Chapter Two
Play Nice

Feuilly raised his hand and knocked on Éponine's front door. As he waited for a response, he pulled up the sleeve of his jacket slightly so that he could see his watch; he had twenty minutes before his shift started.

"Come on, Éponine," he murmured under his breath. This was supposed to be a quick trip – he was supposed to be dropping off some business cards that Cosette and Éponine had requested for a craft fair they were doing at the weekend (their first ever). Éponine's flat had been nearer than Cosette's, and it was on the way to his work as well.

Éponine had promised she would be ready, and yet, no one was answering the door. Letting out a little huff of breath, Feuilly knocked on the door again.

He heard a thudding sound from inside the apartment, and then a moment later, the door was flung open.

"What?" a voice snapped, a voice that was most definitely not Éponine's.

Feuilly looked down. They were shorter than Éponine, this person; a girl, skinny, boxy figure, angular face, a tangle of brown hair a couple of shades lighter than Éponine's, and an ugly, dark bruise marring one side of her face.

She was wearing a dark red vest top, but no pants, just underwear. He had time to see bruises on her stomach where her top had ridden up, but then he cleared his face, averting his eyes.

"Sorry," he said. "I'm here to see Éponine?"

"She's in the shower." The girl turned around and walked away, pulling down her vest top as she walked. He came into the flat, shutting the door behind himself and watching as she climbed onto the sofa and pulled a pair of blankets over herself. She rolled over, facing the back cushions.

"Um," he said. "Do you know how long she'll be?"

He saw her body tense briefly, and then she sat up. She was glaring at him, now. "Not a clue," she said. "Not my problem."

Then she lay back down, still facing away from him.

Feuilly stood there, uncertain. She had more than a passing resemblance to Éponine, so it wasn't hard to work out that she was probably Éponine's sister – he reckoned he'd last seen her in the Café Musain, on the day of Éponine's attack. But she looked familiar for other reasons, now, reasons that he couldn't quite place.

There was also the question of why she was there. He'd only gone away for the weekend, been out of the loop with his friends for the same amount of time, and suddenly the two sisters were reunited?

The door to Éponine's bedroom opened and the woman herself stuck her head out. Her hair was hanging in wet rattails.

"I thought I heard voices," she said. "Just give me a sec."

She disappeared again, and came out a minute later wearing a black dress that she kept on smoothing down.

"Did Azelma let you in?"

Azelma, he thought. He remembered that name.

"Yes," he said. "I've got the cards."

"Ah, thanks. Would you like a cup of tea?"

"Can't really stay," he said. "I've got to be in work soon."

"Can you two stop talking?" Azelma suddenly said, voice muffled by the cushions. "I'm trying to sleep."

"Shut up, Azelma," Éponine said, pleasantly, and then mouthed to Feuilly, "I'll explain another time."

Feuilly rooted in his bag for the small cardboard box that contained the business cards. "There you go," he said. "The box isn't sealed, though, so be careful."

Éponine took the box and lifted one of the flaps to look inside. When she saw the cards, she beamed up at him. "Thank you so much," she said. "These are great. Cosette will be so pleased."

"It's no problem," he said, closing his bag. "I tried to follow Grantaire's usual as closely as I could."

"They're great," Éponine repeated. "Speak to Cosette about payment."

"I don't need paying," Feuilly said, edging backwards towards the front door. "Really, I don't mind, you're friends –"

"No," Éponine said. "We're paying you. No arguments. But Cosette is dealing with it." Her eyes swung towards the huddled shape on the sofa. "We should be coming by the Musain tonight, so you could talk to her then."

"I really don't mind," he said, his hand on the door handle.

"Try saying that to Cosette," Éponine said, raising her eyebrows.

"For fuck's sake, please shut up," Azelma begged from the sofa, her voice taking on a distinct whining note.

Éponine ignored her. "I'll see you later," she said.

"Yeah, see you." Feuilly nodded at her and left.

