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Chapter Text

December 27, 2012

Enjolras pulled up the familiar driveway, lined in snow-capped pine trees with a content sigh. He was home. Well, not technically speaking. And yet, over the years, he had spent so much time at his Uncle Valjean’s house, it felt more like home than Enjolras’s childhood house ever had.

Enjolras loved it for many reasons. He loved it for how isolated it was. Located in the Alps right on a small lake, it was at least a twenty minute drive to get to the closest small town. Though Enjolras would never admit it to his friends, sometimes between school and activism and just life he felt overwhelmed. It felt good to retreat to a practically untouched pocket of the world and breathe.

The house itself was beautiful. Even Enjolras, who had little appreciation for art or architecture, could admire the large, wooden house that Valjean had built himself as a labor of love. It was open and airy but simultaneously cozy.

Most of all, Enjolras loved the occupants of the house: his uncle, and his cousin Cosette. Enjolras’s own parents had divorced when he was young, and he had spent breaks from boarding school as a pawn in their insane power games. Then Valjean invited him to stay, and soon Enjolras spent most of his vacations at the lake house. Now, twenty-one year old Enjolras had just escaped from his mother’s house after a debacle of a Christmas dinner to spend the new year with his preferred family.

“Enjolras! I’m so glad you’re here.”

Cosette ran out of the house, and launched herself at Enjolras, as if she hadn’t seen him two weeks ago at university. Enjolras nearly fell over from the force of her hug. He kissed her forehead.

“Hi, Cosette.”

She smiled up at him. “Let’s get you inside, it’s freezing. Papa’s already started to make us some hot cocoa.”

Cosette insisted on helping him carry in his things, even though he hadn’t brought much- a backpack and a duffle bag. They hurried in from the cold as fast as they could while avoiding slipping on ice.

“There he is,” Valjean said, beaming as he hugged his nephew. It was less forceful than Cosette’s, but just as sincere. “How was your trip?”

“The roads weren’t as bad as I thought they would be,” Enjolras barely had time to accept a steaming mug of cocoa before Cosette was tugging at his arm.

“Walk and talk,” she commanded. 

Enjolras followed her into the living room, taking care not to spill. 

“What the-” 

The living room looked vaguely like a Bed Bath and Beyond. The couches were buried underneath piles of folded sheets, blankets and comforters. Dozens of pillows were balanced precariously on the coffee table, and towels had been shoved onto the loveseat. One of the corners was covered with tiny bags. Upon inspection, Enjolras saw they were each filled with hotel-sized toiletries and toothbrushes. He wanted to ask if Cosette had robbed a home goods store, but they didn’t joke about theft in the Valjean house. Not since an overblown incident in his uncle’s youth that they didn’t talk about. Ever. So instead Enjolras settled on: 

“Did a bed and breakfast explode in your living room?” 

“Your friends are arriving tomorrow and I have to set up their rooms.” 

“Funny how they’re our friends during the school year but now that you’re playing hostess they’re my friends.” 

Cosette stuck out her tongue. Valjean always let Enjolras invite friends to stay with them. Cosette technically was allowed to as well, but since she had been home schooled, it was rather difficult. She had been quickly adopted by Enjolras’s friends during their visits, and when she arrived as a somewhat shy freshman at their university that fall, she had the benefit of already being friends with a bunch of upperclassmen. But she seemed to be conveniently forgetting that fact in the face of her most difficult hosting challenge yet. She had never had to deal with this many college boys in her house at once before. 

“You’re hilarious. Now fold towels.” 

“So when you said you were glad to see me…” 

“I meant I was glad for the cheap labor.” 

“Careful,” Enjolras warned. “Or I’ll get the ABC to stage a protest.” 

The Amis de l’ABC was a group of student activists Enjolras had formed. The core of the group consisted of Enjolras’s closest friends who would be coming the next day. 

“They wouldn’t dare,” Cosette said confidently. “I’m making cupcakes.” 

Cosette’s culinary skills were legendary, and while the Amis were incredibly loyal, that loyalty was questionable in the face of baked goods and Enjolras knew it. Satisfied that there would be no revolution staged on her front lawn, Cosette moved on to the most stressful thing: room assignments. Cosette began explaining in great detail her plan and her reasoning. Enjolras nodded, half-listening as he folded towels. 

“The only problem with that is I don’t want to put Bahorel and Grantaire in the same one because they might burn the place down-” 

“Wait, Grantaire?” Enjolras had only been half listening, but after hearing the name of the Amis’s resident cynic, he was all ears. “He’s coming here?”

Cosette nodded. “Of course. It wouldn’t be the group without him. Maybe I can put one of them with Jehan…” 

Enjolras’s jaw clenched. Cosette was right- it wouldn’t be the group without Grantaire. Although he spent a majority of his time antagonizing Enjolras, Enjolras wasn’t too proud to admit that sometimes Grantaire had a point. Hell, he could even admit he occasionally enjoyed their debates. Grantaire belonged at the Café Musain, where the Amis met. He did not, however, belong here, Enjolras’s sanctuary. Especially not after a particularly brutal spat they had right before they left for the holidays.

“Oh come on. You’re not still mad about the protest signs.” 

He raised his eyebrows and Cosette rolled her eyes. “Well R is my friend, so he’s staying, and you two are going to try and keep it civil.” 

“We’re always civil.” 

Cosette let out a very un-Cosetteish snort. “Yeah, okay.”

**********

After a very long night, Cosette was finally satisfied with the state of the house. She, Enjolras and Valjean went to bed around two in the morning and didn’t wake up until the early afternoon. They still had several hours before their guests were set to arrive, so Enjolras and Cosette curled up together on a couch. Cosette was watching a rom com on TV while Enjolras was attempting to read a book. He kept getting distracted by the television and couldn’t stop himself from commenting. 

“Why are women in rom coms always so clumsy? That guy would not ask for her number after she spilt searing hot coffee on him.”

“Shush,” Cosette smacked him lightly on his arm. “Go back to your book.” 

Valjean paused in the doorway on his way to his study, watching them with a fond smile. They shared a blanket and Cosette was curled up against Enjolras’s side. Enjolras held his book with one hand so his free arm could be wrapped over Cosette’s shoulder. Valjean looked like he was going to say something, but the doorbell rang, and he lost the chance. He hurried to answer the door while Cosette hopped to her feet and smoothed her dress.

They heard their friends before they saw them. Courfeyrac’s excited babbling was followed by Bahorel’s booming laugh. The loudest sound at all came from an unwelcome source: Grantaire, who was in the middle of a highly inappropriate story.  

“—after I got out of the car, I ran into the same officer and managed to convince him I was a different person, even though I was still wearing the handcuffs. So then—” 

“I’m surprised you’re still talking, Grantaire,” Enjolras said as his friends filtered in. “No one is listening.”

“Enjolras!” Grantaire said, wearing the teasing expression he usually reserved just for the blonde. “I didn’t expect to see you somewhere where you might accidentally have fun.”

Enjolras sighed and set aside his book. “Of course I’m here; I find correcting your cynical bullshit too irresistible to stay away.”

Their friends watched the exchange with a mixture of amusement and exasperation. Except for the newcomer Enjolras half recognized, who was cowering behind Courfeyrac. He looked vaguely familiar. He was tall and scrawny, and his face sprinkled with freckles. Cosette also noticed him, and she squeezed his arm reassuringly.

“Don’t worry. For them, this is positively friendly.”

Far from looking reassured, the boy looked like he might pass out. Courfeyrac chuckled and said, “Enjolras, Cosette, this is my new roommate Marius Pontmercy.”

Marius. With a jolt, Enjolras recognized the boy.

“Don’t your grandfather and aunt have near here?” he asked.

Marius turned red at this. “Yes. B-but we’re not speaking at the moment,” he said, sounding pained.

“I think I’ve seen you around town during the holidays,” Cosette said. “And a few times at university too.”

“Y-you did?” Marius looked simultaneously thrilled and terrified.

Cosette nodded, flashing him one of her brilliant smiles. “Come on, I’ll show you guys to your rooms.”

Everyone filtered out, except for Enjolras, who already knew which room was his, and Grantaire, who reading the cover of Enjolras’s book.

“Classes are over, you know,” he said, lazily flicking through it.

Enjolras huffily snatched it back. “This is for fun.”

Grantaire laughed loudly. “Of course you would consider a biography on Robespierre fun.”

“It was a gift from Cosette,” Enjolras said, feeling defensive.

He opened the book to where he had left off, and raised it to his face, hoping Grantaire would take the hint. Of course, he never did, but Enjolras, ever the optimist could hope all the same. He pretended not to notice when Grantaire lowered himself into a chair opposite him. He pretended not to notice Grantaire staring intently at him. He pretended not to notice Grantaire lighting a ciga-wait a moment.

“There’s no smoking in the house,” Enjolras said sternly.

Grantaire snuffed the cigarette out. “Really, Enjy?” his lip curled up as he used the nickname he knew Enjolras detested. “Because you practically have steam coming out of your ears.”

Enjolras jumped to his feet, conscious of his burning cheeks. He opened his mouth to give a vicious retort, but Grantaire smirked the way he always did when he had successfully pushed Enjolras to a certain point. Not wanting to give him a source of any more amusement, Enjolras stormed out, hearing Grantaire’s chuckles behind him.

**********

Enjolras threw himself into his room with a huff. He didn't look surprised to see Combeferre and Courfeyrac already there. They had been friends since they met at boarding school. After their first year, Enjolras convinced Valjean to let them visit for a week. The summer after that, they stayed for a month. And the summer after that…well they were at the house nearly as often as Enjolras. For pretty much every break, after an obligatory pit stop at their own homes, they would come join Enjolras at his. 

They had made themselves comfortable. Combeferre was searching the bookshelf for any new additions since his last visit and Courfeyrac was sprawled on Enjolras’s bed, paying with his phone.

“Have a nice conversation with R?” Courfeyrac asked.

“Grantaire is as insufferable as ever,” Enjolras snapped.

They elected not to take the bait.

Combeferre finished looking the bookshelf over. “I want to borrow this,” he gestured to a new collection of essays Enjolras had found at a thrift store.

“I already marked a few sections I thought you’d like,” Enjolras said. Combeferre smiled his thanks.

“Courfeyrac? Are you there?” Marius opened the door.

Enjolras sighed. “Yes, by all means, come in my room without knocking.”

“Okay,” Marius beamed, taking Enjolras’s words at face value. He sat down in a chair. “Courfeyrac, you didn’t tell me Cosette would be here.”

“I thought you knew. I mean you’re so obsessed with-” Courfeyrac suddenly remembered Enjolras was in the room. “The Amis. He’s obsessed with the Amis. He was thinking of joining next semester.”

“Oh, yeah,” Marius said. It was half true; he’d only been living with Courfeyrac for a few weeks, but Courfeyrac talked about the Amis so much that he had convinced Marius to come to their first meeting in the new year.

“Are you interested in activism?” Combeferre said, trying to steer the conversation towards neutral territory. Enjolras could be a little overprotective of Cosette, and Marius probably couldn't handle Enjolras when he was actually pissed off.

“He’s interested in pretty blondes,” Courfeyrac said. Enjolras frowned and Combeferre shot Courfeyrac a warning look. “What? I was obviously talking about Enjolras.”

Combeferre tried a different, more direct tactic. “Marius, why don’t you go to Courfeyrac’s room and you can talk about whatever you need to get off your chest.”

Marius and Enjolras both looked confused. Courfeyrac rolled his eyes. “You’re no fun.”

“I’m plenty fun,” Combeferre said, hiding a smirk. “I was just going to tell Enjolras about the new moth exhibition I went to last week.”

Courfeyrac seized Marius’s arm. “Okay, okay. We’re leaving.”

They didn’t go to Courfeyrac’s room. They instead went to Jehan and Grantaire’s room. Courfeyrac decided that if Marius needed to vent about romance, Jehan was just the person.

The poet in question was perched on his bed, and luckily seemed to be in a good mood. It could go either way. Jehan tended to get swept up in his emotions. Some days he would compose odes to death and darkness and others he would doodle pictures of flowers and sigh about love. Today he seemed in a flowers and sighs kind of mood. Today, he and Marius would get along perfectly.

“Hello,” Jehan smiled. “How are you?”

Courfeyrac decided to cut to the chase. “Pontmercy’s got it bad for Cosette.”

“Oh?”

This was all the invitation Marius needed to launch into a detailed description about Cosette’s beauty, her kindness, and her intelligence. He stopped after a few minutes to draw breath, and turned when they heard someone snort. They hadn’t noticed that the window was open or that Grantaire was sitting on the roof, smoking. But now, with his cigarette done and the promise of entertainment in the form of Marius, Grantaire was crawling back in.

“So you‘re in love?” Grantaire drawled out the last word.

The delighted smile and earnest nod he received as a reply was almost enough to make Grantaire look guilty for teasing Marius. Almost. 

“From the moment I saw Cosette, I knew she was the girl of my dreams,” Marius said, completely serious.

“Five minutes ago?” Grantaire deadpanned.

“Oh no. I saw her back in September on the quad.”

“He’s been admiring her from afar ever since,” Courfeyrac said, rolling his eyes.

“Ah. Stalking. The beginning of every healthy relationship.”

“You would know,” Courfeyrac muttered under his breath.

Grantaire shot him a suspicious look. Jehan slung a comforting arm around Marius’s shoulder.

“Ignore them. I think it’s sweet. These two just can’t fess up to their own crushes so they’re taking it out on yours.”

Courfeyrac and Grantaire simultaneously broke out into protest, and Jehan waved away their arguments, unimpressed.

“I don’t do crushes,” Grantaire grumbled. The word didn’t sound dignified- it made him feel like a preteen girl.

Jehan raised his eyebrows, but kindly elected to drop the subject. Marius unfortunately didn’t follow his example.

“I don’t have a crush on Cosette,” he insisted. “I…I think I’m in love with her!”

“I don’t do love either,” Grantaire said. Jehan had to elbow Courfeyrac in the ribs to stop him from laughing.

“Not even for someone perfect like Cosette?”

“Cosette’s a nice enough girl, and she’s good looking and all that. But she just doesn’t do it for me,” Grantaire shrugged.

Marius was too shocked to be offended on his love’s behalf. “She is the most beautiful person on the planet and-”

“No. If we’re going on pure looks, that honor would go to her cousin,” Grantaire said. “If Enjolras didn’t ruin his face all the time with all that scowling.”

“So do you have a crush on him?” Marius was confused.

Jehan and Courfeyrac exchanged a pained look. Oh Marius. Sweet, innocent Marius.

Grantaire laughed. “There is such a thing as objective beauty. I’m just saying, yeah, Cosette is objectively good looking, but Enjolras is on a whole other level. Objectively. Until he opens his mouth. And sure he’s kind of hot when he gets all riled up over his dumb causes. It’s almost enough to make up for his personality.”

“So you’re saying your ideal is someone that looks like Enjolras and gets passionate like Enjolras but isn’t Enjolras?” Jehan said, keeping a remarkably straight face. Courfeyrac had to cover his mouth in a vain attempt to hide his laughter.

“I’m saying Enjolras is a dick. Hot. But a dick nonetheless,” Grantaire said reaching for his flask. There was a knock on the door and he quickly abandoned his efforts.

Cosette poked her head in. “Dinner will be ready in five minutes.”

Marius’s face had turned into a florescent red. Courfeyrac nudged him. The movement brought Cosette’s gaze to the thoroughly overwhelmed boy.

“Are you okay?”

“He’s fine,” Courfeyrac said. “He saw a big bug in his room and came in here to hide.”

“I did not!” Marius squawked.

“Of course not,” Cosette said sympathetically.

“I didn’t!”

Cosette put her hands up in a sign of surrender, but she was smiling knowingly. She backed out of the room. “Five minutes.”

As soon as she shut the door, Marius rounded on Courfeyrac. “I’m not afraid of bugs.”

“No, you’re afraid of pretty girls. That’s probably worse.”

Grantaire smirked. "You know, you guys are assholes sometimes, but its moments like these when I can appreciate that."

Chapter Text

December 29, 2012

It took Courfeyrac exactly one day before he declared he had cabin fever. 

“Shhh,” Combeferre said sternly, peeking over to where Joly was blissfully cuddling with Bossuet across the room.

“It’s not contagious.”

Combeferre peered at Courfeyrac over his glasses. "Cabin fever" was exactly the kind of pseudo-medical condition that Joly was fascinated by. He had spent at least half the car ride there explaining his theories on how the magnetic poles affected the human body. Combeferre didn't look keen to get a repeat performance. 

“You’re missing the point. I’m dying here-”

“Who’s dying?” Joly asked curiously.

“No one,” Combeferre said firmly.

Bossuet stroked Joly’s hair, and Joly snuggled against his chest with a content sigh. Courfeyrac watched them, mindful of the distance between himself and Combeferre. He was jealous of his friends, and how easy it had been for them to get together. It happened at a party their freshman year. Everyone had been drunk, Bossuet especially. He had confessed his feelings to Joly, they made out, and now they had been together for two and a half years. Then Bossuet had worked up the nerve to ask out Musichetta (who the other Amis had yet to meet), and the three of them were living happily ever after. Lucky bastard. Two words Courfeyrac never thought he would use to describe to Bossuet.

Combeferre interrupted Courfeyrac’s thoughts. “I have an idea that might cheer you up.”

“Oh?”

“Cosette said the festival is still in town,” Combeferre said.

Courfeyrac’s face lit up. Every December the nearby town had a winter festival. It was small, but it always made for a nice day out.

“That sounds perfect,” Courfeyrac said enthusiastically.

“Good. I already asked Valjean if we could borrow his van.”

Once Courfeyrac was set on a plan, it wasn’t hard to get everyone else to agree to it. Enjolras was the last one holding out- he had work he insisted could not wait until break was over. Combeferre managed to eventually talk him down, and they agreed to meet after lunch to drive into town.

**********

After hurriedly scarfing down some sandwiches, everyone went off to their rooms to find warm clothes to bundle themselves up with. Courfeyrac had dragged Marius to Grantaire and Jehan’s room in an attempt to find him something to wear that didn’t make him look like a grandfather. He would have loaned Marius some of his own clothes, but Marius was too tall for any of Courfeyrac’s things, so they convinced Grantaire to loan Marius a pair of jeans. Because Marius had only packed khakis.

He wasn’t the only one who came to the room looking to borrow clothes.

“Knock knock,” Cosette poked her head in. “Jehan, can I steal something?”

“Did you even have to ask?”

Cosette grinned as she flitted over to Jehan’s wardrobe. They had discovered during the past semester that they had a similar slender build. Not only that, but they both had blonde hair and a fair complexion, so what looked good on one usually looked good on the other. Cosette’s closet typically consisted of pastels, lace and florals. Jehan’s was filled with blacks, leathers and flannel. When Cosette got tired of wearing girly clothes, and when Jehan was tired of dressing like he belonged to an indie rock band they raided each other’s closet.

Cosette grabbed a leather jacket and oversized scarf. “Thanks. We’re leaving in five minutes.”

She flashed a shy smile at Marius. And then she was gone, just as suddenly as she had come. Courfeyrac took one look at Marius and sighed. The boy in question was flattened against a wall and had a wide eyed expression plastered on his face. Courfeyrac would think it was funny if it wasn’t so sad. He peeled his roommate off the wall, sat him on the bed and flung a comforting arm around his shoulder.

“Nothing’s going to happen if you don’t talk to her.”

“It wouldn’t happen even if I did. Especially if I did,” Marius buried his face in his hands. “At least now I can pretend I have a shot with her.”

Courfeyrac patted his back. Despite his constant assurances that Cosette was in fact interested in him, Marius never believed him. The subtleties of Cosette’s relentless friendliness could be difficult for people to decipher, especially if they didn’t know her that well. Add to that Marius’s plethora of insecurities and natural obtuseness and it wasn’t all that surprising nothing had happened yet.

Gently encouraging Marius had failed. Endlessly teasing him had also failed. So Courfeyrac said, “I’m going to talk to her for you.”

Marius flushed. “No! Please, please don’t.”

“I’m not spending another semester watching you pine after a girl who would go out with you if you just asked her.”

“Courf’s good at talking to people,” Jehan said, squeezing Marius’s hand.

Marius shuffled his feet. He had lived with Courfeyrac for a semester; he knew how persuasive he could be. “Well…maybe…if it’s not too much trouble. You could maybe find out if she’s single?”

Courfeyrac grinned widely. “It would be my pleasure. Now go downstairs, Romeo. I have to try and herd everyone else down there.”

And if Courfeyrac had sent Marius downstairs because he thought Cosette would be loading the van, well, that was just an added bonus.

*********

Almost everyone managed to make it down to the van, albeit slowly. Feuilly had been the first one there, taking over loading duties from Cosette. He always felt the need to be as little of a burden as possible when he was at someone else’s house, even though everyone repeatedly told him he was never a burden. Marius helped him finish up. Once he was done with the task, he stood several feet away from Cosette. They kept sneaking glances at each other, but neither could work up enough nerve to approach the other. 

Joly and Bossuet were next. Bossuet slipped on the ice several times before Joly safely ushered him into the van. Grantaire and Bahorel smoked on the porch until Jehan pushed them towards the van.

“Enjolras, Combeferre and Courf are coming. They just had to finish getting ready.”

Under Jehan’s supervision, they piled in. Grantaire leaned forward and obnoxiously pushed on the horn.

“Come onnnnn!” Bahorel shouted.

The front door opened.

“Oh good Lord,” Grantaire muttered when the trio finally came outside.

They wore hats and scarves Jehan had knitted them for Christmas presents. Courfeyrac walked in the center, wearing a white hat and scarf. Combeferre and Enjolras flanked him on either side, Combeferre wearing blue and Enjolras wearing red.

“You turned them into the French flag?” Bossuet laughed.

“Don’t encourage them,” Grantaire said, but he was smiling too. His friends were the biggest nerds.

“I think it’s cool,” Feuilly assured Jehan, adjusting the poet’s gift to him- a scarf that resembled the Polish flag.

The trio seated themselves in the middle row of the van. Enjolras ended up sitting in front of Grantaire, a fact he remained blissfully unaware of until Grantaire tugged one of his curls.

“Your hat makes you look like an idiot.”

“Your mouth makes you sound like an idiot.”

“Play nice,” Cosette said, giving a significant look to Enjolras. He grimaced, remembering when she had cornered him in his room the night before.

“I need you to be nice to Marius.”

“It’s a good thing you told me, because I was planning on being absolutely horrible to him.”

“I mean I need you to be extra nice, okay? You’re scary, and he seems like a nervous type.”

“You seem to know a lot about him.”

“I’ve just noticed him around campus,” Cosette blushed. “Please, Enjolras. He’s really shy, and he doesn’t understand the group dynamic yet. If welcome him, then everyone else will follow your lead.”

“Despite popular opinion, I don’t go out of my way to antagonize people.”

“So you promise?”

“Yes, I promise.”

And now Cosette was going to hold him to that. He could never really understand the point of having meaningless conversations about the inane details of one’s life that the other person would probably forget as soon as they walked away. It wasn’t that he didn’t like people or care about their lives, but forcing small talk for the sake of small talk seemed insincere.

“Marius, Courfeyrac mentioned you took Professor Mabeuf’s class. What did you think of it?” Enjolras said. Cosette sent him an approving smile.

Marius seemed pleasantly surprised to have someone asking his opinion. “I thought it was brilliant. I wrote my paper on how France reached its peak under Napoleon.”

“Oh shit,” Bahorel grinned, leaning forward in anticipation.

All eyes turned towards Enjolras. With great difficulty he said, “What other classes did you take?”

“A seminar on classical philosophy, German, and English.”

Cosette looked at Grantaire hopefully. He was after all, studying classics. Enjolras was floundering, trying his absolute hardest to let the Napoleon comment go. Grantaire could salvage this and go into one of his classical rants. He caught Cosette’s pleading eye.

“English, huh? Why English?” he asked with a grin, as if he suspected why.

“It’s one of the most useful languages to know today. It’s the lingua franca.”

“But I thought lingua franca referred to the French language.” Grantaire said with an all too innocent expression that fooled none of his friends.

“It used to,” Marius explained. “But France is no longer as great or powerful as it was, and it’s influence—”

“Is still important,” Enjolras cut in. “France is a valuable member of the EU. Economically, it’s one of the strongest in not just Europe, but the world. Politically-”

“Marius, I would be interested to hear how you think France declined after Napoleon. In great detail.” Grantaire said.

Marius looked bewildered by this interaction. Grantaire glanced at Enjolras, and saw, probably as he hoped, Enjolras looking furious. He chanced a glance at Cosette who was also glaring, but at him. Her Disney princess eyes when silently pleading with him to play nice had little effect on Grantaire- he had built up enough of an immunity so they only made him feel mildly guilty. And he lived in a constant state of guilt and self-loathing, so that was hardly a big motivator. But Cosette’s glare was downright scary. It must be a family trait. And while angry Enjolras had gradually become a source of constant amusement to Grantaire, angry Cosette was enough to make him back off.

For now. 

**********

After Combeferre had parked the car, they group dispersed. Everyone had something different they wanted to see, so after agreeing on a time to meet up later, they split up. Combeferre gravitated towards a used book stand, and Courfeyrac followed him. Bahorel spotted a few game booths and dragged Grantaire and Feuilly off with him.

“Oh Enjolras!” Cosette sighed, when she spotted an antique doll exhibition.

Enjolras did his best to feign interest. He watched Bossuet and Joly go into a tea shop and felt jealous. He had been hoping to slip away into a café or something and do some reading. But Cosette had a firm grip on his arm. She was much stronger than she looked.

“This one,” she said pointing, “Reminds me of me of Mama’s wedding picture.”

The doll in question wore a puffy white dress. It looked vaguely like the framed photo of Cosette’s mother she kept in her room. Enjolras was a little surprised; Cosette hardly ever mentioned her mother. She died when Cosette was very young. Enjolras wasn’t sure what to say to Cosette, who was looking at the doll with a sad smile.

“I want that, you know,” she mused as they walked away.

“The doll?”

“No,” Cosette said. “I mean…what Mama had. A fairy tale wedding to the love of her life. And they would still be married if she hadn’t….”

Enjolras squeezed her shoulder. “You’ll get that someday,” he said confidently. Because if anyone deserved an epic love story, it was Cosette.

**********

By the early evening, everyone was tired. Combeferre was ten minutes early to their rendezvous. Eventually everyone trickled in. Everyone except Enjolras. Combeferre sighed, wiping his glasses. At least he knew Enjolras hadn’t stared any fights, or they would have heard by now.

They decided to stay a little longer than they had planned because there was a firework display scheduled for later. Combeferre tried calling Enjolras to tell him where they were moving to, but Enjolras, in typical Enjolras fashion, didn’t pick up.

“I’ll get him,” Grantaire volunteered. 

“Of course you will,” Jehan said with a knowing look.

“What?”

“Nothing,” Combeferre said, silencing Jehan with a glance. “Thank you, Grantaire. I’ll text you where we end up sitting.”

 **********

It wasn’t that hard to find Enjolras. He was standing at a food stand, talking animatedly with the owner. He was gesturing with his hands a lot- a sure sign he was talking about one of his causes. As he got closer, Grantaire could hear Enjolras was telling the woman about the benefits of using locally grown produce. She was listening politely, though Grantaire suspected this had more to do with how attractive Enjolras looked when he went into Speech Mode than his actual words. 

“Ah, Enjolras,” Grantaire interrupted. “I thought I heard revolutionary rumblings.”

Enjolras moved away from the booth, holding a box full of macarons.

“And I thought I smelt cheap booze.”

“I’ll have you know this is very expensive booze,” Grantaire took another swig from his bottle. “I had to indulge myself; it’s the holiday season, you know.”

They fell into step with each other.

“Judging by how often you indulge yourself, it must always be the holiday season.”

“It’s more fun than acting like I have a giant stick permanently lodged up my ass.”

“I find the stick helps keep me in a vertical position, which I prefer to lying drunk in a gutter.”

Grantaire smirked. He had missed this, whatever the hell it was, in the weeks between the last semester and arriving at Valjean’s. Of course he would never admit that, especially not to Enjolras. He was spared the trouble of thinking of something to say when Enjolras handed him a macaron.

“Oh you do care!” Grantaire said, pretending to swoon.

“I’m hoping the carbs will help absorb some of the alcohol out of your system.”

Grantaire laughed outright. “I’d need a lot more than one macaron.”

Enjolras frowned, but handed him another one. Grantaire offered Enjolras his flask. The blonde wrinkled his nose in response.

“Suit yourself, Goldilocks.”

Enjolras’s frown became more pronounced. “I keep telling you, Cosette was the one who dressed up as Goldilocks. And anyway, that was years ago.”

“Would you rather I call you Enjy?”

“I would rather you call me by my name.”

“Ah, but where’s the fun in that?” Grantaire’s smile widened as Enjolras’s lips tightened. “Come on. Fireworks. They’re saving us a seat.”

Enjolras followed, unenthused. He had stopped caring about fireworks when he was five. But everyone else was excited, especially Bahorel, who was a fan of anything that exploded, and so Enjolras let Grantaire tug him along.

Despite being promised seats, they had to squeeze to find a place to sit amongst their friends. Enjolras stepped over a mopey looking Marius and tiptoed behind Bossuet and Joly before seating himself next to Combeferre, who shared a blanket with Courfeyrac. Cosette was curled up at their feet.

“Good day?” Enjolras asked.

Combeferre nodded, shifting a little to accommodate his friend.

“Busy day,” Courfeyrac said proudly.

Enjolras felt a piece of popcorn hit the back of his head. He turned around to see Grantaire staring up at the sky with an expression that was just a little too innocent.

“How so?” Enjolras turned back to Courfeyrac.

“He won this for me,” Combeferre held up a stuffed ladybug.

“They didn’t have moths,” Courfeyrac sounded apologetic. “And I rescued a fair maiden. And I think said fair maiden and I have solved something that has been bugging me for the past semester.”

“Are you going to explain what you mean by- Grantaire, I swear, if you do that again, that hand is coming off!” Enjolras snapped, flicking another piece of popcorn out of his hoodie.

Cosette winked mischievously at Courfeyrac. He grinned and started to absentmindedly play with her hair.

Courfeyrac wandered away from the book stand after about an hour of Combeferre browsing through books they both knew he wouldn’t buy. He thought about finding Grantaire or Jehan and seeing what they were up to, when he heard a familiar voice coming from an alley.

“Erm…I don’t think so, but thank you.”

He looked, and saw Cosette uncomfortably backed against a wall, with a guy leaning in front of her, effectively blocking her way out. He was admittedly good looking, but Cosette didn’t seem the least bit interested.

“Oh come on. Don’t be like that, baby.”

“I, uh, I’m really flattered, but my friends are probably-”

Courfeyrac had seen enough. “There you are, babe!”

Cosette and the guy turned around. Courfeyrac vaguely recognized the guy from around town during his various trips. The guy dropped his arm, letting Cosette slip past him.

“Who the fuck are you?” the guy asked, straightening his tie. Who the hell wore a tie to a street festival, Courfeyrac wondered.

“I’m her boyfriend,” Courfeyrac snapped, gently putting an arm around Cosette’s waist, and leading her away.

The guy followed them.

“She didn’t mention a boyfriend.”

“I was going to, but-” Cosette began, but the guy wasn’t having any of it.

“So you decided to lead me on, you little slut?”

Courfeyrac bristled, but Cosette stopped him, by grabbing his face, and smacking a kiss right on his lips. Both men were flabbergasted.

“Come on, sweetie,” Cosette said, walking towards a small café with Courfeyrac’s arm still securely around her waist. “It was…interesting meeting you, Montparnasse.”

She was too polite to say what she actually meant. Montparnasse glared at them before slinking off.

“You should have let me punch him,” Courfeyrac said.

“I’d like to have one day out with the Amis that does not involve anyone getting punched.”

“Fair enough.” Courfeyrac held the cafe door open for Cosette.

Before she could go in, Marius came tumbling out. Cosette’s face lit up.

“Marius!” she cried.

“Hey, man,” Courfeyrac said, his inner match-maker scheming. “Want to get a cup of coffee with us? I know you probably just had one, but-”

“No thank you,” Marius said, refusing to look either of them in the eye.

Courfeyrac frowned. He seemed even twitchier than usual. He reached out to put an arm on Marius’s shoulder. “Are you okay?”

Marius twisted away from Courfeyrac’s hand. “Yeah, I’m…great. Just great. I’ll see you guys later.”

Cosette watched him run away worriedly. “Should we go after him?”

“No,” Courfeyrac knew Marius well enough to know when he wanted to be left alone. “I actually wanted to talk to you about him.”

“Oh?” Cosette sat down at a table.

“You like him, right?” Subtlety had never one of Courfeyrac’s strengths.

Cosette’s mouth dropped open. “How did you know?”

He scoffed. “You think I don’t know Miss Cosette Fauchelevent well enough to know when she has a crush?”

“You’re not going to tell him, are you?” Cosette bit her lip.

“No. But I think you should.”

“It’s just…he’s…he’s not like any other boy I’ve ever met,” Cosette said. “I’ve had a crush on him since last semester. I saw him around campus, and I…he’s special.”

“So are you.”

Cosette rolled her eyes. “You have to say that. You’re Enjolras’s friend.”

“What if I told you Monsieur Pontmercy also had a crush?”

It took Cosette a moment to process this. “On me?” she breathed.

Courfeyrac nodded. “And he is way too nervous to make the first move. So the question is, what are you going to do?”

Cosette’s eyes looked like they were going to pop out of her head. “You think I should make the first move?”

“Don’t worry. I have a plan.”

This was actually a very good reason to worry. Courfeyrac’s convoluted plans had about a 50% success rate. Courfeyrac seemed to read Cosette’s mind.

“No, this one will actually work. So New Year’s Eve is in two days, right?”

 **********

Marius watched Courfeyrac braid Cosette’s hair. They didn’t notice him watching, just as they hadn’t noticed him watching them earlier from the café. He had seen his best friend put his arms around his dream girl. And he had seen them kiss. 

He wasn’t even mad. He had been, at first, but now he was resigned. Of course Cosette would like someone like Courfeyrac. He was everything Marius was not: outgoing, funny, charming. Marius felt ridiculous in his borrowed clothes. What was he doing? Despite Courfeyrac's best efforts, he wasn’t cool, and he would never be cool. What Marius was was a walking disaster. The way girls had been staring and giggling at him all day was just proof of that. Especially that skinny brunette waitress at the café who hadn’t been able to take her eyes off of him. He felt like a circus freak.

The fireworks started, and Marius closed his eyes. Trying to forget what he had seen proved nearly impossible; it was like it had been etched on the inside of his eyelids.

It was going to be a long week. 

Chapter Text

To an outsider, things in the Fauchelevent household appeared to be running smoothly, or as smoothly as possible with the presence of so many rowdy college students.

On the inside was a whole other story.

Valjean and Cosette were hosing a huge New Year’s Eve party. Valjean was patiently dealing with the caterers, rearranging furniture and reassuring his neighbor Javert that they wouldn’t be too loud. Cosette was meticulously going through all the music on her computer and making detailed playlists for the DJ. The Amis tried to be helpful, which at this point, involved clean up, then staying out of the way.

Despite the chaos, Enjolras had somehow roped everyone into a planning meeting for Les Amis the morning of the party. No one was sure how it happened. One minute he casually suggested an “optional” meeting at breakfast and was unanimously shot down. The next minute they were gathering in the living room for said meeting.

“Silver tongued bastard,” Courfeyrac grumbled as he smooshed onto the couch between Cosette and Jehan.

Cosette laughed and slung her legs onto his lap, neither noticing the pained look on Marius’s face as she did so.

“You love it,” she teased. “You’re just as big a social justice dork as Enjolras or Combeferre. You’re just better at hiding it.”

Courfeyrac covered her mouth. “Quiet Fauchelevent. I have a reputation to protect.”

Jehan poked Courfeyrac’s ribs. “We all know you’re actually a dork.”

Courfeyrac closed his eyes and clutched his chest, sprawling himself dramatically across the poet. “Woe is me. Farewell forever, cool guy reputation.”

Cosette rolled her eyes and yanked Courfeyrac off Jehan. “Please. No one ever thought you were cool.”

“You used to,” Courfeyrac fondly tugged her braid.

“I was young and naïve. Then I got to know you.”

Courfeyrac pouted. Cosette pecked him on the cheek to reassure him that she was only teasing.

Marius stared determinedly at his knees. Joly and Bossuet plopped down on either side of him.

“So this is kind of your first Les Amis meeting!” Bossuet said cheerfully. “Even if it’s technically unofficial.”

Marius nodded dully. Joly smiled kindly at him. “Don’t let Enjolras scare you off.”

They continued to talk to Marius, trying to draw him out. Joly was particularly fascinated at what it was like being Courfeyrac’s roommate. Fascination quickly turned to horror when he learned more about the specifics of Courfeyrac’s hygiene and overall cleanliness, but Bossuet steered the conversation to gentler ground.

Marius was grateful- he didn’t want to talk about Courfeyrac. He didn’t want to talk much at all, but Bossuet and Joly continued prodding him until they coaxed a genuine smile from him. He wondered if they really were that obliviously cheerful, or if they sensed his bad mood and wanted to cheer him up.

Enjolras and Combeferre came from the kitchen, bearing snacks. Combeferre had convinced Enjolras if he was going to hold an impromptu meeting while they were all on break, the least he could do is offer his friends some refreshments in the form of cocoa and pastries.

Courfeyrac seized his opportunity when Cosette jumped up to help distribute the food to murmur to Jehan, “Hey. I need a favor.”

Jehan glanced at him curiously.

“It’s for Marius and Cosette,” Courfeyrac elaborated.

The poet instantly beamed. “Of course.”

“Good. It’s really easy…”

He finished whispering his instructions just as Enjolras cast a withering look at them.

“Is there something you’d like to share with the rest of us?”

Combeferre put a calming hand on Enjolras’s arm. “Enjolras, remember. We talked about this. This is a casual meeting amongst friends.”

“I was being casual,” Enjolras mumbled, looking at the ground like a petulant toddler.

“Come on, Goldilocks,” Grantaire dumped the contents of a silver flask into his coffee. “Dazzle us with your rhetoric.”

Enjolras’s eyes flashed. “Grantaire, it’s ten in the morning.”

“Exactly. It means it is way too early for this shit.”

“The wheels of progress can’t afford to pay attention to conventions set by society.”

Grantaire toasted his spiked beverage in Enjolras’s direction. “Neither can I.”

Courfeyrac took advantage of the distraction their squabbling provided to sidle up to Combeferre.

“I need you to help me tonight. It’s for Cosette and Marius.” 

Combeferre raised his eyebrows skeptically.

“It’s easy, I promise! Here’s what I need you to do…”

**********

People slowly filtered in for the party starting around ten. Enjolras had never seen half of the people in his life before. He was convinced Valjean had invited everyone who lived within a 20 mile radius.

Cosette had enlisted Jehan and Feuilly in helping her string up fairy lights and streamers. She also decorated party hats that they were all required to wear. Bahorel was Cosette’s right hand man at enforcing this rule. He gleefully chased down Marius when the unfortunate man took it off to scratch his head.

Feuilly spotted several more hatless partygoers and decided to get to them before Bahorel did.

“Here,” he thrust two hats at Combeferre and Enjolras, who were seated next to each other on a couch. “I made these especially for you."

One was red with blue writing on it, the other blue with red. The red one, which was shoved on Enjolras’s head said “Married…” and the blue which was unceremoniously stuck on Combeferre read, “…with kids”.

After being forced to take a few pictures, Enjolras was content to sit on a couch in the basement and talk to Combeferre. He liked people, but unless he was recruiting them for a cause, Enjolras preferred smaller groups. Courfeyrac however, was in his element. He worked his way around the room, making new friends at each turn.

He made his way over to Combeferre and Enjolras. As soon as he saw their hats, he let out a strangled laugh.

“Feuilly made them,” Enjolras said.

“Of course he did,” Courfeyrac said with a slightly maniacal smile. He shifted uncomfortably on his feet. “Um, Combeferre, you remember…”

“Right before midnight,” Combeferre nodded.

“Right,” Courfeyrac repeated. “Well then…the dance floor is summoning me.”

And he was gone with record speed.

“Is he…alright?” Enjolras asked.

Courfeyrac wanting to dance wasn’t unusual, but he seemed upset, and Enjolras couldn’t fathom why. Combeferre, who was Enjolras’s translator when it came to people’s emotions looked pensive and shrugged.

**********

After Bahorel tackled him and forced his hat back on, Marius retreated to the sidelines. He sat in a corner, minding his own business, and was content to stay that way, except he felt someone watching him. He scanned the room.

It was the brunette waitress from when they went into town. The one who had kept staring at him. As soon as they made eye contact, she smiled widely and sauntered over. She slid next to Marius on the loveseat even though it wasn’t really big enough to fit two people.

“Hi,” she said.

“Hello,” he replied.

“You look bored.”

Marius shrugged. It was very loud and so he didn’t think anything of it when she leaned over closer and said, “I came over to entertain you.”

“That was nice of you. Hold on a second.” Marius retreated to high ground, moving to the chair’s arm. The girl had been practically sitting in his lap.

“Where are you going?” she demanded.

“I thought you might be uncomfortable,” he said honestly. “Now you can have the seat all to yourself.”

The girl stared at him like he had an extra head sprouting out of his shoulder. “You’re sweet.”

“I’m Marius,” he said, unsure of how to respond to that.

“Eponine,” she shook his hand.

The intensity at which she was staring at him was disconcerting.

“I saw you yesterday at the café,” Marius said, wildly trying to fill the increasingly awkward silence.

“Oh, you noticed me?” her smile was back. “Yeah, I’ve worked there for a while. My parents own the place.”

Marius nodded politely. Eponine took this as encouragement as she continued to monologue. “You’re Monsieur Gillenormand’s grandson, right? He’s the one who owns the vacation house near the woods? I used to see you in town all the time during holidays. Although I didn’t see you this past summer.” She added with a slight frown.

“I had a flat in Paris,” Marius said. “I wanted to try living on my own before I went to university.”

He didn’t feel the need to go into the particulars of his falling out with his grandfather, especially not with an eager stranger. It happened over half a year ago, but it still felt raw.

“So your granddad set you up in a place in the city. Must be nice,” she said with a slight trace of bitterness.

“No,” Marius said, feeling offended when he remembered the sketchy studio apartment he struggled to afford before he met and moved in with Courfeyrac. “I paid for my own place. I gave tours to English and German tourists to make money.”

Eponine blinked. “Wow. Cute and smart.”

“Cute?” Was she making fun of him?

“Relax,” Eponine said. She set down her drink. “Come dance with me.”

She ignored Marius’s protests and dragged him to the make-shift dance floor. He swayed side to side and looked miserable as Eponine grinded against him.

**********

Courfeyrac was in a foul mood when he had seized Grantaire and said, “We’re dancing.”

Or in as foul of a mood as Courfeyrac ever got in. Grantaire was tempted to question him on it, but he knew that wasn’t why Courfeyrac chose him.

