/notes at end/

Enjolras was trying to study. Despite it being only week 3, he had what his professor called a 'pre-midterm' (and his classmates called 'hell on earth') in two days, and since this was his first chance to cement his grade in the class, he wanted to be sure he knew his stuff. Unfortunately, Courfeyrac and Combeferre had other ideas. Courfeyrac pounced on him as he was finishing his second textbook read-through, deftly replacing the highlighter in his hand with a shot glass, and instead of arguing the merits of academic excellence as he usually did, Combeferre merely produced a bottle of whiskey and shrugged with a forlorn expression. Enjolras mentally berated himself for not listening to all those warnings on the internet about living with one's best friends before resigning himself to a completely unproductive night.

"Okay guys," he said. "What's wrong?"

"What's wrong?" Courfeyrac threw out his arms in a dramatic gesture. "Love! Love will be the death of us all!"

Oh. That would definitely explain it. Courfeyrac fell in love on almost a monthly basis, and he was always extremely dramatic about it. But that didn't explain Combeferre's complicity in the matter. Enjolras turned to him with a questioning look.

"He's right." Combeferre poured himself a shot of whiskey and downed it. "Everything's terrible."

"Terrible," echoed Courfeyrac.

"If everyone is like us, the world as we know it is doomed."

"Doomed!"

"How can I live when life itself is like gazing into the abyss?"

"The very abyss, I'm telling you!"

Combeferre's voice crescendoed impressively. "The sun has set for me. Goodbye to love, goodbye to happiness, goodbye to hope forever!"

"Forever," intoned Courfeyrac. Both of them stared intently at Enjolras.

"What can we do?"

"Um." Enjolras blinked. This was so not his domain. "Well, have you tried, um, talking to them?"

"Talking to them, he says!" Courfeyrac pointed at him. "You know nothing!"

"Nothing," repeated Combeferre, apparently taking his turn as the human echo.

Enjolras was rather insulted. "I know some things!"

"But can you help us with our love problems?"

"Maybe!" Combeferre and Courfeyrac brightened up. "But first, what are the love problems?" Combeferre and Courfeyrac groaned as a unit and put their heads in their hands.

"You don't even know!"

"Well, no. That's why I'm asking."

"Okay." Courfeyrac poured himself a drink and adopted the pose that meant he was about to engage in a lengthy monologue. "See, it's this way. I'm a pretty fun guy, right? I can talk and stuff. And when I see a cute person, I can work my smooth moves and get somewhere. Most of the time, I mean. It's like my superpower or something, ya know? But then today, I see the most perfect and wonderful person in the entire world, like this ethereal being of light and beauty comes into my life, and of course I wanna charm their weirdly large knitted cat sweater off, right? But I couldn't do it, man! I froze up! Like, you don't even understand, you guys. This never happens to me. I'm in love, and I can't do anything about it, because I've been replaced by a doppelgänger. A zombie Courf, you guys!"

"I don't think zombies and doppelgängers are the same thing," interjected Combeferre, whose love of accuracy didn't seem to be diminished by either his sorrows or his inebriation.

"Whatever! Do you expect me to be thinking straight? My soul is on fire here!"

Enjolras pondered this information for a second. Then something clicked.

"Wait, are you talking about Jehan?"

"Jehan. Even their name is beautiful!"

Enjolras took this as affirmation. "Well, that's not too bad!" he said brightly. "They're in our group now, so you'll get to see them all the time, and talk to them and stuff. It'll be fine!"

"That's what I've been trying to say," said Combeferre glumly. "At least he has a chance."

"You have a chance too," said Courfeyrac. "At least you can behave normally around her!"

"Who's her?" asked Enjolras ungrammatically. Courfeyrac tutted at him.

"You really haven't noticed?"

"Uh… no?"

Courfeyrac lowered his voice dramatically. "It's Eponine! 'Ferre's in love with none other than our favorite biologist!"

Enjolras was stunned. "Really?"

