They Will Come When We Call: Prologue

They Will Come When We Call
A Les Miserables FanFiction
By EveryDayArtist

Rating: T; for some adult themes and violence. Rating subject to change.

“Let us take to the streets with no doubt in our hearts, with a jubilant shout, they will come one and all, they will come when we call” –Red and Black

---

Cosette knew most of her boyfriend’s friends relatively well, so the wave of chaos that hit her as she entered the café wasn’t unexpected. She shook her head as she walked past the doors and scanned the room for a familiar head of spikey hair. The woman behind the counter, a few years older than her and curvy with a mass of curly brown hair, winked and nodded at the back room. Cosette continued further into the crowded building, peering through the back door and sighing at the second mob of young men.

Then her eyes caught a pair of warm brown ones hiding behind a pair of stylish black-framed glasses and she felt a rush of recognition. She knew his name was Combeferre because when Marius had introduced her to his group she had immediately marked the tall, studious man as someone she wanted to get to know. (If not only because he was the quietest and most mature of the lot and had actually introduced himself like an adult.) He smiled knowingly at her and managed to tear one hand away from his book long enough to point at the far left corner and mouth ‘over there’ before lowering his eyes again; somehow keeping his concentration amongst the din of the café.

In order to get to her destination Cosette had to go past three loud boys who seemed to be in the middle of an impromptu wrestling match. One with dark brown hair and the biggest blue eyes she’d ever seen was working with another, taller (Feuilly, that was what she thought he was called) man as they ganged up on another boy pinned to a table. Now, him she remembered because he was in her poetry class. She smiled at Jehan Prouvaire as he smiled weakly back from where he was being playfully choked by the dark haired boy.

“Good afternoon, Cosette. Marius is over there—Courfeyrac! Let me go you jerk!”

Within a few steps the pretty blonde girl could finally see the object of her search. Marius looked up as she approached and his face lit up in a huge smile as he leapt up to kiss her on the cheek. Cosette laughed and accepted a seat as she shrugged off her jacket. “This place is hard to find.”

“That’s why we like it.” A skinny redhead that was seated on Marius’ left commented. “It’s out of the way.”

A massive boy who was seated next to him snorted. “We only meet here because we get discounts on the drinks. Joly’s dating the owner’s cousin.”

The skinny boy’s face burned red and he slouched in his seat as the large man, who introduced himself as Lesgle (“But call me Bossuet, everyone does.”) laughed loudly.

Cosette watched the lively boys in their little groups play and yell and tease, and bit her lip. Misunderstanding her expression, Marius leaned toward her and began to mummer in her ear.

“Sorry about this. Everyone gets a little crazy before meetings.”

The blonde just smiled. “When I said total immersion, I meant it. This is just what I asked for. So relax, okay?”

She adored that cute little blush that would cover his freckled nose whenever he was embarrassed and it was always fun to draw it out. She leaned toward his shoulder and mused how different this setting was to the quiet life she’d been living.

Everyone at their little table jumped slightly as a pair of voices in another corner were suddenly audible over the rest of the babble. The tones and words were harsh and she looked around in confusion, as the boys did nothing. The dark haired boy, Courfeyrac, came to hang over Bossuet’s shoulder. “They’re at it again.”

“Like clockwork.” Joly said, not even looking away from where he was picking at a scab on his wrist.

Cosette twisted around to look for the ruckus and found two boys facing off, nearly nose-to-nose. The taller one was blond, with pale blue eyes and a face so attractive that it seemed unreasonable. She remembered this one, Enjolras, and she couldn’t help but be a little uncomfortable around him. He’d seemed so aloof when they’d been introduced and now seeing him so angry her first impression was only reinforced. She didn’t know the boy standing up to him but couldn’t help but think there couldn’t possibly be a more different figure. The other boy had a mass of unruly black curls and a face lined with shadows and stubble. He was smaller and looked close to laughter as he stared at his friend, still yelling.

Enjolras threw his hands in the air. “You are quite possibly the most ignorant, irritating waste of space that I have ever met!”

“You’re running out of adjectives.” The dark haired boy grinned. “You’ve called me ignorant fifteen times this week.”

“Because that is what you are!” The blond began to stomp off and everyone held their breath; hoping that it was over for now. Jehan actually groaned as Enjolras spun on his heel and stormed back to the grinning brunette. “And why the hell are you counting anyway?!”