Courfeyrac asked, or rather, demanded to dance with Grantaire because Grantaire never cared, and therefore wasn’t supposed to ask what was wrong. Grantaire was there because he was good at parties. He was good at drinking, he was good at telling crowd-pleasing stories.

And he was good at dancing, although he wouldn’t consider what they were doing dancing. Grantaire would call it a combination of swaying and wriggling and thrusting, but he was good at that too. It was hardly as elegant or refined as the ballroom styles of dancing he was well versed in, but hell, it was a party, and it was fun.

Courfeyrac found a few random partners, but for the most part stuck with Grantaire. They had known each other for years. More than that, they had very few, if any boundaries with each other, and so they didn’t have to worry about being inappropriate. They could just have fun.

Grantaire lost track of how long they were dancing, but it must have been a while. He noticed Enjolras move across the room. Grantaire had wondered where he’d been the whole time. Of course. He had been hiding in corner, probably talking to Combeferre instead of trying to have fun. Typical.

Now that he had located Enjolras, Grantaire’s eyes kept flicking over to where he leaned against a wall, nursing a beer. Enjolras watched Combeferre awkwardly lead Cosette to the dance floor, a fond smile playing at his lips.

The smiles Enjolras wore when he thought no one was looking were Grantaire’s favorites.

Grantaire found his view suddenly blocked when another man stood in front of Enjolras and started talking to him. Grantaire craned his neck to keep Enjolras in sight. Enjolras’s face was bright and he was talking animatedly.

Grantaire frowned and strained harder to see who the hell this guy was. By this point, Courfeyrac had noticed and followed his gaze. He scowled.

“Oh, God. It’s that Montparnasse kid. He must have a thing for blondes. You know the other day, he was hitting on Cosette and then—”

But Grantaire never heard what happened next because at that moment, Montparnasse reached out and grabbed Enjolras’s ass and Grantaire was flying across the room.

**********

Combeferre glanced at his watch and grimaced. He downed the rest of his drink and stood up.

“You’re leaving me?” Enjolras said.

“I have to go see about a girl.”

Enjolras pointed to his hat. “Does this mean nothing to you?”

“Sorry my dear. I’m leaving you for a younger woman.”

“What about the children?”

Combeferre glanced around the room and spotted several of the Amis in varying states of intoxication. “I don’t think they’ll notice,” He leaned in checking over his shoulder to make sure no one was eavesdropping. “Courf asked me to get Cosette on the dance floor around midnight.”

Enjolras covered his ears. “I don’t want to know anything else so that if and whatever  Courf’s plan is ends disastrously I can deny having anything to do with it.”

Combeferre smiled. The plan was ridiculously simple- it was the only reason he agreed to it in the first place- but given Courfeyrac’s past plans, Enjolras was hardly overreacting.

“You’re a smart man.”

“It’s too late for that, Combeferre. I’m moving on.”

Combeferre chuckled once more and disappeared to locate Cosette. After sitting alone and watching amusedly as Jehan rescued Marius from an enthusiastic brunette, Enjolras decided to stretch his legs. He got a beer and found a spot on the wall and located Cosette and Combeferre. He was content to watch them dance.

But the universe evidently had other plans, because suddenly there was a lanky man standing right in front of him.

“Montparnasse,” the man said with an almost obnoxious confidence.

“Enjolras.”

“Nice shirt, Enjolras,” Montparnasse traced the design with a long finger.

“Thanks. It’s the logo of our social activist club. Some of our members- Feuilly and Grantaire- designed it. And Feuilly actually made it,” Enjolras lit up at the opportunity to brag on behalf of his friend. “He’s one of the most talented people I’ve ever met. He’s studying at my university but he has at least five jobs to pay for it, and making graphic t-shirts is one of them. He also—”

“I’m more interested in what’s under the shirt,” Montparnasse smoothly interrupted what could easily be a lengthy rant of Feuilly’s attributes.

Enjolras tilted his head, confused. “But there isn’t anything under my shirt.”

“Exactly,” Montparnasse purred and Enjolras felt a pair of hands reach behind and squeeze.

He yelped and tried to leap back, but was impeded by the wall.

“Get off me.”

“Relax.”

“Not until you get off.” Enjolras snapped.

“Damn you’re hot when you’re all mad.”

Enjolras shoved Montparnasse off and was seriously contemplating punching him in the face when someone beat him to it.

“What the fuck man?” Montparnasse yelped, massaging his face.

Grantaire, who had thrown the punch, shrugged, looking almost bored with the entire spectacle.

Montparnasse rifled frantically through his coat pocket until he found what he was looking for- a small compact mirror. Once he was satisfied his nose wasn’t broken, and his face wasn’t badly damaged, he turned to glare at Grantaire. “That was messed up.”

“I think you should leave,” Enjolras said coldly.

By this time, Bahorel, who had a sixth sense when it came to finding fights, had lumbered over and was flexing his muscles. Montparnasse eyed him. “Whatever,” he grumbled and slinked away.

Bahorel looked a little put out that there would be no brawl. “Nice one, R,” he said before wandering off to find another drink.

Grantaire turned smugly to Enjolras, who was fuming.

“What the hell was that?” Enjolras snapped.

“I think the phrase you want is, ‘thank you’. I know; you use it so rarely so I understand if you can’t remember.”

“Why did you do that?”

Grantaire blinked. He thought it was obvious. “I was, you know, defending your honor.”

For a second, it looked like Enjolras’s head would explode. “I don’t need anyone defending my anything. I can take care of myself.”

Grantaire knew that. He had seen Enjolras at enough rallies turned riots to know Enjolras was perfectly capable of taking care of himself. But seeing Montparnasse harassing Enjolras caused something to snap within Grantaire. It was unsettling. He shrugged the feeling off and instead said:

“It didn’t look like you were handling it.”

Enjolras shot him one last disdainful look before retreating to the dance floor, where he hoped the sheer volume of people would deter Grantaire from following him.

It didn’t.

“You should have told Montparnasse to go to hell as soon as he started talking to you. He’s an asshole.”

Enjolras shoved passed a very disappointed looking Eponine, not even noticing her. He also failed to notice Courfeyrac guiding Combeferre and Cosette closer to where Jehan attempting to waltz with Marius. They had to compromise the waltz’s integrity with the lack of space.

“He asked about my shirt. I thought he was interested in the ABC!” Enjolras said, jutting out his chin defiantly. He never missed a chance to talk up their group, and he sure as hell wouldn’t start now because of one bad experience.

Grantaire snorted, because of course Enjolras would mistake flirting as interest in the ABC.

“He was hitting on you! I don’t understand how you can be so naïve,” Grantaire snapped. “No one actually cares about some activist group run by a bunch of privileged college kids…”

Grantaire’s voice was drowned out by the party goers.

“Five…four…three…two…one. Happy New Year!”

Many things happened at once. In the center of the room, Courfeyrac spun Cosette around at the same moment that Jehan rotated Marius. Cosette flushed and Marius’s eyes widened.

“Now kiss!” Courfeyrac shrieked.

Marius looked like he was about to bolt, but Cosette, in a surprising show of boldness, grabbed his tie and pulled him in. The kiss started chaste, but certainly didn’t stay that way for long.

Everyone was so riveted by their make-out session, that they almost missed when Enjolras used his mouth to stop Grantaire’s mid-rant.

Almost.

Courfeyrac let out a loud whoop at the sight of his four friends kissing. “Finally!”

Both couples broke apart. Cosette and Marius blushed.

“Um,” Cosette said. “Do you want to maybe go somewhere and talk?”

Marius nodded, looking dazed. He followed her upstairs. Courfeyrac spared the retreating couple one last look before focusing on Enjolras and Grantaire.

“What the hell was that?” Grantaire said.

Enjolras shrugged, looking smug. “It was midnight, and I thought it would shut you up.”

“Huh,” Grantaire rubbed his mouth thoughtfully. “Well, for someone as inexperienced as yourself, you’re a decent kisser.”

Enjolras hated when anyone brought up his relative inexperience. “Well for someone as experienced as yourself, you’re not that great.”

“Well that’s just not true,” Grantaire snorted. He was always the first to admit to his faults, and being a bad kisser was not one of them. “Come here. Let me prove you wrong.”

“I don’t want to kiss you.”

Grantaire threw his hands up in exasperation. “You started it!”

“I don’t want to kiss you again,” Enjolras amended. “I was just observing a holiday tradition. It’s been observed, so there is no need for any more of that.”

 “Robot.”

“Drunk.”

“You’re ridiculous.”

“You’re impossible.”

They turned their backs to each other and stormed off in opposite directions. Courfeyrac threw himself to the ground with a wail of despair.

“Are you fucking kidding me?”

“Oh for heaven’s sake!”

Combeferre tried to lift him up, but Courfeyrac waved him off. “Leave me. Just leave me.”

“How much did you have to drink?” Combeferre asked as Feuilly helped him get Courfeyrac off the floor.

“So close. So fucking close!” Courfeyrac cried, choosing to ignore the question.

They were in Valjean’s study now. Courfeyrac blinked, unsure exactly how they got there, but Combeferre was gently leading him to the couch, and Feuilly was closing the door. Combeferre rubbed Courfeyrac’s back.

“If it’s meant to happen, it’ll happen.”

“That is some bullshit,” Feuilly said. The other two men stared at him. “Oh come on. We all know Enjolras and R are the most stubborn, oblivious idiots in the world. They’re worse than Pontmercy for Christ’s sake.”

“We talked about this. We decided we weren’t going to interfere in their lives.” Combeferre said sternly.

“You decided,” Feuilly grumbled mutinously.

“Then do it without me.”

Feuilly scowled. “You know we can’t.”

It was true. They had tried to plot together sans Combeferre, but with no success. Joly and Bossuet were too happy and stable to understand a relationship as tumultuous as Enjolras and Grantaire’s. Bahorel’s solution was always to lock them in a room together “until they fuck or kill each other”.  Jehan tended wards romantic, grand gestures that bordered on the ridiculous. And Feuilly was an open book and a terrible liar. Manipulation was not his strong point. That, and he didn’t have the time or patience to deal with Enjolras and Grantaire’s emotional constipation.

They needed Combeferre for it to even have a chance of working. He understood each member of the group better than they understood themselves. He was their support. He gave the best advice and was even good at subtly guiding them when he knew they were making a mistake.

Unfortunately, he usually swore off giving unsolicited guidance, not wanting to manipulate his friends. Helping Courfeyrac get Cosette on the dance floor that night had been a rare exception to his rule of not interfering.

They tried in vain to argue that getting Enjolras and Grantaire together was for the greater good- their collective sanity was at stake- but Combeferre stubbornly refused to get involved in his best friend’s love life. And since he was the only one capable of coming up with a plan and directing everyone’s individual talents to make it happen, they were at an impasse.

“I can come up with a plan!” Courfeyrac offered excitedly.

“No,” Combeferre and Feuilly said in unison.

“You’d make it worse,” Feuilly added.

“Hey, I got Marius and Cosette together,” Courfeyrac said. In light of Enjolras and Grantaire’s stupidity, he had almost forgotten his great triumph of the evening.

“Your plan was literally to get Cosette close enough to Marius so you could shove them together at midnight and scream ‘now kiss’.”

“And it worked!

“Clearly just getting Enjolras and R to kiss isn’t enough,” Feuilly said. “And I don’t trust you with any plans more complicated than that.”

Courfeyrac pouted. Feuilly didn’t look even remotely apologetic.

“I am way too sober for this shit.” He saluted. “Gentlemen.”

There was a burst of sound from the party as Feuilly left. As soon as he shut the door again, the room became silent again. Too silent.

Combeferre was the first to break it, sighing deeply. He glanced at his dejected friend. “I’m sorry,” he said truthfully. He hated to see Courfeyrac looking so disappointed. It wasn’t enough to change his mind, but it was enough to make him feel bad.

“Worst start of the year ever,” Courfeyrac buried his head in his arms.

“I don’t know about that,” Combeferre said quietly.

Courfeyrac looked at him hopefully. “Why’s that?”

“You got Marius and Cosette together.”

“I did, didn’t I?” Courfeyrac said, feeling a little better. Having Combeferre acknowledge it gave him another surge of pride. “But there’s still the Enjolras and R debacle. And I was so busy plotting, I didn’t even get a New Year’s kiss from anyone. That hasn’t happened to me since like…middle school.”

Combeferre considered this. His eyes flickered down to Courfeyrac’s lips. The motion wasn’t lost on Courfeyrac, who perked up instantly. Maybe the night wasn’t going to be a total disaster after all.

As he inched closer, Courfeyrac could feel the air become more and more charged. Combeferre sat perfectly still, letting Courfeyrac approach him. Courfeyrac was inches from Combeferre, could feel the heat radiating from him, when Combeferre quickly shifted and kissed him gently on his cheek.

“Happy New Year, Courf,” he said softly.

Courfeyrac could only sit and watch in surprise and embarrassment as Combeferre hastily retreated. The door shut quietly, and Courfeyrac was now completely alone.

He flopped back on the couch.

“Happy fucking New Year.” 

Chapter Text

January 1, 2013

Cosette lead Marius away from the partygoers. While Courfeyrac’s enthusiasm was appreciated, or at least, the sentiment behind the enthusiasm was, Cosette thought some privacy might be nice. Marius seemed content enough to follow her, so she took him upstairs to her room.

She ushered Marius in, then shut the door firmly. Marius stood in the middle of the room, like he didn’t know what to do with himself. Cosette scooted past him and sat on her bed. She patted the spot next to her. Marius’s eyes widened.

He edged cautiously towards the bed, and sat on the opposite corner of Cosette. He sat on his hands and swung his feet back and forth and seemed to look at everything in the room except for the blonde who was staring at him nervously.

The silence between them was starting to become awkward. Cosette’s cheeks slowly turned pink, then red with embarrassment. Finally, when she could bear it no longer, she blurted out, “I’m sorry for kissing you.”

It was Marius’s turn to blush. “Oh.”

If the silence had been unbearable, it was pure torture now. Marius felt a pit growing in his stomach. Of course someone like Cosette would regret kissing someone like him.

Cosette felt awful for making Marius uncomfortable. Stupid Courfeyrac and his stupid plan. Of course Marius didn’t want a girl he barely knew to grab him and kiss him in front of all of his friends.

“It’s just,” Cosette began, determined to salvage something of the evening. “I like you, and I thought you liked me, and I thought kissing you when the clock struck midnight was a good excuse to show you how I felt.”

Marius opened and closed his mouth several times, but was unable to actually form any words.

“I’m sorry for making you uncomfortable. I should have asked before kissing you,” Cosette concluded, forcing herself, no matter how difficult it was, to look at Marius.

“You like me?” He maintained her gaze with a great deal of effort. She nodded. “But…I thought you were…with Courfeyrac.”

Cosette laughed. “Courfeyrac? Why on Earth would you think that?”

“I saw you kiss him.”

Cosette was about to laugh again, because the idea was so crazy, and she could never imagine kissing Courfe- oh. Oh.

“You saw that?” she squeaked.

Apparently that was the wrong thing to say. Marius nodded miserably. “I understand,” he said. “Courfeyrac is a great guy. He’s my best friend, and I want you both to be happy.”

He said it with such painful sincerity that Cosette cringed. This was not how she thought this conversation would go.

“Please stop talking,” she said.

Marius shut up immediately.

Cosette took a deep breath. Apparently there had been enough miscommunication between the two of them already. She wanted to get what she said next right. She closed the distance between them, and gently took one of Marius’s hands.

“Courfeyrac and I are not involved,” Cosette said, carefully enunciating each word. “He’s like a brother to me. I only kissed him because some guy was being a creep and I thought kissing Courfeyrac would make him go away.”

Marius seemed to be having difficulty processing this information. “And Courfeyrac doesn’t have feelings for you either?” he asked slowly. If his best friend had feelings for Cosette, of course he would respect that.

“It was his idea for me to kiss you,” Cosette admitted.

It did seem like a very Courfeyrac-y suggestion.

Finally, finally Marius’s face broke into a smile. It was breathtaking and Cosette couldn’t help but smile back.

“You’re not with Courfeyrac. You’re not with Courfeyrac, and you like me.”

“I like you, and I would really appreciate it if you stopped talking, because I want to kiss you again.”

For once, Marius didn’t immediately give Cosette what she asked for.

“So, to clarify…are we together?”

She rested her forehead against his, and laughed softly. “Yes. If you want to be.”

He nodded, causing their heads to bob together. They both giggled.

“Good. Now seriously, shut up.”

**********

“Morning,” Combeferre said, padding into the kitchen.

Enjolras grunted in response, barely looking up from the sheet of paper he was working on. It was still early, so Enjolras took advantage of the empty kitchen so he could spread his things all over the counter without fear of Bossuet spilling something on them, or Jehan deciding to scribble poetry in the margins.

Enjolras and Combeferre, having drank the least at the party the night before, were the only ones not currently sleeping off massive hangovers.

“Are you working on a speech already?” Combeferre poured himself some coffee and refilled Enjolras’s cup.

“Resolutions, actually.”

“May I?”

Enjolras handed over his legal pad. Combeferre sipped as he read the list. He raised his eyebrow. Enjolras, who had been watching attentively, frowned.

“Problem?”

“These aren’t very practical,” Combeferre admitted.

Enjolras huffed, feeling slightly embarrassed. Combeferre’s opinion mattered to him more than most people realized, and the criticism of his list upset him.

“I want to challenge myself.”

“I know. But about half of these are to get legislations passed, which are things you have no direct control over.”

“Every person can make a difference.”

Combeferre smiled patiently. “Try to focus on how to achieve these things. It’s great that you have such big goals, but you need to learn how to see the smaller picture as well.”

“I did.” Enjolras insisted, pointing further down.

Combeferre read: increase rally attendance by 25%, update website/blog at least once a week…

“This one could be a little more specific.”

“Which one?”

“’Give more fucks about school’,” Combeferre said, trying and failing not to look amused.

“I thought you’d approve,” Enjolras said, frowning. Combeferre was always pushing him to do better in school.

“How about ‘improve grades so I can get into a good MA program’? And ‘stop purposefully antagonizing the professors and administration so I can get a good reference’?”

“Lamarque will give me a good one.”

“You probably need more than one reference.”

There was a pause then, “Fuck.”

Enjolras took back his paper and made the suggested change, grumbling. Combeferre suppressed a grin. Enjolras, while brilliant, had never been a model student. He excelled in subjects he was passionate about, and completely neglected the rest. He was outspoken in class, and while a few teachers appreciated a student demonstrating critical thinking, most were irritated at being told they were wrong so many times.

It was only Combeferre’s guidance that Enjolras had gotten through high school and into a decent college. And now, it was only Combeferre’s gentle reminders that if Enjolras wanted a career in law or politics, he would have to have at least decent grades that kept Enjolras from going completely overboard.

“You know,” Combeferre said, treading carefully. “I think it might be a good idea to broaden your list a little.”

“How so?” Enjolras asked. Perhaps he was focusing too much on LGBTQ rights and not enough on the immigration movement. And he wasn’t doing nearly enough for education reform. He could also expand more on his ideas for combating homelessness…

“This is all related to your causes. Or school, which is only on there because eventually you’ll use your degree to help your causes. I know this is important to you, but there’s more to the world than activism.”

“Not to me there isn’t,” Enjolras said haughtily.

“Yes there is,” Combeferre said. “There’s Cosette and Valjean. And there’s the Amis.”

Enjolras pondered this. Yes, of course the people in his life were the only thing he cared about more than his causes. He thought he did a good job of making time for them.

He saw Combeferre and Courfeyrac on a daily basis. He went to Jehan’s poetry readings at least once a month. He had gone to the hospital with Joly on more than one occasion when the med student was worried about any number of sicknesses. Enjolras had almost been arrested one time when he broke into Bossuet’s apartment to unlock it from the inside after Bossuet lost his keys. 

“You think I should support them more?”

“I think you could be more patient towards some of them,” Combeferre said gently.

“You mean Grantaire,” Enjolras said. It was something Combeferre had mentioned before, and after last night’s spat, he really shouldn’t have been surprised Combeferre was bringing it up again.

“You did initiate the kiss.”

“To shut him up.”

Combeferre sighed. “The whole thing started when he tried to help you.”

“I didn’t need his help.” Enjolras said sourly.

“If things between you and Grantaire are ever going to get better, one of you is going to have to take the first step.”

Enjolras was about to retort that he was fine with things the way they were, but stopped himself. He and Grantaire might actually get along if they could stop bickering for two minutes. He could do this. New year, new leaf. He scribbled ‘be nice to Grantaire’ at the bottom of the page, and shoved it in Combeferre’s face.

“Happy?”

“Ecstatic.”

Enjolras put the list down. “Good.”

Satisfied, Enjolras set about emptying the dishwasher and making another pot of coffee for whenever his friends woke up. He went upstairs to change. He had been gone for maybe five minutes, when Grantaire shuffled in the kitchen, yawning.

He and Combeferre nodded to each other. Grantaire had more experience than most at dealing with hangovers though, so when he plopped himself down in Enjolras’s empty chair, he didn’t seem too miserable. Satisfied the cynic could take care of himself, Combeferre busied himself reading the newspaper. He only looked up when he heard Grantaire speak.

"Typical Enjolras." Grantaire had picked up Enjolras’s abandoned resolution list, looking amused. When he got to the last item, he froze, surprised. "Be nice to Grantaire?" he read gleefully.

"No," Combeferre said. "No, do not abuse that knowledge."

Grantaire nodded, not really listening. Aggravating Enjolras would be infinitely more enjoyable than usual while knowing Enjolras would be trying his damndest to be patient. Grantaire wondered how far he could push Enjolras before making him snap.

"Do. Not." Combeferre repeated sternly. "You should make a resolution to be nicer to him too."

"Pass," Grantaire said. "My resolution is to make Enjolras break his by the end of the day."

He grinned to himself as he reached for the coffee pot. Combeferre stood up and grabbed the coffee with surprising speed. He very carefully set the pot down as far away from Grantaire as possible.

"This is your preemptive punishment."

"This is cruel and unusual. You expect me to stand up and walk all the way over there? Do you know how hungover I am?"

Combeferre shrugged.

“And people think Enjolras is the terrible one,” Grantaire said darkly.

“You better watch your back,” Combeferre teased, edging out of the kitchen, and straight into Courfeyrac.

For a moment, they just stared at each other.

“Good morning,” Combeferre stammered.

“Morning.”

“I didn’t think you’d be up this early.”

“Well, I am.”

“I see,” Combeferre shifted uncomfortably. “Well, it’s good you are. There’s still coffee in the kitchen. I’m going to take a shower before everyone wakes up and uses all the hot water.”

Courfeyrac opened his mouth, but the bespectacled man was already slipping past him and going back upstairs. Courfeyrac trudged into the kitchen, dejected. Combeferre hadn’t slept in their room last night. Courfeyrac wondered how long he would keep avoiding him. He couldn’t take much more of Combeferre darting away or making up hasty excuses. It was just so un-Combeferrish.

“What the hell was that?” Grantaire asked. Courfeyrac glared at him, because of course Grantaire had seen that. “Or don’t tell me. That’s fine too. At least pass the coffee?”

“Nope. I’m still mad at you for last night.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Grantaire said. “In my defense, I’m sure I was drunk.”

Courfeyrac rolled his eyes and still refused to hand over the coffee. They sat in silence. Grantaire plotted how to torture Enjolras and Courfeyrac desperately wished he could fix things with Combeferre and make everything go back to normal.

**********

Courfeyrac took back his wish for everything to back to normal. When he was done with breakfast, he went to the living room where his two best friends were on the sofa, reading. Enjolras had been lying down, his legs resting on Combeferre’s lap. When he saw Courfeyrac, he swung his feet onto the floor, and scooted over, making a spot between himself and Combeferre. Courfeyrac hesitated for a second, then sat down.

“How was breakfast?” Combeferre asked pleasantly.

Oh. So they were going to pretend that whole awkward scene in the kitchen hadn’t happened?

“Fine,” Courfeyrac forced a smile.

Enjolras and Combeferre were content to keep reading, so Courfeyrac whipped out his phone and fiddled with it. It was completely normal for the trio, and it was driving Courfeyrac crazy. He needed confirmation that last night happened. There had been a moment before Combeferre had turned away. If the acknowledgement was awkwardness, then so be it. It was better than acting like everything was normal.

A giggling Cosette burst in the room, tugging along Marius.

“You are too cheerful for the morning,” Courfeyrac grumbled. Happy couples, even ones he had helped get together made him cranky.

“They left the party early,” Enjolras said. “They’re just well rested.”

“We didn’t do much sleeping last night,” Cosette said. Combeferre dropped his book. Cosette turned bright red. “No. Talking. We were talking!”

There had been plenty of kissing in between the talking, but that wasn’t something Cosette especially wanted to share.

“What else would you be doing?” Enjolras said, looking confused.

“Nothing,” Combeferre patted his head. “Go back to your book.”

“Actually we came here because it’s our last day before we’re all going back to Paris, and we’re going to make the most of it,” Cosette informed them.

“What do you propose?”

“Massive snowball fight. Outside. Ten minutes.”

Courfeyrac jumped up. This was just the distraction he needed. “Done.”

Enjolras and Combeferre looked more reluctant.

“Come on,” Cosette pleaded. “It was R’s idea. I need you all on my team or he’s going to win.”

“I don’t know…” As much as Enjolras liked beating Grantaire, he wasn’t sure how to be nice while trying to actively destroy the cynic.

Cosette’s bottom lip trembled and her eyelashes fluttered. There it was. The Disney princess face. They had all seen it enough times to know Cosette never used it when she was actually upset. But she used it rarely enough that it was still pretty damn effective.

“A little friendly competition wouldn’t be not being nice,” Enjolras reasoned. “It would probably be rude to not play.”

Combeferre shrugged. “I suppose.”

Even Combeferre was not impervious to the Disney face.

They headed up to their rooms to bundle up. When Enjolras got to his, he struggled to open the door.

“What the—”

He forced his way in after several good shoves.

His dresser was partially blocking the door. In fact, so were his curtains. He blinked. What?

Once he got all the way in, he could see someone had moved all of his furniture- and apparently his drapery- to the opposite side of the room from where they usually sat. It was disorienting to say the least.

Enjolras shut his eyes, a headache already forming in anticipation of all the moving he would have to do. When he opened his eyes, they wandered over to where his bed was, and he felt his blood pressure rise.

Normally, he had a French flag hanging on the wall over his bed. But instead of transferring the flag, someone had taken it and put in its place the Union Jack. Enjolras stormed over to examine it. Someone had created the design against his blue wall using red and white masking tape.

As he furiously ripped it down, he wondered how Grantaire (because really, who else) had gotten out of his room. It couldn’t have been through the door, what with the dresser blocking it. Either Grantaire was still lurking somewhere in the room, or he had left through the window.

Deciding it must be the latter, Enjolras opened the window and stuck his head out. Sure enough, Grantaire was sitting on the roof outside his own room, smoking. He waved cheerfully.

“Hi neighbor. What brings you out to the roof on this cold morning?”

Enjolras glared. “You know what.”

Grantaire’s eyes widened innocently. “No. I don’t. Did you want a smoke?”

“Where is my flag?”

“It’s not on your wall?”

“No, it’s not. Because you took it.”

Grantaire smirked. “Prove it.”

That infuriated Enjolras almost more than the actual theft of his beloved flag. Because he couldn’t.

He had no idea how Grantaire had moved all his furniture without anyone hearing. He had no idea how Grantaire got from his window to Enjolras’s across the icy roof while hungover. And the snow had been conveniently pushed off the roof and onto the ground, removing any incriminating footprints. Enjolras would be impressed if he weren’t so mad.

“I don’t need proof. I know it was you.”

“That isn’t very nice of you to assume things,” Grantaire said in a sing-song voice.

Enjolras froze. Shit. He had left his list on the kitchen counter. And now Grantaire was smiling his stupid, taunting smile at him, waiting for him to crack.

Enjolras swallowed. “You’re right,” he said, almost choking on the words. “I shouldn’t assume. I’ll see you outside.”

He retreated and shut his window before Grantaire could try to provoke him anymore.

**********

Everyone had assembled outside within five minutes of when they had agreed to meet, which considering the Amis’ track record with time was impressive.

“Alright,” Grantaire said, rubbing his hands together. “Two teams. The losing team has to buy the other team drinks for a night when we get back to Paris.”

The atmosphere became suddenly tense. Depending on who was on what team, this could be very serious indeed.

“Cosette and I are team captains,” Grantaire continued. “Ladies first.”

She didn’t even hesitate. “I want Marius.”

Grantaire shook his head in disbelief. They were about to go to war, Cosette had first choice, and she chose the gentle dreamer of the group. That was love.

“Bahorel.”

“Enjolras,” Cosette countered.

“And so by default, you also get Combeferre and Courfeyrac.”

“We’re not a packaged set,” Enjolras grumbled.

Bossuet, Joly, Jehan and Feuilly ended up on Grantaire’s team. They agreed to have a half hour where no one was allowed to attack so that each team could build a base.

Cosette let Enjolras take over leading the group. He found a spot under the deck to make camp. The exterior of the house and the floor of the deck created natural cover. They stacked logs and logs of firewood in front of them and to the side, making an effective barricade.

Cosette disappeared inside and came back out with a red blanket. “A flag for our barricade,” she said, handing it to Enjolras.

With only five minutes before the snowball fight could begin in earnest, they began to devise their plan of attack.

“But remember,” Enjolras said. “This is just a friendly competition—”

“The hell it is,” Courfeyrac said. “Do you know how much R, Bahorel and Feuilly can drink in one sitting? I am not buying drinks for them.”

“We’re keeping this civilized,” Enjolras insisted.

Cosette made a face. She put Enjolras in charge for his killer instincts, not this pacifist crap.

“Incoming,” Combeferre said, peeking over the firewood.

Grantaire’s team had established their base in the woods, about thirty feet from the deck. A cluster of trees formed a natural defense that they fortified with a wall built out of packed snow. So far, they hadn’t seen them emerge from the wall. Enjolras took a look.

Jehan was wandering dreamily in the no man’s land between the bases.

“Is he still playing?” Marius asked. “Or did he quit?”

Enjolras frowned. Jehan did take a lot of nature walks. Maybe he was enjoying the pristine snowfall before they inevitably ruined it. On the other hand, Jehan could be more vicious than people gave him credit for.

He was getting closer.

“Steady,” Enjolras said.

Jehan disappeared around the curve of the house.

“Trap?” Cosette said.

“Trap,” Enjolras agreed.

“Cosette, Marius, follow him. Carefully.”

They nodded, and disappeared.

“If Jehan is a trap, it means their forces are split. I’m going to try to capture their fort. One of you with me. The other hold base,” Enjolras commanded.

Combeferre ended up going with Enjolras. He wished Enjolras hadn’t worn his bright red peacoat. They weren’t exactly hiding as they approached Grantaire’s fort, but Enjolras was begging to be hit. Which he was. Twice in the chest.

He glared at Feuilly and Grantaire but continued forward. Another snowball his arm before Combeferre pulled him down behind a log for cover. They didn’t throw as many snowballs as their enemies, but they threw them with enough accuracy that they could advance little by little.

Behind them, Cosette and Marius were forced to retreat back to the barricade by Bahorel and Jehan. Joly was pelting Courfeyrac with snowballs. Bossuet tried to help his boyfriend but kept slipping on ice.

“We should help them,” Enjolras said.

“They’ll be fine,” Combeferre said calmly.

Sure enough, once Marius and Cosette made it back safely, they managed to hold their own. Marius and Courfeyrac worked especially well together, and Cosette managed to nail Bahorel in the face with a snowball.

He laughed. “Good one. Your aim is improving.”

“Thanks,” Cosette hit him square in the face with another one.

Grantaire’s team was being pushed back. If he could capture Grantaire’s fort, they would have nowhere to go.

“Are we allowed to go all out now?” Cosette shouted. Her fingers were starting to go numb.

“This isn’t all out?” Bossuet asked.

“Enjolras told us to be nice,” Courfeyrac said bitterly. He really didn’t want to pay for R’s drinks.

Jehan snorted, dodging a well aimed iceball gracefully.

Enjolras, confident in his team’s position, made one final charge, getting hit several more times, including in the head. He made it to the edge of the fort.

“Surrender,” Enjolras commanded. “Or I’ll start breaking down the wall.”

In the background, the fighting had stalled, waiting to see what happened between Enjolras and R.

“Tell you what,” Grantaire said. “If you capture our flag, you win.”

“Your flag?”

Grantaire ducked behind the wall and emerged holding the flag from Enjolras’s room.

Enjolras turned as red as his coat. Resolutions be damned.

“Destroy them all.”

**********

They sat around the roaring fireplace, nursing cups of various hot beverages. Everyone had changed into their pajamas. Their cold, wet outerwear was hung up throughout the room.

Cosette and Courfeyrac were ecstatic about their victory. Grantaire was silently reveling in his own. He slowly inched his way closer to where Enjolras sat.

“How are your resolutions coming along?” Grantaire asked.

“Shut up. I didn’t break any of them.”

“You shoved snow down my shirt.”

 “It was a game.”

“You almost strangled me with your scarf.”

“You’re over exaggerating.”

“It’s okay.” Grantaire said quietly. “I like it better this way.”

Enjolras tore his gaze away from the fire, his brow raised quizzically. Grantaire chuckled.

“What would we talk about if you were constantly being nice to me?”

Enjolras didn’t have the faintest idea. Grantaire gingerly clasped Enjolras’s shoulder.

“Arguing with you…” he sighed. “It’s not so bad.”

He squeezed Enjolras’s shoulder once before removing his hand. Enjolras felt more confused than ever.

“It’s not so bad arguing with you either. You know, sometimes.”

Grantaire smiled into his cup of cocoa. “You flatter me.”

Enjolras nudged Grantaire’s knee with his own. Grantaire pushed back. After a few more back and forth shoves, they reached a compromise. Their legs rested against each other, neither willing to surrender and move.

“You’re the worst.”

“Right back at you, Goldilocks.”

They clinked their glasses together. 

Chapter Text

January 5, 2013

Marius straightened his tie. “Well?”

Courfeyrac tilted his head. “Lose the tie. You’re overdressed.”

Marius sighed. He almost regretted asking Courfeyrac for help. He had spent the past hour modeling outfits for his roommate, in the hopes of finding a perfect first date ensemble. It was doing nothing to help his nerves.

He got rid of the tie, and eventually shed the slacks and button-down. A few outfits later, and Courfeyrac was satisfied.

“That looks good,” he finally declared. “Now use some of my cologne. One or two spritzes. Don’t drench yourself in it.”

Marius examined himself. He was wearing a pair of black jeans and a dark green sweater Courfeyrac had lent him. “This isn’t too casual?”

“For dinner and a movie?”

“Sorry. I just haven’t really dated before,” Marius confessed, tugging at the bottom of the sweater.

“If it makes you feel better, neither has Cosette.”

“Really?” This was almost inconceivable to Marius. How had beautiful, sweet, perfect Cosette never dated before?

“Well…yeah. She was homeschooled. Plus, she’s shy.”

“She’s friends with all of you though,” Marius insisted. The Amis were an intimidating group if you didn’t know them. He certainly wouldn’t have approached them had it not been for Courfeyrac.

“She met us through Enjolras. That’s another reason she doesn’t date much. Enjolras and Valjean are a little overprotective of her.”

Enjolras, Marius could understand scaring off potential suitors. But Valjean? He was just a kindly old man. Courfeyrac seemed to read his mind.

“Valjean was in prison for like 20 years. Plus he’s crazy strong, even for an old guy. Not to mention he volunteers with this mentorship program for rehabilitation inmates, so he knows a lot of guys who could seriously mess you up.”

“Oh.”

“Enjolras and Valjean will probably give you this spiel themselves if things with Cosette get serious. Valjean would go back to jail if it meant protecting his daughter. And Enjolras could talk his way out of a murder charge, especially after Combeferre and I got rid of the evidence.”

Marius looked betrayed. “You would help?”

“I’ve known him longer. But I’d do my best to ensure a quick death.”

“Thanks.”

“My pleasure. Now, relax.” Courfeyrac ruffled Marius’s hair so it was no longer plastered to his head. It looked good-casually cool, an effect Marius could never hope to achieve without some help. “Remember she likes you.”

“She likes me,” Marius repeated, hardly believing the words. They made him feel stronger, but also terrified him because surely, once she got to know him, she would change her mind.”

“Hey,” Courfeyrac cut in. “You look good. Go get her.”

**********

“What about this one?” Cosette spun around, her pink skirt twirling gently.

“Um, yes,” Combeferre pushed his glasses up. “I um, like the pink. Very pretty. And that necklace is…sparkly.”

Combeferre was a very smart man who knew a great deal about a wide range of subjects. Women’s fashion was not one of them.

“Enjolras?”

“Hmmm?” Enjolras had been mentally composing a speech. “Oh. You look beautiful.”

“That’s what you’ve said for every outfit.”

“Because it’s true.”

Cosette flopped on the sofa. Enjolras and Combeferre’s living room was nearly unrecognizable, covered as it was in discarded outfits. It hadn’t seemed that unreasonable of an idea when Cosette had barged in two hours ago with a bag crammed full of clothes. Enjolras and Combeferre were usually well dressed.

Although….Combeferre usually just bought outfits straight off the store mannequins. And Enjolras only dressed decently because of Courfeyrac and Bahorel. Cosette knew for a fact that on more than one occasion, the Amis’s two best dressed members had broken into Enjolras’s closet and stolen items they deemed monstrosities.

Their Christmas and birthday gifts to the fashion challenged blonde were exclusively clothes. Once, Enjolras’s closet was so depleted that he wore oversized t-shirts he had gotten for free freshman year. Courfeyrac had given him several fitted V-necks in observance of “National Friendship Day”, a fake holiday they all now had to observe.

“You’re not being helpful,” Cosette pouted.

“I liked the red one,” Enjolras ventured.

“Of course you did.”

“I don’t know why you asked us to help you in the first place,” Enjolras snapped, starting to lose his patience.

“Bahorel is better at this,” Combeferre agreed.

“He’s on a date.”

“How about Jehan?”

Cosette raised an eyebrow. As much as she adored individual items in Jehan’s closet, the way he paired them could be unorthodox to say the least.

“Look, you two are the best I have so can you please-”

“Hey!” There was a banging on the door. “Goldilocks. I know you’re in there, because it’s a Friday night and you have nowhere better to be.”

Enjolras growled as he stalked over to the door. “What are you doing here?”

Grantaire pushed his way in. Judging by the state of his hair, hoodie, and the damp brown paper back he was clutching, it was raining outside. He shook his head, splattering Enjolras with rainwater. He grinned.

“Good evening, O Fearless Leader.”

“What. Are. You. Doing. Here.” Enjolras slammed his door shut.

“I just read your blog post and you are wrong.”

“And the bag?” Enjolras asked, though he knew perfectly well what was in it. This wasn’t the first blog post Grantaire had raced over to argue with him about.

“I’m cooking us dinner. You’re going to eat it, and I’m going to explain why you’re wrong.”

“I am perfectly capable of cooking my own dinner!”

Combeferre and Cosette laughed loudly at that. Grantaire poked his head in and grinned. “Hi guys. Cosette, what are you doing here? Don’t you have a date that Pontmercy wouldn’t shut up about?”

“We’re choosing an outfit.”

“And you asked these two for help? No offense, Combeferre.”

“None taken.”

Grantaire handed his bag of groceries to Enjolras who took them to the kitchen, grumbling. Cosette eyed Grantaire hopefully. He was circling the living room, critically, examining different pieces of clothing, his artistic side taking over.

“Wear the blue dress. The color looks good with your complexion. Wear the white tights with those shoes and tie your hair back with this scarf.”

Cosette blinked. “That’s perfect. Thanks, R.”

She snatched up the indicated items. She kissed Grantaire’s cheek on her way to the bathroom. He tried not to look too smug as he returned to the kitchen.

Enjolras had already laid out the groceries. He didn’t even give Grantaire time to heat up the stovetop before he launched into a defense of his post. Combeferre tried valiantly to immerse himself in his book, but it was no use. Even years of practice wasn’t enough to sufficiently tune them out when they really got going. Cosette’s reappearance was a blessing.

“I’m leaving,” she announced.

Enjolras and Grantaire waved, not taking their eyes off each other or taking a break from their argument. Combeferre sighed. Goodbye, peaceful evening.

“I’ll walk you,” he offered.

Cosette accepted happily, taking one of his hands in her gloved one. He grabbed a large umbrella and wondered how long it would be before Enjolras noticed his absence.

Once they were safely out of the building and on the street, Cosette threw back her head. “Oh my God.”

“I know.”

“In the rain, Combeferre. He walked five blocks in the rain. And this is rain of Biblical proportions.”

“I hope it won’t put a damper on your date with Marius,” Combeferre said, smoothly changing the topic.

Cosette shrugged. “It can’t last for much longer.”

Her prediction proved correct. The downpour eased into a drizzle by the time they reached the end of the block. Marius and Courfeyrac’s apartment was just on the corner.  

Combeferre walked Cosette to the building door. “Have fun.”

“You’re not going to walk me upstairs?” she said, feigning outrage. “A gentleman would never abandon his charge in such a manner.”

He suppressed a sigh. He really didn’t want to go upstairs, but despite her bravado, he could tell Cosette was nervous about her date. She needed the extra moral support, so he bowed, and offered her his arm.

“My lady.”

Giggling, she looped her arm in his and lead the way upstairs. Combeferre felt growing dread with each step they took. He hadn’t seen Courfeyrac since they got back from Valjean’s house. He wasn’t sure how happy his friend would be to see him.

Maybe he was overthinking things- he had a tendency to do that. Courfeyrac had a natural warmth that could set the most awkward situations at ease. Things would only be uncomfortable if Combeferre made them that way. He would just have to stick to his original plan of acting like everything was normal. He hated it; he much preferred to solve problems by discussing them. But he didn’t want to upset or embarrass his friend by bringing up what he was sure was a drunken almost mistake on Courfeyrac’s part.

The apartment door swung open. Courfeyrac stood, beaming. As soon as he saw Combeferre, his smile flickered and almost extinguished. But he recovered quickly and stood aside.

“Come on in.”

Combeferre hesitated for a fraction of a second before he followed Cosette inside. Because usually he would go in, right?

He was thinking so much he couldn’t remember what he would normally do. It was too late now. If he didn’t go in, it would definitely be weird.

Marius was pacing in the living room. He stopped as soon as he saw Cosette, and stood in awe.

“You’re beautiful,” he said with sweet sincerity.

Cosette’s cheeks, already flushed from outside, turned a brighter pink.

“You look handsome,” she smiled.

Marius stared, as if he couldn’t believe Cosette was really there. Courfeyrac coughed.

“Oh!” It was Marius’s turn to blush. “I got you this.”

He held out a small notebook. It was a soft shade of blue that Cosette loved. The cover was decorated with pressed flower petals. Marius carefully gauged Cosette’s reaction.

“You didn’t have to get me anything!” she protested.

“I wanted to,” Marius rubbed the back of his neck nervously. “I was going to get you flowers, but I know you live in a dorm, and I didn’t know if you’d have space. And I thought this would last longer.”