"Yeah." Combeferre looked uncomfortable. "I've liked her for awhile now."

"But he's convinced that she doesn't feel the same way," put in Courfeyrac. "Which I think is ridiculous, because this is 'Ferre we're talking about! Who wouldn't want a piece of that?"

"Eponine wouldn't," said Combeferre unhappily.

Courfeyrac poured him another drink, while Enjolras pondered deeply. Had Eponine said anything about whom she liked, if she did indeed like anyone? He didn't think so. She wasn't the type to discuss her own feelings. Even when she'd liked Marius, she'd kept fairly quiet about it, only making allusion to her crush in passing, and not bringing up the topic of love at all if she could help it, unless it meant she could tease him about Grantaire. He thought there was definitely a chance that she liked someone now, and there was no reason that someone shouldn't be Combeferre.

"How do you know?" he asked. "Has she said anything?"

"No, and that's the problem!" Combeferre's speech was becoming slightly slurred, and Enjolras wondered just how many drinks he'd had. "She treats me just like everyone else, you know? I mean, she talks to me like she talks to you! And I don't wanna be you, man. I wanna be me. But every day it's just like 'oh 'Ferre did you read the latest issue of Scientific American? 'Ferre do you wanna talk about the patriarchy? 'Ferre, let's talk about physics instead of feelings because we're completely platonic friends and there's absolutely no hope of a chemical reaction happening between us.' There's no hope, man! No hope at all!"

Enjolras decided not to question Combeferre's choice to describe romance as a "chemical reaction". Instead, he pulled out his phone. "Do you want me to text her?" he asked. "I can ask her straight up if she likes you or not."

"No way!" Combeferre snatched the phone out of his hand and (unfortunately) stuffed it down his pants. "That's not the way we do things 'round here!"

"Why not?" Enjolras was confused. "Wouldn't it be better to know?"

"No!"

"Think of it this way," said Courfeyrac. "Would you want us to text Grantaire right now and ask him if he likes you?"

"I already know he doesn't, so that's– wait." Enjolras felt his face heat up. "Why are we assuming that… I mean, I would never… Grantaire would never… " he trailed off, red in the face, and Courfeyrac cooed happily.

"What'd I tell you, 'Ferre?"

"You guys were talking about this?"

"Oh yeah." Combeferre pointed at him vaguely. "You and R, you guys just, you really just… it's real cute. Real cute."

"No it's not!"

"Listen." Courfeyrac looked at him sternly and laid a hand on his shoulder. "You're the only one of us who has a decent shot at getting some lovin' right this minute. So do it. Ya gotta do it for the rest of us, man."

"Take one for the team," mumbled Combeferre.

"Th-that's, I would never, I mean m-me and Grantaire, uh…" Enjolras realized he was stuttering, and decided to stop while he was ahead. He tossed his head and preserved as dignified a silence as he could while his friends laughed uproariously. Really, these two were the worst.

"Listen guys," said Courfeyrac, when he'd finally calmed down. "We're all in the same shitty-ass boat here– yes, you too Enj, don't interrupt– so I've made the executive decision that we should all act as each other's wingmen should the need arise. Cuz that's what friends do and stuff."

"We're more than friends," interposed Combeferre, affectionately curling himself around Enjolras like a drunk house cat. "We're, we're brothers, man. Like, we're fuckin' family. You guys, you're like if we were all zygotes and we just, we…"

"Okay 'Ferre." Enjolras patted him on the head. "And sure. I'll be a wingman for you guys. Okay?" Courfeyrac squealed with glee and jumped up beside him to join the cuddle pile.

"You're wonderful!" he sang. "I love you, I love you! Not as much as I love Jehan. But almost."

"Wow, thanks."

Courfeyrac wasn't listening. "Let's all get really drunk and watch Disney movies. Okay? Yes. Good."

Enjolras looked sadly at his abandoned textbook. Then he looked at his two best friends, with their puppy eyes and palpable affection. He sighed.

