CHAPTER VI
Petit Déjeuner

THE THREE OF you collected at a quaint table inside of Le Boulangerie. There was room for little else than the practical feast in front of you, which occupied every square inch of the table save for the silverware and plates. To your right, raindrops slid down the window, smooth little waterfalls racing against each other while keeping you all company... or, in the very least, casting an interesting light against the lot of you.

"What made you come to this part of town, Gavroche?" Courfeyrac asked, his face glistening from the distorted pricks of light from the rainy window.

"I was looking for my sister," Gavroche said through a full mouth, the crumbs from his now-eaten pastry nesting on his chin. Courfeyrac used his napkin to wipe off some frosting from the boy's cheek and clean his face. Gavroche offered a grateful smile as his heels kicked the legs of his chair, as he was a little too small for his feet to rest against the floor. "Figured she'd be with Marius— but since it's raining..."

"You wouldn't want to catch a cold," you nodded, taking a forkful of your meal as though you'd understood.

Courfeyrac cleared his throat a little. While he knew Gavroche couldn't care less about catching a cold (though his boy getting ill was one of Courfeyrac's worst nightmares), he knew Gavroche would rather stay with him during a storm. Poor Gavroche was still afraid of thunder, after all.

"Are you enjoying your meal, Gavroche?" Courfeyrac asked, already finished with his own breakfast. He did plan on conversing with you for more than only a few minutes, though— part of him hoped that you would be so willing to spend the entire day with him. If your schedule permitted it, of course.

"Absolutely— tastes better than heaven," Gavroche breathed as he gulped down another mouthful. He seemed so focused on the pastry in front of him that all other conversation went over his head— and you couldn't help but chuckle just a little.

The three of you sat in silence for a few moments. Pattering rain, clanking forks, and background chatter seemed to be the only sounds buzzing in your ears... After a moment, however, you found yourself smiling over at Courfeyrac, catching his gaze while both of you ate away at the meal in front of you.

The exchange was silent at first. The two of you made eye contact, and you found your cheeks spreading into a smile before you turned back to your plate— though funnily enough, Courferyac's gaze seemed to be glued to your face, as though it was an art piece he'd been meant to adore.

"Do you want to know what's really interesting, Mademoiselle?" Courfeyrac inquired, shifting his weight onto his forearms and leaning against the table. His eyes poured into yours, and his sudden stare was so intense that it nearly caught you off guard.

"Hmm?"

You hoped he didn't catch the way your voice broke under the nervous pressure.

Courfeyrac kept his eyes locked on you. He drew in a breath, as though he was about to open the gates and release whatever was on his mind, but he hesitated and lost his courage. The words that came from his mouth next were far from what he was going to comment on.

"It's just... with places such as this," he began, leaning back in his seat again as he glanced to his emptied plate. It was interesting, really, since there was barely even a crumb left— as though he'd managed to wipe down his plate, even though you were sure that you would have seen it. Your disappointment hushed you (as you wanted to hear the truth of what he was going to say), but you listened nonetheless. "They call it a bakery, but they serve more than just flour-based goods."

"What's a flour-based good?" Gavroche chimed in, wiping his face with his sleeve. Courfeyrac was quick to hand him a napkin.

"Things like bread... cakes, and pastries..." Courfeyrac began to list, then eyeing the table only a little ways away from you. There sat a couple with almost vibrantly colorless hair, more silver than the riches you would grasp without time, and he eyed the salad and chicken served at their place.  "Not vegetables or meat, though... and not any drinks— though I suppose coffee and tea make these sorts of food more enjoyable."

"Certainly," you smiled, offering a soft wink as you realized a dual-defined joke could be made. "Hides the dryness sometimes."

Courfeyrac cocked an eyebrow as he reached for his coffee, as though the conversation had prompted him to take a sip of the hot, unsweetened drink. It seemed that drinks such as his had an iconic aroma that permeated the bakery.

"Are you a connoisseur of sorts?" he asked, that sip of coffee ironically making him soften in his chair. A smile lit up his face. "Truth be told, I doubt I could tell you whether a food was too dry or too wet unless it was dipped in water. So long as it tastes good..."