Cosette examined it. “Did you make this?”

Marius’s face fell. “It’s messed up, isn’t it? I’ll just take it back and we can get you some flowers on the way.”

He reached for it, but Cosette pulled back.

“It’s perfect. I can’t believe you took the time to decorate this for me.”

“Feuilly helped,” Marius admitted. “And Jehan helped with the flower language.”

Cosette kissed his cheek. “Thank you. It’s perfect. I was almost out of space in my idea notebook.”

Marius knew that. He had often seen Cosette scribbling away in a notebook when she was struck by sudden inspiration. And he had overheard her telling Enjolras last week that she needed to buy another one soon.

They stood, grinning shyly at each other. Courfeyrac coughed loudly again.

“Your reservation is in twenty minutes. Do you need me to go with you and be timekeeper? Or will you two be able to resist getting lost in each other’s eyes?”

“Oh. Right. Sorry,” Marius stammered. “Let me just-”

He fumbled around, looking for an umbrella, forgetting that he had given it to a pregnant lady on the bus the day before. Combeferre wordlessly handed Marius his.

“Thank you! I’ll return it, I promise. I-”

Combeferre smiled. “Go. You’ll be late.”

Cosette slipped her hand into Marius’s free one, and gently tugged him towards the door.

“Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do!” Courfeyrac shouted as the door closed.

Combeferre regretted not slipping out with them. His mind raced to find a plausible excuse to leave, but Courfeyrac spoke first.

“I thought Enjolras said you two were watching that new documentary tonight.”

“R came over.”

“Again?” Courfeyrac rolled his eyes.

“Yeah,” Combeferre shifted. “I should probably-”

“What? Go back to that war zone in the rain when you gave your umbrella to Pontmercy? For a smart person, you can be dumb sometimes.” Courfeyrac paused. “Hang out with me for a little bit.”

Combeferre was surprised with how casual the last part sounded, given the weirdness between them. He didn’t know the effort it took Courfeyrac to say it that way.

“I don’t want to impose.”

“You could never impose. Again- being dumb.”

They settled on the oversized couch. Courfeyrac fiddled with his hands then said, “I’m actually glad I caught you alone. We should talk.”

Combeferre inhaled sharply. Really, he should have expected it. Courfeyrac was an open book; if something was bothering him, he never shied away from making his feelings known.

“I think,” Courfeyrac said, when it became clear Combeferre was waiting for him to say what was on his mind, “That things have been a little awkward between us, and I know why, and I just wanted to say sorry. I don’t want me being a dumbass while I was drunk to mess up our relationship.”

Courfeyrac watched Combeferre intently. Combeferre seemed very interested in his hands. His belief that the party had been Courfeyrac’s natural friendliness amplified by alcohol had just been confirmed, and the small hope that it meant something more had just been crushed.

Of course Courfeyrac didn’t feel anything other than friendship towards him. Someone like Courfeyrac wouldn’t be interested in someone like Combeferre romantically. He knew that- that was why he hadn’t kissed Courfeyrac’s lips- but he felt disappointment  nonetheless.

“So…are we good?” Courfeyrac ventured when he could no longer take the silence. He had to know that at least their friendship hadn’t been ruined.

“We’re good,” Combeferre confirmed, looking up with a small smile that made Courfeyrac’s stomach do somersaults.

He wanted to lean in and kiss Combeferre. Instead, he tossed the remote at him. “Then you pick what we’re going to watch. It can even be that boring documentary you and Enjolras were going to watch.”

Combeferre settled on a Lord of the Rings one of the movie channels was playing. It was something they could both appreciate. Courfeyrac made snarky commentary while Combeferre provided brilliant insight. It felt easy and it felt natural, and yet, there was something missing. Something neither man knew how to articulate, and was too afraid to ask for.

When Marius came home, he found them asleep, Courfeyrac cuddling against Combeferre, both wearing content expressions.

February 14^th, 2013

Having a meeting on Valentine’s Day was a mistake. Combeferre had warned Enjolras, and he had stubbornly ignored his friend’s advice. In his defense, it was Thursday and they were called Thursday meetings for a reason. Not to mention they were organizing a major rally for the same sex marriage bill that parliament would be voting on in the spring. They could not afford a single night off.

The Amis disagreed. Joly and Bossuet had finally introduced their girlfriend, Musichetta. Enjolras had instantly liked her. She was confident and intelligent and seemed genuinely interested in their work. Enjolras would like her more if she weren’t currently distracting two of their members. The three of them were currently occupying the back booth, wrapped up in ways Enjolras hadn’t thought physically possible. He sent dark looks to their corner, but wasn’t comfortable enough with whatever the hell was happening to go up to them and tell them to please pay attention.

Bahorel was out ‘sick’ although Enjolras thought he saw Bahorel go in a restaurant with a mysterious red head. Combeferre insisted Enjolras must be wrong, but hurried him along to the Musain. (Combeferre had made the snap decision that having a date on Valentine’s Day was not a crime worthy of the terrifying punishment Enjolras would dole out).

Jehan’s most recent romance had crashed and burned spectacularly less than a week ago. He was now busy creating depressing playlists and reading morbid poetry. It was becoming a pattern with Jehan; he seemed addicted to doomed relationships. He periodically murmured his assent with whatever Enjolras was saying, but was much more invested in scribbling down dark verses in his notebook and on his arm.

Feuilly, who Enjolras usually counted on to be an active participant, had to work. He had been called into his restaurant job as back up on one of their busiest days of the year.

Shockingly, even Combeferre was distracted.

As usual, he and Enjolras were the first to arrive at the Musain. They went to the backroom to set up, and were surprised to find a neatly wrapped box labeled ‘Combeferre’.

Curious, Combeferre, unwrapped it, careful not to rip the paper (because wasting wrapping paper was frivolous).  Inside, there was a can of loose tea leaves, a travel tea mug with a built in infuser, and a box of Combeferre’s favorite cookies.

Even Enjolras’s interest was piqued. “Who’s it from?”

Combeferre groped around the bottom of the box. “I don’t know. There isn’t a note.”

His heart and mind raced as he considered the possibilities. He hoped against all logic, that perhaps it had been left by Courfeyrac.

But it couldn’t be. Courfeyrac came in, minutes later, carrying a bag full of truly atrocious homemade Valentines cards. They were made out of red construction paper, and cut into big, sloppy hearts. Haphazardly glued on glitter and cheesy handwritten notes on why the receiver was important to Courfeyrac filled the insides.

Courfeyrac presented Enjolras and Combeferre their cards with a flourish. He succeeded in making Enjolras smile, and Combeferre thoughtful. So his mystery Valentine wasn’t Courfeyrac. The mystery consumed so much of his focus that he barely paid attention to Enjolras’s passionate rhetoric.

In fact, once the meeting got going, the Amis’ resident cynic seemed to be the only listening to every word. True, Grantaire was only listening so he could tell Enjolras why he was wrong, but at least he was listening.

Grantaire’s arguments distracted Enjolras enough so that it took him a while to notice that his friends’ minds were elsewhere. But when he eventually did, he begrudgingly said that he supposed it was a holiday, so perhaps they could end early, but only if the next meeting ran long to make up for it.  He proceeded to spend the rest of the evening sulking in the corner, frowning at his laptop as he typed furiously.

Grantaire slid next to Courfeyrac and handed him a beer. “Thanks for the shitty card, by the way.”

Courfeyrac scowled. “I’ll have you know I worked hard on those.”

Grantaire thought of the lopsided piece of paper that he had tucked into his pocket. “Yeah, I wouldn’t tell people that.”

“I take back all the nice things I said,” Courfeyrac pouted.

“I appreciated the thought,” Grantaire said, to be less of an asshole. “Not a lot of people would spend hours making cards for their friends.”

“Days.”

“Seriously, stop telling people how long those took you to make. It’s depressing,” Grantaire took a deep sip of his beer before he asked. “So how long did it take you to do Combeferre’s Valentine?”

Courfeyrac stiffened. “As long as it took to make everyone else’s.”

“I didn’t mean the card. I meant the anonymous present.”

Courfeyrac stared at him. “How did you know?”

“It was an educated guess you just confirmed. Why would you go through all that trouble?”

“I…I wanted to do something nice for him. If he knew it was from me, he probably would feel uncomfortable.” He sighed. “I just want him to be happy.”

Grantaire raised his eyebrows. As much as he always criticized mankind for being selfish bastards, his friends always found ways to prove him wrong. He couldn’t think of anything to say, so he settled on taking another drink.

Marius rushed over to their table. “I just told Cosette I loved her,” he announced breathlessly.

Both of the seated men kept their expressions carefully neutral.

“And…how did she react?” Courfeyrac asked.

“She kissed me!” Marius said.

Courfeyrac exhaled, relieved. “That’s great,” he told his roommate.

“You’re so lucky you’re dating Cosette,” Grantaire said. “I swear, the shit you pull, Pontmercy…most girls would have gotten a restraining order by now.”

“For telling my girlfriend I love her?” Marius frowned.

“After dating her for barely a month,” Grantaire pointed out.

“But I was in love with her before we started dating. I told her that, and that I was still in love with her, and she said I was sweet and kissed me.”

Grantaire banged his head on the table. “You told her that? Please don’t say you told her you basically stalked her for months before you even had the balls to talk to her.”

“Not exactly.”

“Fucking hell, Pontmercy.”

“That’s great, Marius,” Courfeyrac kicked Grantaire under the table. Hard.

Grantaire rolled his eyes and stood up. “I’ll leave you to it, then.”

He wandered away, shaking his head. Marius really was lucky to date Cosette. She had read entirely too many love stories, and probably thought Marius’s whirlwind courtship was romantic. Grantaire almost wished he could think of it that way. It must be nice to see the world as a place filled with rainbows, hope and sunshine. All he could see was the inevitable disappointment and gloom.

He ended up sitting across from Enjolras. “I hope I’m not interrupting you and your other half,” he said, gesturing to Enjolras’s laptop.

“I thought we all decided Patria was my other half?” Enjolras said, not bothering to look up.

“Well, a laptop is more attainable than the personification of a landmass,” Grantaire said. “Even you had to accept reality.”

“I don’t see how being in a relationship with a laptop is more feasible than a country.” Grantaire smirked. Enjolras’s eyes flickered up. “If you’re going to say something dirty, then don’t bother saying anything at all.”

Grantaire held his tongue. “Fine. But you could do better than an inanimate object, you know. You’re not terrible looking. And you’re mildly intelligent. Aim higher.”

Enjolras snorted. “With someone like you?”

“You could do worse,” Grantaire said. “I bet your computer can’t write you poetry.”

“And you can?”

“Watch me,” Grantaire cleared his throat. Roses are red, violets are blue—”

“No they’re not. They’re violet.”

“Shut it, Goldilocks. It’s a thing people say.”

“Well, they’re wrong.”

“You’re ruining it.”

“I doubt there was much to ruin.”

“This is why you’re alone on Valentine’s Day.”

“What’s your excuse?”

“This was a choice,” Grantaire said. “I had to fend off crowds with a stick. I wanted to be here, so I could mock the sad single people and happy couples alike.”

Enjolras’s eyes flickered over to where Cosette and Marius were cuddling. He frowned. That was not lost on Grantaire.

“I thought you liked Marius?”

“I do…” Enjolras shrugged. “I’m just worried about them. It’s nothing.”

It didn’t seem like nothing. But Enjolras shut his computer, and went to order a coffee. Courfeyrac cheered when he saw even Enjolras had finally succumbed to the festivities. Grantaire was left to wonder what Enjolras had meant. Was it possible the optimistic blonde shared Grantaire’s apprehensions about Cosette’s budding romance?

He shook off the thought and stumbled off to go tease someone else. 

Chapter Text

March 29, 2013

Enjolras winced as he got out of his car. They had driven all night to get to the lake house, coming straight from a protest turned riot. Combeferre shot him a dark look. He had insisted on driving, even though Enjolras swore he wasn’t that injured.

That was a lie. He had a nasty cut on his arm that Joly had to stitch up, and his torso was in pain from where he had been kicked and punched. He was sure there was already bruising. Most troubling, he had been hit in the back of the head with a rock or something. His blonde hair had temporarily turned scarlet from the blood. Enjolras was just glad his face had escaped unscathed- he didn’t want to worry Valjean. His current injuries would be easy enough to hide from his anxious uncle.

It was poor planning to go to Valjean’s house immediately after a rally. Enjolras tried to avoid it at all costs, but it couldn’t be helped. The timing of the rally was important- it was a few weeks before the same-sex marriage bill was supposed to go to the Senate. It was close enough to the vote that people could be cajoled into action, but left enough time for people to get organized and actually do something.

But that weekend also happened to be Cosette’s birthday weekend. She had invited her friends to Valjean’s house months ago to celebrate, before they set the rally date. By the time they realized that last Friday of March would be the perfect day to hold the rally, they had already agreed to go to Valjean’s house for the weekend. None of them wanted to back out of either commitment, and so the battered and bruised Amis descended upon Valjean’s house, arriving in staggered groups.

Combeferre and Enjolras were among the last to arrive. It around midnight, possibly later. From the lack of lights from within the house, it was safe to assume everyone else was already asleep.

Enjolras reached for his bag, but Combeferre snatched it away, muttering, “Absolutely ridiculous.”

The med student had been the one to initiate the Amis’ evacuation when things started to get ugly. He had been furious when Enjolras refused to leave, and worse, had disappeared into the brawl. Enjolras then proceeded to be two hours late to the rendezvous. 

Combeferre had been beside himself with worry, as the dozen missed calls and texts on Enjolras’s phone attested to. Although it was a very calm panic; Enjolras doubted any of the Amis had noticed. Combeferre was good at not letting them know when he was panicking, because if he panicked, everyone would panic. But Enjolras knew Combeferre well enough to know a text that read, “Rendezvous was half an hour ago” roughly translated to “Where the fuck are you? Please don’t be dead in a ditch,” in Combeferre speak.

Once he had confirmation his best friend was alive, he regarded Enjolras with cool disapproval that only got worse each time Enjolras tried to pretend everything was fine. It wasn’t the first time Enjolras had been injured in a rally, nor would it be the last. This didn’t make it any easier for Combeferre. It came with the territory of being part of a student revolutionary group, but Combeferre wished for once Enjolras would display a little common sense and leave rallies instead of being physically removed either by the police or one of the braver Amis. 

This time, it had been Grantaire who entered the melee and gotten Enjolras out. According to the cynic, it had been a close call, with both him and Enjolras narrowly escaping arrest. It was only with Grantaire’s ridiculous knowledge of Paris’s back alleys and his kickboxing skills (he may or may not have punched a cop in the face) that they had eluded the authorities.

But of course, Enjolras wasn’t grateful. Grantaire’s contribution to the rally outraged him. Grantaire, who at the last meeting before the protest said he ‘might’ show up if he ‘had nothing better to do’, had dragged Enjolras away at a critical moment. The blonde spent the entire car ride fuming. (Silently. Even in his anger, Enjolras knew better than to test Combeferre’s severely stretched out patience. He did not want a Combeferre lecture, thank you very much).

Grantaire had stuck around long enough to make sure Enjolras was okay, before catching a ride with Joly, Bossuet and Musichetta. Combeferre had delayed his and Enjolras’s departure to make sure Enjolras hadn’t sustained a concussion. After hours of observation and forced rest, Enjolras was deemed fit enough to travel.

Combeferre lead the way to Enjolras’s room. He set down their luggage and indicated that Enjolras should sit on his bed, before disappearing. Enjolras felt properly chastised, even though his friend hadn’t said a word. When Combeferre returned with what seemed like the entirety of the medicine cabinet, he didn’t seem mad. He just seemed tired.

“I’m sorry,” Enjolras mumbled. If he were put in the same circumstance again, he would probably do exactly the same thing, but he was sorry to have upset Combeferre.

Combeferre’s snort indicated that he doubted that very much, but he tended to Enjolras’s wounds gently. Joly’s stitches had been well done and didn’t need any further attention. He carefully examined Enjolras’s bruised stomach and was relieved to see nothing had swollen up too much. After forcing Enjolras to take some painkillers (Enjolras hated taking medication, especially if it would make his brain fuzzy), Combeferre made two cups of chamomile tea (this also took some persuading before Enjolras took it), and the boys curled up on Enjolras’s bed, and read together.

It wasn’t an uncomfortable silence like it had been in the car. Enjolras could tell that Combeferre had mostly forgiven him by now. And Combeferre knew Enjolras felt bad, for worrying him at least. They fell asleep on Enjolras’s bed, Enjolras resting his head on Combeferre’s chest.

**********

He woke up when he heard a soft giggle. Cosette hovered over the foot of the bed, camera phone held aloft. She hastily dropped her hands to her side when she saw Enjolras squinting at her and adopted her most innocent expression.

“Not fooling anyone,” Enjolras said, gently shifting off the still sleeping Combeferre.

“Doesn’t matter. I got a cute picture anyway.”

Enjolras groaned. “Delete it.”

“You know I wouldn’t have to resort to a collection of creeper shots of you if you would cooperate when I took pictures.”

Enjolras scowled. Cosette lingered by the door, so Enjolras, sighing, swung his legs over the edge of the bed. He winced slightly. Despite Combeferre’s best ministrations, his body still ached. From experience, he knew that even with Joly and Combeferre’s attentions, time was the best healer after a nasty rally.

“Was there a particular reason you were lurking in my room?” Enjolras asked once they were in the hallway.

“I don’t lurk,” Cosette sounded offended. “And I made breakfast.”

Enjolras glanced at his watch and suppressed a groan. Somehow, it was morning already. Six in the morning, to be more specific. But this fact was pushed to the back of Enjolras’s mind when he realized what day it was.

“Happy birthday, Cosette,” he said, hugging her. “I should have made you breakfast.”

Cosette laughed. “I would prefer you not burn down the house.”

“I maintain that the toaster was defective.”

“Of course it was,” Cosette cooed.

Enjolras was instantly on his guard. Cosette missing out on a chance to mock his admittedly abysmal cooking skills must mean she wanted something.

“Can you please skip this whole routine and get to the point?”

“Routine?” Cosette asked innocently. Enjolras gave her an unimpressed look. “I need help with decorations.”

Enjolras nodded gamely. Cosette went on to explain she was sending the rest of the Amis to town, so they could unwind. She wanted to decorate the house so it was done when they got back, but realized that without someone else’s help, it would be near impossible. She had decided to throw a Disney-themed costume party for her birthday, and was determined to transform her house into a mini Disney World.

“So what are we doing?” Enjolras said.

“First we’re going to eat breakfast.”

After they finished breakfast, they filled bags up with party favors. Once they were done, Cosette showed Enjolras how to fold napkins properly. It took a while for him to master the proper napkin folding technique. He ended up being his friends’ entertainment, when they came downstairs to eat breakfast and were treated with the sight of the frustrated blonde trying to make Mickey Mouse ears out of cloth napkins.

Eventually, their friends migrated into town, promising to be back in time for the party. Enjolras felt slightly abandoned, but managed to finish folding the seeming infinite number of napkins. He awaited the next challenge. Cosette took pity. 

“We’ll do something easy. Let’s wash the cups we’ll use tonight, okay?”

She indicated the mismatched and multi-sized teacups. Once she had established the party would be Disney themed, Cosette had excitedly declared the food would of course be served like the Mad Hatter’s tea party.

“Be careful with that,” Cosette ordered.

“I’m being careful with all of them,” Enjolras said, irritated.

“That one is Marius’s. He’s lending me the tea set his mother left him.”

Enjolras raised his eyebrows. Marius was loaning Cosette his dead mother’s tea set at a party with the rambunctious Amis? How serious were they?

“That’s generous of him,” Enjolras said carefully. “That seems like a rather big gesture.”

Cosette bit her lip. Enjolras had no way of knowing, but he was treading dangerously close to repeating a lecture Valjean had given her the previous night before the Amis had arrived. The lecture had turned into one of the first serious fights she and her father had ever had, and she was still in a bad mood about it.

“Yes, it is,” she said. Her voice was still cheerful, but it had a dark undercurrent to it.

“So things are serious?” Enjolras asked. He had picked up on the subtle mood shift, but he was never one to back down.

“They are,” Cosette said, more terse now. “We’re in love.”

“Aren’t you too y-”

Cosette had to back away from the china tea cups so she didn’t accidently break them.

“Don’t you dare say I’m too young to be in love. I know what love is. I’m pretty sure I know more about love than you do.”

It was a bit of a low blow, and they both knew it. People often called Enjolras cold, or incapable of love. Even his friends jokingly called him a robot sometimes. Most of the time, Enjolras couldn’t care less what people called him, but on occasion, he wondered if by focusing his energy on his various causes, or platonic friendships, he was missing out on something. It wasn’t something he dwelled on, but it was one of the few things he was insecure about, and Cosette bringing it up now was a bit like a slap in the face.

Cosette felt a twinge of guilt. She didn’t fight dirty. She rarely fought at all. But guilt was overpowered by anger, and she kept going. “You and Papa keep treating me like a child. But Mama was already pregnant with me when she was my age.”

Enjolras bit back the retort that Fantine was the reason why he and Valjean were trying to shield Cosette. Cosette’s mother had gotten pregnant by a not so nice boyfriend who had abandoned her. She had lucked out and met Valjean who took care of both her and her daughter, but the few tough years before that had taken their toll. Valjean, Fantine and Cosette had a few years as a happy family before Fantine succumbed to a long-term illness.

Cosette seemed determined to grow up fast. After all, her mother had done many things young, and had been happy in those last years. She conveniently forgot the difficult years before that. It was a talent of hers to overlook the negative of any situation and instead see only the positive. Valjean did not have this ability. His talent was to forgive, not to forget.

“We just want to protect you.”

That was the wrong thing to say.

“I don’t need protection. What I need is for the two of you to trust me enough to know my own feelings. I already know Marius is the person I want to spend the rest of my life with. So instead of inventing reasons to worry, maybe you two should be happy for us.”

“We are, but-”

“I think I can handle the rest of the decorations myself, thanks,” Cosette interrupted.

She turned on the sink to full blast, drowning out anything else Enjolras might say.

He stared at her. He had seen her angry before. It was rare, but it happened. This was the first time he had felt it directed towards himself. He swallowed, and wished Combeferre or Courfeyrac were there to help relieve the tension. 

Enjolras opened his mouth to make another attempt at peace, but Cosette began to aggressively and loudly sing The Lion King soundtrack, so Enjolras retreated back to his room to wait for Cosette to cool off, and for his friends to come back.

**********

“Hey, Marius. Wait up!”

Marius stopped in the middle of the pathway when he heard Courfeyrac call after him. Courfeyrac jogged to catch up. Grantaire, who had been walking with Courfeyrac made no effort to increase his pace. He waved for them to go ahead while he fumbled with his cigarette pack.

“Where did you disappear to?” Courfeyrac asked. “Were you buying a last minute present?”

Marius shook his head, and showed Courfeyrac the contents of his bag. “Last minute decorations. Cosette called and asked me to pick up a few things. I already got her present.”

“Which is?” Courfeyrac asked. He wasn’t used to having to dig for information from Marius. Marius would usually blurt out whatever was going on in his life and whatever he was thinking, sometimes giving out too much information.

Marius dawdled, fidgeting with his pockets. “I actually wanted to get your advice on it,” he said, uncharacteristically serious.

Courfeyrac waited patiently as Marius fished a small box out of his pocket and opened it. There was a diamond ring inside.

Later, Courfeyrac would think of a dozen witty reactions he could have gone with, and would curse himself for not making them. At the moment, the only thing he could think of was, “Holy shit.”

Marius closed the box again. His cheeks were tinged pink, but he stuck his chin out defiantly. “I know it’s a little soon-”

“Soon?” Courfeyrac squeaked. “You’ve been dating for like three months!”

“It’s closer to four,” Marius said defensively.

“Oh, my mistake,” Courfeyrac snapped.

“We’re in love,” Marius said simply. “We wouldn’t get married right away. But we already know we’re going to be together for the rest of our lives. Getting engaged is another step forward. And I know it will mean a lot to Cosette.”

Courfeyrac tread carefully. “Are you sure? You don’t want to make her uncomfortable.”

Marius showed the first signs of irritation. “I’m not completely incompetent, Courfeyrac. We’ve talked about the future. I know Cosette likes the idea of getting married young.”

“Well if you’ve talked about it…” Courfeyrac briefly wondered how Enjolras and Valjean would feel about this, but these thoughts were temporarily dismissed by feelings of genuine happiness for two of his favorite people in the world. “Then I’m happy for you, buddy.”

Marius beamed, any irritation he had felt a minute ago gone. “Thank you. I mean, she hasn’t said yes. And if she does, the wedding won’t be for a long while, but I think it’s a good step in the right direction.”

Courfeyrac nodded. Marius remembered the bag he had in his hand.

“Oh! I better make sure Cosette gets the decorations. Everything has to be perfect!”

He sped off. Courfeyrac heard someone approaching from behind him.

Grantaire tossed his cigarette butt on the sidewalk and ground it with his shoe.

“You heard that?” Courfeyrac asked.

“I did. It’s mental.”

“It’s very them,” Courfeyrac pointed out. “It’s romantic.”

Grantaire chuckled. “Don’t ask me to understand that kind of whirlwind relationship. I think it’s idiotic.”

“Don’t be mean,” Courfeyrac said.

“I wouldn’t dream of it. Especially since neither Cosette or Marius are here to listen to my brilliant commentary. I’ll save it for when they can.”

“I’m serious. Don’t be an asshole.”

“I’ll hold off for as long as I can,” Grantaire said solemnly. “But it’s in my nature, so I can’t make any promises. Anyway, I’m the least of their worries.”

Courfeyrac groaned. “You mean Valjean and Enjolras.”

“I mean Valjean and Enjolras,” Grantaire agreed. “I think Valjean might actually lock Cosette in a tower.”

“Maybe we should tell them,” Courfeyrac said. “Enjolras at least. We can give him time to adjust to the idea before it happens. And he’ll know if we should talk to Valjean or not.”

“Don’t do that,” Grantaire said seriously. “Enjolras won’t understand and will pitch a fit and make the evening miserable for everyone. Cosette and Marius are both adults, and they’re going to do what they want. If they fuck up and do something dumb, that’s their decision.”

“That’s cheery.”

Grantaire shrugged. “I don’t believe in long-term relationships. There are too many things that can go wrong. But I figure Pontmercy and Cosette have just a good a chance as anyone else. Maybe their odds are a little better than most.”

Courfeyrac nudged Grantaire’s ribs. “Why R, was that a hint of optimism I detected?”

Grantaire swatted him away. “Fuck off.”

Courfeyrac nodded sagely. “I won’t tell anyone that you’re not all doom and gloom. You have a reputation to protect.”

He chuckled when Grantaire flipped him off.

“Come on. We better get back so we have time to change, or Cosette’ll have our heads.”

Chapter Text

Cosette was slightly frantic when the Amis returned from their excursion. She refused to let them enter the living room, or basement, and threw a pillow at Joly when he tried to go to the kitchen.

“I have it under control,” Cosette said, with a forced smile. “You all can go upstairs and change, and I’ll have this ready before the rest of the guests arrive.”

Musichetta and Combeferre shooed everyone upstairs.

“I thought Enjolras was supposed to help,” Combeferre muttered.

They both peered worriedly at Cosette who was more frazzled than they had ever seen her. Musichetta put her hand on Combeferre’s arm. “I’ll stay here and help her finish.”

“Maybe I should,” Combeferre said.

Musichetta shook her head. “Something probably happened between her and Enjolras, and if that’s the case, his best friend isn’t the best person to talk to her. You go check on him. I’ll talk to her.”

Combeferre padded up the stairs and found Enjolras on his bed, surrounded by a pile of books, magazines, and printed out news articles.

“Everything okay?” Combeferre asked, closing the door.

Enjolras nodded, taking a pen from behind his ear, and making a notation. It was obviously a lie. Combeferre knew it, and Enjolras knew Combeferre knew it, but he also knew Combeferre wouldn’t press him to answer until he was ready.

“Okay,” Combeferre said, watching him carefully. “Then we should get ready.”

Enjolras nodded again, more stiffly this time, but closed his book anyway.

**********

The house was set up before the rest of the guests arrived. Cosette had gratefully accepted Musichetta’s help. As much as she loved the boys, she did not trust them to correctly decorate for the party, and Musichetta had a natural talent for DIY projects. Cosette had dodged Musichetta’s prodding about why she was upset, saying it was just her hosting duties. Musichetta let it go, and they finished soon enough.

Cosette needed Jehan’s help with her costume. After weeks of debating, she settled on dressing as Rapunzel. She had sewn her purple dress without too many difficulties, but she needed assistance to braid her hair and weave flowers in it, and Jehan had been more than happy to oblige. Courfeyrac had burst in just as they were finishing.

Cosette glared at him. “Where’s your costume?”

“I have it,” Courfeyrac assured her. “We just have a slight situation.”

“Meaning?”

“Meaning I would like to borrow Prouvaire when you’re done.”

Jehan stuck one more flower on more flower in Cosette’s hair, and double checked to make sure her braid wouldn’t fall out. “All done.”

Cosette hopped up. “I should go downstairs anyway to greet people. Don’t be late,” she warned Courfeyrac, although it was common knowledge Courfeyrac was almost never on time to a party, given his propensity for dramatic entrances.

Cosette went downstairs, and saw Bossuet, Joly and Musichetta already seated. She made a note later to thank Musichetta, because Cosette was positive it was only thanks to her Joly and Bossuet were dressed on time and in one piece. Grantaire wandered in a little later, and bowed to Cosette.

“My lady.”

“You look great, R!” she beamed.

“Not R,” he corrected her. “I am Flynn Rider, although you and only you may call me Eugene Fitzherbert.”

Cosette smiled. She couldn’t imagine a better costume choice for Grantaire. He wore his outfit with a casual cockiness essential to the character. His blue vest brought out his eyes and emphasized his muscular physique. “Okay, Eugene.”

Her attention was called away from him as more guests (mostly people Valjean had invited) started to arrive. Grantaire distracted himself by talking with the Amis as they started to arrive. They were all assembled, with the exception of their leading trio and Jehan, who were noticeably absent.

“There was some kind of costume emergency,” Feuilly said, sitting down. He was the last to arrive to the corner the Amis had commandeered for themselves.

“Do you think they’re coordinated again?” Bahorel asked, snatching Feuilly’s Peter Pan cap off his head.

Feuilly pointed his fake dagger at Bahorel until he was given back his hat. “Obviously.”

Enjolras, Combeferre and Courfeyrac’s costumes had become something of a group legend. It was mostly thanks to Courfeyrac, who spent time brainstorming and assembling the costumes, then nagging Enjolras and Combeferre to actually wear them. For as long as anyone could remember, whenever there was a costume party, they dressed up as some famous trio. Valjean had photographic evidence that this tradition extended back as far as they had known each other.

In recent memory, they had found ways to include Cosette in this tradition. It started with the boys dressing as the Three Musketeers. Once they realized Cosette had no one her age to dress up with, they insisted she be their D’Artagnan. It progressed from there. There was of course the now infamous Goldilocks and the Three Bears costumes that Grantaire constantly referenced after seeing a picture. (“For the last time, Cosette was Goldilocks!” “I don’t know, blondie. You two look eerily similar in this picture. Are you sure?”) 

There was another memorable year when they dressed as Luke Skywalker (Enjolras), Han Solo (Courfeyrac), Chewbacca (Combeferre), with Cosette as their Princess Leia. This year was the first time Cosette had decided to dress independently of them in a long while, but there was little doubt in anyone’s minds that the trio would continue their tradition.

 “What do you think they’re going to be?” Bossuet mused. “The Three Caballeros?”

“Too obvious,” Musichetta said. “Hold still. Your paint is smudging.”

He dutifully stopped moving and allowed Musichetta to fix the blue paint that was covering most of his body. She was a vision, dressed as Jasmine. Her green costume contrasted beautifully against her dark hair and tan skin and highlighted her enviable figure. Bossuet said he felt ridiculous next to her, dressed as the Genie. But Musichetta insisted, saying the Genie was a perfect character for him. The Genie was funny, and funny was sexy. Bossuet acquiesced, figuring with his bald head, it would be easier to paint him blue than it would be to paint Joly. 

“I bet they’re going to be Simba, Timon and Pumba!” Joly said.

“Dude, what the hell are you?” Bahorel interrupted their speculations.

Joly, Bossuet and Musichetta looked affronted.

“Isn’t it obvious?”

Bahorel squinted. Joly was wearing two large poster boards, one in the front and one in the back that were tied together. Each board was decorated with colorful patterned fabric.

“Uh….”

Joly waved his hands in exasperation. He wore golden, tasseled bracelets made of cloth. “I’m the magic carpet!”

Musichetta kissed his cheeks. “And he looks wonderful.”

Bahorel raised his eyebrows.

“He gets cold easily,” Bossuet said, defensively. “The cloth gives him some insolation.”

“What are you?” Musichetta’s eyes raked over Bahorel.

He flexed his muscles, which were practically popping out of a tight red t-shirt.

“He’s Gaston.” Jehan said, sounding appreciative as he slipped on by. The poet was decked out in Chinese style armor, having decided to come as Mulan. 

“Where have you been?” Bahorel ruffled Jehan’s hair affectionately.

“Apparently Enjolras threw a tantrum over the original costume Courfeyrac had planned, so they had to improvise and required my assistance.”

Grantaire chuckled. “Enjolras is such a diva. At least they’re coming.”

Courfeyrac was an essential presence to get a party started. He already quoted K$sha (“The party don’t start ‘til I walk in!”) enough so that no one would admit this to his face, but everyone was waiting anxiously for him to enter.

Grantaire slunk off to find something to drink. He had just finished his first beer when someone grabbed his shoulder and turned around to see a beaming Courfeyrac.

“Lumiere,” Grantaire said instantly.

“Indeed,” Courfeyrac tipped his white hat, which had a cardboard cutout of a flame taped on top.

“And Cogsworth,” Grantaire said, glancing at Combeferre, who managed to look dignified even with fake clock handles stuck on his face.

“And you’re Flynn Rider!” Courfeyrac said excitedly. “I wish I thought of that.”

“Where’s our fearless leader?” Grantaire asked, curious to see what Enjolras had come as.

Courfeyrac grabbed his arm, and lead him to where Enjolras was sulking in a corner. He wasn’t sure what Enjolras was supposed to be, but he was glad Courfeyrac hadn’t spoiled it for him. Enjolras wore dark green pants and his favorite bright red coat. But the crowning glory, literally, was the circle of red flowers placed on top of Enjolras’s golden hair. It was beautifully crafted, and Grantaire guessed it must have been Jehan’s contribution to the ensemble.

“What the hell are you?” Grantaire snorted. Enjolras frowned, looking grumpier than anyone wearing a flower crown had a right to.

“Originally, he was going to be the Beast,” Courfeyrac said, already shaking with laughter. “But then he figured out that the Beast was a prince, and he threw a fit.”

“I didn’t throw a fit,” Enjolras protested sulkily.

Combeferre raised his eyebrows. “He very maturely refused to dress as royalty.”

“We had to improvise.”

“So he’s…”

“He’s the rose, R. He’s the rose.”

Grantaire burst out laughing, and Courfeyrac joined him, bending over with mirth. Even Combeferre’s mouth twitched in amusement. Enjolras stood with an amazing amount of dignity for a man dressed up like a flower.

Grantaire wiped a tear from his eye. “Are you shitting me? Enjolras, that’s not even an actual character.”

“The rose,” Enjolras said with great dignity. “Was part an essential part of the curse that eventually made an arrogant and selfish aristocrat a better person and hopefully a better leader.”

“It’s still not a character.”

Enjolras huffed. “I didn’t ask for your opinion. But given your history of interfering without anyone asking you to, I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised.”

“Oh, and here I thought you might actually thank me for saving your ass.”

“It didn’t need saving!”

“Bull fucking shit.”

Combeferre smoothly cut in. He put a hand firmly on Enjolras’s arm. “That’s enough. If you two are still upset-”

Grantaire and Enjolras interrupted in unison. “I’m not upset!"

“If you two still in disagreement,” Combeferre amended in a tone of voice one would usually use with a petulant toddler rather than two grown men. “We can discuss it tomorrow. Tonight is Cosette’s birthday.”

Both men looked chastised, though Enjolras shot a dark look in Grantaire’s direction when he thought Combeferre wasn’t looking. Combeferre sighed wearily.

“Come on,” Combeferre said. “We need to put our gift with the rest of them.”

Grantaire raised his eyebrows at the fact that Combeferre and Enjolras got a present together and was about to comment on the platonic husbandess of it all, but refrained from doing so when he remembered Courfeyrac was still there.

Courfeyrac didn’t stay long- it was physically impossible for him to stay still at parties. He transformed into a whirlwind, flitting about, catching up with old acquaintances, and making friends with anyone he didn’t know.

Grantaire was content to people watch from his corner for the time being. He noticed someone wearing a suit of armor clanking around, and amused himself watching him or her try to awkwardly navigate the room. Eventually the would-be-knight came to Grantaire’s corner and leaned against the wall. Grantaire was positive it was because the suit made it impossible for the wearer to actually sit.

“Who are you?” Grantaire asked, smirking.

“Prince Charming.”

Grantaire opened the visor and saw Marius’s bright eyes staring back at him. “This isn’t Prince Charming’s costume.”

“I Googled it,” Marius said. “Isn’t this what he wore when he tried to rescue the princess from the tower?”

Grantaire’s palm flew to his forehead. “Marius. Shrek 2 isn’t even a Disney movie. And Prince Charming was a douche in that.”

Marius visibly deflated. “Oh. I wasn’t allowed to watch cartoons growing up. My grandfather thought they were frivolous.”

Grantaire felt a twang of pity for him. For fuck’s sake, the kid hadn’t even been allowed to watch Disney movies as a kid. And now all Marius wanted was to make Cosette’s birthday special. There was no way in hell Grantaire, who considered himself a sometimes okay human being could let Marius propose to Cosette wearing that shiny silver monstrosity. Before he really knew what he was doing, Grantaire seized Marius’s arm, pulled him into the closest vacant room and shut the door. 

“What are you-”

“Shut up.”

Grantaire tugged off his vest and tunic.

“Grantaire!”

Even though the majority of his face was covered, Grantaire could tell Marius was blushing. He threw his clothes at him.

“Put these on, and give me your costume.”

Marius froze. “Wh-what?”

Grantaire rolled his eyes and took off his boots. It was only when he started pulling down his pants that Marius gave a small yelp and turned around. Grantaire chuckled.

“Chill the fuck out, Pontmercy. If it makes you uncomfortable, I promise I won’t peek.”

“I can’t let you do that for me.”

Grantaire repressed a grunt of frustration. Damn Pontmercy and his bizarre sense of decorum. He was oddly insistent about the strangest things that no one would ever think to make a fuss over. Grantaire was saved by a stroke of inspiration.

“I’m dressed as Flynn Rider, who other than being one cool motherfucker is Rapunzel’s boyfriend. I’m pretty sure Cosette would rather you dress her fictional boyfriend. Come on. For Cosette?”

“Alright, alright,” Marius paused. “Can you help?”

He was having difficulty removing his breastplate. Grantaire crossed the room, already dreading having to put it on himself. Once he got the breastplate off, he tried not to laugh at the sight of several more layers underneath it. Because of course Marius had opted for a historically accurate costume.

**********

Cosette was talking to a group of nuns she knew from growing up when Marius found her.

“Excuse me,” he said. “Can I borrow Cosette for a minute?”

They nodded, and Marius took Cosette’s hand. She gently squeezed, enjoying the way their hands felt together. Marius led Cosette outside.

“Marius, I can’t leave my own party,” she protested.

“It’ll just be a few minutes,” he promised. “I wanted to give you your present.”

She didn’t argue any more as they walked towards the gazebo, but thought it was strange he wasn’t giving her whatever it was at the same time as anyone else. But he was unusually determined, so she went with it.

The gazebo was decorated with hundreds of tea lights. Flower vines crawled up the pillars, and rose petals were sprinkled on the floor. It looked like something out of a fairy tale. Marius gently gestured for Cosette to sit down on a bench. She did, and he stared at her, wide-eyed. She stared back.

After a moment of semi-awkward silence, she tilted her head. “Is that R’s costume?”

“Um, yeah,” Marius admitted. Even if it was slightly embarrassing having to borrow a friend’s costume because his had been so wrong, he was incapable of lying to Cosette.

“It looks good on you,” she said.

“Thanks,” he said. “You look beautiful, as usual. Uhm…”

Marius shifted his weight from one foot to another, and clenched and unclenched his fists.

“I want to give you your present now.”

Cosette nodded patiently. Marius dropped to one knee, and for a second, Cosette thought he had a panic-related stroke. But when Marius pulled out a small blue box, she realized the movement had been intentional. He opened the box, and revealed a diamond ring.

“Cosette,” he said, taking in a deep breath. He reached for his pockets, trying to find the notecards he had prepared. They weren’t there. He frantically fumbled through his pockets, and realized that he had left his notes with his speech in his other costume. “C-can you wait here for just like two seconds?” He asked desperately.

“Yes,” Cosette said.

“Thank you.” Marius tried to jump back to his feet, but Cosette pushed him back down.

“No, I mean, yes,” she said, kissing him.

He broke away. “But I didn’t ask you yet!”

“Were you not going to ask me?”

“I was, but you have to let me ask you. This has to be perfect for you,” Marius insisted.

“It is perfect.”

“Let me ask you anyway. Cosette Fauchelevent, will you marry me?”

“Of course I will.” Cosette kissed him again, deeper this time. It was several more minutes before either of them remembered there was a party they had to return to.

**********

Enjolras finally managed to extract himself from his friends, who had insisted taking a ridiculous amount of pictures to immortalize his costume. He would have removed his flower crown, but Jehan had threatened him grievous bodily harm if he dared disturb what Jehan had dubbed his masterpiece. So the flower crown stayed, as did his bad mood.

The bad mood was not improved when Enjolras saw Cosette and Marius come in the room. (Wasn’t that Grantaire’s costume Marius was wearing? It didn’t fit Marius nearly as well as it did Grantaire, Enjolras thought absently). Enjolras made a point of ignoring the couple, and was surprised when Cosette sat down next to him. Marius had disappeared.

For a moment, neither of the cousins said anything. Cosette checked the immediate area, and seemed to be sufficiently satisfied that no one was eavesdropping.

“Marius and I are going to tell everyone tomorrow, but we wanted to tell you and Papa first.”

Enjolras felt a sense of dread wash over him. Cosette took a deep breath.

“Marius and I are engaged.”

Enjolras closed his eyes. “Oh.”

“Oh?” Cosette repeated. She sounded hurt. And a little angry.

“What do you want me to say?” Enjolras asked. His head was swimming.

“Congratulations would be a start,” Cosette snapped.

Enjolras couldn’t bring himself to say that. He didn’t like saying things that weren’t true, so he settled on, “I hope that you’re both happy.”

He opened his eyes. Cosette was staring at him, her expression hard to read. “Thank you,” she said eventually, though she didn’t sound particularly happy. “Please don’t tell anyone.”

