Chapter Text
Courfeyrac’s flat is a good twenty minute drive from the school. Finding parking on such a crowded street is hell, but somehow Marius manages to find a spot across the street from the ancient, stone-carved building that he will now call home. As he goes around to the back of the truck to grab his briefcase, Courfeyrac touches his arm and says, “Just so you know, we’re on the top floor. We—meaning Enjolras, Combeferre, and myself—got the place when we were still in university. I hope you don’t mind the walk.”
Marius smiles faintly and shakes his head as he slips his jacket on. “Of course not.”
He grabs his own things, and then they’re headed towards the lobby and up a narrow flight of stairs; even with the lack of a working elevator, the trip up feels exceedingly short thanks to Courfeyrac’s penchant for storytelling.
When they’ve finally reached the top, Courfeyrac is still going on: “And then, get this, he was at the dessert table the entire time. I’ve never seen anyone look so horrified in my entire life!” (Today’s topic was centered on his future housemates, possibly to prepare him.) “Not only that but he apologized—”
“Why would anyone apologize for eating sweets?*” Marius interjects, after catching his breath.
Courfeyrac lets out a little laugh. “That’s just how Enjolras is.” At the look of further confusion on Marius’ face, Courfeyrac simply shakes his head. “You’ll understand when you meet him.” Now that the subject is presumably closed and the story over, Courfeyrac pulls a set of keys from his back pocket and offers a face splitting smile. “Are you excited? Because you totally should be.”
Without waiting for a reply, Courfeyrac turns the key and ushers Marius inside.
As the two of them step out of their shoes to set them aside in an area where several other pairs of shoes are lined up, Courfeyrac turns his head towards the sofa. There’s a dark-haired guy, whose arms are adorned with colorful tattoos, who is working away furiously at a sketchbook and calls out, “Grantaire, I’m hoo—oome!”
The newly named Grantaire does not look up from his work. “I figured. The sound of your voice echoing up those halls was a major clue.”
Courfeyrac slips out of his jacket and all but tosses his briefcase on the coffee table. “You calling me loud?” His voice is syrupy and there’s a note of mock hurt, to which Grantaire responds with a sound that’s somewhere between a scoff and a snort.
“’Loud’ would be a severe understatement.”
When Courfeyrac crosses the threshold of the room, Marius follows close behind; partially so that he can get a better view of the room, but mostly so that he can shrink away for a few moments longer and delay the inevitability of his clumsy introduction to a new person. This doesn’t appear to be an issue, as the two men are bantering back and forth. When Courfeyrac plops down on the couch beside Grantaire, Marius opts for the little armchair a little way’s away from the two. He isn’t trying to be rude, he simply wants to give them their time to catch up; he’s more than content to wait until Courfeyrac is ready to introduce him.
Anyway, this will be a good time to gauge his new surroundings.
The front room is cozy and well-decorated, in a cluttered sort of way. One of the first things to catch Marius’ attention is a bookshelf so large that it almost takes up an entire wall. Various knick-knacks litter the shelves where the TV is and there is a large painting done in various shades of red and gold and orange, hanging above the sofa.
As he shifts his gaze, the front/living room turns into a small little kitchen area, only separated by half a wall with a little ‘window’ area. Like the living room, the walls are painted a blue that’s soothing to the eyes, and the surface of the refrigerator has piles upon piles of brightly-colored fliers.
There’s yet another person; a bespectacled male hovering over the stove, who is listening to the conversation in the other room with a great deal of amusement. When he feels Marius’ eyes on him, he looks over and offers the now flushing redhead a kind smile. Marius smiles back, just a little embarrassed that he was caught staring.
“Courfeyrac,” says the bespectacled male, “aren’t you going to introduce us to your friend? He’s been very quiet ever since you two arrived.”
