A/N: Dude. My copy of the Brick has so many highlights, it's not even funny. Some of them are hilarious lines, some of them are lines that make you cry, and...stuff. Anyway. This is just one of those lines that I was like "..." and then "!" and then I needed to write a fic about it. So here it is.

...a band led by Enjolras, Courfeyrac, Combeferre, and Feuilly...

"Hey, whatchoo guys doing?" R asked as he took a swig from his bottle of...something alcoholic.

"Oh, ya know," Courf replied as he plugged in his guitar.

R's eyes widened as he looked at it. "No way! You finally got him to agree?"

"Yup," Feuilly answered, setting up the drums. "We threatened to paint the barricade blue."

"Ah, of course. That always gets him."

"You do realize I'm RIGHT HERE, you guys," said Enjolras, frowning.

"You have such a great voice, Enjy! The world deserves to hear it!"

Enjolras turned the glare-o-death™ on R. "You did NOT just say call me Enjy."

"This whole thing is stupid," muttered Combeferre. "You don't even need me. No one's going to be able to hear this stupid triangle, anyway. I'm getting out of here."

Enjolras grabbed him by the back of his coat, a wild look in his eyes. "No, 'Ferre! You can't leave me here with these crazies!"

"Okay," Combeferre conceded. "But it's going to be SO embarrassing."

"No way! I'm sure we'll have tons of fans!" Feuilly laughed hysterically and elbowed Courfeyrac. "GEDDIT? FANS?"

Courfeyrac rolled his eyes. "That wasn't funny the first twelve times, Feuilly. Get over it."

"So, do you guys have a song picked out?" R was literally jumping up and down.

"Yeah, Jean Prouvaire's writing one. It's called 'Red'."

"At least it's SOMETHING revolutionary," Enjy sighed, then gave me the glare-o-death™ for referring to him thus.

R clapped. "Sounds great! Can I sell tickets?"

"Bahorel's doing that." Courfeyrac responded, fiddling with his guitar.

"Set up chairs?"

"Bossuet's got it."

They heard a crash coming from the front room of the Musain. "Erm...maybe you'd better go help him."

"Here's the music!" Jehan said, rushing up to Courfeyrac. "Sorry it wasn't ready until ten minutes before your performance!"

"Oh, that's no problem," Courf replied cheerily. "Feuilly's really quiet on the drums, and the triangle isn't loud at all, so I'm basically the only one who matters. And I'm randomly excellent at guitar because the authoress wants to make me that way."

"What about Enj?"

"He's randomly good at singing because he's Aaron Tveit and Ramin Karimloo and all those guys. So we'll be able to sightread it perfectly."

"Okay then. Oh look, that random crowd is ready for us to begin."

Jehan quickly handed Enjolras the sheet of paper with the lyrics on it. "Gottogogetagoodseatbye!" He rushed off.

Joly was up on the stage. "And presenting nineteenth century Paris' newest sensation, Enj & the ABC!" The crowd clapped as Courfeyrac and Feuilly pushed Enjolras onto the stage.

Combeferre started first, on the triangle. DINK. DINK. DINK. DINK. DINK. DINK.

Then Feuilly started playing the drums, very quietly. TAP. (pause) TAP. (pause) TAP. (pause) TAP. (pause)

Enjolras groaned inwardly as Courfeyrac began strumming the guitar. He could already tell this was going to be an epic fail. At least it would get across their revolutionary ideals to the public...

Courfeyrac nudged him. He sighed and started to sing the words Jehan had given him.

"LOVING HIM IS LIKE DRIVING A NEW MASERATI DOWN A DEAD END STREET...wait, are you sure this is about the revolution? Jehan?"

THE END