“Because it irritates you and you’re cute when you’re angry.”

“I swear, Grantaire, I will…”

Grantaire smiled widely and leaned closer to the taller man. “Will what? File a formal protest and make a petition?”

The argument might have been stopped there if Courfeyrac had not giggled into his hand.  Enjolras’ eyes narrowed and he clenched his fists as Grantaire took a step back and spread his arms in a ‘hey, don’t look at me’ way.

“Why the hell are you even here?”

Grantaire shrugged. “Beer’s good. Anyway, it’s your own fault-”

“MY fault?!”

“-since you’re the one that asked my opinion in the first place.” The young man tapped the table, where papers were scattered over the hardwood surface. “A petition is all well and good; hey, everyone loves to give their opinion, right? Loudly in my case, I am the first to admit. But afterwards? If you actually get this motion carried? POOF, there goes your supporters. There’s a massive difference between signing your name on a piece of paper and actually giving an effort. You want this shelter to be built by volunteers in order to cut costs but how many people are actually gonna stick out on a project that long if they’re not getting anything from it? Humans are a pathetic and selfish as a whole and I guarantee that this is going to blow up in your face.” The cynic made a sweeping bow, grabbing a bottle from the table. “And with that, M. Apollo, I am not nearly drunk enough for this conversation. Au revoir.”

Grantaire was halfway to the bar before Enjolras managed to unclench his hands and stomp jerkily to the table where Bossuet was slow clapping the drunk’s exit. The blond shot him a withering glance and put his head in his hands. “Don’t encourage him.”

Joly shook his head as he got up to help some of the other boys pull the two tables together. “He does it to wind you up. You’re the one encouraging him here.”

As the meeting began, the men all quieted down and settled in their chairs around the massive pile of fliers and sheets. Enjolras sat at the head of the table, flanked by Courfeyrac on one side and Combeferre on the other, clipboard at the ready as he took notes. Next to the law student was Joly, who was muttering under his breath that his scab looked a little off, and then Bossuet who was watching him with a little grin. Next was a gangly young man with messy hair named Bahorel who was texting someone under the table and out of his leader’s sight. Cosette and Marius were seated at the end of the table and next to Jehan, who handed the young woman a drink and curled up next to Feuilly. After a few minutes, Grantaire joined them, plopping down next to Courfeyrac who threw an arm around his shoulder and whispered something that made the drunk smile.

It was soon apparent that they were attempting to get permission to reconstruct the dilapidated bank down the street into a homeless shelter. Cosette felt a thrill of affection as the boys all contributed to the planning; even the comments coming from the gang’s resident cynic only worked to spur them on to better ideas. They had an outline of their mission written down when they took a break for drinks and to allow Combeferre and Enjolras to go and copy the paper. As they all settled down to talk, the woman from the bar came over and placed a tray of new drinks and snacks on the table before going to sit on Joly’s lap. The redhead turned to Cosette and made introductions.

“Cosette, this is Musichetta. She and her cousin own the place.”

“Just call me ‘Chetta.” The woman laughed as she ran a hand through Joly’s hair. “So this is the famous Cosette. God bless you for agreeing to date that dope, I was getting fed up with his love-sick rants.”

Marius blushed furiously as Cosette gave the other woman a friendly smile. “I hope he’s not been too much of a bother.”

“I cannot think a fate worse, for any man’s ear, than another longing verse, from this fool here.” Jehan said absentmindedly from where he was doodling on the back of Feuilly’s hand.

“If we’re done insulting me?” Marius protested.

Returning to the café, Enjolras pulled his roommate to the side. “Ferre, listen, do you think he’s right?”

“Who?”

“The winecask, who else?”

Combeferre sighed and pushed his glasses up his nose. “I knew getting you into period dramas was a bad idea. Look, we both agree R is a pessimist. I think this plan has every chance of succeeding and that he’s just pushing your buttons.”

“I’m getting sick of it.” The young activist muttered as he looked over the table of friends.

“Yeah, well, you do wear your buttons in a very easily accessible place.” Combeferre sighed and threw the papers onto the tabletop. “Here we are gents and ladies, these should explain everything for anyone who needs more info.”

Enjolras began pacing. “We need to strategize. Let’s assign territory, there’s ten of us-”

“Nine, actually.” Feuilly raised his hand quickly, an apologetic look on his face. “I can’t get work off this week.”