OOO

Azelma pressed her hand over the ear that wasn't obscured by the sofa cushions as the door shut behind Éponine's friend. She groaned.

Suddenly, something soft smacked her over the head. She sat up so quickly that her head spun. "What the fuck?" she spat out.

"One rule I insist on if you stay here," Éponine said, glaring around a bead of water dripping from her soaking hair and winding its way over her eyes. "Don't be rude to my friends. Understood?"

"I was asleep," Azelma bit out, flopping back on the sofa.

Éponine dropped the cushion she had used to hit Azelma with onto the floor and planted her hands on her hips. "Grow up," she said. "We can't all enjoy lie-ins."

Azelma turned her head to one side to glare at her sister. "I had a rough day yesterday," she pointed out.

Éponine's face softened slightly at those words, and one hand fell away from her hip, making her stance and overall demeanour less severe. "I know," she said. "I'm just saying, though. There's no need to be rude."

"Noted," Azelma said, placing her arm over her eyes. "Now can I please go back to sleep?"

She heard Éponine let out a little sigh, and then the soft sound of her feet padding across the carpet. Éponine's bedroom door clicked shut, and Azelma let out her own sigh of relief now that the room was back to being wonderfully silent.

OOO

It turned out that Éponine's flat was incredibly boring. After sitting through as many hours of daytime television as she could stomach, Azelma found herself wandering the flat. She knew that Éponine would be furious if she found out, but Azelma figured that it didn't matter. Éponine never had to know that Azelma went through her wardrobe, her drawers, looking at her clothes. Azelma had never owned that many clothes in her life, and she was sure there weren't even that many. She felt envious, running her hands over woollen cardigans and soft jersey T-shirts. If she had chosen to turn her back on her father, as Éponine had, would she have had all these things herself? An apartment, more clothes than she needed, an actual decent television that had countless channels, a close circle of friends, an apparently stable boyfriend and her own business?

She liked to think so, but somehow, she doubted it.

By the time Éponine returned from work, Azelma was almost crying with boredom. She never thought she'd be so grateful to see her sister before.

Éponine looked a lot better than she had this morning, her hair dry and the damp patches on her dress from her hair long faded away. She looked tired, though.

"You're not dressed," she said, sounding dismayed.

"Huh? Well, I had no reason to get dressed," Azelma said, propping her feet up on the arm of the chair.

"I thought we could go to the café tonight," Éponine said. "We go most nights. You can meet everyone properly..."

"Sure, whatever." Azelma didn't see a point in arguing.

Éponine stared at her. "So go and get dressed?" she said, slowly. "You can shower, too, if you want."

Azelma waited until Éponine had her back turned before having a cautionary sniff of her armpits. With a groan, she rolled off the sofa. "Won't be long," she said.

Today's shower was shorter than the one she had the day before, mainly because she opted against washing her hair. She dressed in her favourite pair of denim shorts and a long sleeved T-shirt, and dragged Éponine's hairbrush through her tangle of hair, now slightly damp and frizzy from the humidity of the shower.

She emerged to find Éponine flicking through a bridal magazine on the sofas.

"Is there something you want to tell me?" Azelma said, nodding at the magazine. It had a beautiful blonde couple on the front, her in flowing white and him in steel grey, gazing at one another with slightly dead eyes in front of a sprawling country home.

Éponine's cheeks went slightly red. "Cosette," she said. "My business partner. She's getting married."

"Ah. So you and Combeferre...?"

"Are not," Éponine said, firmly, putting the magazine to one side. "I thought we could eat in the café? I don't mind paying."

"That's fine," Azelma shrugged, secretly wondering how often Éponine cooked for herself. There were unwashed plates on the side next to the sink, ones she had used herself the night before when they got take away, but the rest weren't familiar and there were no actual cooking utensils such as pans amongst them.

Éponine smiled. "Come on, then," she said. "We'll have to walk again, but it's not far."

"Just let me get some things," Azelma said, ducking back into the bedroom to find her hold-all.