“I won’t,” Enjolras promised.

“We want to make sure Papa isn’t going to have a complete breakdown,” Cosette explained.

Enjolras secretly hoped Valjean would have a slight breakdown and talk some sense into Cosette and Marius, but he kept that thought to himself. Cosette hesitated, and pecked Enjorlas’s cheek.

“Thank you,” she said. “For trying to understand.”

Her vacated seat was soon filled by Courfeyrac, who handed Enjolras an icepack.

“Combeferre said you’re probably still sore from the protest,” Courfeyrac said in way of explanation.

Combeferre was right, and Enjolras was grateful to have a friend who knew him so well, although he would probably get a lecture about his paranoia towards painkillers. (Enjolras flat out refused to take them unless force fed. He didn't like the possibility of a pain-killer induced haze). He accepted the icepack. It soothed his muscles a little bit, but not nearly enough. “Thanks.”

“But that’s not why you’re mad,” Courfeyrac said flatly.

“No, that would be because my friend manhandled me into dressing like a rose.”

“You had other another perfectly good option,” Courfeyrac said in a sing-song tone. He quickly dropped it and became serious. “But seriously, what’s wrong?”

“I can’t say,” Enjolras said through gritted teeth. He wasn’t in the habit of breaking his promises.

“Does it have to do with Pontmercy proposing to Cosette?” Courfeyrac guessed.

Enjolras started. “How did you know that?”

Courfeyrac shifted nervously. “Lucky guess.”

The look Enjolras gave him was terrifying. Enjolras was in general a poor liar, but Courfeyrac was even worse.

“Um, Marius might have mentioned he was planning to propose?”

Enjolras looked like he might explode. “And you didn’t tell me?”

“It wasn’t really my secret to tell,” Courfeyrac said.

“But we could have prevented this from happening!” Enjolras said. The low, controlled anger in his voice was more terrifying than if he started to yell. “We could have stopped them from making a mistake.”

Courfeyrac raised his hands defensively. “R made the very good point that it’s their lives, and they’re going to do what they want, regardless of what you try to tell them.”

“Grantaire knew?” Enjolras snarled.

Oh, shit. Courfeyrac tried to backtrack. “It doesn’t matter who knew what when-”

“The hell it doesn’t.”

“Cosette is an adult. You have to let her make her own decisions.” Courfeyrac stood up. There was really no point in trying to talk to Enjolras when he was this pissed. “Just, try to be happy for them.”

He awkwardly patted Enjolras’s head, then retreated, leaving the blonde there fuming.

**********

Grantaire spotted Enjolras sitting on a couch, in a corner. He took another sip of his whatever concoction Bahorel had handed him, smirking. He wondered vaguely how many drinks that was now, but shrugged it off. He was barely drunk. Well, he was probably drunk, but he had been drunker.

An idea occurred to him. Enjolras didn’t know he had put on Marius’s costume. Grantaire put his helmet back on. This seemed like a golden opportunity to mess with Enjolras, and that was just not something he could pass up. He sauntered over, before sitting next to Enjolras with a loud clank.

“Good evening,” he said.

Enjolras spared him a disdainful glance, before returning to glaring at a blank wall.

“Are you a friend of Cosette’s?” Grantaire asked, determined to pretend he was a stranger.

“Her cousin,” Enjolras said.

“Oh.” Grantaire poked Enjolras’s cheek. “Hey, turn that frown upside down.”

He was rewarded when Enjolras turned and gave him his full attention. Of course the look he was giving Grantaire had the potential to shoot out gamma radiation or something and kill him, but since the object of the game was to piss Enjolras off as much as possible, this counted as a success.

“Go away.”

“Not until you tell me what’s got your panties all in a bunch.”

Enjolras’s mouth twitched. “Grantaire.”

Shit. Did he know? Then Grantaire realized Enjolras was answering his question. “Oh. Who’s that?”

“He’s a member of our activist group,” Enjolras said.

“Is he hot?” Grantaire blurt out.

“He’s an asshole who apparently has nothing better to do than ruin people’s lives, mine especially.”

“That’s a very self-centered attitude to take.”

“You’re right,” Enjolras said. His eyes were still blazing, but he adopted a conversational tone. It was both charming, and somehow more terrible than when he was angry outright. It was just as destructive as his righteous fury, but there was something almost casual about it that made it worse. “He messes up everything in his own life, so it’s probably too much to expect he doesn’t mess up other people’s lives too.”

Grantaire swallowed. “Then why do you keep him around?”

“I don’t,” Enjolras said. “My friends do, though who knows why. Probably because Grantaire, despite his many, many faults is good for a laugh. Though there’s a difference between being laughed with and being laughed at. Either way, it’s usually a distraction, but at least he’s good for something.”

For the first time, in a long time, Grantaire felt at a loss for words. Enjolras had said similar things to him before, but was this what he actually, genuinely believed?

“So that’s all he’s good for?” he asked, feeling a little desperate.

“He certainly doesn’t contribute anything else to our causes, other than his tired cynicism. He does show up to our rallies, but he’s never willing to actually take a stand. He’s more likely to run away when there’s trouble, because he’s a coward. But what else would you expect from a worthless drunk?”

Grantaire froze.

“Enjolras.”

Combeferre and Courfeyrac had approached the couch without either of the seated men noticing. Courfeyrac wanted Combeferre to come calm Enjolras down. Combeferre was frowning deeply, and Courfeyrac looked worried.

“You. With me.” Combeferre said firmly, grasping Enjolras by his arm. Combeferre expertly maneuvered through the crowd, not letting go of Enjolras as he dodged their drunk friends.

He finally made it to Valjean’s study, which was thankfully empty, and shoved Enjolras in.

“What is wrong with you?” he snapped once the door was shut. “That was Grantaire!”

“I know it was Grantaire,” Enjolras replied. “I’m not an idiot. He didn’t even bother to disguise his voice.”

Combeferre stared at him, dumbfounded for a second. “Why would you say that to him if you knew who it was?”

“He started it. I wasn’t in the mood for whatever mind games he was trying to play.”

“You know he doesn’t know you knew it was him.” Combeferre said seriously. “He thought you thought you were talking to a stranger.”

Enjolras shrugged waspishly. “It’s nothing I haven’t said to his face.”

That was true, but Combeferre was shaking his head.

“Don’t you see? It’s different when you’re both fighting each other. You two say awful things to each other, but it’s always in the heat of the moment. He’s going to think this is what you actually think of him.”

“Maybe it is,” Enjolras said rebelliously.

“We both know that’s untrue,” Combeferre said. Though in Enjolras’s case, he probably didn’t realize how untrue it was. He sighed.

“Even if Grantaire thinks that,” Enjolras said, sounding a little more subdued. Maybe even a little apologetic, “It’s not like Grantaire has ever cared what other people think. I doubt he’ll start caring now.”

Combeferre looked at Enjolras sadly. “Of course he cares what other people think. And he cares about your opinion more than most.”

Enjolras didn’t look convinced. Combeferre shook his head, and took his glasses off, wiping them with his shirt. “I think Valjean wanted a few more group pictures sometime soon. I’ll be out in a minute.”

**********

Grantaire snatched a bottle of beer from a table on his and Courfeyrac’s way outside. Courfeyrac frowned, but didn’t say anything. Grantaire took off his stifling helmet and took a deep drink.

“Wow, R? It was you under the armor the whole time?” Courfeyrac tried to joke. Grantaire ignored him. “Are you okay?”

“Fanfuckingtastic.”

“Enjolras has had a rough week, and he took it out on you. It’s not an excuse, but you shouldn’t take it personally.”

“I seem to be the only one he ever takes anything out on. It is personal.”

Courfeyrac didn’t know what to say, so he decided to change the subject. “It was really nice of you to swap costumes with Marius. I think it meant a lot to him.”

“The thing about Enjolras is,” Grantaire said, like he hadn’t heard a word Courfeyrac just said. “I bet the reason he’s so pissed about this whole Cosette Marius thing is because he knows deep down that no one would want to date him. I sure as hell wouldn’t, even though he looks like a fucking Renaissance sculpture. Having a great ass isn’t a license to be an asshole, you know?”

“Sure, R,” Courfeyrac said uncomfortably.

“And he can never fucking relax. He has to take everything so seriously, and everything has to be perfect, or he freaks the fuck out. He’s such an idiot. He always has to try and fix everything.” Grantaire picked at the label on his bottle. “Can you stop talking about him? I’m sick of talking about Enjolras.”

Courfeyrac blinked, not entirely sure about what happened. He was saved when Feuilly stuck his head outside.

“There you guys are. Valjean wants one more group picture.”

Grantaire moodily chugged down the remaining contents of his bottle in record time and slammed it down.

“Let’s get this over with.”

Feuilly shot Courfeyrac a curious glance, but Courfeyrac just shrugged. Jehan was up front, helping Valjean position the Amis in an optimally aesthetic way.

“Courfeyrac, in front of Combeferre,” Jehan waved a hand imperiously.

“I’m in,” Combeferre said.

“What?” Courfeyrac was completely lost.

Combeferre watched both Grantaire and Enjolras pointedly not looking at each other. “You’ve been saying for months, or maybe even years that you want to get those to idiots together. I’m in.”

“Really?”

“Yes.”

“Everyone smile.” Valjean ordered.

Courfeyrac grinned.

“Excellent.”

Chapter Text

March 31, 2013

“Scoot over.” 

“You scoot over.”

“Oh, I think I got a splinter. Look how pretty the blood looks. Don’t you just love the way the crimson contrasts against skin?”

“Oh no! Let me see it before it gets infected.”

Combeferre resisted the urge to bury his head in his hands. Maybe this whole thing was a bad idea. Deciding to meet in Cosette’s old tree-house was definitely a bad idea. It had been Courfeyrac’s suggestion. He insisted Enjolras and Grantaire would never suspect them of being there, which was true, if only because they barely fit in it. It was substantially sized for a tree house, but it had not been built to seat eight adults. Combeferre was glad they had sent Marius and Bossuet to distract Enjolras and Grantaire, because really, there would be no room for them otherwise.

He repressed a sigh, because really, what else had he been expecting? He was about to call his friends to order, but Musichetta patted his leg, and raised her voice to address the rest of the group.

“The sooner you all behave, the sooner we can get out of here,” she said.

Interesting. She was like a combination of Enjolras and Combeferre when taming their friends: almost as scary as Enjolras, but with a dash of Combeferre’s disapproval that instantly made anyone ashamed of themselves.

Feuilly and Bahorel sheepishly stopped their shoving war and Joly ceased fussing over Jehan’s barely bleeding hand. Courfeyrac, who had been serenading Cosette with some show-tune or another choked mid-word.

“All yours,” Musichetta smiled sweetly at Combeferre.

He had told Joly and Bossuet how much he liked their girlfriend, but he made a mental note to tell them again.

“Right, so,” Combeferre adjusted his glasses. “Enjolras and Grantaire….”

“Fucking finally, Combeferre,” Bahorel said. “You know we’ve been wanting to do this for years. Way to get on board.”

“Hey, back off,” Courfeyrac said, despite having gloated about the exact same thing to Combeferre last night. “I’m sure Combeferre had perfectly legitimate reasons for not wanting to interfere.”

“What made you change your mind?” Cosette asked.

Combeferre shifted uncomfortably. He knew Courfeyrac had told their friends what happened. The tension between Enjolras and Grantaire had been especially palpable that morning. Enjolras had been unrepentant and moody, and Grantaire was quieter than usual, slinking in the kitchen to grab coffee, which he then proceeded to add a generous amount of whiskey to.  Courfeyrac volunteered to explain to their friends what happened, if only so they knew how lightly to tread. Though how detailed an explanation Courfeyrac had given them, Combeferre wasn’t sure. But Cosette, in her post-engagement bliss, had clearly missed the memo.

“They had a fight. It was worse than usual,” Combeferre said.

Cosette nodded. A massive fallout between Grantaire and Enjolras was something she had been dreading, and now that it had finally happened, she wasn’t really surprised.

“So how are we going to do this?” she asked.

All eyes immediately turned to Combeferre. He switched off the part of his brain telling him not to interfere with his friends’ lives and went straight into business mode.

“The most important thing is that they can’t know we’re involved at all. They can’t even suspect it.”

“I’m all for lying and sneaking around as long as codenames are involved,” Courfeyrac said.

Joly frowned. “Can’t we just try being honest and talking to them?”

“Boo!” Courfeyrac said as Bahorel chucked a shoe at Joly. Musichetta shot them a dangerous look, and Bahorel actually shrank back a little.

“You know if we suggest anything they’ll automatically do the exact opposite,” Feuilly said.

 “Exactly,” Combeferre agreed. “Joly, you’re forgetting that together, Enjolras and R have the emotional maturity of a five year old.”

“So what do we do?” Cosette asked.

“Make them think pursuing a relationship was their idea,” Combeferre replied as if it were obvious.

They all listened in awe as Combeferre laid out his plan. It was a slightly terrifying reminder of how well Combeferre knew them- weaknesses and all. If his seemingly endless patience ever ran out, and he decided to turn on them, they were all screwed.

Jehan was the first to break the stunned silence. “Who are we going to do first?”

Combeferre considered. Enjolras, when he set his mind to something, was a force to be reckoned with. Grantaire usually decided an endeavor would fail and so he didn’t bother trying. But he was slightly more in tune with his feelings- when he wasn’t trying to drown them with alcohol.

“Grantaire,” Combeferre said.

Jehan raised his eyebrows. “But you know how R is. He’s got such a low opinion of himself -”

“Exactly,” Combeferre said. “We need to plant the idea in his head and let it take root.”

“If we get Enjolras to make the first move, and set him loose on Grantaire and R hasn’t had a few months to think about it, he’s going to freak,” Courfeyrac said, understanding and slightly marveling at Combeferre.

“He’s going to freak out anyway,” Feuilly grumbled. “But Combeferre’s right. This will minimize the freak outage.”

“You all know what to do?” Combeferre asked.

They nodded eagerly. “I’ll fill Marius in,” Cosette said.

“And we’ll talk to Bossuet,” Musichetta said, squeezing Joly’s hand.

“Guys?” came a distant voice.

Everyone froze with a look of pure terror on their face. Enjolras wandered into the clearing where the tree house was located.

“Hide!” Jehan hissed.

Everyone dropped to the floor. Jehan and Cosette, being the smallest, curled together in a corner. Bahorel had tackled Feuilly and was lying on top of him, protectively, causing the ginger man to grumble about lack of oxygen.

“I fucking did you a favor, asshole.”

Combeferre had stayed in his position of leaning across the wall, but Courfeyrac grabbed his hand and pulled him down to the ground with the rest of them, and somehow, Combeferre ended up in Courfeyrac’s lap. His cheeks turned bright red.

“Um…”

Courfeyrac panicked, and wrapped his arms around Combeferre, hoping if he made the situation ridiculous enough, he’d be able to treat it like a joke. “I’ll protect you.”

To his immense surprise, Combeferre relaxed, and even leaned into his arms. “I appreciate it.”

“What’s going on?”

Enjolras’s head poked over the tree house ledge as he stood awkwardly on the ladder. Climbing in wasn’t an option, given the utter lack of space. Courfeyrac whimpered and clutched Combeferre closer.

Musichetta, seated serenely in the center of the floor was the only one who had retained any semblance of dignity. “We were playing sardines,” she lied smoothly.

“Oh,” Enjolras still hovered on the ladder.

“You’re going to give us away,” Joly piped up.

“I’ll go then,” Enjolras said, climbing down.

“I thought you were with Marius?” Courfeyrac asked, ready to kill his roommate for letting Enjolras stumble across them.

“I was, but then Valjean wanted a word alone with him.”

“Shit!” Cosette hopped out of her corner and scurried out of the tree house. “It’s uh, nothing. I gotta go.”

They hadn’t made the announcement yet to the group yet, but she was positive her dad had seized his first opportunity to get Marius alone to scare the living daylights out of him.

Enjolras gave his friends one last questioning look, before shrugging, and strolling away. Everyone still in the tree house breathed a collective sigh of relief.

**********

Grantaire sat in the garden, painting. It was something he didn’t do that often any more, but sometimes, when he was in the right mood, or rather a really shitty one, he found it relaxing to take out his watercolors and do a few paintings.

It was a grey day, which he actually preferred to a sunny one. He wouldn’t be roasted as he sat on a bench in Valjean’s garden. He was still pissed off about the night before, and he had just spent a bizarre morning with Bossuet, who had insisted they hadn’t been spending enough time together recently, and then subsequently refused to let Grantaire out of his sight. Bossuet hadn’t picked up on the hint that Grantaire just wanted to be alone. Even when Grantaire said he was just going to read, Bossuet decided to join him, half-reading, half watching at Grantaire. It had been unsettling.

Now that he had finally shaken Bossuet’s aggressively friendly company, he was free to sit outside, paint, and clear his head. And it needed clearing.

He dabbed his paintbrush against the canvas, trying not to notice that the clear blue was the same color as Enjolras’s eyes. Fuck Enjolras. He reached for his trusty flask. Why the fuck was he so upset?

Worthless drunk. The words rang in his ears. Coward. He shut his eyes. It was nothing he hadn’t heard before. Hell, he’d even said it about himself. But to know that Enjolras thought those things, actually thought those things….they weren’t just angry words that escaped during the heat of an argument. That was Enjolras’s assessment of him.

He just wished he understood why it bothered him so much. He knew Enjolras had never had a very high estimation of him, but he thought they were friends. Friends who disagreed on almost everything and fought about most anything, but friends. Why did that bother him so much?

He raised his paintbrush again. At least he could push Enjolras’s buttons like no one else could. It gave him a sort of masochistic feeling of pride that he could get under the usually unflappable man’s skin like that. It meant he was special. He frowned. Why did he care that he was special to Enjolras?

It wasn’t a new feeling. Since he had met the man, he enjoyed pissing him off. He liked nothing better than to have Enjolras’s attention solely fixed on him. It was intoxicating, it was addicting, it was terrifying and electrifying. Grantaire had given up on figuring out why it mattered to him so much and just gone with it. But now, after the night before, it bothered him like it hadn’t in years. Why did he care so much about a stubborn, idiotic idealist and what he thought?

He didn’t, he decided. He made an executive decision to stop caring, to even stop thinking about Enjolras, starting immediately. He finished painting the hydrangeas, and moved on to paint the roses, but froze.

This was probably the rose bush Jehan had pilfered when making the flower crown for Enjolras. He tried to shake the memory from his mind and focus on getting the shapes right, and not remembering how perfect the wreath of roses had looked in Enjolras’s hair. Nope. Not thinking about it. Not…shit.

He shoved his canvas aside, suddenly not in the mood to paint any more. He was about to quit the garden, when he heard voices. Joly, Musichetta, and Bossuet.

Grantaire dove behind one of the larger shrubs. He was still weirded out by whatever the hell was going on with Bossuet that morning. Bossuet hadn’t let him out of his sight; Grantaire had had to stop him from following him into the bathroom. He was not in the mood to deal with whatever weird shit was going on with Bossuet.

Unfortunately, his decision to hide had him inconveniently crouching behind a bush. He could get up, but at this point, it would be really awkward. He would have to wait it out and hope that the trio didn’t find him. Or stay too long. There were some branches that were already poking into him at uncomfortable angles.

“I don’t understand,” Musichetta said. “Why doesn’t he just tell him?”

“It seems like the obvious thing to do,” Joly agreed. “But after you’ve known Enjolras and Grantaire for a few years, you’d be able to understand why Enjolras wouldn’t want to tell him.”

Grantaire slumped a little bit. Oh, great. Did Enjolras want to point out another one of his flaws?

“See, Enjolras is really good at talking about his causes, but I think the idea of telling someone he’s in love with them secretly terrifies him,” Bossuet said.

Grantaire blinked. Wait – what?

**********

Musichetta came and let Bossuet know his Grantaire guarding-duties were over. He was relieved, but only for a minute. Then Joly informed him he had to dive right back in and continue one of the more awkward days he’d had in a while, which considering how awkward his days usually were, was saying something. He explained Combeferre’s plan, and that they and Musichetta were part of the first phase.

“The trick is,” Joly explained. “We have to get Grantaire to listen without letting him know we know he’s listening.”

“Where is he now?” Bossuet asked.

“I think I saw him flee to the garden,” Musichetta said.

Bossuet nodded. “Okay. Let’s give him a little time, then we’ll go out there. He’ll hide from me, and if we do it right, we can get him trapped there, so he’ll have to listen to us.”

“Why would he hide from you?” Joly frowned. Bossuet and Grantaire usually got along splendidly.

“I might have been a little serious in my guard duties,” Bossuet admitted. “I uh…almost followed him into the bathroom.”

“Oh, sweetie,” Musichetta kissed his cheek.

And so they found themselves, about an hour later, walking towards Valjean’s garden. They talked loudly, keeping their eyes peeled for Grantaire, wanting to give him adequate time to hide from them and corner himself. It didn’t take them long to find him. His art supplies were sprawled all over the ground. Grantaire was in deep concentration. His shoulders were tense. When he heard their voices, he scrambled behind some bushes. Bossuet stifled a laugh.

“I don’t understand,” Musichetta said. “Why doesn’t he just tell him?”

“It seems like the obvious thing to do. But after you’ve known Enjolras and Grantaire for a few years, you’d be able to understand why Enjolras wouldn’t want to tell him.”

 “See, Enjolras is really good at talking about his causes, but I think the idea of telling someone he’s in love with them secretly terrifies him.”

Musichetta jerked her head to Grantaire’s recently abandoned bench. Joly and Bossuet looped their arms through Musichetta’s, and led her to the chair, effectively trapping Grantaire.

“Enjolras seems so confident. I can’t believe he would have trouble confessing his feelings to Grantaire,” Musichetta insisted.

“He thinks Grantaire hates him.”

The bushes rustled, and they saw the top of Grantaire’s head shift as he moved into a more comfortable position.

“We should talk to Grantaire then,” Musichetta suggested. “Tell him about Enjolras and see if he feels the same way.”

Joly and Bossuet laughed. “That would be the worst idea. Enjolras is so obvious about how he feels, Grantaire must have noticed. If he hasn’t made a move yet, he must not be interested.”

“It’s actually kind of cruel of Grantaire to ignore Enjolras fawning over him,” Joly mused.

“It would be crueler for him to pursue a relationship.” Bossuet said.

There was an indignant sound from the bushes. The trio ignored it.

“Grantaire always attacks what Enjolras believe in,” Bossuet said as if nothing had happened. “I love R, but I think he would be awful for Enjolras. All they do is fight. I think watching Enjolras pine away is better than watching Grantaire break his heart.”

“Speak for yourself. You could cut the sexual tension with a knife.”

A choking sound came from the bushes. Musichetta smirked.

“If I have to watch Enjolras try to have eye sex with R one more time, I might scream.”

“Poor Enjolras,” Joly said sadly. “I think he would be willing to take a chance, but Grantaire has always proven he’s not the relationship type. Enjolras is probably afraid that if he takes the plunge, and by some miracle, it works, it won’t last. He just doesn’t want to get hurt.”

Grantaire’s head slumped out of view. Joly and Bossuet glanced at Musichetta. She had been carefully monitoring the little of Grantaire’s body language they could see. She stood up, judging that their work, for now at least, was done.

“Come on, boys. I think Valjean said he was going to do a picnic this afternoon. Something about Cosette having an announcement. There’s no use in dwelling on this any more. 

**********

Grantaire waited until he was positive Joly, Bossuet and Musichetta had left. He staggered to his feet, completely in shock.

Was what they had said true? Was is possible Enjolras was in love with him? What the actual fuck.

He ran his fingers through his messy hair. There was something undeniable between him and Enjolras, it was true. But that thing had also until this point been undefinable. They walked the line between friends and adversaries. That that undefinable thing was love…he didn’t think Enjolras capable of romantic attachments, to be perfectly honest. Grantaire frowned. Although, for a while, he had been almost positive Enjolras had a massive crush on Feuilly.

But crushes were different than love, and Bossuet had said love. And Musichetta seemed to think Enjolras had feelings towards him, and in the short time Grantaire had known Musichetta, she was usually spot on about these things.

But what the hell would Enjolras see in someone like Grantaire? Nothing. Musichetta’s uncanny senses must be off.

Why did that make Grantaire feel slightly disappointed?

The answer hit him like a bolt of lightning. Fuck. He was in love with Enjolras.

It was so laughably obvious now, he had no idea how he had missed it before. He, who had prided himself on being able to see the truth in almost any situation, good, or (usually) bad. How could he not have noticed he was madly, stupidly in love with that blonde idiot?

He started pacing. Everything clicked into place. All those hours, watching Enjolras, cataloguing his various quirks, and trying to get him to engage, even if it meant they ended up screaming at each other…The roses which had moments before been a source of agitation now brought a smile to his face as he remembered Enjolras’s pout and the flower crown in his beautiful hair.

Oh God. He was in love with Enjolras. How the fuck did that even happen? When?

He couldn’t remember falling in love with him. Did that mean he had been in love with Enjolras the entire time? No. That wasn’t ….no. Just no. Maybe? Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck. Shit.

It was okay. It would be okay.

No it wouldn’t. Fuck.

Grantaire laughed hollowly. What was he going to even do with this new information? Bossuet and Joly thought he might hurt Enjolras. And they were right. Enjolras was shit at relationships, but so was Grantaire. All he did was cut down Enjolras and his ideas, mock him. He cringed. He wanted so badly to prove them wrong, to show that he could have a civilized conversation with Enjolras, but he wasn’t sure he could.

He froze when he heard footsteps. Were they back?

No. It was Enjolras, who looked like a vision, turning around the corner, eating an apple.

“There you are,” Enjolras’s voice sounded stiff.

Oh, he was still in a bad mood from the night before. When an hour ago, Grantaire would have rolled his eyes at how petty Enjolras could be in holding grudges, now he found it endearing.

“Here I am,” Grantaire agreed, bowing.

Enjolras rolled his eyes. “Valjean wanted me to tell you the picnic is ready, if you’d like to join us.”

He turned to go.

“Oh. It’s a nice day for a picnic,” Grantaire said, desperately interjecting small talk, not wanting Enjolras to leave.

“It’s cloudy. It’s probably going to rain later.”

Grantaire laughed loudly. Enjolras looked at him strangely.

“Are you okay?”

“Fine,” Grantaire said. “I’m great.”

Enjolras took another bite of his apple, staring at Grantaire. Grantaire couldn’t remember the last time he had been jealous of fruit. Enjolras had a crease above his nose, like he was worried for Grantaire’s mental sanity. (He was worried about Grantaire).

“Okay then.”

“Thank you,” Grantaire said breathlessly. “For taking the trouble to tell me.”

“It wasn’t any trouble. If it were, I wouldn’t have come.”

“So it was more pleasure than business?” Grantaire winked.

Enjolras’s frown deepened. He pressed his hand against Grantaire’s forehead. Satisfied Grantaire didn’t have a fever, Enjolras let his hand drop, and backed away slowly.

“Picnic,” he repeated. He opened his mouth, but decided against whatever he was going to say, and left.

Grantaire watched him go, with a slightly dazed expression on his face. The spot on his forehead where Enjolras’s hand had been still tingled slightly.

Maybe it wasn’t love….but there was…something, right? Enjolras had been worried about him, unnecessarily so. He had touched him. He had made an excuse to touch him, because really, there was no need to check his temperature.

Grantaire shook his head abruptly. This entire thing was mental. The larger, more cynical part of his brain shut down the tiny voice of hope. He stumbled towards the noise in the backyard, where his friends were gathered. If he hadn’t been so wrapped up in his own thoughts, he might have seen Courfeyrac give a thumbs up to Bahorel, Jehan and Feuilly. He might also have seen Combeferre steer Enjolras to the other side of the yard from him.

“It’s tragic, is what it is,” Jehan sighed. “Unrequited love. I think Enjolras has been in a terrible mood after Cosette announced the engagement, because it reminds him of what he is lacking in his own life. The instant he saw Grantaire, he turn’d into a hart; and his desire, like fell and cruel hounds, e’er since pursue him.”

“Uh, yeah…” Bahorel looked slightly bewildered at how to continue the conversation. “What you said. He’s got it pretty bad.”

Jehan didn’t look offended at the lack of poetry in Bahorel’s response. He just looked pleased Bahorel had tried at all. Feuilly on the other hand, was staring at them like they were both insane, and quietly cursing his luck that they were part of his ‘team’.

He turned around and feigned shock. “Oh, hi R! Have you been standing there long?”

“Uh, nope.” Grantaire said. Their intense stares were making him uncomfortable. What was with everyone today? “I’m just gonna go…get…food.”

He hurried away. As he approached the designated food area, he looked up, and noticed Courfeyrac watching him. When their eyes met, Courfeyrac coughed, and looked away quickly.

Grantaire really had no idea what was going on. All he knew was that he was definitely in love with Enjolras, and Enjolras was not neutral towards him. Enjolras probably hated his guts, but there was the possibility that Enjolras might more than tolerate him.

The real question was what was he going to do about all of this?

He sighed. He was screwed. 

Chapter Text

Enjolras had arrived at the Musain an hour early for what was to be the Amis’s last meeting until the fall. Combeferre and Courfeyrac insisted they all needed a break over the summer, and Cosette had threatened him with bodily harm if he distracted the Amis from wedding planning duties.

Why Cosette had roped them all into helping her would always remain a mystery, (“You guys plan events all the time!” “Protests, Cosette. We plan protests.” “Close enough. I’m on a tight schedule.”) but they had already promised to help, and none of them would go back on their word.

Since it was be months until the next official meeting (casual ‘impromptu’ meetings would surely be okay, right?) Enjolras was determined for it to be perfect. Meetings for the past few months had been…different. Smoother. Weirder.

Cosette had missed a few, a new for her. The ones she did come to, she had been distracted, wrapped up with planning. Enjolras wanted to say that if she didn’t want to be stressed, maybe she shouldn’t have set the wedding date for August. But he didn’t, because more than anything, he wanted to avoid another fight with his cousin. Enjolras knew for a fact it was Cosette who decided to have the wedding so soon, because Courfeyrac had confided in Enjolras that Marius had thought they would wait a year or two at least before getting married.

Marius, for his part, dutifully helped his fiancé however he could, looking slightly bewildered at all the floral displays and catering menus, but helping all the same. Enjolras missed Marius’s passionate, random rants, though he would never admit it. But poor Marius was too overwhelmed to burst into speeches or do much of anything other than try to help Cosette.

The other Amis seemed distracted too, though with what, Enjolras had no idea. True, they were still contributing ideas, and were less rambunctious of late, but it was seriously disconcerting. Even Grantaire, who could usually be relied on to cause a disturbance, was oddly well-behaved. He would still argue with Enjolras, and tell him he was wrong. But instead of his usual derisive tone, Grantaire became less harsh. He became less mocking and more…teasing. Enjolras didn’t know how to handle this new, gentler Grantaire, which was probably exactly what Grantaire wanted.

Admittedly, his and Grantaire’s interactions could now be categorized as debates, or maybe even conversations. It was…nice. But Enjolras had no idea what had brought about this change, and remained frustrated. Worse, his friends all seemed to know something. They were paying more attention, but Enjolras felt like they were more interested in him then what he was saying.

When he and Grantaire started talking to each other, the room would still, and everyone would hang on their every word. But the second they realized he knew they were watching, they would stop abruptly and pretend to be deep in conversation. Enjolras didn’t know which was worse: the way Grantaire’s eyes seemed to brighten when they were talking, like he knew a secret, or the way the Amis seemed to be waiting for something with expectant and ill-concealed smiles on their faces. He felt like the butt of a joke he didn’t understand.

If Enjolras tried to broach the subject with Combeferre or Courfeyrac, they wouldn’t give him a straight answer. Courfeyrac would shrug and say he had no idea what Enjolras was talking about, while fighting a gleeful expression. Combeferre remained neutral and deflected his queries so artfully that Enjolras would rant about immigration reform for five minutes before he realized Combeferre had completely changed the subject.

Sneaky bastard.

He was left with little choice but to wait and figure it out himself, and was still mulling it over by the time the meeting started. It went relatively smoothly. They recapped the year’s successes and failures, and discussed goals for the future. Enjolras was pleased with what they had done, and said “Meeting adjourned,” feeling proud of his friends and what they had accomplished.

No sooner had he finished talking, than Courfeyrac let out a whoop and whipped party hats out of nowhere.

“And now the real reason we’re here!”

“You weren’t here for the meeting?” Enjolras glared, but there was no real anger behind it.

Courfeyrac slung his arms around Enjolras and Combeferre’s shoulders. “You said yourself, we did a lot of good work this year. We all deserve a break.”

He kissed both men’s cheeks before releasing them. Enjolras rolled his eyes at Courfeyrac and his antics, and started to move away. Courfeyrac caught his wrist.

“I mean it. We all deserve a break. So have fun or else.”

Enjolras saluted. “Yes sir.”

It wasn’t one of the wilder parties the Amis had hosted by a long shot. But Enjolras preferred informal parties when it was limited to just them and immediate friends to ones where Courfeyrac, Bahorel and Grantaire invited people from their extensive contacts. The party actually wasn’t all that different from the meeting, just more drinking and a little less political talk.

Enjolras was seated at a table, sipping some sugary alcoholic concoction Courfeyrac forced on him, and discussing possible majors with Bossuet, who had recently decided not to finish his law degree. He felt someone watching him, but since that seemed to be the norm with his friends these days, he elected to ignore it. He had just suggested elementary school education, when the staring became too much. He glanced around the room for the culprit.

Grantaire. Of course.

Enjolras excused himself and headed towards the booth Grantaire inhabited. Grantaire’s eyes widened when he realized Enjolras was approaching. Enjolras had no idea what he was hoping to achieve, but slid into the bench across Grantaire anyway.

“Hi,” Enjolras said when it was apparent Grantaire wasn’t going to talk first.

“Hey,” Grantaire cleared his throat in a dismal attempt at nonchalantness. “Was I too disruptive during the meeting or something?”

“Just the opposite, actually.”

Grantaire rolled his eyes. “First I’m too loud and now I’m too quiet. What does it take to make you happy, Goldilocks?”

Enjolras blinked. Whatever he had expected Grantaire to say, it wasn’t that.

“Just…be you.”

If possible, Grantaire stared even harder at Enjolras, as if trying to find the answer to a question he never asked. Enjolras calmly returned the gaze. Grantaire abruptly broke the stare off. Enjolras wondered if he saw what he was looking for.

“It’s weird though,” Enjolras continued cautiously. “We don’t fight anymore. Well, not as much.”

Grantaire snorted. “Is that a bad thing?”

“No. Just different.” Enjolras considered it. “You make some good points, sometimes.”

“I’ve always made good points.”

“It’s easier to consider them when we’re not screaming at each other.”

Grantaire burst into laughter. Whatever pensive mood he was in was broken.

“Fair enough.”

“It’s nice, though,” Enjolras said. He didn’t know why he kept talking. He would later blame the drink Courfeyrac drank him. “Talking about things, instead of fighting.”

Grantaire looked surprised, before giving Enjolras a familiar smirk. “You’re going to make me blush if you keep saying nice things.”

Enjolras shrugged. “Considering all the times you’ve tried to make me blush, consider it payback.”

“I didn’t try. I had a 95% success rate.”

Enjolras bit back a smile. “Oh, there’s statistics? How official.”

“Well, I’d say it’s dropped down to 90%,” Grantaire said regretfully. “You’ve started to build an immunity. If I’m not careful you’ll be completely resistant.”

“You’re impossible,” Enjolras rolled his eyes, but didn’t feel or sound annoyed. He felt almost fond. That was…different. He decided to blame the alcohol again.

**********

Courfeyrac watched the exchange with a smug smile. They were still a long way away from their end game, but he decided to count this small victory anyway. He was saved the trouble of having to go and get a celebratory beer when Combeferre appeared and handed him one.

“You are a god among men.”

Combeferre’s only response was a small smile as he sat down next to Courfeyrac and joined him in his observations. Courfeyrac quickly added subtle Combeferre-watching to his Enjolras/Grantaire-watching. Neither said anything for a while, but it wasn’t an uncomfortable silence. It was the kind of silence that can only be achieved when two people are absolutely at ease with each other. 

Eventually, once Courfeyrac had finished his beer, he ventured to ask, “So on to Phase Two?”

Combeferre tilted his head and scrunched his lips together. He did that, when he was having an internal debate. It was one of his habits Courfeyrac adored.

Feuilly, Bahorel, Jehan, Bossuet, Joly and Musichetta had done the bulk of the work so far in their plan, having many more conversations Grantaire had “accidentally” overheard, and dropping subtle hints. Combeferre, Courfeyrac, Marius and Cosette would be responsible for bringing Enjolras around. Combeferre didn’t know whose job was going to be harder.

That wasn’t to say Team Marble Idiot as they referred to themselves (Courfeyrac had named them and refused to call them anything else) had been completely inactive. In one memorable incident, Cosette had gone rogue and dragged Grantaire to the park with her. The spot she decided they should sit in just happened to be along Enjorlas’s usual running route. And that day Enjolras happened to be shirtless because he had been unable to find any clean exercise shirts. 

But at some point, they knew they would have to pull out the big guns if they were going to break through Enjolras’s very thick, very solid emotional wall.

“I think so. Enjolras shouldn’t be too stressed out at the moment. He doesn’t have any major protests or rallies coming up. He’s finished his exams-”

Courfeyrac snorted. They both knew Enjolras didn’t give a shit about his exams. It took all of Combeferre’s powers of persuasion to get Enjolras to study enough to get decent grades. Combeferre just liked to pretend Enjolras studied out of academic interest, and not to avoid disappointing him.

His mouth twitched a little as he continued, “So I think we should start Phase Two soon. Not quite yet- he’s still unwinding from the semester. But we should do it before Cosette’s wedding planning goes into full swing.”

“You’re acting like Enjolras can’t handle his emotions and exterior stress at the same time.”

They stared at each other. Combeferre raised his eyebrows.

“No, you’re right. Good point,” Courfeyrac muttered. “I’ll get us some more beers.”

Combeferre thanked him, then went back to people watching. Grantaire and Enjolras were still sitting together, Enjolras looking intense, and Grantaire looking slightly awestruck.

Elsewhere, Feuilly was showing off his juggling skills to an envious Bossuet. And Bahorel was giving a despondent Joly some fashion advice. Cosette and Musichetta were huddled in a corner, going over what looked like Cosette’s dreaded wedding binder.

He started to wonder where Marius had gotten to. He had been at the meeting, and spent most of his time these days practically attached to Cosette’s hip. But then Marius returned from wherever he had been, looking upset. Combeferre frowned. Something seemed off. He almost got up to check on him, when Courfeyrac returned with the promised beers and a huge grin. Combeferre glanced at Marius one more time, and decided his preoccupation was probably wedding related, and he would be in far more capable hands with Cosette and Musichetta before turning back to Courfeyrac.

**********

Marius was indeed preoccupied and it was wedding related. But for once, his preoccupation didn’t pertain to flowers or color schemes. It was about the envelope he had in his hand. In it was the wedding invitation he had sent to his relative and a note written by his aunt, saying that she and Marius’s grandfather would not be attending. 

He hadn’t expected anything else. Or, he shouldn’t have.

But when read the note for the first time and felt the bitter stab of disappointment, he realized he had been hoping for validation of some kind. He didn’t like being estranged from his grandfather, but somehow over the course of two semesters had taken his hurt and anger, and put it in a corner in the back of his mind.

Then when he got the note and opened it for the first time, his repressed emotions came rushing back. He had considered asking Cosette if they could push the wedding back a little bit. He didn’t want the black cloud that was his family hanging over their special day. He was upset they weren’t coming, but it was more than that. He was afraid that one day, when he and Cosette were old and gray, he would regret it if his family didn’t attend. He had almost asked to delay the wedding so he could have more time to fix things with the Gillenormands, but decided not to. Cosette wanted to get married at the end of the summer, so get married then they would. He didn’t want to upset his fiancée, a woman who he could still scarcely believe had agreed to marry him, for the sake of his grandfather who a part of him was still furious at.

He knew he was justified in his anger; his grandfather had deprived him of a chance of getting to know his father, and that was something he would have to live with for the rest of his life. But he despite how he felt last fall when he initially moved out, he didn’t want the estrangement to be permanent. He attributed this change of heart largely to Cosette’s influence. Once they were married, perhaps his grandfather would see he had made the right choice, and they could be reconciled. If not, he would still have the love of his life.

Marius shoved the envelope in his pocket, hoping Cosette never saw its contents. His aunt hadn’t just said they weren’t attending. She said, “Your grandfather feels that after you left you have forgotten your upbringing and what you owe your family. He sees no reason to support your life decisions and attend a wedding for a marriage that will inevitably fail.”

She had also beseeched him to come ‘home’ and included a small check for a ticket, which he had promptly returned. He didn’t need it- he was home. Home was with his friends. Home was with Cosette. 

Chapter Text

July 1, 2013

Summer was when Enjolras liked Valjean’s house the best. The trees were full and green, the grass soft, and the sparkling blue lake irresistible. It was full of memories of swimming lessons, family cook-outs, and catching fireflies. Soon they could add memories of a wedding to that collection. 

So far, this summer had been spent trying to avoid wedding planning, on Enjolras’s part at least. It was difficult to do, considering how isolated the house was, and how Cosette seemed to have a knack for dismantling any barricades Enjolras built in futile attempts to escape debating color schemes. (Apparently suggesting “red” for everything was not helpful.)

It had been a month of this- choosing colors, sampling the catering menu, picking flower arrangements. Enjolras had been on the verge of insanity, until two weeks ago, when his friends slowly started to arrive. Valjean had been so appreciative of the Amis’ help with the wedding preparations, he had invited them all to come stay at the house over a month before the actual event. His reasoning was they would be too busy during the wedding weekend to actually enjoy anything, so the obvious solution was they must come over a month in advance in order to get the most out of their experiences.

Combeferre and Courfeyrac had been the first to arrive (of course). Joly, Bossuet and Musichetta came a few days after them. And about a week ago, Bahorel and Jehan drove up with Grantaire in tow. (Feuilly, much to Enjolras’s disappointment could only afford a week or two off, so he would be coming up in August).

With the arrival of his friends, some of the wedding related pressure was lifted from Enjolras, and he was taking full advantage of this fact. He even managed to sleep until the early afternoon one day.

When he woke up, it wasn’t because the house was too loud. It was the opposite, actually. After a week of his rambunctious friends’ arrival, the house was too quiet. A quick check of his text messages let him know Joly Bossuet and Musichetta had left to go on a picnic on the other side of the lake. Jehan had somehow managed to drag Bahorel out for a hike. Jehan’s text said they were going to enjoy the majesty and epicness of nature. Bahorel’s said SOS.

Enjolras winced sympathetically. He had been on some of Jehan’s nature trips before, where the young poet would revel at whatever scenery was before him for unimaginiable amounts of time and would become waspish if you tried to rush him.

Enjolras padded downstairs, wondering where Combeferre and Courfeyrac were. He hoped for their sakes that Bahorel hadn’t tried to drag them down with him. When made Enjolras it to the kitchen, he found Valjean, who beamed at him.

