Courfeyrac was in his room, sat cross legged on his bed with Jehan and frowning at some paper. Grantaire lent against the doorframe and made himself known with, "I meant to ask you how you managed to get into your trousers today, Courf. You look like you've been vacuum packed."

Courfeyrac jumped. "Jesus Christ. Why are you following me? And what about my trousers?"

He looked from Grantaire to Jehan to his lap to Grantaire hotly.

"They're very tight."

A slow smile spread across his face. "Well. It was quite a struggle to fit in cer-"

"No. I've just come to tell you, I've seen Enjolras."

"Oh, cool." His face straightened out. "Why would you want to tell me?"

"… I thought maybe you'd like to know. Jehan, you don't have to pretend you're not listening."

"I wasn't!" Jehan said, so indignantly that the bottle he was holding sloshed over the bedclothes, and immediately stopped following their conversation with his eyes to look down sheepishly. "Sorry. Do you want me to wash that?"

"Nah, it's not the first time you've spilt on my bed."

Grantaire gave a strangled cry. "Jesus! It's like an 0800 number in here!"

Courf winked. "Where have you left him?"

"He was smoking out my window. He might still be there. Unless, of course, he's heard you two talking and thrown himself out."

"Ah, if he has he'll probably have landed feet first. Drink?"

"What is it?"

"Mead," said Jehan, shifting up on the bed and patting the warm space beside him. "There's plenty left."

Grantaire bit his cheek. His tongue was where Enjolras's tongue had been a few moments ago. His mouth tasted of smoke and orange and lavender. Just like Enjolras's. He caught the tip of his tongue between his teeth and bit it, thinking of Enjolras scraping tea leaves off his lip. He didn't want this taste to go.

And then suddenly Bahorel appeared.

"There you all are! Guys, come downstairs! I'm all alone!" He looked a bit frantic.

"No you're not! Why are you?" Courf pushed Jehan's feet off his lap gently. "Where's everyone else?"

"Bossuet went to a talk or something in Newcastle and his train broke down, Joly's with Musichetta waiting for him, Feuilly ditched me for painting, Combeferre won't come down because he says he has a load of work to catch up on –you know, being arrested and all- and Marius has- a date."

"No! Who with?"

"Cosette. And don't you dare tease him Courfeyrac; he was pathetic enough about it without your help. I literally had to throw him out the door."

"How could you think that I would."

Bahorel ignored him. "Please come downstairs, I feel like I've got no friends. And I don't want to go out because I hate outside and I've got a ban from most places."

"A lot of them are only temporary," pointed out Jehan helpfully.

"And I can blag free alcohol off you guys."

Grantaire sighed and rubbed his eyes. "If you mean me, and you do, you're going to be disappointed. I've got about half a bottle of vodka and that's it."

"I've got absinthe back in my room."

"Shit no," Bahorel recoiled. "I've got things I need to do in the next three days."

"Grantaire's shit vodka it is," Courf said, slapping Jehan on the thigh as he uncurled himself. "Jehan has another bottle of mead in here."

Jehan looked at them all filthily. "You owe me so much."

"Bottom drawer, with the condoms and socks."

"You don't really sort things by function, do you?"

Grantaire widened his eyes alarmingly in Bahorel's direction, but it was too late.

"Who says I don't?" He could even hear the wink. Even Jehan joined in the long-suffering exchanging of glances.

"You chose him," said Grantaire simply. Jehan coloured slightly and rubbed his ankle against Courf's foot. "Are we going down?"
"You are," Bahorel answered. "Is Enjolras around? He's not in his room."

Grantaire felt a very slight stutter. "I don't know."

"'Aire, why don't you go and get your crap blueberry stuff from your room?" Courfeyrac said, giving him a pointed look. "We'll meet you downstairs, if you like."

"Yeah, cool." He nodded and pressed his pulsing tongue against his teeth. "See you there."

Then he padded out of the room.

Enjolras might still be by his window.

He paused and thought. By his window. Leaning out, just slightly, with tension in the back of his neck. He thought about the way Enjolras pushed his left shoulder back sometimes, uncomfortably. Maybe it hurt him sometimes. Or maybe he would be sitting on his bed with warmth gently pooling underneath him. He wasn't even sure Enjolras would come. He wasn't even sure he'd be there. Maybe he'd have gone back to his own room by now, to his work or his own bed. He worked so hard. He'd need to lie down and rest his aching bones.