Her mobile phone, abandoned since yesterday, had worked its way to the bottom of the bag, obscured by rolled up T-shirts and sweatpants. She hadn't touched it yesterday, hadn't had a need to, but she figured if she was going to spend the evening with Éponine's rich student friends then she'd need some entertainment, even if it was just in the form of Candy Crush.

When she switched it on to check her battery, she found she had five texts, two Facebook messages and a missed call, split evenly between Brujon and Montparnasse. The missed call had occurred just five minutes ago.

She switched the phone off again and made her way back into the living room, where Éponine had donned a jacket and had her keys in her hands.

"You okay?" Éponine said.

Azelma nodded. Just then, her phone began to buzz in her hand, and a high-pitched, jolly techno tune filled the small room.

She glanced at the screen, which was now brightly lit. The phone hadn't been cheap – or it at least shouldn't have been; it was a gift from Montparnasse, with more than shady origins. She highly doubted that its previous owner had given it voluntarily. But she'd quickly made it her own phone, and that had included setting a picture for all of her contacts. Brujon's face filled the screen now, very familiar to her. He'd been drunk and high the night she'd snapped this particular photograph, and it was not a flattering one, with his tongue sticking out and his eyes crossed and his eyebrows raised and his cheeks hollowed. She'd nearly laughed herself silly when she'd seen the resulting photograph and had refused to let him delete it, no matter how hard he'd tried.

She'd wanted a similar picture of Montparnasse, but him being Montparnasse he had a sixth sense when it came to the gaze of a camera and so was always flawless in photographs. He didn't seem physically able to do anything other than stare coolly at a camera, without smiling, a haughty expression on his face that would not have looked out of place in the pages of a glossy magazine.

She cancelled the call, and when she looked up, Éponine had her head cocked to one side and her eyebrows raised. "A friend?" she said.

"None of your business," Azelma said.

"Was it our father?" Éponine pressed. "Or Mont -?"

"Éponine, seriously." Azelma slid her phone into her pocket. "Forget about it. I'm a big girl, I can look after myself."

"Okay." Éponine shrugged. "But let me know if they keep on harassing you."

Azelma rolled her eyes. "Why? What are you going to do?"

"I'd think of something," Éponine said, flatly. "Come on, let's go."

She turned on her heel and walked towards the front door, and Azelma was glad to have the conversation over for now.

OOO

There were less people at the café tonight. Éponine's boyfriend was there, along with the pretty blond one that had come to the flat (she couldn't remember his name at first, but he was introduced again as Enjolras).

Then there was Jehan, a slight man with slightly too large amber eyes and a tangle of pale toffee hair, wearing an oversized greatcoat that swallowed his slender frame. He looked a bit distracted, and was thumbing through three battered looking paperbacks and occasionally attacking them with a yellow highlighter pen, which ended up streaked across his face.

Courfeyrac was the cheerful man who had bought her soup the day before. Tall and lean, he still sported a cheeky smile and a mop of dark brown hair. He gave up his seat for her again, squeezing onto the other sofa between Jehan and Enjolras.

"That used to be my chair," he said to her, as he wriggled down between them, "But it can be yours now."

She didn't answer, because she didn't know how to.

The other one that was there was apparently called Bahorel, a huge man with copper skin and dark eyes. He was so big, she thought to herself. He didn't quite fit into the armchair that he occupied. His legs were long and his hands were huge and his shoulders were wide. Under any other circumstances, she might have found him intimidating. His size made her think of Gueulemer, one of her father's old minions, but that impression quickly faded when she saw how easily he joked around with everybody else.

Éponine ordered them food when they arrived – they both opted for paninis, with mozzarella and spicy chicken and pesto smeared on them. Azelma wolfed it down, suddenly hungry. She'd only had the motivation to make herself a few slices of toast at lunch.