“There you are, my boy! I started to think you’d be asleep all day.”

“I promised Cosette I’d help,” Enjolras grumbled.

“Can you do me a favor too?” Enjolras nodded and Valjean handed him a tray filled with tea, fruit and cookies. “Take these with you. I’m sure Cosette’s been working the boys to the bone. They’re out back, near the dock.”

“No problem.”

Carefully balancing the tray, Enjolras moved to the backyard, passing through the carefully cultivated gardens before reaching the familiar, well-trodden path that lead to the lake. He could hear his friends’ voices before he saw them. It sounded like Combeferre, Courfeyrac were with Cosette and Marius.

He was about to call out and greet them, when he heard Marius say suddenly, and very loudly, “What were you saying about what’s been up with Grantaire?”

Enjolras slowed down. He didn’t approve of eavesdropping. Enjolras liked to do things out in the open, and spying on his friends was the opposite of that. On the other hand, he had been bluntly asking his friends for months what was going on with Grantaire, but to no avail. So even though a small part of him felt ashamed for doing so, Enjolras slowed down his pace, and stepped off the path, and directly behind a tree, effectively concealing himself.

“R is far gone,” Courfeyrac said, sounding amused.

“How do you mean?” Marius asked.

“He’s totally in love with Enjolras, obviously.”

Enjolras dropped the tray with a loud clatter. He flinched, and peered over to his friends. They apparently hadn’t heard- they were too engrossed in their conversation.

What?

**********

Combeferre’s cell phone buzzed- it was a text from Valjean. “Enjolras is on his way.”

“Are you sure this is the right way to go about it?” Marius asked. “It seems dishonest.”

Cosette rubbed her hand reassuringly on Marius’s knee. “Sometimes a little dishonesty is okay if it’s for a good cause.”

Marius nodded gamely. Combeferre had had doubts earlier about Marius’s capacity for subterfuge, but Cosette insisted he be involved with this part of their plan. Combeferre wasn’t really reassured by Marius’s reluctance to stretch the truth, but luckily for them, Enjolras wasn’t the greatest at detecting when people were lying. And since the bombshell they were about to drop on him would take up the majority of his concentration, they didn’t have much to worry about him catching on.

“Did you tell Valjean to send us a snack?” Courfeyrac asked, rolling on his side. He had insisted on taking a break from measuring, photographing and recording every little detail about the picnic area in front of the dock. (Cosette insisted it was important to have this information, since the dock was a possible location for the reception).

Combeferre nodded. “He sent it with Enjolras.”

“Excellent,” Courfeyrac settled on his back again.

“Incoming,” Cosette muttered. She was the only one with a view of the trail. Her eyes had only flickered up for a second, before returning to her camera to scroll through her pictures.

“What were you saying about what’s been up with Grantaire?” Marius asked loudly.

Cosette looked amused as she watched her cousin duck behind a tree. Enjolras was almost as bad as Marius at being sneaky. He had his back turned to them, but his red shirt, and his gold hair were still slightly sticking out from the tree.

Combeferre meanwhile cringed internally at Marius’s delivery. He was a terrible liar and a worse actor. Cosette had spent hours convincing Marius to ditch his notecards, so at least it wasn’t as bad as it could have been. Courfeyrac shoved Marius’s shoulder.  

“Dude, be cool,” he mouthed. Then he added audibly, “R is far gone.”

Courfeyrac at least, Combeferre noted with approval, was seemed natural.

“How do you mean?” Marius sounded like a robot.

“He’s totally in love with Enjolras, obviously,” Courfeyrac said.

There was a loud clatter. The conspirators tensed. Courfeyrac’s eyes widened.

“The food!” he mouthed.

Combeferre hit his arm. “Focus,” he mouthed back.

Courfeyrac scowled. They waited another second, to see if Enjolras was going to make his presence known. Evidently he thought they hadn’t heard the clatter, or was in a state of shock. Either way, it looked like they were still in the clear, so Combeferre motioned for Courfeyrac to continue.

“He’s totally in love, and it’s a shitty situation.”

“Why?” Marius asked.

Cosette patted his knee. “First of all, I doubt Enjolras has even noticed poor R is head over heels in love.”

“Then R should tell him,” Marius said.

“Enjolras is my best friend,” Combeferre said. Courfeyrac made a whining sound. “Enjolras is one of my best friends. But he’s terrible at romantic relationships. It would be far kinder to let R continue to pine than for him to put himself out there, or worse, be in a relationship with Enjolras.”

The tree let out an offended huff. Courfeyrac smirked.

“It’s true. Enjolras would be a disaster of a boyfriend. He’d probably ignore R to focus on his work. And we all know already he isn’t nearly patient enough.”

“Still,” Cosette said. “If Enjolras got his head out of his ass, got together, and was able to properly appreciate R, they could be great.”

“That’s a lot of ifs,” Combeferre said. “Look, I love Enjolras like a brother, but I care about R too, and I don’t want him to be hurt.”

“Not that he would purposefully hurt R,” Courfeyrac added hurriedly when they heard an indignant sound from Enjolras’s direction. “It’s just, you know how Enjolras can be.”   

Cosette saw Enjolras’s head slump down. (Good Lord, Enjolras, if your hair is that blonde, you need to do a better job at trying to stay out of sight).

“But I guess we’ll never have to find out. Since Enjolras doesn’t know,” Cosette said.

Combeferre raised an eyebrow at her tone, and chanced a look behind. One look at his best friend’s body language told him their work (for now) was done.

“You’re right. Let’s not worry about nonexistent problems. Let’s focus on the big day.”

“Well, I think we have the measurements down for this space,” Cosette said. “I thought we could enjoy the weather. Maybe do some arts and crafts?”

“What?” Courfeyrac said, watching with alarm as Cosette started pulling supplies out from her bag. He wondered how she fit several packs of origami paper, seating cards and paste into the seemingly small bag.

“I need one thousand origami cranes. Also, we need to glue the names I printed out onto the pretty paper for seating cards. Oh, and someone has to cut some string for the party favor bags.”

“What string?” Combeferre asked.

Cosette reached into Marius’s pocket and pulled out two spools of ribbon and a pair of scissors. Marius himself looked surprised to realize he had been transformed into a walking purse for his fiancée. Courfeyrac snatched the ribbon from Cosette.

“That sounds easiest. I’ll do it.”

“Hi, Enjolras,” Cosette said loudly.

Everyone whirled around, and saw Enjolras plod down the path, his face almost as red as his shirt. He was carrying a tray of food, although it was mostly empty.

“Food!” Courfeyrac said happily. Combeferre gently took the scissors and ribbon from him to take over cutting duty.

“Sorry it’s not much,” Enjolras set it down gently. “I tripped.”

“Sure you did,” Cosette said. “Now you can help. Fold.”

She shoved origami paper into Enjolras’s hands. He stared at it, bewildered, so she also handed him a sheaf of paper with instructions written on it in Japanese.

“It’s easy.”

Enjolras sat down, folding and refolding the same piece of paper as he tried to understand the instructions.

“Nice day so far, Enjolras?” Combeferre asked conversationally.

“Uh-huh,” Enjolras said.

“You don’t look so good,” Courfeyrac smirked.

“Just…trying to clear my head,” Enjolras mumbled.

Of course it was at this moment that Grantaire emerged from the lake and climbed onto the dock after indulging in an hour long swim. It had been a habit he had started in the past week, finding a good swim a perfect way to spend the early afternoon. He looked around the dock and frowned.

“Hey!” he called to the group. “Have you guys seen my towel?”

“No,” Marius frowned.

“Maybe you left it at the house?” Combeferre suggested.

Grantaire walked over to them. “Yeah, maybe. I could have sworn I brought it.”

Courfeyrac shot a suspicious look at Combeferre, who innocently checked under the bench he was seated on. “I don’t see it,” he said ruefully.

Grantaire shrugged. “It’s not a big deal. What are you guys working on?”

“The usual wedding stuff.”

“And you’ve managed to rope in our fearless leader,” Grantaire chuckled, looking over to where Enjolras was studiously folding.

“Yes, he’s very focused,” Courfeyrac smirked, noting how Enjolras’s determined gaze did not waver from the paper in his hands. 

“And yet, despite all that focus, he’s still messing it up. R, help him, would you? That paper is expensive,” Cosette said. She used her best bridezilla voice, but her eyes were twinkling mischievously.

Grantaire obliged, sitting down next to Enjolras, who did not turn beet red. And if he did, it was because of the heat. It was summer after all.

“What the hell is that supposed to be?” Grantaire asked, a smile creeping on his face.

Enjolras huffed. “It’s a bird.”

“A mutant bird,” Grantaire said. Enjolras frowned at him, and this only served to make Grantaire smile grow larger. “It’s not that hard. Let me show you.”

And before Enjolras could stop him, Grantaire scooted closer. He plucked Enjolras’s deformed bird from his hand, and gently set it aside. Enjolras watched Grantaire take two pieces of origami and set one in front of him, keeping the other piece for himself. He then proceeded to show Enjolras, step by step the proper way to fold an origami bird, pausing when Enjolras struggled (which was quite a lot).

“There. See? Told you it wasn’t hard,” Grantaire watched Enjolras twirl his finished bird by its tail with a fond smile.

“That’s only because you were supervising me.”

“We can do another one,” Grantaire offered gently. He scooted even closer. A drop of water dripped from his head onto Enjolras’s hand. The blonde leaped up like he had been scalded.

“Um, no. I think I’ll just go….look up a tutorial online. By myself. Alone.” Grantaire looked bewildered and a little hurt, so Enjolras added. “Thank you though.”

Enjolras felt everyone’s eyes on him as he hurried away, but he didn’t care. He probably would care later, when Courfeyrac and Cosette would undoubtedly pepper him with probing questions, but at the moment, he didn’t care. All that mattered was he get away from Grantaire until the cynic could find a towel. And a shirt.

Enjolras inhaled deeply, trying to clear his head. There were too many thoughts whirling around in it.

He finally had an answer to the mystery that had been nagging at him for months. Grantaire was in love with him. Grantaire. In love. With him. Him Enjolras.

That….didn’t make sense. He thought that if he let that information settle, he might be able to understand it more, but he really, really didn’t. Grantaire hated him. They fought. That was what they did. The thought of Grantaire being in love with him was ludicrous.

Although… it could explain why Grantaire had suddenly started being nicer, gentler. That’s what people did when they were in love, right?

That thought was very alarming to Enjolras. Did that mean Grantaire would be nice to him, all the time? He didn’t want that. He didn’t want them to stop fighting. Okay, the not screaming at each other was admittedly nice. But Enjolras wanted them to be able to still have their debates. That didn’t have to stop, right? Because he liked their debates. He liked talking to Grantaire. He liked Grantaire.

Shit.

Enjolras ran his hand through his hair. This was an unforeseen complication. How could he have missed it? Because now that he realized he had feelings for Grantaire, it felt like the most obvious thing in the world. How had he not realized before how much he looked forward to their arguments? How had he not noticed the way he naturally gravitated towards Grantaire?

And why the hell had no one told him? Because feelings and emotions were not Enjolras’s forte, and if he figured it out, someone else must have noticed. He would have to talk to Combeferre later and ask him how long he had been in love with Grantaire for.

No, he couldn’t talk to Combeferre. Combeferre thought he would hurt Grantaire, so maybe Combeferre didn’t know. Or worse, maybe Combeferre did know Enjolras liked Grantaire, and thought Enjolras would hurt him anyway. Was he that careless with other people’s feelings?

Enjolras frowned, feeling distressed at that thought. Yes, he did prioritize things differently than most people. But he liked to think that he was a supportive friend. Maybe being someone’s boyfriend was harder than that?

Maybe it was, and maybe it wasn’t, Enjolras decided resolutely. It didn’t matter. Once he made his mind up to do something, he did it. No matter how hard it was, no matter how impossible it seemed, he kept trying until he succeeded. Okay, a successful, happy relationship with Grantaire seemed pretty damn hard. But once he remembered the passion behind their debates, the way Grantaire’s eyes lit up when it was just the two of them, and the way Grantaire smiled when he was really, truly happy, it all seemed worth it.

Good. Enjolras had made up his mind. He would let Grantaire know his feelings. He would pursue a relationship. He would make Grantaire happy. Now he just… had to figure out how to do those things and where to start. He took a deep breath in.

He was so screwed. 

**********

Grantaire stared at Enjolras’s hastily retreating figure, looking dejected.

“He’s more of a self-taught kind of learner,” Cosette supplied, trying to throw the poor guy a bone. It was partly their fault he was in this situation to begin with.

“He takes after Feuilly in that regard,” Courfeyac agreed. 

“It’s not a big deal,” Grantaire shrugged. He hopped to his feet, snatching up Enjolras’s first, deformed paper bird so quickly that they almost missed the motion. “I had things I had to do anyway.”

He waved awkwardly with one hand, the other one trying to conceal the origami, before disappearing through the trees.

“Did you seriously time that conversation to sync up with Grantaire’s swim?” Courfeyrac asked once he was sure he was out of earshot.

“I don’t know what you mean,” Combeferre took off his glasses.

“And you wouldn’t know anything about the missing towel.”

“That was very peculiar,” Combeferre agreed, pulling a towel out from where it was hidden in a flower bush, and wiping his glasses with it.

Courfeyrac’s jaw fell open. “You are a man full of surprises. What other tricks do you have hidden up your sleeve?”

“Wouldn’t you like to know.”

“Yes, actually,” Courfeyrac said in a low voice.

Combeferre looked up, startled, then blushed, far pinker than he had any right to, considering he had just thrown his best friend in the path of a wet, half-naked Grantaire.

“Um…”

Courfeyrac was internally panicking. Did he actually just fucking say that out loud? Fuuuck. Time to play it cool.

He winked. “Something to think about.”

Combeferre blushed even pinker.

“Well,” Cosette said, looking like Christmas had come early. “Marius and I should go. We promised Papa we’d drive into town and pick a few things up.”

“We did?”

“We did,” Cosette said firmly.

She helped hoist Marius up. “You two have fun showing each other tricks and stuff.”

Combeferre and Courfeyrac stared at each other for what seemed an eternity.

“I should-” Combeferre began just as Courfeyrac said, “Can you-”

“Sorry,” Combeferre said. “What were you going to say?”

“Enjolras isn’t the only one who sucks at crafts,” Courfeyrac said. “Can you show me how to do the birds?”

Combeferre nodded, and Courfeyrac was at his side in an instant. The medical student patiently demonstrated the proper procedure, not aware that Courfeyrac was too focused on his face to pay very much attention to the paper in his hands.

**********

Marius stood outside the town’s bookshop, glancing at the paperback titles on a book cart that rested on the street. Cosette was across the street, talking to one of the shopkeepers. She had shooed him away, insisting it wouldn’t take very long at all, and he would be better entertained at the bookstore. Marius didn’t go inside- he didn’t want Cosette to have to come looking for him, so he decided to stay in plain sight.

He was about cross the street and see if Cosette was almost done, when a passerby bumped into him.

“I’m so sorry,” Marius began, but stopped instantly when he recognized the man. “Grandfather,” he said, the color draining from his cheeks.

“Marius,” came the cold reply from Monsieur Gillenormand.

The young man and the old one stared at each other, both with a thousand things to say at the tip of their tongues. But pride and fear swallowed most of them away.

“Is that her?” Gillenormand jerked his head in Cosette’s direction.

Marius nodded stiffly. As much as he had hoped his grandfather would try to reconcile with him and come to his wedding, he suddenly felt on edge now that his grandfather was close to Cosette. He glanced over to where his fiancée was chatting amiably with a shopkeeper, and prayed their conversation would be a long one. If his grandfather was in one of his moods, it was best if she stayed away.

“Pretty,” Gillenormand offered this small praise begrudgingly.

“She’s beautiful,” Marius corrected him.

“Well you know what they say about beautiful women.”

“I know what you say about beautiful women,” Marius said, his fingers curling into fists.

“Dishonest, the lot of them,” Gillenormand said, either not picking up on, or choosing to ignore his grandson’s anger. “They just use you, suck you dry, then leave.”

“Cosette isn’t like that,” Marius said, struggling to keep his voice calm. Even though he was furious with his grandfather, he didn’t want to shout at the old man. “If you had expressed any interest in getting to know her, you would know that yourself.”

“My apologies,” Gillenormand sneered. “I’m sure your Cosette is a model of virtue, and would never lie to you.”

“She is, and she wouldn’t.”

“You’re a fool,” Gillenormand said. “A fool that is no longer my problem. And when this fiancée of yours treats you like the fool you are, don’t expect any sympathy from me. You’ll get what you deserve. Goodbye, Marius.”

Marius watched his grandfather leave, feeling overwhelmingly angry. He glanced up at Cosette, who was still talking to the shopkeeper. How dare his grandfather try to besmirch her character? He didn’t know Cosette. He had no idea what he was talking about.

Sometimes a little dishonesty is okay if it’s for a good cause.

Cosette’s words from earlier sprang into Marius’s head unbidden. He frowned. That was different- Cosette said it was okay to lie, if it was helping someone. Because that was what Cosette did. She helped people. He exhaled slowly.

“Hey,” Cosette appeared by his side, and slipped her hand into hers.

“Hey,” Marius echoed her.

“Sorry it took so long,” she continued, swinging their arms. “But once Paulette starts talking, you can’t get her to stop.”

“It’s alright,” Marius said, taking her grocery bag from her. “Let me buy you some ice cream before we go home.”

Cosette kissed his cheek. “What did I do to deserve you?” she sighed happily, leaning against his arm.

Marius smiled at her, but for some reason, no matter how much he wanted to, was unable to completely dispel the gnawing feeling in his stomach.

Chapter Text

August 2, 2013

Over the course of the next month, the Amis witnessed a strange, amusing sort of dance between Enjolras and Grantaire. 

Grantaire was just as gentle and tentative around Enjolras as he had been since he realized he was in love. But now, rather than react with confusion or frustration to this uncharacteristic softness, Enjolras seemed determined to make Grantaire unleash the full force of his personality. When he realized arguing with and being himself with Enjolras wouldn’t scare him off, Grantaire dove in with gusto. Their exchanges, while still intense were less personal in their attacks. There was an almost affectionate undertone, peppered with some noticeable sexual tension. It was like their conversations were in an odd language no one could fully understand, including Enjolras and Grantaire themselves. If they did understand each other completely, they wouldn’t have so many missed signals.

They would stare at each other, but take turns missing the other one’s glance. When their eyes did meet, they would blush furiously, and turn away. Several times, Enjolras became bold enough to try and get some one-on-one time with Grantaire, who would look for the first opportunity to flee, and leave a puzzled Enjolras in his wake. The few times Grantaire worked up the nerve to flirt with Enjolras, the blonde would freeze up, and look as if he wasn’t quite sure what was happening or how to respond.

The Amis all looked at Combeferre exasperatedly, but he would shrug and say they needed to be patient. They were dealing with two of the most emotionally stunted people in the world- they couldn’t expect instant results.

He explained that when it came to normal romantic relationships, Enjolras and Grantaire were like baby bunnies; they had to proceed with caution or there would scare them off. The Amis did proceed cautiously, under Combeferre’s careful direction. They might crave faster results, but ultimately, they trusted Combeferre’s judgment.

So they did little things. On movie nights, they would arrange themselves so Enjolras and Grantaire had no choice but to sit side by side. At meal times, more often than not, the pair ended up sitting directly across from each other. And there were a few instances when the entire group would hang out, and the others would jump ship to leave the two should-be lovebirds alone. (Jumping ship was quite literal the time they abandoned Enjolras and Grantaire on the sail boat in the middle of the lake).

So preoccupied were they with their matchmaking efforts, it almost escaped the Amis’ attention that something was wrong with Marius. Almost.

He was more distant, and sometimes disappeared for long periods of time. Cosette chalked it up to pre-wedding jitters.

“You’re not at all worried?” Jehan asked. He was flopped out on his bed as Cosette perused his closet.

“He’d tell me if it was something serious,” Cosette shrugged. “I know I’ve been a little demanding with all this wedding stuff-”

Jehan snorted. That was an understatement.

“So,” Cosette pressed on. “I understand if he needs some space.”

“You honestly think he would talk to you if something was going on?”

“Of course.”

“Marius, the Boy Wonder who stalked you for a semester before working up the nerve to speak to you?” 

Cosette threw a t-shirt at Jehan. “That was before we knew each other and started a relationship. Give him some credit.”

Jehan deftly caught the shirt and smirked. “You know him better than I do.”

“Yes. I do.”

Jehan rolled off the bed and landed gracefully on his feet, looking remarkably like a cat as he did so. He walked over to Cosette and rested his chin on her shoulder.

“Anything?”

Cosette pursed her lips, and gave the closet another look over. “Striped vest?”

Jehan took it off the hanger and handed it to her. “Knock yourself out.”

Cosette grinned. “Thanks.”

Once again, she thanked her lucky stars that within their overwhelmingly male group of friends, there was someone who had clothes she a) liked and b) could fit into. She shrugged on the vest and examined her reflection in the mirror.

“Okay, I think that’s good,” she said.

 “You look nice,” Jehan shrugged. He had zero fashion sense, and he knew it. He just wore what he liked and fuck the rest. But Cosette beamed at him, knowing compliments from Jehan came from the heart.

“You want to come?” she said.

“Go shopping with you and Musichetta?” Jehan clarified.

Cosette nodded. Jehan grimaced inwardly. He didn’t really want to go shopping for Cosette’s honeymoon lingerie. He was in one of his moods- one of the dark ones that made him want to lock himself up in his room and read depressing poetry and listen to metal music. Or go cliff diving, or do something dangerous just so he could feel alive.

Jehan closed his eyes. He hated these dark periods, but also secretly craved them. They fueled his artistic passions, and he sometimes thought that a life with highs and lows, no matter how low the lows, was better than a bleak, stable one. But he knew it worried his friends when he got this way, and if he stayed cooped up in the house, someone would surely catch on.

So he forced a smile on his face, and said, “Sure. I’ll be down in a few minutes?”

Who knew? Maybe it would help him feel better.

“Great!” Cosette chirped.

**********

Shopping did not help Jehan feel better. The village had a shocking amount of stores, considering how small it was, and he was bored out of his mind, and was desperately trying to think of an excuse to leave. For the time being, he feigned a headache, and sat outside one of the shops.

Just what he needed. Fresh air, some peace and quiet…

“Got a light?”

Jehan turned and saw a (very, very attractive) man leaning against the building wall. He had perfectly coiffed black hair, and despite the heat, was wearing all black, and in two words holy shit. The beautiful man was staring expectantly at Jehan, who remembered he had just asked him a question. Wordlessly, he tossed the guy a lighter. The guy deftly caught it, lit a cigarette, then carefully handed the lighter back to Jehan. Their fingers brushed briefly.

“Thanks,” the guy said, giving a careless smile.

Jehan squinted at him. He was familiar looking. “Didn’t Grantaire punch you at Cosette’s New Year’s Eve party?”

The man frowned. Although his frown was more like a practiced pout, and damn, that should not have been as sexy as it was. “My name is Montparnasse, and your friend overacted. I was just being friendly.”

“You chose the wrong person to get friendly with,” Jehan said, because really, if Grantaire hadn’t lost it and punched Montparnasse that night, he was fairly sure Enjolras would have gotten to it.

Montparnasse shrugged. “I didn’t know he had a boyfriend.”

Jehan sighed. “He doesn’t. They’re not-”

“I’m not interested in them,” Montparnasse said, his long fingers twirling a loose strand of Jehan’s hair. “I’m more interested in learning about you.”

He should not blush, because really, it seemed Montparnasse would flirt with any pretty blonde with a pulse, but holy shit he was really attractive. He looked like he had just come from a fashion shoot, and his voice oozed charm. But it was more than that. Underneath that smooth exterior, that practiced charisma, there was an underlying edge. There was something dark and potentially dangerous under all those layers, and Jehan wanted to find out what it was.

“I’m Jehan,” he said, swallowing, forcing himself to be calm.

“So, Jehan,” Montparnasse leaned forward like he had a secret. “What are you doing later tonight?”

“Um…” Jehan desperately wanted to say ‘nothing’, but couldn’t. “My friends are having a get-together. Their wedding is tomorrow.”

“Shame,” Montparnasse took a drag of his cigarette.

Jehan would invite Montparnasse, but it wasn’t his place to do so. And he didn’t want to risk any of his friends breaking Montparnasse’s pretty face. He was temporarily distracted from this dilemma when the store doors opened, and Cosette and Musichetta strolled out, arm in arm, holding several bags.

“Hey Jeh-oh,” Cosette broke off mid-word and tensed up when she saw Montparnasse.

He held his hands up. “I come in peace.”

“We’re going,” Cosette informed him coldly, their run in the previous winter clearly not forgotten.

“Wait, wait,” Montparnasse said. “I need to talk to you.”

Musichetta eyed him warily. She hadn’t witnessed the now infamous punch herself, but she had heard enough to be on her guard. Cosette sometimes let people push her around because she didn’t want to be mean, but Musichetta had no such problems.

“Please?” Montparnasse gave what was clearly supposed to be a charming smile, earning an eye-roll from Musichetta, and sending a shiver down Jehan’s spine.

“Fine,” Cosette said.

Musichetta folded her arms, not needing to say she was watching them. It was pretty obvious that she was not only watching Montparnasse, but she would not hesitate to beat him to a bloody pulp if he tried anything.

Montparnasse’s hand hovered over Cosette’s elbow as he steered her just out of earshot from her friends.

“What?” Cosette snapped.

“I owe you an apology,” Montparnasse said frankly.

“You’re making a really big deal about it.”

“Well, I can’t have anyone overheard me. I do have a reputation to protect.”

Cosette rolled her eyes so spectacularly, Musichetta surely would have approved.

“I behaved in an ungentlemanly manner. I don’t like being rejected, and I have a temper,” Montparnasse said carelessly, as if discussing his character flaws were as normal as discussing the weather.

Cosette considered him. He seemed as sincere as he was capable of being. And he had no reason to apologize to her unless he was actually sorry. Cosette knew Montparnasse had a terrible reputation around town, but bizarrely, she could believe that manners and appearing to be a gentleman were important to him. His apology left something to be desired, but it was more than she thought she would ever get from him, and frankly, it was progress.

“I accept your apology,” she said.

Montparnasse took her hand, and kissed it gently. Cosette couldn’t help but laugh, because was this guy for real?

“If things don’t work out with the lovely Marius…” Montparnasse smiled suggestively.

“They’ll work out.”

“Well if the two of you are ever looking to try something new and mix things up a bit…” Montparnasse smirked suggestively, and took a rose out Cosette had no idea where from and handed it to her. Who carries around random roses with them, she wondered as she took the flower, grinning. (She really hoped the rose wasn’t stolen). She couldn’t help but smile:  Montparnasse was probably the most ridiculous potential criminal she had ever encountered in her life. He still wasn’t someone she would ever want to spend time with, but this was a better conclusion to their drama than she could have ever hoped for, and at least he was trying not to be horrible, and that, Cosette decided, was something.

“Cosette, we have to go if we want to be back on time,” Musichetta called.

“Right, well…” Cosette gave a stiff, awkward wave to Montparnasse.

“See you around,” Montparnasse said, looking straight at Jehan, who turned a spectacular shade of red. For lack of anything else to do, Jehan stuck his hands in his pockets, and noticed a scrap of paper that hadn’t been there before. When he was sure that Musichetta and Cosette were sufficiently distracted, he opened it up, and saw a phone number scrawled across it, with no signature, other than the letter ‘M’.

********** 

Marius slipped into a café. He had been going more and more frequently as his wedding approached. As much as he loved his friends, and as much as he loved Cosette, sometimes it was hard to think or breathe at Valjean’s bustling house.

The café itself was perhaps a little seedy, but that was one of its appeals; it was usually sparsely populated, and none of Marius’s friends would think to look for him there. He was free to sit in a quiet corner with a book, and the occasional company of Eponine, who would sit with Marius during her breaks. Sometimes she would sit with him even if she wasn’t on break, and the café’s owner would scold her, and she would tell him to fuck off.

“It’s okay, he’s my dad,” she said offhandedly one time, as if that explained it, but it only made Marius more bewildered.

He never understood why Eponine decided to befriend him; he hadn’t seen her since the New Year’s Eve party at Valjean’s, and he had somehow managed to upset her before she left. Marius found her intimidating, and was sure she was laughing at him half the time. It took him a while to feel comfortable around her, but Eponine was nothing if not persistent, and after a few weeks, Marius was no longer terrified of her. He figured if she was going to hurt him (with words or with violence- frankly either seemed like a possibility), she wouldn’t go through the trouble of refilling his coffee so much, and without prompting.

Eponine also proved to be a surprisingly sympathetic ear to Marius’s problems. He couldn’t exactly tell his friends about any wedding related anxieties, or how his grandfather’s words stuck in his head, and how he couldn’t dislodge them, no matter how hard he tried. His friends had been Cosette’s friends first, and if he unburdened himself to them, they might become angry with him, or worse tell Cosette and upset her unnecessarily. Eponine had been a lifesaver.

As if on cue, she appeared with a fresh cup of coffee. She set it on the table, curled up in the chair opposite Marius, and plucked the book he was reading out of his hands. The first time she had done this, Marius thought she was going to yell at him, but now he understood it was part of her routine, and willingly made room for her to rest her feet on his chair.

“Busy day?” Marius asked.

Eponine snorted. “Is it ever?”

“Fair enough,” Marius said. An idea occurred to him. “Hey, what are you doing tonight?”

She sat up, looking suddenly very alert. “Not much. Why?”

“We’re having a bon-fire,” Marius said. “We wanted to do something low key the night before the wedding, and thought a small party with just friends and family.”

Eponine looked away. “I don’t really fall into either of those categories.”

“Yes you do!” Marius said. “You’re my friend. And I want to introduce you to everyone. I’m sure they would like you.”

“Would they?” Eponine snorted.

“Of course,” Marius said. “You’re really nice.”

Eponine tensed, and for once, didn’t look Marius directly in the eye. She twisted a napkin in her hand and said in a small voice, “I’m really not though.”

Marius put one of his hands over Eponine’s to calm her. “I think you are. You’re always there for me when I need you. You’re a good friend, Eponine.”

She seemed transfixed by Marius’s hand. He thought he might be making her uncomfortable, so withdrew. Eponine blinked, and her mouth twisted in a bitter smile.

“That’s me. Good friend. Alright. I might show up. I’m surprised you’re not having a bachelor party, night before the wedding and all that.”

“That was last weekend,” Marius said.

He had relented and let Courfeyrac plan the event, because otherwise he would pout and complain Marius was denying him one of his main duties as best man. Marius, being Courfeyrac’s roommate and thus knowing him pretty well, had been terrified at the thought of whatever he must be planning. Courfeyrac kept hinting at the event, and mentioning the ‘big night’ with a wink. Combeferre would groan, and Enjolras would instantly become stony faced, and Marius internally panicked. What sort of awful thing was Courfeyrac planning that would elicit such responses from the normally unflappable duo?

The answer was mini-golf. Apparently, Enjolras really hated mini-golf.

“This isn’t what I was expecting,” Marius confessed.

Courfeyrac grinned. “Come on. Give me some credit.”

“But you kept saying…things,” Marius was still too embarrassed to repeat most of what Courfeyrac had said.

“Because, my dear Pontmercy, messing with you is one of the greatest joys in life, and soon, Cosette will have the pleasure of being the primary Marius messer-with. Besides, I’m saving all those brilliant ideas for if Enjolras ever gets married.”

Enjolras overheard and gave Courfeyrac one of his very best death glares, and Courfeyrac was only spared from spontaneously combusting by the appearance of Grantaire, who Courfeyrac seized, and thrust in Enjolras’s direction. “Enjolras is really bad at mini-golf. Show him the proper way to swing a club, would you?”

“So is Cosette doing anything?” Eponine asked, snapping Marius out of his day dream. If he had been paying more attention to what was happening in the present, he would have noticed the inner turmoil that had shown itself on Eponine’s face, before she smoothed her features into a steely mask.

“I think she and Musichetta are spending the day out and about,” Marius said. He had wanted to spend some time with his fiancée before the wedding, just the two of them. The time they had had for the past few months had been full of stress and wedding preparations. Marius had hoped for a relaxing afternoon, so they could enjoy being engaged, now that the arrangements were almost all done, but Cosette had begged off. “They wanted a girl’s day out.”

Eponine raised her eyebrow. “Is that so? Then what are they doing outside with him?”

Marius peered out the window, feeling his stomach dropped, but when he saw Cosette and Musichetta with Jehan, he chuckled. “Oh, that’s just Jehan.”

A small frown appeared on Eponine’s face. But she recovered quickly. “Isn’t that Montparnasse with them?”

Marius’s eyes widened. Yes, that was Montparnasse. He was a hard person to forget. Montparnasse had been obstructed from Marius’s view, but now he stepped forward. To his horror, he watched Montparnasse draw Cosette aside. He was saying something- what the hell could he have to say to her? At least she was frowning. But then- Montparnasse picked up her hand and pressed a kiss to it, and elicited a laugh from her. He pulled a rose out of nowhere and gave it to her. She accepted it with a smile. Musichetta called out to her. Cosette gave him a small wave, and Montparnasse watched Cosette rejoin her friends, and walk away.

Eponine let out a low whistle. Marius had completely forgotten she was there.

“I’m sure there’s a reasonable explanation for that,” she said.

“Probably,” Marius said hollowly.

“And I’m sure that had nothing to do with why she didn’t want you to come with her.”

Marius felt sick. “You think that’s why she didn’t want me to come with her?”

“I just said I didn’t think that. But…what do you think?” Eponine said.

“I don’t know,” Marius lied. But he knew exactly what to think. Cosette, beautiful, brilliant, perfect Cosette could do so much better than him. He had always felt their relationship was too good to last. But…she was still marrying him tomorrow, wasn’t she? Perhaps, he hoped feebly, it was nothing but a casual flirtation. They could get through this.

**********

It was dark before Valjean managed to wrangle the Amis and other guests down to the dock area and for the party to start. He worked on starting a roaring bonfire, while everyone slowly filtered in. It was quiet; everyone sat around on logs, perhaps ate some food, and made small talk. Then Courfeyrac arrived.

“Let’s play some music!” he shouted.

Enjolras smiled as Joly helped Courfeyrac set up his laptop to some speakers, and sat contentedly watching his friends. At their political gatherings, he was always the center of attention. It wasn’t something he did consciously, it just sort of happened. But when it was social gatherings like this, Enjolras kept to the sidelines. He preferred to see his friends letting loose. Seeing them having fun was fun for him. He had difficulty letting go like they did, so he usually lived vicariously through their antics.

Enjolras had been so focused on watching Courfeyrac coax Combeferre into dancing a dance with him on the other side of the fire, that he didn’t realize Grantaire was standing next to him until the brunette extended his hand to him.

Enjolras stared at it. Grantaire’s shy smile faltered.

“I thought you were bored, and thought I’d try to entertain you, but I guess you’re good,” Grantaire mumbled, turning red. “I’lljustgothen.”

“What?”

Enjolras had no idea what was going on, and stared at Grantaire, his brow furrowed, as he tried to figure out what the hell he was going on about. Grantaire took in his blank, confused expression, and seemed to come to a decision.

“I wanted to see if you wanted to dance,” Grantaire said quietly, but firmly.

“Oh,” Enjolras forced himself to maintain Grantaire’s gaze. “It might have escaped your notice, but I don’t know how to dance.”

“That’s okay,” Grantaire tugged Enjolras up gently. “I do.”

Enjolras snorted, but allowed Grantaire to lead him closer to the source of the music. “I know. I’ve seen what you consider dancing, and I don’t think I’ll be much good at it.”

“You’ve seen me dance at clubs or parties,” Grantaire corrected him. “There is a difference.”

He put a tentative hand on Enjolras’s waist. When Enjolras didn’t jerk away, Grantaire pulled him closer. Enjolras barely noticed that the music had changed from some mindless pop song to a slower jazz tune. He was barely aware of anything, not music, not the gawking Amis. The only thing that he could focus on was the way Grantaire’s hands felt on him.

He blindly followed Grantaire’s lead, clumsily at first, but he soon got the hang of it. He still kept checking his feet, and so he missed the way Grantaire was staring at him like he couldn’t quite believe he was in his arms.

“So what’s the verdict?” Grantaire asked.

“I was wrong,” Enjolras said. “You can dance.”

“I never thought I’d hear you admit you were wrong,” Grantaire said. “But what can I say? I’m full of surprises.”

He suddenly dipped Enjolras. Enjolras gasped at the unexpected motion, and found himself almost nose-to-nose with Grantaire, held up only by Grantaire’s strong grip.

Grantaire’s eye flickered down to Enjolras’s mouth, and for a millisecond, Enjolras thought he was going to lean in even closer. But instead, Grantaire straightened them up, and went back to leading their dance.

“So tomorrow’s the big day,” Grantaire commented lightly, trying to mask the way his heart was practically beating out his chest.

“The entire situation is ridiculous,” Enjolras said.

“I thought you were okay with it,” Grantaire said.

 “I want Cosette to be happy, and I have to admit, in matters of the heart, I’m not an expert. I like Marius, and if Cosette thinks this will make her happy, I’ll support her, even if marriage is idiotic.”

“That sounds like something I would say.”

“It originated for financial reasons, and evolved into an institution religions and governments use to exclude different minority groups of people. Until everyone who wants to get married can, then it’s another instrument of oppression. Not to mention the industry that has sprung up around it- trying to monetize it, and getting people to throw away a ridiculous amount of money. ”

“I’m right there with you,” Grantaire said. “Suckers, the lot of them.”

“Sheep.”

“Like their floral arrangements will make their marriage successful.”

“Having a decent color scheme is a prerequisite for a good future,” Enjolras deadpanned. “Thank God Cosette decided to go with the purple. Although, she yelled at me when I called it that.”

“It’s lavender, you philistine,” Grantaire said.  

“Whatever. I still think she should have gone with the red.”

“You would. If you ever get married, it’s going to be red everywhere, isn’t it? Ridiculous.”

“Well then it’s a good thing I’m not getting married any time soon.”

“Yeah. Good. I mean marriage. It’s-”

“Stupid,” Enjolras breathed. He and Grantaire were only inches from being pressed together.

“Completely,” Grantaire agreed.

There was a loud explosion. They both turned away from each other in unison, and saw that Bahorel and Courfeyrac had decided to light some firecrackers. Grantaire laughed, but when he turned back to Enjolras, the blonde was still looking away. He seemed to be determinedly looking at the fireworks, and perhaps it was the lighting, but Grantaire thought he saw a blush blooming on Enjolras’s pale cheeks. He smiled at that thought, and pulled Enjolras closer.

He stiffened for a second, before resting his head on Grantaire’s shoulder, and allowing him to lead. It wasn’t the dance Grantaire had promised, and they didn’t use any of the beautiful technique they had started with. But this was nice, Grantaire decided, as they swayed back and forth.

**********

After snapping several covert photos of Grantaire and Enjolras dancing (not that it was hard- they were so wrapped up in their own little world, the only thing that could distract them was literally the fireworks Corufeyrac and Bahorel had set off), Cosette glanced at her watch. It wasn’t that late- only a little past 10. But she was getting married in the morning, and she didn’t want to risk having any bags under her eyes.

Marius looked disappointed when she kissed him goodnight.

“One more dance?” he asked hopefully.

Cosette shook her head. Marius had been awfully needy that night. It seemed he couldn’t bear to have her out of his sight for more than a minute, or else he would be anxious. It was a little endearing, and she liked feeling needed, but she really did need to get sleep. And they would be spending the rest of their lives together, so Marius could deal with a few more hours apart.

“I need sleep. You should get some too. And no, not together,” she interrupted before he could ask. “After this, you aren’t allowed to see me until I’m walking down the aisle.”

Marius nodded, then surprised her, but pulling her into a desperate kiss.

“I love you,” he told her, like it was the most important thing in the world.

“I love you too,” Cosette said, pulling away. She would have to ask Courfeyrac to help with Marius’s pre-wedding jitters. She threw him one last kiss, then started the walk back up to the house. She was going to go straight back, but heard a rustling in the woods. Thinking someone was lost, she wandered down a lesser used path.

“Hello?”

“Holy shit!” a voice answered her.

Cosette held up her cell phone and used its light to look around. Jehan was standing in the middle of a clearing, looking startled.

“Jehan?”

“Did anyone ever tell you you walk like a cat?” Jehan smiled ruefully.

“A cat?”

“Stealthily,” he explained. “You startled me."

“I didn’t mean to.” Cosette said. “What are you doing out here all by yourself?”

“Oh, um…” he turned pink. “Just…thinking.”

“Well, I don’t want to bother you. I need to go to bed. Big day tomorrow,” Cosette smiled.

“Right, of course,” Jehan said.

Cosette swooped in, and gave him a goodnight kiss on the forehead. “You should get some sleep too. I’m warning you, you aren’t going to exempt from any photos just because you have bags under your eyes.”

Jehan saluted. “Aye-aye captain.”

This earned him a chuckle. Cosette looked at him fondly, and tucked a strand of his hair behind his ear. He wore his shoulder length blond hair loose tonight- she noticed he put less effort in his hair when he was in one of his blue moods. She didn’t want to mention anything, figuring if Jehan wanted to talk, he would find her. But she also didn’t want to just leave him alone, sitting in the woods at night. So she shrugged off her yellow cardigan and put it over Jehan’s shoulders. It wasn’t much, but knowing Jehan was warm and wearing a reminder that he had friends who loved him was better than nothing.

“Stay warm.”

**********

Marius had drank a little more than he usually would in the hopes that it would calm his nerves and drown out the voices that swirled around his head- mostly his grandfather and Eponine. Not long after Cosette left, Combeferre had quietly suggested he go get a glass of water and some sleep to try and stave off a hangover. Courfeyrac had offered to walk him back to the house, but Eponine appeared by his side.

“I’ll take him,” she said. “I was going to leave soon anyway.”

Courfeyrac hesitated. Marius realized that to Courfeyrac, Eponine was virtually a stranger, so he said, reassuringly, “It’s fine. Eponine is a friend.”

Even if he couldn’t stand to hear any more of Eponine’s thoughts on Cosette and his relationship, he was a little wobbly, and didn’t want Courfeyrac to worry.

“Okay,” Courfeyrac still looked cautious. “Then thanks, Eponine.”

“Come on,” Eponine tugged Marius’s arm and tried to lead him up the path, but he shook his head stubbornly. He instead dragged Eponine down another, lesser used trail. He was in the mood to take a longer, more roundabout route back. He wanted air, he wanted to think. It was only after he tripped over a protruding root for the third or fourth time that he thought this might have been a mistake.

“Sorry,” he said, realizing he was leaning on Eponine.

“I don’t mind,” she said quickly.

Marius still shifted his weight, because he didn’t want to crush her. He started to turn around. “I should go back.”

Eponine gripped his shoulder. “I think it would be faster if we kept going this way.”

Vaguely, in the back of his mind, Marius knew this wasn’t true, but Eponine seemed so sure, and he was too tired to argue. It was nice, just letting himself be led by her.

