Les Mis doesn't belong to me! Also, sorry this is quite a short/bad chapter, I've been super busy and my 'creative juices' weren't flowing- it was really hard to write! Anyway, hope you enjoy!
Sylvie Enjolras tapped the biro against her teeth in thoughtful concentration, staring intently at the notepad in her other hand. "I think we've got everything- everything for now, at least."
"He's going to want a new laptop." Jehan stated the obvious, staring patronisingly down at Enjolras' old notebook. "The moment he sees what's in the shops these days? This will look like a piece of junk."
"Well, it will have to do for now. And I bought this brick of a phone from the place down the street, just for temporary purposes, so he can call and text people. We've got the bed?"
"All set up in the second bedroom," Jehan nodded in confirmation, and Sylvie adorned her list with a dramatic tick. "Made up in his favourite bedding- and the majority of his books are out of storage, at least, the ones I know he'll want."
"Excellent." Sylvie grinned. "Now, did you get the coffee beans? You know my brother won't drink instant."
"Two packs," Jehan replied instantly, in the manner of a soldier affirming his general. "And I checked the lease on the flat. It lasts two more months, so he should be able to move back in after that."
"There's no way to make it shorter?" Sylvie asked, frowning. "I love my brother, but I know he'll hate having to live with us, be all 'dependent' and stuff."
"Sorry, Sylvie. It's a contract." Jehan replied. "Still, by renting out the apartment, you've saved up a good amount of money for your brother, while he hasn't been working."
"Thank you so much, for everything," Sylvie burst out, dropping her clipboard onto the bed and throwing her arms around Jehan. "You're the best."
Jehan wrapped her up in response, tangling his fingers in the ends of her hair. He pulled back and looked into her eyes for a moment, before softly kissing her. "What time is it," She asked him, smiling against his lips. He checked his watch.
"Ten-thirty." He announced, eyebrows raised, and Sylvie squealed.
"Let's go and get my brother!"
Throwing the front door to their house open, Cosette plonked her shopping bags straight down in the hallway and moved back to let Grantaire in. At once, as though they could detect his presence, there came a clattering of footsteps on the stairs.
"Uncle R!" Henri squealed, projecting himself off the fourth step and violently into Grantaire's arms. The rest of the children followed a similar chorus, Jean pummelling his fists into R's chest, Isabelle wrapping herself around his legs like a possessive boa constrictor. Marius soon appeared from the kitchen, looking frazzled and clutching a recipe book.
"Hello, Marius, Minions," Grantaire greeted them cordially, grinning in Marius' direction as he peeled the latter's children off of himself.
"Hey, honey, how's the cake going?" Cosette asked her husband, heading towards the kitchen, as Marius attempted to subtly block her path.
"Erm- not so good, yeah, I don't think you should go in there- 'Sette!"
"What is it? What have you done," She demanded, eyes narrow.
"Seriously- it's not that bad, just let me clean it- I don't get why Bahorel couldn't make the cake, anyway."
"Bahorel's making everything else, we couldn't dump all the food on hi- MARIUS!"
Grantaire laughed as he followed the couple into their kitchen. It was Cosette's pride and joy- all state-of-the-art appliances, marble countertops, sleek built-in dishwashers and hobs. Currently, it looked like the scene of a mass bombing.
Flour had scattered itself over every available surface, and at least four mixing bowls containing cake batter in various stages of completion were littered haphazardly about the room. There was a small flood pooling underneath the kitchen sink, which had been left running and begun to overflow, and a pungent scent of burning filled the air. On top of the oven, a charred sponge cake sat forlornly.
"WHY THE HELL IS THERE A DEAD BIRD ON THE KITCHEN TABLE!" Cosette shrieked, her hand over her mouth.
"Erm- the cat brought it in," Marius replied feebly.
"We don't have a cat," Cosette said murderously.
"Fine- it was Henri. He found it in the garden, got all sentimental and wants to bury it."
"Put it outside or put it in the bin. That is absolutely disgusting. This is a health code violation, Jesus Christ, mon dieu-"
"Mama! Don't put Pierre in the bin!" A little voice squealed, and Henri rocketed into the kitchen, grabbed the bird off the table and shot out of the patio doors into the back garden.
"Don't put those hands in your mouth!" Cosette cried after him, furiously anti-bacterial spraying every surface in a four-metre radius. "Okay, change of plan," She muttered angrily, once she was finished. "Since Marius is clearly incapable of looking after our children and our household, I'll stay here and clean up, and make the cake. Marius, you go over to Sylvie's with Grantaire and the decorations, and help set up for tonight."
"I'm not going," Grantaire said immediately.
"What are you saying? Of course you are," Cosette replied shortly. "Don't give me any of that 'wrong timing' bullshit. You need to talk to him, R. Don't tell me after all this time, you're still afraid of him."
"Um.. I'm still afraid of him?"
"You're worse than the children. Go on, go, set up for the party. You're going and that's final. Or I'll ground you." Grantaire grinned, and Marius set the cookbook down, looking relieved. Cosette's mood had improved, and he was off cake/childcare duty. It was looking like he would get away with this one. "Oh, and Marius, don't forget to pick up Feuilly on the way over!"
"I won't! Love you, darling," He kissed her quickly on the cheek, and Grantaire watched the display of affection between them with admiration. Despite Marius' general inadequacy, Cosette still thought he was the greatest human being to ever walk this Earth. That, Grantaire thought, was true love.