“Alright, nine of us. So if we section off the area and pair up…”

Enjolras and Combeferre would take the shopping centers. Courfeyrac and Jehan agreed to hit the campus. Joly and Bossuet claimed the parks and Bahorel took on Grantaire with good humor as they volunteered to try the bus and train stations. Cosette raised her hand and offered to take the business section with her boyfriend, earning her an approving look from the blond leader. But once the areas were claimed they found that one place remained.

Jehan frowned. “Someone still needs to try First Street. There’s plenty of bars, restaurants and shops to be a good place to pick up some names.”

“You volunteering?” Bahorel asked, leaning back in his seat as the little poet gave him a withering look.

“I can’t, my schedule’s packed. Are you?”

Everyone shifted slightly as Enjolras glared around the room. “Fine, I’ll do it.”

“Enjy…” Courfeyrac shook his head. “You’ve got way too much going on. We can hit the area later.”

“I’ll do it.”

There was a stunned silence as all eyes turned to the drunk slouched in his chair. Grantaire bore the incredulous looks patiently and shrugged. “I have nothing better to do.”

“Anybody else?” The blond asked desperately. “ANYONE else?!”

The cynic rolled his eyes and hauled himself up. “Thank you, for your vote of confidence. I know the area and don’t have to work this week. I have no homework either, I can do it.”

“This is important.” Enjolras stressed.

“Then I will treat it as so.”

Cosette bit her lip and watched both men stare each other down until the blond gave in and agreed. The young woman frowned thoughtfully at the happy look on Grantaire’s face as Enjolras turned away and crossed her arms.

---

To say that Jehan was pissed off was an understatement. The young man was hunched over his coffee table, gritting his teeth and tossing another balled up piece of paper onto the floor.

Courfeyrac and Feuilly watched from a safe distance on the couch, peering over the edge and absent-mindedly eating fruit-snacks. There was a knock at the door and Joly entered, raising an eyebrow at the two crouching on the couch. Courfeyrac made a shushing noise at him and waved him over.

“Jehan has writer’s block.” Feuilly whispered.

Joly paled and hid with them, the three young men watching the teen seated at the table and scribbling on yet another piece of paper. A loud noise reverberated from down the hall as Bahorel threw open his door and walked into the room, asking loudly, “Hey, do we have any--”

“GO AWAY!” Everyone flinched as the youngest man slammed the table with a palm. “I am trying to work here!! I am on a deadline, have writer’s block and YOU ARE NOT HELPING!”

Joly and Feuilly made a run for it, leaving Courfeyrac and Bahorel to deal with their irate roommate on their own. They exchanged a glance and went over to haul the poet from his seat. “Come on, let’s get coffee. Maybe the fresh air will clear your head.”

Jehan glared at Bahorel. “I need to work.”

“You sound like Enjy.” Courfeyrac said cheerfully as they frog marched the younger boy out the door. “Let’s have some fun and get those creative juices flowing.”

Grantaire was sprawled out in the grass, looking up at the sky and absent-mindedly tapping a rhythm on the ground. He barely reacted as his three coffee-laden friends joined him. “Have you ever wondered if clouds will ever cover the sun completely and ice the whole world?”

“No, R, I think the only people who wonder about things like that in their free time are you when you’re a few drinks in.” Jehan snorted, sipping his hazelnut latte.

“It’s a valid concern.” The man sat up, rubbing the back of his neck. “You think if I ask Enjolras he’d start a fund or something?”

“I think if you ask Enjolras he’d punch you in the face for wasting his time.” Courfeyrac commented. “Speaking of whom, have you done your task?”

Bahorel held up a hand defensively. “I swear, we did our rounds.”

“What about the extra stuff you promised to do?” Jehan asked the drunk, letting him steal some of his coffee.

“I’ll get to it tonight.” Grantaire mumbled, shoving art supplies into his bag.

“You better, ‘Jol wants to hand it over tomorrow. He needs those signatures.” Jehan looked at his friend in concern as the older man rubbed at his eyes and nodded. “’Taire, have you slept recently?”

“Recently.” He hedged, standing up unsteadily. “Come on, meeting starts in a few minutes. I want coffee.”