You chuckled and rolled your eyes.

"I was making a stupid joke, Monsieur, about your dryness in conversation," you snickered, offering a glance from Courfeyrac that told you he would've sworn had you not been in the presence of a child. "But you have a fair point. I only know the difference is because Desirée used to teach me that her cooking is the best in all of France."

"Who's Desirée?" Gavroche asked. It seemed as though he'd stopped shoveling his food into his mouth and opted for a more level pace, where you weren't quite as concerned.

"She's our family's maid," you nodded.

Gavroche's chewing slowed to a stop. His eyes traveling from his plate to your face, and after a moment, his brow furrowed as he hid his mouth with his hand.

"What's a maid?"

Gavroche blinked up at you, his large eyes reading nothing more than genuine curiosity, and Courfeyrac shook his head just a little bit.

"I'll tell you later, Gavroche," he stated, the words rolling from his tongue like a mother flocking to protect her young. Not that he was afraid you'd be offended by the question, of course— or that the answer would taint the boy's innocence— but he knew that Gavroche often found himself tempted by the world of riches, and he didn't want the boy to want something he couldn't have. "The Mademoiselle and her family live quite a different life than we do."

"Oh, alright," Gavroche hummed. He hid his disappointment by pretending to be interested in the crumbs on his place, moving them around with his fork. "Who's your family?"

You opened your mouth to give a name, but Courfeyrac offered a better explanation.

"Her father's a renowned gunsmith," he nodded. "Her family lives more towards the south of France."

"Guns?" Gavroche asked, his jaw pried open by excitement. That passion burned in that little heart of his, and while you couldn't pinpoint what it was for, he sputtered the next words once he got control of his mouth again. "Would I be able to see?"

"If your parents and Monsieur Courfeyrac wouldn't mind," you said, your gaze flicking over to the man whose gaze hadn't fallen from you. "It is safe if that's what you're wondering. I doubt he would be able to do so much as touch any of the weapons, with the guard all around.

"The guard?" Gavroche repeated, his eyes narrowing and eyebrow furrowing as he tried to connect the dots. "What do you mean?"

"Well... I really don't want to sound like I'm bragging, but you see... my father works for the king," you said. Courfeyrac rubbed his hands against his pants as his knee jumped in place, a nervous twitch of his when he didn't want to explain something. You looked back to Gavroche as soon as the tension became a little more awkward. "The king puts his men around so nobody tries to steal any weapons."

"Your father works for the king?" Gavroche repeated as his disbelieving gaze remained on you. It seemed as though the passion ablaze in his eyes had been snuffed almost immediately afterward, and he looked to you as though you were a completely different person. He went so quiet you were afraid he'd lost the ability to speak.

"Gavroche isn't fond of the monarchy," Courfeyrac explained, lowering his voice so that no eavesdropping bystanders would have gotten them in trouble because of it. "Most people aren't, actually, since they pin the blame on them for the ruin of our country."

You fell quiet.

Part of your loyalty lied with the king, considering he'd given your father a job and provided you with the life you'd always known, but upon seeing the state of the less glamorous side of France... your gratefulness began to wilt just a little.

But your appreciation blinded you. It superseded your worries— at least for now— and you covered your mouth as you came to the king's egotistical defense, even though this was only one of the many conversations held about him.

"I'm... well, I'm sure the king is doing his best," you said as you took another bite of your breakfast. That was to blanket the portion of you that didn't believe what you said.

"Sure— doing his best to make us fall into anarchy," Gavroche murmured as he looked to his plate— earning a look from both you and Courfeyrac... though they were for two different reasons.

"Where'd you learn that word?" Courfeyrac asked, speaking before you had time to swallow your food and do the same.

"Combeferre," Gavroche nodded as he let his passion get ahead of him. "He said it during... when I was... when we was..."

He was doing his best to conceal something, and while you didn't quite know what it was, Courfeyrac took your mind off of the boy's flusteredness and returned it to him.