"Fine, but not all night, okay?"

"Don't worry," said Courfeyrac. "We'll probably be passed out by 3."

This wasn't as reassuring as Courfeyrac probably intended it to be, but Enjolras decided he could deal with it. He loved his friends more than anything; studying could wait just a little more.

/

After dinner the next day, the current members of the ABC congregated in Cosette's dorm to discuss plans. Her ridiculously wealthy and indulgent father had somehow managed to finagle a luxury suite for her use alone, and it was one of the group's favorite places to meet. Since Cosette was naturally tidy, and was thoughtful enough to stock large amounts of hand sanitizer and disinfectant wipes, even Joly was satisfied, and many of the others enjoyed relaxing on the fluffy princess furniture scattered about the room. Enjolras curled up on the enormous pink love seat, then got the shock of his life when Grantaire settled down next to him. Something of his surprise must have showed, because Grantaire looked at him and asked quickly,

"Is this okay?"

"Yeah!" Enjolras wondered if he'd sounded too eager. Probably. "Uh, I mean if you want to, that's cool, whatever," he amended, with his best Eponine impression. Grantaire grinned at him.

"You're blushing."

Oh crap. "Well, that's because I, uh…"

"Don't worry bro, it's cute."

Enjolras thought his brain must be shorting out. Did I hear right? I think I heard right. What should he say in reply? Something witty, something clever, something borderline flirtatious.

"Just like campaign finance regulations!" he blurted out, then froze in horror. Had he really just said that? Judging from Courfeyrac's nearby muffled snickers, he had. Grantaire stared at him perplexedly.

"That's…"

"Okay, guys!" Marius called, and Enjolras could have gladly kissed that blessed doofus for his interruption. "Can we decide what to do?" Cosette pulled a manila folder out of her desk.

"I have our notes and stuff here."

"Notes– that's a music pun," said Joly happily. Bossuet giggled. Marius looked confused.

"We need at least one new person for each part, right?" spoke up Combeferre. "But how big do we want our group to be?"

"Not that big," said Eponine. "I mean, quality over quantity."

"A big group could sound nice!" Marius looked from one person to the other. "Right?"

"Theoretically, I guess."

"Let's find the people we definitely want, and we'll go from there," said Courfeyrac. "If it turns out we want a lot of people, that's fine, and if not, that's fine too. But we can cross that bridge when we come to it."

Cosette nodded, and opened up the folder. "Okay, so Ep and Chetta and I managed to cross out some people already, because they just didn't fit with our values."

Enjolras looked up. "Oh good, did you get rid of the guy who sang about the glories of communism?"

Cosette laughed. "Yes we did, just for you."

"What about that racist white guy?"

"Which one?"

"Fair point."

Musichetta took out about five copies of the audition list, now featuring several notes, and passed them around. Grantaire politely gave his paper to Joly, then scooted closer to Enjolras to share with him. His shirt was soft, and he smelled nice, and Enjolras thought his heart was going to stop beating. He was vaguely aware of the others complaining about Communism Man and the proliferation of racist creeps on campus, but all he could focus on was the warm pressure of Grantaire's body against his side, and the soft sound of his breathing, close against his ear. Would it be weird if he nestled up just a little closer, maybe leaned his head against Grantaire's shoulder? People platonic-cuddled all the time; he and Courfeyrac and Combeferre had done so just last night. But he didn't want to be the type of person who forced his unwanted attentions onto people just because he found them attractive. That was unacceptable for everyone. Still, he didn't move away, and (half to his surprise) Grantaire didn't either, even though he must have finished reading that paper several times over by now. Gradually, Enjolras forced himself to calm down and listen to what the others were talking about.

"Remember guys," Courfeyrac was saying anxiously, "We're definitely bringing in Jehan, okay!"

"Well obviously," said Eponine. "I can't wait to sing with them."

"I've never heard such a beautiful voice." Courfeyrac's expression was dreamy. "Do angels walk among us? I think they must."