Courfeyrac, who now has his head resting on Grantaire’s shoulder, perks up at the mention of his name. “I’m sorry, Marius. That was incredibly rude of me.” He adjusts himself so that he is back up in a normal sitting position. “Marius, I would like you to meet a few people. I say ‘few’ because your social circle will definitely be expanded in the next few weeks, but Fate has deemed it fit that you only meet these two right now so you’re not completely overwhelmed.” He pauses for a moment to smile to himself. “Sitting beside me is Grantaire, who only pretends that he is not pleased to have me so near—”
“Because I’m not pleased,” Grantaire cuts in, but the slightest quirk of the lips betrays him. “Ever heard of a thing called personal space?” He nods in Marius’ direction. “So you’re Marius, huh?”
Courfeyrac rolls his eyes playfully before continuing, “He is the person who lived here before you came around. Sorry Grantaire. We traded you in for a newer and cuter model.” He earns a light shove at that. “I’m not saying that you’re not cute, anyway…Combeferre, who so kindly reminded me to do this introduction, is one of your actual roommates.”
Combeferre has now left the kitchen and is making his way towards where everyone else has congregated. “I take it that you accepted Courfeyrac’s offer of coming to live here then.” Now that he’s up this close, Marius realizes that Combeferre hovers several inches above him. “It’s a pleasure to finally meet you, Marius.”
After accepting Combeferre’s hand for a brief but friendly handshake and expressing similar sentiments, Marius steps back and looks toward Courfeyrac. Oblivious as he generally is to things, he’s caught on to the fact that this is the second time someone has referenced his arrival.
“Yeah, I might have mentioned you once or twice,” Courfeyrac unzips his jacket and folds it neatly before placing it on the arm of the sofa, where it promptly falls to the floor in a crumpled heap. “Don’t look so surprised.”
Marius, not really knowing what to say, simply shrugs one shoulder above the other. “I didn’t think there would be anything worth telling.”
“You’d be surprised.” Grantaire’s eyes are bright in such a way that makes Marius wonder if he should be worried about what stories Courfeyrac might have recounted thus far. “It’s an honor to finally meet the man behind the legend.”
“Oh, be nice,” says Courfeyrac.
He’s definitely worried now.
It’s Combeferre who tactfully switches the subject. “You must be exhausted, Marius. Since you and Courfeyrac just got off work, I can’t imagine that either of you have had anything to eat in a while. I was preparing dinner for Grantaire and myself, but there is definitely enough to go around and feed everyone. Do you like Indian?”
“Indian sounds great,” says Marius, trying not to feel like he’s imposing. Combeferre is only trying to be kind, and anyway such a feeling is ridiculous.
Courfeyrac takes a whiff of the air and lets out a blissful sigh. “Combeferre’s aloo gobi is to die for when he’s not busy working. Normally I cook, or Enjolras and I have to rely on take out but sometimes I come home to nights like these and it’s heaven.”
Combeferre smiles at that. “Once everyone’s eaten, we can bring up a few of your things so you feel slightly more settled in and answer any questions that you might have about living here.”
It’s quickly agreed that this is the best course of action. After shrugging out of his blazer as well, Marius insists on helping set up for dinner. While he gathers up plates and utensils, Courfeyrac clears away the coffee table and Grantaire gets up to get everyone drinks.
Soon enough there are five plates with generous portions of aloo gobi and some sort of diced cucumber salad. Everyone is about to dig in when Marius, fork lifted halfway to his lips when he asks, “Wait, if we prepared five plates then how come there are only four of us out here?”
“Yeah, generally it’s up to me or Ferre to go and make sure that Enjolras actually remembers to eat, but some days it’s harder to pull him away from his work than others.” Courfeyrac takes an enormous bite out of his food, wrapped up in naan before continuing. “He’s been super busy these past few days because of what’s gone on at the Metro but you’ll see him soon enough. He can’t function off righteous fury forever.”
By the time this mysterious Enjolras has emerged from his bedroom, all the dishes have been cleared away, Grantaire has said his goodbyes for the evening, and a few of Marius’ belongings have been brought upstairs. The remaining members of the household are back in the living room, all preoccupied with their own individual tasks.
Marius looks up from his laptop when he hears a doorknob turn and the sound of footsteps padding down the hallway. A petite blond man, whose hair is tied back in a low ponytail, enters the room and Marius temporarily forgets about the e-mail he was responding to. Enjolras bids everyone a good evening, casting a curious glance in Marius’ direction.