"That was the longest cigarette in the world."

Enjolras froze blindly and looked round, sheepish. "Hi, sorry. I was just going. I was looking at your books."

Grantaire dampened his lips. "Take some if you want. It'd be weeks before I notice."

"It's alright. I've got enough of my own to be getting on with."

Their eyes caught and they both smiled and looked away.

"Do you want me to go?"

Grantaire swallowed the bitter laugh in his throat. Stay here. "No, you're fine. I just came to get this." He picked the half empty bottle up from where he'd left it earlier. Enjolras noted it.

"You're not going to drink that by yourself, I hope."

His heart skipped. "Nah, I'm going downstairs with Jehan and the others. Do- youwanttocome?"

Enjolras looked up from the bottle in his hand.

"Can't. Got an essay."

"Oh."

"See you tomorrow, then?"

"Yeah."

He turned and swallowed something clotted in his throat.

It was almost gone when he clattered down the stairs and straight into the company of an uninvited pint of milk ten minutes later. "Hey. Why is there milk on the table?"

"Decided there wouldn't be enough vodka to go around, so we're making White Russians."

Grantaire looked at the milk sadly. "That is going to make a shit poor White Russian."

"Well, go out into the street and get something yourself, then. You took your time, by the way."

"Yeah, I went to the loo."

"Is Enjolras not coming down?" Jehan asked, blinking sweetly. He was leaning heavily on Courf's chest with his eyes slightly unfocused. They were curled up like kittens. God knows how long they'd been drinking before Grantaire had arrived. He decided not to ask them, because Courf would probably mention sex.

He shook his head. "He's got an essay."

"Augh" Courfeyrac collapsed dramatically against the back of his chair. "We've all got essays."

"Yeah, well. We're not all Enjolras."

"And thank Christ for that." Bahorel started pouring milk into glasses. "Can we have some music?"

"Not yours," said Jehan primly. "No-one wants to hear about smacked up bitches."

"You'll be a smacked up bitch in a minute, Catullus."

There was a sound from the stairs.

"Am I too late?" Enjolras asked tentatively.

"What for, you wanker? Come and sit down." He poured a healthy measure of vodka into one of the milk glasses and pressed it into Enjolras's hand. "'Aire said you were working."

"I was." He sipped his drink. "Combeferre has the book I need, and when I asked for it he told me to piss off."

"Well," Courfeyrac shrugged. "He's overworked."

"Actually," Enjolras sat down heavily "he said I was. He kind of… sent me down here."

"And there we were thinking you enjoyed the pleasure of our company. Grantaire, here's one for you. I'm not giving anything to you two, because Jehan looks like he's about to pass out."

"He's just tired."

"Yeah," echoed Jehan weakly.

Grantaire shuffled up into the middle of the sofa to let Bahorel sit down. He glanced around at Enjolras, making sure he wasn't encroaching on his personal space too much. He was sat with his feet drawn up under his knees, staring faintly into his glass. Some of his larger freckles were visible. Grantaire breathed out and hoped God would forget everything he'd said about Combeferre in the past.

He almost leapt out of his skin when he heard "Ahoj, przyjaciele. I am here."

"Feuilly!"

Courfeyrac raised an arm in greeting. Feuilly finished fist-bumping Bahorel and sat down in the chair facing Courf and Jehan. Jehan blinked at him good naturedly.

"I got paint all over my shirt, so I borrowed one of yours, Bahorel. I hope that's cool, we're kinda the same size."

"Nah, that's cool. Vodka?"

"I bought gin, actually."

"God be praised! Feuilly, you are a deity." Courfeyrac leaned in over Jehan to get to the bottle. "It's Bombay Sapphire, as well. You have impeccable taste. It's because you're ginger, all the best people are."

Despite his best efforts, he'd slightly inverted Jehan. He whimpered unhappily and tried to crawl deeper into his boyfriend's lap. Courfeyrac kissed the top of his head gently.

Grantaire looked dryly at Feuilly in his overlarge rugby shirt. "You're wearing each other's clothes. We're talking full on bromance here, aren't we?"