Enjolras eyed the group as they entered the back room and zeroed in on the cynic. “Grantaire, have you been to--”

“Tonight, Apollo. I swear.” Flopping into a chair, Grantaire waved a hand, nearly spilling his coffee. “I have a plan and everything.”

“I NEED those signatures.” The activist leaned over the table on his knuckles and glared hard at the older man. “I swear if you mess this up…”

“Have a little faith.”

“This from the man who has none himself.”

Grantaire flipped him off and slumped further into his chair, scowling as Joly sat next to him and began asking after his health. Down the table Cosette and Marius were handing over their petitions to Combeferre. Enjolras joined them, looking slightly surprised. “…Cosette, right? I honestly didn’t expect to see you again.”

The young woman laughed. “Do you often scare people off after only one meeting?”

“Well your boyfriend only comes to half the meetings and it took Courfeyrac a month to get him to come at all.” Enjolras smiled slightly.

“That would be because, unlike you lot, I study and have an actual social life.” Marius objected good-naturedly before he and Cosette were nearly bowled over by Grantaire slamming into their backs and latching on to their shoulders. He grinned over Joly’s call of  ‘those bags look too dark, you need to get more sleep or you might get seriously ill’ and half hugged both of them.

“Marius, I have a question! If you’ve been dating this far-too-good-for-you girl for several months now, have you done the whole meet the parents thing?”

The abrupt paling of the boy’s face was a pretty clear answer. Grantaire grinned like the cat that ate the canary. “Oh man, what’s that like? I ask because I’ve never gotten there myself.”

“Somehow I can’t see you getting past the first date.” Enjolras muttered.

“Wait, there’s a second date?”

Ignoring the man, Enjolras began to pile the papers into neat stacks, nodding over his shoulder. “Isn’t that your phone?”

The drunk frowned and twisted around to grab the vibrating box. “I have a message… No one but you guys ever call me...” He flipped the phone open and backed away from the others.

Marius cleared his throat as Enjolras continued to go through their papers. “Hey, Jehan wanted me to ask; he’s got a poetry reading next week. Would you go?”

The blond looked up hesitantly. “One of those poetry things? I don’t know if…”

“Jol.” Combeferre murmured, coming to stand next to him. “You’re the only one of us that hasn’t been to any of his readings. He’d really appreciate it.”

“I have to go.”

Everyone turned at the unusual tone in Grantaire’s voice as he lunged for his backpack. “See you guys later.”

“The signatures!” Enjolras called, glaring at the dark haired boy’s back.

Grantaire turned and nodded at him. “Tonight. I promise Apollo. I really got to go.” There was a panicked tone in his voice as he ran for the door and the other friends all stared after him.

Feuilly folded his arms and bit his lip. “What do you think is wrong with R?”

“You mean other than usual?” Enjolras snorted.

Jehan walked over, grimacing. “Can’t you be a little nicer? Please?”

The blond looked like he was about to snap at the little poet but Jehan stared back at him calmly and put his hands on his hips, glaring. Enjolras sighed and rubbed at his eyes. “I’m sorry Jehan. My father emailed me last night.”

Everyone froze and turned to look at the activist as he slumped in his seat. Enjolras’ eyes were boring into the table as Combeferre sat next to him and motioned for Courfeyrac to go get drinks. “What did he want ‘Jol?”

“The usual. To criticize my life choices, my home, my political views, my friends, hell, even my grades.”

“Don’t you have, like, straight ‘A’s?” Bahorel asked.

“You see the issue.” Enjolras muttered. “He couldn’t even take the time to call and cut me down. He just sent a damn message at work.”

Jehan looked heartbroken as he sat down next to Enjolras and bit his lip. “I’m sorry.”

The blond looked down at the younger boy and smiled slightly. Putting an arm around the boy’s shoulders he hugged him. “I’m sorry if I’m being snippy.”

Combeferre knew that Jehan’s parents had kicked him out of the house after he graduated from high school and that at moments where Enjolras was in this kind of mood it was best to leave them alone.

---

Grantaire dashed into his apartment, breathing heavily as he stumbled to a halt in front of his landlord. “Sir, I…”

“Third time in a row.” M. Thénardier said, arms crossed. “I did warn you what would happen if you were late again.”

“Sir, please, I got laid off.” Grantaire gasped, running his hands through his curly hair. “I’ll get the money soon, just let me have a little more time, please.”

