/notes at end/
/**
"Javert's doing what now?"
"He's cutting our funding, Courf," sighed Enjolras wearily, wishing his friend weren't quite so loud. All this noise wasn't really helping his headache.
"But he can't do that," protested Courfeyrac, slamming his fist on the table and making the dishes jump. "That's illegal!"
"Unfortunately, it's not," put in Combeferre, looking up from his salad with a forlorn expression. "The university charter clearly states that if a group has a substantial lack of funding and lack of a quote-unquote 'purpose,' it can be disbanded by the administration at any time."
"But we have a purpose!" wailed Courfeyrac. "We spread happiness to the world through music! Is there anything nobler than that?"
"We've never been to a competition, and we never have performances," Combeferre pointed out. "And you can't deny that we have exactly zero dollars in our group's treasury. Technically speaking, Javert is perfectly within his rights to do this."
Courfeyrac pouted, and protested that this wasn't true, but Enjolras could see that even he knew a losing battle when he saw it. Without funding, and without enough members to even register for a regional competition, their group had no chance of survival.
/
Enjolras, Courfeyrac, and Combeferre were all members of a small vocal group, fancifully named Les Amis de l'ABC, which had probably stood for something at some point, but the previous members had graduated without divulging it, and now everyone just assumed it was an homage to the first three letters of the musical alphabet. At the moment, there were only eleven members, if the accompanist counted (and most people were unsure he did), and no matter how enthusiastic they were, the rules clearly prohibited them from entering any sort of event. It was unfortunate that this was the case, because although the group may have lacked something in the way of quantity, it more than made up for it in the beautiful blending of all the voices in the group. Courfeyrac, who was prone to such sentiments, was often wont to exclaim that it was the strength of their friendship which bound them together and gave them such a delightful sound. Enjolras laughed at this, but there was no way he could disagree, because it was certainly true that they were all the best of friends.
Now, though, they had a problem. Javert, an administrator for the school and the bane of Enjolras's existence, had apparently taken the time to comb through the (fairly extensive) university rulebook, and had found the perfect way to get the group disbanded. Enjolras was fairly certain that this wasn't solely because of him and his troublemaking– Javert adhered almost religiously to every rule he could find, ever– but he couldn't help but feel that if he hadn't done so much to get on the man's bad side, the group could have flown under the radar for awhile yet. Maybe they all could have graduated before anyone caught on. He knew his friends didn't blame him, but he also knew exactly how much the group meant to all of them, and he had decided that he would never forgive himself if he didn't fight his hardest to keep them from going down. It was with all this churning through his mind that he made his way to the room where they were meeting and stepped inside. This wasn't going to be the last meeting of the ABC, not if he had anything to say about it.
/
"Look who just came in!" called Gavroche as soon as Enjolras stepped inside. "Your boooooyyfriend's here, Grantaire!" Enjolras stuttered something completely unhelpful, and turned to Eponine, hoping she could shut her brother up before he said anything else. It wasn't that he was embarrassed about liking Grantaire, it was just that he didn't want anyone to talk about it. Or think about it. Or know about it in any way. Okay, so maybe he was embarrassed. But what was he supposed to do? The man was all kinds of interesting and popular; there was no way he'd be interested in someone so… what was the term he'd used? Aggressively prosaic, that was it. Enjolras sighed. There was approximately zero percent chance that they'd ever be anything more than friends.
"Hey boyfriend." Oh no. Enjolras looked up to see Grantaire grinning at him and promptly felt his face heat up. "I like your hair today," continued Grantaire, reaching out to twirl a curl around his finger. "Very cute. You always look so put together."