"Just because you have no bro," Bahorel said, and turned his attention back on Feuilly. "Gin's a bit English for you."

"Oh, yeah. To bring much needed cultural diversity to tonight's northern European theme".

"Actually," said Feuilly, sitting up, "vodka's Polish. The Russians stole it, and that's why it's called vodka. The Polish called it aqua vitae but the Russian word for 'water' is 'vod'.The 'ka' is a diminutive suffix."

"You need to shut the fuck up about Poland."

"He's right, you know," Enjolras nodded solemnly.

Everyone fell silent and looked at him in awe.

"Vodka is Polish."

"Oh, thank God," Feuilly threw his arms up. "I thought you'd sided against me as well."

"Oh, we'll get him yet, don't worry. Enjolras, are you trying to tell me you want gin?"

Enjolras, whose motor skills lived in constant fear of his wrath, had silently slid the gin bottle to his side on the sofa. Grantaire had been watching him gently struggle with it for about a minute, wondering if he should say anything. Enjolras shot him a wounded look as soon as he did.

"The lid's stuck."

Grantaire rolled his eyes and gently leaned over him to extract the bottle from his side. His arm brushed Enjolras's chest; he smelt smoky, like a good witch. He wondered how much alcohol Enjolras had actually consumed. Bahorel wasn't renowned for being ungenerous with alcohol. There'd probably been, what, the equivalent of two shots in there? Two and a half, maybe. And Enjolras had finished his already. Plus he wasn't used to alcohol. He thought desperately back to whether or not he'd seen Enjolras eat today.

But, yeah. The top was hard to get off.

"Are you having trouble with that, Herakles?"

"Are you having trouble with fuck off, you're not even in your own clothes," he shot back. Feuilly raised an eyebrow. The cap clicked at last. Grantaire raised his eyebrows right back and knocked back a few mouthfuls. "I can't remember the last time I had gin."

"I've never had it," piped up Enjolras from beside him. "Is it nice?"
His cheeks looked flushed and white. Grantaire opened his mouth to tell him not really, not unless you were used to spirits, you're not used to them, are you? Maybe you should stop for the night, if you really want to carry on there's probably some beer somewhere, but Bahorel tapped him on the knee and whispered "Don't say anything, it'll be hilarious."

Grantaire gave him a blank look.

"Oh, come on." Bahorel took the bottle off him so suddenly he didn't have time to hold on to it. "Here you are, Enj. Don't drink it from the bottle, though. Pour yourself a glass, you know how much you're drinking then."

Enjolras gave him an uncomprehending stare.

"He can't be that far gone," said Feuilly, enraptured. "There's no way, he's had next to nothing."

"He's not." Bahorel took the gin back off him and poured about four measures into Enjolras's empty milk glass. "The rest's for us."

Enjolras tossed back his head, attempting to copy Grantaire's practised swig and make them stop laughing at him in their minds. It didn't work and he pitched forward, choking.

Grantaire was by his side, patting his back ineffectively. Out of the top of his eye, he could see Feuilly trying to keep his smile under control.

"It's quite strong," he murmured to Enjolras's hair, sympathetically. Enjolras promptly straightened up and Grantaire's hand fell away.

"It tastes like napalm."

"Spirits are pretty nasty on their own."

Enjolras carried bravely on.

Jehan twitched upright suddenly.

Courfeyrac looked at him in mild amusement, which turned quite soon to mild concern. He touched his face lightly. "Are you alright?"
"I feel awful."

"Do you need to go to the bathroom?"

"No, I- yes. Hurry."

Courf pressed Jehan's face into his neck and lifted him up, bridal style. It was a good thing Jehan was so slight. He wiggled his eyebrows to say 'back soon' and carried Jehan off to the corridor at the end of the room.

"It's because he's so little."

"I don't know, he's also been drinking since about four this afternoon," Grantaire told Feuilly. He went to pick up his glass again and then realised not only was it empty, it wasn't his.

"Fuck, Enjolras! Have you finished that already?!"

Enjolras raised his hands in defence. "'M fine."

Bahorel, Feuilly and Grantaire all looked at each other.

"Well. He's never done anything by half measures."

"I thought he'd be meaner."

Grantaire had literally just opened his mouth to say something in his defence (he couldn't remember what), when the door almost burst off its hinges.