"I think so too," Enjolras heard Grantaire mutter, and was he looking at him? Before he could figure it out, Courfeyrac spoke up again.

"Did you guys think I sounded awkward when I talked to them? I wasn't that bad, right?"

"Are you still on this?" Eponine sounded weary. "No Courf, for the last time, you were a charming little cherub. They probably love you. I promise."

"But are you sure?"

"What did you think of that big guy who sang and yelled at everyone?" spoke up Joly. "I thought he could work."

"Oh yeah," Bossuet nodded. "He was funny. I liked him."

"His rhythm wasn't so great, but he would probably be fine if he was working with us." Combeferre said thoughtfully. "I think he could do okay as a bass."

"Yeah," said Grantaire. "It would be fun to sing with him. Let's bring him into the fold."

"The vocal fold!" Joly treated himself to a round of applause for his pun and Musichetta threw her paper at him.

"You're such a dork."

Meanwhile, Enjolras was perusing the audition list, looking for a name that would bring salvation to the group. "What about that guy Feuilly?" he asked. "I liked his tone."

"I did too, actually," said Grantaire. "And I thought his song choice was pretty good."

"I liked it too!"

Grantaire smiled at him. "Then it's meant to be."

"You could ask the rest of us, ya know," said Musichetta, as Enjolras tried to remember how to breathe. "But I mean, sure. He was really good. And super cute."

"Are you angling for a third boyfriend?" teased Cosette. Joly and Bossuet looked slightly alarmed. Musichetta rolled her eyes.

"Nah, he's not my type. You can have him."

Now Marius looked alarmed. He looked at Cosette intently, as if trying to figure out if she would make good on this offer, but she didn't seem to notice.

"So, that's a yes on Feuilly," she said. "Speaking of people with F names, what did you guys think of Floréal?"

"She sang a song from Repo and somehow made it work," said Courfeyrac. "I'd say that gives her an automatic in."

"She said she was double-majoring in art and mechanical engineering, though," pointed out Combeferre. "Is she going to have time to rehearse with us?"

"I think so. She works really fast and is good at prioritizing her time." Grantaire nodded decisively. "I think it would be okay." Everyone turned to stare at him. "What? I had a class with her last quarter."

"That's a provisional okay then?" Cosette looked hopeful. "I'd really like to have her sing with me and Chetta. She was the only soprano-ish person I remember who didn't do weird things with her vowels."

"Sure, we'll ask her, and see if she's up to it." Eponine made a note on her paper. "Oh hey, that's one for each section, isn't it?"

"No it's not," said Bossuet mournfully. "You forgot the baritones."

"Oh yeah."

Everyone was quiet for a second as they combed through the list, trying to find someone, but coming up short. No one even remotely decent fit into that range. Finally, Grantaire made a face and spoke up.

"I can't believe I'm saying this, but do you want me to ask 'Parnasse? He would probably do it."

"Wait, really?" Until now, Enjolras hadn't even realized he was an option. "He was good! I think he could do pretty well!"

"You think so?" Grantaire seemed to be considering this. "Okay then, sure. If it's okay with everyone, I'll ask him." Eponine nodded her affirmation, and everyone else followed her lead. "Great, it's settled then. One baritone, coming right up!"

Enjolras smiled at Grantaire, and in a burst of confidence, squeezed his hand quickly. "You're so good at getting things done." Grantaire looked startled, but, Enjolras was happy to note, not unpleased.

"Oh, that's no problem, uh, y-you…"

"You guys!" Marius ran over and jumped on both of them, completely ruining the moment, and all of Enjolras's previous goodwill towards him vanished. "I just have one reservation about all of this. Bahorel and Montparnasse are super scary, and I don't know if I can play for you guys if they're in there with you!"

"Aww, what's so scary about them?" asked Grantaire. "Bahorel seems like a nice enough dude, and I can personally assure you that Montparnasse is nothing but a fashion-obsessed idiot."

