A/N: This is less of a chapter and more of a little preview, 'cause I'm lazy like that. If you like, please review and I will write more!
Disclaimer: It's pretty unlikely that I own Les Mis. In fact, I'd go so far as to say it's impossible.
Paris was too quiet that Friday night, even with the sound of cars and partying teenagers and the everlasting life of the city drifting in through Enjolras' window. He lay on his bed and ran his fingers back and forth through his curly hair, digging his fingernails into his scalp in frustration. He couldn't sleep, he could never sleep. His brain wouldn't let him. He thought too much.
He thought way too much about the noises coming from the rooms of his flatmates. Or Courfeyrac's room, specifically. At least Combeferre and Colette were pretty discreet. Why couldn't Courf bite a pillow, or something?
Growling curses under his breath, Enjolras got up, grabbed his faded red military jacket from the peg by his door, shoved his feet into his Converse and crept through the darkened flat and down the stairs into the fresh, cool Paris night. He walked the streets whenever he couldn't sleep – which was always. He loved to remind himself of the reason he was fighting for humanity, how beautiful the world, especially his beloved France, was, and how much it deserved to be saved from the greed of men.
Tonight, his feet led him to the door of his favourite haunt, the Cafe Musain. He wandered up to the door, not expecting any life to stir inside this late at night. But to his surprise, the lights from upstairs still glowed into the cool, dark night, and the door was open. Walking through, Enjolras found that the ground floor was dark and still, but the light shone through underneath the closed door at the top of the landing. Taking the creaking wooden steps two at a time, he pushed the door open gently.