Chapter Text
The chandelier dripped light like molten gold over rich men in expensive suits and women in beaded silk dresses. The orchestra played a quiet waltz. It wasn’t quiet, but the indistinct chatter was louder. The Great War was in full swing in Europe, and yet over here, socialites danced in opulence and grandeur.
Men in suits with crisp white ties, hair glued to their scalps with an obscene amount of pomade waltzed with women in lace dresses. Those women were hardly ever their wives. That was common knowledge as well. It disgusted Julien. That men would go around with women half their age and leave their wives who so often had to use copious amounts of powder to cover their bruises alone with hardly any rights that any human should have been granted.
It also disgusted Julien that while young men were dying on the Western Front all the way in France, the people whom he was raised with and forced to associate with cared so little that they drank the finest wine and ate caviar more expensive than the ordinary person’s shoes.
But Julien could never say anything.
He picked up a glass of champagne from a server, nodding curtly, before receding to one of the corners. The champagne was foul, but everyone drank it. He never understood why champagne, of all things, was such a staple of high society. But alas, it was.
The only person Julien found solace in was his sister, Euphrasie. Though she was given the nickname of ‘Cosette’. According to their mother, it meant ‘little thing’ in French. Euphrasie was always at these events. She loathed the people, but loved the fashion. She’d break down the latest trends for Julien, stand in the corner with him and comment on the designers of every single person’s attire with passion Julien never knew existed. Euphrasie was engaged in conversation with a man in an expensive suit. Julien had seen this man before, though he couldn’t begin to remember where that was. Julien tapped on Euphrasie’s shoulder.
“Ah! Mon fère! I didn’t see you there.” She smiled at him with those big green eyes. The kind of smile that only Cosette could ever give him. Full of some sort of mischief. Julien instantly knew that something was up. “I’d like you to meet my boyfriend, Marius Pontmercy.” She gestured at the man. He had brown hair that was clearly straining against the pomade, and warm brown eyes and an awkward smile. Julien began to reach his and out to shake Marius’s, but that’s when he realised exactly what Euphrasie had referred to him as.
Her boyfriend.
“Boyfriend? Euphrasie! You never told me of a boyfriend!”
“I wanted you to get acquainted with him tonight. He’s quite lovely, Julien. If only you two would talk, I find that you have much in common.”
“And if I do not like him?”
“Then I will not count your opinion, monsieur.”
Of course. Euphrasie truly was a free spirit. And Julien loved that. She had always been like that. Even as a young child, she had always enjoyed being outdoors, and had ruined more than a few dresses in the mud. When she wasn’t playing around in the field, she was reading. She would read stories, mostly. But when she’d finished all of those, she went to their father’s library and smuggled books to read to satisfy her cravings.
Their father was a man who held strong opinions about women. Those opinions were far from positive. Felix Tholomyès believed that Euphrasie being educated would mean that her children would be born defective. To him, a woman’s place was where her husband wanted her to be. And any good husband would want her to be in the home, with their many male children. Julien and Euphrasie’s mother believed that to merely exist, one could be passive and fill out the roles assigned by society. But to live in this world, one had to carve out their own path.
Julien and Euphrasie were only beginning to understand what their mother meant by that.
Fantine was a woman with low societal status, but had a brain sharper than any of the men who sat in the Capitol. She would tell them all stories of her parents and grandparents and stories they’d passed down from their homelands in Africa. She told them they did everything they could to keep this culture alive, and that Julien and Euphrasie had to as well.
When Fantine died, Julien and Euphrasie were only around seven. They were both devastated, but what hurt more was how quickly Tholomyès wanted the twins to move on. Her name was never brought up. All the photos of her were moved to the attic along with her clothes and anything else that belonged to her. As if she had never existed.
It was around this time that Euphrasie started going missing more often. Julien knew where she was going; to meet the quiet businessman who lived in Greenwich Village. His name was Jean Valjean, which Julien thought was an objectively odd name, but he was a kind man anyhow.
Euphrasie never stopped meeting him. On the occasions when he and Julien had crossed paths, he’d been a pleasant man who cared for Euphrasie dearly. Anyone who cared for Euphrasie was someone Julien cared for as well. Valjean would call Euphrasie Cosette. The only people who ever called her that were Fantine and Julien. She never told anybody else about her nickname, but she told Valjean. Julien soon found out that Valjean was in fact one of Fantine’s close friends.
For some reason, Julien never met him when Fantine was alive.
And now at the party, Euphrasie was back to her normal self. ‘Normal’ was a strong word, but Euphrasie usually was free spirited and joyous in every facet of life. And it was infectious as well. That was something Julien would never admit to.
But Euphrasie was caught up with Marius, which meant that Julien’s only anchor at the party was gone. He made his way to the exit. He lived on Fifth Avenue, in his own apartment. It was smaller than Felix’s, but it was still very much the apartment of a rich male heir. This party was only a few blocks away, so if he wanted to go home he could. But Julien wasn’t really tired yet.
Some of his university friends recommended a place on the Lower East Side. A bar. It wasn’t really legal, apparently, since most of the people who went there weren’t the kinds of people whom legislators liked. But that added to the thrill, did it not?
