"You also have a lonely soul."
Enjolras turned his head sharply at the words muttered over his shoulder. Courfeyrac let a knowing grin flit over his face at his friend's surprised expression, and received a scowl in return.
"I have a swollen… desire. There is a difference." The young leader's tone matched his sullen face at being accused. Courfeyrac roared and slapped his shoulder, breaking Enjolras' gaze once again from the young women lingering in the streets below the café. Young, anxious women on the line between the hungry and the fallen.
He knew the irony of his preoccupation.
"You and I aren't so different," his fellow student leant back in the worn wooden chair.
"We are men, that much is true."
"Give in, my friend. The small hours that follow a mam'selle's embrace are ripe for thought." Courfeyrac pushed his seat back with a flourish, rose, and strode away to speak with the other young men. Enjolras watched him with outward scorn, but the words fell again in his mind.
He couldn't think. He needed to think.
He surveyed the room. The young men laughed and bragged, tipping the bottles back rather than glasses, and he wondered if they were blind to what was coming, or if they were trying to forget. Two young women drifted through, collecting discarded carafes and offering to fill glasses again. They froze, frightened at being spoken to, and the moment the opportunity arose they left as fast as their wares allowed.
The change from the sweet wine became heavier in his pocket, and the doe-faced street girls began to look more tempting as the night went by.
"Monsieur, your tables are quiet tonight."
The owner of the café looked up at being addressed by the young man with a shock of blonde hair. He raised his hands and shoulders in a shrug. "The world and his wife know what you are planning up there. My girls are afraid – you can't blame them. But, a landlord who did not support you would have turned you in by now… you know that."
"I know. I am ever grateful. Let me pay you for your trouble."
The master held his hands up and shook his head. "Non, Monsieur. Just… reassure my girls that serving you wine does not make them guilty."
"I shall do my best. Although, I feel I should be warning them of Courfeyrac instead."
The two men smirked at the absent rake's expense and bid each other a good night. The flimsy wood door clacked shut behind Enjolras – the last to leave, as always – and he was almost disappointed to find the streets barren. The girls had either given up or been gathered up already. The silence washed over him and he began his dark walk home, each step reminding him of his overworked mind and empty yearning.