Disclaimer: I don't own Les Mis, yadda yadda yadda...

A/N: Yes I know, it's REALLY cheesy and all that. But I don't care. This whole fan fiction is going to be rather cheesy!

Anyway, Chapter 2 is up ~ Enjoy

Review/Follow/Favorite and all the jazz!

(if you have any plot twists that you think would be good, then feel free to suggest them.)


"Marius get your head out of the clouds for god-sake, she isn't going anywhere anytime soon!"

"Grantaire put that wine bottle down, how many times do I have to tell you?!"

"Bahorel! Stop encouraging Grantaire."

"Courfeyrac can you help me please..."

"Gavroche, why are you even here? I thought your sister wanted you to help her out back at your apartment?"

"Grantaire seriously, put the wine bottle down before I take it off you and ban you from alcohol for the rest of the meeting."

"Jehan? Jehan pay attention!"

Jehan snapped out of his day dream to look at a rather annoyed Enjolras who was standing above him with his hands on his waist. The meeting was like any other meeting, consisted of 20 minutes listening to Enjolras rant on about the government and how useless they are, then Grantiare would start drinking because he is bored, making Enjolras annoyed because he wasn't paying attention and then everyone else would lose focus and nothing would make them focus back on the matter at hand. As usual Jehan was not really paying attention, it had gotten worse recently, but he couldn't help it, especially with everyone talking and messing around. Jehan blinked up at the glaring Enjolras before giving him a grin.

"Sorry, Enjolras… what were you saying?" He asked, getting a groan from about half of the room, knowing that they would have to sit through the speech AGAIN. The various shouts and moans from everyone caused Jehan to shy away and slump down in his seat, muttering a mouse-like apology to everyone. What made it worse was Courfeyrac didn't even stick up for him this time, usually the centre of the group would stand up for Jehan when people moaned at him or bullied him, but even Courf seemed to be distracted. Not with Gavroche who had given up trying to get his attention, but with something else. Jehan wanted to ask what was on the man's mind, but then again he didn't want to make it seem he was nosy or say something wrong that would completely ruin any chance of them being together. Instead Jehan sat in his chair, looking over at Courf with a worried expression. "What's wrong with Courf?" Jehan eventually asked after Grantaire eventually came to sit down at the tables again.

Grantaire looked over his shoulder, clutching his wine bottle close to him, before shrugging. "No idea. Been like that since the meetin' started. Maybe he is in Looovee.." He slurred out the words, causing Jehan to move away slightly to stop himself from being spat on. The last word though almost made Jehan's heart break. In love? How could he be in love? Who was he in love with? The whole thing got Jehan very worried. He turned to look at the man on the other side of the room, as if he was about to cry.

"You alright, Jehan? You look as if you have seen a ghost or something…" Grantaire asked, noticing the change in the young poet. Jehan cleared his throat, giving the drunkard a sheepish smile and a small nod. Grantaire shrugged before turning his attention back to his Apollo, grinning at Enjolras and flirting with him in the most obvious manner.

"I think I might just go. I'm not feeling very well…" Jehan muttered, "Not like anyone will miss me anyway." He mumbled again, feeling rather sorry for himself as he stood up, grabbing his bag from under the table and walking towards the stairs. He glanced around the room, his gaze lingering on Courf a few moments longer before heading down the steps quietly, as if he had never been there in the first place. He was not completely right, although nobody really paid attention to the poets exit, Courfeyrac was the first to notice that he was no longer in the room. The absence of his little poet made him frown, looking around the room. Last time he had seen him was when he was talking to Grantaire about something…

"Grantaire? Where did Jehan go?" He asked, walking over to Grantaire who was leaning on a rather unhappy looking Enjolras. Both men looked around confused to what their comrade was saying, Enjolras pushed the drunkard off of him before straightening his red jacket.

"I don't know where he went. He must have gone home?" Enjolras suggested with a raised eyebrow, he could not make another comment though due to Grantaire practically jumping back onto him, causing a low growl to form in Enjolras' throat. "GRANTAIRE IF YOU DON'T SOBER UP I WILL MAKE YOU!" All Grantaire did was purr as if the whole idea was exciting. Enjolras scoffed and tried to focus on the maps and papers in front of him.

Giving up, Courf headed towards the stairs and out of the front door of the café. He knew where the young poet lived, although nobody had really been around his flat. Courf had noted over time that Jehan could be extremely secluded when he wanted to be and yet still completely adorable at the same time. It didn't take Courfeyrac long to find the right apartment block. Although the elevator wasn't working, much to his great annoyance. It meant he was going to have to climb 8 flights of stairs just to get to the right floor. "How does Jehan do this every day?" he muttered, shaking his head a little. Maybe that is why his little Poet could eat so many pastries and stay so small.