He took an El. It would take over an hour to walk, and that was time Julien didn’t have. By the time he got there, the bars were alive with music and dancing and chatter that Julien actually wanted to engage in. He took his black coat off, tying the fabric around his waist. A tuxedo felt out of place over here. He ran his fingers through his hair, the pomade was already wearing off a bit, with sweat and wear.
The place his friends recommended was right around the corner. A bit secluded, but it looked normal enough. The sign above it simply said ‘Café Musain’. There was a single lightbulb above, casting more shadow than it did light. Julien pushed the oak door open to reveal a thin corridor of particularly steep stairs leading down into a basement, and another door.
Behind the second door was a bar. The floors were tiled, scuffed from shoes and tables moving around constantly. People chattered and clinked glasses. A woman in a tuxedo was at the piano playing a jazz piece, cigar hanging from her lips. Men danced with men, and women danced with women, something which no one would be caught dead doing at one of Felix’s parties.
Julien made his way to the bar, asking for a whiskey. He admittedly knew little of alcohol. He’d hardly ever drank any. The taste of the golden liquid was foul, and the smell was even worse. But still, he downed the whole thing.
Julien felt a tap on his shoulder. He turned around to see a man who looked around his age, maybe a bit older, wearing a grey-brown tweed suit with an ugly green scarf around his neck. The man, however, was far from ugly. He had wavy black hair and hazel eyes with a bit of stubble around his cheeks. He was, in Julien’s mind, very attractive.
“I’ve never seen you around here.” The man said. His accent was quite different, slightly Spanish, slightly French, slightly American and very sexy. “Can I buy you a drink?”
Julien realised he was staring a bit. Well, a bit was an understatement. He got absolutely lost in the man’s eyes. They were green, with specks of brown which looked like gold leaf. Julien nodded. “Yes, if it wouldn’t be much of a hassle for you.” He didn’t really want any more alcohol; he was already feeling slightly lightheaded; but how could he refuse an offer from someone who looked like the man right in front of him? The man grinned.
“What would you prefer?”
“Whiskey?”
The man nodded, before asking the waiter for the drink, before turning back to Julien. “So, what brings you to such a degenerate place?” The man gestured around at the surroundings. It wasn’t by any means as refined as one of Felix’s parties, but neither was it degenerate. Though people in the bar clearly weren’t heterosexual. Maybe that’s what he meant by ‘degenerate’.
“Some friends of mine recommended it to me. He said it would do me some good to loosen up a little bit. I suppose they were right.” Julien’s expression darkened. “Though if they told me you’d be here, I wouldn’t have needed convincing.”
“Flirting already, are you?”
“So what if I am?”
“You really don’t belong here, you know? I know your type. All you want is cheap liquor and a bit of entertainment for the night before you scurry back to your Fifth Avenue penthouses and champagne galas. Am I right or am I right?”
Julien downed the rest of his whiskey, before standing up to face the man. Julien was at least a head taller than him, if not a bit more. “And what makes you think that?”
“That suit of yours. The way you hold that glass as though everyone is watching. Need I even mention that watch on your hand? You reek of money.”
“And yet here I am, talking to you. If I wanted cheap entertainment I wouldn’t be talking to some random person in the corner of a bar. If I wanted cheap drinks I’d be drunk off my mind by now, and yet the only thing that’s caught my attention tonight is you. And I don’t even know your name.”
The man snorts. “You’ve clearly been reading too much. You sound like you’re quoting Kant with every word you say.”
“I personally find Kant’s beliefs to be quite repulsive. The categorical imperative makes as much sense as the sky being green. So do not insult me by comparing myself to someone of such a mind.” It was true that Julien thought Kantian philosophy was simply senseless. He’d come to a consensus that most philosophers had too much time on their hands and couldn’t come up with ideas that made any sense whatsoever. To Julien, deontology was idiotic.
“So the rich boy can quote his philosophers then?” The man spat back.
“I used to want to study it.”
“You clearly have the money to even consider such a career.”
“I don’t believe in Kant, or your rules, or any of those stupid little categories they try to stuff us into. I believe in tearing it all the fuck down, so don’t look at me like I don’t understand anything, because trust me, I fucking do.”
The man rolled his eyes, but nodded, as if he could see it, that Julien did understand things. “Fine. Well, before you waste any more breath on me, my name is Grantaire. My first name is for me to know and you to not. And yes, it’s French. I’m a painter.”
“A painter is a far more respectable career than a politician,” Julien shrugged. “I’ve yet to meet one who actually cares about the people. But every artist I have met understands the struggle of the common man. Something I can’t say I do.”
“Do you just turn everything into some sort of political, philosophical lecture?”
“I have far too much free time.”
“Clearly. Well, you know my name, so now it’s only fair I know yours, or I could continue referring to you as ‘the rich boy’, if you so please?”
Julien shook his head, grinning. A real grin, this time. He couldn’t give the man his real name. Julien was the name of a corrupt politician’s son. The Tholomyès name was nothing short of unfathomably shameful. His mother, however, was Fantine Enjolras. Enjolras. It was a lovely name. Enjolras was the name he’d go by then.”
He exhaled. “Enjolras. My name is Enjolras.”