Paris was hot. Ridiculously hot. It was approaching midnight and, yes, it was still hot. Which aggravated a certain M. Courfeyrac a great deal.
"I am in no mood for politics, 'Ferre!" he grumbled under his breath, as his two companions discussed barricades, Republics and revolutions as they walked along a broad, dark street.
"I know what you are in the mood for, Courfeyrac," the shorter, bespectacled man sighed, "go and enjoy it."
Courfeyrac grinned. "You know me too well, 'Ferre! Will you not join me? I saw some very pretty girls earlier…"
"Tempting, I admit, tempting. Alas, I must however babysit our Fearless Leader."
Laughing, Courfeyrac walked on. Combeferre smiled and turned round to his remaining friend. Who was looking thunderous with rage. 'Ferre bit his lip – he knew that look. He had seen flashes of red colour the marble face before him many a time. Normally it was when he was making passionate, irate speeches about inept politicians and the plight of the poor…it was much worse when he had been insulted.
"Babysit, 'Ferre? BABYSIT?"
"Enjolras, you know I didn't mean it like that…"
"I AM 22 YEARS OLD COMBEFERRE!" he howled, sounding about 2 years old. His blonde hair flipped in front of his eyes. 'Ferre brushed it away gently.
"I didn't mean it like that," he said quietly, "I merely jest…'twas only Courfeyrac anyway."
Enjolras sniffed. Combeferre was always right. Enjolras often got carried away with ideals – 'Ferre always had reason. "How supremely irritating!" he thought to himself. He didn't like how this short, bookish intellectual always won him over. Enjolras could be as stubborn as a petulant child when he wanted to. Yet M. Combeferre could smother his tantrums in a second.
Combeferre sighed. Enjolras was always right. Combeferre was intelligent, logical, and philosophical – Enjolras was passion and justice embodied. He could captivate a room in an instant, fire ablaze in his eyes and voice. His zeal for justice and hatred for oppression was apparent with each glance from his furrowed, concentrated brow. Above all, though, he was beautiful. 'Ferre felt so inferior in light of this mortal god. "Why is he here walking with me? He should be alone, dreaming about the future of our nation…or with Courfeyrac, talking, laughing…at least Courfeyrac is worthy of him…he is at least handsome…at least amusing….at least not me…"
"'Ferre?"
Combeferre jolted out of his trance…Enjolras had never used that tone before.
"Oui, Enjolras?"
"It's hot…perhaps the breeze will be cooler towards the river."
Combeferre paused and a light smile played around his lips.
"Perhaps it will be."
The breeze was indeed cooler by the river. As the two companions sat down on the banks of the Seine, a comfortable silence between them, Enjolras shivered violently.
"You are cold, mon ami…"
Enjolras glared. "I am NOT cold!"
"Enjolras…even a fearless leader needs to be looked after once in a while."
"Look after me, 'Ferre," Enjolras whispered, looking into his friend's eyes, "please."
Enjolras leaned against Combeferre and closed his eyes as 'Ferre kissed the top of his head. As they say, Paris is for lovers.