This news took Jehan off guard just as much as the rest of the group, with the slim young man stood outside of the bunker doors, eyes flicking between the teacher and those lucky enough to be safely on the inside. Realizing that they might have to swap him for someone who thought their slot was safe wasn't something Jehan had wanted to do; he'd wanted a round in which the arts were suddenly highest priority – maybe France had been tasked with preserving culture and art in its bunker, and then he could be voted in fairly. But this didn't feel fair. It wasn't. He could see his friends all stealing glances at one another, suddenly trying to decide who wasn't that useful after all. Eventually, Grantaire spoke up as he made his way to the front, although a hand coming out and grabbing his shoulder pulled him to an abrupt halt.

"Look – I've been voted in three times now. I'll give him my place, no big deal-"

"You've been voted in three times because you're the only person who knows about farming. That's a skill that we need."

"There's a possibility I'm infected; taking out one of us lessens the risk, and besides – out of the two of us, Claquesous has two useful skills. Next to mine, it's not a hard choice."

"Yes, it is."

This time it was Enjolras who cut in, moving to join him and Bossuet at the front of the group.

"We'll still need what you know. Even if it means you recording as much as you think is necessary for us to know in case you are infected, if we can't grow food, we can't eat in the long term. Simple."

Casting a look over the rest of the group, each person could see him remembering what their cards were and weighing them up for the hundredth time. Frowning to himself, he settled on Babet, who quickly met the look with one of pure acrimony.

"No way. There's no way you're swapping me with him."

"You're a carpenter. That's the only trade you know and it's the only reason you're here, but you forget we also have a builder here who has two skills. He's more valuable than you, and in light of this new situation, that also makes you less valuable than Jehan."

"A builder who probably has the virus."

"It's worth the risk."

With a roll of the eyes, Montparnasse slid into place next to his friend, holding up his hands in mock negotiation.

"Okay, okay - let's be honest here. You're only singling him out because you don't want to do the same to Grantaire. Your boyfriend only has one skill as well, and as far as finding food goes, you're a survival expert. I'm pretty sure you'd be more than helpful on that front until we found other survivors."

"I don't have the expertise Grantaire has, they're separate fields. I'm useful in the short term, and he's useful in the long term. You need us both. And, despite it being none of your business, he's not my boyfriend."

The last part of his statement was accompanied by him closing the gap between Montparnasse and himself step by step, but it was only returned until they were only a foot or so apart.

"Does it matter? You two looked pretty cosy last round. Can't blame a man for jumping to conclusions."

"Jumping to conclusions is what the ignorant and the shallow do. Remind me – you're just a teacher, yes? And you can cook? Thinking about it, I don't see why we didn't vote Jehan in instead of you on that point alone-"

"I know the exit code." With his signature, devilish smile, Montparnasse eventually backed off, holding out an arm towards the rest of the bunker as if to open the floor to their other options.

Unfortunately for Babet, however, he was soon outvoted yet again. It was decided that as long as they kept Grantaire and Claquesous separate from each other and everyone else, then whichever one was infected would hopefully keep the virus to themselves. And given the new set of circumstances, the teacher allowed for the bunker to be expanded, so that there would be somewhere for the two of them to wait out their year if they both survived it. If either one had the virus, symptoms would likely start to show within a few days – all the group had to do was wait and see, and hope that the possibility of infection was all it was. Begrudgingly, eventually Babet did as he was asked and left, giving Jehan a nasty look as they passed one another.

With the bunker doors closed for the third time, they immediately went about finding the medical bay and making it comfortable enough for the two students. There were three separate rooms, and while they were plain and mind-numbingly clinical, they were better than being sentenced to certain death in the outside world. As he settled into his new surroundings, Grantaire pulled off his hoodie as Enjolras let himself in, rapping his knuckles against the door only when he realized he hadn't been noticed yet.

"I thought you'd appreciate these" Handing over four paperbacks, he gave the room a once over. "How do you like it..?"