"Hello? Is anyone in here?!" Marius's voice shouted. "Please, we really need help!"

"Marius!" They all sprang up, and Bahorel sprang up shouting. "Marius, it's alright, it's us, we're here. What's the matter?" He bounced off the coffee table, bounded around the corner and stopped dead.

"Shit."

Grantaire and Feuilly were by his side. It was Marius, Marius and Cosette. Cosette was white and she was biting her thumbnail to rags. Marius had something heavy over his shoulder.

"Put her down here," said Joly, Joly was also with them… Grantaire became vaguely aware of shouting from the street. Marius knelt down and laid his burden down tenderly, Cosette and Joly were around him, and it was a person. A girl, a young girl. Her face was covered in blood. She moved weakly and Cosette shushed her with a hand in her hair. Joly was bent over her, touching her hairline and her mouth in concern and Marius was standing stoically and the end of the sofa and the voices in the street were getting closer and all of a sudden Bahorel was pushing past him and out there too. Bossuet came in then Bossuet went out again, then Bossuet came back in again dragging Musichetta who was screaming bloody hell. His face was bleeding. Joly looked up and met Grantaire's eyes.

"Get Combeferre."

There was a muted crash from behind him; Enjolras had tried to stand up and Enjolras had failed. He was sitting on all fours looking disbelieving and Grantaire didn't even think before he was beside him and stroking his hair it's alright, it's all alright, we're going to be fine.

"Grantaire!"

Combeferre, Combeferre. He struggled in his pocket, pulling out his phone. Combeferre picked up on the first ring.

"Hey, you okay? There's quite a brawl going on outside and I-"

"Get the fuck down here now."

He hung up just in time to hear Joly mutter "Courfeyrac, where's Courfeyrac, Courfeyrac should be here…"

"Courfeyrac!" Feuilly bellowed, panicked in the middle of the chaos. Courfeyrac appeared from around the door, and his eyes shot open when he saw what was lying on the sofa.

"Jesus."

"Courfeyrac…" Feuilly pointed weakly to the sofa where the girl lay, surrounded by worry and then, after a nervous glance to the door, went out in search of Bahorel. Courfeyrac looked absolutely torn.

"Look after Jehan," he called to Grantaire, and pointed at Enjolras. "Take him."

Grantaire stood up, completely dazed. Everything was surreal. He took Enjolras's hand and tugged it lightly, but Enjolras tripped again and nearly wrenched his shoulder out of its socket before he realised it was a wasted effort.

"Come on, you." He knelt down to Enjolras's level. His eyes were panicked, but with mild confusion, as if he didn't know what he was panicked for at all. Grantaire slipped a hand around his warm waist.

"Hold on to me now."

"Mso sorry."

"What the hell are you sorry for, none of this is your fault. Just hold on to me. I'll make it alright."

They got up uneasily, and Grantaire wished that Enjolras was as small as Jehan so that he could pick him up and tuck him into his chest. But he wasn't, and he was leaning quite heavily on Grantaire. There was something decidedly wrong with this picture.

"Come on, you can walk well, I know you're good at walking. Show me how good you are."

"Mnotta child."

"Then help me out. Please."

The weight on his shoulders lifted slightly. Enjolras stumbled again, and Grantaire thought they'd both go over, but he managed to jam his arm against the doorframe and haul Enjolras up with it. "Come on, stay with me."

"Youcross sss?"

"Huh?"

"Youcrossssssssss"

"No, I'm not cross.

"M crosss"

"Come on Enjolras, we have literally a few more steps to go. When you're sitting down you can tell me all about how cross you are."

He heard a weak little voice calling "Courf?"

"It's me, Jehan."

He opened the door on Jehan who, by the looks of it, had just about finished throwing up and was bunched against the towel rack.

"Sit here," he told Enjolras, and set him very seriously down on the floor. "I'll be with you in a moment, I promise. Jehan, are you alright?"
"Grantaire, what's happening? We heard shouting…"

"Shh, shh, it's fine." He crouched in front of Jehan and brushed some hair away from his face. "I think someone got into a fight. It's alright, Courf and Joly are with them. And Combeferre's there."

"Oh, thas alright. It'll be okay if Combeferre's there." He closed his eyes.