"Um, I, ah…" Damn it. Why couldn't he think of anything to say? He had a reputation to maintain, after all. But here was Grantaire, standing so close to him, and still smiling that wonderful crooked smile. Involuntarily, he took a step closer, and was greeted by a whiff of acrylic paint, coffee, and detergent, a combination that shouldn't have worked, but somehow did. "You smell good," he blurted out, then immediately cursed in his head. He was such an idiot. Was the situation irreparably awkward now? Grantaire seemed to think so. His hand dropped from Enjolras's hair to his shoulder, where he played with the folds of his jacket, as if not knowing what to say. If he hadn't been haranguing himself for being an awkward dork, Enjolras would have rather enjoyed this, the light pressure of Grantaire's hand, the curious expression on his face, and especially the fact that they were within a foot of each other now, within even the strictest social scientist's definition of the intimate zone. But all this was overshadowed by the fact that Grantaire, usually so quick-witted, still seemed to feel so uncomfortable that he didn't know what to say.
"I…" he began.
"Hey, you two!" came Courfeyrac's raucous shout from across the room. "Either kiss already, or get over here! We need to get this show on the road!" Enjolras blushed again, and hurried over to sit next his friend, while Grantaire made his way to the chair beside Combeferre, grinning rakishly. Eponine wiggled her eyebrows and started to say something, but Marius, whose obliviousness and poor sense of timing were welcome for once, spoke first.
"So, let's start this thing! Our last rehearsal together!" This proclamation was greeted by a chorus of outraged voices telling him not to let the man get him down, and at least one "fight me."
"Hey, man," said Joly. "Don't worry, everything's going to work out. They can't beat us! We're going to be back up in no time. Isn't that right, y'all?" Enjolras wasn't sure which was more misplaced, Joly's optimism, or his deliberately casual use of "y'all," but he didn't have the heart to contradict him. Besides, he didn't intend to go down without a fight, and it might be that everything would in fact work out according to the other boy's sunny prediction.
"Even if ABC is disbanded officially, we can still sing together," pointed out Combeferre, earning another barrage of encouraging voices, telling him that they weren't beaten yet, and if they had anything to say about it, they never would be.
"We'll be ABC no matter what," said Enjolras, and Combeferre gave him a big grin. "No one can change that, especially not Javert. I mean, he can't even change a discriminatory policy without messing it up even more. But I think Joly's right too– we're not going to let him get to us, and we're not going to let something as trivial as university policy get in our way!"
"I'm not so sure that's trivial, actually," muttered Combeferre, but everyone else burst into applause.
"You said it!" shouted Courfeyrac enthusiastically. "Guys, I'm super fired up now. Let's make a plan and make this work out!"
"I like that idea," offered Cosette shyly. "I don't know what I would do if I didn't have you guys."
"Aww," Musichetta put an arm around her. "You're going to have us anyway, you know. There's no getting rid of us." Cosette leaned her head on Musichetta's shoulder.
"I love you, Chetta."
"I love you too, princess."
"Can we get back to the part where we kick Javert's ass?" asked Courfeyrac. "I stand by my statement when I say that I'm not leaving this room until we have a solid plan!" Enjolras suppressed a groan. Knowing Courf, he would probably make sure that everyone else stayed with him too, and it might be hours before everything was settled according to his satisfaction.
"I have a test to study for," he protested feebly, but Courfeyrac, as expected, picked him up and spun him around the room.
"Don't worry!" he sang. "You're like a super genius, and you're always studying anyway! You could probably take that test right now and wreck the curve for everyone. Now be a good little genius social activist and help me make a brilliant plan for subverting authority!"
"You know there's no way I wouldn't help," Enjolras said, and it was true. There was very little he wouldn't do for his friends, and besides, the thought of subverting authority was truly tempting.
"Oh good!" Beaming, Courfeyrac gave him one last exuberant squeeze, then set him back down into his chair. "Let's get started! So, what do we need to do?"
"I think we need to look over the university charter rules for clubs of this sort again," said Combeferre. "Maybe there's something we missed that would help us."
"You say 'we' as if you assume we've all read the thing," said Grantaire. "I have no idea what's in there. Government propaganda? Impassioned pleas for more funding? Provisions for a takeover by capitalist warlords?"
