"There's another room upstairs… that is, if you'll be needing two bedrooms." -Mrs. Hudson, Sherlock

"Are you done yet?" Grantaire, toothbrush in hand, yelled, banging on the bathroom door.

"I told you, I'm exfoliating!" Came Jehan's shout, "It could be upwards of an hour." Grantaire made a show of producing an obnoxiously loud groan before deciding to try the one upstairs. On the stairs he ran into Combeferre—

"Do not go up there. Bossuet got food poisoning from that sketchy Mexican place he took Joly and Musichetta to last night."

Fuck. Grantaire turned on his heels and stormed into the kitchen. Eponine, who was in the midst of creating another one of her god-awful culinary atrocities, smiled as he came in. "Hey, 'Taire! You're just in time! I'm almost done with my coconut chicken curry!"

"As much as I'd love to stay around, unfortunately I've got a date in ten minutes." He said, lifting up his toothbrush.

"Oh… I hope you weren't planning on using the kitchen sink."

Grantaire was almost afraid to ask — "Why?"

"It's filled with fat and sundry chicken organs."

"Holy fuck Eponine have you ever heard of sanitation?" He couldn't believe that he of all people was concerned about this.

She just scoffed and went back to stirring the pot of awful-smelling, bubbling liquid.

Grantaire sighed angrily as he stalked out of the kitchen and opened the door to his room, only to find a small man rifling through his alcohol stash.

"What are you doing in my room?" Grantaire whispered, his voice quaking with anger.

Joly's head snapped up. "Oh, hi, Grantaire! I hope you don't mind, you see, we were out of rubbing alcohol, so I just thought —"

"GET. OUT. OF. MY. ROOM."

"Got it," Joly squeaked, dropping the bottle of vodka in the process and running out of the room.

Grantaire flopped onto his bed and let out a pained groan into his pillow. His door creaked open. "Go away."

Footsteaps approached. "R? Is everything alright?"

Oh fuck. Enjolras is early. "What? Oh, yeah, fine, everything's fine!" Grantaire gushed, sitting up and straightening his flannel button-down. Enjolras saw through his lie and sat down on his bed next to him and curled his arm around his shoulders. Grantaire leaned into his shoulder.

"Alright, tell me what's up."

"I can't take it anymore! I love Les Amis, but honest to God if I have to spend one more day living in this hellhole I am going to lose it."

"You know, you could always come stay in my apartment." Enjolras offered, burying his face into his boyfriend's greasy brown curls.

"You're a God among men, Apollo." Grantaire said, leaning up to kiss Enjolras's lips lightly. "I'll go pack a bag."

"Well, you could do that, but I was thinking of a more… permanent solution." He said. Grantaire smiled.

"That sounds perfect."