Marius was running late for the third time that week. As he clambered out of his car, he grabbed for his briefcase (nearly spilling the contents within all over the parking lot). Running through the heavy, oaken front doors of the building, he ignored the tempting smells of the Café Musain to his right and headed towards the elevators. The old gears groaned as it opened and he jabbed desperately at the "5- Abaisse Law Firm" button as if that would speed the process up. As the elevator brought him past 3 floors of some generic accounting company or another, he fidgeted, trying to straighten out his tie and make it look less evident that he had ran, despite his flushed complexion giving him away.

When the elevator dinged (obnoxiously loudly, in his opinion) he shuffled into the office as quietly as he could, trying to blend in.

Combeferre looked up from one of the desks, peering over his glasses and his laptop at Marius' entrance.

"Good morning Marius."

Marius froze in the doorway. He waited for Enjolras to bear down on him, berating him for being 15 minutes late again, which was really not his fault today because there had been a series of unfortunate events since he had gotten out bed this morning, starting with his toast burning and-

"Enjolras says he's going to be late. The metro broke down again."

"Oh, he's late? That's a relief. I mean- Not that it's a good thing he's delayed. I just." He mumbled, easing his way into his desk. Everyone else just hid smiles behind their mugs of caffeine. Cosette was out of town this week, on an assignment to confer with another legal firm on behalf of Combeferre and Marius seemed to be at a loss when she was absent. It was rather odd to see the couple not arrive together on the elevator to survey the sprawling expanse of offices, cubicles and desks placed, almost willy-nilly across the floor.

It was even rarer for Enjolras to be absent at half-past 9.

Enjolras paced back and forth through the subway station. The metro had been hilariously late again, citing technical difficulties and mechanic breakdowns for the delay. By the 4th announcement they made over the scratchy speakers, apologizing, Enjolras stifled a sigh and walked up to the entrance, intending to walk the ten blocks to his office. Pulling his jacket closer to his torso to ward off the cold, he braced himself against the cold autumnal breeze and typed a text out to Combeferre letting him know that he would be late.

Walking quickly, his movement punctuated by the click of his shoe against the cement and the hushed activity of Monday mornings, Enjolras tried to ignoring the cold air nipping at his fingertips, holding determinedly on to his worn briefcase. He decided to cut through the small park in the area, seeing the top of the familiar brick building in the distance. Enjolras hastened his pace, already looking forward to the heated interior. He was so focused on his goal, he almost did not notice the easel he knocked over.

"Hell!" he quickly reached out to steady the canvas, dropping his briefcase. He looked over at the owner to apologize. "I'm so sorry."

A man with wild, flyaway dark curls, tousled by the wind looked back at him, eyebrow quirked. His blue eyes crinkled at the corners, betraying amusement. They looked at each other for a beat, before a tiny smile spread across the artist's face.

"You owe me a portrait now." the stranger gestured towards his canvas. Enjolras frowned, feeling guilty at the idea he ruined someone's work. When he leaned over to survey the damage he had done to the artwork, he was surprised to see only a few light pencil lines crossing the material and a letter R in the bottom right-hand corner.

"But it's a blank canvas," Enjolras stated, confused.

The artist leaned back on the park bench he had evidently stationed himself, paints spread about him.

"Is that what you see?"

Enjolras stared, at a loss. Finally, he sighed, frustrated.

"I don't have time for this, I'm already late for work."

"I'm sure they can wait a few more minutes. Art waits for no one."

"That's absolutely untrue. We've got people who are waiting on the results of our work, whose lives are changed by us. That can't wait."

"What's the point of you rushing around, just another pawn in the rat race?"

Enjolras scoffed. He could now smell the faint scent of alcohol coming off of man before him, a beer can at his side like a neon sign.

"And what's the point of you being publically intoxicated in the early hours of the day?"

R shrugged.

"Art."

His eye caught a glint of metal in the beaten up duffle-bag that the man had shoved under the bench. Spraycans? Who uses spray-cans for a portrait in the middle of a park? Before he could stop himself, he pointed towards the bag.

"Do you deface public property for art too?"

"R"s eyebrows rose and disappeared into his dark curls.

"I'm not going to even ask where that came from. Such accusations for you to be throwing at mere mortals."

Enjolras felt his ears burn with embarrassment and turned on his heel, not running towards his workplace. He didn't know where that came from either to be honest, except that something about "R" that threw him off.

Enjorlas looked visibly distressed when he came into the office, enough that when noon struck, Combeferre looked at everyone else significantly and the rest of the staff collectively decided it was a beautiful day to grab lunch downstairs. Courfeyrac lingered a little and nodded at Combeferre as he walked out.

Coufeyrac sauntered over, grabbing a file folder from Combeferre's immaculate workplace and placing it on Enjolras' desk.

"Here are the details of the Champmathieu Acquittal case that you asked for."

Enjolras nodded at it absentmindedly. Courfeyrac leaned against the desk.

"Okay, what's wrong?"

Enjolras looked up at his friend.

"I don't know what you are talking about."

"Enjolras, when you walked in, you didn't tell Marius to stop moping over the picture of Cosette on his desk. You didn't even yell at Bahorel and Feuilly when they ended up throwing paper airplanes at each other over a disagreement on a detail about a tort proceeding. You didn't even ask why the heck I'm giving you Combeferre's paperwork"

Enjolras blinked.

"There was a fight?"

"This is my point exactly, bro. Did the late train rattle you so much? I know you are anal about being punctual but if this is how you deal with problems, I'm finding you a therapist."

Enjolras sighed and leaned back in his chair, loosening his tie and undoing the button on his collar.

"I yelled at a drunk at the park and accused him of vandalism."

Courfeyrac looked at him archly.

"Well, that is new, even for you."

"I'm serious."

"I am too. What on earth drove you to that? You haven't done anything this dumb since you punched that dude on the debate team back in undergrad over lemmings."

Enjolras grasped at his neatly brushed curls in frustration.

"I don't know! He just… he got under my skin somehow."

"In a good way or a bad way?"

"What? I don't even know what that means!"

"I don't either, to be honest.

"He was drinking! In the morning! In public!"

Courfeyrac frowned down at him.

"If someone is already drinking at 9am, you should have stopped to see if he needed any help."

And not yelled at him like a crazy person.

Enjolras tried not to sink into his chair at the disapproving tone in Courfeyrac's voice. Courfeyrac looked down at his phone and sighed.

"Come on, let's go downstairs. Joly wants to know if you are sick and whether or not it's safe to come back to the office after lunch and Combeferre already ordered food for us at Musain."

Enjolras sighed and got up, trying to push the memory of the bizarre conversation out of his head.