Thénardier straightened, puffing out his skinny chest and trying to look imposing. “No money for rent, no room.”

“Sir!” Grantaire felt cold. “Sir please…”

“Pack up your stuff and be out before the hour’s out.”

“Sir, I’m begging you, at least give me until tonight to find a place to crash.” Grantaire was starting to feel a headache coming on. “Sir, I have a little money, I can pay for the day.”

The ugly little man looked thoughtful as he stared at the boy, tapping thin fingers on his logbook. He looked close to denying Grantaire his request when the door opened and a tousled head of hair poked through.

“Dad, hey, Montparnasse, Claquesous, Babet, and Gueulemer are here. D’you wanna talk to them or what?” Eponine winked at Grantaire as her father perked up and made for the door.

“Give the money to ‘Ponine and get yourself scarce. You’ve got ‘till midnight. Sirs, welcome!”

The girl grinned broadly at Grantaire as he shoved the money into her hands and mouthed ‘thank you’. He stood in the middle of the apartment and tried to come up with a plan as his breathing slowed back to normal. He could ask one of the Amis if he could stay with them until he found a job.

Oh yeah, because they really want to deal with a screw-up like you. You really want to admit to them you lost your job, again? You haven’t even told them you dropped out of your classes.

Shaking off the thoughts, Grantaire caught sight of the papers on his table and grabbed them, making for the door. He could do this for Enjolras first. He’d deal with things later.

---

Joly walked over to his kitchen table, smiling at the sight of his friends all in the midst of an argument. Jehan was hunched over his notebook, trying to write as Bossuet and Courfeyrac loudly teased Marius while Cosette and Musichetta laughed and watched on.

Joly kissed his girlfriend on the cheek and settled between her and Bossuet. “What are we talking about now?”

“Love.” Cosette said, petting her boyfriend’s hair as he slumped in his seat. “Marius made the mistake of talking about it in front of Enjolras and he kinda ripped him a new one.”

“I should have known better.” The boy sighed. “Enjolras wouldn’t know love if it kicked him in the face.”

“Think he’s… Y’know, asexual?” Cosette asked cautiously. Courfeyrac grinned.

“We have been asking that for years. He’s never had a girlfriend or boyfriend or anything. I think he may be.”

“No.” Musichetta shook her head. “I think he’s aromantic.”

“What’s the difference?” Marius asked, picking up his drink and re-entering the conversation.”

Musichetta leaned forward. “Enjy’s never shown any interest in having any sort of relationship. Someone who’s asexual can still want to be in a relationship and need love.” She nuzzled Joly’s neck. “I mean look at me.”

“You’re asexual?” Cosette asked in surprise.

“All my life.” The pretty woman said. “Unfortunately when you work at a bar, telling guys that you’re not interested in them that way doesn’t really work so Joly is my ‘boyfriend’. Letting them know you’re taken works a hell of a lot better.” She reached over the redhead to squeeze Bossuet’s shoulder. “Joly dates me for a while, then it’s Bossie’s turn. That way if they fall for someone, I still have a guy around.”

“And we all know that no woman is going to put up with Joly for long, so she’ll never be alone.” Bossuet teased, as Joly slapped him on the arm.

Musichetta leaned over to where Cosette was sitting. “I’m asexual but not aromantic so I still enjoy the idea of being in a relationship. I guess you could say they’re my cuddle buddies.”

Cosette giggled and beamed. “That is so sweet. So that’s why you think Enjolras is aromantic?”

“Well he does sort of have that ‘no touchie’ vibe going o-”

“WHY does nothing want to rhyme with winter?! It’s not that hard!!!” Jehan was practically in a fetal position in his seat and Courfeyrac sighed and stood up.

“I better get this one to bed. I’ll be so glad when this project is over.”

---

Grantaire drifted into one of the bars and looked around curiously. The man behind the counter grinned wolfishly at him. “Hey, R, it’s been a while. Where you been at?”

“Busy.” The young shook his head, trying to keep his mind on the task at hand. “C’n I ask everybody to sign something?”

“Only if you buy a drink.” The man said cheerfully, pushing over a mug. Grantaire took it and moved to start speaking to some bikers in the corner. He fumbled through the presentation that had seemed so much easier with Bahorel helping him. The drink, which over time somehow turned into several drinks, was fogging his brain and made the young man stumble even more as he tried to talk the men into signing. He’d hit several establishments but had gotten only a few signatures so far and was starting to feel that tightening in his chest that usually preceded the voices. As the men around him ignored him or cracked jokes the words began to swim through his head and make his rub at his eyes as a migraine blasted his senses.

