Follow You, Follow Me (52831 words) by eirenical
Chapters: 11/?
Fandom: Les Misérables - All Media Types, Les Misérables - Schönberg/Boublil, Les Misérables (2012)
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Relationships: Enjolras/Grantaire, Other Relationship Tags to Be Added, Minor or Background Relationship(s), Cosette Fauchelevent/Éponine Thénardier, Joly/Bossuet Laigle/Musichetta
Characters: Grantaire (Les Misérables), Enjolras (Les Misérables), Jean "Jehan" Prouvaire, Joly (Les Misérables), Bossuet Laigle, Combeferre (Les Misérables), Courfeyrac (Les Misérables), Feuilly (Les Misérables), Éponine Thénardier, Cosette Fauchelevent, Jean Valjean, Inspector Javert, Gavroche Thénardier, Bahorel (Les Misérables)
Additional Tags: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Tumblr, Slow Build, Mistaken Identity, Anonymity, Obsessive Behaviour, Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Addiction, Angst, Self-Esteem Issues, Rating May Change, Insults

Summary:
Lately, Rebus had been posting original content - no captions, no bitingly sarcastic and brilliant tags. He'd simply been posting and letting the post speak for itself. And what he was posting… it spoke volumes.

Notes:
September 15, 2013: So, I think it's safe to say at this point that I'll be posting once a month, if that. O_o;;; I'm so sorry about that, but between work and other fic exchanges, my time for FYFM is about to be severely curtailed. :-P On the upside, at least one (if not two) of the holiday exchanges which I'm planning to participate in will be Les Mis oriented. And the other is Yuletide, so that's its own fun. ^_~

But, don't worry! I will definitely still find time to work on this story. It's my baby, at this point, and I have a vested interest in seeing it finished. ^_^


Follow You, Follow Me - Chapter 11
by eirenical (Renee-chan)


If Jehan hadn't known better, he would have sworn that Grantaire was trying to kill him. As it was, he was forced to concede that it might not be deliberate on Grantaire's part. Still, deliberate or not, Grantaire was going to be the death of him, nonetheless. His latest game with Enjolras seemed to involve taunting him as harshly and brutally as possible online while going out of his way to be kind to him in person. This would continue until Enjolras couldn't handle the strain of Rebus' taunting anymore and snapped at Grantaire, leading to a horrifically explosive argument. And beyond all reasonable expectation, Grantaire was thriving on it. Jehan, on the other hand, felt like a tightly coiled bundle of exposed nerves.

So many hidden agendas. So many lies and machinations. So much that could go wrong with even the littlest misstep… Jehan wasn't built for that kind of strain. He liked his interactions straightforward, his relationships unjumbled and uncomplicated by spite. It was one of many reasons that he kept his assignations brief and fond, extricating himself before any unpleasantness could form.

Grantaire had never been like that. It was what made being friends with him such a risk. He reveled in his baser emotions, reveled in the darkness of the human spirit in ways that Jehan preferred not to even think about, much less experience.

…which wasn't to say he didn't. Jehan had his own share of darkness, his own poetic ennui which descended upon him from time to time, the difference being that he never went out seeking it the way Grantaire did his. He didn't make it his be-all, end-all goal in life. He couldn't even imagine living that way. Yet, here he was, living right in the midst of the very kind of chaotic darkness in which Grantaire found such satisfaction… because Grantaire was living there and Jehan would not leave his side. Not now. Not when he was still needed.

Grantaire had asked Jehan to meet him that morning for breakfast - unusual enough, as Grantaire seldom rose before lunch if he had a choice in the matter - and when Jehan arrived, Grantaire was paint-smeared from his latest work and positively giddy with joy. Seeing him like that had rocked Jehan deeply. His first thought had been that it had been far too long since he'd seen Grantaire that happy… his second that he was unsure that he ever had seen Grantaire that happy.

