Swear By The Stars

Chapter Eight

Jean's flat was in a greater pandemonium than usual: books lay scattered, clothes were slung over his desk, shelves and bed like wilted flowers. He emerged from the closet, another small handful of coins clutched in his fist. He dropped them over his slight pile of money on his pillow and counted the currency once again only to find that he still did not have enough. 

 Jehan criticized himself. Surely any other man would have managed to scrape up enough for a ring, but he found himself lacking the funds to buy one. Of all the things he could provide for his future wife, he felt desperately ashamed that a ring couldn't be one of them. He examined his pocket watch, which was ridden with scratches and cracks but still bore an accurate depiction of the time. He was due at the Café Musain to offer his presence before he had to leave.  

Conceding defeat, Jehan straightened his collar and dusted off his coat before leaving his flat. Before departing, he hesitated and looked around the room. It was strange to think that soon, he would be a married man, that Sylvia might reside with him in this very home of his.  

He was nervous, who would he be to say that he wasn't? The idea of the wedding felt intangible to his mind, but there were many reasons to be nervous. Things would change from there onward, but he hoped they would change for the better. 

 The outside world seemed so foreign to Jehan all of a sudden. His hands shook and his breaths were deep and taken heavily. His palms were slickened and refused to dry no matter how brashly he wiped them across his black trousers.

Would Sylvia be disappointed in the lack of a ring, or a ball gown of diamond white with thousands of yards of silk and lace, a grand cake reaching up towards the sky or an orchestra playing romantic melodies to dance to? Jehan so often felt guilt at the knowledge that another man could easily give such amenities to Sylvia without any strife. He had little more to offer than a poem on a parchment page and a fistful of yellow and violet wildflowers and he feared that he would never have anything more to give. 

 Upon entering the café, he was greeted by the rambunctious Courfeyrac that pulled him into his arms and swung him around as if he weighed nothing. This particular action always perplexed Jehan for two reasons: first, that Courfeyrac would bother to lift him as some might find it odd to see one man lifting another; second, that Courfeyrac could lift him as Courfeyrac was a great deal shorter than Jehan. No matter, Jehan accepted the lad's rambunctious display of affection. Courfeyrac had a knack for behaving as an older sibling to seemingly lost children, Gavroche being the first, Jehan, despite Courfeyac being only eighteen, a year younger than Jehan, and most recently, Patria. However, Courfeyrac had to inform Enjolras that his amiable nature towards Patria was purely platonic. Enjolras had tried to be subtle upon asking Courfeyrac, but the young man knew immediately why the questions were being asked. 

 "Why do you look so down, my precious poet?" Courfeyrac asked as he put a now very dizzy Jehan upon the ground. He wasn't sure how he would tell them that he was engaged. The plans had been made so hastily that he had told no one outside of Benoît. He had only come to the cafe to explain to Enjolras that he wasn't going to be able to attend the meeting tonight. As he meet Courfeyrac's imploring stare, he could not decide whether or not to tell them. These young men were the brothers and caretakers he often felt that he didn't deserve. He owed it to them to speak the truth, they were as important to his life as Sylvia was. 

"I-" He wasn't sure which words to use for a moment and the sentence hung in midair. Enjolras deigned to look up from his flyers and Combeferre adjusted his glasses, intent to listen etched across his face. "I'm engaged."  

Courfeyrac released a loud whoop and pulled Jehan into another rambunctious embrace. Combeferre gasped with surprise while Enjolras only raised a curious eyebrow.