I come to fight. Or at least, to listen.

Chapter three

 Chapter 3

~One Day More~

Evelyn started to feel the waves of sleep washing over her.  The adrenaline supplied by the argument with Enjolras only sustained her for so long. She shouted out to the few men still awake, "What time is it?" Among them was Joly, Coufeyrac, Combeferre, and Enjolras. She had gotten to know each man at least by name by then. 

"Half-past midnight," Combeferre answered.

Evelyn's eyes widened at the time, as did most of men, except for Enjolras. He was too engrossed in his writing. 

He sat at a table empty except for a stack of paper and an inkwell. He held the quill in his right hand, his elbow set on the table. His left hand was buried in his blond locks, dragging his head down a little. His scarlet jacket was unbuttoned, along with his vest and the first four buttons of his shirt. His dark blond brows creased together in frustration, and his pen was almost jerking across the page. Evelyn wondered what he was writing. Before she could ask, he crumpled up the page and tossed with the other balls that had accumulated over the night. Joly spoke to Enjolras, putting his hand on his shoulder, "Enjolras, maybe it's time to retire for the night. We have preparations to make. You need to rest." Joly made sure to put extra emphasis on the last part, he knew his friend would run himself dead if nobody stopped him. Enjolras sighed and began to pack up his things.

Evelyn finished the last cartidge and headed for the door. She bid goodbye to each man with a smile; she had genuinely enjoyed their company. Before she reached the bottom of the stairwell she heard the marble man himself speak at last. From a few steps above Evelyn he spoke, "Do you really intend on walking alone at this hour?"

"Yes," Evelyn answered, continuing her trip down the stairs and out the front door of the cafe. She could handle herself. She was not accustomed to the attention that bourgeois men gave to their women, and therefore did not expect nor know how to respond to the gesture. 

"Mademoiselle," Enjolras started with a soft tone, "I do not think it safe for a lady like you to be wandering the streets of Paris at night alone." Enjolras hoped he wasn't coming across as romantically interested. He had no time for affairs, as his mistress was Patria-- France. In the back of his mind, a dark thought nagged his mind: in truth, he was afraid of losing the one he loved. In all reality, he knew he wasn't going to make it for long after this rebellion: he would either die at the barricade or rot in jail and was determined to not put anybody at a position to grieve him.

Evelyn's acceptance jolted him out of his thoughts. 

Before they started walking, Enjolras  handed his red coat to Evelyn. She hesitated to take it at first, as if she were unsure what to do with it, but she then put it on. 

The scarlet coat enveloped her petite frame, the cuffs completely covering her hands. She continued to roll the sleeves up and straighten the jacket in an attempt to make it look less costumish. Enjolras would have laughed at the sight if she were not such a serious man, so instead the corner of his mouth twitched. 

Enjolras offered his left arm, and her right slipped into the crook of it. They headed down Saint-Denis in quiet, which was fine with Enjolras. 

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Evelyn broke the silence when they were half-way to her apartment. "So explain to me the details of this rebellion, monsieur." Evelyn knew she could cheer Enjolras up like this. Since they had left the Cafe they had walked in silence, the only sound the click his boots on the cobble-stone. His face wore an expression of a blend between determination and frustration, his eyes a mild blue-grey. She figured she at least owed him the happiness of talking about his passion after shaming him in front of les Amis.