A/N Bonjour, mes amis! Welcome to another addition of the unofficial 'Stories with Courfeyrac' series. This one is for the wonderful Pica Britannia who was the 125th reviewer of my fiction 'A Different Version of Events'. Well, she was technically 124th but as the 125th never got back to me she gets the one-shot.
Enjoy!
"Where's Enjolras?" Eponine asked as she brought Courfeyrac, Combeferre and Grantaire their customary drinks. "He's never late for the meetings."
"He's ill so the meeting is off," Combeferre told her, shifting his attention for a brief moment from the medical textbook laid in front of him. "I told him he's not allowed to leave the apartment until his temperature has gone down and he doesn't sound like he's gargling nails anymore."
"I didn't know Enjolras did things like…get ill," Eponine said in mock surprise. "Or like eat, or sleep, or breathe…"
Combeferre gave her a mild glare while Courfeyrac and Grantaire merely chortled.
"I used to think that," Courfeyrac agreed, taking a large bite out the toffee and pecan pastry that he had ordered. "If you can imagine it, he was actually even more uptight than he is now."
"Courfeyrac…" Combeferre said warningly, but his incorrigible friend waved away his protests.
"You know he was Ferre. He never smiled, he hardly slept, he got into at least two debates in every class he was in, including classes that he wasn't even in…remember Feuilly's Russian history class?"
Reminded of this apparently explosive incident the guide winced slightly and eventually nodded in acceptance of Courfeyrac's point.
"And that was nothing compared to how he and I met!" Courfeyrac continued, realizing too late that he had piqued Eponine's interest.
"I think it's 'Story time with Courfeyrac'," she said, grinning. "I'm due a break anyway."
"Oh, I remember this one," Grantaire muttered from the corner, surrounded by paper and art supplies. "Was it that time in the library?"
Courfeyrac scowled in acknowledgement, his obvious reluctance to tell the story inflaming Eponine's interest further.
"Please, 'Feyrac?" she begged. "Please? You know I love your stories, even if Jehan isn't here with the Mystical Music app."
"I never could resist a pretty girl fluttering her eyelashes at me," he conceded, taking a bracing draught of his rooibos tea before beginning.
It was a universally acknowledged fact that Courfeyrac was a chronic flirt. In his first year of university in Paris he had spent far more time chasing pretty girls than studying, only just scraping through his end of year exams by the skin of his teeth. After that particularly unpleasant scare he had attempted to calm down a little, spending more time studying and less time partying. That didn't mean that he gave up his pursuit of the fairer sex, oh no. It just meant that he was far more particular in his taste.
So when, on the first week back in his second year, he caught sight of a stunning blond hurrying through the corridor, he knew he had found his latest quarry. He told Grantaire about the girl, the latter merely rolling his eyes and wishing him good luck before slamming the door in his face. Courfeyrac forgave this lack of encouragement for Grantaire was in a very dark place at the time and it was four o'clock in the morning after all.
After some careful observation – he was not stalking, he was merely observing – he discovered that his petite fleur d'or* was a very busy student. He only ever caught glimpses of her as she hurried from one class to the next, heavy bag slung over one shoulder, her long blond hair always managing to obscure her face. She was a little different from any girls he had been interested in before; she always wore trousers and shirts, occasionally waistcoats and jackets that hugged her slender frame, but he found that he liked the slightly military, masculine style of her fashion.
Eventually, finally, he managed to catch her one week in the library. It was late on a Friday night and Courfeyrac would normally have been out drinking with Grantaire or staying in with his new roommate, a nervous young man called Marius Pontmercy, to watch a film and have a pizza. Unfortunately he had discovered that morning, when digging through his bag, that he had a fairly important essay due the next Monday that he had not even started.
So there he was, sitting dejectedly at a table in the library, alone, surrounded by papers and books with his laptop open in front of him, abandoned by all (even his iPod had given up on him and died), when he heard the doors of the library open. Curious as to who else would be voluntarily spending a Friday night in the university library he turned, his heart skipping a beat as he caught sight of a familiar red jacket and long blond hair, just for a moment. He turned back to his computer, head in a whirl, and decided that tonight he would make his move. Tonight he would ask for her phone number and ask her for a coffee tomorrow.
On the pretense of needing to stretch he stood and looked around the room. There she was! She had hidden herself away in the corner, her back to him, head bent low over whatever piece of work had her attention. Gathering up all of his courage, Courfeyrac began to cross the library towards her. As he got closer he felt a sweat break out on the back of his neck; he couldn't remember ever being this nervous before. Almost shaking with anticipation now he stood behind her and cleared his throat discreetly.
"Excuse me, mademoiselle?" he said politely, hoping to gain her attention.
He clearly saw the shoulders before him stiffen and the tendons in the neck snap taut. A sinking sense of dread filled Courfeyrac's gut as the subject of his affections slowly turned to face him, azure eyes glittering with menace, blonde hair catching the light, lips set in a tight furious line…all set around a distinctly masculine face.
"Can I help you?" he asked with freezing civility and Courfeyrac realized he had made a little bit of mistake.
Eponine stared at Courfeyrac in stunned silence for a good minute and a half before breaking out into hyena-like cackles of laughter. "You…you thought…you thought Enjolras was a girl!" she gasped, genuine tears of mirth rolling down her cheeks. "How could you ever think Enjolras was a girl?!"
"He was skinny back then!" Courfeyrac snapped. "And his hair was really long, alright!"
"I've got the proof," Combeferre confirmed, holding out his phone to the still mirthful girl.
Eponine took the device and studied the picture displayed on it. The date showed it to have been taken a year or so previously and the difference was profound. The picture was indeed of Enjolras but he looked very different from the broad-shouldered young man with his halo of blond curls that she knew now. He was tall and thin, almost gangly, with a pale face framed by long blond hair that fell past his shoulders. You could, she supposed, mistake him for a tall woman from the back, if you only caught a glimpse.
"I'll grant you the benefit of the doubt," she conceded, handing the phone back to its owner, "but it's still a damn funny story. What I'm most curious about is how, after that very embarrassing incident, did you two become friends?"
"He ranted at me for about an hour and a half about the narrow-mindedness of society – apparently I wasn't the first person to have mistaken him for a woman – and the appearance based gender-boundaries that destroyed anyone who appeared even vaguely different. I apologized profusely, admitted that I shared many of his views and then offered him a coffee anyway as well as the name of my hairdresser. We got on like a house on fire after that, especially when he introduced me to Ferre and I introduced him to Grantaire and then we all met Jehan and…well, the rest, as they say, is history."
"Indeed they do," Combeferre agreed, "but has he told you, Eponine, what happens when Enjolras gets stressed?"
"Oh," chortled Grantaire from the corner, "that is a story that definitely needs telling!"
Translation
* little golden flower
A/N Hope you enjoyed and please review!
Libz