A/N: So this is set in England, in most of the Amis's first year of university. Stuff in italics are flashbacks to the previous two years of college.
Disclaimer: As i am not male, dead or French, I own none of the canon characters.
"Nice place," Courfeyrac said approvingly, glancing round the cafe as he dropped into the chair next to Enjolras, making him jump.
"Do you make any sound at all, or have you spent so much time round your cats that you're starting to take after them?" he said dryly, pushing the drink towards his friend. "Caramel latte, as ordered."
"Where's 'Ferre?" he inquired, accepting the mug with a grin.
"Talking to the hospital about his work experience. Or rather, complaining. He doesn't like the person he's paired with. Hypochondriac."
"Sounds like someone on my floor," Courfeyrac said cheerfully, before splutting as he almost burnt his mouth on his coffee. Enjolras managed to hide his smirk behind his tea, instead pushing the glass of water to join the latte. "Thank you. Anyways, this guy is crazy. Convinced he's going to die next week. Diagnosed me with Polio within five minutes of meeting me." He frowned. "Though I know next to nothing about that."
"Combeferre doesn't think he'll be able to work with someone who keeps asking him to check his blood pressure. I don't blame him."
"Combeferre needs to relax. It's the first day, he shouldn't be thinking of work yet." He knew instantly that Enjolras disagreed from the look he was given. "Okay, let me guess, you've already met all your professors and joined half a dozen societies."
"And started one." Enjolras didn't bother commenting on whether or not Courfeyrac was right (he was). "You're secretary."
"Do I get to find out what it is?" Courfeyrac was used to being volunteered for things by Enjolras. "And why not treasurer? Combeferre's better at writing minutes than I am." The look he was given once again spoke volumes. "That was the one time! I'm better with money now!" When the look didn't change, he sighed. "Fiiine."
"It's called The Friends of the ABC," Enjolras told him.
"How many members?"
"Three." Courfeyrac laughed.
"Well good luck getting more members." He looked round the cafe again, searching for a change of topic. "How did you find here?"
"It was suggested by my neighbour. Not bad pricing really, and it's a one off instead of being in a chain."
"Cool." Courfeyrac studied his friend quietly for a moment. "You tempted to find him?"
"Who?" Enjolras asked blankly, pretending he didn't have a clue what Courfeyrac was talking about.
"You know who. Grantaire. His university is only a few blocks away."
"No," he said firmly, glancing down at his drink as he did. "He made his choice." Unwillingly, he was reminded of all the unanswered e-mails, texts and calls he'd sent after Grantaire had moved down to London, then the message which had come from his sister, simply telling Enjolras to stop pestering him.
"You should. And you should really stop speaking through looks," Courfeyrac commented, ignoring the glare he was given.
"I need to finish unpacking," Enjolras said quickly, downing the rest of his tea and standing to leave. Swinging his bag onto his shoulder as he strode through the cafe, he turned to apologise to the person he'd just hit. As he did so, he stopped suddenly and stared. "What?" he murmured, forgetting to blink or breath, recognising the man instantly just from the familiar curls of hair. Behind him, Courfeyrac was frantically texting Combeferre. The victim of the bag looked up from his phone and blinked confusedly.
"Enjolras?"
"Er, yeah." Silence fell again for a moment until he cleared his throat and continued. "Hi Grantaire. Long time no see."
"This is crazy! How can every table be full!" Courfeyrac glared round the room.
"Well there is double the number of students this week," Combeferre pointed out quietly. "The Upper Sixth are back from their work experience now, so they're going to be sitting at the tables they claimed last year."
"It's still not fair," Courfeyrac sulked.
"Not much we can do," Enjolras sighed. His eyes lingered longingly on the table they had used last week as he suggested them finding an empty classroom.
"You can sit here if you want," a soft voice said from behind Combeferre, and he turned to face the speaker. A student from the year above was leaning back in his chair, looking up at them. He was alone at his table, though the art work scattered round didn't leave much space for anyone to join him.
"We couldn't do that," Combeferre insisted, at the same time as Enjolras inquired, "Are you sure that's okay?" and Courfeyrac excitedly burst out "Oh thank you!". The boy burst out laughing, smiling up at the trio.
"Yeah, I'm sure," he replied, eyes focused on Enjolras as he answered his question. "You'll just get kicked out of any classroom. Here, let me move my junk." As he packed all of his work away, Enjolras and Combeferre slowly joined Courfeyrac in sitting opposite the older student.
"You don't have to go," Courfeyrac said quickly as he stood to leave. "I mean, it's your table after all," he muttered as they all stared at him.
"Please ignore our friend," Enjolras said. "He doesn't always think before he speaks. I'm sure you have other people you'd rather sit with than a few kids like us."
