As promised, Combeferre rose early the next morning, finding Enjolras face down, snoring lightly into his pillow. Looking at his alarm clock, he also found that he had just enough time to grab a quick breakfast-to-go from the cafe down the street they frequented before his first class.
Mercilessly shoving off the covers, Combeferre sat on the edge of his bed taking a minute to accustom himself to the new day. Yawning, he observed the peaceful sleep of Enjolras, not without a little envy. It appeared Enjolras had long ago abandoned his phone-centric position; his phone was now on the floor beside his bed, probably flipped accidentally off the side as Enjolras dreamt of social justice.
Still groggy with sleep, Combeferre pushed himself off his bed and made to retrieve his book bag from the table which he and Enjolras had divided in half for the purpose of serving both of them. On one side of the painted red line lay Combeferre's assorted textbooks, typical of a pre-med major, and an array of his own self-drawn diagrams which depicted everything from human body systems to the exoskeletons of insects. On the other side of the red line resided mountains of Enjolras' radical pamphlets written by various authors, among them Enjolras himself. They were piled haphazardly atop a political science textbook and innumerable books on French history. Nothing, however, was within an inch of the red line except the inscribed words, "The Liberty of the citizen ends where the Liberty of another begins."
Combeferre smiled as he remembered the whole arrangement being one of the first things Enjolras had said to him when they'd first become roommates. Then, he thought of the quote in terms of the events of the previous night and looked back at the phone so easily within his grasp.
It's his phone, Combeferre thought as he slung his book bag over his shoulder. He's entitled to his privacy.
He put a pair of shoes on but even as he leaned down to tie them, his eyes remained glued to the phone in the middle of the floor.
Remember the quote, Combeferre told himself. Remember your morals, damn it! For God's sake, even Courfeyrac knows better than that!
But even this argument, though usually enough to deter him from doing anything no matter how much he wanted to do it, could not stop him from edging closer and closer to Enjolras' phone. And finally, against his better judgement, he knelt beside the phone and pushed the home button. Immediately, he saw that a message had gone unanswered from 2 a.m. It was from Grantaire. Disgusted with his own deviousness, Combeferre opened the conversation, seeing that it had in fact gone on for almost two hours. He only dared so far as to read Grantaire's last message. It read:
When does the sun god sleep, if he spends the night fraternizing with mortals?
"Good morning." Combeferre nearly jumped out of his skin at the sound of Enjolras' drowsy voice. He looked up and saw Enjolras' azure eyes stare back at him, flit momentarily downward in the direction of the phone, and then back to hold Combeferre's gaze.
"Good morning." Combeferre tried his best not to stutter despite the rapid rhythm his heart was tapping out. "I was just checking to see if Joly had texted you his plans for the day. I want to meet up with him if I can."
"Well?"
"Nothing. But I'll text him on my way to class to try to find out."
"Ok."
Combeferre quickly got back to his feet and as he reached the threshold, he called back to Enjolras, "Sorry if I woke you up!"
"Combeferre." Enjolras' steadily calm tone froze Combeferre in his tracks.
"Yes?"
"Remember: The good must be innocent."
Remaining on the threshold, Combeferre replied, indignant at his own words being thrown in his face, "I'd advise you to do the same."
He could feel Enjolras' cold stare boring into his back as he walked into the hall and closed the door but he had to go. If he stayed in there one more minute, he would tell Enjolras everything and he knew this wasn't the right time to do that. Not just yet.
Walking down the hall and then two flights of stairs and eventually the street, Combeferre wondered how his relationship with his best friend had gone so downhill in a matter of hours for a man who neither had expressed a particular liking for.
A friendship divided cannot survive, he thought.
Once inside the cafe that was his goal, Combeferre greeted Feuilly who stood behind the counter, his face lighting up at the sight of his friend.
"Dzien dobry, Combeferre!" He exclaimed. Combeferre laughed.
"The same to you, Feuilly."
"So," Feuilly set off to get Combeferre his usual order of a decaf French vanilla latte and a blueberry muffin, "has dear Apollo been struck by an arrow yet?"
"Considering he's supposed to be the god of archery, I should hope not," Combeferre replied, a thin layer of ice coating his words. Feuilly shook his head.
"I can tell you Grantaire was practically ecstatic when he finally stumbled back to our room last night," Feuilly remarked, handing Combeferre his food. "He wouldn't turn off his damn phone for the world."
"I didn't think Enjolras would either except he fell asleep," Combeferre answered. Feuilly chuckled.
