It must have been around two in the morning when they met each other again. Jehan was pulled out of his writing by the sound of someone approaching the living room, though he didn't think anything of it until they leaned down behind him and plucked his notebook right from his hands. He didn't need to turn around to know who it was, but he still did as he watched Montparnasse slowly make his way around the sofa, reading the page with his usual air of devilish mischief. Holding out his hand, Jehan gave him an expectant look.

"Give it back, please – it's not finished."

"And I'm not finished reading." Came his teasing reply, though when he happened to wander close enough, Jehan lunged out and grabbed his wrist, grabbing at the notebook but bringing Montparnasse with him. He gave it up easily after that, a smirk crawling across his lips as he straightened himself out.

"If you wanted me to sit next to you, dear poet, all you had to do was ask."

"Well, I suppose it's a good thing that's not want I want." Jehan replied just as sweetly, though he put up no argument when the other man dropped into the seat next to him. He knew what he was doing; leaning just a little too close, bumping their knee's together accidentally – and while he had no idea why he was doing it to him specifically, there was a certain kind of amusement to it all. Harmless flirting was sometimes the best kind.

"So. Why exactly are you out here so late?"

"I'm usually out here at this time – sometimes I have a hard time getting to sleep, so I come out here and write, or just sit and enjoy the quiet."

"I'll have to bear that in mind." With a nod down to the lined page in his lap, Montparnasse hooked an arm around the back of the couch, which Jehan was half expecting to end up around his shoulders, if that was still something people did anyway.

"And what about you? Need I ask why you're awake?"

"Bit of a night owl. Besides, now I know I'm not the only one, I've got more of a reason to stay up."

"So charming."

"I try. What's that about, anyway? Your writing, I mean."

Bringing the notebook to his chest a little bashfully, Jehan gave Montparnasse a knowing, but curious look.

"Are you asking because you actually want to know, or just so you can fool me into thinking you're more interested in me than you actually are?"

Feigning offence, the criminal-turned-teacher went to gently pull the notebook from Jehan's hands again, though it was pulled away at the last moment.

"I'll have you know, I very much interested in you, Monsieur."

"Oh really? I always assumed you liked women."

"I like whoever can show me a good time. And besides, the only woman in the bunker at this point in time is already taken – by two men, no less!" Now that the redhead was smiling a little more now, he leaned an inch or two closer, and gave him a smile of his own.

"And I'm also interested in what it is you're writing about. A particularly handsome young teacher, perhaps?"

"Sorry to disappoint you, but no – it's about our experiences so far, in this bunker, this new world."

"Alright, go on then."

"…Sorry?"

"Read it to me. You're here to raise morale, might as well start with me."

"I think you'll find I'm here to help save everyone once the year's up. Besides, you've already read it."

"Maybe I want to hear you say it."

Eventually he caved, and shifted in his seat a little so that he was facing his unlikely companion. As he read, Montparnasse actually found himself listening carefully, the soft nature of the poet's voice the perfect accompaniment to the words themselves.

"…Their clashing minds did throw a spark, which scorched the world and reaped the dark. Let no science fix our path, if only numbers make it math. Our brains will run, will surely see on some sweet philosophy, until, beneath the quiet sky, atop the rubble we will stand, and finally demystify the message in fate's reprimand. Even an atomic blast cannot rid the future of the past, and with incinerated grace, we still become the human race."

As the poem came to a close, Jehan took a small breath, and turned the page over.

"Like I said, it's not finished yet…"

"It sounds good – I mean, I'm not generally a fan, but it's good. You made the words rhyme and everything."

"Well, that's usually the idea" Jehan replied through a light laugh. "What a review though; perhaps you should have become a critic instead of a teacher."

Smirking as he pretended to consider the idea, Montparnasse gestured to the notebook, letting his fingers linger against the page for a second or two. "Maybe, maybe...do you have any more?"

"Poems? I have a few, but none that you'll be hearing."

"Because they're not finished?"

"You learn quickly."

"You read that one to me though."

"Maybe because I was feeling nice."

Glancing away with a smirk, Montparnasse pushed on foot up onto the coffee table, the hand that had once been dangling down the back of the sofa now casually resting around the poet's shoulders, who in turn did nothing to distance himself from the other.

"You always seem to be feeling nice, let's be honest. Always so quiet and calm and pleasant."

"Here's a piece of advice for you; never mistake calmness for apathy, and never assume silence is consent, in any situation. You never know what's going on inside someone's mind at any given time, and now is a prime example of that"

"I'll try to remember that…although, I think you're wrong on that second bit. I reckon I can guess what's going through your mind right now."

Inclining his head towards the older student, Jehan narrowed his eyes as he drew his knees up to his chest.

"Oh? Care to share?"

"I think, you want me to kiss you, but you're also scared about what might happen if you do."

"I can assure you, I find nothing about you scary."

"Is that a yes?"

