𝑻𝑯𝑬 𝑷𝑹𝑶𝑷𝑯𝑬𝑪𝒀 || 𝐄𝐧𝐣𝐨𝐥𝐫𝐚𝐬

04. 𝑳𝒂 𝑭𝒊𝒍𝒍𝒆 𝑸𝒖𝒊 𝑫𝒐𝒓𝒕 𝑱𝒂𝒎𝒂𝒊𝒔

Chapter 4

✎ᝰ

December 15th, 1831.

"WHO WANTS TO get hammered?" Grantaire stood from his place at the table right after Enjolras had stopped talking. Everyone, but Enjolras raised his hand.

"Buzzkill." Courfeyrac rolled his eyes.

Elizabeth stopped coming to the cafe during the day, as did Enjolras. They were both fearful they'd run into each other again. They ignored each other completely now, not even bothering to look into each other eyes. Scared even a moment of weakness would start a fight.

The snow crunched underfoot as Elizabeth led the way through the softly falling flakes, laughter spiraling around her like the smoke from the chimneys above.

Behind her, Grantaire walked with a lazy swagger, his hands tucked deeply into the pockets of his thick coat.

The rest of the group followed, animated conversations buzzing through the cold air, but Enjolras lagged several paces behind, his brow furrowed and his sharp gaze set on the slick pavement beneath his feet.

"Come on, Grantaire! You're supposed to be the one who knows where we're going," Elizabeth called over her shoulder. Grantaire chuckled.

"Oh, but navigating through a blizzard to a bar is an art form, dear Eliza," he shot back, twirling dramatically, one hand spread wide as if conducting an orchestra. "A delicate balance of wit, charm, and just the right amount of liquor!"

Elizabeth laughed, and the light danced in her eyes. "Then lead on, Maestro! Your symphony awaits!"

As they entered the bar, Elizabeth kicked the snow from her boots and shook off the cold, the heat inside enveloping her like a warm embrace.

She wove her way to a table in the corner, nudging Grantaire to follow, while Marius quickly snatched a chair for her.

The rest of their comrades settled around, finding their spots at the rickety wooden table.

She raised her hand to summon the bartender, her expression one of mock solemnity. "We shall toast to revolution! And to the unsung heroes named in my book!"

The laughter echoed, but as drinks were served, an undercurrent of curiosity began to surface.

"Speaking of your book, Eliza," Marius began, leaning forward, "when will we finally get to see this masterpiece?"

"Yeah!" Courfeyrac chimed in, sloshing the beer in his mug, eyes gleaming with mischief. "Why do you keep it such a secret? I'd love to see how you've immortalized my ruggedly handsome face!"

Elizabeth smirked, swirling the amber liquid in her glass, her lips brushing the rim. "Oh dear comrades, I fear the world is not ready for your dreadful antics captured in prose," she teased. "Your mishaps could give Victor Hugo a run for his money."

Grantaire snorted, taking a deep gulp of his drink. "Give Hugo a run for his money? No, he'd need to be a trained sprinter. You, my darling Firecracker, simply explode with brilliance."

"Firecracker?" Elizabeth raised an eyebrow, her lips curling into an amused grin. "Clever, Grantaire. I do like the sound of that."

"Cheers to the Firecracker!" the group unified, their glasses raised high, and Elizabeth couldn't help but revel in their camaraderie.

As the evening unfolded, Elizabeth found herself more intoxicated than she had planned, the drinks melding with her laughter until they were indistinguishable. The warmth spread through her limbs, adding a delightful glow to her cheeks, and the conversations swirled around her like the snow outside.