The melancholic pitter patter of fresh November rain splashed harshly against the sidewalk as busy men and women rushed around the crowded streets of New York City, many occupying garish umbrellas and raincoats while others used their satchels and newspapers as a form of shelter from the heavy downpour. The beeping of washed out yellow cabs and the loud screeching of tires could be heard echoing down alleyways and small boulevards.

Young lovers would be seen kissing at the corner of shops and large buildings, not bothering about the rain soaking their hair and clothes, only having eyes for each other. It reminded Courfeyrac of one of those cheesy rom coms Eponine would make him watch on Netflix, the usual 'boy meets girl and wins her heart' sort of movie.

Quentin Courfeyrac ungracefully stomped down the road, giving up on his attempt to keep his curly hair sheltered from the rain. His perfectly styled locks of raven hair had been washed out and were now plastered dripping against his forehead, the black standing stark against his ghostly white complexion. His cheeks had turned a rosy red due to the cold November air nipping at his drenched body.

In one relatively small hand he held a cheap laptop case, while gripping tightly onto a Starbucks coffee cup in the other. The smell of classic vanilla hot chocolate had almost vanished the moment he had left the warmth of the welcoming coffee shop and had probably turned ice cold, but that did nothing to hinder Courfeyrac's determined steps as he made his way back to the cosy apartment he shared with his three roommates.

He did not account for the fact that other people weren't watching where they were going, resulting in the contents of his vanilla drink coating a rich blonde lady wearing a lot of pink. Usually Courfeyrac would have stopped to flirt or at least apologize to her, but instead sent her a sharp glare and carried on walking, ignoring the muffled curses he could hear getting quieter as he got closer to his home.

Trailing up the twelve flights of stairs that led up to his apartment at the top of the building, Courfeyrac heard what he recognized as voices arguing. He sighed before getting out his rusting silver key and unlocking the door.

Inside he was met by two of his three roommates wrestling on the sofa. Courfeyrac quirked an eyebrow before grinning. "What are you two doing?"

"Grantaire stole the remote again and it's my turn to pick the TV show! He wants to watch Duck Dynasty again but I said Sherlock because it's way better than a bunch of bearded men talk about ducks and Uncle Si!" The person to answer was a short brunette woman.

Her long dark hair fell messily down her back giving it that 'I just woke up' look and he noticed she was wearing a pair of his grey joggers and one of his large black t-shirts that hung far past her tiny waist. She was sporting a playful look right now but if anyone gave her any trouble she could turn nasty pretty quickly. The boys learnt not to say anything about her unnaturally thin waist and collection of unfading scars that seemed to keep increasing along her thin arms, none willing to hold her up on one of her many threats on castrating them. This woman was Eponine Thenardier.

The other man on the sofa had curly black hair like Courfeyrac's but it was slightly messier and had a bright green beanie on top of his head. He was wearing a pair of jeans too large for him and a purple hoodie he had acquired from a car boot sale one year claiming it was 'half price.'

His name was Grantaire but he preferred to go by the name of R, and he could single handedly make sure that no pub in New York went out of business. Very often his friends worried about his drinking problem but none brought it up in fear of upsetting him.

"I hate to admit it R, but Ep is right, it's her turn."

Grantaire stuck his tongue out at Eponine before handing her the television remote.

Eponine looked at Courfeyrac again.

"Courf .. I hate to admit it but you look like shit." She laughed as Grantaire climbed off of the sofa and walked into the kitchen.

"Thanks …" He muttered, hanging up his coat.

"You seen Jehan?" Courfeyrac asked.

"Not since this morning, I asked him where he was going and he said 'out' and just left. He seemed upset though …" Eponine said, switching Sherlock on and pulling a blanket over her legs.

"It's not because of me snapping at him to be quiet last night is it?" Courfeyrac asked, feeling slightly guilty.

"Dunno but he looked like he'd been crying." Eponine said seriously.

"I should text him …" Courfeyrac sighed as he walked into his room and collapsed onto his bed, pulling out his phone to see no new calls or messages.

*Hey Jehan, where r u? - Courf

After seven minutes Courfeyrac heard his phone beep.

*I'm sorry Courf …- Jehan

Courfeyrac sat up immediately and sent a quick reply.

*Where r u? - Courf

*Courf, I relapsed. I'm so sorry. You spent months trying to get me clean and I just fucked it all up and now I'm going to lose you. - Jehan

*It's okay Jehan, I won't leave you, just tell me where you are. - Courf

*I can't - Jehan

*Jehan … where r u?! - Courf

*I'm with Montparnasse …

*I'm coming J, don't worry. x - Courf

Courfeyrac turned off his phone and sprinted from the apartment, leaving his coat in the process … the only thing on his mind was that he had to get to Jehan before the poet did something stupid and reckless like last time ...