"Combeferre!"
There was no answer.
"Combeferreeeeee!"
"Courfeyrac," Combeferre mumbled from somewhere under a mound of blankets and pullows, "If you don't shut up I am going to brain you with my philosophy textbook."
There was silence.
"But Combeferre!"
There was a loud groan of outrage from several of the Amis and Courfeyrac yelped in pain as Éponine stuck out her leg to kick him violently in the spine.
The Amis were in various states of unconsciousness in Feuilly, Bahorel and Grantaire's living room following a party the previous night. It was unusual that they would turn their weekly get-togethers into impromptu sleep-overs; but after the Tequila had been brought out last night by Jehan and Marius pulled his hamstring during a particularly handsy game of Twister (that everyone had made a solemn promise never to mention again, especially after Joly put his hand on Combeferre's crotch and Éponine had to put her face into Musichetta's chest), nobody was in a fit state to get themselves home. So Grantaire and Feuilly had succeeded in finding every duvet, sleeping bag, pillow and blanket in the flat and unceremoniously dumped them on the floor of their living room to create a nest that everyone had quickly curled up into.
Marius - the wounded soldier - had occupied the sofa, with Cosette sleeping on the floor next to him. Their hands were loosely entwined and the only visible part of Cosette was the crown of her blonde head, the rest of her seemingly eaten up by Grantaire's old sleeping bag. Jehan was curled up in an armchair swathed in blankets, his head resting on the arm and an ache no doubt developing in his neck.
Musichetta and Joly had created their own little burrow in the far corner of the room and Bossuet - forever the unlucky one - had been the only one left with no blankets, so he gravitated towards the hypochondriac and his girlfriend throughout the course of the night, until all three of them were curled up together with no apparent qualms over how they had found themselves in this situation. Bahorel was starfished out on his back in the centre of the room and Feuilly had his head propped up against his huge friend's rock-hard stomach, playing Angry Birds on his Bahorel's phone, which had slipped out of his pocket overnight. Feuilly always woke up at the crack of dawn and was foreign to the concept of a 'lie in', so it was all he could do to not get up and disturb his sleeping friends.
Grantaire and Enjolras were in an interesting predicament, and it was no-doubt one they'd find very embarrassing when they woke up. They were lying together in another corner of the room, sharing a single pillow between them, the width of Grantaire's hand being the only thing separating their faces. Enjolras also had his legs hooked through Grantaire's (something which he'd deny vehemently later). Had they been conscious, Éponine would have been taking pictures of them together for blackmail ammunition while Cosette and Jehan clucked about how cute they were and Courfeyrac, Bahorel and Combeferre started a wager on the future of their relationship (at present, Combeferre would owe Courfeyrac €50 if they got their shit together and actually started dating).
Combeferre and Éponine were asleep by the door, with Courfeyrac splayed out near their feet. Éponine liked to be close to the nearest exit at all times - a left over survival tactic from her days living with an abusive family - but consequently she became cold and had demanded earlier in the evening that Combeferre spoon with her to keep her warm, and Combeferre had complied - partly because he was unable to say no to Éponine no matter what she asked of him, and partly because she was scary when she was bossy. So Éponine curled up while Combeferre enveloped her in his huge lanky frame, his arm wrapped comfortingly around his waist and her long black hair tickling his nose.
Éponine had never had such a good night's sleep, she would come to realise later.
Everything - the blankets, the pillows, the sleeping bags (fuck, the entire room) - had the faint stench of pot and cigarette smoke, which was 65% Grantaire's fault and 45% Feuilly and Bahorel's fault combined.
"Okay I'm sorry but Combeferre can you please turn off the TV because the light is hurting my eyes and you have the longest limbs so you can reach," Courfeyrac hissed in one long breathe, shying away from Éponine incase she tried to hurt him again.
"I hate you so much," Combeferre groaned, leaning away from Éponine so he could push the button on the front of the TV. She whimpered from the loss of contact and burrowed further into his chest.
"I second that," she murmured sleepily, "You're such a little bitch, Courf."
"I concur wholeheartedly," came a mumble from across the room, possibly from Cosette as she rolled around in her sleeping bag.
"What are we concurring with?" breathed Jehan, sitting up dazedly, "Ow! My neck!"
"From what I gather, how much of a little bitch Courf is for waking you all up," Feuilly told him levelly, putting down Bahorel's phone and settling down on the aforementioned's stomach.
"I hope you get stricken with a particularly nasty bout of tetanus, Courfeyrac," Joly rasped, his voice sounding like he had been gargling nails.
"I hope your mum gets stricken with a particular nasty bout of my dick," Courf retorted with a grin, seemingly proud of himself.
"You are so disgusting, I can't even look at you right now," Éponine grabbed a pillow and threw it over Courf's face, "Quick, someone hold it down and smother him before he can get up."
"Is everyone awake yet?" Feuilly asked, hauling himself to his feet. He was clad in just a pair of ancient-looking jogging bottoms with a hole in the knee and a white wife-beater with a tequila stain down the front, "Because I'm going to take a fuckload of paracetamol and then get started on breakfast."
"No no, you relax Feuilly," Marius said suddenly, sitting up with a jolt and scaring everyone who assumed he'd still been asleep, "I'll get started on breakfast."
Marius was a positively appalling cook, and the Amis knew this well. Too well. The only problem was, Marius loved nothing more than to potter around in the kitchen fixing snacks for his friends or preparing meals that took genuine time and effort, so none of them had the heart to tell him that his cooking made them want to be sick.
"No no mate, you rest. You've hurt yourself," Feuilly said quickly, looking around the room to scan the faces of his friends (who all look genuinely terrified), "I'll do it. Are waffles good with everyone?"
In response, Courfeyrac started singing 'The Waffle Song' and was quickly buried under a mountain of pillows that his friends threw at him in disgust.
"Guys," Joly croaked, "Who's going to be the one to wake Enjolras and Grantaire?"
"Quick everyone, pretend to be asleep!"