Grantaire spent most of his time in Professor Mercado's studio these days, tinkering with some project or another - oils, acrylics, charcoals, mixed media, photography… he was like a child let loose in a candy store all but making himself sick by gorging on sweets. His other classwork was slipping, Jehan knew, with him so distracted, and there was a fevered urgency to his joy, a sense of desperation, that Jehan didn't like. It was as though Grantaire was trying to fit as much experience, as much of his newly rediscovered passion for his art, into this semester as he could… as though it was all going to be ripped away from him come springtime.

And Jehan knew the system well enough to know that that was a very realistic fear. If they couldn't find a way for Grantaire to take classes safely under his own name, either the university would take this away from him… or his parents would. And Jehan had been down that road with Grantaire before. He refused to walk it, again. He'd kill Grantaire's parents himself before he'd let them take this away from him a second time. He would. He had it in him to do it, too. Jehan knew himself well enough to know that. He was capable of murder. If it would keep Grantaire safe and sane and happy… he was capable of far worse than that. But that was his own darkness and he kept it from Grantaire, becaue it was a weight that Grantaire definitely didn't need to carry.

Jehan had somehow kept his fears from Grantaire through breakfast, walking him back to the Professor's studio before leaving for his own pursuits. Though what pursuits would be safe or worthwhile with this anxiety churning in his stomach, Jehan had no idea. And after an hour or so of aimless wandering, all he'd managed to prove was that his feet, at least, had been acquainted with Grantaire for far too long. Musichetta took one look at his face when he appeared on her threshold, ushered him inside and silently put a glass of wine down on the table in front of him. He didn't even bother to protest the assumption.

An hour later, Jehan's glass was empty and several of his journal pages were full. He didn't even bother reading them, knowing all too well what kind of poetic misery he was capable of creating when his mind wandered these particular paths, especially when it did so alcohol-assisted.

Jehan had so tuned out the world, in fact, that it wasn't until he lifted his glass and found it full, once again, that he realized he had company. Tumbled brown curls, warm brown eyes, a body that Adonis, himself, would have killed for… Jehan smiled and lifted his glass in salute to his new companion. "My thanks."

Courfeyrac flipped his tray behind his back and dipped Jehan a small bow. "My pleasure." When he straightened, his eyes took on a worried look. "You just… you looked like you could use it and that's not a normal look for you. Everything all right?"

Jehan sighed, nodded his head, then paused and shook it, instead. "No, I don't suppose it is, but it's hardly even my business, so I'm not certain I feel comfortable making it yours."

After taking a quick glance around the bar and determining that all the other customers were in no need of refills at the moment, Courfeyrac slid into the seat across from Jehan and said quietly, "This is about Grantaire, then." When Jehan shrugged and took a sip of his wine, Courfeyrac continued. "I'm not sure it's my place to say… but does it have something to do with his usurping your good name to take a class?"

Jehan's eyes narrowed, and something dark and dangerous flashed in their depths as his ever-present protective instincts rose to the fore. "And what would you know about that?"

Pinching the bridge of his nose in a gesture he'd no doubt picked up from his friend, Combeferre, Courfeyrac shook his head. "I'm sorry. I'm going about this all wrong. Bahorel is in that class with him and he came to me because he noticed Grantaire was getting bullied by some of the less sensitively inclined jocks in the class with them and he wanted to know if I knew anything about it before he got himself involved." He sighed, lowered his hand. "I'm assuming from your reaction that any usurping of your name has been done with your knowledge and blessing, and for good reason, then?" When Jehan cautiously nodded, Courfeyrac relaxed, lips stretching into a smile. "There has got to be a story behind that one."

Allowing himself to relax, as well, Jehan took another sip of his wine. "Of course, there is. But, as I said, it's barely even any of my business and the barely is only because he needed another name to accomplish the deed and mine was most conveniently at hand."

Shaking his head at Jehan's obstinacy Courfeyrac turned up his hands in defeat. "All right, all right. It's none of my beeswax and I'll stay out of it until you-" At Jehan's narrowed eyes, Courfeyrac hastily corrected, "…until Grantaire decides it is. OK?"