"But I saw him beat up some freshmen the other day!"

Grantaire frowned. "Really? I told him to stop doing that."

"Marius, you were scared of me when we first met," said Enjolras. "And now look!"

"No, I'm still scared of you," Marius replied. Enjolras was hurt.

"Why on earth would you be scared of me?"

Marius was probably about to list some reasons, but Grantaire laughed, pulling them both into a hug and ruffling their hair. "Trust me, sunshine, half the campus is probably scared of you. But that's a good thing."

"No it's not," protested Enjolras, but since he was so preoccupied with the fact that Grantaire's arm was around him, it came out a little breathless, and not convincing at all. He was gearing up to rectify this mistake, when Courfeyrac came bouncing over, shouting,

"Cuddle pile!"

In less time than seemed reasonable, everyone had joined in, even Eponine, and Enjolras had an entirely different reason to feel breathless. Bossuet and Joly were both sitting directly on top of him. Still, he reflected, there was no other group of people by whom he'd rather be squished, and right now, there was no place he'd rather be.

/*

By the time Tuesday rolled around, Jehan was beginning to regret her decision to join the ABC. Sure, everyone had seemed nice at the auditions, but that might have been just a public persona, and anyway, walking alone into a room full of complete strangers, no matter how nice they were, was grounds for panic on any account. She spent the whole day in a flutter of nervousness, trying to decide whether or not to go, weighing the pros and cons, and not getting anywhere. It was almost a relief when her last lecture finished, and she could finally head back to her dorm to ruminate in private. As she slowly walked back up the hill to Dykstra Hall, she was so deep in thought that she missed the approaching figure of an enormous fratboy-looking fellow and crashed headlong into him, falling to the ground with an embarrassingly high-pitched squeak.

"Oh shit!" The fratboy dropped down next to her to help her gather up her papers. "I didn't see you there, little one! Are you okay?"

"I-I'm fine." Damn it, why did she have to stutter all the time? She ignored the fratboy's offered hand and jumped to her feet by herself. "Um, thanks for picking this stuff up. I, uh, I'll just be going now."

Without waiting for an answer, she took back her papers and walked away quickly before she could make herself look any more ridiculous. Why did this always have to happen? It was getting so that something embarrassing happened every time she went outside. Not that she went outside that much nowadays. She had always been timid and anxious and prone to panic attacks, but she had managed to keep a fairly good handle on herself, and had even found a decently-sized group of friends in high school. Now, though, she could barely bring herself to leave her dorm, even to go to class, and even then, she sometimes had to leave and hide somewhere quiet so her nerves would calm down. Encounters like the one she'd just had were probably fairly commonplace, and definitely nothing to worry about, but she couldn't stop replaying the interaction in her head, making it worse with every run-through. I'm so stupid and awkward, she thought as she climbed the stairs to her floor. Everyone I meet hates me, that's perfectly clear, and I'm sure that guy thought I was completely ridiculous… That settled it. She couldn't go to the meeting tonight. It would just be another disaster, and nothing good could come of it. She made up her mind to stay in her dorm all night and watch Netflix. Not even you could fuck that up, right? As soon as she entered her room, though, she realized this resolution would have to be abandoned. Sitting unconcernedly on her bed were her roommate and her boyfriend, and oh god did they have their shoes on?

"Oh hey, look who's back." The boyfriend looked up at her with a sleazy grin. "Wanna join us, cutie?"

"Ew, no." snapped her roommate before Jehan could say anything. "I don't want her anywhere near us. What are you even doing here?"

"I, um, I live here…" That wasn't good, she sounded weak and scared. She raised her chin and tried to think strong thoughts. "What are you doing on my bed?" Her roommate gave her a nasty smirk.

"We're fucking."

Please don't let that be true. "Why can't you use your bed? It's right there."

"Yeah, but it's dirty. You might be a freak, but at least you're clean."