That's what Courf liked about the small poet. He was tiny and his clothes were always too big for him, the way that he braided his hair made Courf to want to hug him and never let him ago. There were so many small things that Courf had noticed about the little man that nobody else had. Like the fact that Jehan didn't like sweetener and had exactly 3 ½ teaspoons of sugar in whatever hot drink he has. He doesn't like red roses because they are too cliché but he loves making daisy chains to wear around his almost ginger hair. Jehan didn't like people touching his notebooks, especially after Grantaire poured wine all over one of them by accident, but he was constantly writing poetry in them. He was taking Literature at University along with a couple of other language/writing based subjects. Courf had noticed during lunch breaks that Jehan ate his fruit first, then his sandwich (it was a chicken wrap on a Thursday) and finally his sweet pastry. He didn't like pears or oranges and only ever ate pear flavored items, never the fruit.

Somebody might have laughed at Courf, but surely he was not the only one to notice these things. Maybe it was just him… but Courf cared a great deal for the poet, he became worried whenever he was not at meetings or at the university. He cared for him probably more than he should, nobody else knew him as much as Courf did. But Courf was still trying to figure out if the poet felt the same way. He wrote poetry about everyone in the Amis, but there had been nothing written about him. And his latest piece that he was writing? Usually he would be so proud to read it out, but this time he kept it all to himself. He had done the same in the past and even though he has managed to read those poems, the name of the subject had never been given away or any idea. Jehan was in love, it was obvious. But Courf didn't know who it was…

He finally reached the right floor, panting slightly and resting his hands on his knees before walking around the floor to find the write door. Was Courf feeling jealous that Jehan was in love with someone that wasn't him? Courf hesitated before knocking on the door, frowning in thought before rapping lightly on the wood. "Jehan? Are you alright?" He called out, waiting for a reply. But none came. He knocked again, a little harder this time. "Jehan?" He called out slightly louder.

He heard the pat of feet against a wooden floor behind the door and someone quickly unlocking the door, opening it to peak out from behind it. "Courf? What are you doing here?" Jehan frowned, hiding behind the door.

"You left the meeting without telling anyone… I was just checking that you were alright." Courf smiled, although his smile soon faded when he saw Courf clutching a blanket around himself. "You're not ill, are you?" He asked with a worried expression and pushed the door open fully, much to Jehan's great horror.

"I'm fi-" He started, letting out a small whine when Courf pushed the door open to reveal Jehan wrapped up in a large blanket and clutching a water bottle close. "I just feel a little tired. I'll be alright." Jehan smiled sheepishly, looking at his bare feet on his wooden floor. He wasn't sure if his cheeks were flushed because of his obvious cold or because Courf was standing at his door checking on him.

"Why are you out of bed! Get back into bed immediately!" Courf almost yelled pushing past the small poet and into his flat, removing his shoes before practically dragging Courf by the wrist to the closest room. Thankfully it was a bedroom, and by the mess everywhere, he judged that it was Jehan's and not the spare. Papers with scribbles and drawings on them were … well /everywhere/. He could hear Jehan complaining like a child behind him, but Courf ignore the complaints and practically threw Jehan into the bed, throwing the quilt over him. Grabbing a couple of the blankets from the floor, he threw them on top as well.

"Courf! I don't need you to look after me, I'm sure you have other things to do…" Jehan mumbled from under the pile of blankets. He was grateful for the company, however. Jehan never liked being alone when he was ill. He watched as Courf disappeared, presumably to find a thermometer and tablets.

"Take these." He heard, looking over at Courf who was now sitting on the edge of Jehan's bed with his hand out, holding two small tablets and a glass of water in the other hand. Jehan shook his head, not liking the idea of taking tablets, they made him gag at the best of times. "Jehan. Take the tablets, please." Courf said sternly. Jehan pouted, sheepishly taking the tablets from the other and popping them into his mouth, immediately downing the water and pulling a face of disgust. "Good boy. Now get some sleep…"

"You're not going to leave, are you?" Jehan asked sleepily, he was like a small child when ill.

Courf chuckled, shaking his head at him, "No, I won't leave. Sleep, my little poet."

Those were the last words Jehan heard before he drifted into a deep sleep, snuggled up under the numerous blankets. He had completely forgotten about the numerous poems written about Courf thrown around his room, of course unnamed, but still there for Courf to read whilst Jehan slept.