Sorry for the wait! I meant to have this to you weeks ago, but I got a huge case of writers block. I hope you enjoy!

-CM

Courfeyrac couldn't concentrate on his work, not with thoughts of the frankly adorable redhead go bouncing through his head at every turn. It was October, and nearly a month after Courfeyrac had seen him, and he couldn't forget about him. Jehan… that was his name. Why couldn't Courfeyrac forget? He was Eugene Courfeyrac, lover of many a girl and guy alike! So why couldn't he forget the redhead poet?

Enjolras was absent from school that day, and Courf wasn't sure why, but it made everything perfect. He found Combeferre after first period and told him the plan as they walked to class. Combeferre agreed almost immediately, as Courfeyrac knew he would.

After another period, lunch finally came, and Courfeyrac's plan would finally be set into motion. He walked into the lunchroom, looking about. It seemed that Grantaire, Jehan, Joly, and all the rest were still at the same table as they had been last month. Courfeyrac speedily bought lunch and practically dragged Combeferre over to the corner table. Grantaire, dark curls a tangled mess, looked up from his sketchbook and cocked an eyebrow at the duo of them. Courfeyrac dropped into the empty seat between who he remembered to be Bossuet and Jehan. "Hi!" he said brightly. "You guys are the Amis, right? We'd like to join you."

Jehan smiled blindingly, Grantaire nodded in approval, and so they were inducted into the Amis.

Enjolras, when he returned to school two days later with a nasty cold, is furious. "You did what?" he asks, through a heavily stuffed up nose. Courfeyrac couldn't help but laugh at his voice. It seemed disconcertingly like Enjolras was a small mouse shaking his fist up at Courfeyrac, from the sound of his voice.

"We can't really go back on it now. And besides, you don't even know them very well. They are actually very nice people," pointed out Combeferre logically.

"It's only Grantaire who I hate. The rest of them are perfectly fine," Enjolras shook his head.

"Well, we like them. They're nice. Jehan's got cute hair and Feuilly makes fans and Joly always has the cleanest locker and Bossuet's bald and Bahorel's funny and Grantaire's an artist. They're the Amis, they're great!" said Courfeyrac excitedly.

Enjolras sighed. "When have I ever denied you two anything?" he asked. "I'll give them a chance," he said, stalking off. Courfeyrac presumed that he was pouting, something he did quite often, despite his denial.

Enjolras pouted all through morning classes, and finally when lunch came, he practically had to be dragged to the cafeteria. The food line was short, which didn't make him any happier. So sooner than the blond would have liked, Courf was sure, they were walking over to the Amis table. "Hey guys!" he greeted happily. "This is Enjolras, remember him?"

A few heads nodded, and Courf noticed with curiosity the adoring look that came into Jehan's eyes when he saw Courfeyrac. They scrambled to make an extra spot and soon Enjolras was seated between Combeferre, whom everyone knew he loved, and Grantaire, whom the blond steadfastly ignored.

Introductions were made, but not needed. It seemed that Enjolras already knew many of them. That didn't surprise Courfeyrac, Enjolras had lived in this district of Paris since he was an infant. Small talk was easy. It seemed that Bahorel was planning to see a movie that weekend, to which Courfeyrac excitedly agreed to. Everyone acquiesced , deciding a time and theatre before anyone could complain. Surprisingly enough, Grantaire only gave a little, half-hearted nod when he was asked if he'd like to go.

After lunch, Courfeyrac stayed behind to talk to Grantaire, letting the others leave as they walked to class. "What's up?" asked Courfeyrac. "You don't seem happy today."

"I'm conflicted," said Grantaire, a melancholy tone in his voice.

"Why?" wondered Courf. "You don't like zombie movies?"

That made Grantaire laugh. "No, I actually love zombie flicks."

"So what's up?"

"He doesn't want me to go."

"Who?" asked Courfeyrac, even though he was sure he knew the answer.

"The angel," replied Grantaire, looking down.

Courfeyrac wracked his brain, trying to find a suitable response. "I'm pretty sure that Castiel would be fine with you going to see Living with Death." Grantaire cracked into a small smile. Their shared love of Supernatural was no small thing between them.

"But Dean might," replied the artist, his smile getting wider without his permission.

"They're in love, Dean wouldn't care."

That really did make Grantaire grin. He adjusted his green t-shirt and re-tyed his scarf, pointedly not looking at Courfeyrac. "How do you manage to make every horrible situation hilarious?" he asked.

"Because I'm sexy and I know it," laughed Courfeyrac. He smacked Grantaire's arm. "See you later, lovie." With that, he went to class.

When the weekend rolled around, Grantaire was trying to find something to wear to the movies. He convinced himself over and over again that it didn't matter. "It's not like he's even going to care," he reminded himself.

Even so, he stood another half hour in front of his closet before choosing a gray tank with a raven on it and a dark green jacket that he'd found at a thrift shop. He tied his blue Converse and walked out of his dismal room, pointedly not looking at the charcoal of Enjolras that was on his easel or the few drawings he'd tried not to tape onto his walls.

His parents were gone, probably out drinking like usual, but he found some money taped to the counter with a sticky note on it. Have fun, Jim, it said, and Grantaire laughed a bitter laugh. Despite the fact that his parents were never there to tell him nice things or come to his events, they never left him short of money.

He grabbed his rusty bike and pedaled down the sidewalks. On the way, he encountered a wild Jehan, on roller skates, going down a hill so fast that his long hair was flying nearly horizontally behind him. Grantaire rode up beside him and Jehan looked pleased to see him. "Why are you so happy?" asked Grantaire.

"There's a big hill coming up. And with you here, I won't have to do anything."

"You can't hang on my bike!" complained Grantaire.

But he let Jean hang on anyway, as the ginger's smug smile told him that he knew he would.

It was a good day, surprisingly.

QotC:

If there was one thing that you would do to change the plot of Les Mis, what would it be? (the funniest answer will be featured in next chapter's AN.