Jehan had to admit, there was a sort of twisted logic in that. She didn't mind mess or clutter– she was a poet, after all– but she hated dirt, and cleaning things helped her feel less anxious sometimes. Her roommate, on the other hand, was a complete slob, and her boyfriend, who seemed to spend most of his time there, was even worse. And since neither of them had any regard for anyone else, it made sense that they were so happy to invade her space and use her belongings all the time.

"Um, can you leave? We're kind of busy here." Her roommate snapped her fingers at her condescendingly. "I think even you should be able to see that."

"Unless you wanna hop on up here with us. My offer still stands," added the boyfriend, leering at her.

"N-no, I'm just, I'm just leaving," stuttered Jehan. She turned around and practically ran into the hall, not bothering to put down her bag. It probably wasn't good to give into them like that, but she didn't think she was physically capable of doing anything else. The truth was, she was terrified of them both, and running away was apparently the only thing she could do anymore. Sadly, she remembered the days when she'd been able to hold her own on any grounds, and had been the first in line to protect her friends, or herself. I was a real badass back then, she thought wistfully. What happened?

Sighing softly, she wandered out of the building without a clear plan as to where she was going, and before she knew it, she was standing outside the front steps of Kerckhoff Hall. Maybe this was her subconscious mind's way of telling her to go to rehearsal after all. It would certainly be a way to kill time until it was safe to go back into her room. Since she still had about half an hour until she had to decide for sure, she decided to go inside and get a coffee at the cafe while she waited. Maybe she could find a quiet study room, or if she was lucky, even a free table inside the coffeeshop. It was already almost six, and since many people were already off campus for the day, there might very well be an empty corner for her. When she entered the building, she saw that this was the case. The coffeeshop was almost empty, except for a few stressed-looking computer science nerds desperately trying to fix their code, and a boy in a philosophy department shirt aggressively third-wheeling his unhappy-looking friends and talking loudly about Kant. Jehan was tempted to walk over and correct him, since some of the points he was mentioning were blatantly wrong, but she quelled her inner philosopher and went to order her coffee instead.

Since she had no homework to do, and her course material was too simple for any real studying, Jehan instead pulled out her notebook to work on some fashion designs. She wasn't an artist by any means, although she did find the study of art history fascinating, but she'd always had a deep and abiding interest in fashion, and had taught herself to sketch models over the years. People were usually surprised to learn this, since her own sartorial stylings were rather eccentric, and she had never shown anyone her designs if she could help it. She was concentrating on shading a particularly tricky line, when a sudden voice made her jump.

"Sorry to bother you, but is your name Jehan?"

"Uh, what?" Usually, random people didn't come up to talk to her, and they definitely didn't know her name. "Sorry, who are you?"

"Oh, I'm sorry!" Her addressee looked genuinely apologetic. "I guess that was super creepy, wasn't it? My name's Feuilly! I'm one of the new members of the ABC."

"Really?" Jehan considered him for a second. He did have a sort of artistic savoir-faire about him, and he seemed to be exactly the kind of person who would join a university chorus group for fun. There was an air of respectability about him as well, and with his ginger hair and freckles, he almost looked like the big brother that Jehan had never had. On impulse, she decided to trust him. "I'm Jehan," she said, extending her hand. "It's nice to meet you. Um, do you want to sit down or something?" Feuilly grasped her hand with an enthusiastic grin.

"I totally do! I'm just going to go grab a coffee so I don't fall asleep all over the table."

Jehan smiled in spite of herself. "Okay! I'll be here." She carefully closed her notebook and returned her colored pencils to their case, but didn't put them back in her bag. She thought that would look rude, and she wasn't eager to offend an ABC member before she'd even gotten to rehearsal. Before long, Feuilly was back, carrying an enormous iced black coffee.

"This is my third one today," he announced, settling himself down at the table. "I'm pretty sure my blood is 90% caffeine by now."

"Why do you drink so much?" Jehan wanted to know.