"Right— when he took you to the library," Courfeyrac nodded, his gaze flicking back to you as a forced smile pressed onto his face. A change in subject was due. "Tell me, Mademoiselle— what was the name of that family you ate dinner with last night?"

"The Allard family," you nodded, the words coming from your lips once you'd swallowed your bite. You kept your hand in front of your mouth as you spoke, just to be polite, and once it had fallen, your eyebrows furrowed just a little. "What's—"

"You saw my mate Clement-Hadrian?" Gavroche asked, the mention of a friend of his making him forget the awkwardness of the previous conversation. "Sorry, I didn't mean to interrupt you, but... I hasn't seen him since we went to Le Café together... Is he okay?"

You looked to Courfeyrac as if he would grant you the answer, but you soon realized that you were the only one who could answer, you offered a tight smile.

"Well... him, yes," you said, shifting in your seat as you glanced to the window speckled with rain. "But I'm afraid to say that Pénélope has pneumonia."

"Pénélope?" Gavroche asked, though realizing who she was almost immediately. "Right— his sister. Sorry for forgetting... I doesn't see his family too much."

It seemed that it was the moment that it clicked with the boy.

"Wait— that means we ought to fetch Joly quick," Gavroche said, getting to his feet without any hesitation. It seemed as though the concern that poured in made his fruity pastry long forgotten, left only half-eaten for the worms to enjoy. "Pneumonia is really bad, I heard. One of my mates had it and I heard that he died, and I know Clement-Hadrian would get all depressed if something happened to his sister. We should get Joly to give Pénélope some medicine. Oh, I wish I'd known sooner!"

It took your mind a few moments to catch up, though, by the time it did, Gavroche was already next to Courfeyrac, tugging on his arm to try and get him to stand up.

"Please come on, Courferyac," Gavroche said, the shadows and highlights of the rain reflecting the both of their skin. "We've got to hurry before death catches her!"

"We have to pay first, Gavroche," Courfeyrac said, earning a desperate whine from the boy. Courfeyrac placed both of his hands on the boy's shoulders, a gentle way of forcing him to make eye contact, and he gave a reassuring nod. "I promise we'll hurry soon afterwards, alright?"

"Is there any way that I can help?" you asked, straightening up a little bit before wilting in your seat soon after. Though Gavroche seemed like a genuinely nice boy— his heart bigger than that of most people you knew— part of you was worried he didn't want you around, considering your status in France... which was more understandable than you thought possible.

"Yes," Gavroche nodded, his gaze shooting over to you. "I'm sure Pénélope would feel better if there was a girl around other than her mum... so maybe you could keep her happy and stuff."

"It wouldn't be a bad idea for you to tag along," Courfyerac added on, his arm wrapping around Gavroche and holding him close to his side. It had plenty to do with keeping the boy calm. He often thought of him as a bullet, in some aspects— once he'd been triggered to do something, it was quite difficult to calm him down. "Joly's a brilliant man... I'm certain you would appreciate his company. And I'm sure he would appreciate yours just as well since you'll be a familiar face to the whole family."

"Sure," you nodded, though gnawing on the inside of your cheek. You'd only ever had dinner with them once... would your company really make that much of a difference?

"Perfect," Gavroche nodded, squirming a little in place as he looked to the door. "We'd better hurry..."

His face lit up as soon as he was struck with an idea.

"I can go fetch Joly now, actually," Gavroche nodded. "M'selle [Y/N], you know the way to their house, right?"

"That I do," you nodded, already having a feeling as to what he was about to recommend.

"Okay," Gavroche said. He nodded and offered a small smile, looking to Courfeyrac before squirming out of his grip. "I'll meet the two of you there, then, alright?"

Before either of you had the chance to respond, he hurried outside, the chill of the rain pouring into the room once the door opened and disappearing once it closed...

Thank goodness you didn't have anything else planned for the day.

A/N: Guess who's back? Hahaha I've just been getting through online school atm, but I'll be done before you guys know it and I'll be updating more regularly. I also have the slightest bit of a writer's block, since there's one scene I want to get to SOOO bad, but patience is a virtue :) Anyway I love you guys and I'll see you soon 💖