He heard a sound up ahead. A soft, low moan. He started in that direction.

“What are you doing?” Eponine hissed.

“It sounds like someone’s hurt.”

“No,” Eponine said. “Trust me, that’s not what that sound was.”

“They might need our help.” Marius insisted, wrenching himself free from Eponine. She seemed startled by this unexpected determination, and he was several steps ahead of her before she recovered.

“Marius. Stop!” she whispered hoarsely.

He did. But not because of her pleas. It was because of the sight before him. A dark haired man was moving above a smaller person, moving his hips slowly and groaning. A pair of delicate hands dug their way into the man’s back. It was dark, so Marius couldn’t see their faces, and there was a log mostly obscuring the view, but Marius could see long, golden hair strewn out behind the bottom person. He felt supremely embarrassed, because oh.

Eponine caught up with him, and grabbed his wrist. She jerked her head back towards the path, and Marius, shamefaced, was ready to follow. Then something caught his eye.

A yellow cardigan had been tossed carelessly to the edge of the clearing. Cosette’s cardigan. Marius felt like a knife had just been stabbed into his gut.

“Is that Montparnasse?” he heard Eponine wonder aloud. It appeared that since Marius wasn’t leaving with her, she stuck around to watch the show.

He pushed past her harshly.

“Wait!” Eponine huffed behind him, having to chase him again. “I know you don’t like Montparnasse, but you don’t need to be upset. It’s just sex. It happens.”

Marius held up the cardigan. Eponine looked confused.

“Did you just steal that girl’s clothes?”

“It’s Cosette’s,” Marius managed to choke out.

Eponine’s eyes widened. “Oh.”

But he shook his head, still gripping the cardigan. “I can find my own way home,” he said, before tearing off down the path, feeling like his entire world was crashing around him. He couldn’t breathe. He wanted to be alone. Actually, what he wanted more than anything was Cosette. He would always want her, but he realized with a sob, she would not always want him. 

Chapter Text

Marius woke up as sunbeams struck his face. He shoved his face under his pillows and moaned. This must be what being hungover feels like, he thought. How did Courfeyrac remain so chipper after his nights out? Why did Marius never ask him how to stave off hangovers?

He groped around blindly, until his hands found a water bottle. As he gulped it down, he had painful stabs of clarity. He was getting married today. Today was his wedding day. He rubbed his palms viciously over his eyes. He was missing something…he felt sick, but in a way he instinctively knew had nothing to do with how much he drank the night before.

He rolled over again and his hand landed on something soft- Cosette’s cardigan.

Marius felt like a ton of bricks had been dropped onto his stomach. He remembered what he and Eponine had witnessed. He felt like shouting, but ended up sitting numbly. He wanted to curl up in a ball and have the world move on without him.

Apparently the world had other plans, since someone was banging –rather insistently- on his door.

“Wake up!” Courfeyrac shouted. “Rise and shine. It’s a big day!”

“Oh shut up,” Grantaire said. His voice was much quieter.

The door knob turned, and Grantaire entered, followed swiftly by Courfeyrac. Courfeyrac was already partly dressed, wearing his dress pants and a white button down. His hair was perfectly coiffed.

Grantaire, wearing boxer shorts and a blanket as a shawl looked how Marius felt- awful. He held two glasses filled with questionable looking dark liquid, and shoved one in Marius’s hand. He clinked their glasses together.

“Cheers,” he guzzled his down.

Marius took a sip and nearly spat it out. “What is that?”

“Miracle hangover cure. Invented by Joly, perfected by me,” Grantaire rubbed his eyes, which were already brighter.

‘Good to see he’s putting his med school to good use,” Courfeyrac said brightly.

Marius raised the glass to his lips and almost gagged from the smell alone. But Grantaire raised his eyebrows challengingly, so Marius drained the glass. As soon as he swallowed down the last of it, his first instinct was to vomit. But after a few seconds, he felt less clammy, and his head felt less likely to split open.

“Better?” Courfeyrac clapped him on the back.

Yes, and no. While his head was rapidly becoming less foggy, that meant he could recall the events of the night before with more clarity. Cosette…his beloved, darling Cosette had realized what he had known all along- that he wasn’t enough for her. She realized she could do better, and didn’t say anything to spare his feelings, and if they got married, she would be settling. She would be bored and resent him, and he would be miserable because he caused her to be unhappy. He had to stop the wedding.

Grantaire handed Marius an aspirin. “It enhances the drink’s powers,” he said.

“What time is it?” Marius moaned now that he no longer felt like his head was about to explode.

“Eleven,” Courfeyrac said.

Marius shot out of bed.

‘You still have plenty of time,” Courfeyrac said soothingly, completely misinterpreting Marius’s reaction.

“Where’s Cosette?” Marius said.

“She went to the church already,” Courfeyrac said.

Marius’s mouth went dry, because that couldn’t be right, she couldn’t have already left, he had to talk to her right now.

“I need to talk to her,” he said.

Courfeyrac and Grantaire exchanged a confused look. “Uh, maybe I better talk to Marius? Give him a best-man pep talk?”

Grantaire shrugged. He had given Marius the magical hangover cure, so as far as he was concerned, his work was done. “I’ll get dressed and see you guys at the church?”

Courfeyrac nodded. After the door closed, he steered Marius back to his bed, and sat next to him, his hands resting on Marius’s shoulders so he could have a good look at him.

“What’s wrong?”

Marius shook his head. He didn’t want to talk. He wanted to find Cosette, free her of her obligation, then disappear. Nothing Courfeyrac could say would change anything, and any effort to make Marius feel better would probably make him feel worse.

“You’re not getting cold feet are you?” Courfeyrac said jokingly. His eyes widened at Marius’s silence. “Marius, you’re not, are you?”

The younger man wasn’t sure how to respond. He couldn’t tell Courfeyrac he had made up his mind, and he was going to call the wedding off. Courfeyrac would of course try to talk him out of it. And Marius just wanted to get this over with. He just wanted to rip his heart out, so he could leave and go somewhere and try to remember what it was like to be able to breathe properly.

“I need to talk to Cosette,” Marius repeated.

Courfeyrac looked at him gravely. “Okay,” he said finally. “We’ll talk to Cosette.”

It didn’t escape Marius’s notice that Courfeyrac still put both their tuxes in the car before they left. Either he didn’t realize Marius’s intentions, or he was incredibly optimistic. Marius cracked the passenger window open, and tried to enjoy the sensation of the cool air on his face, but he just felt numb.

**********

Cosette had woken up with the sun. Today was the day she had dreamt of for so long. In just a few short hours, she would be marrying the man of her dreams. She took a long bubble bath, enjoying the hot water and steam. After toweling off, she ate a light brunch before tracking down Enjolras and Combeferre. They were both in the kitchen, nursing large cups of coffee.

“Good morning,” Combeferre greeted her. “How are-”

“No time. We have things to do,” Cosette said, appalled they were still in their pajamas.

Enjolras looked at his cell phone. “Cosette, it’s nine.”

“Yes.”

“The ceremony isn’t until one.”

“But I have to do my hair and make-up, and get dressed. And I don’t want to do that until we get to the church, which is like a two hour long drive.”

“It’s a 15 minute drive,” Combeferre corrected her gently.

“There could be traffic. You don’t know. And I can’t risk Marius seeing me- it’s bad luck, you know. He’s still sleeping, but you never know when he’ll wake up, and then he could accidentally see me, and then where will we be?”

Enjolras and Combeferre exchanged a look, before pushing back their chairs and standing up in two synchronized movements. It still seemed absurdly early to them, but they were Cosette’s bridesmaids, so today they had to humor her, and they weren’t allowed to say anything. So they (regretfully) left their coffee and went upstairs to grab their freshly pressed suits and whatever else Cosette needed help carrying.

While they were willing to indulge Cosette, Combeferre drew the line when he saw Cosette behind the wheel of Enjolras’s car.

“You are not driving,” he told her sternly.

“But-”

“You don’t have a license, and don’t pretend like you’re not going to go twice the speed limit.”

Pouting, Cosette surrendered the keys. They go the church in 20 minutes, with Cosette muttering about Combeferre’s “granny driving” the entire way. She shot out of the car before Combeferre turned the engine off, and raced into the church to find a room to set up in, leaving the two men to carry in her dress, make up kit, and their own clothes.

They were on their third (and last) trip to bring the stuff in, when another car pulled up, and out hopped Jehan, Bahorel and Feuilly. Jehan looked incredibly frazzled, and Bahorel bored. Feuilly just looked tired.

“Sorry,” Jehan said breathlessly. “I overslept.”

“Why are we here so early again?” Bahorel grumbled.

“For Cosette,” Feuilly said. Bahorel looked only partially mollified. “Because if you stop being an asshole there will be donuts.”

Bahorel shut up and followed everyone else in the church, where Combeferre delegated tasks. Feuilly was there to take behind the scenes photographs of everyone getting ready before the professional photographer showed up (Courfeyrac was supposed to be taking pictures back at the house). Jehan was to help Cosette with her hair and make-up. Bahorel and Combeferre were tasked with setting up the flowers, lights, and other decorations that Jehan and Cosette had planned together.

“And Enjolras gets to get the donuts,” Combeferre said.

Everyone set about their assigned tasks without question or complaint; they had faith that Combeferre knew what he was doing. By the time Enjolras got back from his donut run, Combeferre and Bahorel had made decent progress with the decorations. Under careful supervision, Bahorel was surprisingly gentle with the bunches of flowers and other plants. But all bets were off when he saw Enjolras return with donuts; he leapt off the ladder and raced down the church nave.

Enjolras surrendered the pastries. Combeferre made a beeline for the coffee Enjolras had also picked up. Enjolras side-stepped the sudden swarm of hungry workers, and took the opportunity to admire his friends’ handiwork. The church itself was old and stone, with large windows that allowed generous amounts of sunlight to stream in. It was a beautiful venue, but the flower arrangements transported it to a more whimsical place, better suiting the soon to be newlyweds.

He only stopped examining the space when Jehan emerged at his side to claim his donut. “Done with hair and make-up,” he said. “Any jellies left?”

Enjolras grimaced, and handed the box over. He would never forget jelly donuts were Jehan’s favorites after the time Jehan told him he liked to pretend he was a zombie, the donut his human prey, and when he bit into it, the jelly was blood and guts.

“I can take over decorations," Jehan said, munching. “If you two want to check on the bride.”

Enjolras nodded, hoping Cosette had calmed down since he last saw her.

“Where’s Valjean?” Bahorel asked. “He could help with whatever heavy lifting Jehan’s about to make me do.”

“Picking up the nuns,” Combeferre said.

It had been his idea when they realized Valjean was going to be more worked up and emotional than even Cosette. They sent him out to a convent several hours away to pick up the nuns who Cosette knew from her childhood. They hoped the combination of the long scenic route, having a specific task to keep him distracted, and the presence of nuns on the return journey would help calm the poor man down.

Combeferre set down his coffee. “Better not bring it in,” he said, mournfully looking at the second cup of coffee he had to abandon that day.  “If I get so much as a drop on her dress, she’ll kill me.”

Enjolras couldn’t really argue with that.

Cosette was a vision in her gown. Her dress was long and made out of a flowing material that streamed out behind her when she walked, like she had some an invisible wind machine directed at her. Her golden hair was loose, with a wreath of wildflowers resting on top. Her makeup was subtle, highlighting her natural beauty. She was radiant.

She was graceful and delicate, but there was a hint of something untamed lurking beneath the surface. The wild undercurrent beneath her classical beauty made Enjolras immediately think she resembled a nymph. (If his mind automatically leapt to making classical references, perhaps he was spending too much time with Grantaire).

“You’re beautiful,” Enjolras said, bestowing a gentle kiss on her cheek, careful not to mess up her make up.

Click. Feuilly grinned as he snapped a few candids. Enjolras hadn’t even noticed he was still in the room. Click, click.

Feuilly looked pleased with himself. “At least I have a few good ones,” he said.

It was a well-known fact that Enjolras rarely cooperated for photographs. Combeferre carefully directed Enjolras so he could go back to talking with Cosette and ignore what Feuilly was doing. Feuilly had just snapped a good one of Enjolras, Cosette and Combeferre laughing together, all three glowing with joy.

There was a knock on the door. Enjolras wiped away a tear of laughter, and answered- it and saw a very awkward looking Courfeyrac, who shuffled in. He was early; Marius and the groom’s party weren’t supposed to arrive until a little closer to the ceremony.

“Hey,” Courfeyrac mumbled.

“Courfeyrac!” Cosette smiled widely, then froze. “Why are you here? Is something wrong?”

“Marius wants to talk to you.”

Cosette bit her lip. “It’s bad luck,” she said, though she looked uncertain. “Is he okay?”

“Honestly, he seems nervous,” Courfeyrac said. “But he won’t talk to me. I thought you could help.”

Cosette was shooing them out the door as soon as Courfeyrac said she could help. Enjolras paused at the door.

“I’ll be fine,” Cosette said. “There’s plenty of time until the ceremony. Just come back in like half an hour or so?”

There was little use in arguing with Cosette when her mind was made up. As scary as she had been over planning the wedding, she would be a hundred times worse if anyone stopped her from seeing and helping her fiancé. So Enjolras kissed her cheek and left the door open.

Cosette wasn’t alone long before she saw Marius drag his feet through the door. She rushed to him, but stopped when he took a step back. It hurt; he had never backed away from her before.

“Marius?” she said gently. “What’s wrong?”

His expression made her feel a sudden chill. It was guarded, so alien from his usual tendency to wear his thoughts on his face.

“I can’t do this,” he said, his voice low and tight. Cosette had no idea the effort it took for him to keep his voice from shaking.

“Can’t do what?” she asked, sounding small.

“I can’t marry you.”

“That isn’t funny.”

Marius’s eyes were hollow looking. “It wasn’t supposed to be.”

Cosette felt dizzy. Suddenly her dress was too tight, and she felt like throwing up. “I don’t understand.”

“This was a mistake. Dating you…that was a mistake,” Marius said. He spoke in the same, terrible tone of voice that made Cosette want to scream.

“Why would you say that?”

“We both know that I’m not enough for you.”

Cosette shook her head. How could he think that? How could he now know how much she loved him. “That’s not true.”

“Don’t lie to me.” Marius said, his voice raised.

“I’m not lying. Please tell me what this is about.”

“You know what it’s about. It’s about what happened last night.”

“What are you talking about?”

“I know what you did,” Marius told her. “I can’t do this anymore. I thought I could. I thought I could be with you, but I know now that I can’t. I just want you to be happy. And that won’t happen if you’re with me. This is better for both of us, in the long run.”

“If you want me to be happy, marry me,” Cosette pleaded.

Marius shook his head. He was trembling, and he seemed on the verge of crying.  He looked at her, committing every detail to memory. He seemed to want to say something, to offer more explanation, but decided against it. “Goodbye Cosette.”

“Marius!” she shouted. “Marius!”

He opened the door. The other Amis were assembled outside it. They had finished decorating the church, and had been looking for Enjolras or Combeferre for more directions. When they saw Marius, looking upset, and Cosette, who had tears streaming down their face, they were stunned.

Feuilly was the first to come to his senses. “What’s going on?”

Everyone started speaking at once. Half of them were asking Cosette if she was okay, some of them were asking Marius the same, and others just wondering what the fuck was happening. Marius pushed past his friends, ignoring them calling out his name.

**********

Enjolras wandered into the entrance hall just as Grantaire was coming in from the parking lot. Grantaire didn’t see him; he was too busy adjusting his tie and scowling at it while nearly strangling himself.

“Allow me.”

Grantaire jumped when he heard Enjolras’s voice. He watched with wide eyes as Enjolras slid in front of him, and undid his tie with long, dexterous fingers, then restarted it.

Grantaire fidgeted, then in an attempt to break the tension said jokingly, “I guess that internship at the courthouse was good for something.”

“You mean I got to learn about the judicial system to I will be better able to fight corruption and injustice in the future?”

“I meant you had to wear a suit and tie every day and now you have a useful skill that actually helps someone. Someone being me.”

Enjolras felt himself almost rise to the bait, but stopped himself. “We’re not fighting today,” he told Grantaire calmly.

Grantaire looked almost disappointed for a second. But then Enjolras adjusted the tie, and his hand ended up resting on Grantaire’s chest as he examined his handiwork.

“Okay. No fighting,” Grantaire agreed softly. Enjolras hummed as he leaned back to get a better look at the entire ensemble. When he was quiet for a while, Grantaire glanced nervously at him. “What’s the verdict? Am I passable?”

“No,” Enjolras said, and Grantaire deflated. “You’re more than passable. You look amazing.”

He didn’t know how he managed to keep his voice steady. It had been a snap decision, to be truthful to Grantaire. But it had also been building up for a while. Enjolras was used to being honest and bold, but for some reason, he faltered around Grantaire, when in every other situation, he would have charged ahead. With Grantaire, he was always afraid the other man would laugh him off, like he did everything else. Enjolras was tired of doubting himself.

Grantaire stared at Enjolras, his cheeks growing red. Enjolras stubbornly maintained eye contact, so he would know he was being serious.

“Um,” Grantaire said, looking down. With a start, Enjolras realized his hand was still resting on the other man’s chest. He (somewhat reluctantly) pulled back, but Grantaire grabbed his wrist before he got too far away. “You too. You look amazing. I mean, you always do, but…”

Grantaire trailed off. He seemed to realize he was now holding Enjolras’s wrist, and had no idea what to do with it, but he seemed reluctant to let it go. Instead, he gently lowered Enjolras’s arm to his side, and stepped forward so his body followed their hands. Enjolras wondered if he could feel his quickening pulse.

“What I meant to say…fuck. Uh…”

Enjolras swallowed. He was so close to Grantaire, he could count his eyelashes. He could back out and regret it, or he could take a chance. “I think you’ve been holding out on me.”

Grantaire’s eyes widened. “Uh…I don’t know what you’re talking about, I mean-”

It was amusing to see a man who could practically drink his weight in alcohol and still give articulate rants suddenly rendered nearly speechless. Enjolras showed pity, and cut him off. “Your dance moves. I think you were holding out on me. You better step it up tonight.”

His heart was pounding in his chest, because holy shit, did he really just say that? But Grantaire was grinning now. Apparently Enjolras telling him what to do put them back in semi-familiar territory, and he felt more comfortable.

“You want to dance with me again?”

“I want to prove you’re not all talk,” Enjolras said, raising an eyebrow as a challenge.

“I didn’t impress you?” Grantaire’s other hand found Enjolras’s free one.

Enjolras chuckled. “I didn’t say that. I said I think you could do better.”

“You’re on,” Grantaire said, looking deliriously happy that he would get to dance with Enjolras again.

His face was inching closer and closer, and Enjolras was contemplating his lips, when he heard shouting. Grantaire groaned as Enjolras whipped his head around to look for the cause of commotion.

Marius, red-eyed and disheveled looking came storming down the hallway. He pointedly did not look at either Enjolras or Grantaire. Courfeyrac came racing after him. He acknowledged the other men’s presence.

“Oh, God,” he said.

“What happened?”

“I’m still trying to get to the bottom of it,” Courfeyrac said, talking quickly. “He was off this morning, but I thought it was just pre-wedding jitters. But I think…I think he just called it off.”

“He did what?” Enjolras growled.

“I don’t know, I don’t know.” Courfeyrac wringed his hands.

Enjolras had half a mind to go and beat some answers out of Pontmercy, but Grantaire stopped him, tugging on his hand. “You should go find Cosette. Not you,” he said, to Courfeyrac, who had turned to go back to the bride. “You should go to Marius.”

Courfeyrac nodded distractedly. He seemed relieved to have been given a direction. Grantaire gave Enjolras’s hand one last reassuring squeeze before letting go.

Enjolras tore down the hallway and found Cosette in the room he had left her in, crying. Enjolras had never seen her this upset. He felt helpless. She was sitting on the floor in the middle of the room, as if she had just collapsed there. Not knowing what else to do, he sank down with her, and put an arm around her protectively.

Combeferre had come seconds after him, and was pushing the rest of the well-meaning Amis away.

“I will let you know if we need anything,” he said firmly before shutting the door.

Cosette had run out of tears, and was dry-sobbing, her whole body shaking. Enjolras couldn’t think. He just knew two things: he wanted to make his cousin feel better, and he wanted to kill Marius Pontmercy.

Combeferre had procured a tea kettle out of seemingly nowhere and set about making a large mug for Cosette. He kept casting worried looks at her, and Enjolras could tell he was just dying to ask Cosette what the hell happened.

Enjolras didn’t know how long it took, but eventually Cosette stopped sobbing, and sat quietly. He could hear the heavy raindrops outside the window, and the worried murmurs of his friends right outside the door.

Cosette gently pushed Enjolras’s arm off, and got to her feet slowly. Enjolras stood up too, but kept his distance, watching his cousin warily, unsure what she needed.

“I’m going for a walk,” she announced to no one in particular.

“It’s raining,” Combeferre said.

She nodded. “I don’t care. I just need some air.”

“I could go with you,” Enjolras offered. He didn’t like the idea of her wandering around by herself.

“No,” Cosette said with surprising force. She shut her eyes and covered her mouth. “Sorry. Just, no. Please. I need to be alone.”

“Don’t go too far,” Enjolras said.

"I won't."

**********

“What the fuck, Marius?”

Marius didn’t break his stride, even after he heard his best friend call after him. It was only when Courfeyrac grabbed his shoulder that he stopped.

“I had to,” Marius said.

“What the hell do you mean, you had to?” Courfeyrac said, his eyes dark. Marius realized this was the first time he had ever seen his roommate angry.

Marius was tired of talking about it. He wanted to shut his brain off, because maybe, just maybe if he could do that, he would stop hurting. “She slept with Montparnasse,” he said, because that sentence ultimately condensed a thousand reasons into four simple words. He wasn’t enough for her, she didn’t love him, he couldn’t trust her, they were broken.

“What are you talking about?”

Marius closed his eyes. “Yesterday. In town, I saw them. Flirting. And then last night.  In the woods – they... After she said she was going back to the house.”

“Cosette would never.” Courfeyrac bristled. He knew Cosette. He had watched her grow up. “Whoever told you that lied.”

“I saw her.” Marius snapped. Because did Courfeyrac think he would say anything like that about Cosette unless he was absolutely certain?

Courfeyrac shook his head. “No. You’re wrong.”

“I know what I saw!” Marius was all but shouting now. He kept seeing that scene from the clearing, playing over and over again in his head. With shaking hands, he pulled the rental car keys out of his pocket.

“What are you doing?” Courfeyrac asked suddenly.

“What does it look like?” Marius said. He had to get out of there.

“Give me the keys.”

“You can’t stop me!” Marius said, a desperate edge to his voice.

“I’ll take you where you want to go,” Courfeyrac said firmly. “You can’t drive like this.”

Marius could barely hold onto the keys, and it was starting to rain. He would probably drive himself off a cliff if Courfeyrac let him go. Accidently, or maybe on purpose.

“Keys,” Courfeyrac’s voice left no room to argue.

Marius surrendered them. Courfeyrac unlocked the door, and got behind the wheel. While Marius buckled up, Courfeyrac sent a quick text to Combeferre. He wanted so badly to be there for Cosette, because he couldn’t imagine what she was going through. But she was in Combeferre and Enjolras’s capable hands, and Marius had no one.

“Drive.”

Marius’s voice was hoarse. Courfeyrac cast one last at the church, then hit the gas.

**********

Cosette could never go back in the church. She had told Enjolras she wouldn’t go far, but she had no intention of staying true to that. There was a path behind the church that led to the woods. She wanted to get lost in it for a few hours. She didn’t mind the rain. She always liked taking walks in the rain, and now, she hoped the rain might wash away some of what she was feeling.

It didn’t. It just made her cold and wet. It was summer, and it wasn’t supposed to be cold, but Marius wasn’t supposed to leave her, so maybe everything in the world had decided to stop making sense.

The rain was coming down harder. Her dress – now ruined- was plastered to her body and felt heavy. She should go back. Not to that room. But to the car. She wanted to go home, but she also didn’t want to face her friends, with all their well-meaning concern, and their pity.

So she stumbled down the winding path some more. Water kept clouding her vision, and she wasn’t sure if it was tears or the rain falling through the trees. She wondered if staying in the woods forever was an option.

The rain started falling harder, which hadn’t seemed possible before. Cosette spotted a group of large rocks up ahead. It looked like they might offer some shelter. It was worth a chance. She had wandered the woods of this area her entire childhood, Valjean with her, showing her their secrets.

Valjean. He had probably come back from his errands now. He would be worried.

Cosette had already started climbing up the rocks, but stopped. She had to turn back. He was probably nearly beside himself with worry. There wasn’t a lot of room to turn around, so Cosette slowly took a step backwards. The rocks were slippery, so she took her time. She only had a few more steps to go. She could do it. She could go home, take off this awful dress, and curl up in her pajamas.

Suddenly, that was the only thing she wanted to do. She took another eager step, and her shoe got caught in her dress. Cosette grasped wildly at the wet rocks and she fell backwards, and went crashing towards the ground. 

Chapter Text

After being shooed away from the bridal dressing room by Combeferre, Bahorel and Jehan decided to take a walk in the woods. Well, Jehan decided he wanted some fresh air, and dragged Bahorel with him, because “you’re just standing there looking surly”, and he thought some light exercise might do him some good.

Bahorel just seemed grumpier.

“So I’m not allowed to pummel Pontmercy?” he clarified.

“Marius is our friend too,” Jehan chided him. “We don’t know his side of this. We need to at least hear him out. We owe him that.”

Logically, Bahorel knew Jehan was right. He still privately thought punching someone would make him feel better.

“Well can I at least-”

He stopped abruptly when Jehan stuck his arm out and pointed at something up ahead.

“What’s that?”

Bahorel frowned, trying to see up ahead. It was hard- the woods were fairly dense, and it was raining lightly.

“Oh my god. Is that Cosette?”

**********

Grantaire had hung back from all the commotion, not wanting to get in the way. Once the clamor had died down, he decided to poke his head in. The dressing room was empty, except for Enjolras, who was slumped against the wall.

“Are you okay?” Grantaire asked gently.

Enjolras looked up and seemed surprised to see him standing there. He let out a half-laughing, half choking sound. “Why wouldn’t I be? I’m not the one who got left at the altar.”

“Where is she?”

Enjolras gestured vaguely outside. “She needed space.”

“Understandable,” Grantaire said, approaching Enjolras slowly, not sure how welcome his presence was. Maybe Cosette wasn’t the only one who needed space. But Enjolras didn’t protest, so Grantaire slid down the wall and settled next him, their sides touching. He hesitantly reached his arm out and wrapped it around the blonde’s shoulders. Enjolras instantly leaned in, resting his head on Grantaire’s broad shoulder. He let out a muffled sob. In all the years Grantaire had known him, he had never seen him look so uncertain before. It was unsettling.

“Enjolras?” there was a banging on the door. Enjolras leapt to his feet, and tried to look somewhat put together.

Combeferre burst in, looking more distraught than Enjolras had ever seen him. A sense of dread filled the room.

“What happened?” Grantaire asked quietly.

“Cosette,” Combeferre said. “She’s unconscious. We think she tripped and hit her head.”

As if on cue, the sound of ambulance sirens approached.

Enjolras turned pale. Grantaire put an arm against his back to steady him.

“She’s not…she’s…” Enjolras struggled to pull himself together.

“We don’t know how she is,” Combeferre said as gently as possible. “We need to get her to a doctor.”

“I’m going to follow them to the hospital,” Enjolras said, returning somewhat to himself. Now that he had a course of action, he seemed less lost.

“I’m coming with you,” Grantaire said, his voice leaving no room for arguments.

**********

Grantaire hardly remembered the trip to the hospital, but he was positive he broke several traffic laws in order to get there only minutes after the ambulance. Enjolras was frighteningly quiet during the ride. And in the hospital lobby. And finally, about an hour later, when they were allowed in Cosette’s room.

Combeferre and Grantaire nodded along as the doctor explained she had a severe concussion, and needed rest, but should make a full recovery. She was sleeping now, and looked pale and frail, lying motionless in the hospital bed. Cosette was never one to sit still; she was always a flurry of activity, whether it was baking, or knitting, or just running around outside. Seeing her so still was frightening.

Enjolras barely responded to the doctor, having eyes only for his cousin. The second he was allowed in her room, he took the chair by her bedside, and gently held her hand. Combeferre and Grantaire were left awkwardly standing around after the doctor left.

“I have to go and try to reach Valjean again,” Combeferre said quietly. Valjean was, as far as they knew, still picking up wedding guests in the mountains, where cell reception was spotty at best. He was due to arrive at the church any minute, and would probably panic when he realized his daughter wasn’t there.

Enjolras looked helpless. He could shout at authority figures until his face turned blue, or he was hauled away in in handcuffs. He could organize enormous petitions with hours’ notice. But none of that could help him help Cosette, and so Enjolras sat there, looking terrified. Grantaire knew better than anyone what it felt like to see something awful and not be able to do anything about it.

Grantaire also knew better than to ask Enjolras if he would rather wait outside. Seeing Cosette like this might be hard, but he knew Enjolras preferred to be with her nonetheless. So he did the only thing he could think to do: he pulled a chair next to Enjolras’s, and reached out and took his hand.

**********

Enjolras wasn’t sure exactly what the doctor said. Cosette would be fine, eventually, but other than that, the specifics, he hadn’t heard. He meant to listen, because it was probably important, and he would have to explain to Valjean when he finally arrived, but the words had flowed through one ear and out the other and remained elusive. But Combeferre was there, and Combeferre must have heard and understood because he was Combeferre. All Enjolras knew was Cosette would one day be fine, but today she was not.

He felt a gentle hand take his. Grantaire.

“Thank you,” he said. Grantaire had driven them, he had listened, and he had stayed. Enjolras hoped those two words were enough to express his gratitude.

“Tell me how to help you,” Grantaire said.

“You’ve done enough,” Enjolras replied. It was true. And even if it wasn’t, there wasn’t anything to do- Enjolras didn’t even know what to do, so there was no way he could delegate.

Grantaire sighed, like he had expected that answer, and didn’t press any further. He just gave Enjolras’s hand a small, reassuring squeeze, and that reminder that Grantaire was there, that he would help if only he could was everything.

Enjolras didn’t know how much time had passed before Cosette’s eyelids fluttered open. He smiled softly.

“Hey.”

She blinked confusedly, and took in the blinking machine and IV needles she was connected to. Enjolras silently pressed the button to summon a nurse. Cosette hadn’t been in a coma, but she had been unconscious for most of her examinations and someone should probably come now that she was awake.

To his alarm, Cosette’s eyes watered. “Cosette? Are you in pain? Do you need more painkillers?”

“He left me,” Cosette croaked out. “He just left. He said he couldn’t marry me, and I…I don’t know why.”

Tears were flowing from her eyes freely, and she was starting to shake.

“Shhh,” Enjolras said. He looked at Grantaire, bewildered. Comforting people was not his strong suit. He was inclined to say, ‘screw Pontmercy, you’re too good for him’, but he wasn’t sure if that was an appropriate response.

Grantaire took over. “We’ll figure it out,” he said soothingly. “But we need to focus on getting you better first. Take a deep breath.”

Cosette only sobbed harder.

“Come on, Cosette. Deep breaths. With me,” Grantaire demonstrated, but Cosette gave no indication she heard him. She clutched Enjolras’s hand desperately like a lifeline, giving little regard to her needles or bandages.

“W-why would he do that? I-I thought he loved me.”

The nurse chose this moment to bustle in.

“You need to leave,” she said to Enjolras and Grantaire.

Enjolras felt affronted. “But-”

She softened when she noted the way Cosette was clinging to Enjolras’s hand and the worried expression on both men’s faces. “I’m sorry. You can come back later. But I need to calm her down and I need space or she’s going to hurt herself.”

Those were the magic words- the only words that could possibly induce Enjolras to leave Cosette’s side. He pressed a soft kiss to Cosette’s hand, before prying his own free. She babbled incoherently as more nurses flooded in the room. Grantaire, who still held Enjolras’s other hand, gently tugged him outside the room, and towards a few free chairs just down the hall.

Grantaire deposited Enjolras in a seat, and then disappeared around a corner. Enjolras felt suddenly adrift without his hand to anchor him. But Grantaire soon returned with a cup of water, which he handed to Enjolras.

“I’m not thirsty.”

Grantaire raised his eyebrows: a challenge. It was a pale imitation of the way he usually egged Enjolras on, but Enjolras was too tired to fight. So he gulped down the water, and crushed the cheap plastic cup, enjoying the crunching sound. Grantaire took cup from him and walked it to the trashcan.

“Do you want anything to eat?” he asked.

Enjolras shook his head. Instead of rejoining him, Grantaire started pacing.

“Do you need me to get anything from the house?”

Enjolras shook his head again. Still Grantaire paced. He was restless because he didn’t know how to help, Enjolras realized with a start. Not just help- help Enjolras.

“Are you sure? Because you know, it would be just like you to get so wrapped up with looking after Cosette you’d forget to take care of yourself. You’re not eating-”

“Grantaire, I ate like five hours ago,” Enjolras said. God, was it only the afternoon? This day felt like it would never end.

“Right. I just meant, in general, you know, you tend to neglect yourself, and I know you’re going to figure out what to do, so my contribution is to make sure you take care of yourself, so you can take care of everyone else, because you always forget you’re not invincible, you idiot.”

Rather than be put off by Grantaire’s rambling chastisement, it made Enjolras feel loved. Maybe not loved, exactly, but something close enough to it. He reached out his hand. Grantaire took it, and Enjolras pulled him into the seat next to him, and curled against his side. He wasn’t usually this tactile, not with Grantaire, but this was comforting, and it made Enjolras feel strong again. Because if Grantaire was there, he could figure something out, and they would be okay again.

Grantaire froze. Just when Enjolras was afraid he was invading Grantaire’s personal space, Grantaire relaxed against him, and started playing with Enjolras’s curls. It was soothing, and Enjolras felt safe.

“I think I love you,” he mumbled against Grantaire, because it was the only thing he could think.

Grantaire stiffened and his fingers stilled. “What did you just say?”

Enjolras (reluctantly) lifted his head off Grantaire’s shoulder so he could look at his face. He looked Grantaire’s wide eyes, which were for once vulnerable and completely honest and Enjolras decided to amend his statement.

“I’m in love with you.”

Grantaire snatched his arm away, and jerked back like he had been burned.

“Are you fucking kidding me?”

“Of course not.”

Grantaire scanned his face, trying his best to read Enjolras.

“You’re serious.”

“Yes,” Enjolras said impatiently, because they had been building towards this for months, and he needed Grantaire to believe him.

“Why are you telling me now?”

“Because it’s true.”

Grantaire closed his eyes. “I think it’s because you’re upset and you’re confused and you want someone to comfort you.”

“I am upset, but I’m not confused. I’ve been in love with you for ages. I just worked up the nerve to tell you now.”

Grantaire was worryingly silent. Enjolras was prepared to go into speech mode and declare his love and convince him, but then Grantaire opened his eyes and chuckled.

“You have the worst timing.”

“Not the worst.”

“The absolute worst. You’re the worst,” Grantaire said, sounding amused. Enjolras wanted to protest this accusation, but Grantaire gently cupped Enjolras’s face in his hands. “Good thing I kind of like you.”

“Only kind of?” Enjolras asked, quirking his eyebrow.

Grantaire, still holding his face, leaned in, and gently pressed a kiss to his lips. The kiss was chaste, and lasted only a few seconds before Grantaire pulled back, eyes searching Enjolras’s, silently asking if that was okay. Apparently he was satisfied with what he found, because a small smile broke out across his face. “I am wild about you,” he breathed.

“Well….good.” They weren’t eloquent words, but they were true. Grantaire was right; Enjolras had the worst timing. Grantaire deserved a better love confession than impulsive words in a hospital hallway. He deserved a coherent Enjolras, who could choose the right words, beautiful words. But judging from the look on Grantaire’s face, he didn’t mind.

“Let me help you. Tell me how to help you,” Grantaire repeated his words from earlier.

“What do you need?”

A time machine?

“Kill Pontmercy,” Enjolras said after only the slightest hesitation. The words felt almost cathartic leaving his mouth.

“You don’t mean that.”

“No, I don’t.” Mostly. “There’s nothing I need.”

Grantaire nodded, unsurprised. He looked thoughtful.

**********

Sometimes Grantaire forgot Enjolras didn’t always have the answers. Right now he didn’t know what he wanted, or needed. Except apparently grievous bodily harm to Pontmercy. He assumed Enjolras didn’t actually mean that. Or, the rational, calculating part of Enjolras didn’t mean that. So how to help?

Enjolras loved him, and Enjolras was upset. The first fact was a miracle, the other a tragedy. Grantaire more than returned his love, and so theoretically, he should be able to make Enjolras not upset. That’s what you did for people you loved, and Enjolras shouldn’t waste his love on someone who couldn’t even do that for him.

“I’m not going to kill anyone. Or maim them,” Grantaire added when he saw Enjolras open his mouth. Although, he slightly regretted it, because punching Pontmercy in the face a few dozen times would make everyone feel better. (Except Pontmercy). But he had to the be the mature one here- an indication of just how fucked up the circumstances were. “But I’ll fix this.”

“How? How can you possibly fix this?”

That was a damn good question. “I don’t know. But I will.”

Grantaire wanted everything for Enjolras. He wanted to give him so much, and to fulfill his every wish. He wanted Enjolras to be able to live in the kind of world he deserved. But that wasn’t something within Grantaire’s capabilities. He couldn’t fix the world, he couldn’t fix society or the government. But he could fix this. He would figure it out and find a way. He was going to try and be someone who deserved Enjolras’s love.

So he was going to have to get to the bottom of this.

“I have to go.”

Enjolras’s face fell.

“I’ll see you back at the house,” Grantaire promised. “But Valjean will be here soon, and you should be with him.”

“You can’t stay?”

And it was oh-so-tempting. But Combeferre was here too, and Grantaire knew he could give Enjolras the emotional support he needed. Grantaire had to get to the root of whatever the hell had gone wrong.

He gave Enjolras another quick kiss. “I love you. I will fix this, and I’ll see you soon.”

Enjolras’s deep blue eyes searched his, and he finally nodded. “I love you and we’ll see each other soon.”

Chapter Text

They couldn’t go back to Valjean’s house. Well, he could, Courfeyrac thought as he checked himself and Marius into a small inn on the outskirts of the village, but there was no way Marius could show his face there. He would have to go back and get their things, but that was a problem for later.

For now, his biggest problem was Marius, who had completely shut down. He didn’t speak or move for the rest of the car ride. When they finally go to their destination, Courfeyrac had to nudge more than once to rouse him from his stupor.

“We’re here. Get out,” he sighed.

Marius obeyed robotically. Courfeyrac got them checked in. He got one room for the two of them, because he honestly didn’t trust Marius to be alone by himself for very long. Marius was frightening him. Courfeyrac couldn’t even be angry at Marius anymore, because he was too busy being terrified. Marius seemed so empty, so completely void of any life.

Courfeyrac thought he had seen Marius at his lowest. When they first met, Marius had recently found out his father had tried for years to get in contact with him, only to be rebuffed by the grandfather and aunt who had raised him. By the time he had found this out, his father had died. In retaliation, Marius cut off ties with his family and mourned the father he never got to know. Living on his own, he was overworked and underpaid. Courfeyrac thought he was depressed then, but it was nothing compared to this.

“It’s better this way, you see?” Marius said suddenly. He had been sitting on the bed for the past hour, silently staring off into space. Courfeyrac had alternated between trying to comfort Marius and subtly texting the rest of the Amis to try and find out what else was happening. To his anger, so far, he was getting radio silence from everyone. Combeferre had texted him at first, saying he couldn’t talk at the moment and things were happening. Courfeyrac told him where they were, Combeferre thanked him, and then that was it. At least it was something, which was more than Courfeyrac could say for anyone else.

Marius was also being completely unreceptive, so Courfeyrac had backed off to give his friend space, and had then spend the rest of that hour fretting.

As soon as he heard Marius’s voice, he was back at his side.

“How is it better?”

“She’s too good for me, and we all know it.”

“No one knows that,” Courfeyrac said fiercely. “I don’t know that, and Cosette sure as hell didn’t know that, or she wouldn’t have agreed to marry you.”

“She didn’t know it at first,” Marius insisted. “And once she figured it out, she was too kind to dump me, because she knew how much I loved her. But now she’s free.”

“She’s not free, Marius, she’s devastated.”

Marius just shook his head. “It’s better this way. She can go on to live her life.”

“What about you?” Courfeyrac asked. “Are you going to be able to get on with your life?

Marius hugged his knees to his chest. “What’s the point?”

He said it so softly that Courfeyrac had barely been able to hear him, but his blood ran cold anyway.

“Marius, it’s going to be okay. I know it doesn’t seem that way, but it will be,” he said quietly. Marius’s only response was to hug his knees closer to his chest.

Courfeyrac was scared shitless. He wasn’t equipped to handle this. He needed backup, but none of his friends were responding to him. Even if they did respond, they probably wouldn’t help Marius right now.

He had to stay calm. That was his challenge. Calm. Courfeyrac exhaled silently. He wanted to do something to help, but he was acquainted enough with Marius and his habits to know that when Marius got himself emotionally worked up like this, sleep would follow. Marius’s silence was broken when he gave loud, shuddering sobs. Courfeyrac inched closer to him slowly, then gingerly put an arm around Marius. When Marius didn’t throw him off, he embraced him fiercely, wishing there was a way he could absorb Marius’s pain.

Eventually, the sobs turned into hiccups and petered away. Marius drifted off into sleep, but it was not a happy one. Even while unconscious, he looked miserable. Courfeyrac tucked him into the bed snuggly. On his way out, he asked the innkeeper to check on Marius periodically. Now he had to find his friends and find out what the hell was going on.

**********

Grantaire got in the car and closed the door and sighed deeply. Back in the hospital room, it had been so obvious. Enjolras was sad, so obviously, Grantaire promised to fix everything. He didn’t know how, but he was sure he could. It was now, sitting alone in the car, that he realized he realized how laughable his promise seemed. He was the biggest fuck up in the world. He could barely handle his own problems. How could he fix something like this?

“So what’s the plan?”

Grantaire let out a manly shriek as Combeferre sat up in the back seat.

“Combeferre, what the fuck?”

Combeferre looked unperturbed. “I’m here to help.”

“But, you….I….we….” Grantaire took a deep breath. “I thought you were getting in touch with Valjean.”

“Done,” Combeferre climbed into the front seat, somehow doing it in a manner that made it seem effortless and graceful. “He’s at the hospital, talking to the doctors. I thought I’d give the family some privacy.”

“And so you decided to take a nap in the car?” Grantaire said. His heart was still pounding. “How did you even get in here? I have the key.”

Combeferre waved him off. “I thought I’d take the opportunity to get some rest, because we have a long few days coming up. And I figured when you went to find Marius, you’d take the car. It’s more efficient.”

“I wasn’t…I don’t know where I’m going,” Grantaire said.

“You’re trying to help Enjolras, right?”