The older boy didn't admit that he had no friends inside the school, instead just resting a hand against the back of his chair. "I don't actually mind either way," he shrugged.
"Then feel free to join us." Enjolras offered up a quick smile. "I'm Enjolras by the way. This idiot is Courfeyrac, and this is Combeferre."
"Grantaire." He accepted the hand Enjolras offered, smiling slightly as he did so. "Welcome to our Sixth Form."
Standing in the cafe, Enjolras could do nothing but stare at Grantaire. The memory of how he'd first met the other man flashed to the front of his mind as he studied him, noting how much harsher his eyes seemed, and the paleness of his face.
"How... how are you?" he asked finally, almost talking himself out of saying anything.
"Fine," the blunt reply came. "I see you made it to London like you wanted."
"He doesn't look good," Enjolras heard Courfeyrac muttering behind him, and he sighed, knowing Combeferre would be practically running to get to the cafe now, probably fearing a fight. The fact that Enjolras had been furious with how his old friend had cut him off hadn't been a secret.
"So when did you forget how a phone worked?" he asked curtly, folding his arms to try and make himself less nervous.
"When I realised I couldn't spend my whole life hanging out with kids." Enjolras heard Courfeyrac wince. The almost two year age gap between Grantaire and Enjolras had been a sore point early on in their friendship, until they'd decided it didn't matter. Well, until he thought they'd decided it didn't matter, Enjolras corrected silently in his head.
"I won't waste any more of your time then." Pushing past Grantaire, he left without saying anything else, unaware of the fact that he'd left the other man looking after him, a small frown on his face. Courfeyrac breathed a sigh of relief and texted Combeferre again, informing him of the fact there would no longer be a fight. Settling back into his chair, Courfeyrac decided to wait and see if Combeferre would join him or try and find Enjolras.
"Please tell me you kept your cool."
"I didn't call him a complete and utter bastard if that's what you mean." Sighing, Combeferre ran a hand through his hair.
"That doesn't count," he pointed out. "Did you snap or yell at him?"
"Not exactly."
"You're an idiot."
"Like you'd be different," Enjolras snapped, turning and starting to resort his books on the small shelf above his desk. Combeferre couldn't really argue with this statement. He'd been furious with Grantaire when he'd had to watch the worrying Enjolras had gone through when he'd had no word from London, and his feelings hadn't improved after he'd finally sent a message. He knew that if he'd run into Grantaire himself, voices would have been raised.
"That's not the point. You want to find out why he suddenly decided he'd had enough of being friends, you're not going to find that out if you piss him off. He'll just disappear again."
"He told me why!" Enjolras shouted finally, spinning to face his best friend, the man who was practically his brother. "He thinks we're kids. Happy?"
"Yeah right," Combeferre laughed bitterly. "He didn't care when at college, I hardly doubt his views changed so much after he'd left." Part of Enjolras knew what he was saying was true, but most of him wanted to just believe what Grantaire had said earlier, if only to give him a reason for being so mad with him.
"Can we not just forget him for now?" he asked quietly, suddenly feeling incredibly tired.
"Sure," Combeferre agreed after a moment's pause. "Tell me about this new society of yours." Perching on the edge of the bed, Combeferre listened as Enjolras brightened up and started enthusing. He ignored the small voice in his head that was telling him to go find Grantaire and demand answers. He knew that would help nothing at all.
Courfeyrac's plan to stay in the cafe until he had finished his drink had been forgotten almost as soon as he'd decided on it. Instead, he ordered more coffees and watched Grantaire subtly, pretending to read his book to make sure no one called him on it. The changed student intrigued Courfeyrac. He'd never seen Grantaire drink a drop of alcohol - he'd always declared his addiction would only ever be to coffee - yet in the first hour alone he saw him work his way through several bottles. By the time the waitress came round to throw them all out, Courfeyrac was still sat on his own but with several mugs and a book before him, and Grantaire was practically lying across the table, an uncountable number of bottles surrounding him.
"I'll sort him out," he offered gallantly, smiling at the waitress, and was rewarded by a thankful smile and invitation to come back. "Come on, 'Taire," he said to the drunk, taking hold of his arm and dragging him upright, thankful that he was much stronger than he looked. As he pulled Grantaire's arm over his shoulders, he elbowed him before wrapping his own arm round him to take his weight. "I need you to tell me where you live, mate," he sighed, hoping Grantaire was awake enough to reply. He didn't want to turn up back at his room with drunk student from another university on his first week. Slowly he struggled but eventually managed to translate Grantaire's mumblings, and he managed to half-carry, half-drag him through the streets of London to his flat. Courfeyrac didn't think much of the place, but there wasn't much he could do. When the door was opened, Courfeyrac turned Grantaire over to his flatmate and walked away, already decided that Enjolras was hearing nothing about the end of his night. There were some things his flatmate did not need to know.