He should be in the fucking pub. It was only him left out again; his fucking monthly allowance hadn't come through. He threw himself sulkily down on his bed, caught the headboard and didn't care. He had a nagging suspicion that his parents were doing this on purpose.

He rolled over onto his front. It was warm in here. His jumper clung to him so he pulled it off, got too cold and scuffled under the covers, frowning loudly.

His feeling from earlier still hadn't gone away. There was a slight twinge below his stomach, just faint enough to be annoying. He pressed a hand down on it.

Fucking Enjolras. He wanted to punch him in the face and make him hurt like his stomach did. He was rich and pretended to be poor. He'd probably never heard of EMA and never lived on an estate in fucking Swindon, of all places. The was a light sheen of sweat clinging to the dark trail of hair that slid under his jeans. He brushed it away. His thumb nudged at his waistband gently.

Oh, fuck.

There was a definite build-up of heat under his jeans. There, under his jeans. He hesitated. Fuck. Pushed his thumb forward a bit more. It had been far too long since someone had done this.

He rubbed his hand down the front of his trousers, the outline of his hardening cock and felt a moan building up at the back of his throat. He bit his lower lip to stifle it and undid himself, pretending it was someone else's nail grazing gently against his dampening boxers. Someone else's rough nails scoring down under his waistband, someone else's cool hands. His breath caught. He pushed his head back, luxuriating in the feeling of himself swelling under his hard fingers. He couldn't bite back a groan any longer. His fingers were tight, some minor cords in his neck were standing out. He imagined neckbones, warm neckbones and wristbones too, delicate breakable china, hot against blood vessels under warm skin that tastes like cream. He added a twist at the top, deliberately slowly, feeling his fingers moisten. Oh. He did it again. His toes curled into the sheet and he felt like something would snap. Ohhh. There was a hot pooling at the base of his spine and jesus, he almost bit through his lip trying to keep quiet. There was warm all over his hand, his muscles unclenching in hot spasms, each one slower and sweeter than the last. His throat fluttered.

Ohh.

The ache in his abdomen had gone.

He rolled over and tried not to think of the name he'd moaned into his pillow.

The next morning was a right barrel of laughs.

"You weren't with us yesterday."

"Nope."

"It's not like you to shy away from alcohol," Courf leaned in and didn't quite succeed in looking concerned because the tips of his hair had gone green. "Are you sure you're alright?"

"I'm fucking wonderful."

"Mmm, I thought as much." He chewed on a piece of orange peel thoughtfully. "Maybe I'll get Joly to have a look at you."

"Oh dear God, no."

Courf grinned. "Anyone would think you doubted the skills of little Joly."

Grantaire closed his eyes, remembering how Joly had put a hand on his shoulder and gravely informed him that he may have to be quarantined.

"I had a hangover and he diagnosed me with SARS."

"He was just being cautious."

"You all wore masks around me."

Courfeyrac laughed, the bastard. "Yeah, we did, didn't we?"

"I refuse to take this from someone whose hair's green."

He looked down and fingered the tips of his hair. "Yeah. Jehan did it."

"Why."

"Hmm?"

"Why did you let him."

"Oh, come on! You can't say no to Jehan. He's like a… spaniel in human form. He's too gorgeous to disappoint."

"I'm going to tell him that."

"I'm sure he'll be more than pleased." Courf looked vaguely dreamy for a moment. Then he looked around, lowered his voice and leaned dramatically over his bacon. "So where were you?"

"Home."

"Why?"

"Because."

"Because what?"

Grantaire tossed his head. "Just because, okay?"

"You smell of alcohol."

"I always do."

He'd rather not mention the whiskey bottle under his bed.

Courf was silent, and then- "You didn't see Enjy about anywhere, did you?"

"No. Why would I?"

"Dunno. He wasn't around either."

"Does that really surprise you, though? He avoids non-argumentative social situations like the plague."

"Don't mention the 'P' word, Joly might be around," said Courf, scanning. "We had the bar-peanut talk again last night."

"It sounds like I missed a thrilling evening."

"You're such a bitch."

"I'm not."

"You are. More so than me. And if coffee doesn't turn up beside me in a minute I'm going to punch seven people in the face."

"You don't need to," Jehan purred, sitting down neatly between them with a coffee pot in his hand. Courfeyrac was instantly placated and Grantaire started so much that he almost ended up with orange juice in his hair.

"How did you do that? Are you magic?"

"He's wonderful," Courf said reverently, stroking his arm.

"You've dyed your hair too, I see."

Jehan nodded, the pink tips of his hair bouncing along. "Courf and I did it last night. We could do you, if you like. I've only got bleach left though, so it'll be white."

Jehan looked like he'd just fallen into a rack of a charity shop. He worked at a florist's and liked his frock coat. The two had combined spectacularly and his lapel was full of freesias.

Courfeyrac rested his head on Jehan's shoulder and kissed him on the ear. "You smell lovely."