Mollified, but somehow unsatisfied, Jehan nodded. They sat in silence for a time after that, Jehan idly swirling his glass in one hand and flipping pages in his journal with the other, and Courfeyrac scanning the bar for anyone who might need something. Finally Jehan broke the silence with a nonsequitur of a conversational gambit. "I thought you were helping out at the Musain…?"

Courfeyrac smiled, shrugged. "Eh. I am. Figured if I was helping out Eponine, it was only fair to make the offer to Musichetta, too. She's just as short-handed come exam weeks and she doesn't even have a Gavroche to help out. And before you suggest Joly and Bossuet… let's just say that though they love her and they mean well, they're not the most useful hands in a bar. I've got the time, so I figured… why not, you know? I hang out here enough, anyway. I may as well be useful."

Jehan's drawn together brows softened at that, his face relaxing into a true smile. "You're a good man, Courfeyrac - a good man and a good friend. And I don't say that lightly."

"No… I don't imagine you do," Courfeyrac said.

Jehan was enchanted to note the light blush now staining Courfeyrac's cheeks at his praise. It was adorable, a deep contrast to his usual boasting pride. Jehan resolved to try to make him blush so more often. They sat in silence for a few minutes more, until Musichetta waved to them from the bar. Courfeyrac smiled and stood, tipping an imaginary hat in Jehan's direction. Before walking away, however, he said, "Jehan, I understand how protective you are of Grantaire." At Jehan's skeptical look, he added, "I have a friend I'm similarly protective of, so I really do get it. I just… I know how lonely it can be on that rampart by yourself, OK? If you need anything, even if it's just a glass of wine and a friendly ear to commiserate with… I'm here."

It was nearly another week before Jehan got up the courage to take advantage of that open offer for his own sake, and it took another week and a panicked Grantaire climbing up one side of him and down the other while he fretted over Professor Mercado's gentle suggestion that he start a portfolio for testing up to the next level classes, to take advantage of Courfeyrac's offer of trust on his behalf, as well.

It turned out to be one of the best decisions Jehan ever made. Because Courfeyrac proved to have not only a vastly sympathetic ear… but a solution to the problem. He introduced Jehan to Bahorel… and to Feuilly. And once they'd hammered out a tentative plan between them, for the first time in years, Jehan allowed himself to believe that it really might all turn out all right.


Enjolras couldn't get out of class fast enough. Courfeyrac grabbed at his sleeve as he went past, a startled exclamation on his lips, before he gave up on getting Enjolras to stop and instead turned to packing his books as quickly as possible. Enjolras paid him no mind. There was a new post from Rebus and Enjolras wanted to be free of the crowd around him before reading it.

Once outside, he pulled up his tumblr app, went straight to Rebus' most recent post… and stared, immediately torn between the desire to smash it against the concrete, the desire to laugh himself sick, and the desire to congratulate Rebus for sheer artistic brilliance. Rebus was not the kind of man to post his own content. His modus operandi was reblogging content from other users and adding his own snide commentary. He wasn't a creator. That wasn't his way. After his resumed contact with Enjolras a few weeks ago, however, that seemed to be changing.

Lately, Rebus had been posting original content - no captions, no bitingly sarcastic and brilliant tags. He'd simply been posting and letting the post speak for itself. And what he was posting… it spoke volumes.

This latest post was a political cartoon, as most of the others had been, and, also like those others, its subject was Enjolras. In this cartoon, he was dressed in high-waisted black pants, black boots, a white shirt, a cravat, and a short red jacket. There was a red, white and blue sash wrapped around his waist and it and his hair were streaming in the wind. He looked like he could have stepped straight out of the Revolution… except that he was tiny. Stubby, round and… cute, like some roly-poly baby animal and with as much authority as you might expect from one. He was standing atop a cafeteria table and brandishing a stalk of celery bigger than he while shouting to a rapt crowd, "Vive le végétarisme! Vive la nourriture casher! Vive le végétalisme! Libérez la cafétéria de la tyrannie américaine!"

