"What the hell are you doing?" The dark-haired soldier asked, eyes bulging.
Enjolras quickly slammed the papers into a random drawer. In retrospect, it wasn't such a great plan. He paused for a moment, trying to gather his thoughts, knees digging into the hard mahogany
"Cleaning," Enjolras said, heart racing.
The soldier raised an eyebrow.
It was worth a try.
Enjolras slowly stood up, legs shaking. Calm down, calm down, calm the fuck down.
Enjolras forced a smile.
"I do have to go now," Enjolras said, with as much confidence as he could muster. Adopting an assured stance, Enjolras made his way towards the door.
He found himself face to face with the redcoat.
"Let me go," Enjolras said, fists clenching at his sides.
The soldier did not move but merely blinked at him.
Enjolras roughly shoved him to the side and reached for the doorknob. As he was just about to turn the brass, the sound of heavy footsteps echoed through the halls.
"Well, that would be Javert." The soldier said, nonchalantly.
Enjolras felt like his heart was going to jump out of his throat any second now.
"This is all your fault," Enjolras said, turning to face him.
The soldier shrugged.
The footsteps were getting louder and closer, each beat reminding him of his impending ruin.
Enjolras looked back helpless, silently begging.
The footsteps got louder and closer.
The brass knob turned and the door opened.
Enjolras was roughly grabbed by his coat collar and cravat. He whimpered as he was spun around.
Enjolras's face turned a dark shade of red, he would have scowled or fought back if he wasn't so damn scared. The soldier's hands were on his collar, applying pressure, reminding Enjolras of his current predicament.
Enjolras slowly looked up to see the imposing figure of Javert.
"Sir! I caught this one snooping 'round our horses."
Enjolras blinked.
"Sir, I just wanted to feed 'em, sir, I don't want any trouble, sir!"
"Grantaire, if this is some feeble attempt to escape your punishment, it's pathetic. Let the poor boy go."
Enjolras was dropped unceremoniously onto the hard, wooden, floor.
"Get out of my office and go join Montparnasse in scrubbing the boots."
Enjolras scrambled out as fast as he could.
The soldier followed.
Enjolras wasn't sure whether he felt thankful or felt like socking the soldier in the face for putting him through that.
He decided that he was going to be mature.
"That was nice of you, in there," Enjolras said, as he turned around.
The soldier looked surprised. "It was no problem," He said, scratching at his curls. "I had fun," He chuckled.
Enjolras followed the soldier's hands to his hair. The deep chocolate curls flopped up and down as the soldier ran his hand through it.
The soldier raised his head. Enjolras found their eyes locking.
Enjolras didn't know how long he was staring, but it could have been centuries.
Enjolras cleared his throat. "I'm Enjolras," He said, staring away.
The soldier remained silent, before suddenly realizing. "Oh, I'm Grantaire," He held out his hand.
Grantaire
Enjolras gave a quick handshake.
"I'll see you around, I guess," Enjolras said, unable to think of anything else.
Nodding a bit, Enjolras walked away.
He followed the familiar crimson carpet to the spacious dining room. His heart still pumping with adrenaline. Enjolras tried to act as inconspicuously as possible and let no hint of his incident show. God knows he can't stand the nagging from his parents.
His father was sitting at the head, sipping coffee with a newspaper in hand, grumbling as his mother tried to make conversation while reading her book.
"Good morning, honey," His mother said, noticing his arrival.
"Morning," His father added,
Enjolras walked to his father, trying to read the newspaper from over his shoulder,
"Go sit down and eat something son, you're getting thinner," His father said, as he folded up the newspaper and handed it to Enjolras.
Enjolras set the newspaper down on the table as he grabbed the toast and butter.
"When's the fighting going to start?" Enjolras asked.
"You're definitely not going to go fight young man, you haven't even finished school, it's way too dangerous." His mother said, sternly.
"Father's going," Enjolras grumbled.
"When you get to my age and rank, it's socially expected of you to-"
"Fathers not going!" His mother said, slamming the book down on the table.
"Listen to your mother, you're not going Enjolras, drop the subject. War is not for schoolboys." His father said, slightly scared.
His mother smiled, appeased.
Enjolras munched his toast angrily.
"You're also going back to college in March. And we don't think that you should be in those protests and such, there are way too many soldiers running about. Goodness knows what could happen." His mother said, shaking her head.
Enjolras's jaw fell open.
"You want me to go back to college? College? In the middle of a war? When I could be fighting? You want me to seriously go to college? I'm going to miss everything! I want to fight! Not write!"
"Enjolras! Don't even think about fighting, for god's sake, you are going back to school!"
"It's your mother's idea," His father muttered, before being promptly accosted by his mother's book.
Enjolras grabbed his half-eaten toast and stormed out, eyebrows knitted together in agitation.
"You better believe we'll be talking about this when we get back!". His mother shouted after him.
Enjolras ignored her.
He got to the front door. A servant helped him dress.
Enjolras noticed the thicker than usual scarf and coat and a sickly green hat that was the exact shade of stale vomit.
"Your mother instructed us to dress you warmer, she didn't want you to catch a cold," The servant said when he noticed Enjolras's questioning look.
"Seriously? I'm twenty-one for god's sake." Enjolras said in disbelief.
"Your mother said to not let you leave until you put everything on."
Grumbling, Enjolras pulled on the hat and stepped outside.
Once he got far away enough from the visibility radius of the house, he snatched the ugly hat off and stuffed it into his pocket.
It was quite a foggy day. The sun barely peeked through, shining as a pastel yellow through the haze. The snow from yesterday had frosted into ice, coating the roads. Enjolras was suddenly thankful for the warmer clothing.
