AN: Just thought of this one day while writing something else. Reviews are my crack. Let me know if I should continue.
Chapter One: 8:30-9:00 p.m., Friday, June 5
The first thing Enjolras noticed about her was the chipped green and purple nail polish. The second was the row of empty shot glasses in front of her. That alone should have been enough to tell him she was trouble.
Marius and Cosette's engagement party was in full swing. Courfeyrac had just finished regaling the crowd with the syrupy, yet charming tale of the couple's first meeting. And being the silver-tongued fox he was, Courfeyrac had tactfully avoided mentioning the inseparable lovebirds had met a mere six months earlier.
With full stomachs and wine on their breaths, the rest of the group had already begun harassing Cosette's friends. Grantaire was the worst, singing some Edith Piaf song at the top of his lungs as Jehan, Feuilly, Bousset and Joly howled in off-key harmony. Combeferre had disappeared ages ago, probably to help with something behind-the-scenes, and he had spotted Bahorel canoodling with someone just outside the bathroom.
From Gabriel Enjolras' vantage point, it was clear his friends had done fine without him.
Cafe Musain was unrecognizable. By day, the coffee shop, conveniently located equidistant from the university and the theater center, overflowed with students, writers and artists. Traditionally, Musain did little with its interior, its stark white walls offset by grubby wooden tables and chairs—most of which were beset by odd stains and grit lodged deep within the grain. The clientele hardly cared; the coffee was tolerable and cheap, and the Wi-Fi was free.
But tonight, the lights had been dimmed and a string of Japanese paper lanterns bathed the normally spartan shop in a romantic haze. The floors had been scrubbed clean and the tables covered with fresh, soft pink tablecloth. And the counter where a young Enjolras had once ordered his daily espresso had been converted into an open bar.
As the designated driver—and the only one who could still walk straight—Enjolras had been charged with buying the next round of drinks. He had no intention of doing so, but he'd made a good show of collecting everyone's empty champagne flutes.
"Here," Enjolras said as he set down seven glasses on the counter. "If you could just pretend to fill these up, you'd be a lifesaver."
The bartender was a slim, dark-haired girl with a rather prominent nose ring and large eyes. An odd choice, he thought, for a gathering of admitted yuppies. Though she wore a pretty blue dress, the tattoos of roses spiraling up her left arm were more bohemian than he thought Marius or Cosette comfortable with.
"I'll do you one better and fill'em with sparkling cider," she said with a smirk. "Your friends are drunk enough not to notice."
"Thanks, that would be great."
The bartender flashed him a flirty smile. He gave her a poor imitation in return, which prompted a quizzical glance. In truth, he was relieved when she broke eye contact to fetch the cider. If Courfeyrac had been there, Enjolras was sure he would've dissolved into a fit of laughter.
"Oh, so you'll help him, but you won't help me?"
Sitting next to him, another young woman drummed her fingers against the countertop as she glared at the bartender. She was dressed in ratty jeans and a mussed up T-shirt of some band he'd never even heard of—not that he had ever been knowledgable about that sort of thing. Her long, dark hair had been pulled back into a ponytail, except for a few stray tangles that framed pink cheeks. Hunched over the bar, her head rested on her left arm and the heels of her scuffed cowboy boots were hooked around the rungs of a stepladder that doubled as makeshift barstool. It was then that Enjolras noticed the long furtive glances from other tables and stifled giggles that escaped from behind perfectly manicured hands. Whether they were directed at him—or her—he didn't care to find out.
He didn't recognize her, though it was improbable that she was one of Cosette's friends. A party crasher, most likely. Enjolras tried not to scrunch up his nose in disgust. The stench of alcohol emanating from the sullen girl was overpowering.
"I think you've had enough for tonight," the bartender said worriedly.
"Fuck off 'Zelma." She lifted her head and flashed him a half-smile. "Hey buddy, wanna buy me a drink?"
"I think you might want to listen to her," he said in his best lawyer voice, suppressing a cough as he caught of whiff of her breath. "You'll be happier in the morning."
"No. I fucking won't. I'll never be happy again."
"'Yes you will. He's a dumbass," the bartender said as she awkwardly patted her shoulder.
"He's perfect."
Without warning, the girl slammed her forehead against the counter, nearly causing him to jump. Alarmed, he glanced over at the bartender.
"Should...Perhaps a cab is in order...?"
"Nah, she's just laying it on thick tonight." The bartender rolled her eyes and threw him an apologetic look. "Just gimme a sec. "
Enjolras glanced back his friends. Grantaire, now kneeling in front of Cosette, had abandoned French romance for a horrendous rendition of a Sinatra classic he couldn't quite remember the title of. "No worries. Take your time."
But his feeble attempt at human interaction went unnoticed. The bartender had already hopped the counter and was rubbing reassuring circles into the drunk girl's back. "Sweetie, nobody's perfect. 'Specially not someone who hasn't given you the time of day in...the what...three? Four years that you known him? Fuck him. And her. He's a mondo douche."