"You know, shockingly, I'm alright thanks."

Jehan either ignored the slight bite in his voice or, more likely, didn't notice it at all. "That's alright, it's not for everyone." The hand that wasn't on Courfeyrac's knee landed on his leg suddenly. "We missed you last night, were you alright?"

"Yeah, I was fine."
"It's not like you to miss a night out."

"I could swear your two personalities are osmosing into each other."

Courf lifted his head. "You mean diffusing. Osmosis is only used to describe the movement of water."

"Shut up or I'll punch you in the face."

Jehan looked at him levelly. "That's more like you."

"Oh, it's fine, guys. I'm alright."

"You know we love you, don't you?"

"I do," he smiled wanly.

"I don't love you."

"Courfeyrac, I hope your mother dies in a freak yachting accident."

"Look out."

Grantaire looked up. There. Enjolras burst in with hair like the sun. Enjolras came over with what, on any other person, would be a swagger. On Enjolras it could have been anything. A sashay with attitude.

"Winecask," he acknowledged Grantaire.

"Sit the fuck down or fuck the fuck off."

Enjolras coloured slightly, but sat down anyway. "I like your hair, Jehan."

"Thankyou. Courf and I thought it would be fun." Courfeyrac nodded on the other side of Jehan, and nuzzled as far as he could into his neck. Jehan giggled and kissed the top of his head.

"Stop it you two, you're going to give me diabetes."

Enjolras surveyed them with a slight frown. "Where're the others?"

"We left before Feuilly and Bahorel. They might still be at the pub, actually."

"Marius went to bed early because he didn't want to look tired if he saw Valjean's daughter anywhere."

Grantaire rolled his eyes quietly.

"I think Joly and Bossuet are with Musichetta."

"And Combeferre's still asleep because he was in prison most of the night."

"WHAT?!"

"Actually, we need to have a whip-round and see what we can do about the bail, because Jehan paid and-"

"I'm fucking sorry, hold the boat here. Combeferre went to jail last night? And neither of you thought it was important enough to mention?"

"Enjy does it all the time."

Enjolras coloured and looked down at the floor.

"That's a point, actually," Grantaire said, rounding on him. "He's your best friend, did you not know about this?"

"We should have called Enjy, actually," Courfeyrac noted, "he's spent so many nights in the cells we could probably have got a discount or something."

Enjolras briefly coloured. "Stop fucking calling me 'Enjy'."

They'd probably charge him rent, actually, thought Grantaire, but he didn't say that. Enjolras was sitting next to him and leaning their knees together absent-mindedly. Like he was too tired to keep his legs straight. "What the hell was it for?"

"Beating up a BNP voter."

"Oh."

Enjolras sipped his tea smugly.

"He missed everywhere vital on purpose, but they still saw it as assault, of course."

"He shouted at them quite loudly about that."

"Yes," Courf said softly, stroking Jehan's fingers, "I don't think that helped his case."

"Is he okay?"

"Oh, it cheered him up no end. We didn't get back in until about three, though."

"So why the hell are you two still awake?" asked Grantaire through toast.

"I've had, like, eight mugs of coffee between then and now. Hmm?"

"You have a lecture." Jehan whispered at him.

"You're my diary. I love you." Courf got to his feet, kissed Jehan on the top of the head. "See you at lunch, guys. Or, I don't know, fucking tomorrow perhaps. I'm so tired."

"I'm going to go too," Jehan told them quietly. "I want to go to sleep."

Grantaire squeezed his hand. "Bye, Je."

Enjolras smiled at him. "Thanks for taking care of 'Ferre."

"It's fine, he's used to it. I hope you both have lovely breakfasts and lovely days. You're two of my favourite people and I love you more than all the flowers."

And then he left.

Enjolras's knee was still resting against his leg.

"I'm surprised you're up."

"What?"

"It's before three o'clock in the afternoon and you're moving about. Have you had so many hangovers you now don't notice them?"

"That's not how a fucking hangover works, you blonde twat. And I wasn't out last night, thanks."

"Oh." Enjolras looked surprised. "Why?"

"Didn't feel like it."

"That's not li-"

"Don't you fucking start."

He fell silent and looked quietly into his tea. Grantaire wondered whether or not he should feel bad. Yeah, I wasn't out last night because I had the best wank of my life thinking about you and then I spent the rest of the night throwing up whiskey. Why do you drink your fucking tea black you weirdo. You really turn me on when you shout at people.

"Maybe I should go and see how Combeferre is."

Grantaire started.

"Maybe you should."

Enjolras nodded, looked as if he was about to say something, and then didn't say anything at all. He got up and walked away. Grantaire watched him, squeezing his legs crossed.

Two hours later, he got a text from Courfeyrac saying

I've found Feuilly and Bahorel. PS, Enjy said you were being weird at breakfast so I'm sending him up to your room after his seminar to apologise to you about yesterday. So put clothes on.