Leaning up, Jehan pressed a kiss to Montparnasse's cheek, lingering long enough for the other to catch his face and keep him there for enough time to kiss him properly. Unfortunately for the dark haired student, however, this was cut short when Jehan pulled back a minute later, originally with the intention of moving closer, but instead ending up motioning to Montparnasse's face, brows knitted in concern.

"You're bleeding"

X

"May I join you..?"

While he knew Jehan had been right, Grantaire hadn't felt any less anxious about talking to Enjolras again. Even when the blond had found him in the library, sat alone with only his thoughts for company, Grantaire had still wanted nothing more than to disappear. Sinking into the seat next to him, Enjolras took another look at him before finally speaking.

"…I owe you an apology."

Glancing up and meeting his eye, Grantaire frowned and shook his head.

"No, you don't. I probably do, for making things weird – I should have kept it to myself, I shouldn't have done…that"

"Kissed me?"

Just the words themselves seemed to make him physically cringe.

"Right…well, I'm sorry. Please forget it happened, and then maybe we can go back to arguing and insulting each other and-"

"I'm sorry I made you want to forget it." Enjolras interrupted, and for one, Grantaire didn't push it. Instead he just looked at him with a light, unsure frown.

"To be honest, I wasn't sure how to react. It hadn't been something I'd expected, and you just…you took me by surprise. That's all."

Reaching to touch his arm, Enjolras waited for Grantaire to relax into the contact as he gave him a tiny, reassuring smile.

"I'm not sorry you did it. And, depending on how it goes if we go out somewhere when all this is over, I wouldn't mind you doing it again."

"…You want to go out?"

"If you're always like this out of the classroom, then…yes. I don't see why not."

The speed that Grantaire's expression brightened was rather charming, to Enjolras at least. And while he didn't look like he entirely believed what he was hearing, he still nodded, his smile quickly becoming a boyish grin.

"I don't know what Jehan said to you, but remind me to thank him when I next see- hey, are you okay?"

"…Yes, why?"

"You're, ah…you're bleeding. Right here" Touching his own upper lip, all smiles dissolved as Enjolras brought his fingertips away, eyes widening a little when he saw they were stained in thick, dark scarlet liquid. With every second that passed, the trickle became a steady, heavy stream, both nostrils becoming taps that refused to turn off as he tried in vain to catch as much blood as he could in his cupped hand.

However, he wasn't the only one in the bathroom as he let himself in, clumsily grasping at the door to keep it to closing in Grantaire's face. At the end of the line of mirrors, sat up on the sink-side counter, was Montparnasse, seemingly having the same problem as him, with Jehan tilting his face back towards him once they'd recognised who had come in.

"Red…your favourite colour, right?" He said, voice disrupted by his nose being blocked and pinched. "Even bleeding out suits you. Typical."

"Shut up." Enjolras snapped back, only half listening to what Grantaire was telling him to do, instead addressing no one in particular as he was urged to lean forward.

"We need to wake up Feuilly and the others, tell them what's going on."

"We don't know necessarily what's-"

"Yes we do. Of course we do. We're infected, isn't it obvious?"

The look Grantaire and Jehan shared was enough of a confirmation.

"But, neither of us were showing symptoms – neither of us-"

"Claquesous. I think he was." Montparnasse cut in, earning a look of total disbelief and utter contempt from Enjolras.

"…What?"

"A few hours after they were let out, he started to feel hot, and looked pale…well, more so than usual-"

"And you didn't think to mention any of this to anyone? Are you really that fucking stupid?"

He hadn't seen Enjolras coming for him, so he was more than a little unprepared when he was suddenly pulled off of the counter and thrown against the nearest wall, With Enjolras pinning him there with a strength Montparnasse hadn't quite expected.

"We could all die because of you! Why wouldn't you say anything?"

"It could have been anything, and therefore, nothing – besides, if you'd ever had a conversation with him, if you knew him like I do, you'd know he's not doing anything he doesn't want to – you'd of had to shoot him before making him go back in that room."

"We could have forced him-"

"You could try, and he would likely have kicked the shit out of you for it."

Shoving the blond away from him, Montparnasse swayed a little as he caught his balance, glaring at the other with eyes now beginning to turn bloodshot. As Grantaire urged Enjolras to back off, Jehan stepped a little closer to them both, keeping both hands out in case one decided to suddenly go for the other once more. Both were now spattered with their own blood, which didn't seem to be stopping any time soon. Making him sit on the counter as Montparnasse had been, Grantaire told Enjolras what to do again, this time making sure he listened, looking away only when Jehan touched his shoulder.

"I'm going to wake up the others – make sure they don't kill each other."

"No promises." He said quietly, trying to give him a smile but failing as he gently pulled Enjolras forward an inch or so more.

"Rest your elbows on your knees…there, now keep the pressure for a little longer, keep your head tilted down…"

"We're going to lose. Again." He heard Enjolras hiss, his anger and frustration all frighteningly apparent.

"Not all of us, necessarily. We'll go back into quarantine, stay away from the others…maybe we can still contain it."

"Listen to you being optimistic, of all people…"