Feuilly took a long drink. "Yeah, that's the stuff! Well, you see, I sleep about three hours a night if I'm lucky, so this is my only way to stay awake during the day. You should see me during exam weeks! It's impressive." He took another sip. "Did you know that iced coffee has more caffeine than regular coffee? And blonde roast has more than dark roast."

Jehan was intrigued. "Why is that?"

"Between you and me," Feuilly lowered his voice. "I have no idea."

Jehan giggled. She couldn't help but feel at ease around this man. But there was something she had to know. "By the way, how did you recognize me?" she asked. "I didn't see you at the auditions."

"Oh yes, well." Feuilly looked slightly embarrassed. "See, I was curious about the group, and who the members were, so I joined the Facebook group after I got in and stalked everyone's profile. I hope you don't think that was terribly invasive."

"Oh no, not at all!" Jehan shook her head. That was the sort of thing that she might do. "Um, so who else is in there?"

"Hmm." Feuilly thought for a second. "Let's see. So for the old members, there's this really beautiful blond guy who posts the most inspirational status updates I've ever seen. He seems scary, but I get the feeling he's one of those people who's really just a little rubber ducky, you know? And he has two besties that he's always talking to. One of them is a total nerd, and I love it, and the other one is basically the cutest ball of sunshine in the world. They seem like total sweethearts. Then there's this artist guy who's really funny, like I spent a questionably long time on his page just scrolling through and laughing at everything he said. His art is incredibly good, like holy crap man, ya gotta see it. And then there's this trio of people who's always together, two guys and a girl, and they seem like dorks, so even though the girl is kind of scary, I think they would get along with everyone. Then there's a sweet pastel princess girl, and a tiny witty ball-of-rage girl, and both of them are super pretty and smart. And then finally there's the accompanist, who seems really awkward, but not in a bad way or anything. I like him already."

Jehan nodded, somewhat relieved by these flattering descriptions. "And the new members?"

"There are fewer of those." Feuilly began to count on his fingers. "There's you and me, of course, and then a big fratboy with a lot of tattoos, but his page is full of kittens and craft projects and things like that, and a scarily pretty guy whose page contains nothing but selfies, but like the artistic kind with quotes and stuff, and a girl who does mechanical engineering and art and posts lots of pictures of, like airplane parts with flowers on them. She seems cool though."

"Wow." Jehan was somewhat staggered by this onslaught of information. "Do they seem nice?"

"Totally nice!" Feuilly gave her a big smile. "I think we're going to get along amazingly."

"So what about you?" Jehan pointed at him playfully. "What's your story?"

"Okay!" Feuilly took a drink of his coffee, as if preparing for a long speech. "So, I'm a third-year math major, and I'm thinking about declaring an art minor too, although I'm not sure, because that's a lot of work. But I like to be busy! Which is good, now that I mention it, because I have three jobs, and an Etsy account to maintain. That doesn't sound like that much, I know, but somehow it keeps me running back and forth so much that I barely have time to volunteer anymore!"

Jehan stared at him, flabbergasted. "How? How are you even awake right now?"

"So much coffee." Feuilly smiled serenely. "I can't actually remember the last time I went to bed while it was dark outside."

Now that Jehan looked closer, she could see that his eyes looked tired, and he was pale underneath his freckles. "Why are you joining ABC?" she asked. "Are you going to be okay? You need to rest sometime, you know!"

"I missed music, though," said Feuilly, as if that was a perfectly reasonable response. "Besides, I have a couple of hours free nowadays, now that I'm a third-year. Math majors don't have it that bad compared to everyone else. All we do are problem sets, and we write proofs instead of papers. That takes up a lot less time!"

Jehan shook her head. "You're amazing."

"Not at all," Feuilly laughed. "But I want to hear about you! Tell me your story, Jehan."