Here was the trick, though: Rebus was somehow posting these things from another account and was waiting until they gathered momentum - 1,000 notes or so - before reblogging them from his own tumblr. The only reason Enjolras even knew they were Rebus originals was by the artist's watermark - it was difficult to miss the ornately drawn 'R' in the corner of each piece and what else could that 'R' mean? By the time Enjolras saw this particular cartoon, someone had helpfully added a caption translating the French to English: ~"Long live vegetarianism! Long live kosher food! Long live veganism! Free the cafeteria from American tyranny!"~

Someone else had added a less helpful caption which read, ~"OMG! That's exactly how he looks when he gets all worked up about something or other - all red-faced and irate and huffy… it just makes you want to cuddle him, doesn't it?~ Eyes narrowing at the username attached to that particular reblog, Enjolras resolved to strangle Courfeyrac later - first for the comment and second for not telling him about this post when he'd first seen it.

There was another caption beneath that one which redeemed it - and Enjolras recognized Combeferre's username this time and resolved to do something especially nice for him in return - ~The only reason he becomes so irate is because some spend more time observing what he looks like than hearing what he says.~

The comments degenerated from there. And underneath it all, the coup de grace… Rebus' own tags.

~#so how exactly IS this fight going without me enjolras? #having any difficulties with people taking you seriously? #i mean… just look at you #who would take a face like that seriously? #i've seen kittens who look more fearsome #then again #from what i hear #you ARE a kitten at heart #perhaps that's how i should refer to you from now on #'mon pauvre petit chat' #'my poor little kitten' #what do you think? #has a nice ring to it doesn't it? #;D~

"What's wrong, kitten?"

Enjolras flung his head up, eyes wide and disoriented at the abrupt conjunction of online and real world, to meet a pair of mischievous brown eyes bare inches from his and even now crinkling at the corners with mirth. It took another moment for Enjolras to reengage his brain and respond. "Courfeyrac, I swear, if you had anything to do with his latching onto that nickname, I will break into your apartment and do something unpleasant to you in your sleep, 21 years of friendship be damned."

Courfeyrac immediately held up his hands in a placating gesture and those mischievous eyes took on a hint of deeper warmth. "Whoa, there. I had nothing to do with it, but how could I not take advantage of someone else noting and exploiting your resemblance to a cat? It was such an unexpectedly pleasant surprise to have that outside validation of my own observations that I just couldn't resist." His smiled widened. "Besides, as you were staring down at your phone, you looked just like a puffed up cat - complete with angrily lashing tail," and with that, he gave Enjolras' pulled back hair a light tug. "If it's getting so unruly back there that you have to tie it up, then aren't you about due to get that mane of yours cut, kitten?"

Batting Courfeyrac away from his hair, and pointedly ignoring Courfeyrac's resultant snickering at that action, Enjolras debated dignifying that remark with a response. While he did normally let his hair grow a bit over the winter to help protect his neck from the cold, it was getting a bit out of hand. He needed a haircut. Desperately. But there was no way in fuck that he was admitting to Courfeyrac that the only reason he was even putting it off was because of a conversation he'd overheard between Grantaire and Jean Prouvaire after a meeting the week before...

"Jesus, Jehan, did you see him tonight? The way the light played off that hair of his? Like a halo. A fucking avenging angel, all wrath and justice and righteous fury… My angel."

Grantaire had been drunk and Jean Prouvaire had hauled him out of the Corinthe with a resigned air, shooting daggers at Enjolras with his eyes the entire way, but still, Grantaire's words had stayed with him. Enjolras had above average looks and well knew it, had even taken advantage of it from time to time, but Enjolras had never bothered to worry or dwell on his appearance for its own sake. It was just the outer shell of himself and mattered far less than what was within him. Only now, having heard that, for the first time in his life, Enjolras wondered how he must look from behind someone else's eyes. An avenging angel, Grantaire? If that's how you see me, no wonder we quarrel so badly. How the reality of me must disappoint you…

Turning to regard Courfeyrac as he resumed his walk and Courfeyrac fell into step beside him, he said, "I just haven't had time. I'll take care of it soon."