"Like that hasn't happened already," Enjolras grumbled, then blushed as Grantaire laughed.
"Preach it, sunshine!"
"I found the rules here," piped up Gavroche, holding up his sister's laptop. "I hacked into the university registrar." Eponine looked at him sternly. "Okay, no I didn't. It was all legal, calm your dicks, guys." Combeferre came over and read over his shoulder, even as Eponine smacked him on the head for his language.
"Hey guys," he said. "It says here that we're supposed to attend at least two competitions per year. What are we going to do about this?"
"It's only September," said Bossuet. "It should be pretty easy to find something, right?"
"I wish." Combeferre took off his glasses and started cleaning them. "All the competitions in our area have a floor limit on the size of the groups that enter. We'd need at least four more people to even be allowed to register."
"So? That's not a problem, right? Let's just hold open auditions!"
"I guess we could," said Combeferre doubtfully. "I'm just not sure…" he trailed off, and Courfeyrac jumped in.
"There's nothing to worry about! It's a great idea. We'll go on Bruin Walk and tell everyone, and then we'll have more great musicians than we know what to do with!"
"We have to clear that with the administration first," said Combeferre, still sounding doubtful, "And I don't think they love us too much, after what happened last year."
"What happened last year?" Grantaire wanted to know. "Did Enjolras have anything to do with it?"
"Why would you think I had something to do with it?" began Enjolras, but was cut off by Courfeyrac throwing his arms around him and cooing, "Of course he did!"
"This dork," said Combeferre fondly. "Okay, so there he was, just a little freshman, right? And Courf and I were second-years, so we should have known better, but there's literally no way to stop him when he wants to do something. So we ended up helping him instead of making him know of the error of his ways."
"So!" Courfeyrac took up the story. "He found a cause for each day of the week, and every single day, he would go onto Bruin Walk and yell at people about it. Monday was the wage gap, I think, and I feel like Thursday was LGBTQ rights? And so on. Anyway, we helped him out, and we kept this up for five weeks, until somehow Javert found out, and we all got into a huge amount of trouble."
Grantaire burst into laughter. "That's so cute! And so you, sunshine! I can't believe you kept it up for five weeks. Why didn't you just get a permit?"
"I didn't know I had to," said Enjolras, a little sheepishly. "But why should I? I have constitutional rights, same as anyone else, and just because I'm using them to try and upset the oppressive social mores that have been dictating our lives and actions since the founding of this country doesn't mean that my voice should be silenced!"
"Of course, of course." Courfeyrac patted him on the head. "And don't worry, we'll get our voices out, and you can overthrow the patriarchy all you want. But right now, we have a choral group to protect, don't we?"
"We do!" Bossuet jumped up and took the floor. "And Joly and I were just talking. We think we can get permission from the administration to go out on Bruin Walk, as long as we don't mention Enjolras. So first thing tomorrow, we're going to head over to Ackerman to get a permit, and we'll be in business! Who's in favor of open auditions, say aye?"
"Aye!" It was a testament to the caliber of the ABC as a vocal ensemble that the statement came out as a major chord.
Courfeyrac punched the air. "That's everyone! We're doing this, guys! Good job you two!" He rushed over to give Bossuet and Joly a rib-crushing hug. "Daddy Courfy's proud of you!"
"Please never refer to yourself that way again," groaned Eponine. Courfeyrac grinned at her and was opening his mouth to say something else, before Combeferre jumped in.
"Okay guys, are we agreed on this? After Bossuet and Joly talk to the administration, we'll discuss this more. For now, let's focus on coming up with ideas to get more funding."
"Money? I can get you guys money," offered Gavroche, looking up from his game of Starcraft on Eponine's computer. "Probably other stuff too. Just say the word."
"Um, no." Enjolras wasn't opposed to civil disobedience, but he wasn't about to let the kid do anything blatantly illegal. "Let's think of fundraisers or something."
