"Hold up. This is dumb." Feuilly waved the posters that Enjolras had handed out. "Another recruitment poster?"
"Hey! I worked hard on those," Grantaire whined. He clumsily reached for the stack in Feuilly's hands, but almost fell out of his chair instead. Even when Grantaire was sober, he was helplessly uncoordinated.
"They're beautiful," Jehan piped up. Grantaire shot him a toothy grin, grateful for the praise.
Feuilly ignored the exchange. "Enjolras, it's the middle of the semester. People know who we are. We need to start pushing more issues."
"Yeah! And why don't we start by addressing the wildly unfair dry campus policy?" Grantaire slammed a fist against the table. "I'm 19! All I want is some beer. I mean, this sounds like a case of discrimination to me. And classism! I can't afford to live off campus, so I lose my right to booze? What do you say, boys?"
"Lose your right to booze," Bossuet mused, laughing. The group could not keep from laughing with him. Bossuet's nature was jovial and his laugh inviting.
"Looks like we have our catchphrase!" Courfeyrac added.
Grantaire reached over to give him a high five. "Hell yeah! What do you say, Apollo?"
Enjolras narrowed his eyes at his friends. He was honestly thankful for them. Enjolras' first several weeks at the university had been disheartening. Enjolras had been eager for the intellectual environment, excited to meet peers who matched his passion and drive for changing the world. Instead, he found his classmates to be shallow: cheating the readings, napping during lectures, vying for extra credit, and engaging in debate only to determine who had the greater hangover. Enjolras could see their potential; he knew that they could bring about incredible change, but their minds had blinders. The opportunity to grow and refine in class was ignored just as the potential for a future of purposeful service was overlooked.
He had met Combeferre by chance. Early to class one morning, Enjolras had settled in the hallway to catch up on his reading. He was soon distracted by an excited exchange in the office across the hall. Through the crack in the doorway, Enjolras could see a student gesturing wildly. His entire body was involved in the conversation. He sat at the edge of the seat, his torso stretched forward, as if his thoughts were fighting his body to escape faster than he could speak. Every few seconds, the student slid his glasses up to the bridge of his nose in a movement that suggested habit. Behind the glass, his eyes were bright and alert, alive. Enjolras strained to hear the conversation but the sounds that reached him were merely inflated murmurs. He hesitated before scooting across the floor and leaning his head toward the doorway.
To his dismay, he only caught several pleasantries of departure. He scowled, but before he could move back, a sharp pain shot through his ankle. The student from the office looked down. His face melted into a bemused smile as he took in the other student's deepened scowl.
"I apologize. Didn't notice you down there." He held out a hand, but Enjolras ignored the hand and pushed himself up.
Enjolras frowned. "You're rather excitable." His tone was flatly accusatory.
The other student raised his eyebrows imperceptibly. His response was cool and even: "You're rather curious."
The two had instantly become friends. They complimented, even balanced, each other. Enjolras was motivated by Combeferre's calm intellect while Combeferre was inspired by Enjolras' deep passion. Together, they had founded a student social justice organization, Les Amis de l'ABC. It had completed Enjolras. The group had collected a diverse band of students. Although they did not always emulate Enjolras' severe zeal, each was devoted to the same beliefs and eager to affect a change in the systems they disdained – aside from Grantaire, who really only came to the meetings for the company. And Enjolras.
Usually, Enjolras could suppress his irritation with his friends. He knew that he took everything more seriously than them; his confidence in the surety of their beliefs allowed him to overlook their collective silliness during meetings. However, over the past few weeks, Enjolras had been under more stress than usual. He had never felt so overwhelmed.
Enjolras had never figured out how to ask for help, but he had also never felt so out of control. Enjolras was a constant whirlwind of activity. His days belonged to his professors, to the Amis, to his friends; the nights belonged to him. Night was both his sanctuary and his hell. Against the stillness of the night, Enjolras' mind roamed free, like a rogue planet spinning senseless.
At least I'll figure this all out tonight, Enjolras thought. He took a deep breath. And everything will be back to normal.
He pressed his fingers to his temples, never breaking the steady glare that he had fixed on Grantaire. "Can we try to be serious," he spat. His friends settled again, hiding their smiles knowingly.
"Feuilly has a point, Enjolras." Combeferre had been watching his friend carefully. Since the past weekend, Enjolras seemed off. He had spent much of the first part of the week locked away in his room or holed in a booth at the Musain. Enjolras often sought isolation, but Combeferre could not shake the suspicion that Enjolras was avoiding him. "You did a lot of work last week to collect information about the tuition hike," he added gently.
Enjolras glanced at his watch. "You're right." The effect those words had on the group escaped the speaker; they were foreign coming from Enjolras. "Let's meet again Friday afternoon. I just wasn't able to get everything that we need yet. I'll have what we need then. For now, let's just get these posters out."
The group dispersed, collecting in small groups around the cafe. Enjolras raked his papers into sloppy piles, shoving them roughly into his bag.
"Going somewhere?" Combeferre watched Enjolras' rushed actions curiously. They always spent the evenings after meetings together in the café, working on homework and planning for the Amis.
Enjolras avoided his gaze. "Meeting some potential members."
Combeferre was surprised. This was the kind of news that they shared with each other. Enjolras was the unspoken leader of the Amis, but he always met with Combeferre and Courfeyrac regarding changes for the group. Combeferre fought to keep his voice neutral. "Who?"
Enjolras flashed a tight smile at his friend. "They're promising."
Combeferre frowned at Enjolras' departing figure. Courfeyrac slid into the chair next to him. "Did we piss him off that much?"
Combeferre hesitated. Though well-intentioned, Courfeyrac had the habit of overreacting and had, on more than one occasion, caused Enjolras to retreat further into himself, although it never took too long for Enjolras to forgive him. "Something's going on with him." He shook his head. "Don't worry about it, though. I'll drag it out of him tonight."
"Typical angsty Enjolras," Courfeyrac laughed. "Anyway, we're going out tonight. You're coming."
"I can't. I have studying –"
"We all have studying!" Courfeyrac swept his arm dramatically at the rest of the room. "That's why we're going to the bar!"
"I have to talk to Enjolras."
Courfeyrac's smile fell and he dropped his voice. His eyes search Combeferre's intently. "What's really going on?"
"I'm not sure," he admitted reluctantly. "But don't let it keep you from having fun. You know how Enjolras is. I'm sure it's nothing. I'll talk to him and update you tomorrow."
Courfeyrac reached across the table and squeezed Combeferre's hand. His eyes shone with a pained sympathy. "Don't let him keep you up too late."