Soon… but maybe not just yet. Rebus' most recent posts had convinced Enjolras he must be someone close to their group in some way, was perhaps even someone he'd met - Enjolras was self-aware enough to know that that thought, and not the brisk pace of his walk, was far more likely to blame for his increased heart rate - someone he'd shaken hands with after a meeting, stood with at a rally, sat beside in class… or perhaps he was just someone who frequented the Corinthe or the Musain when they held their meetings. No matter which, it was now painfully obvious that Rebus was someone close to them. So, Enjolras wasn't going to cut his hair just yet. Not until he'd had a chance to see if Rebus, like Grantaire, had been close enough to notice it. Not until he'd had a chance to find out if Rebus saw him as Grantaire did and, if so… what he would do about it.


"Not everyone fits into neat little boxes of gender and sexuality and your implication that they should is one of the most insulting statements I've ever heard almost come out of your mouth. For the life of me I can't see how you've managed to remain this naïve - isn't Courfeyrac your best friend? One would think he, at least, would have had the good sense to correct that kind of thinking in you by now."

Cosette's eyes widened as Enjolras froze in his speech-making, fists clenching, breath quickening and eyes alternately widening and narrowing as he fought to deliver a civil response to that salvo. Beside her, Eponine rolled her eyes, knocked back the rest of her bourbon, and said, "Good grief, I thought we were past all this shit."

Sighing heavily as she stirred her own drink, Cosette said, "Apparently not." Swiveling her stool around to face Eponine, Cosette held out her glass for it to be topped off. Eponine did it without question. "The most ridiculous thing," Cosette said, "Is that they're arguing just for the sake of arguing. That isn't what Enjolras meant and we all know that, so why even pick that fight?"

"Because this fight isn't about gender or sexuality or any of the other topics over which they've ranged for the last few weeks. And until they admit why there is discord between them, it will not be resolved."

Eponine leaned forwards, crossing her arms over the bar as she eyed the new arrival. "You've noticed that, too, huh?" All three winced as the two combatants squared off, bare inches between them, one furiously blushing and protesting his innocence, the other getting so far into his personal as to force him to give ground and back away. Neither was even making an attempt at indoor voices, anymore.

Eponine made a frantic gesture at Bahorel, still sitting quietly in his corner with Feuilly, to get up and do something to break it up. Bahorel simply shook his head and raised his hands in the universal gesture for "I'm staying the hell out of this." Cosette couldn't blame him. Turning back to the one who'd walked up to join she and Eponine, she said, "So, what do you think they're really fighting about?" She had her own suspicions, of course, but she was uncomfortable sharing them in public until certain secrets - secrets which were not hers to share - were out in the open.

Marius sighed and sat down beside her, as usual careful to keep one seat between them should Eponine choose to make use of it - a gentleman even under duress. He forestalled her question by ordering a drink, blushing when Eponine snickered at the request, and stammering out an explanation about how after this debacle, he anticipated several of their number getting thoroughly inebriated and needing rides home. Just as he was starting to get himself truly worked up in his embarrassment, Cosette reached a hand up and patted his cheek - now as red as the drink he'd ordered - then said, "Marius, relax. It's a good idea. I appreciate your thoughtfulness."

As Marius calmed, Eponine smiled, eyes ducking up shyly from beneath her bangs as she handed over his drink and then waved away his money. When he protested, she simply pointed to the rather prominent sign above the bar which said, "The house prefers you live to drink another day; all designated drivers drink free." At his grateful smile, her own cheeks pinked, but she brushed it off with a gruff, "Eh, it's cute. I haven't made so many Shirley Temples since Gavroche figured out that a bottle of IBC looks just like a bottle of beer in dim lighting. Seems I miss it."