"You should tell Grantaire that yourself." Combeferre had no such intention. "I tried telling him when Enjolras stopped replying that even gods as well as poor students who have to get up and work at seven a.m. need to sleep." Feuilly stopped then added wistfully, "I had been asleep."
"Did he really keep you up until two a.m.?" Combeferre asked, pityingly. Feuilly barely got enough sleep as it was; his inebriate roommate's nocturnal habits were no help. Feuilly nodded sadly.
"Just when I had mastered the art of sleeping through his post-binge antics, too. Do I have Courfeyrac to thank for that?" Feuilly asked.
"No, I'm afraid he's innocent in this whole business for now," Combeferre said. "We'll be seeing you tonight, right?"
"To continue the liberation of the oppressed?" Feuilly pretended to ponder the notion. "Wouldn't miss it for the world."
"Are you sure about that?" Combeferre asked. Feuilly smirked.
"Maybe with the exception of Poland."
"That's more like it." Combeferre smiled. "Later."
"Later!"
As Combeferre opened the door to leave, he found his way blocked by two familiar faces.
"Courfeyrac! Grantaire!" Combeferre greeted them, not without a little surprise. "Allow me to welcome you to the world of those of us who get up before noon."
"Please don't," Courfeyrac grimaced. "It's a rather grim place, especially if you haven't yet slept."
"You too?" Combeferre asked, carefully glancing at Grantaire. "Did anyone sleep last night?"
"Did Enjolras?" Grantaire asked, his eyes desperate. Combeferre, pitying him, nodded.
"Yes, eventually Enjolras did fall asleep." Grantaire's sigh was barely visible, much less audible, except to Combeferre who had been anticipating a reaction of some sort. Courfeyrac, however, quicker than lightning, pulled out his wallet and fished out a ten.
"Grantaire, be a doll and grab me an iced coffee and get whatever you like for yourself," he said. Grantaire took the dollar bill, briefly pondered his options while looking back and forth between Courfeyrac and Combeferre and finally, less walked and more swung his body through the door of the cafe.
"Alright, Courfeyrac," Combeferre said, gently in an effort not to come off as angry or frustrated, "tell me, what's going on?" Courfeyrac opened his mouth wordlessly and shook his head. He was as clueless as Combeferre. "You have no idea either, do you?"
"I texted him last night to see what he was up to and he said he was on his way back to his room and that he had an important project to finish and wouldn't be able to talk with me for the rest of the night..." Courfeyrac paused. "Please tell me that by 'project', he meant 'Enjolras'."
"Sorry to disappoint." Combeferre replied flatly. The truth was, even he couldn't be sure.
"Where's your sense of romance, Combeferre?"
"It's 7:30 in the morning, Courfeyrac. Nothing is romantic." Combeferre responded in the same flat tone. Courfeyrac shook his head and looked down the street as if proof of early morning romance could be found there.
"Look who it is." Courfeyrac raised his eyebrows. Before Combeferre could look, he heard the voice of Enjolras call out "Hey!" and for a moment, Combeferre was paralyzed.
Disregarding any sort of overtures, Enjolras immediately asked Courfeyrac, "You'll be here at seven o'clock sharp tonight, right?"
"Not a minute later." Courfeyrac smiled at Enjolras' frankness.
"Good." Enjolras turned to Combeferre with only slight coldness. "You too?"
"Of course."
"Excellent. I'll see you both later then." Enjolras turned on his heel and walked into the cafe where Grantaire was trying to convince Feuilly that a few drops form his flask would increase the quality of Courfeyrac's coffee. Combeferre had been about to tell Enjolras to wait but Courfeyrac grabbed his by the wrist, spun him around, and made him look through the transparent door of the cafe.
"Look," Courfeyrac ordered, "what do you see?"
As Grantaire saw Enjolras approaching, he immediately shoved his flask back into the pocket of his coat but Enjolras still looked disapprovingly at him. They began to talk and Combeferre didn't need to hear them to know they were talking about last night. Grantaire put his hands in his pockets, leaned forward, and probably insinuated something because Enjolras glared at him. But Grantaire straightened up and continued to talk as he was wont to do and Enjolras appeared to genuinely be listening. Combeferre continued to watch their exchange for a minutes longer. He noticed they stood closer together than usual and eye contact was never broken between them. In the midst of the drunkard's stupor, his god came to him, closer than ever.
Can it be? Combeferre thought. Quickly, he glanced at Courfeyrac.
"Don't try to blame me for this. I didn't do a thing."
And looking back into the cafe where he and his friends had spoke of revolution so many times, Combeferre saw that there was in fact a revolution taking place.
(A/N: Well, is it worth continuing?)