“Right.”

“Well, you can’t very well solve anything if you don’t understand the problem.”

“The problem is Pontmercy is a dick.”

“Why is he a dick though?” Combeferre said. “You have to admit this all happened very suddenly.”

He was right. Of course Grantaire had to talk to Marius. And do his best not to punch him in the face. Repeatedly.

“He’s with Courfeyrac,” Combeferre continued, scrolling through his phone. “They checked into an inn down in the village. I have the address. He wants to talk to everyone.”

“Let’s go.”

“Actually, we’re going back to the church,” Combeferre said, engrossed in his cell phone screen.

The church was the last place Grantaire wanted to be. “Why?”

“Everyone else is still there, and they’re in a mild state of panic,” Combeferre said calmly tapping out a message on his phone. He held out his phone and even as Grantaire squinted at it, five new texts popped up.

      Bahorel: explain again y i cant punch Pontmercy at least once

     Feuilly: Back up requested. I can only keep Bahorel calm and in one place for so long.

      Joly: Status update?

      Bossuet: Can we see Cosette yet?

      Feuilly: Seriously, where are you?

Grantaire blinked. “Wow.”

“Yeah,” Combeferre resumed his typing. “I’ve been the main person of contact for the past few hours. Which is good, it means no one is bothering Enjolras right now. Courfeyrac doesn’t know anything, because he’s freaking enough as it is. I was able to distract everyone else by getting them to take down the decorations at the church and tell the other guests the wedding was off. Musichetta and Jehan are relaying the message to any stragglers.”

“Wow,” Grantaire repeated. Sometimes he forgot how lucky they were to have Combeferre. “Um, you might want to tell them Cosette woke up, briefly.”

“Got it,” Combeferre said, composing a new message.

Grantaire pulled the car out of the parking spot and headed back to the church. It was weird how the same roads he had taken this morning, roads that seemed bright and full of promise now seemed dark and desolate.

When they pulled into the church parking lot, the other Amis were assembled outside, even though it was drizzling. Grantaire was surprised to see Courfeyrac was back.

“I thought you were at the inn.”

“Well, I’m not. I’m on a bit of a schedule, so let’s make this quick,” Courfeyrac said impatiently.

“A schedule?” Bahorel asked incredulously.

“I don’t trust Marius to be by himself, so I waited until he fell asleep, and I have to be there when he wakes up,” Courfeyrac said. “But we can’t meet where we’re staying, because I don’t trust any of you to be around him right now either.”

Sometimes Grantaire forgot how close Courfeyrac was to Marius. He had after all met him on the street and insisted Marius move in with him when he found out Marius all but ran away from home and was living in a sketchy apartment he could barely afford. He stopped Marius from making too much of an ass out of himself at social gatherings. Hell, he was the one who used to drag Marius to social gatherings because he couldn’t stand the idea of his friend feeling lonely. Grantaire had never considered how exhausting it must be for Courfeyrac to care so much all the time. And he did look exhausted.

“So what happened?” Feuilly asked.

Courfeyrac pinched the bridge of his nose, and scrunched his eyes shut. “I don’t know. For some reason, he thinks she slept with Montparnasse.”

Everyone in the group bristled at that. Courfeyrac held his hands up in a pacifying manner.

“I don’t think she did, but he’s convinced. You know he worships the ground she walks on, so something must have happened to make him think that. He said he saw them together last night. He thinks that she’s settling for him, and that she can do better, and he wants to release her from her obligation.”

“That’s really messed up,” Joly said, looking slightly ill.

“Yeah,” Courfeyrac said grimly.

Grantaire cleared his throat. “Okay. So we need to find out what happened last night. Someone needs to find Montparnasse and see if he can shed some light on this situation.”

Everyone looked as surprised as Grantaire felt that he was contributing ideas. Usually he poked holes in other people’s and only agreed to actually help out at the last minute.

“Okay. And, um, Marius left the party with that girl…Eponine?” Courfeyrac said, rubbing his forehead. “She was supposed to make sure he got back to the house safely. She might have seen something.”

“Okay,” Grantaire processed this. “Courfeyrac, you should go back to Marius. Make sure he’s okay, and try to get some more information from him if you can. Take someone with you. You can’t watch him 24/7 by yourself.”

Courfeyrac scoffed as he looked at his friends. “No offense, but I don’t trust any of you right now to be calm around him.”

“Marius is our friend too,” Combeferre said sternly. He was looking at Courfeyrac, but everyone knew he was addressing the larger group. “I think it’s fair to say we’re all angry at him right now, but we do care about him. None of us want to hurt him, and none of us want him to hurt himself. We just want to get to the bottom of this.”

Courfeyrac looked like he was considering it. Grantaire had a feeling that this had more to do with the fact Combeferre supported this plan rather than the plan’s practicality.

“Why don’t you take Bossuet?” Combeferre asked.

Bossuet and Joly were probably the sweetest members of the group, and definitely the least violent.

“I can come too,” Joly volunteered.

“Why don’t you go back to the house and make sure it’s comfortable for Cosette when she gets back from the hospital?” Grantaire suggested. He glanced sideways to check if this was a good idea, and felt relieved when Combeferre nodded approvingly.

“That’s a good idea.”

“Wait, what?”

Everyone froze. Courfeyrac was staring at all of them like he was going to set them on fire.

“Um…” Feuilly said quietly.

“Cosette is in the hospital? What happened? Is she okay?”

“Calm down,” Bahorel said.

“Calm down? Cosette is in the hospital and none of you fuckers thought to tell me!” Courfeyrac snarled. “Enjolras, I get. He’s probably losing his shit. But the rest of you? Not a single text? Or a fucking phone call?”

Everyone shifted guiltily.

“We’re sorry,” Combeferre finally said. “We thought you might be overwhelmed with Marius. We didn’t know what was going on with Cosette, and we didn’t want to stress you out further until we have news.”

Courfeyrac nodded his head jerkily. He still looked pissed that he had been left out of the loop, but appeared slightly mollified that his exclusion had sprang from good intentions. “And what’s the news?”

“I’m not sure. She woke up, briefly, but we don’t know anything other than that.” Combeferre checked his phone, but so far, there were no new texts. “I’m going to go back to the hospital and will coordinate between everyone and the Fauchelevents.”

Grantaire didn’t envy him that job, but he almost wished he could do it instead, just so he could be closer to Enjolras and make sure he was okay. But really, no one would do as good a job as Combeferre would, and everyone knew it.

“I’ll track down Montparnasse,” Grantaire said grimly.

After a few minutes of debate, it was decided Feuilly would find Eponine and talk to her. Bahorel would go back to the house with Joly to help make any adjustments to the furniture placement so it would be easier for Cosette to move around. Jehan and Musichetta were still across the parking lot, calling everyone on the guest list to make sure they didn’t try to go to the reception. When they were done, Grantaire suggested they go back to the house and make sure every last trace of the wedding was put out of sight before Cosette got back.

Plan in place, everyone went their separate ways. Courfeyrac glared at everyone as he got back in his car.

“Don’t think I’m done yelling at you assholes for leaving me out of the loop,” he snapped. “I have bigger things to worry about, but we’re not done talking about it.”

Bossuet climbed in the car with him, looking wary.

Grantaire drove Combeferre back to the hospital. Before getting out of the car, Combeferre grasped his shoulder.  “You know I can only do so much when I’m cooped up in the hospital, or at the house when Cosette’s discharged. I’m going to count on you.”

Grantaire nodded, grateful. He knew Combeferre could do a lot more sitting in one place with just his cell phone than most people could with much better resources, and he knew that other Amis would probably be more reliable points of contact on the outside. But he also knew Combeferre chose him because Combeferre understood Grantaire needed to useful and was giving him a chance.

“I won’t let you down.”

“You won’t let any of us down, Combeferre said kindly. “Good luck.”

Grantaire nodded, and exhaled. Now he just had to find Montparnasse. Since Montparnasse was notorious for being rather slippery, and the last time Grantaire had seen him, he had punched him in the face, it might be a little tricky.

********** 

Cosette’s eyes fluttered open. It took her a second to remember where she was. Tears pricked her eyes. Less than twenty four hours ago, she had been at the church, which had been so lovely and full of light and flowers. There were flowers in the hospital room too. But the flowers she had at the church were beautiful and happy ones. The large bouquets scattered around her hospital room felt strangely funereal.

At first she thought she was alone, but then she spotted a familiar head of blonde curls slumped in a chair next to her.

“Enjolras?”

He started, and she felt guilty for waking him.

“Hey,” he smiled gently. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to fall asleep.”

“It’s okay,” she whispered. She glanced at the clock. It was well past one in the morning. “Aren’t visiting hours over?”

“I can be persuasive,” Enjolras scooted his chair even closer to her bed. “Do you need me to call a nurse? Or your dad?”

She shook her head. “I can’t face Papa yet.”

Enjolras’s brow knit. “Why not?”

“I don’t want him to yell at me. You and Papa both told me I was rushing into things, and I didn’t listen. Now Papa has spent all this money, and you and everyone put all this time into helping me with my wedding, and it all fell apart. You must all be so disappointed in me. I’m such an idiot.”

She looked down at her lap, fighting off tears. Never in her life had she felt so stupid and helpless and pathetic. She felt a tear fall onto her trembling hand and great, she couldn’t even stop herself from breaking down in front of her cousin. To her surprise, Enjolras took her hands, brought them together and planted a kiss on each one. He held her two hands in one of his, and with the other, he gently brushed her hair out of her face.

“No one thinks you’re an idiot. No one is disappointed. Uncle Valjean and I said we didn’t think it was a good idea because we were afraid you would get hurt, not because we wanted you to.”

“Well, you were right,” Cosette hiccupped.

“Cosette,” Enjolras struggled to keep his voice calm. “You didn’t deserve what happened to you. You were hurt by someone you should have been able to trust.”

He continued talking in that same forced calm tone, with fury bubbling just under the surface. Cosette panicked and could barely understand the words he was saying, and almost didn’t want to hear them. It took her a few minutes to realize that yes, Enjolras was angry, but he wasn't angry at her. That calmed her down a little, because she didn't think she could stand Enjolras's disapproval. Not about this. 

“You’re not mad?” she said, needing to be sure.

“Not at you. Never at you.”

She felt like a small weight had been lifted. She still felt like she was drowning, but this was one less burden she had to bear. Cosette scooted over, and patted the bed next to her. Enjolras quirked his eyebrow. It was a slightly subdued version of a look he gave her all the time, but it was something closer to normal, and she appreciated it.

“I don’t think the bed can hold both of us.”

She patted the bed again, more insistently. Enjolras sighed, but slid onto the bed anyway. Almost immediately, Cosette curled up against his side. Enjolras carefully put an arm around her, and she felt safer. It was easier to remember that she still had people who cared about her.

“Where’s everyone else?” she murmured.

“It’s after hours, remember?” Enjolras said. “I convinced them to let me stay, but the whole group? Even I’m not that persuasive.”

Somehow, Cosette thought if Enjolras really wanted to, he could get everyone in to see her. Through persuasion, or deception, or force. Possibly (probably) all of the above. But it was nice, she supposed, just the two of them. It was quiet. She had a feeling it would be one of the last quiet moments she would get in a while.

“They’re getting the house ready for you when you’re released. To make sure you’re comfortable.”

She nodded, snuggling closer to Enjolras. He ran his fingers through her hair and continued murmuring reassuring words. Slowly, feeling warm and exhausted, she drifted off to sleep.

Chapter Text

“So are you going to tell me what’s happening?” Courfeyrac demanded. They had travelled back to the inn in complete silence. Bossuet accepted it. Courfeyrac had a lot on his mind, and was rightfully annoyed at being kept out of the loop. But right before they entered the room, he had stopped abruptly and expectantly questioned Bossuet.

Bossuet eyed him warily. “What do you mean?”

“You guys said Cosette was in the hospital, but no one told me why. What happened to her?”

“From what we could figure, she was upset after Marius broke up with her, obviously. She went out for a walk, she lost her footing, tripped, and hit her head.”

Courfeyrac closed his eyes. “Everything’s such a mess.”

Bossuet tentatively put a hand on Courfeyrac’s shoulder. “We’ll get through it.”

Courfeyrac nodded. For once, his face was closed off. It scared Bossuet. Courfeyrac’s face was an open book. Bossuet was afraid what was going on in Courfeyrac’s head at the moment.

“Yes. We will,” Courfeyrac said decisively. “We’ll talk to Marius, then get to the bottom of this.”

He finally reached into his pocket and took out the key. He pushed the door open, and they were greeted with an empty room. Courfeyrac and Bossuet looked at each other.

“Shit.”

**********

Finding Montparnasse as it turns out, wasn’t very difficult. Montparnasse, with his preening and strutting about would have been fairly conspicuous in Paris or any other major city. Finding him in this small, sleepy town took Grantaire less than an hour. And he had stopped several times to text Combeferre on the way.

“You,” Grantaire said.

Montparnasse flinched. “No. No,” he said backing away. “Go away.”

“Oh come on,” Grantaire said, taking a few careful steps forward.

“You punched me in the face.”

“That was months ago.”

“You could have broken something!”

“But I didn’t.”

Montparnasse was backed against a wall, and he glared at Grantaire. “I haven’t seen your blonde friend since that party, okay?”

“This isn’t about Enjolras,” Grantaire said, wanting to change the subject, because if he thought about how inappropriate Montparnasse had been with Enjolras at the New Year’s Eve party, he might be tempted to punch him again. “This is about Cosette.”

“I already apologized to her,” Montparnasse said exasperated.

That wasn’t what Grantaire was expecting, and it was enough to make him pause. But he recovered quickly. “Well, her fiancé seems to think that you slept with her.”

Montparnasse snorted. “As fantastic as that would have been, I did not sleep with the lovely Cosette. Although, if things with her fiancé aren’t working out, that could change.”

“Dude, don’t make me punch you again.” 

“Fine,” Montparnasse said, straightening his jacket. (It was August. Why was he wearing a leather jacket?) “I didn’t lay so much as a finger on Cosette. We done here?”

Grantaire squinted suspiciously at him. “You’re hiding something.”

Montparnasse smirked. “A gentleman doesn’t kiss and tell.”

“You’re not a gentleman.”

“And there wasn’t much kissing,” Montparnasse admitted.

With a growl, Grantaire grabbed Montparnasse by the collar, and started dragging him up the street.

“Hey! What are you doing? Watch the jacket!”

**********

Marius woke up from his nap, and found himself alone in the room. That was fine. It was preferable, even. But of course, it couldn’t last. He had been lying on his back, staring at the ceiling, when he heard voices outside the door. Whoever it was clearly was trying to be quiet, so he crept closer and heard Courfeyrac.

“You guys said Cosette was in the hospital, but no one told me why. What happened to her?”

Bossuet’s voice responded. “From what we could figure, she was upset after Marius broke up with her, obviously. She went out for a walk, she lost her footing, tripped, and hit her head.”

Marius froze. Cosette was hurt, seriously enough to be in the hospital, and it was his fault. What if she was dying? What if she was dead? He knew what he had to do, but first, he had to get away from Courfeyrac, because he knew Courfeyrac would try and stop him. He tucked himself under the bed just as he heard the door open.

“Shit.”

He held his breath as Courfeyrac and Bossuet scrambled around the room, checking the bathroom. Luckily neither of them checked his hiding place. They appeared to think he had run away, and wasn’t currently hiding in the room.  Which was a small blessing, because Marius wasn’t sure he could stand the embarrassment of being found hiding under his bed on top of everything else that had happened in the past 48 hours.

“He can’t have gotten far,” Courfeyrac said, sounding distressed. Marius felt something in his gut wrench. He didn’t want Courfeyrac to feel bad, but there wasn’t any hope for it. Courfeyrac and Bossuet quickly headed out the door, and Marius was alone again. He waited a minute or two, in case either man realized he had forgotten something in the room. When it appeared the coast was clear, he crawled out from under the bed, and left the room quietly. They could still be nearby, or one of them could have stationed themselves at the inn to keep a watch out for him.

So he crept out the backdoor, and pulled up his hood once he was out on the streets. He knew exactly where he had to go.

**********

At the Valjean house, everyone was exhausted. Joly had overseen the conversion of the living room into a perfect convalescent habitat for Cosette when she came back. Bahorel had been moving around furniture under Joly’s supervision for most of the afternoon. Jehan and Musichetta had had to stand outside the church for hours in the rain, explaining to understandably upset wedding guests that there would be no wedding. Now they were halfway done taking down the many, many wedding decorations. They were tired, but continued on, almost mechanically. Taking down the decorations was much less fun than putting them up had been.

Feuilly arrived later in the afternoon, with a bored looking Eponine in tow.

“What a waste,” she said, nodding at the wedding decorations.

“I don’t suppose you’d help?” Jehan asked, panting slightly after scaling a ladder to take down streamers.

Eponine sat down on a couch. “Your friend here paid me for information, not manual labor. Unless you want to up the price…?”

Feuilly scowled. “We’re fine, thank you. We’ll just wait for Grantaire to get back. I’m sure it won’t be long.”

“Where’s R again?” Jehan asked.

“He went to get-”

They all looked up when the front door swung open. To their surprise, Montparnasse was shoved through it, with Grantaire on his heels. Jehan let out a loud squeak.

“Talk.”

Montparnasse huffed. “I told you, I didn’t touch Cosette.”

“He did apologize to her,” Musichetta said, thoughtfully. Everyone looked at her, shocked she was defending Montparnasse. She shrugged defensively. “What? I’m not taking sides, I just want to know what happened. And it’s weird he went out of his way to apologize to Cosette for making her uncomfortable, then slept with her. Because that would definitely make her uncomfortable.”

Grantaire looked at Eponine. “You were the last person to see Marius the night before the wedding. Did you guys see anything? Did he say something?”

Eponine picked at her nails. “Marius and I were walking through the woods. We saw Montparnasse fucking someone. Marius said it was Cosette, freaked out, and ran home. That’s the last I saw of him.”

“So you saw Cosette?” Grantaire asked, needing to clarify.

Eponine sighed loudly, like this stream of questions was a serious hassle. “It was dark. I couldn’t see much. Just that the person was blonde, and shorter than Montparnasse. But Marius saw a cardigan he said was Cosette’s, so there you go. Can I have my money now?”

Jehan stepped forward looking mortified. “Um….I think I know what happened.”

He looked like he wanted the floor to open up and swallow him up.

“Jehan?” Feuilly asked gently, placing a reassuring hand on Jehan’s shoulder. Jehan recoiled from his touch. He took a deep breath.

“I slept with Montparnasse,” he said quietly, but his voice was firm.

The silence that followed was broken when Eponine whistled. “That’s an unexpected turn of events.”

To everyone’s surprise, it was Montparnasse that spoke next. “So Jehan and I slept together? Who fucking cares? It’s not his fault and it sure as fuck isn’t my fault Pontmercy dumped his fiancé over it.”

“I’m so sorry,” Jehan whispered, his face red.

Grantaire exhaled. “Don’t be. I can’t believe I’m going to say this, but Montparnasse is right. It’s not either of your faults how Marius reacted to what he saw. That’s on him.”

 “Maybe don’t have sex in the middle of the woods in the future though,” Joly said, looking slightly traumatized.

“So can I go?” Montparnasse asked.

Bahorel was eyeing him like he was trying to think of a reason to punch him in the face, but couldn’t quite think of a legitimate one.

“Yeah,” Grantaire said. “Sorry for basically kidnapping you.”

“Don’t be,” Montparnasse said with a smirk. “It gave me a reason to see Jehan again.”

He sashayed over to where Jehan stood, and slipped him a piece of paper with a phone number written on it. He leaned forward to whisper something in Jehan’s ear before sauntering away. He paused at the door only to wink, then slipped away.

Jehan gulped, then pocketed the paper.

“Really?” Bahorel sputtered. “You could do so much better than him.”

“Don’t judge me,” Jehan said, his ears pink.

Eponine cleared her throat loudly and looked at Feuilly expectantly. He rolled his eyes, but handed her a few paper bills. She counted the money, jammed it in her purse and saluted.

“Pleasure, gents,” she drawled. “By the way, are Marius and Cosette still kind of together, or is he considered single at this point?”

“Goodbye Eponine,” Feuilly said, ushering her to the door.

“So…what now?” Bahorel asked.

Grantaire rubbed his eyes. He was not equipped to deal with this. “Right. I’m going to find Combeferre and talk to him.”

“What about us?” Joly asked.

Grantaire scanned the room, trying to decide who was the most responsible. “Feuilly, I’ll text you what’s happening. Musichetta, you keep everyone else from burning the place down until I get back.”

**********

 “I have come to turn myself in.”

Inspector Javert looked up at the gangly boy who stood in front of his desk.

“For what crime?”

The boy took a step forward. “My name is Marius Pontmercy. And I killed my fiancé.”

Javert blinked in surprise. Murderers were rarely so straightforward and honest. Not to mention murderers were just plain rare in this part of the country.

“Sit down, Mr. Pontmercy. I’ll need to take your statement.”

Marius obliged him, wringing his hands nervously.

“You killed your fiancé?”

Marius nodded determinedly.

“When did you kill her?”

“Yesterday.”

“Why?”

Marius bit his lip. “I didn’t mean to. I love her.”

Javert nodded. He used to be a police inspector in Paris, and unfortunately had heard this kind of thing a few too many times. “Of course you do. You’d better tell me the whole story.”

“Yesterday, I broke up with my fiancé. So I guess she’s not my fiancé any more. She was upset, and went outside.”

“And then you killed her?”

“No. She went for a walk, and then she tripped, and hit her head and she’s in the hospital, and she could be dead by now.”

Javert stared at him.

Marius looked agitated. “Why aren’t you writing all this down? Her name is Cosette Fauchelevent and she was an angel.”

Javert rubbed his forehead. It was times like this when he wondered why he hadn’t retired yet. He was getting too old for this shit. “You’re Cosette’s fiancé.”

Marius nodded, shamefaced. Javert sighed. Despite constantly watching Cosette’s father to make sure he hadn’t reverted back to his criminal ways, Javert had been invited to Cosette’s wedding, since he was her neighbor, and had known her for most of her life. He knew the wedding had been called off. He had made it to the church, only to be redirected by Cosette’s friends, who had given vague explanations for the cancellation. He also knew that Cosette was still very much alive, and that while she had been hospitalized, she had not sustained any permanent damage.

Apparently this Marius Pontmercy did not know that, because he held out his wrists. “Well? Aren’t you going to arrest me?”

Javert could tell Marius that Cosette would make a full recovery. He could. But he was incredibly irritated at the boy from interrupting him from legitimate police business (the amount of jaywalking in this town was reaching absurd levels). Not to mention he knew Cosette, and was angry at Marius for breaking that sweet girls’ heart.

“No. Now go away.”

Marius looked confused. “But-“

“I said clear out!” Javert barked.

Looking a little dazed, Marius toddled back out the door. Javert shook his head. Time wasters.

**********

“I come bearing coffee and news.”

Combeferre squinted blearily at Grantaire. “I have a feeling the coffee will be necessary to handle the news?”

“Probably.”

Grantaire handed the coffee to Combeferre, and generously allowed him to drink at least a third of it before starting. “So we tracked down Eponine and Montparnasse.”

“And?”

“It seems Marius saw Montparnasse and Jehan hooking up in the woods. Jehan had borrowed Cosette’s sweater, Marius saw it, freaked, and bolted before he could find out it wasn’t her.”

Combeferre considered this, taking another sip of coffee. “How’s Jehan?” he asked.

“Embarrassed, I think, but we got him to stop blaming himself.”

Combeferre nodded like he had been expecting that. He had a small crease between his eyebrows. Grantaire knew how it felt.

“Knowing doesn’t fix anything,” he said softly.

Combeferre nodded once more, then rubbed his face. “I wish…we could go back in time.”

“Come on,” Grantaire nudged him. “You must have some bright idea we can actually use?”

“An apology might be a good start.”

Grantaire and Combeferre looked up, and saw Courfeyrac approaching quietly.

“What are you doing here?” Combeferre asked, scooting over to make room.

“Looking for Marius, actually. I thought he might have gone to the hospital to find Cosette, but it doesn’t look like it.”

“You lost Marius?” Grantaire said.

“I didn’t lose Marius. I just…temporarily misplaced him,” Courfeyrac said. Grantaire groaned. “I have it perfectly under control. I’ll find him. Just when I do, I think an apology from him to Cosette will be in order.”

“Obviously,” Grantaire muttered.

“Look, Marius messed up, I’m not going to deny that. But he’s not a bad person. And I think he already feels awful for hurting Cosette, and he’ll want a chance to start making things right, and that starts with him apologizing to her. And I also think if Cosette’s going to start getting better and moving forward, she needs to hear that apology.”

“I agree,” Combeferre said.

“Okay. What should I do?”

“Not much, at this point,” Combeferre said. “They’re moving Cosette home tomorrow. When she wakes up, we’ll see if she wants to talk to Marius.”

Grantaire nodded, and Combeferre could tell the inactivity was driving him insane.

“Maybe you should tell Enjolras,” he said. “This is probably the kind of thing he’d want to hear about in person.”

For a moment, Combeferre thought Grantaire would call him out on making up tasks for him to do. After all, Combeferre had spent most of the day coordinating and communicating between Enjolras, his family, and everyone else. But Grantaire seemed grateful for an excuse to see Enjolras, so he nodded.

“He’s in the cafeteria, I think,” Combeferre said helpfully.

Once Grantaire left, Combeferre was left painfully away that he and Courfeyrac were alone. For the first time since any of this had happened. He would feel overwhelmed by the aching in his gut, but he had spent all his emotions for the day, so now he just felt hollow.

As if reading his mind, Courfeyrac offered Combeferre his hand. Once their fingers were clasped together, the hollow feeling in his chest went away, and was replaced by something warm and content.

“Hi,” Courfeyrac said quietly.

“Hi,” Combeferre echoed. “How are you?”

“Fine. Except for a missing Marius. I’m fine.”

Combeferre gave Courfeyrac a stern look that said he knew him better than that. Courfeyrac sighed.

“I don’t have any right to complain. One of my best friends is a mess and is freaking out and lost. And the girl who’s like a little sister to me is in the hospital with a head injury and broken heart.”

“It’s a lot to deal with,” Combeferre said, wishing he could somehow lift these burdens from Courfeyrac’s shoulders and carry them for him.

“What about you, Mr. Coordinating between Everyone?”

“Grantaire’s been a big help,” Combeferre said automatically. This was his role within the group. He was supposed to support them. He couldn’t do that if he started to think about how stressful it all was.

Courfeyrac squeezed his hand. “You don’t have to pretend. Not with me.”

“I’m managing,” Combeferre said.

“When this is all over, remind me to buy you a drink,” Courfeyrac said. Combeferre was sure the way Courfeyrac meant it wasn’t the same way he hoped Courfeyrac had meant it.

He swallowed. “I’ll hold you to that.”

Courfeyrac scooted a little closer so his knee grazed Combeferre’s. “Do you think it’s going to be okay? In the end?”

Of course it would, Combeferre thought. He had Courfeyrac. “Somehow it will be.”

Courfeyrac was fumbling for something in his pocket. He pulled out his phone, and plugged in the earbuds. He handed one to Combeferre. “I have to go soon, but listen to a song with me? We both deserve to relax, for just one song.”

Combeferre nodded. He would do anything Courfeyrac asked of him.  He had been expecting something of the pop song that Courfeyrac loved to blast whenever he had the chance, but instead was enveloped in the soft sounds of an orchestra. The length of the earbud cord meant he and Courfeyrac had to get even closer, their thighs now touching. Combeferre tilted his head back and closed his eyes, and for the first time in days, he blocked out everything. The constant phone calls, the worrying, the feeling of helplessness. He blocked out everything except the gentle orchestrations, and the feeling of Courfeyrac’s hand in his.

They would be okay.

**********

 Marius shuffled into his room again, and wasn’t at all surprised to see Courfeyrac sitting on the bed, evidently waiting for him.

“Where the hell were you?” Courfeyrac asked, pulling him into a hug. He was much calmer than Marius had expected him to be.

“I tried to turn myself into the police for killing Cosette,” Marius said, tears filling his eyes. “But they wouldn’t arrest me. Why wouldn’t they arrest me?”

“First of all,” Courfeyrac said, leading Marius onto the bed to sit down. “Cosette isn’t dead. Second of all, she tripped, which was a terrible accident, but it’s an accident.”

“But it’s my fault.”

Courfeyrac looked at Marius seriously. “Marius, a lot of people are going to be angry at you, and blame you for Cosette’s injury, but I want you to know I’m not one of them.”

“But-”

“No. Listen to me. Dumping Cosette without giving her a chance to explain herself, that was wrong. But I know you, and I know you weren’t trying to hurt her, you were trying to help her, right?”

“I’m not good enough for her,” Marius whispered.

“And you thought you were releasing her from an obligation,” Courfeyrac finished.

Marius didn’t answer, but he didn’t have to. Courfeyrac wrapped an arm around his shoulders and squeezed him tightly.

“You’re going to apologize to her for not communicating. And for trying to make her decision for her. Then you and I are going to work through some things. You get wrapped up in your own little world, and you end up hurting yourself, and that has to stop.”

Courfeyrac’s tone allowed no room for arguments, so Marius nodded dumbly.

“I don’t think she’ll want to talk to me. I wouldn’t want to talk to me.”

“I’m working on it,” Courfeyrac promised, pulling Marius in for a hug. “I’m working on it.”

Chapter Text

Grantaire took a deep breath when he saw Enjolras seated alone at one of the corner booths in the hospital cafeteria. He was staring off into space, frowning. Probably planning something drastic, if Grantaire knew him at all.

“Hey,” Grantaire said, giving him a small smile.

Enjolras flinched. Clearly he had been lost in his own little world and hadn’t noticed Grantaire’s approach. But he returned Grantaire’s smile anyway. “Hey.”

Grantaire stood awkwardly in front of the table, not sure if he was welcome to sit. And if he was, should he sit across from Enjolras, or next to him? It was too much for his exhausted brain to deal with at the moment. Luckily, Enjolras took charge. He patted the spot next to him, and even scooted over to accommodate Grantaire.

Almost as soon as Grantaire sat down, Enjolras leaned into him, resting his head on Grantaire’s shoulder. For a moment, Grantaire forgot why he was there. He just tentatively wrapped an arm around Enjolras, and when he wasn’t rejected, he tightened his grip.

“So were there any updates?” Enjolras asked.

“Huh?”

Enjolras tilted his head so he could meet Grantaire’s gaze. Shit, those blue eyes were really distracting. Grantaire forced himself to look away, down at his hands while he recollected his thoughts.

“Yeah, uh, we figured out what happened.”

That made Enjolras sit straight up. Grantaire instantly mourned the loss of Enjolras’s body pressed against his. At least it helped him focus.

“Well?”

“Montparnasse and Jehan slept together the night before the wedding. They hooked up in the woods near the party. Jehan had borrowed Cosette’s sweater. Marius stumbled on them, saw the sweater, saw blond hair, and assumed the worst.”

“So he dumped her,” Enjolras said, his hand clenching into a fist.

“So he dumped her,” Grantaire confirmed.

Enjolras was silent. Worryingly so. Grantaire had never seen him so quiet.

“I can’t believe he did that. Without talking to her about it,” Enjolras finally said.

“Courfeyrac’s with him now. He said…he said Marius seemed to think he was doing Cosette a kindness. That she could do better than him, and was only settling for him out of pity.”

“Cosette would never.”

“I know. Marius didn’t.”

“That’s why they shouldn’t have rushed into this!” Enjolras said, banging his fist on the table. “They barely know each other! Marius didn’t know her at all that he would think her capable of such cruelty.”

Grantaire put his hand over Enjolras’s trembling fist. He pushed gently, until the fist was flattened , and Grantaire could slip his fingers between Enjolras’s. For a moment, they just sat there like that, until Grantaire worked up the nerve to curl his fingers protectively over Enjolras’s.

“I just…I wish Cosette had listened to me,” Enjolras admitted softly.

“It’s frustrating isn’t it? Watching people you love make mistakes you know they could avoid if they would only listen to you?”

Enjolras met Grantaire’s gaze, his eyes blazing. “What the hell does that mean?”

“You know exactly what it means,” Grantaire replied calmly. “I’m not trying to fight with you. But I know how you’re feeling. How many times have I told you guys a rally is a bad idea, then have to help patch you up afterwards?”

“It’s not the same.”

“I warn you, even though I know you’re too stubborn and obsessed with your damn causes to listen. But that’s part of why I love you, so I’ll always be there to patch you up afterwards. Just like you told Cosette she was going too fast. But that girl is a romantic, so she was always going to follow her heart. It’s part of why you love her, and so you’re going to be there for her.”

Enjolras bit his lip as he considered this. “I just wish I could have stopped this from happening. I don’t like seeing her hurt.”

It wasn’t hard to imagine how difficult this was for Enjolras. He dedicated his life to helping others, trying to relieve them of all their pains. Watching one of the people he loved most in the world have her heart broken, and being unable to alleviate her agony- it must be torture for Enjolras.

“Pain is how we grow as people,” Grantaire said. “You can’t deprive Cosette of every single life experience because you don’t want to her to get hurt. Pain and heartbreak are inevitable. You just have to be there for her. That’s all you can do.”

“It just doesn’t feel like enough.”

“I know,” Grantaire said, pulling Enjolras closer to him again. Enjolras sighed, and curled up against him. Grantaire kissed the top of his head, then gently ran his fingers through those blond curls. He could feel Enjolras relax, even if only a little bit. “It’s going to be okay. Somehow. Eventually.”

“You don’t know that.”

“No,” Grantaire admitted. “I don’t.”

He wasn’t really good at making people feel better with false reassurances he had no evidence to support. But this was the boy he loved, and he needed to be comforted. So Grantaire decided to tell him something he could be sure about.

“Look, maybe it will be okay. Maybe it’ll all go to shit. But either way, I will be there for you. Okay?”

“Okay,” Enjolras whispered. “How’s Jehan?”

“Guilty. Embarrassed. We’re working on fixing that.”

Enjolras nodded. “I should get back upstairs.”

He made no effort to move.

“Keep me company,” Grantaire said. “Just for a little while.”

Enjolras nodded, and snuggled further in Grantaire’s chest.

**********

This was without a doubt the most uncomfortable silence Enjolras had ever suffered in Cosette’s company. Usually the two of them would happily chatter away for hours. And once they exhausted every topic they could think of, they would fall into a reflective silence. This silence was awkward because they were quiet before either of them had said anything.

Enjolras had to tell Cosette what Grantaire told him. It was only fair, since it affected her more than anyone. But still, he didn’t know what to say. And Cosette knew he wasn’t telling her something, so she refused to speak until he did.

He sighed. “So…”

“Oh spit it out,” Cosette snapped. She shut her eyes. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to use that tone. But everyone is using their kiddie gloves with me. I’m not a child anymore.”

“Okay. Well. Marius thought you slept with Montparnasse. And he got upset because he thought he wouldn’t be enough for you, so he broke it off.” Enjolras forced himself to look at Cosette. When she didn’t say anything for a few minutes, he felt the need to check, “Are you okay?”

“I’m still stuck on the sleeping with Montparnasse thing.”

“Jehan and Montparnasse got intimate in the woods. Jehan had your sweater. Marius saw them. It was dark, and he just assumed…”

“Wow.” Cosette blinked. “I’m not sure if I’m more offended that Marius thought I would cheat on him, or that he thought I would cheat on him with Montparnasse.”

“Well he did,” Enjolras said awkwardly. “There’s more.”

“Of course there is,” Cosette said tiredly.

“Courfeyrac wants to bring Marius around sometime. So the two of you can talk. I told Grantaire though, that if you don’t want to see Marius, or if you’re even the slightest bit uncomfortable, we’re not doing it.”

Cosette frowned as she considered this. “I don’t know if I’m ready to see him.”

“Then you won’t have to,” Enjolras said simply. Grantaire told him that he, Combeferre and Courfeyrac thought it would start the healing process for both Cosette and Marius, but Enjolras told him in no uncertain terms that he was on Team Cosette and would enforce her wishes no matter what it took.

“I might…” Cosette said thoughtfully.

“You have some time to think about it,” Enjolras said, glad that he brought this up now so she had time to weigh the pros and cons. Cosette loved weighing pros and cons. “In the meantime, get some rest. They want to move you home tomorrow to heal.”

Cosette brightened at that.

**********

When Cosette was finally discharged, she was given strict instructions to rest and not excite herself. Too late- she was so delighted at the prospect of getting to go home to recover, she could barely contain herself. Her happiness was interrupted by bouts of sadness and anger, whenever she thought of her wedding.  Then she’s remembered she was going to be back at her house with her family and friends, and she was elated again. So really, she was completely ignoring the doctor’s orders and be as excited as she damn well pleased.

Her homecoming was the best she could have hoped for, given the circumstances. Her friends, her lovely, wonderful friends, had arranged the house so she could get around without moving too much. The family room in the back of the house had been transformed into a second bedroom for her, with easy access to the kitchen and one of the bathrooms, and all her friends there to wait on her hand and foot. It was a little disconcerting after the first day – Cosette was used to mothering people, so she wasn’t sure how to handle all this extra attention suddenly focused on her.

By the end of the second day, she was over it. There were no less than ten full cups of tea around her bed that people kept bringing her. She tried to drink as much as the tea as she could, but she had to go to the bathroom so many times she had to give up. Then there were the quiet, patient tones they used, like she was a broken thing. There were the pitying looks, and the hushed voices they used when they were whispering out in the hallway. She couldn’t stand it.

Just when she was about to explode, the doorbell rang, cutting through the air, making Cosette jump. Her ears strained as she tried to figure out who it was.

“I’m not sure if now’s the best time-” she heard Bossuet said.

“-needs more rest-” it sounded like Bahorel added.

From that, she deduced Courfeyrac had finally brought Marius to see her. Right. This was ridiculous.

She hastily threw a bathrobe over her pajamas, and ran her hand through her fair a few times. Then she hurried over to the hallway, startling all her friends with her sudden appearance.

“Marius! Courfeyrac! What a surprise.”

She would forever cherish the look of shock on everyone’s faces. Enjorlas was the first to recover. He glanced at Cosette and raised his eyebrows in a silent question. You good?

That heartened Cosette. Enjolras wouldn’t fight her decision to talk to Marius. He knew she had weighed the pros and cons and would respect her decision. If Enjolras at least was on board, everyone else would fall in line.

“If it’s alright with all of you, I’d like to talk to Marius alone,” Cosette announced.

The Amis exchanged uncertain looks. They all loved Cosette, but they still thought of her as a child, she realized. Enjolras had the benefit of actually knowing Cosette when she was a child and knew she could be wild when the occasion called for it.

“Of course,” Enjolras said loudly.

“You really should rest though,” Joly said, eyeing Cosette. “Perhaps you want to go back to your bed and you can talk where you’ll be more comfortable?”

Cosette grit her teeth and reminded herself her friends just had her best interests at heart. “I’m fine.”

There was no way in hell she was going to have this conversation with her ex-fiancé while lying in bed like some fragile damsel of yore. For goodness’s sake.

“Let’s give them the living room,” Combeferre said wisely.

Together he and Enjolras ushered the rest of the Amis out of the hallway, and to the back of the house, and out of earshot. A few of them cast worried looks at Cosette, but no one said anything. Enjolras was the last to leave. He squeezed Cosette’s shoulder reassuringly, and only shot Marius one look that could freeze blood before Combeferre pulled him away.

Marius followed Cosette into the front living room. The silence was one of the most uncomfortable ones Cosette had ever experienced. Marius was an unattractive shade of red and seemed incapable of looking at Cosette, let alone making eye contact.

“So…” Cosette said finally.

“So,” Marius echoed.

Cosette folded her arms expectantly. She had already broken that terrible silence. She wasn’t going to do Marius any favors by saying another word. He took a deep breath, and finally met her eye.

“I owe you an apology. No, more like a thousand apologies,” Marius said.

This was going to take a long time, Cosette realized. She sat down. “Sorry for what?”

Marius chewed on his bottom lip, the way he did when he was concentrating hard. Cosette used to find it adorable. She still did. And she hated herself a little bit for that.

“I’m sorry I didn’t trust you,” he finally said. “I thought I did, but it turns out, I didn’t. Not when it really mattered. I didn’t trust you to not cheat on me. I didn’t trust you enough to talk about it. And I didn’t trust you to make your own decisions. That was probably the worst thing.”

Cosette gestured for him to sit down opposite her, the coffee table serving as a barrier. The apology felt weird when he was standing up, looking down on her.

“Go on.”

“I decided that you would be happier without me, and I didn’t ask you what you thought. I broke up with you because I wanted to release you of your obligation, but that wasn’t my call to make.”

“No, it wasn’t,” Cosette said, her voice cool.

“I really did love you. Do love you. But I’m sorry I didn’t respect you enough to make up your own mind about us.”

Looking at Marius sitting there, looking utterly miserable, Cosette realized that she still loved him too. She shouldn’t, after he had hurt her, but she did.

“I just don’t understand why you would think I’d want out of the relationship. What did I ever do-”

“You didn’t,” Marius interrupted quickly. “It was my fault. I just…I never could believe how lucky I was, that you would choose me. Out of everyone in the world, you chose me. And I let my doubts get the better of me. Which I am so, so sorry for. You have no idea how sorry I am.”

Cosette surveyed him cautiously. “I never wanted you to put me on a pedestal. I wanted us to be equals.”

“I know. I didn’t mean to put you up on a pedestal. It just…happened.”

“That’s really not good enough.”

“I know,” Marius rubbed the back of his neck. “I’m sorry I ruined everything. I’m sorry I hurt you.”

“So where does that leave us?” Cosette said.

Marius tilted his head, looking confused. “What do you mean?”

“What are we? Are we…enemies? Friends? Something else?”

“That’s up to you.”

Cosette bit her lip. It was fair, and it wasn’t. Of course, she should get the final say, but it wasn’t fair that she should put herself out there when she had no idea what Marius wanted. “What do you want?”

“It doesn’t matter what I want.”

Cosette slammed her hand on the table. “Yes, it does. Of course it does. Do you want us to be done?”

Marius sighed, wringing his hand. “Of course not. I’ve never wanted that. But I deserve you less now than I ever have. It doesn’t matter how much I love you. I’m not good for you.”

“You’re not,” Cosette agreed. He was right. As much as he loved her, and as much as she loved him, right now, they were not good for each other. “And I’m not good for you either, it would seem. So right now, we can’t be in a relationship. It’s not healthy. But maybe-”

Marius’s head jerked up. His face was closed off, but his eyes betrayed a glimmer of hope.

Cosette took a deep breath. Marius wasn’t the only one who needed to grow. Cosette had gotten a painful dose of reality. Life wasn’t a fairy tale. She had pinned a lot of childhood dreams on her relationship with Marius, and he had felt the pressure of trying to deliver that. Cosette needed time too. Time to figure out what she really wanted in a relationship, and time to think of herself as a whole person, not as half of a pair.