By the time they finally arrived at Sylvie's apartment (Feuilly had a situation with the banner he had lovingly hand-crafted and spent about an hour having an existential crisis, refusing to get in the car), it was late afternoon and Marius was freaking out.
"There's so much to do! Sylvie and Jehan said they can only keep him away until six thirty, and it's four now- Bahorel hasn't even arrived with the food, and god knows the situation on Ep, Combeferre and the alcohol they were meant to be bringing- thank god Chetta's been by to set up the music, that's all I can say."
"Marius, be calm," Grantaire mumbled softly, plonking the bags of 'welcome home' banners and balloons down on the floor, and sinking into an armchair. "We've got time. See if there's a six pack in the fridge?"
Feuilly whacked him upside the head. "Now is not the time for relaxation and casual drinking! I must arrange my banner. I'm worried the initial tear may have resurfaced in transit-" As he wandered off, muttering something about eleven hours of hard work, Grantaire fished around in the nearest bag and brought out a pack of brightly coloured balloons.
"Right, I'll blow these up, you bluetack all those tacky glittery banners Cosette insisted on getting all around the walls. Did she get anything red, white and blue? You know what Enjolras is like."
"Um- I think there's some bunting in here- and all the food is going to follow that colour scheme. Red, white and blue icing on the cake, tomato in the white bread sandwiches, those crisps that come in the blue packets- red and blue twizzlers, skittles with only the red and blue ones picked out, ice cream with blueberries and raspberries, white chocolate tiffin with cranberries-"
"Thankyou, Marius," Grantaire said sarcastically, "For your life story. Look at all the time you've wasted!"
Marius gave an effeminate shriek and started frantically warming blue tack between his fingers. Grantaire sighed and began to blow up balloons. If he wasn't allowed to drink alcohol, maybe he could achieve some oxygen-deficiency-induced high.
Four or so red, blue and white balloons later, the door burst open and Bahorel clattered in, arms laden with carrier bags and trays balanced precariously on top of eachother.
"Out of the way, out of the way!" He called, in his best diva voice. "I've got rapidly melting ice cream here- let me through, let me to the freezer-"
"Sorry about this," The young girl following him mumbled apologetically, a tin of something balanced on one arm as she reached back to shut the door behind her. "Preparations going well?"
"Swimmingly, my dear Louisa," Grantaire greeted her charmingly. "Looking beautiful as ever, I see."
"Lay off," Feuilly called warningly from the other room, before walking through and going to place a kiss on his girlfriend's cheek. "Cheri, has Bahorel been bothering you?"
"Not so much bothering as amusing," Louisa replied with a laugh. "He's been darting around the kitchen like a housewife on crack all day."
Marius gave a sudden hectic belly laugh at that, and almost fell off his stepladder.
"Don't let our dear Enjolras hear you say such things," Came the crooning voice of Éponine, letting herself in whilst carrying at least five boxes of beer. "Say, 'Housewife or househusband. Don't reinforce stereotypical social norms."
Combeferre, coming behind her laden with boxes of beer, wine and spirits, nodded in agreement.
'God, I've missed him." Said Feuilly, grinning like an idiot at Éponine's comment. "I can't wait for you to meet him." He added to Louisa.
"I'm starting to worry I may have a little competition in him," Louisa replied, eyebrows raised, and Feuilly winked suggestively.
Combeferre was doing a quick head count of the room, his head bobbing slightly with every person he counted. "We're almost all here, and it's nearly six. Everything's looking good- the speakers are in, we just need D.J Chetta to arrive."
"Bossuet probably fell down a drain on the way here," Marius remarked, and Grantaire raised his eyebrows at the irony of it. Marius, commenting on someone's luck- as if on cue, Marius leaned back to admire his handywork, and toppled off the stepladder and onto the floor with a thud.
"Don't tell Cosette about this," He warned them all with narrow eyes, once he had dusted himself off, and attempted to regain what little dignity remained.
Soon Musichetta, Joly and Bossuet arrived, Musichetta carrying a box of music, and Joly and Bossuet balancing identical toddlers on their hips. The twins delighted at the sight of the balloons, and were even more excited when Cosette and her brood arrived, bringing with her an impressive and beautifully decorated three-tier cake. She immediately began to help Bahorel arrange food on the dining table and kitchen island, while Musichetta got the music going, and Éponine lined up the alcohol on the bar and beers started cracking open. By the time six thirty had come and gone, everyone glancing at their watches, Grantaire was curled up in an armchair with a beer in his hand and Sylvie's cat on his lap. Lamarque had been just a kitten- his and Enjolras', a drunken idea they'd had that had ended up bringing them closer than they had ever been. When Enjolras had his accident, Grantaire found it too hard to have Lamarque around- stupid cat, with it's stupid name that Enjolras chose and the cat smell that reminded him of when it had lingered on Enjolras' clothes. So Sylvie had taken him, but now- with things so different, with Enjolras recovered- he didn't mind curling up with his old friend.
"So, R," Bossuet asked, from the sofa next to him. One of his daughters was sitting on his lap, drawing all over his face in makeup. "Is Adele coming?"
Grantaire winced. "I didn't think it would be a good idea, not yet. Neither did she. It would be too much of shock- for more than one obvious reason."
Bossuet nodded, looking as serious as a man can with curled eyelashes and fuchsia lipstick smeared over his cheeks. "Wise move."
Just then, the shrill ringing of the doorbell resounded out through the apartment. Everyone immediately silenced, and Enjolras' voice could be heard, clearly, distinctly, so close it pained him- "Why are you ringing the bell, it's your house-"
There was a loud click, as Sylvie turned the key in the lock.