You can’t even get people to sign a piece of paper, what’s the matter with you? No wonder you drink, you’re useless even when you try. Why they put up with a worthless lump like you I don’t know…

“Can you please just sign?” He snapped, the headache increasing. “You won’t get pulled into anything, I just need the numbers.”

“Tell ya what,” One large man grinned. “Play a couple of rounds with us and we’ll think about it while you do. Come on, have some fun.”

Might as well, I mean look at what you’ve done so far. No one cares, just like you said. Why are you even trying? You told him it wouldn’t work.

Grantaire downed the rest of his drink, trying to numb the ache in his head and accepted the pool stick. “What the hell right?”

---

“Come on, ‘Jol!” Combeferre ran after the younger man, who stuck his head into one of the bars before moving down the street again. The older man caught Enjolras’ arm and held him still for a second. “He promised he’d do it. You don’t need to check up on him; he’s not a child.”

“No, he’s an idiot and that’s almost worse.” Enjolras shook his head and broke away, making for another building. “I can’t believe he talked me into-”

Combeferre felt a surge of apprehension as the younger man stiffened and glared at the room in front of him. Enjolras had that look in his eyes that was selectively reserved for politicians and Grantaire and always made Combeferre feel like the blond was only a second away from strangling someone. The older man looked over his friend’s shoulder and felt his heart fall; Grantaire was leaning against a pool table, laughing at something that one of the men he was playing against had said. The papers lay abandoned on a table.

Before Combeferre could stop him, Enjolras was halfway across the room, locked on to the dark haired man who hadn’t noticed his entrance.

“GRANTAIRE!”

To his credit, the man didn’t even flinch at the tone of the activist’s voice; although that probably was due to the amount of alcohol in his systems at the moment. “Hey Apollo.” The drunk said cheerfully. “You want to play?”

Enjolras grabbed his arm and yanked him away from the table with a little more force than was probably warranted as the older man stumbled to gain his balance. Grantaire looked terrified now, as though he suddenly understood the situation and wasn’t ready to deal with it. The blond carried on anyway, oblivious to the change in the older man’s attitude.

“What do you think you’re doing?”

“Enjolras, I was just taking a break…”

The younger man snatched up the papers from the table. “After all the hard work you put into getting these, what, ten signatures?”

Combeferre had a very bad feeling about the look on Grantaire’s face as Enjolras said that and tried to intervene but was shrugged off by the blond, who continued on relentlessly.

“Why did I honestly think this could work? I’m so stupid for even giving you a chance--did you even try? Did you even think about trying before you got plastered and wrote it off?”

Grantaire was shaking as he stared back at Enjolras. “Of course I did! I don’t want to disappoint you, I swear but it was so hard--”

“So you gave up?!” The blond was furious, his voice rising in volume as he waved the papers in front of the older man. “Are you really so pathetic that you’d rather give up on a simple task than try?! You just give a worthless half-hearted attempt and-”

“I tried!” The drunk flinched as though he’d been physically slapped at the word ‘worthless’ and began to yell back. “I tried even though I don’t believe that this’ll work. What do you want from me?”

“For you to get your act together for the cause!”

“I don’t think I can--”

“Then stop coming!”

Grantaire froze at that. His eyes went wide and his face paled as he stared silently at Enjolras who was shaking and looked a little surprised himself before taking a deep breath and gathering the rest of the papers. Grantaire raised a shaking hand and managed to croak out, “Enjolras, I--”

“If you’re not going to commit and just waste our time then I don’t want you at the meetings.” Enjolras cut him off, not meeting his eyes. “You’re just a distraction.”

The blond pushed out the door before he could see the mix of emotions that flashed over the other man’s face before settling on a blank and terrified look that drained his entire face of color and made him crash to the floor. He slumped over, his head in his hands and breathing erratically as Combeferre dropped to his knees next to him. “Come on, ‘Taire, breath. He’s just… ‘Taire look at me.”

The man pulled away, staggering to his feet. “I… I have to go.”

“No, ‘Taire, wait--”

“I’m so sorry. Tell him I’m so so sorry.”

“R, wait!”