“Your dinner is in the microwave and it should be warm enough that you don’t need to reheat it.” Combeferre sets his book aside. “Are you finally going to take a break?”
Enjolras nods his thanks and crosses over to the kitchen. “Not really. There’s still so much to do and so little time to get this article done.”
A faint line of disapproval is etched between Combeferre’s brows but he says nothing other than, “Try not to push yourself too much.” He says this warily, as if he’s had to repeat this many times before.
“And try not to eat while you type,” Courfeyrac adds, eyes flickering back to his phone for a moment. The buzzing of an incoming text sounds and he seems to light up a little at whomever it is messaging him. “Before you slink away back into your world of informing the public, stay for a few moments. I have someone I’d like you to meet.”
“I’ll go to bed at a decent hour,” was Enjolras’ response to his friends’ expressed concern. After grabbing his food from the microwave, he obliged Courfeyrac’s request and rejoined the others.
Courfeyrac places his phone aside. “Well, you know how Grantaire’s bedroom has been empty for ages and we’ve been at a loss of what to do with it? I found us a new roommate.”
Marius, realizing now is probably a good time to speak, offers Enjolras his hand. “Marius Pontmercy. Courfeyrac and I have been colleagues for the past two years.” Now that the other was so close up, Marius could not help but notice what delicate facial features Enjolras had.
Enjolras’ hand felt small in his own and while his grip was firm, this particular handshake felt much stiffer than Combeferre’s. “Enjolras,” replied the blond, just a little impatient.
“Yes and the two of you will get along splendidly, I’m certain.” Courfeyrac shakes his head. “Now that took all of fifteen seconds. You can go back to work.”
Enjolras clears his throat and appears to be satisfied. “Thank you.” He turns to Marius. “I’m sure we’ll get to know each other better in time but I am incredibly busy at the moment. Sorry.”
And with that, he returns to his bedroom without as much as a second glance back.
Marius stares at the spot where Enjolras stood anyway, wondering what exactly just happened. After a few moments, he tries to shake off what was probably the shortest meeting he had with another person and go back to work.
“It’s nothing personal,” Combeferre says in response to Marius’ unvoiced question. “Enjolras just sometimes gets so caught up in what he has to do. You’ll see more of him in the next few days and will have the chance to talk.”
Marius does not see or much less talk to Enjolras much over the next few days.
He does get to meet are a few more of Courfeyrac and Combeferre’s (and Enjolras’, he supposes) friends, who are so kind enough to help move the rest of Marius’ things upstairs.
There’s Bahorel, even taller and Combeferre and far more muscular than most people he’s ever met. He’s got an undercut and almost as many tattoos as Grantaire and Marius is extremely intimidated when they’re shaking hands, but Courfeyrac notices and says, “He’s not as dangerous as he looks. Usually.”
Then he’s off to help Bahorel carry Marius’ mattress up stairs, meaning Bahorel carries the mattress and Courfeyrac sort of holds it up when they round corners.
Feuilly helps Marius carry his dresser, plus a large number of boxes. In contrast to Bahorel’s vast frame, Feuilly is small and slender; this in no way prevents him from doing any heavy lifting. He simply pulls his dark, shoulder-length hair up with rubber band on his wrist and grabs a box that Marius was struggling to carry with ease. (A box, by the way, which is filled with nothing but large textbooks that would have given Marius shoulder problems if he had to lug them around on a regular basis.)
A job that should take several hours is cut in half, and soon enough they’re stuffing their faces with the pizza and six pack of beer that was the agreed payment for their labor.
Seated between Bahorel and Feuilly with a slice of mushroom and olive pizza in his lap, Marius has no trouble at all getting to know these two men he is newly acquainted with.
“I’ve known Courfeyrac for ages. Met him way back when the Musain was just getting started out. I can’t even tell you how many scrapes I’ve gotten this one,” Bahorel nods in Courfeyrac’s direction, “out of over the years.”
Feuilly takes a swig of his beer then asks, “You got him out of a lot of scrapes?”