By the time she had finished eating (Éponine was such a slow eater), a couple of other people had turned up. One of them was Cosette, Éponine's business partner. Éponine had told them that Cosette had lived in one of the foster homes with them, but Azelma couldn't remember her at all. They'd been so young, and Cosette was so perfect and well put together that Azelma couldn't imagine her living in any of the homes Azelma had lived in growing up.

The other was the man from this morning, the one that had disturbed her sleep. It was for this reason, and that reason alone, that she decided she held a grudge against him. He was tall, almost as tall as Bahorel, but with none of his size; he was so skinny. His skin was almost as white as milk, his hair a bright orange and pulled back into a messy ponytail; there was a scruff of hair on his narrow chin, and a pale white scar on his cheek beneath his right eye. When he looked at her, the expression on his face was cautious, as if she was still going to shout at him for waking her up.

That was still an option, she reflected inwardly, because she did hate to be woken up like that.

"In a better mood now?" he asked, after Éponine had introduced him as Feuilly.

"No," she said, bluntly.

"I didn't know you were there," Feuilly said.

She raised her eyebrows. "And? Why would I care about that? You still woke me up."

"Azelma," Éponine said, her tone warning, glaring at her over her panini. "Play nice."

"I am playing nice," Azelma objected.

"Well, I apologise for waking you up," Feuilly said, the corners of his mouth twitching upwards.

She picked up a rocket leaf from the salad on her plate and nibbled on it. "Apology accepted."

"So you're staying with Éponine? I've got that part right?" Feuilly said, putting his fingers together to form a steeple with them.

"Yep."

"And you're her sister," Feuilly continued.

"Yep." Azelma finished chewing on the leaf and swallowed. "Anymore questions?"

"Not really." He lowered his hands to his lap and then scrubbed a hand over his chin. He had skinny fingers, too, she noticed, his knuckles big and obvious. "You're a bit prickly, aren't you?"

"That was a question," she said, flatly.

He squinted at her. "I think I know you," he said, a bit quieter.

"I doubt it." She shrugged.

"I'm sure we've met," he said. "Your face –"

"Looks a lot like Éponine's," she finished for him. "I'm not one of those people who denies they look like their family."

"No, it's not that," he said. He shook his head, ginger ponytail bobbing up and down. He sat back in his chair, one of the other armchairs. He'd actually taken it from Cosette, who had gone to the toilet as he arrived, but when Cosette had come back she'd slotted herself onto the sofa between Courfeyrac and Enjolras without objection. Azelma wondered if anybody else could fit onto that sofa.

"Hmm." She didn't really know what else to say to him.

He snapped his fingers, pointed at her. "I know," he said, then looked like he regretted it. "Ah. It, uh, doesn't matter."

"Huh?" Azelma cocked her head to one side. "What are you on about?"

"I remember where I saw your face," he said. His cheeks were flushing pink. He looked embarrassed, and he pinched his lower lip between his thumb and forefinger. "But it doesn't matter."

"No, go on," she said. "Seeing as you made such a fuss about it," she added, rolling her eyes.

"I grew up in care," he said, simply, and he didn't have to say much more, because he'd undoubtedly known Éponine long enough to know her family history.

Something in Azelma's chest twisted. She didn't like talking about her time in care. Too many bad memories, faces she'd rather not think about.

"Right," she said, making the word as short and as clipped as one could manage with only one syllable.

"Like I said, it doesn't matter." Feuilly was now tapping on his knee with his fingers. In the time he'd been sat there, his hands hadn't stopped moving once.

"You're right," she agreed. "It doesn't."

He looked away from her, his finger now drawing circles. A moment later, he joined in with Jehan and Enjolras' debate about some politician or other, and Azelma was left alone with her thoughts, as Courfeyrac was showing Cosette something on his (rather sleek and shiny and probably expensive, she noted) phone, Éponine and Combeferre were being a gooey, sickening couple, and Bahorel appeared to have fallen asleep.

She sighed, stared up at the ceiling, and then slid her hand into her pocket to retrieve her phone. Candy Crush it was then.