As Marius left to return to Courfeyrac's side to try to prevent his distraught friend from trying to jump into the middle of this fight, Cosette turned to Eponine and lifted one eyebrow. When Eponine's blush returned and deepened, Cosette laughed. It was a low laugh, deep in her throat, and husky - a bedroom laugh. Though Eponine swatted her with the rag she'd taken up to wipe down the bar, Cosette would not be deterred. She caught Eponine's hand and placed a soft kiss in the tense palm. "You still have a bit of a crush there, my love. It's showing."

Eponine's eyes widened and she shook her head sharply. "I do not!" exploded from her lips before it could register that such a quick denial would accomplish the exact opposite effect of what she wished. Miserably she added - though said addition would further that opposite effect but unable to help herself - "It isn't what it looks like."

Shifting her grip up Eponine's arm, Cosette placed her next delicate kiss on the inside of Eponine's wrist before lifting her gaze and offering a gentle smile. "It's OK. I understand."

Eponine pulled her arm back as though she'd been burned and hissed out, "No, you don't. It's stupid, OK? I'm stupid. I have a better life than I ever dreamed I could have. I have Gavroche. I have you. I have your parents, who are just as wonderful as mine are awful. I have everything I could ever want… and I still go doe-eyed when that man so much as opens his fucking mouth to sneeze." She threw the rag behind her into the washbin and crossed her arms tightly across her chest. "It's just a stupid crush, nothing more than physical attraction. I should be able to get over it."

After taking a quick glance behind her to see that everyone else was still occupied by the spectacle of that ever-escalating argument - and how exactly had they gotten on the topic of discussing the Torah and the Talmud, anyway? - Cosette hitched herself up onto the bar and over it and pulled a steel-cable taut Eponine into her arms. After a few minutes of Cosette's soothing hands running through her hair and down her back, Eponine finally relaxed. Cosette then spoke, quietly, gently, into her ear. "It's not just physical attraction, Eponine. The man is adorable; he has all the appeal of a tumbling kitten and the earnestness of an adolescent Labrador." She leaned back to look straight into Eponine's wary eyes. "And it's all genuine. He genuinely cares about his friends. He genuinely is that awkwardly well-meaning. There isn't a false bone in his body." She smiled. "You aren't the only one who finds that attractive, my love."

"But… but, you and us and what am I supposed to do with-!"

Cosette cut off that building wail with a kiss before pulling Eponine back into her arms and resuming her gentle stroking. "You just answered your own question. You will not do anything." When Eponine pulled back to meet Cosette's gaze, Cosette smiled - and that smile had more in common with that of a cat who'd finally gotten that damned noisy lark than with the sweet, innocent girl everyone thought her to be - and finished with, "We, however… will do plenty."

Eponine blinked, taking a moment to process what she'd heard before turning to take in Marius' form bent over his table as he spoke urgently to Courfeyrac. Her lips slowly stretched into a smile to match Cosette's - the wolf to Cosette's panther. Nodding, she said, "He has been in awe of you since minute one. That could work."

Pressing one last kiss into the column of Eponine's neck, Cosette said, "Don't sell yourself short. I've been taking him out and about the city - oh, don't glare at me so, Eponine, it was all those art exhibits and fundraisers you never have patience for - and should I tell you how often our conversations wind their way back to you and his incredibly deep respect and appreciation for you? Because I will. Gladly. Your virtues are one of our most revisited topics of conversation and his eagerness to hover around said topic warmed me to him faster than any action he could ever have taken." Smirking as she worked her way back out from behind the bar, Cosette added, "In fact, I could see us spending many a pleasant evening with we two worshipping you like thralls - perhaps fanning you and feeding you grapes, as well."