"That's boring," grumbled Gavroche, but went back to his game without putting up a fight. Combeferre nodded at him approvingly.
"So, who's got an idea?"
/*
By the time Grantaire got back to his apartment, it was already almost midnight. After the ABC meeting, he and Enjolras had decided to stop at Cafe 1919 for some coffee and gelato, since neither of them had a lot of studying to do that night, and they'd ended up sitting outside and talking for three hours. It hadn't felt that long, and they'd both lost track of time in a spectacular way. Grantaire hadn't been able to keep the silly grin off his face the entire walk home. What was it about that boy anyway? He'd never met anyone so completely fascinating. Seriously, Enjolras could talk to him about tax code, and he would be enraptured– a fact he knew very well, because that had happened before. There was something about his passion and enthusiasm that was infectious, and even Grantaire, who had decided long ago that he would never believe in anything, couldn't help but buy into his excitement. Besides, he was gorgeous. As an artist, Grantaire had always adored beautiful things, and Enjolras was just about the most beautiful thing in the world. With his golden curls and delicate features, he looked like an angel come to earth, and from the moment he'd first seen him, Grantaire had never been able to tear his eyes away. Grantaire sighed as he unlocked the door to his apartment. Enjolras was perfect, that's all there was to it.
He was shaken out of his reverie as soon as he came inside as his roommate launched himself forward and leapt into his arms.
"R, thank fuck you're home, okay listen, don't freak out, okay? But there may or may not be a drug deal happening in the other room, and it may or may not involve several heavily armed assassins. One of whom may or may not be my ex. The drug-dealing one." Grantaire sighed. Someday he was really going to lose it.
"Okay 'Parnasse, can you calm down for a sec? What's going on here?"
"I just told you! Babet's selling drugs in the kitchen and she has like fifty-nine guns on her, and enough heroin to supply all of the projects for a week!"
Grantaire groaned. "And why exactly is she here?"
"Well," Montparnasse jumped out of Grantaire's arms and led him over to the couch, evidently attempting to act as calm as possible. "Ep doesn't let anyone use her dorm anymore now that Gav's staying there." Grantaire wasn't convinced that this was a reasonable explanation, and was about to tell him so, when a loud crash erupted from the kitchen, as well as a screech of "Fucking commie!" Montparnasse grabbed his arm. "She's mad," he whispered.
"Yeah, I got that." Grantaire rubbed his temples. "How long has she been here?" Montparnasse looked at him with a shit-eating expression.
"About five hours?"
"Dammit 'Parnasse," sighed Grantaire. "We told you to stop letting her in here! Have those other guys been here this whole time too?"
"Um."
Grantaire groaned again. He really wasn't asking for too much here, just a little peace and quiet, and the opportunity to finish his schoolwork in peace without drug dealers and angry gang members invading his home. "All right, look," he said. "Someone's gotta break this up, and Ep's not here, so I guess it's up to us. Do you have my back?"
"Oh totally!" Montparnasse grinned at him sunnily.
"Great, you're going in first." Grantaire ignored his squeak of dismay, and pushed him towards the kitchen. "Remember, we're not letting them extort any weird favors out of us again."
"Yeah, I'm on board with that." Montparnasse looked a little green around the gills. "But can we try not to make them too mad? My nose just healed."
"No complaints here." Together, Grantaire and Montparnasse edged towards the kitchen, trying not to cringe at the explosions of profanity coming from within.
"Hey, um, Babet?" Montparnasse knocked uncertainly on the doorframe. "Uh, how's it, uh, how's it going?"
"How do you think it's going, you little shit?" Babet rounded on him, all the fires of hell in her eyes. "These cunts are trying to fuck me over, and I'm not going to stand for that! Do you hear me? I'm not going to stand for that!" Poor Montparnasse turned as white as heroin.