Bahorel breaks out into this huge smile, which transforms his face entirely. “Okay, so the both of us have gotten into a lot of scrapes together over the years. But what can I say? We have a lot of great ideas that rarely ever go over well.”
“I’ll never forget the Great Pug Incident of 2012,” hums Feuilly, all warmth.
“We’ve had a lot of great times together,” Courfeyrac says, closing his eyes for a moment. “Remind me to tell you about that some time, Marius.”
The sharing of pizza and swapping of stories continues on in a similar manner for the next while, and Marius finds himself growing sort of comfortable with Bahorel and Feuilly. He might have to pretend to like the beer but their sense of humor is wicked sharp, and there is something so incredibly easy about this environment.
Then the front door opens and Enjolras, hands shaking as he grips the strap of his messenger bag, walks in.
“Enjolras?” Courfeyrac calls out, to which the blond simply sighs.
Enjolras steps out of his boots, murmurs a barely coherent greeting to the others, and then says something else that’s indecipherable. Marius thinks that he catches the words “meeting” and “compromise” and maybe “imbecile” somewhere in that mess of words.
He looks upset enough to the point where Marius speaks up. “There’s still a lot of pizza left over, if you want to help yourself…”
Enjolras pushes his fingers through his hair. “Maybe some other time. I’m not really in the mood to deal with people right now.” He exhales another sigh. “Sorry.”
Again, Marius finds himself staring at the back of Enjolras’ head as he disappears into the hallway, then listening to his retreating footsteps until finally the door closes and the Pacific Rim theme song starts up a few minutes later.
While there’s a slight feeling of disappointment that, once again, Enjolras has opted out of socializing with him, the look on his face must translate to something akin to devastation, because Bahorel suddenly pats Marius (roughly) on the shoulder. “It’s nothing personal.”
He really hopes it isn’t.
"How are the new roommates then?" Cosette asks about a week after Marius has his things settled in. He’s currently outside on the balcony, enjoying the brief spell of silence and leisure that is the weekend. Well, before he finishes his cereal and this phone call to go back inside and grade last week’s film critiques. He’s sure he’s in for a treat, if his students’ reactions to Aguire, der Zorn Gottes are any indicator.
"Well, you already know all about Courfeyrac from previous work stories." A smile plays at Marius' lips. "He's great to work with and, ah, even more interesting to live with."
She laughs at this. "I look forward to hearing more of those stories for sure."
"He's trying to work on a musical based off Downton Abbey so I'll let you know how that goes." Marius shakes his head before continuing, "Combeferre seems interesting. He's a resident over at the Hôtel-Dieu. I haven't talked to him much but I'm given the impression that he is the 'parent' of the household, more or less." They’re friendly enough, he supposes. “Their old housemate, Grantaire, hangs around the apartment sometimes when he’s not at the tattoo shop he works at. I don’t talk to him much either.”
"What about the other one?”
“Hm?” He sounds innocent enough over the other line, enough to mask that he was rather hoping that he’d be able to avoid talking about Enjolras.
“You said that you have three roommates. You only mentioned two of them.”
“Oh, well, you see, the other one is—”
It’s then that Enjolras emerges from his bedroom/office, making it officially the first time that Marius has seen him today. Though the blond can’t hear him through the glass door, Marius shuts up immediately.
Thankfully Enjolras does not seem to take notice of Marius’ gaze, which is currently following his every move.
Enjolras, clad in the same dark red hooded sweatshirt that he wore on the day they met, and his curly blond hair pulled into a bun at the top of his head, is more concentrated on pouring himself a large cup of coffee. There are dark circles under his eyes and Marius thought he heard the tapping of a keyboard insistently when he tried to fall asleep in the early hours of the morning. As Enjolras put his cup in the microwave, Marius began to ponder what it was exactly that kept him working until now.
“The other one is what?”
That is, until, Cosette’s voice brought him back to reality.
“What?” Enjolras was adding vanilla soy milk and cocoa powder to his coffee as Marius tried to recall exactly what it was he and Cosette were talking about.
“Your other roommate,” Cosette reminds him. She’s done this far too many times to be too frustrated with him.
“Oh, right, