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Combeferre leans against the back of the carriage and lets out a soft sigh as they roll along the road. Opposite him, Enjolras leans out the carriage window, trying his best to get a final glimpse of Marseille.
Two of the carriage wheels lurch over a rock in the road, one by one, and Combeferre's stomach turns. He doesn't know when he'll be back, and the thought scares him.
As the carriage rolls on and Marseille becomes a shadow in the distance, Enjolras settles into his seat and looks at Combeferre. "What do you think it'll be like?"
Combeferre stares at his lap and lets out a heavy sigh. He doesn't know what to say - he's never been to Paris before, and he has no idea what to expect. "My parents say it's loud and full of people, thousands more than there are at home. They said it stinks too, in some places, and there's many more buildings and fewer gardens."
The miles roll on and on, and Combeferre finds himself falling asleep as the sun begins to set. They reach a town, and Combeferre climbs out of the carriage as soon as it stops in front of an inn.
Enjolras follows him a moment later and pulls out a bag of coins. "Let me pay tonight. My parents gave me more than enough money for the journey."
Combeferre nods and follows him into the inn, and the driver follows them with Enjolras' trunk. The air inside is smoky and scented with tobacco and wine, and Combeferre barely keeps himself from sneezing as the innkeeper approaches them.
"How much for two rooms?" Enjolras asks, straightening up.
The innkeeper looks them over, then glances at the pouch of money. "Five francs each for the rooms, and two for dinner."
Enjolras makes a face, and Combeferre sighs, knowing they're being overcharged, but Enjolras hands the money over regardless. The innkeeper takes his time handing over the keys as the driver brings Combeferre's trunk inside as well.
Once they have the keys, Enjolras grabs his trunk and begins to drag it toward the stairs. Combeferre rushes to help, glancing behind him to see the driver and innkeeper carrying his trunk.
"Those two rooms at the end of the hall are yours. One has two beds," the innkeeper says as he sets Combeferre's trunk down.
Enjolras hands the driver one of the keys and steps into the larger room, and Combeferre follows quickly. They set Enjolras' trunk down at the end of one bed, and the driver drags Combeferre's trunk in and drops it at the foot of the other bed. "Thank you," Enjolras says, and the driver bows and leaves.
Combeferre sits down on his bed and sighs softly. "It feels nice to not be in motion, doesn't it?"
Enjolras laughs and nods as he takes a book from his trunk and settles in on his bed for the night.
The next few days pass in the same way, with long carriage rides in the day and staying at inns in the evening. Once, they hear gunshots and sounds of distress in the distance, but the driver simply speeds up, getting away from the robbers as fast as possible. On the morning of the last day, as they dress and Combeferre shaves, Enjolras sits beside him, wringing his hands and tapping his feet restlessly.
"What's wrong?" Combeferre asks as he holds the mirror up, doing his best to get a clean shave.
"Paris is going to be so different from home... You know I have never enjoyed such change," Enjolras says. He chews at his fingernails, and Combeferre sets the razor and mirror down carefully, wrapping his arm around his friend's shoulders instead.
"I know... I'll visit you on Sundays, and after classes as often as I can, I promise. I'm sure there will be other students who you'll get along with as well." Combeferre leans back and glances out the window, to see the sun well above the horizon. "We should pack our things and find our driver," he says, and Enjolras nods.
Combeferre finishes shaving and wipes his face clean, then packs his razor away. He changes clothes quickly and checks the room, ensuring that all his things are packed away, then lifts one side of his trunk and begins to drag it from the room. The driver appears at the bottom of the stairs as soon as Combeferre reaches the end of the hall.
"Oh, good, you're awake. I have the carriage ready." He hurries up the stairs and helps Combeferre carry his trunk down, then outside to the carriage.
Combeferre leans against the carriage once his trunk is secured, and watches the driver go back inside to help Enjolras. A young woman churning butter on the porch of a house across the road smiles at him and straightens up.
"Good morning, monsieur," she says, and Combeferre looks down, his face reddening. "Care for breakfast, monsieur?" she asks, raising her eyebrows as she stands.
Combeferre shakes his head quickly. "No, thank you, mademoiselle," he says, and Enjolras clears his throat, causing him to turn.
"Come on, Combeferre." The driver opens the door to the carriage, and Enjolras climbs in, a book in his hand.
Combeferre tips his hat to the young woman and follows Enjolras into the carriage. He pulls the door shut and leans back against his seat, sighing. "I can't believe we'll be in Paris tonight."
"Do you think we can go see Jean tomorrow?" Enjolras says.
Combeferre looks up at him and nods slowly. "We can... He might be busy, but I'm sure he'd make time for us." The carriage lurches into motion, and Enjolras settles into his seat.
Several hours pass in silence before the carriage stops at a boarding-house, and Enjolras stands. "I'll see you tomorrow, right?"
Combeferre nods, watching the driver take Enjolras' trunk off the back of the carriage. He should say something, but his throat suddenly feels sealed, and he simply watches Enjolras tuck his book away into his satchel.
Enjolras opens the door, then turns, hugging Combeferre tightly. "I'll miss you. It'll be strange not to be sleeping in the same room tonight," he says.
Combeferre wraps his arms around Enjolras and hugs him equally tightly, a soft, choked noise leaving his throat. "I'll come find you tomorrow, I promise."
Enjolras pulls away and exits the carriage, and Combeferre watches him lift the other side of the trunk and help the driver carry it into the boarding-house. Once Enjolras has disappeared, Combeferre leans out the door and looks around. The streets of Paris are crowded and stinking, and several people glance in Combeferre's direction as they pass the carriage. The driver reappears after a few minutes, and Combeferre pulls the door shut quickly.
Soon enough, they arrive at the medical school's boarding-house, and the driver stops. As soon as Combeferre exits the carriage, he hears a shout of excitement, and he turns to see Jean Prouvaire racing toward him, chased by a shorter man with black hair and a neatly trimmed mustache.
"JACQUES!" Jean Prouvaire shouts. Combeferre smiles and braces himself as Jean Prouvaire embraces him, but the impact still pushes him back against the carriage. "Oh, I was wondering when you would arrive, I've been waiting for days! This is Vitus Joly, by the way, he's my friend."
Combeferre smiles and gently pushes Prouvaire away, then holds his hand out to Joly. "Jacques Combeferre. It's very nice to meet you," he says.
Joly smiles in turn, and nods. "Let us help you with your trunk," he says, and Prouvaire nods.
"Yes, I have so many people for you to meet. Come along!"
Combeferre picks up one of the handles on his trunk, and Prouvaire takes the other. Joly hurries to open the door for them, and Combeferre enters the boarding-house, heart fluttering with nerves. The inside of the boarding-house is crowded, and Prouvaire is quick to lead Combeferre up the stairs to his room. It's small, only furnished with a bed, a desk, a small wardrobe, a washbasin, and a chamber pot.
Prouvaire sets the trunk at the foot of Combeferre's bed and smiles at him. "You can unpack later, but first you must come meet everyone!" He takes Combeferre's hand and leads him from the room, and Joly trails after them, listening to Prouvaire talk about everyone he's met in Paris.
Combeferre glances back at Joly and smiles. "So, where are you from?" he asks.
Joly blinks, apparently startled. "Oh, I'm from Toulouse... Jean told me that you're also from Marseille, and that it's nice there..."
Combeferre nods and smiles slightly. "Tell me about Toulouse?" Joly smiles and begins to speak at length, and Prouvaire falls silent as well, both listening as he goes on about his home.
~~~
Enjolras wakes early the next morning and blinks in confusion. It takes him a moment to remember where he is, and when he does, he sits up and sighs. The bed isn't as comfortable as his bed at home, or any of the beds in the inns where he and Combeferre had stayed, and he feels stiff and tired. He stretches and feels his joints pop.
The sun is already rising when he opens the shutters on his windows, and the city is beginning to wake. He washes quickly and dresses, and makes his way outside. His classes won't start for another day, and that means he has time to explore. He buttons up his coat and hurries out of the boarding-house before any of the other students can stop him to talk.
The rising sun warms his face as he makes his way down the street. A bakery nearby opens its door, and Enjolras hurries inside. "One chausson aux pommes, please," he says, and a young woman - presumably the baker's daughter - hands one over, smiling at him. Enjolras takes the pastry and thanks her as he pays.
"You're very welcome, monsieur," she says, leaning against the counter as she counts the coins.
He turns and makes his way out of the bakery and sits at a table outside, observing the people of Paris as he eats. They seem to be much more eclectic than the people he is used to in Marseille, and as he watches a group of factory workers make their way down the street, Enjolras finds himself feeling small and overwhelmed. He is one man in a city of what surely must be more than a million, under a sky choked by chimneys and smoke.
At home, in Marseille, he has friends and cousins to lean on, and he wishes for a moment that he was back there, racing and swimming and riding with Combeferre and his cousins, Jean and Alexandre. He looks down at the pastry in his hands and takes a deep breath, then begins to eat again. He needs to find a way to make Paris his home - he will be here, primarily, for the next few years at least. He will become a lawyer and follow in his father's footsteps, advocating for the downtrodden of France.
He should make the most of his situation and embrace Paris, but the stench of smoke and too many people stuffed into too small a space seems to choke him. He should have ordered a cup of tea as well. The door of the bakery opens to reveal the baker's daughter, who asks him if he would like anything else, an inscrutable look in her eyes. Enjolras simply shakes his head, and the girl returns to the building, seeming disappointed.
Enjolras wonders at her reaction, unsure of what she had truly meant, but the girl is forgotten only a moment later as he watches a gaggle of children run down the street, faces hollowed and serious. The boy at the front holds a loaf of bread, and Enjolras looks the way they came to see a man beginning to chase the children. Before he can reach them, though, the children have vanished into the crowd.
After finishing his breakfast and more than a few minutes of walking, he finds an already-busy cafe and enters. "Well, that's convenient," a familiar voice says, and Enjolras looks around in confusion before his eyes land on Jean Prouvaire, standing by the stairs. He hurries across the room and looks up the stairs. "What are you doing here?"
"Meeting some friends. Combeferre is up there already, you know." Enjolras feels his eyes widen, and he glances between his cousin and the room upstairs. "Would you like to come join us?"
Enjolras nods, and Jean leads him up the stairs to a small back room. The sound of raucous voices and the smell of coffee and wine flood Enjolras' senses as they enter the room.
"Everyone, meet my cousin, Aurelien Enjolras," Jean says, and every man in the room turns to look at him, causing Enjolras to shrink behind his cousin.
Combeferre quickly hurries to his side. "How was your night?" he asks, and Enjolras smiles nervously.
"It was alright, I suppose," he says as Combeferre leads him to a table. "The boarding-house is so loud."
Before Enjolras can sit, Jean pulls him away. "Let me introduce you to everyone!"
Enjolras frowns and looks back at Combeferre as Jean drags him to a different table. "This is Jolllly, my friend, and his... close friend, L'aigle, and my close friend, Grantaire."
"My name is really Lesgles, or Lesgle, or Legle," L'aigle says, and Enjolras casts him a confused look. Joly, Grantaire, and Jean all laugh, though, so Enjolras thinks it must be some sort of joke he doesn't understand. Lesgle simply laughs and refills his glass, then swirls the wine around.
Enjolras bows politely to the three men and turns away. "I wish to speak with Combeferre again, Jean." Jean lets him go, and Enjolras hurries back to Combeferre's side. "May I have some of your coffee?" he asks, knowing the answer before Combeferre can even speak.
"Yes, of course," he says. Enjolras is already pouring himself a cup of coffee.
"He does look considerably like you, dear," a voice says from behind him. Enjolras turns to see Grantaire watching him thoughtfully, and he frowns. Prouvaire has sat beside the man, and seemingly embraced him, watching him as well.
He glances at the other men, whose names he's already forgotten. The taller one with thinning hair leans over and whispers into Grantaire's ear, and Grantaire guffaws.
Enjolras' face flushes and he looks away quickly, gulping down his coffee. "Can we go walk, please," he whispers to Combeferre, trying to stop himself from tapping his feet.
Combeferre nods, and they stand as one. "It was nice to meet you, gentlemen," Combeferre says as he bows.
Enjolras simply nods in agreement and adjusts his hat. He doesn't like or understand the way Grantaire and the unnamed muscular man are looking at him, as if he were a piece of meat.
Combeferre grabs his cane, and Jean frowns at them. "Why are you leaving so soon? We have no classes today, and for you two, they haven't even begun for the year."
"I simply feel a bit overwhelmed," Enjolras says.
Jean shakes his head. "Stay, please! Fortuna herself guided you here to the Cafe Musain, I am sure."
Enjolras wavers, then looks at Combeferre. "What do you think?"
Combeferre thinks for a moment himself, then sets his cane back in the umbrella stand by the door. "Let's stay and acquaint ourselves with some fellow students, shall we? Have you been introduced to Bahorel yet? He fought in the riots of... 1820 or 1822, I can't quite remember which." He gestures to the muscular man, who tips his hat.
"As he has said, I am Bahorel. I hail from Frontignan, where my father hails from as well. My parents are peasants, but I have found that life to be unsuitable for myself."
Enjolras frowns, giving the taller man a somewhat wary look. "Do you think that peasants are... lesser, then?"
Bahorel shakes his head quickly. "No, my friend, do not worry. That life is simply not for me. I am simply much better suited to the life of a student."
"And never a lawyer!" L'aigle and Grantaire shout in chorus, raising their glasses.
Bahorel looks at the other men and laughs. "Exactly, my friends!" He feigns a toast, and L'aigle and Grantaire continue to laugh as they toss back their wine.
Bahorel turns back to Enjolras and smiles. "So, you are also la Marseillaise, just as our beloved Jean Prouvaire, I take it." Enjolras nods and carefully follows Bahorel to the table where the rest of the men sit. "Tell me then, what are your views on 1790? Positive, I assume." Bahorel grins and glances at Jean, who looks away and mutters something into his wine glass.
"Of course. The revolution was necessary, and it is a crime against France herself that we find ourselves ruled by a king once again. Just this morning, I saw starving children and downtrodden working men, while the king sits in his palace, well-fed and never having to work for himself. It's cruel and unfair, and I was taught that all men ought to be equal."
Bahorel raises his glass to that statement, and Enjolras finds himself smiling as a glass of wine is placed before him. "Tell us more, my friend," Bahorel says.
Enjolras' smile only widens, as he is continually prompted by the other men to go on and on about his beliefs. Combeferre is prompted to speak a few times as well, as any newcomer might be, and Enjolras begins to feel warm, as if he were glowing. Perhaps life in Paris won't be as bad as he had imagined.