"Jehan?"

He didn't respond.

Grantaire touched his hair again, slightly more firmly this time. Behind him he heard a scrabbling and what was unmistakably throwing up. Jehan opened his eyes again. "That Enjolras?"

"Yeah."

"Oh, that is funny. I wish I didn't feel so awful."

"Are you alright."

Jehan looked up suddenly, looked him straight in the eyes. "Grantaire, I really, really want Courfeyrac."

"Jehan, that's okay. I'll go and get him."

"No, don't. Other person needs him more."

"Jehan, it's okay. They've got Combeferre and Joly there. Courfeyrac will want to be with you. Imagine how he'd feel if he knew that you were in here, missing him so much you're crying."

"I'm not crying," he said, wiping his face. "I'll go and get him." He turned round to face Enjolras, who was resting his forehead on the toilet seat and was looking thoroughly wretched.

"Enj?"

"Nh."

"I won't be long." He turned back to Jehan. "Make sure he doesn't choke himself to death or anything." Then he was out in the hall, looking in to the common room. Courfeyrac was looking right back at him, distractedly. He waved to get his attention, and he came hurrying over.

"Is he alright?"

"He's fine. He wants you. Is she?"

"Yeah," he looked back into the common room to the girl on the sofa. "Marius sort of knows her, and she and Cosette go way back, apparently. She got the shit kicked out of her. She's conscious, but she won't say who did it. Joly said it's worse than it looks because she got a tooth knocked out and that's what all the blood is. He doesn't think there's concussion. Guy followed them here and Bahorel and Feuilly beat him to shit. Where's Jehan?"

"'M here."

Courf slid past Grantaire and in to the bathroom. "Hello, you. How're you feeling?"

"I love you so much, Courfeyrac."

"I know, sweetheart. I love you too. I love you so much I it makes me cry sometimes." He drew Jehan carefully up to standing. Jehan nuzzled his face into his chest. Courf stroked his hair. "You're in with me tonight, sweetheart. Someone else needs your bed."

"Mmm."

He smiled indulgently into the top of Jehan's head and picked him up, squeezing Grantaire's hand quickly. "Thank you."

"No problem."

They shared a hurried smile before Jehan fell fast asleep and Enjolras started up retching again.

"What are we going to do with you, eh?" Grantaire sat down beside him and drew all of his soft hair out of his face. It was such a tender gesture. He felt himself get slightly hard. He crossed his legs and firmly chastised his cock and gathered Enjolras's hair up behind his head. "This is quite a turn up for the books."

"I'm so sorry."

"It's okay. It's usually the other way round."

"Never looked after you."

"You did one time. You just blamed me for almost killing your debating career afterwards, that's all."

"Oh fuck I am so sorry."

"It's alright."

"N-" He retched again. Grantaire averted his eyes politely. When he was finished, he started up again. "No. I was cruel."

"Don't worry about it. I'm not cross."

"Courf said I made you cry."

Shit shit. When Courfeyrac came down in the morning, Grantaire was going to nail him to the wall.

"Don't worry, I cry at a lot of things."

"Shouldn't. You're nice."

"Yeah, well."

Enjolras sighed, resting his head on the rim again. After about a minute, he said, "I think I'm done."

"Sure?"
"Yeah."

"Are you sure you're sure, because-"

"Yeah. I feel a lot better. Disgusting, but better."

"Do you want to go through to the other room?"

"…yeah."

Grantaire straightened up onto his aching knees. "Can you stand?"

"Think so."

"Can you walk?"

"…maybe."

Haltingly, he stood up, swayed, and caught hold of the towel rail. "Fuck."

"You okay?"

"Yeah, yeah, I just…. can I lean on you?"

Grantaire nodded and slipped his arm around Enjolras's waist, trying his best to ignore the tugging in his stomach. It got so much worse when Enjolras rested his head on his shoulder.

"You are nice," he half sighed, half purred into his hair.

His heart twitched.

So did his dick. His dick was so confused right now.

He and Enjolras walked back into the common room like a three legged creature. He could feel Enjolras getting sleepier by the moment. He sat him down as close to the action as he could.

"One of Marius and Cosette's friends has had a fight. I'm going to see what I can do, okay?"

"Can I do anything?"

