Work Text:
France was no different from his own nation. Hunger plagued the city. Discontent was evident amongst the people. The poor continued to become poorer, the wealthy, richer. It made Simoun think about his own mother land. Home sickness washed over him. But memories of his own nation included memories of his own misfortunes. Ah, but he must steel himself. All in due time, he thought… in due time. (But at the back of his mind, he wondered what Maria Clara was doing, he remembered how Elias took the bullets intended for him, those people who shunned him away and betrayed him…)
Simoun finally found the café. A child gave him the directions when he asked a child a place in the city where he can drink. It turned out Café Musain was also a place where young students gathered. It reminded him of when he was studying in Spain.
A blond, blue eyed student who wore a red coat stood in the middle of the café and called for everyone’s attention. “Citizens!” he called out.
Simoun sat at the far end corner of the café and decided to listen. The blond student talked about freedom, patriotism, justice… revolution. Elias, Simoun immediately thought. The young man was just like his dear friend who had sacrificed his own life for him. The blond student’s name was Enjolras. He was charming and charismatic. He had this certain way to attract people towards him.
Just after Enjolras’ speech, the dark haired man situated at the table beside him stood up, a bottle of wine still on his hand and drunkenly started his own speech of criticism. Simoun saw Enjolras’ expression change.
“Grantaire, put that bottle down!”
Simoun observed the students interact around him. Another had definitely caught his attention. Marius Pontmercy, Simoun thought wryly, was just like him when he was younger. Passionate about the love of his life…
When Enjolras finally announced that the meeting was over, one by one, the students walked out of the café. Simoun decided to stay behind. He had completely forgotten about his drink. And besides, he had just arrived in Paris… he still had no idea where to find proper lodgings.
“Monsieur, you seem to be new here.” Simoun slowly looked up. Enjolras was standing in front of him.
“Ahh, yes… I am quite new here in Paris.” He gave the blond student a smile, “You are a great speaker Monsieur.” Speaking French felt very new and foreign. He was not used to it.
“A foreigner then…”
“I am a traveler. Mostly around Europe and America…” He removed his tinted glasses and tucked it inside his coat. “I came from the Philippines, though.”
“Philippines… a Spanish colony in South East Asia.” Enjolras said.
--
Enjolras sat on the vacant chair in front of Simoun. They talked and had started an exchange of ideas about the pros and cons of a revolution. It’s been a while since Simoun had talked to anyone about it and this… it had definitely given him some sort of relief.
Simoun had managed to slip bits and pieces of his own personal life during their conversation. He knew it was dangerous, but something tells him that the revolutionary in front of him can be trusted.
“You remind me of him.” Simoun said sadly.
“Your friend Elias?”
“He had a mind and fervor like yours.”
“From what you have said, your ideals are the same as your friend.”
“Now, yes. But before that… I was a naïve young man.” A blind man, Simoun mentally added.
“But still, you believe in something…” Enjolras sighed. He seemed to be in deep thought. Simoun knew they had just moved past from what they were talking about.
“The cynic?” Simoun asked.
Enjolras looked at him surprised, “How…?”
“I may be new here. But it’s not hard to notice. You are talking about the man who talked after your own speech.”
“The only thing he does is get drunk and disagree with everything I say.” Enjolras said, “I don not understand why he still stay here if he does not believe in anything.”
Another interesting character, Simoun thought. “Let me tell you something. That man… keep him close.”
Enjolras gave him a frown.
“Cynics… they test our minds. They challenge us. They keep us sharper.”
--
Simoun stayed in Paris for another month before he decided to move and travel once again. But before he left France, he did not forget to leave a letter addressed to Enjolras.
--
Years later, Simoun found out Enjolras and his friends were killed by the French National Guards during a failed revolution. But somehow, Simoun knew, from the direction he was heading… he would surely meet Enjolras and Elias once again.