Disclaimer: No, I do not have the dubious distinction of being Victor Hugo, who created both the coolest character in the world (Enjolras) and the stupidest (Esmeralda). May I one day be so famed for such a thing.

That said, on with the story.

The café was deserted accept for two men. One, a small man with a pair of small silver glasses perched on the tip of his nose and permanently worried expression on his face, was reading a book and drinking coffee. The other, beside him, a tall, very handsome man with curly blond hair, was reading a newspaper.

When his companion stood up to get a third cup of coffee, Enjolras stopped pretending to read his newspaper. "Combeferre," he said evenly.

Combeferre half turned. "Yes?"

"I don't think he's coming," Enjolras told him in a low voice.

Combeferre came back to the table, coffee in hand, and smiled wanly. "Oh, I know he isn't."

His companion blinked. "Then why are you still here?"

Combeferre shrugged and put his cup down. "If he doesn't come, I'll know he's all right. That's what matters right now."

"Aren't you overreacting a little? Men like him get left almost as much as they leave."

Combeferre opened his mouth and then closed it again. A vaguely amused expression appeared on his face. "Are you-?" he swallowed, a half smile on his face. "Are you jealous?"

If it had been anyone else Enjolras would of course have denied it, but there was something about the way his friend asked that made him nod. "A little."

Combeferre squeezed his arm. 'Don't be. When I think of a friend I think of him, so it's my duty to take care of him when he's sick or lonely or heartbroken, no matter how often he's any of them. But when I think of a lover, it's you. It's always you. So don't worry so much about that."

Author's Note: so, there you have it. That was my first fanfic, so be gentle. I'd like to know what you think.