"I can't," she moaned. "They're all I've got besides you and Gav. And you...you haven't graduated college yet."
Enjolras shifted uncomfortably, tamping down the urge to point out that hiring underage bartenders was the fastest way for a venue to lose its liquor license. That wasn't his job anymore. He sighed.
The night had started out so well. But Enjolras had no sooner stepped into Musain than he was bombarded with questions about the past three years—a drunk Courfeyrac had twice asked if he'd finally acquainted himself with "the carnal pleasures of a writhing woman"—and now, all he wanted to do was go home to his empty apartment and collapse onto the couch. Avoiding his friends and consoling piss-drunk girls were the absolute last things he'd had in mind when he'd set out that evening.
"There'll be others—"
"Not like him," the girl whispered. "There's never been anyone like him."
"Aw c'mon, he's not that special."
"But I—"
"Tell him how you feel and get it over with."
He hadn't intended to join the conversation—he just wanted them to stop talking. The words had slipped out on their own. But judging by the incredulous looks on the girl and bartender's faces, he had crossed some invisible line.
"Jus' who d'ya think we're talkin' about?" She slurred, brushing her bangs away from her eyes. They were dark and piercing and made him feel incredibly small.
"I only—"
A loud cheer interrupted them before he could finish. At the front of the room, Marius had popped open yet another bottle of champagne and was now raising a toast to his blushing bride-to-be.
"My friends, we can't thank you enough for coming out tonight," he said, arm slung protectively around Cosette's dainty shoulders. Marius had filled out since graduation—gone was the scrawny freshman who had sought him out for advice. His shoulders were broader, more muscular, and his hair, which had once hung shaggily over his dark green eyes, was now a proper length and perfectly coiffed. The ridiculous hoodie he had worn all throughout law school had been replaced by sharply pressed slacks, a dark blue button-down shirt and fitted blazer. In essence, Marius had completed his transformation into the corporate lawyer he had sworn never to become. Enjolras was surprised by how much that saddened him.
As for Cosette, she was exactly the type of girl his own parents had always pushed him toward. Blonde and petite, she was a social butterfly with a sweet face and an even sweeter disposition. When Marius had introduced them, she had wrapped him in a gentle embrace and pressed a light kiss on his cheek, gushing about meeting the "legendary Enjolras"—a compliment that left a sour taste in his mouth. Before he could even respond, she had flitted off to greet some other guest. But up there, wrapped in Marius' arms, her smile was radiant, and the adoration was evident in her cornflower eyes.
In short, the two were perfect for each other.
"I'd like to propose a toast to Cosette, the love of my life, my raison d'etre." Marius paused as their friends erupted into catcalls, while the rest of the room burst into polite applause. "Before you, I had never given too much thought to falling in love. It's not that I didn't see other girls, it's just that I'd never met anyone who made me feel alive—"
Enjolras tried not to roll his eyes. It was more likely that Marius had been too preoccupied to notice other girls. He vaguely recalled Courfeyrac and Jehan gossiping about some girl who followed Pontmercy like a lost puppy their entire sophomore year.
"I need to get outta here."
Turning, he noticed the drunk girl stumbling out of her seat. Her face had turned a sickly shade of green and even though she had managed to stay standing, she was dangerously close to crashing into the bar counter.
"Shit! You gonna hurl?" The bartender pushed aside the step stool before looping her arm around the girl's waist.
"I don' feel so good..."
"Shh!" A well-heeled woman from another table glared at them. One of Cosette's friends, no doubt.
"Oh, no one's asking you lady."
Enjolras dropped his gaze to the floor and tried to turn his attention back to Marius, who was still blathering on, oblivious to the minor scene developing just a few feet away. Don't make eye contact. Just don't get involved.
"Dude, seriously. You gotta help me," the bartender hissed. "She's like a fucking log."
The girl had clamped her other hand over her mouth, trying valiantly to suppress a series of dry heaves. Just leave them be. You don't owe them anything.
"Hey guys..." she said, voice trembling. "I think...I'm gonna be sick..."
Enjolras sighed. He motioned to the bartender to hand the girl over before tucking one arm under her back and scooping up her legs with the other. She responded by burping into his chest. Using his shoulder as leverage, he pushed his way through the crowd.
The bartender had already beaten him to the back door and was holding it open for them. In his arms, the girl shivered violently, her skin clammy against his.
"We're almost there. Just few more steps," he muttered, more to himself than to her. She whimpered something unintelligible as he barreled out into the night air. But his relief was short-lived. No sooner than he had set her down on her feet, did he feel something warm and wet gush down the front of his suit jacket and drip onto his shoes.
"Ah dude, that's fucking gross."
Enjolras turned back to glare at the bartender, who had followed them out, her face twisted in a grimace as she pinched her nose shut.
This was not what he'd had in mind. At all.