“Maybe we can reassess. When I’m ready,” Cosette said. “You clearly have some confidence issues you really need to work through. If we were to get together again, you can’t put me on a pedestal, because then the only way for me to go is down. We need to be equals, or else the relationship is going to be toxic.”

“I’ll work on it,” Marius said.

“And to be clear, this isn’t a promise. It’s not a guarantee that we’ll be together again. It’s a possibility.”

“I wouldn’t ask you to promise anything.”

“In the meantime…” Cosette bit her lip. This was the hard part. Marius had become such a big part of her life, very quickly. The idea of not seeing him at all was a painful one. “I don’t want to not see you anymore. But I don’t know how to be friends with you.”

“I don’t know how to be friends with you either.”

“I think you should stay with the Amis,” Cosette said.

Marius’s expression was comically torn between disbelief and terror. “What?”

“I’ll talk to Enjolras, and make sure he includes you.”

“That’s a terrible idea. Cosette, they all hate me. And rightfully so.”

“They don’t hate you. They’re mad at you. There’s a difference. In the end, they care about you, and they’ll understand and forgive you.”

Marius still looked doubtful.

“Look,” Cosette sighed. “I don’t want you to disappear, which I know will happen if you stop hanging out with the Amis. You’ll slip through the cracks and out of our lives. I won’t see you anymore. Ever. And I’m not ready to hang out with you one-on-one, but that doesn’t mean I don’t want to see you ever again. You being a part of the Amis is a good compromise. Don’t do it just because I’m asking you to, but think about it?”

She looked at Marius, who fidgeted. “I’m not really part of the group though. I was only included because of you and Courfeyrac. I don’t think I belong there.”

“You belong there if you want to. Do you want to be part of Les Amis?”

Marius nodded.

“Okay then.”

Marius didn’t stay long after that. Cosette suspected it was the first of many difficult conversations between the two of them. It was a start, and for now it was enough.

She wandered into the kitchen to find Enjolras fighting with the water kettle.

“I was trying to make you tea,” he said sheepishly.

“Where’s everyone else?”

“I sent them outside.”

Cosette finally took pity on Enjolras, and gently turned on the stove. The fact that he had thought to try and make her tea meant more to her than the actual tea would have. Enjolras had a great many skills; none of them, however were culinary in nature.

“I have a favor I need to ask.”

“Anything,” Enjolras said, giving her his full attention.

“I need you to make sure Marius feels included in the Amis. Maybe you could make him an officer. Make him a liaison to other student groups.”

Enjolras stared at her. “Is that a joke?”

She shook her head. Enjolras leaned against the counter, as if he could no longer stand on his legs without support. He squinted at her suspiciously.

“Did they check you for concussions at the hospital?”

He tried to dodge the water Cosette flicked at him and failed.

“I’m serious, okay? Marius can be a really good asset to Les Amis. You know he volunteers teaching French to immigrants, right? He has connections in the kind of communities Les Amis want to help but always have a hard time reaching.”

“I’m not questioning whether or not Pontmercy can help us. I’ve always thought he could make some amazing contributions if he could just focus a little more,” Enjolras said, looking like it pained him to pay Marius any sort of compliment.

“Well now he can. We’re not together, so he can put all the energy he spent dating me into activism.”

“You know the problem isn’t Pontmercy’s work ethic.”

“Marius is really sorry about what he did to me, and I forgive him. If I can, why can’t you?”

“Even if I did forgive him, that doesn’t mean he should keep hanging around with us,” Enjolras said, neatly side-stepping Cosette’s question. “We were your friends first, and you deserve a safe place to hang out with us without worrying about seeing your ex.”

Cosette sighed heavily. This was even more frustrating than she had anticipated. Enjolras was loyal to a fault, which meant he held grudges for things his friends had long since gotten over. True, this wound was still fresh. But Enjolras still gave the stink-eye to Professor Blondeau for kicking Bossuet out of his class over a year ago, even though Bossuet had been relieved at the excuse to drop out of the law program. Getting him to forgive Marius was going to take some effort.

“I asked him to keep coming to the meetings. Look, I’m still mad at him, but I want him to be part of my life. What better way for us to see each other than for him to come to a place where I’m going to be surrounded by my closest friends?”

Enjolras strummed the counter as he contemplated this. “This is what you want?”

Cosette barely repressed her relieved sigh. “Yes, Enjolras. This is what I want.”

“Okay then.”

Cosette squealed and flung her arms around Enjolras.

“Can I at least punch Pontmercy in the face? Just once.”

“No.”

She pulled away when she heard someone clear their throat from the doorway.

“You…have a visitor,” Grantaire said awkwardly.

Enjolras and Cosette exchanged a confused look. Marius had just left. Was he back already? They went to the main hall and found Montparnasse leaning against the living room wall. He grinned when he saw both of them.

“Ah. Cosette, you will be pleased to know that your accident has not impeded your beauty at all. Still hot.”

Enjolras bristled. “Hey!”

“Don’t worry,” Montparnasse winked. “You’re still gorgeous too.”

“Not interested.” Enjolras gritted out.

Montparnasse’s eyes flickered to over Enjolras’s shoulder, where Grantaire hovered. “No, I don’t suppose you are. Which is a damn shame. But if you ever change your mind…”

“We know where to find you,” Cosette said, feeling amused rather than offended at this conversation.

“Actually, you don’t. I’m moving to Paris. I’ve had enough of this small town, and I came to say goodbye. And I’m sorry things didn’t work out with you and whatshisname.”

Cosette hugged Montparnasse. “Good luck. Take care of yourself. Behave?”

“Not a chance.” Montparnasse said. He pulled away from her and winked at Enjolras. “Now, if either of you lovely people ever wants to look me up, get my number from the lovely Jehan. And remind him that his is free to call me whenever he wants.”

He leaned forward, and kissed both of Cosette’s cheeks. Then he did the same with Enjolras. Cosette beamed. Enjolras looked bewildered. From behind, Grantaire was radiating tension.

“Until we meet again,” Montparnasse said. He winked at all of them, then actually bowed before exiting, making sure to sway his hips as he walked away.

“Was he serious?” Enjolras said as the door clicked shut.

Cosette shook her head. In an odd way, she hoped she would run into Montparnasse in Paris. Not on a regular basis- that would be too exhausting. But on occasion, it might be nice to talk to him. “As serious as he can be,” Cosette said, smiling at him. She patted Enjolras’s cheek. “Don’t worry about it. Underneath all the layers of black and leather and hair product he’s not a bad sort.  There’s a heart down there somewhere.”

Enjolras did not look reassured.

Chapter Text

 "...and so Marius will still be part of the group next semester." Enjolras said. He sighed. "And I expect all of you to be civil."

This was met with several groans.

"So you're saying I can't punch him in the face?" Bahorel asked.

"I'm afraid not."

"Not even a little punch?"

"I already checked."

Bahorel sank back on the couch, looking decidedly put out.

For Cosette, Enjolras told himself. "Look, we like Marius. Deep, deep down. We're mad at him, but he's still our friend. Right? Right?"

There were surly murmurs of agreement.

"Cosette and Marius are working their problems out on their own. And I get that you're all upset with Marius, and that you probably need time to work out your issues with him. But in the meantime, I need you to not treat him like public enemy number one," Courfeyrac added.

This time even Bahorel nodded his head in agreement.

"Good. So we're all on the same page. I guess that about covers everything, so you all can go pack up, and if I don't get a chance to say goodbye, I'll see you back on campus," Enjolras said.

There was a general flurry of movement as everyone got up and headed back towards their room. Enjolras hoped Grantaire might stick around for a private word with him; they hadn’t really had a moment alone together since the hospital, and Enjolras just wanted to talk to him, and get reassurance that what happened between them was real. He tried to quell his disappointment when the cynic left with the general group. In fact, Grantaire had been one of the first to leave. Only Combeferre and Courfeyrac lingered. Combeferre caught Enjolras's eye, and winced sympathetically. Enjolras must not have as good of a poker face as he thought. Luckily, he was spared addressing Combeferre and his worried face when Courfeyrac broke the silence.

"Thank you for that," Courfeyrac said.

"For what?" Enjolras was confused.

"Sticking up for Marius."

"I didn't do it for him." Enjolras stopped himself and sighed, because he was exhibiting the exact kind of attitude he had just asked his friends not to show. "But I hope it helped. I'd rather us get back to normal, and part of that normal is Marius being included in the group."

Courfeyrac threw his arms around Enjolras's neck, and hugged him tight. "Thank you. Really, thank you. I know we're all biased in Cosette's favor, you especially, but Marius isn't a bad person. I appreciate you doing this."

There wasn't much else to say. "So are you heading back to Paris today?"

Courfeyrac nodded. "Marius is keen to get out of here, as I'm sure you can understand. But he's a terrible driver, so I'm taking him."

"Can I walk you back to your hotel?" Combeferre asked.

"You don't mind?"

"I could use the fresh air," Combeferre replied mildly. "I'll see you later tonight, Enjolras."

Enjolras nodded. Much as he loved Combeferre, he wasn't the person he wanted to be talking to right now.

He trudged up the stairs, where there was a hubbub of activity. Term started in just a few days, and it seemed no one was packed. Given the chaos of the past week, Enjolras really couldn't blame them.

He poked his head into Grantaire's room, and to his disappointment, it was empty. He leaned against the doorframe and took it all in. Grantaire's things - clothes, books, art supplies - were still strewn around the room, like he was in the middle of packing and stopped. He couldn't have gotten too far in just a few minutes. Enjolras was about to go hunt for Grantaire in one of their friends' rooms, when he spotted the open window. With a grin, he headed over to it, and stuck his head out. Sure enough, there was Grantaire, sprawled across the slanted roof, smoking a cigarette.

"That's not safe you know."

If Grantaire was surprised by Enjolras's appearance, he didn't show it. "What, the roof or the cigarette?"

"Both."

"Well, neither one has killed me yet."

"Sound logic," Enjolras said sarcastically, even as he climbed out to join Grantaire on the roof. He watched Grantaire inhale deeply, and wished he didn't find it so damn attractive. Enjolras forced himself to look away. "Are you leaving today?"

"Yeah," Grantaire said.

"Were you going to say goodbye?"

"Yeah." Grantaire took another drag. "Probably."

That stung Enjolras more than he thought it would. Had it really only been a few days ago that he sought comfort in Grantaire’s arms? Since Grantaire had given him quiet reassurances and told him he loved him? He was the one thing keeping Enjolras sane when he thought he was about to burst from how upset he was and…oh.

Oh. Of course. Grantaire had seen how upset Enjolras was and tried to comfort him as best he could. He was after all, incredibly kind. It was one of the things Enjolras loved about him. He had given Enjolras what he needed when he was at his lowest point. And now that things were slowly returning to normal, he felt uncomfortable. And the last thing Enjolras wanted to do was make Grantaire uncomfortable.

“Well. I guess I’ll see you on campus,” Enjolras said in his most neutral voice. He didn’t want Grantaire to know how painful this was – that wouldn’t be fair. He wasn’t going to emotionally manipulate the man he loved into pretending his feelings were reciprocated. “Have a safe trip.”

Grantaire blinked. “Yeah. See you.”

Enjolras nodded at him swiftly before climbing back inside, feeling slightly numb. He thought Grantaire returned his feelings, but now he realized Grantaire was just being kind. Worse, he had taken pity on Enjolras. Well, Enjolras would just have to show Grantaire that he was fine, just fine, and that his pity was not wanted or needed. Okay, so maybe the snuggling part of his pity wasn’t so bad, but even the snuggling wasn’t enough to compensate for Enjolras felt now that he understood Grantaire’s actions. He didn’t want to punish Grantaire by trapping him in some kind of relationship, when Grantaire had only meant to be nice.

Could they go back to the way they were before, Enjolras wondered? He didn’t think he could manage to be friends with Grantaire, not now that he had had a taste of what it was like to be close to him. No, they would have to define a new normal for them. Some distance would probably do them both some good.

**********

Combeferre followed Courfeyrac as he led the way back to the hotel. He cast a side-long look at Courfeyrac, who seemed to be in better spirits than he was a few days ago. He still wasn't completely back to his sunshiney self, but it was an improvement. Combeferre was secretly very pleased Enjolras had sat the Amis down for their talk, if only for Courfeyrac's sake. It couldn't have been easy to have all of his best friends fighting his roommate.

"You ready to get back to Paris?"

"Jesus Christ yes," Courfeyrac said with a laugh. "I can't back fast enough, which is a damn shame. This has always been the place we come to get away from everything and now I can't wait to get away from it."

"I know what you mean," Combeferre said. "I think with a bit of time, it can be that safe place again. There are too many good memories here for it to be tarnished permanently."

Courfeyrac hummed in agreement. Combeferre stole another look at Courfeyrac, and contemplated whether or not he should voice what had been nagging at him for months. Years, even. If he did, would this moment turn into another memory to be treasured? Or would it add to the recent negativity?

But then Courfeyrac caught his eye and smiled at him, and that made up his mind.

"Look, Courfeyrac, can we stop for a minute? I have something I want to talk to you about."

"Sure," Courfeyrac said, instantly looking concerned.

They got off the main sidewalk, and Courfeyrac looked up at Combeferre patiently. Combeferre took a deep breath. He could do this.

"I've been meaning to say this for a while, but every time I thought about, I talked myself out of it. I think seeing how our friends' lack of communication has made them miserable made me think honesty is the best policy. Whatever the consequences of this, I don't think it'll be as drastic as anything that's happened this week."

"I don't think either of us will end up in the hospital," Courfeyrac agreed dryly. His eyes were burning with curiosity, but he had still attempted some humor to put Combeferre at ease. Just when Combeferre thought he couldn't love him any more... “I don’t think any of us can do something more catastrophic than what’s already happened.”

"Enjolras and Grantaire could possibly be causing an even bigger disaster right now," Combeferre said. He couldn't help but remember Enjolras's stricken expression as he watched Grantaire flee the room. He could only imagine what kind of catastrophe would be awaiting him when he got back to Valjean’s house.

"Jesus fucking Christ, what have they done now?" Courfeyrac groaned. "Is that what you were going to tell me? That they have fucked up their relationship again?"

"I'm not sure, actually," Combeferre said. "I was stalling. I didn't want to talk to you about them. I'm sure we will later, but...I wanted to talk about us."

"Us?" Courfeyrac said. He instantly adopted a neutral expression. Oh, fuck, Combeferre was already ruining everything. He would stop, but he sensed he had already passed the point of no return.

"I'm sorry. I don't mean to put you on the spot. But like I said, I want to lay all my cards on the table. So: Courfeyrac, I have feelings for you. Romantic feelings. I have for a long time. I don't mean to make you uncomfortable, but I'm tired of all the secrets and lies and half-truths that have been going around. I love you."

"Are you serious?" Courfeyrac asked.

"Absolutely. The few moments where I got to see you have been the highlights of the past week. I understand if you don't feel the same way, and if you want to spend less time together-"

He was silenced by Courfeyrac pressing a finger to his lip. "You ridiculous, ridiculous man," he breathed. "I've been pining after you for forever."

Combeferre felt the weight slowly lifting off his heart. "Really? You don't have to say that just because I said I like you."

"I believe you said you love me," Courfeyrac said, looking a little smug about that. "And I'm not. That almost-kiss we had at New Year's almost killed me. I wanted more, but I was afraid of messing things up."

"Me too," Combeferre admitted.

"I got you a Valentine."

"Yes, I know. You gave one to everyone," Combeferre said, thinking of the truly atrocious card Courfeyrac had made him. He kept it in his top desk drawer.

"No, I mean, I was your secret Valentine."

"That was you?"

Courfeyrac rubbed the back of his neck embarrassedly. "Yeah. I gave everyone those cards so you wouldn't suspect I gave you the gift. So...yeah. I've liked you for a while."

Combeferre couldn't help it. He laughed. Courfeyrac shoved him, and oh no, he thought Combeferre was making fun of him.

"You went through all that trouble? For me?"

Courfeyrac squinted suspiciously at him, like he thought Combeferre might start laughing again. "Yes."

"Why?"

"I thought you just wanted to be friends, so I didn't want you to be uncomfortable. But I wanted you to feel special, so I got you a real Valentine so you knew someone appreciated how great you are, and then I got you the decoy card to cover my tracks."

Combeferre laughed again. He couldn't help it. It was the most ridiculously adorable thing anyone had ever done for him. Still, he had to get rid of the kicked-puppy look that Courfeyrac was now sporting, so he leaned forward, and kissed Courfeyrac on the cheek.

"Thank you," he said earnestly. "Really. That is the most thoughtful, weird, kind, Courfeyrac-y thing you've ever done."

Courfeyrac looked mollified. Then his face darkened. “So what was that about Enjolras and Grantaire? What did they do now?”

Combeferre sighed. “I told you. I don’t know. Probably ruined everything. I’m sure we’ll find out once term starts again. But at least we got our love lives together before they did.”

“Given how obtuse they are, I’m not sure how comforting that is,” Courfeyrac said. But he leaned in for another kiss all the same.

**********

The first few weeks of term were awkward to say the least. Marius showed up to the first Les Amis meeting, looking ready to run at any minute. The reception when he first came in was decidedly cool, and Marius bore it quietly and without complaint. A few meetings in, and the air began to thaw. There was still a reservedness to everyone's dealings with Marius, even Cosette's, but all in all, it went better than expected.

The same could not be said for Grantaire and Enjolras. Courfeyrac wanted to bang his head on a table for the rest of eternity. They were somehow worse around each other than they had been a year ago, before the Amis had sprung their matchmaking plan into action. They avoided each other when the entire group hung out, and never spent time together alone, as far as Courfeyrac could tell. When they were forced to interact, they alternated between awkward and snippy.

"I don't get it," Courfeyrac said, snuggling against Combeferre one night. "They like each other. They know they like each other."

"Enjolras has convinced himself Grantaire was only being nice to him out of pity, and I'll bet Grantaire thinks Enjolras was vulnerable and latched onto the first person he came across."

"That's such bullshit," Courfeyrac said.

Combeferre shrugged.

"They've turned it into another one of their ridiculous competitions, where they're both pretending they don't fancy the other, like the very idea of them fancying them is ridiculous, and the first person who admits their feelings loses."

"So back to where we are last year," Courfeyrac said despairingly.

"Well, last year, I don't think they actually realized they fancied each other, so at least we're past that point."

"No, this is worse," Courfeyrac said. He would not be talked out of his bad mood. "Because now, instead of having to overcome their obliviousness, we have to overcome their willful stubbornness."

"Willful stubbornness is redundant," Combeferre pointed out.

"You're redundant!"

Combeferre leaned forward, and captured Courfeyrac's lips with his own. Courfeyrac eagerly leaned into the kiss, deepening it. He moaned as Combeferre grabbed a handful of his hair and pulled. (One of the nice things about having a smart boyfriend was that Combeferre was a fast learner. He knew exactly how to turn Courfeyrac into an incoherent mess in almost no time). Courfeyrac started to tug on Combeferre's shirt, when his boyfriend sprung backwards, to the other side of the bed.

"Why?" Courfeyrac whimpered.

"I thought I was redundant?" Combeferre said innocently, although his eyes twinkled mischievously.

Courfeyrac's boyfriend was pure evil. With a growl, he lunged forward, and pinned a laughing Combeferre to the bed.

Sometime later, when they lay with their limbs entwined, Courfeyrac nudged Combeferre.

"I'm serious though. What are we going to do about Grantaire and Enjolras?"

"I can't believe you're still thinking about them after that," Combeferre said. "I think I should be offended."

Courfeyrac dotted his chest with a line of kisses. "Of course I'm thinking about our friends’ love lives. I'm so happy right now, and I just want my friends to be happy too."

"I think we've meddled enough." Combeferre said.

"I think we need to meddle one more time."

Combeferre didn’t look convinced, so Courfeyrac gave him his biggest, most pathetic pout.

“You look ridiculous.”

“You love it.”

“God help me, I do,” Combeferre sighed. "What did you have in mind?”

Courfeyrac thought about it. Combeferre, perfect and infallible as he was, might meet his match against the combined stubbornness of Enjolras and Grantaire. They would need reinforcements.  “We have to assemble the troops.”

“Are you sure?”

“I’m sure they’ll be happy to help!” Courfeyrac said confidently.

**********

“What the fuck. What the actual fuck. What the actual fuck are you fucking goddamn talking about,” Bahorel said, his face turning redder with each word.

They were gathered in Courfeyrac’s apartment, having been lured there with promises of baked goods. Once enough pastries had been consumed, and Courfeyrac measured his friends were in the happy, calm place people reached right before succumbing to a food coma, and that they would be calm and compliant, he outlined Enjolras and Grantaire’s dilemma. The ply-his-friends-with-dessert-to-soften-them-up plan had failed. They friends were looking at him with varying degrees of dismay.

“Are you serious,” Jehan said.

“Enjolras isn’t the only one being a dumbass,” Joly said. “Bossuet and I have both had Grantaire duty where he gets drunk and whines about Enjolras. Of course, he’s R so he’s not very forthcoming-”

“But we’ve been able to decipher his ramblings and deduce he thinks he took advantage of Enjolras in his emotionally vulnerable state, so now he’s determined not to make a move until Enjolras makes a move.”

“Told you,” Combeferre muttered.

“Shut up. Nobody likes a smug know-it-all,” Courfeyrac shot back.

“You do.”

“Yeah I do,” Courfeyrac murmured. “I got to say, I didn’t realize how hot you are when you’re cocky.”

“Please stop.” Feuilly said flatly.

“Spoilsport,” Courfeyrac said, but he decided to show mercy, especially since Feuilly was eyeing the window a little too wistfully. He slid off his boyfriend’s lap and maintained a respectable distance.

“In light of our friends’ predictable stubbornness, we thought we’d give them one last push,” Combeferre said.

"I can't believe we're for real doing this again," Bossuet said, burying his head in his hands. "I thought we were done. We've been at it for months. Months!"

"It's for a good cause. The greatest cause: love." Courfeyrac said.

This was met with boos.

"You're so cheesy," Bahorel said, lobbing a pillow at him.

“You love it."

“So what’s your plan?” Cosette was looking at Courfeyrac with a determined glint in her eye.

It was remarkably simple, really. Courfeyrac grinned. “I say we throw a party.”

Chapter Text

The Amis’ codependency was starting to be a problem, Grantaire decided. Joly and Bossuet mentioned Courfeyrac was hosting a party to celebrate midterms.

“Are we really so desperate for an excuse to party that we’re celebrating midterms?”

“Oh we’re desperate all right,” Bossuet said darkly. “Desperate for you and Enjolras to-“

Suddenly Joly erupted into a loud fit of coughs. Bossuet sheepishly patted his back. Grantaire stared.

“Er. Yes. We are desperate for you to come, because it wouldn’t be a party without you,” Bossuet said.  He laughed uproariously. Joly joined in, and their laughter took a slightly maniacal edge.

Grantaire’s friends were weird.

He told them he would think about going to the party. The problem of course was Enjolras would also be there, and he couldn’t see Enjolras without feeling…things. Lots of things. The inevitable butterflies, of course. Longing. Anger- at himself, for taking advantage of Enjolras when he was in a vulnerable state. Embarrassment at his conduct. And then more longing and butterflies.

If Courfeyrac was hosting, Enjolras was sure to go, even if just for a little while. This put Grantaire in a conundrum. He didn’t want to disappoint his friends, but he wouldn’t be able to stand seeing Enjolras and his stupidly beautiful face. He decided he would go- but he would arrive late. Enjolras rarely stayed at parties past 10.

He texted Bossuet and Joly to tell them. He didn’t say he was avoiding Enjolras, but he was sure they would infer as much. After they returned from Valjean’s house, he’d gotten drunker than usual and divulged a little more than he’d meant to. He’d caught them exchanging glances after that, whenever he and Enjolras bumped into each other. Still, he had to preserve whatever dignity he still had, so he lied and said he’d be late because he had to work on an art project.

His flimsy excuse didn’t stop Joly and Bossuet from turning up at his door at 8:30 the day of the party.

“Your art can wait,” Joly said, even though Grantaire knew Joly perfectly well knew the art was a lie.

Looking at his friends’ expectant expressions, Grantaire knew there was no hope for it. He made a big show of grumbling as he put on his jacket, but let Joly and Bossuet shepherd him from his apartment. It wouldn’t be so bad, he reasoned. By the time they would get to Courfeyrac’s, it would be close to 9, and maybe if he was lucky, Enjolras would already be gone, or on his way out.

So caught up in weighing how likely this scenario was, it took Grantaire a few minutes to realize they were going the wrong way.

“Uh, guys? Courfeyrac lives that way.” He pointed.

“He does,” Bossuet agreed. He kept walking.

“Are we not going to Courfeyrac’s party?” Grantaire asked hopefully.

Joly looped his arm through Grantaire’s. “We are.”

“Then-”

“Courfeyrac convinced Combeferre to let him use his apartment. It’s bigger and more centrally located.”

“What.”

Bossuet linked his arm through Grantaire’s other one. “Did we not mention that?”

“How silly of us!” Joly said lightly.

His friends were traitorous bastards.

Enjolras was Combeferre’s flatmate. If the party was being held in his apartment, he would feel obligated to socialize for the entirety of the event. Grantaire considered turning and fleeing to his apartment, but there was little chance of that. Joly was freakishly strong. It probably came from his constant cuddling and hugging of his friends. Grantaire knew from experience once Joly got a hold of someone, he could cling to them like a limpet. Best to face his fate with some grace, Grantaire figured. So he let himself be guided to Combeferre and Enjolras’s apartment. He’d get revenge later. Maybe. Musichetta terrified him a little, and she wouldn’t let revenge (no matter how well deserved) against her boyfriends stand, so retaliation might not be in Grantaire’s best interests.

As he wrested internally on whether or not to retaliate, he inched closer and closer to his doom. Like most problems in his life, Grantaire had no one to blame but himself. He had come on too strong with Enjolras. He hadn’t done it on purpose. He had only wanted to help. But as Cosette had started to recover, Grantaire realized how unintentionally opportunistic he had been. He had taken advantage of Enjolras in a moment of weakness. When he backed off and tried to create some space, Enjolras had jumped at the chance to widen the distance between them, and Grantaire understood: he had done a terrible thing, and Enjolras wanted nothing to do with him.

And so he tried to avoid Enjolras. He hadn’t been entirely successful, but at least he had managed not to be in any one-on-one situations with the man he loved. Not since that disastrous goodbye at Valjean’s house. And since Enjolras was just as eager (if not more so) to avoid him, Grantaire was confident they could keep this up until they died. Or at least until they graduate.

But there Enjolras was, standing next to Combeferre by the drink table. He looked good. Well, he always looked good. But here, now, he was talking to his best friend, looking happy and relaxed. Grantaire rarely saw him like this, and even less so recently. And of course, Grantaire ruined even that, because Enjolras caught sight of him and instantly adopted a more guarded expression. Great.

Grantaire’s instinct would normally be to grab a drink, but of course (of-fucking-course) Enjolras was by the drink table. That didn’t leave him many choices. He could always make a break for it. Or he could—

“Dance with us!” Musichetta said. She had made her way to the front to greet her boyfriends. And now she was looking at Grantaire expectantly.

He shrugged. “Okay.”

He followed his friends out to the dance floor, because really, what else was he supposed to do? Bolting out the door would just ruin the party for everyone else. At least if he was dancing, he could pretend he was having fun. Courfeyrac had almost certainly toiled for many hours over the playlist (which was not bad), so the least Grantaire could do was join Musichetta, Joly, and Bossuet, and dance for a song or two.

From the corner of his eye, he could see Courfeyrac leading a reluctant Enjolras onto the dance floor. Enjolras was never much of a dancer, preferring to stay on the sidelines, but Courfeyrac had seized Enjolras’s hands, and swung them back and forth, then rotating his hips, pulled their arms in and out, in and out, eliciting a laugh from Enjolras. Grantaire looked away before Enjolras could catch him staring. He didn’t want to ruin this moment too.

It turned out that it wasn’t Enjolras Grantaire should have worried about- it was Courfeyrac. And his own traitor best friends. Before he could fully be aware of what was happening, Joly and Bossuet were shoving him towards the center of the dance floor, where Courfeyrac had similarly manhandled Enjolras. Suddenly, Grantaire was face to face with the man he had been trying his damndest to avoid.

“Now KISS!” Courfeyrac screeched.

Enjolras blinked a few times, in what was probably shock. Then he seemed to realize that all their friends were standing in a circle around him and Grantaire, and were eagerly watching their every move. Then he looked furious, and Grantaire didn’t blame him.

“This isn’t funny!” Enjolras snarled.

“I agree 100%,” Bahorel said. “This is bullshit, and I can’t believe we’ve let it go on for so long.”

“You can’t just make two people kiss when one person doesn’t want to! It’s not right,” Enjolras said, his face growing redder and redder by the second.

And ouch. Grantaire knew Enjolras didn’t like him, but having him drive the point home with such ferocity wasn’t doing his self-esteem any favors.

“We get it, I’m gross, no one in their right mind would want to kiss me. Can we just get back to the party and try and forget the whole thing?”

Enjolras whirled around and stared at him. “What did you just say?”

Grantaire sighed. Of course Enjolras wouldn’t let it go. “I know I crossed some lines with you, and I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to take advantage of you when you were emotionally vulnerable. I know that doesn’t make it okay, but I really hope we can move forward. But if not, I get it. I’ll go. I should probably go anyway.”

“You didn’t take advantage of me,” Enjolras said, folding his arms. “You took pity on me.”

This made absolutely no sense to Grantaire, because how could anyone ever pity Enjolras? He would laugh it off, except Enjolras looked so adamantly offended, that Grantaire doubted himself for a second. But, no, the idea that he would take pity on Enjolras was actually ridiculous.

Something about his confusion must have registered on his face, because Enjolras grabbed his hand. “My room.”

And then he shoved past all their friends, stalked into his room, then slammed the door.

“What do you mean you took advantage of me?” Enjolras asked haughtily, like the very idea of someone taking advantage of him was somehow more ridiculous than someone taking pity on him. He must have taken it as a personal affront; since he devoted most of his life to fighting injustice, he must have resented the implication that someone could pull one over on him and not have him notice.

“I mean,” Grantaire swallowed, then decided, fuck it. This day had already been an exercise in humiliation, so he was probably going to have to fake his own death and move to a cottage in the middle of the mountains somewhere. He might as well take this last chance to be honest. “I mean I’ve been in love with you for ages, and I only worked up the nerve to tell you when you were at your most emotionally vulnerable. That was wrong of me. I shouldn’t have said anything when you were like that.”

“When I was ‘like that’?” Enjolras repeated disdainfully. And here it came, the hate Grantaire so rightfully deserved. “You claim to love me, but do you even know me?”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Grantaire asked, because, really, he knew Enjolras so well that sometimes it was a little creepy.

“I am perfectly in control of myself, no matter what is happening in my life. Yes, I was upset about Cosette, but that doesn’t mean I would suddenly start behaving irrationally. I’m not the protagonist of a Victorian novel, Grantaire!”

“Oh my God, Enjolras,” Grantaire threw his head back and stared at the ceilings for a few seconds just to calm down. “I’m not implying that you were hysterical. I’m saying that the decent thing to do would have been to wait until things calmed down. Because you are a human being, and human beings need time to process tragedies. And when I confessed my feelings to you, Cosette was in the hospital, and it was terrifying, and that’s not when you’re supposed to tell someone that you love them.”

Enjolras blinked as he processed that. “That is such crap.”

“No, really. You’re supposed to tell someone you love them in like…I don’t know a field of flowers or, like when you’re stargazing, or in the middle of a rainstorm, or something like that.”

“No, I’m saying I told you I love you first, so your claims that you took advantage of me are ridiculous. I took advantage of you because you’re a good person, so of course you felt obligated act like you reciprocated.”

“That is….some serious mental gymnastics you just did there,” Grantaire said. He took a second. “Wait, but you’re saying, you weren’t just being vulnerable or emotionally confused. You meant what you said? You love me?”

“I believe at the time I literally told that I wasn’t confused.”

“Okay, but if you were confused at the time, maybe you didn’t know you were confused. Because you were confused.”

“I’d had those feelings for months before then.” Enjolras narrowed his eyes. “Unless you’re implying I’m a liar?”

“You’re one of the most honest people I know.”

“Well thank you!” Enjolras snapped.

“You’re welcome!” Grantaire snarled. Wait, no. That wasn’t the appropriate reaction. He took a deep breath. “And just so you know, I meant it when I said that I’ve been in love with you for ages. Because I have been.”

“Well okay then!” Enjolras said fiercely. Grantaire didn’t even know what emotion Enjolras was feeling. He just knew that whatever he was feeling, he was feeling a lot of it.

“Yeah. Okay,” Grantaire said. He wasn’t sure at what point in the conversation they had inched closer to each other, but he realized that he and Enjolras suddenly very close. They stared at each other, breathing heavily. And Grantaire couldn’t tell who moved first – maybe they moved at the same time-but suddenly they were kissing each other fiercely. Grantaire pulled Enjolras in closer to him, and Enjolras worked his hands into Grantaire’s hair and wow.

**********

“But if you lend me your stethoscope, I might be able to actually hear them through the door,” Courfeyrac said to Combeferre.

“I know,” Combeferre said. “That’s exactly why I said no.”

Courfeyrac sank against the sofa and pouted. Combeferre turned away. He still wasn’t good at saying no to the Pout. It was partially why he agreed to let Courfeyrac literally scream “Now kiss!” at Enjolras and Grantaire. That, and when the Amis had planned out the party, and how to actually get Grantaire to come to the party, but when it came time to figure out how to get Grantaire and Enjolras to communicate, they got stuck. Courfeyrac thought they should try “Now kiss!”, seeing as how it was responsible for getting Marius and Cosette together. Feuilly pointed out that perhaps that was not a relationship they wanted to emulate, to which Courfeyrac retorted that it wasn’t his fault how it ended, but the beginning wasn’t so bad.

So, tired, and out of ideas, they all agreed this one last, desperate maneuver. Courfeyrac seemed to think True Love’s kiss could overcome the curse of Enjolras and Grantaire’s stubborn oblivousness. Combeferre thought it was more likely that they would take issue with their friends screaming at them to kiss, and that in the ensuing outrage, they might reveal their feelings to each other. Right now, it seemed like Combeferre was correct.

“Stop looking smug,” Courfeyrac said. “You don’t know what’s going on in that room. None of us do, because we can’t hear anything.”

Joly let out a loud groan, then buried his head in Bossuet’s shoulder. Musichetta shot them all a dirty look that clearly said Now look what you’ve done.

“No,” Feuilly said. “No, no, no. We agreed- one last attempt at meddling, then we were done. Forever. Because we while we value our friends’ happiness, we also value their autonomy. And our sanity.”

“I’m embroidering that on a pillow,” Jehan said.

“But don’t you want to see it through?” Courfeyrac said. “What if they’re killing each other in there? I just want to know whether or not they worked it out!”

“If I had the pillow with me, I would hit you in the face with it,” Jehan said serenely.

They all fell silent.

“Okay, but for real, waiting sucks,” Bahorel said.

Courfeyrac threw his arms out. “Thank you!”

**********

“They’re waiting for us out there,” Enjolras said. Somehow, he and Grantaire had ended up on his bed. Their first emotional, passionate kisses eventually gave way to something softer. Now they were languidly making out on Enjolras’s bed, and Grantaire wanted to stay there forever. He wasn’t even sure how long they had been there for, but he was sure it had been a while. It wasn’t until Enjolras brought up their friends that he remembered there were other people on the planet other than the two of them.

“Yeah.” Now that Grantaire was paying attention, he realized he couldn’t hear any party sounds. And knowing his friends were far too nosy to leave without finding out how things were between him and Enjolras, that meant they were outside, pretending not to be at all interested in what he and Enjolras were doing.

“They can keep waiting,” Enjolras decided.

“Seriously?”

Enjolras wrapped his arms around Grantaire and pulled him closer. “We have to punish their meddling, don’t we?”

“I don’t know,” Grantaire could feel Enjolras’s heart beating against his chest. “Without them meddling, we would never have gotten here.”

“Yes we would.” After Grantaire’s skeptical look, Enjolras amended himself. “Perhaps not. But ‘now kiss’? Really? That’s the best they could do? We’re not going to reward their lack of artistry. They can wait.”

“You’re devious.”

Enjolras shrugged, unbothered by this accusation. “We’ll tell them eventually. But in the meantime…”

He leaned in, his lips hovering just over Grantaire’s.

Grantaire grinned. “I like the way you think.”

Chapter Text

Enjolras and Grantaire had eventually made it out of the room. It took a while, and it seemed the party had come to a grinding halt in the meantime, with their friends anxiously awaiting results. It wasn’t until later that Enjolras found out that they had spent the better part of a year trying to get him and Grantaire to kiss, and had apparently been wanting them to get together for even longer. Enjolras wasn’t sure if he should feel insulted that his friends interfered with his life, creeped out that they were so invested in his love life, or flattered that they cared this much about him and his happiness. A whole year.

And what a year it had been. Enjolras inhaled deeply. It was Christmas Eve and he was back at Valjean’s house. It was his first time back since the summer. It was strange how the house looked exactly the same when so much had changed. Enjolras had changed. The person he had been when he arrived last Christmas was a stranger. At least he wasn’t the only one who had changed.

He tried not to laugh when something cold touched back of his neck. “You’re freezing!” he cried.

Grantaire didn’t move from where his nose was pushed against Enjolras’s skin. “Should have worn a scarf,” he said. Enjolras could feel his lips curl into a smile. Then he wrapped his arms around Enjolras’s waist, lifted him, then swung him round and round.

This time Enjolras couldn’t hold his laughter back, and was still breathless when Grantaire put him down on the ground.

“Hi,” Grantaire said.

Enjolras leaned in and kissed his boyfriend. “Hi.”

“Gross!” Cosette shouted from the front door.

Courfeyrac appeared beside her. “Oh, let them be, Cosette. They’re still in the honeymoon phase. One day, they’ll experience a more mature kind of love, such as the one Combeferre and I share.”

“You’ve only been dating a month longer than us,” Grantaire said.

“I caught you guys making out on the kitchen table like ten minutes ago,” Cosette added.

Courfeyrac took a very dignified sip from his coffee mug. “Lies.”

“Why are there crumbs from breakfast all over your back then?”

“Now if you’ll excuse me,” Courfeyrac interrupted loudly. “I have to go read the newspaper with my boyfriend, and whatever else it is mature people in serious relationships do.”

Cosette rolled her eyes as Courfeyrac pushed past her. “Get inside you two. Before you freeze to death.”

Valjean greeted them, and unlike Cosette, seemed amused at the lovestruck looks Enjolras and Grantaire kept sharing. “Glad you could join us for the holidays, Grantaire.”

“Thank you for having me,” Grantaire said.

“Of course. You’re family,” Valjean patted Grantaire’s shoulder, then wandered off to the kitchen as Enjolras cringed.

Grantaire turned to him with a shit-eating grin. “So I’m family, huh?”

Enjolras tried not to blush. They after all hadn’t been dating for very long. “I think he just meant, because, you know, we’d been friends for so long, and obviously, you know, he hasn’t forgotten everything you did for Cosette…”

He was silenced by a kiss. “Valjean’s not going to scare me off, so you can stop babbling, okay?”

“Good,” Enjolras whispered. “Because I like us.”

“I like us too. Which is why I’m happy your uncle is welcoming me into your family. It makes it easier when your boyfriend’s family likes you.”

“I’d like you more if you laid off the PDA,” Cosette said, coming up from behind them, but she was smiling.

Enjolras did try to keep his hands off Grantaire, but it was hard. It was hard during dinner that night, it was hard during Christmas breakfast, and when they opened presents, and during Christmas dinner. The only thing that made him feel slightly better about it was Combeferre and Courfeyrac seemed to have a similarly difficult time keeping a respectable distance from each other. It only got more bearable on New Year’s Eve when the rest of the Amis poured in, and Enjolras and Grantaire could slip away for a little bit.

They weren’t doing a big party this year. It was just them, friends, watching movies, eating, drinking, and playing board games. Enjolras wouldn’t have wanted it any other way. Joly, Bossuet, and Musichetta were soundly beating Bahorel and Feuilly at Scrabble. Jehan was playing chess against Valjean. And Combeferre and Courfeyrac were playing Pandemic with Grantaire and himself.

Cosette sat a little apart from everyone, typing on her phone. Enjolras shot her a questioning look.

“It’s fine,” she said instantly, which is how Enjolras knew she was texting Marius.

He frowned. He had mostly forgiven Marius for shattering Cosette’s heart, but Cosette’s growing friendship with Marius still worried him. They saw each other at Les Amis meetings, of course, but Enjolras knew they were getting coffee and lunch together sometimes too. Cosette told him they were getting to know each other. Enjolras wondered why they hadn’t done that before getting engaged, but he supposed sometimes it was easier to get to know someone without the distracting pressure of romance. And neither Cosette or Marius seemed interested in rekindling those flames, at least not right away. (Even Enjolras noticed the longing with which they looked at each other when they thought no one was looking). It seemed they had both been serious when they said they needed to work on themselves before they could think about trying again.

“You sure?” he asked.

She hesitated, like she was really thinking it over, then nodded. “Yes. I’m fine. I’m being careful, so please don’t worry. After all, it’s almost a new year, so that means new beginnings, right?”

It was Enjolras’s turn to pause. “I suppose.”

He left Cosette to her phone, and made up some excuse to go to the kitchen, so he could think for a moment. It didn’t take Grantaire long to find him.

“You okay?”

Enjolras looked up at him. “Just thinking. If we could have a new beginning, start from scratch, would you want to?”

“The beginning of our relationship?”

“I mean the very beginning. From the day we met. Would you want to change anything?”

Grantaire took a step closer. “No.”

“No?” Enjolras couldn’t quite believe that. “Really? But I was so awful to you.”

“I was so awful to you too,” Grantaire said.

“And you wouldn’t want to change that?”

Grantaire chuckled. “It was very rare that one of us would say something that actually hurt.”

“But it still happened.”

“I’ll admit, it wasn’t the smoothest road to get here,” Grantaire said. “But we needed to get to know each other. To understand, to learn. If we had done anything differently, I don’t think we could have become the people we needed to be to make this work.”

“You think?”

“I am sorry that I hurt you in the past,” Grantaire said.

“Me too,” Enjolras said quickly.

Grantaire pulled Enjolras in, and wrapped his arms around him. “But however imperfect our past is, it’s what lead us here to this moment, so I can’t make myself regret that one bit.”

Enjolras could hear Grantaire’s heart beating. “I love you, you know.”

“I love you too.”

Eventually they rejoined their friends, who were quickly getting used to partying on while Enjolras and Grantaire enjoyed private moments. It was a perfect New Year’s Eve. Softer, and less adrenaline fueled than the previous year, but that was probably a good thing. No one was ambushed with orders to kiss this time, but there was still plenty of kissing to go around, and a lot of love. And friendship too.

As the night died down, Enjolras found himself nestled again Grantaire. And he was suddenly grateful for what Grantaire said. It shouldn’t be a new year, new beginnings. It should be a new year, new stories. New adventures.

With Grantaire at his side, Enjolras was looking forward to those, very much indeed.