"I h-hear you, y-yeah," he stuttered. Grantaire figured it was time he stepped in.
"No one's trying to mess with you, Babet," he said in as soothing a voice as he could manage. "We all just want what's best, all right? Why don't you tell us what's going on?"
"What's going on," shouted Babet, "Is that these pieces of shit think it's okay to bargain with me! Fucking bargain with me! Who do they think I am? You're going to pay the asking price, or I'm going to cut your stuff with drain cleaner! You hear me?" She rounded on her customers and jabbed her finger at them. "What do you think this is?"
"Okay." Grantaire cleared his throat, and Babet wheeled on him again, her expression nothing short of murderous. "Babet, I think we have a misunderstanding here. These guys would never try to bargain you down, right?" Here, he fixed them both with a steely glare, hoping desperately that their fear of Babet was worse than their hatred for outsiders. "They're going to pay the asking price, and everything will be fine." Fortunately, Babet's ability to instill fear seemed to be greater than Grantaire's ability to annoy.
"Sure," said one of the men, looking uncomfortable. "We never meant to fuck with you, Babet."
"Don't–fucking–call–me–by–my–first–name!"
"Uh, hey," Montparnasse spoke up for the first time. "You know, we've known Babet for awhile, so we know that her asking price is fair, especially for the stuff she has."
"Damn right it is," interjected Babet, but she looked a little bit mollified.
"So, it's definitely not unreasonable to pay it," continued Montparnasse. "But sometimes, people who don't have a lot of experience don't really know what's what." The two customers looked offended, but Montparnasse swept on. "So I'm pretty sure that this is all a big misunderstanding, like R said. Let's just close this deal now, okay?"
"That's all I wanted," said one of the two men, and the other one nodded. "We're sorry about this. Can we just pay your price and go?"
"My price has increased now," said Babet. "Are you sure you can afford it?"
"Yes, yes we can," the men answered at the same time. "Let's do this." Babet nodded, and after a pause, began the transaction. Grantaire and Montparnasse looked at each other. "Let's go," whispered Montparnasse. Grantaire nodded, and they crept out of the room before anyone could notice.
"Hey R," said Montparnasse, somewhat too casually, as they made their way into the living room, "How do you feel about going out tonight? Like to Westwood, at about 2:45?" Grantaire rolled his eyes.
"Listen man, I love you, but there's no way I'm helping you out with one of your skeezy Mission Impossibles tonight. I have a project to do, and it needs me more than you do."
"But R!" Montparnasse wailed, "What if I need backup?"
"Call Babet."
"That's not even remotely funny!"
"Bro, 'Parnasse, man I'm trying to graduate here. Go ask Claquesous or something, and if you come back alive, I'll buy you that weird vodka you like."
Montparnasse's eyes lit up. "Really? You'd do that for me? A whole bottle, right? Okay, I'll let you off this time. But next time you're going to be my bodyguard!"
"No I'm not," muttered Grantaire, but Montparnasse was already shuffling around looking for his shoes and coat.
"If I head out now, I can probably hit up Claquesous on the way," he said cheerfully. "And maybe I can visit Ep before Gav goes to bed. Good stuff man, good stuff!" Grantaire looked at him fondly. For someone who put so much effort into maintaining a tough demeanor, Montparnasse was surprisingly friendly and loyal with those he cared about, almost like an overgrown, drug-dealing puppy.
"Be safe out there," he said. "And if someone wants to fight, make sure you give 'em hell for me." Montparnasse beamed and held up his favorite butterfly knife.
"Will do!"
/notes/
**so I dunno if I will ever write more about it in here, but it's my theory that Grantaire is like super duper ugly, but Enjolras legitimately finds him attractive. like, it's like that one anime with the blocky dude and the sparkly girl and she has the Maximum Thirst. he thinks he's beautiful inside and out and he is So Very In Love.
cw: ft. patron minette, so there is some not very nice language
also drugs