"I feel like I'm about to have Hannibal Lecter sedate me and remove my organs. But hey, at least I'll die a well-read man."

"I haven't heard of any of the titles, but I know you tend to get bored easily, so…maybe you'll come out of this appreciating books that much more."

"'If' I come out of this."

"You will. And even if you don't, then…well, that's just how it is."

Pushing the books onto the side counter, Grantaire leaned back against it, nodding at the silent question of whether or not Enjolras could take a seat.

"You sure you want to? The last thing we need is you getting sick as well."

"I can stay for a few minutes."

"Brave man."

After the initial, slightly-awkward few seconds of silence, finally it was broken once more.

"You didn't have to, you know. Argue for me to stay here, I mean. Montparnasse had a point-"

"The only thing Montparnasse has is a penchant for being obnoxious and vain, and the only reason he's here at all is because he knows how to get us out."

"Yes, I gathered that much – but honestly, keeping me here…I don't think it was in everyone's best interests. Not really. I have a fifty-fifty chance of dying in the next few days. So does he." Jabbing a thumb to the far left wall, Grantaire could see already that Enjolras was getting annoyed all over again hearing about it.

"Worst case scenario, we both die and you're down a farmer, a carpenter, and a builder-plumber power hybrid."

"And best case scenario, neither of you die and we win this round. Where are you going with this?"

"I'm just saying, it wasn't like you to look at the best case scenario. I know you can be idealistic, but… It wasn't like you to keep me around. You know what I'm getting at – my cons outweigh my pros at this point."

"Why are you complaining?"

"You know I'm not, I'm just trying to understand your thought process-"

"There's nothing to understand, Grantaire. I think you – your skills – are worth the risk of having you here. That's it, end of."

Dropping the subject for the time being, Grantaire watched the other leave, only opening his mouth to say something else, but the door had closed sharply and loudly before any words could roll off his tongue with any kind of coherency.

X

"So, 'Keats' – you made it after all."

Turning slowly to face the other student in the room, Jehan shrugged his shoulders, stirring his drink and following him with his eyes as he moved further in.

"Apparently so. And please stop calling me that, it makes no sense."

"It makes a little sense."

"How so..?"

"He was a poet, he was a romantic. I figured you'd appreciate that nickname instead of the others."

Ignoring the last part, Jehan continued to watch as the taller man helped himself to a coffee.

"He was also English; something I most certainly am not. I have a feeling John Keats' name is just the only name you know."

"Touché." Pulling a chair out with his foot, he took his seat, burning his tongue rather badly on his drink in the process.

"What would you prefer to be called?"

"My name."

"Okay, not in the mood for questions. But before we stop, tell me, Jehan Prouvaire – how does it feel knowing that a capable workman has now been denied his chance at life because of you? That his slot at survival has been filled by a person whose only real talent is making words rhyme together?"

While his tone was particularly scathing or venomous – it was slightly bored, if anything – his words rubbed Jehan the wrong way. It wasn't even the way he said them, but to give credit where it was due, he could hit raw nerves with expert precision.

"It feels awful, as you might imagine."

"Oh, I'll bet. But then again, I guess every end-of-the-world story needs a damsel, right? Someone who…basically adds nothing to the plot but gives the male heroes something to dream about amidst the angst-fest of their own lives."

"I'm not- okay, no. I'm not going to bother defending myself to you, I didn't ask to be put here. I know you're pissed, I know Babet was your friend – but I've had to die with some of my friends in every other round. I suggest you either let it go or suck it up."

"I'm not saying this for my benefit; everything I just said is written all over your face. Maybe having a go at me for saying them means you'll get over it quicker yourself and stop sulking."

"I wasn't-"

"You're a terrible liar, Jehan Prouvaire. Take it from me, never try to bullshit a bullshitter."

Rolling his eyes, Jehan headed for the door, but not before looking back at Montparnasse, who simply looked back, waiting for whatever 'last word' the other had for him.

"You don't have to use my surname as well. Jehan's fine."