Jehan's POV

Ah, ramen noodles. How I love ramen noodles. Half-assed pasta is such a great alternative to a home-cooked meal. College students love it beyond words, seeing as it's so common in their dorms or their apartments or wherever they breed fungus and a thick air of stress. I love ramen noodles so much that I am now in my kitchen, cooking up some of those beautiful ramen noodles because I wasted my entire day daydreaming about that charming young man I encountered at the Musain open mic night yesterday evening.

He is all that has been on my mind, and that's not so much an unpleasant thing, as Montparnasse is incredibly charming and incredibly attractive, but it sure as hell has been consuming precious time I could've spent on other things — for example, not tossing a package of stringy imposters into a pan and shaking it over the rickety stove — but alas, here I am, and it's too late to do anything about it. Besides, ramen isn't too bad. I can live with ramen.

What I can't live with, however, is thinking about one guy for the entire day, just because he took a few minutes out of his day to talk with me, and that might've been for a superficial reason. I can't know his motives for the time being, so I shouldn't get so worked up over a brief meeting. Yeah, he was extremely handsome, and he had that humorous personality I always enjoy in a person, but there are always other people, people who may even strike me harder than Montparnasse did.

Nevertheless, I shouldn't waste a perfectly malleable opportunity on thinking that Montparnasse was only interested in me for my looks (which aren't noticeably sharp, as his are; Grantaire says I'm the adorable kind of pretty, but usually adorable doesn't attract too many people out in public) or for some kind of business exchange that I wouldn't recognize as a business exchange because I would think that we genuinely liked each other, the foolish, whimsical, love-craving poet that I am.

Oftentimes I allow the smallest portions of suspicion to influence me more than every other sign pointing me towards a positive chance, so it is in these times that I must remind myself that Montparnasse is right for me, and that I'd enjoy if we could continue to correspond with each other, which is made easy by my possession of his phone number — speaking of possessing his phone number, I should text him right now to let him know that I'd be willing to perpetuate this budding rose of a relationship.

Hey, 'Parnasse. ;)

I soon realize that a nickname and a winking face are too typical of my friend, Courfeyrac, who is known as the biggest flirt you'll ever meet, and I don't want to seem like I'm only invested in Montparnasse for a casual fling, despite thinking that of him only moments before I opened up my messaging app. I could potentially call him by a nickname once we're closer friends, but now is not the time, so I delete that section of the text, and continue to draft the introduction to a new relationship.

Hey, Montparnasse! It's Jehan from the Musain. Just wanted to say hi, and see how your day is going.

That sounds a bit clingy, but it's the best I can do, so without allotting myself any extra time to change my mind, I slam the send button, and whoosh goes my message, out into the hands of Montparnasse. What's done is done, and I don't think Montparnasse will find anything wrong with my text. Humans tend to be overly cautious of themselves and of things that don't matter. I'm fine.

I'm so fine, in fact, that all I can do is smile to myself as I continue to cook the ramen that surprisingly didn't burn while I was otherwise occupied with texting my blossoming crush, and nothing can spoil my mood (that, of course, was what I said right before I stumbled upon a raggedy Grantaire, but I'm sure there will be better results this time around).

Now that I'm on the topic of Grantaire, it hits me that I have no idea where he is. I haven't seen him all day, as he departed before I woke up and hasn't been back since. I do indeed hope that he isn't off engaging in reckless activities that could be way more than detrimental to his health, but I suppose I should trust him a bit, too — though, judging from how he's been acting lately, I don't think he's participating in a charity service or something equally as fulfilling. He could be in danger, and, yes, I know that he's a strong guy, and that he can withstand almost anything if it isn't pertinent to his weak spot, a golden man he calls Apollo, but he isn't indestructible. No one is, especially not when their goal is to redeem with destructive behavior the fact that they are capable of crumbling.

I consider texting Combeferre, the responsible one of the group, to ask where Grantaire has gone, as if he knows, but there's no need for that, for Combeferre is bursting into my apartment for reasons unbeknownst to me, and now I can just ask him in person.

I notice that Combeferre is porting a carry-on bag, which he promptly drops to the floor, right in the middle of the kitchen, and randomly announces, "I'm crashing here for the night, because I'm forcing Grantaire and Enjolras to spend some time together so they can resolve their prissy princess drama."

My eyebrows tilt upward, astonished that Combeferre could even get them to talk. "How did you score that?"

Combeferre shrugs, swinging open the door to the refrigerator, perusing the shelves, and selecting a carton of milk as if he's been living here for years. "I staged an intervention, which neither of them particularly enjoyed, but it was necessary, and I think it helped a lot." Combeferre somehow knows where the cups are stored, despite never spending much time over here — meetings and social events are held in one of our two favorite cafes or in Enjolras' and Combeferre's apartment, and Combeferre isn't best friends with me or Grantaire — and he pours milk halfway up the container's sides, then introducing a swig to his throat. He's probably worn out from talking his friends through relationship drama, and just needs some milk, damn it.

I remove my ramen noodles from the stove, preparing to cook another pack for Combeferre after I dump the food onto a plate and tote it to the kitchen table. Meanwhile, Combeferre is busy gulping down his milk, and the apartment has fallen to silence, besides the faint sounds of my friend swallowing. I conclude it's time for me to say something about what I've been up to today, and how that has led to my ramen noodle excursion.

"Hey, 'Ferre?"

"Yeah, 'Vaire?" Combeferre replies with a shit-eating grin, modeling both a rhyme and a moniker out of my last name.

"I met someone last night." I'm a bit too bashful for someone who is talking to one of their closest friends, but Montparnasse has been the highlight of my past two days, so I'm bound to be somewhat flustered by his mention.

Combeferre groans, stamping his foot on the ground. "Ugh, I don't need to deal with more drama."

A laugh drips from my tongue, which I can tell he finds endearing, and I shake my head. "No, things are going fine between me and him. You don't need to stage another intervention."

Combeferre looks almost too relieved.

Now that our quick reprieve of laughter has expired, it's back to my helpless embarrassment. "His name is Montparnasse, and I was wondering if, um...if you and the rest of the gang would like to meet him."

Combeferre was waiting for me to just push my words out already, and once he hears them, he is absolutely enamored, grateful that I proposed this idea. "Oh, Jehan, we would love to! A friend of you is a friend of me."

I'm irrefutably grateful that Combeferre approves of my friend, for that reduces a great burden. I won't date a guy whom my friends don't like, and that's why I had been nervous asking this of Combeferre, who only wants to protect all of us, but now that he's accepted my offer, jubilance engulfs my entire aura, and I feel sunlight radiating from my pores.

"I'm so excited for you to meet him!" I squeal, and Combeferre looks almost as happy as I do, which is quite a formidable challenge.

"As am I, Jehan," Combeferre agrees.

And, well, that kind of sets the mood for the whole night.

~~~~~

A/N: my brother lost his mind when I said I called ramen "half-assed pasta"

honestly what am I doing

~Dicknoodle