In response to that, Eponine's blushing scowl finally broke into a smile and she reached out and smacked Cosette's behind just before she emerged from behind the bar. The exaggerated 'yipe' Cosette was planning to let out, however, turned into a real one as the sound of breaking glass accompanied Eponine's playful swat. Before Cosette had a chance to truly register what was happening, Eponine's simmering irritation with the happenings in her bar had transmuted to rage and launched her over the bar and into the tightening crowd. "I have had it with you two! Back the fuck away from each other!"

The two turned to stare at her in utter bewilderment until she growled and gave them both a shove to get them apart and out of her way. "Which one of you broke my fucking glass?" At the resounding silence she received in answer, Eponine repeated herself, slowly and distinctly, as one might speak to a disobedient child and then added, "You both know the rules. You break a glass, you pay for a glass. So which of you owes me for this one?"

Just as the crowd around them started to shuffle nervously about and Enjolras was about to huff himself up into a state of truly righteous indignation, a gentle hand tapped Eponine's shoulder and held out a $20 bill. She turned to find an apologetic Joly holding a mortified Bossuet close to his side and practically melting into his shadow. Her angry posture deflated in a heartbeat and she held out a hand to grip Bossuet's shoulder. "Oh… honey, I'm sorry. I thought it was these two knuckleheads. Let me get your change, all right?"

Bossuet sighed and miserably shook his head. "Just keep the change, OK? I'll start up a tab or something." Once he'd gotten that out, he fled back to his table, hands and legs clasped as tightly to him and as far from anything breakable as he could manage. Cosette's heart clenched at the sight. Bossuet was so good-natured, so sweet… and so very accident prone. He hadn't deserved to get caught a glancing blow by Eponine's ire - and judging from the look of guilt sprawled across Eponine's face, she knew it, too.

When Eponine returned to the bar to put the twenty in the register, Cosette stayed just long enough to squeeze her hand, then got up to go join Joly and Bossuet. She didn't say a word, merely raised an eyebrow and waited.

Eventually, arm once again tightening around Bossuet's shoulders, Joly raised his gaze to meet Cosette's and said, "It's been so tense, lately." He sighed, deliberately stopped himself from wiping at a miniscule spot on the table with a Lysol wipe he'd pulled out from who-knew-where. "Musichetta banished us both from the Corinthe until we'd regained our senses."

Cosette prudently decided that she wasn't going to ask. Instead she asked, "Is there anything I can do to help?"

Joly wrapped his arms around Bossuet's, smiled when Bossuet took his hands in a firm grip with his free one, anchoring them both. Eventually, he said, "Just… talk to him? Maybe he'll listen to reason if it's coming from you. The one person who has always been able to calm him in the past…"

Cosette finished, "…isn't here." She sighed. "I make no promises, Joly, except that I'll try."

"That's all I can ask."

Cosette rose from the table and turned to see what everyone else had been doing in her moment of distraction. Enjolras was deep in conversation with Combeferre and Courfeyrac, occasionally shooting death threat-level glares over his shoulder. Marius had retreated to the bar where Eponine was keeping him well-supplied with Maraschino cherries and topping off his Shirley Temple whenever he put it down. Bahorel and Feuilly were sitting in their corner, watching the festivities as though it were a sports event. Feuilly she'd expected that of - he tended not to get too directly involved with the student members of Les Amis and he'd long ago announced that this whole feud was his idea of a romantic comedy and far more entertaining than the crap they passed off as such on television - but Bahorel… he was usually more wont to jump in and help. That he was keeping back from getting involved was telling of to exactly how ridiculous an extreme the situation had escalated.

Still… someone had to do something. Taking a deep breath, Cosette approached the lone figure at the corner table. He was staring fixedly at Enjolras, blue eyes blazing with anger, hands flexed so hard against the wood of the table that her own ached in sympathy. At her approach, those blue eyes shifted, alighted on her… and he growled. Oh for the love of…

Cosette sat herself down to deliberately block his sight of Enjolras, covered one of his flexed and quivering hands with her own and said simply, "Jean Prouvaire… we need to talk."