Courfeyrac was actually a far better driver than Marius had expected. When he was told that they would have to drive to the store, thoughts of his roomate skidding all over the road flashed through Marius' mind like an angry red stoplight. This, however, wasn't the case. Although his rather exuberant personality would suggest differently, Courfeyrac was a model driver and got them to the store in roughly fifteen minutes - completely unscathed, to Marius' relief. Any nauseating feelings he had were mostly down to his realisation that Cosette was, essentially, jailbait and practically off limits. Reassurance from Courfeyrac that she was only jailbait if they had sex was not helpful in the slightest. That information only made him feel even more awkward.

If Marius thought Courfeyrac was annoying in the car, he was absolute murder when they got to the store.

It is a fact universally known that any human being, whilst completely sane behind the wheel of a car, turned into a toddler when pushing a trolly. Courfeyrac was no exception to this rule.

When he wasn't taking running starts at flying down the ailse, he was making abrupt stops and sharp turns. All of which left Marius either jogging to catch up or almost getting a mouthful of Courfeyrac's hair.

Marius was almost certain that, most of the time, his friend thought he was an extra in a music video.

The rest of the expidition was filled with debates over alcohol, food, movies vs music, and Courfeyrac whining about how Feuilly actually took the whole damn day off without telling him. Apparently he'd instead taken a night shift the day before and was using the morning to catch up on much needed sleep.

Shopping with Courfeyrac, whilst amusing, was exhausting and Marius vowed to never do it again. At least he'd attempt to.

Bahorel was terrifying. He'd been caught up in a bar brawl less than a week ago and his black eye still hadn't quite faded and there were a few scrapes on his left cheekbone. He was also built like a brick shithouse and Marius was pretty sure that was a tattoo peaking out from his sleeve. Marius nearly peed himself when Bahorel clapped him on the shoulder, introducing himself and laughing full heartedly at Marius' bewildered face. Apparently he also was studying law, although, Marius couldn't recall seeing him in his classes very often. He was nice enough though, boistrous and seemed quick to throw a punch, but nice enough.

Feuilly looked like he needed that day off. He'd settled himself into the corner of Courfeyrac's sofa, pulling the brim of his hat over his eyes, and was making a good attempt to be inconspicuous and catch up on more sleep when Marius had practically been flung at him. It was abrupt, however, Feuilly had easily brushed it off and stood to shake Marius' hand. Courfeyrac had told Marius about Feuilly's fan making hobby, and he couldn't help but marvel slightly at the long fingered hand that wrapped itself around his in a firm shake. It seemed as though Feuilly took life as it came to him, Marius both liked and respected that.

Joly and Bossuet were on the other sofa, leaning over each other in an enthusiastic conversation. When Marius had spotted them he had first assumed them to be a couple, only to have Courfeyrac tell him that no one was ever really sure because the two had always denied it. Everyone had just learnt to play along with it until the two explained themselves and their mysterious girlfriend. It seemed confusing, entirely preposterous, and Marius decided to just leave it at that.

He'd already met Combeferre and Enjolras when he'd first started work. Marius wasn't really sure what Enjolras thought of him. Any conversations they'd had were during brief encounters and were always cut short. Usually Marius would try to contribute to a chat between Combeferre and Enjolras but the latter would normally argue any point he made, leaving Marius feeling very awkward and Combeferre looking a tad exasperated. What Marius could really gather from the two was that Enjolras was a deeply passionate person, if not a little quick to jump, and Combeferre had the patience of a saint, considering his group of friends.

Marius was already well aquainted with Jehan, as he was only across the street and Courfeyrac made practically any excuse to invite him over. Jehan was as nice as he was terribly dressed, and Marius could appreciate some of the poetry he wrote. On the other hand, he would never understand the appeal of the more risque pieces Jehan like to write with Courfeyrac. It was more often than not he'd see the two huddled over a notebook on the counter, giggling conspiratorally, and the the next day he'd find out that it was actually one of his notebooks. Opening his book only to find it full of erotic poetry and some rather innaproriate illustrations (courtesy of Grantaire, apparently), was not the ideal way to start a lecture. He liked Jehan though, and he found it very difficult to be angry with him.

