Working in the small gallery on the university campus had been something of a fortunate coincidence. Lydia had told him about it, and he'd been there to have a look when he'd ended up talking to someone who worked there. He only worked there a few days a week, sometimes less, but with how strange this place was, and how much he missed Paris, it was a welcome escape. He hadn't been back in several weeks, all of his time taken up by making sure Enjolras was sleeping and eating. Eponine being taken was not something Enjolras had handled well. In the last few days though, he'd started to turn around, and Grantaire had felt more able to leave him alone on and off.
Which is what had prompted him to take a shift at the gallery that morning. It had been relatively quiet, which was how he liked it. Being away from the inn had been such a relief after so long that he hadn't wanted to head back right after the shift ended though, so he'd ended up in the cafe with his sketchbook, ordering a black coffee. Enjolras might have cringed almost every time, but he couldn't stand all the flavoured things his friend added to it.
His attention was pulled away from his drawing when someone approached his table. He didn't know who it was immediately, only because he knew there were at least three of them there with her face. Or maybe it was four. Then he noticed the bruise on her cheek, and that gave it away. Rose, the only one he knew, or at least thought he knew, wasn't a vampire. Then again, it wasn't something everyone advertised as freely as Caroline and Rebekah did.
"No, of course," he gestured to the chair opposite him, flipping his book shut and sliding it aside. "How are you, Rose?" From what people had said she had to have been hurt fairly badly.