He ran precariously along the slippery streets, almost colliding into the strolling families and people sent out for errands. The streets were crowded despite the weather, as the holidays approached. There was a distinctive festive look, laurels strewn around the lamps, a warm smell of cinnamon wafting from the nearby houses.
Enjolras hailed a cab that took him straight to the harbor. He stared out along the greyish blue expanse of sea reaching towards the horizon. More ships were coming, breaking through the mist and blurring the silhouette. Enjolras grumbled, British ships certainly, perhaps even carrying more unbearable redcoats.
Putting those matters aside, Enjolras stepped into the cafe. It was much warmer inside, much to Enjolras's relief. He weaved through the tables to get to the back. Combeferre and Courfeyrac were already chatting.
"Enjolras! You're back! You got caught didn't you?" Courfeyrac asked, leering.
"Really? That's the first thing you ask me?" Enjolras said, sighing and Combeferre passed him some coffee and cake.
"Well I bet in favor of you, I am more than confident in your skill in the arts of espionage," Combeferre said.
"Bet?"
"Just some fun really, so do tell us, did you get caught or not? I might get some serious money from this." Courfeyrac said, rubbing his hands in anticipation.
"I could have been put in prison for this and you guys are having a wager?" Enjolras said, slamming his head into the table.
"We both know you wouldn't have, your parents are rolling in dough. C'mon! Did you get caught or not?" Courfeyrac said while shaking Enjolras's shoulder.
"It's a long story…" Enjolras groaned.
"Well we're in dire need of entertainment," Combeferre added while scooching closer.
"Pweeeseee?" Courferyac said, the baby voice returning.
"Please stop doing that," Enjolras said, turning away so as to not display his chuckling face to Courfeyrac.
"Just tell us!" Combeferre said, so close now that he was only mere inches away.
Sighing, Enjolras recounted the earlier fiasco. But he made sure to leave out the awkward staring.
"I knew it! Courfeyrac, you owe me five shillings and an apology to Enjolras!" Combeferre shouted, holding his hand out towards Courfeyrac in anticipation.
"What? No! Weren't you paying attention, he was caught!" Courfeyrc replied, slapping Combeferre's hand away.
"Enjolras was caught, but not caught caught," Combeferre said, raising his hand again.
"No! He was caught caught, it was pure luck that he wasn't caught, wait no, He was caught caught... Hold on, let me figure this out."
Combeferre howled with laughter while Enjolras buried his face into his hands.
After a few moments of hard thinking for Courfeyrac, he reluctantly dumped the money into Combeferre's waiting hand.
"I can't believe you guys," Enjolras grumbled.
"Again, just a bit of fun," Combeferre said as he happily jingled the coins.
"Well, did you get any good information?" Courfeyrac asked, desperate to change the subject.
"No, just some letters to family and something about more soldiers coming," Enjolras started digging into his cake.
"Well, are you going to try again?"
"Maybe, but not too soon. And this time we need a way to keep Javert out of his office." Enjolras said, mouth full of cake.
Courfeyrac and Combeferre nodded in agreement.
They took a respite from talking and properly started eating the cake.
"So, are you excited for the war?" Courfeyrac asked.
"Mother's sending me to school again," Enjolras complained.
"Ah, well, we'll be sure to send you many letters describing the glory, especially our shiny rifles, while you slave off doing whatever at Princeton," Courfeyrac said, smirking.
"And our medals too!" Combeferre added.
Enjolras punched their shoulders.
When they walked out of the cafe, the fog had cleared a little, showing the sun had already begun its descent. The ice covering the streets had melted, staining the cobble with water. The ships from the harbor earlier this morning had already docked and were unloading. Thankfully they only contained British goods rather than British soldiers.
The friends walked happily around town. Sometimes buying treats to eat while they chatted. Before long, the sun had already started to splash orange and red on the horizon, dying the clouds a warm yellow.
"Let's go to the bar," Courfeyrac suggested.
"They have horrid wine, why can't we go to Enjolras's for wine, they've got the best."
"My father won't part with his wine anytime soon, not since two redcoats apparently drank about two barrels."
"And I need to pick up women," Courfeyrac added.
"That's what it's really about, I knew it." Combeferre chuckled.
They had run out of money, buying the various snacks throughout the day, and if they wanted wine, they wouldn't have enough to hail a carriage.
So they began the long walk to the bar. By the time they arrived, the sun was barely a red sliver in the horizon and the faint shape of the moon was visible in the dark blue sky.
Courfeyrac immediately left the group for a table full of young women. Combeferre and Enjolras walked to the bar and ordered some wine. They mostly drank in silence, sometimes sharing a look and laughing at Courfeyrac together.
"Y'know, I've been thinking, that was some romantic shit." Combeferre broke the quiet.
"What? Courfeyrac?"
"No, you, this morning, that soldier and you."
"You're drunk." Enjolras laughed nervously. Romantic shit? Did he want it to be romantic? The soldier was attractive, not classically, but attractive nonetheless.
"I'm not drunk, but why would he save you? You're basically on opposite sides of the war, he wouldn't help you unless he liked you."
"Maybe he just wanted to screw with Javert."
"No, I think he likes you." Combeferre shrugged.
Enjolras blushed a deep shade of red, surprisingly he didn't mind that-if the soldier liked him. He would never admit it but he felt flattered.
They went back to trying to force the vile wine down their throat in silence. Courfeyrac had left already with about three women. People were starting to leave, the bar was quieting down. There were only a few select tables still with customers. None of them talked
Prompted by the silence, Enjolras found his thoughts returning to the soldier. Grantaire, he thought, that was his name. Enjolras doesn't like redcoats, but this one didn't seem so bureaucratic and full of himself. Enjolras doesn't do love, but if he absolutely had to, this soldier doesn't seem too bad.