Soon enough any awkwardness of first impressions was brushed off and conversation began to flow. It may have helped that the alcohol had also started to flow.

At the start of the evening, topics ranged from how business was going for Courfeyrac and Jehan, to Combeferre's work at the free clinic. It later went to things such as Feuilly's sudden raise at work, and Enjolras' most recent social justice issues. Even later, it moved onto Joly and Bossuet's living arrangements and whether Musichetta would be moving in with them or not. Throughout this, despite the topic never directly relating to him, Grantaire continued to supply dry comments here and there, earning a few laughs from the group.

Eventually, everyone began to taper out into their own smaller chats. Subjects became more personal and the atmosphere was easy.

"I got an e-mail from my parents the other day." It was common knowledge among the group that Enjolras could have been on better terms with his parents. The air in the room changed when he spoke and the look he wore on his face when he mentioned them said enough about their relationship. His family were members of the upper class. His father was the type of person who would golf, not because he enjoyed it, but because he could flaunt his exclusive membership and that the golf club employed pretty young women. His mother, on the other hand, was the type of person who would drink expensive wine through the day, not because she was a connoisseur, but because there was simply nothing better to do other than watch the infinite wealth burn along with her liver.

Enjolras never really could see eye-to-eye with them, but he dealt with it.

They had an agreement that he would accept the money they sent him monthly (which he set the limit on), as long as he didn't have to attend any sort of family gatherings or be mentioned in any reference to them. It suited both of them reasonably well.

"My father apparently saw a picture of me recently on facebook," Enjolras gave a pointed glare at Courfeyrac and Grantaire, sure that it was one of them responsible, "apparently he's proud that I took his advice after so long and cut my girly-ass Goldielocks curls."

Grantaire covered up a snort, coughing around his beer bottle. He was only slightly drunk, but "Girly-ass Goldielocks curls" was not something that would regularly come out of Enjolras' mouth.

Blue eyes trained themselves on his slightly cloudy ones before they quickly flicked back to the rest of the group.

"I'm growing my hair back." Enjolras said stubbornly, with an air of finality that showed that he did not require much of a response. He was merely stating what was on his mind.

"Then why bother cutting it in the first place?" Grantaire was quick to ask him, taking a swig from his bottle subconsciously.

In all fairness, Enjolras should have expected that. But he didn't. Therefore, he had nothing better to say other than, "I just felt like I needed a change after all these years."

Grantaire looked over his bottle to Enjolras, "Are you sure it didn't have anything to do with peer pressure?"

He clearly hit a raw nerve, and the look that was shot his way said so. But at least Enjolras was looking at him, and of course he didn't care that that was the only look he'd ever receive. He couldn't let himself care. However, Enjolras' burning eyes and decision to wear a v-neck was making it very difficult.

"Well it's not as if you've ever had that problem. We could pressure you all we wanted - and we've tried - but you'll never change. You don't care enough to try." It was no real argument to Grantaire's question, but Enjolras had clearly been stung and it was far easier to just lash out verbally. And it only fuelled him that Grantaire was, once again, inebriated.

Didn't the man see what he was doing to himself? Didn't he see what he was doing to his friends? To the one's who care about him?

"You're absolutely right," Grantaire nodded and Enjolras felt a twinge of hope that maybe, just maybe, he'd gotten through to him this time. "I don't care what I do to myself, and you don't either so let's just call it a day."

Draining his bottle, Grantaire pulled himself up and left the room to go downstairs. Courfeyrac wouldn't let him smoke inside, and the back entrance to the cafe was down there, and he needed a cigarette. Also, the rest of the booze was in the cafe's freezer, and there was no way he was going to get through the rest of that night without being completely and utterly shitfaced.

Enjolras could only sit there, a look of confusion and, possibly, regret on his face. Grantaire didn't just walk away like that. Grantaire always had a witty retort. Grantaire didn't just agree with Enjolras without an argument.

