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attendance doe(sn’t) count
This was the debate and now Bahorel didn’t want to here it. School was stupid. Lawyering was ridiculous. All he wanted to do was be allowed to do as he pleased but Enjolras was acting like a father Bahorel had not asked for and he was done with it. “Just shut the fuck up.”
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"What's your name..?"
“Claudia…” She muttered back as her blue hues shined with curiosity. “And yours, monsieur?” She questioned back, studying him.
hewassavage
Another meeting, nothing too special than to discuss further actions. But there was wine, there was friends, and there was Enjolras. Clopin was always the last one to arrive, he made sure of that. No one could ever see him coming from the harbor. He looked in a window and tried to clean himself up as best he could before heading inside.
It felt normal. He was greeted and quickly handed the bottle of wine before Grantaire had the rest of it. Clopin remained friendly until he got to Enjolras where he as usual was extra friendly.
"Your hair is exceptionally shiny today. How do you do it?" He reached to twirl one of the blonde's curls before he gave a laugh.
✣
[text] i love him more than i can even put into words
[text] yes. even in my pretentious poems that are filled with symbols that represent symbolic symbols
[text] and i'm terrified he doesn't feel completely the same like what if i drive him away accidentally and what if he leaves he can't leave no
[text] this is just paranoia isn't it?
{Closed}
Jehan didn't like coffee, that was a known fact to anyone that knew him. It wasn't anything important. Despite his lack of proper sleep – inspiration could and would strike at any time – he got by with the caffeine from tea. Which was not a problem until the day came that the poet actually managed to run out of tea. Well, that statement was slightly untrue, he had decaf tea, but that would surely do him no good. Before he found himself fretting too much, Jehan remembered that he often passed a coffee shop. And most coffee shops had tea, did they not?
So that was how Jehan Prouvaire found himself in a coffee shop, getting the only tea that they had – which, frankly, turned out to be disgusting. What wasn't so disgusting, to his delight, was the barista that had served him. In fact, Jehan would go as far as to say that he was actually rather attractive and that even though he loathed to think too much about a person based on looks, he really wouldn't mind at least getting to know him.
And that was how a tradition began. Every day, despite having his own tea at home, and despite being a broke poet, he stopped by that coffee shop at approximately the same exact time. Some days he got tea, some days he got the cheapest coffee there was – it really didn't matter. He just wanted an excuse to look at his new muse – and yes, the man had become almost an instant muse, Jehan finding himself easily filling pages about this barista whom he knew next to nothing about. After a few days, instead of just getting the drink and leaving, he would sit in the shop for up to a good half hour, waxing poetic about this man in the pages of his notebook or, on occasion, catching himself simply staring. Perhaps Jehan was a hopeless Romantic in both senses of the term, but it didn't bother him, and the barista didn't seem to notice. Thus, there was absolutely nothing wrong with his dreamings and his fantasies, even though they did make his small amount of extra cash even less than it usually was.
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