"I think they've already done everything useful. I'll let you know if anything comes up, okay?"

Enjolras nodded, slightly dazed.

Grantaire rejoined the group in time to hear Combeferre say, "I think one of us should stay with her."

"I will," volunteered Marius.

"Or me. She might feel safer with another girl." Musichetta dabbed at the cut on Bossuet's forehead and clipped him lightly as he flinched. "Honestly, you are hopeless."

"I think it should be both of you," Combeferre looked at the lethargic girl on the sofa, weighing up the options. Combeferre was the personification of Reason. "Musichetta's right, but she knows Marius. You should both keep her company, just to make sure."
"You're going to have to wake her up every quarter hour for the first two hours," said Joly, straightening up. "Then every half hour for another two. Then hourly. I don't think she's concussed, but I want to be safe. You're going to have a really disturbed night guys, I'm sorry."

"It's fine," said Marius, not taking his eyes of Cosette. "Are you okay, sweetheart?"

"Yes, yes I'm fine, I'm… I should probably get home, dad will start to worry, I-"

"I'll walk you," Marius said calmly, taking her arm. "Shh, it's alright. Musichetta, is it alright if I take Cosette home?"

"Of course it's alright, you idiot. Are you sure you're okay, Cosette?"

Cosette nodded, wiping her eye.

"I'll call round tomorrow, okay?" Musichetta said softly. "Bahorel, Feuilly, can you help me carry her up?"

"…can walk…."

"It's alright, sweetheart. They've got you." Musichetta touched the girl's head. "It's alright, you're safe. I'll keep you safe."

Musichetta's hand dislodged some hair on the girl's face. Joly had cleaned off most of her blood.

"Shit," said Grantaire, taking an involuntary step back. "I know her."

Feuilly nodded grimly. "We all do."

"But… no, that's our waitress, why the hell would someone want to beat up a waitress-"

"…wasn't beaten up…"

"No," said Bahorel gently, leaning at her head. "You weren't." He nodded at Feuilly and hoisted her up into a fireman's carry. She looked so light.

"Jesus, she doesn't weigh anything."

"Upstairs, Bahorel," said Musichetta shortly, standing up and straightening her skirts. Feuilly collected a small, patched bag which had escaped Grantaire's notice completely and followed them upstairs.

"Well," said Bossuet softly after they'd gone. "Shit."

"What the hell happened?" Grantaire asked, keeping half an eye on Enjolras, who looked ready to keel over.

"Really, I'm not sure myself. We had dinner late because of my train thing, met Marius and Cosette, who'd seen a film, ran into this. Christ alive, I need to sleep."

Joly nodded by his side, looking dead on his feet. Bossuet took his wrist and led him upstairs gently.

Combeferre stretched himself out. Grantaire jumped. He'd forgotten about Combeferre.

"D'you want me to deal with him?" he asked, nodding at Enjolras.

"Nah, it's alright. I've got him."

"You sure? I'm kind of half the reason he got into this state…"

"The other half was me, it's fine. Go to bed, you look shattered."

"Mm…" Combeferre nodded, his eyes closed. "When I said he should have a break, I didn't really mean this."

"Yeah, well. Hopefully he'll learn."

"Yeah." Combeferre took one last look at his friend. "Okay. I'm heading up, if you don't mind."

"Night."

"Night."

That just left him and Enjolras. Enjolras. Enjolras had fallen asleep or into a slumber or in to some beautiful netherworld. He looked ethereal. Grantaire sort of half-wanted to paint him. He hadn't painted anything in a long time. Enjolras looked like the subject of some Pre-Raphaelite, just before they were about to die of tuberculosis. He almost glowed, soft, subtle, like Cabanel's Ophelia.

Grantaire knelt down between his legs and stroked down his nose, over his freckles once. Then again. Enjolras screwed his eyes shut, then opened them gently. These eyes could be terrible when they wanted to be. Enjolras.

"Come on, you. Bedtime."

"Okay."

Enjolras held his hand out to Grantaire, who took it and pulled him up gently. Enjolras fell against him like a child. Grantaire didn't want to leave him alone, especially not tonight. Enjolras might freak out of he woke up in a different bed, but then his room was probably cleaner. And if Grantaire prided himself on anything, it was the ability to sleep absolutely anywhere.