"Was that your first fight?" Marius piped up from the sidelines. "As a couple, I mean. I know it's supposed to be hard when it's you'r-"

"What?" Enjolras practically shouted, looking vaguely startled and Marius shrunk back instantly. He heard Courfeyrac try to muffle his and Jehan's laughter and snapped around to glare at them, his face turning slightly red.

"Um, well, I just thought," Marius swallowed, trying to redeem himself, "by the way he's been looking at you and the way you spoke to each other... Actually I don't know what I thought." It was easier to just give up at that point, there was no hope for redemption.

A silence followed for a few minutes. Enjolras sat in quiet contemplation as the others looked to him for a reaction.

"Wait," he began, in an uncertain tone which did not sound right from him, "so could it be possible that R likes me?"

It only took a moment for everyone in the room to shout variations of the word yes, along with a few cries of "are you kidding me" and, in Courfeyrac's case, finding it difficult to stand up and collapsing onto those occupying his nearest sofa.

After processing the information, a red cheeked Enjolras stood up and followed Grantaire downstairs.

He was taking the last few drags of a cigarette in the open doorway when he spotted him. There was a certain beauty in the way the plumes of smoke curled in the air around him, despite the bitter fact that it would one day play a part in his death.

"Grantaire?" Enjolras called out. He cursed himself when his voice wavered slightly, this wasn't really what he would have planned.

Grantaire flicked the shrinking stub to the ground, grinding it under his foot, before turning to face Enjolras. This was unusual. It was normally Grantaire seeking him out, not the other way around.

"I know I may have come across as harsh earlier in the things I said," Enjolras continued speaking before Grantaire could cut in, "but you should know that I only say it in the hopes of getting through to you. We care about you, and we hate to see you destroying yourself like this." That sounded alright, maybe that would help.

Grantaire resisted the urge to roll his eyes, about ready to reach for another cancer stick.

"Listen," he begain, "you don't need to come down here and preach to me. And you certainly don't need to pretend you care, just to make me feel be-"

"Will you just listen to me for once: I do care!" Enjolras had covered the distance between them and now held Grantaire firmly by the shoulders. "I care about you." He repeated, searching Grantaire's eyes for some sort of recognition or reciprocation.

Grantaire swallowed uncomfortably. He didn't want to move, in case this was all some dream he'd conjured in another drunken stupor. He was afraid that if he spoke, the illusion would be shattered and that he'd find himself crashed out on one of Courfeyrac's tables.

But it feels too real, he thought as he brought his hand up, tentatively brushing a few non-existent curls from Enjolras' cheek.

Enjolras subconsciously took that as a cue and his fingers drifted upward to weave themselves through the dark mess of Grantaire's hair.

Before either of them knew it, Grantaire had already craned upwards as Enjolras had leant down and their lips connected. It was soft at first, both of them testing the water and trying to believe what was happening, then soon changed to a release of years of built up tension. Grantaire savouring every moment because who knows if this would ever happen again, and Enjolras wondering how in the hell he hadn't picked up on Grantaire's hints sooner when Marius spotted them in less than a few hours. Either way, there was no sign of rejection from the two of them.

Enjolras, slightly flushed, pulled away first and looked down at Grantaire.

"If you ever want to do that again, you need to, at the very least, cut back on the cigarettes."

"Even better: I'll quit completely." Grantaire pulled the almost half full packet from his pocket and tossed it over his shoulder, really not giving a shit where it landed, before tugging Enjolras back down to meet him again.

All they heard after that were thumping footfalls, Courfeyrac shouting something unintelligible, followed by the sounds of their friends complaining as they handed each other money.

So that was a long-ass chapter and maybe that made the extra wait worth it?

Okay, so I really freaking hope I did a good job on this one... there is a reason it took so damn long... Pretty sure I cannot write e/r but I tried and therefore cannot be judged (but constructive criticism is appreciated!).

In reply to reviews: Yes! This is my first les mis fic! In regards to Eponine being mixed up with the other characters, I have read some really good fics in which that has been done. But I wanted to keep a bit closer to cannon and not do that. She's the same age as Cosette here, Marius was just a little bit slow on picking that up...

Trying to cut down on the length of my author notes so let's wrap this up.

Thank you for reading, reviewing, following, and favouriting!

- Callie