessed, taking a seat on the fountain beside his friends. "I do not know her name, though she knows mine."

"What does she look like?" Courfeyrac asked, laying down flat-backed on the pavement nearby.

"Raven hair, deep brown eyes, thin-waisted, frail-looking but athletic, it seems. Poor - her clothing was a raggedy dress and she was barefooted."

Enjolras remained silent for a moment. "Perhaps Genevieve will know this woman," he suggested. "I shall speak with her and convince her to aid in the search."

Combeferre sighed with relief. "That would be most-appreciated, Enjolras."

"Do not thank me - if my Genevieve can find her as I suspect she can, the thanks will go to her."

Combeferre nodded - a fair price in exchange for a name.

"Enjolras would know all about love and its wiles," Bossuet cooed as the group gathered their things and made their way off the bustling campus grounds together. "It would seem that love was destined to find another in our group."

Combeferre blushed. "I said nothing of love, Bossuet," he admitted. "It cannot be. I do not even know her name - how could I love her yet?"

"Your demeanor strongly reflects mine as I appeared the day I fell for my love," Enjolras confessed. "It was a happy day indeed, Combeferre, and nothing to be embarrassed about."

"I am far from embarrassed. I am still attempting to figure things out so that I may focus in our next lectures."

"When love is so near, focus is the hardest thing to come by." The blonde clapped Combeferre on the back all-knowingly, and a shrug shook the guide's shoulders. Such was a truth he had faced already, and given that he knew nothing of this woman and was, yet, so attracted to her existence, this was a strange day indeed.