"You might think that I'm a lot less interesting than you are," Jehan warned, but Feuilly just looked intent and interested, so she went ahead. "I'm a first-year, and I love a lot of things, so it was really hard for me to pick a major, but I went with linguistics and history. Um, well, I wanted to do creative writing, or literature, or something with poetry in it, but my parents– I mean, um, well, that didn't really work out. But it's okay, because I adore my majors! Especially linguistics. I've been trying to learn lots of languages, so it's really fun to study the science of it all! I want to work at the writing center, I think, so maybe I'll go there? But I'm a little intimidated, to be honest with you. I'm from out of state, from New York, so I'm still getting used to how things are here." She paused, slightly out of breath. This was the longest statement she'd made since her audition last week.

"Wow!" Feuilly reached across the table and squeezed her hand. "You're the one who's amazing! Look at you, going so far away from home, and taking on so much in your first year. That's wonderful!"

Jehan blushed at the unexpected commendation. Really, she had no right to it, but it was so nice to hear something kind that she couldn't bring herself to speak and disabuse him of the notion. Feuilly, bless him, didn't make a show of it, and merely went on conversationally,

"So, I have a question for you. As a student of linguistics, do you have a perspective into how the dialects compare between here and your home state? Is there much of a difference?"

"Oh!" Jehan clasped her hands in delight. "What a wonderful question! You know, I actually have noticed some things. Do you really want to hear them all, though?"

"Of course!"

Jehan needed no further prompting. She was so passionate about language that her desire to talk about it and her complete lack of a conversational partner were almost painful, and she had been waiting for a moment like this for a long time. Happily, she began to outline her thoughts, and if she deviated from the exact question in her excitement, Feuilly didn't seem to notice. He was a good listener, and asked such pertinent questions that the time flew by quickly, and she was surprised to look at her phone and see that they had only one minute until rehearsal started. Feuilly immediately began to gather his things to go, but Jehan hesitated. Did she really want to go to rehearsal, even after all this? Nervousness began to overwhelm her again. Feuilly must have seen some of her consternation, because he looked at her with concern.

"Everything okay?"

"Yeah, it's just…" How could she put this without sounding ridiculous? She decided to speak and hope her brain could come up with a good answer on the fly. That had worked in the past. "I, um, I'm scared." Well, that didn't sound stupid at all. Good going, Prouvaire. Your brain is officially the worst. She looked down at the table, not wanting to meet Feuilly's eyes and see him laughing at her.

"Hey, it's okay."

What. She slowly looked up. Feuilly wasn't laughing, and he wore such a kind and reassuring expression that it almost brought tears to her eyes.

"I know it's scary to join a whole new group like this, especially since you're still getting used to the campus, and to college in general. I can imagine you must be feeling pretty overwhelmed."

Jehan nodded. She didn't trust herself to speak.

"But I really meant it when I said you're amazing," Feuilly went on. "I can already tell that you're smart and strong and super cool! You're going to do great. And you know me now, sort of, and if it makes you feel more comfortable, I promise I won't abandon you when we get in there. You won't have to face anything alone if you don't want to."

"R-really?" Jehan discreetly tried to wipe her eyes. "Are you– are you sure?"

"I'm sure."

"Thank you." She couldn't remember when she'd said those two words and meant them so sincerely. This probably wasn't anything to Feuilly, but it meant more to her than he would ever know. She gathered up her things and stood up. "I, um, I wasn't sure I wanted to go to rehearsal at all before, but I, I think I will now. Um, with you. If you don't mind."

"Don't be silly. Why would I mind?" Feuilly smiled at her warmly. "Shall we go?"

Jehan swallowed down one last lump of fear, then clenched her jaw and put her shoulders back. It was now or never. "Yeah, I'm ready," she said.

/notes/

Enjolras's thought process: cute — nice — equality — giving everyone a fair chance on the political playing field — campaign finance regulations.

Jehan is a non binary demigirl (in this story), but uses she/her pronouns for convenience. Her friends are divided on what they call her, but she really doesn't care.

**Also, Cosette lives in Hitch or Saxon or something, so she has a living room. All the standard-issue furniture is in storage, replaced with her own stuff.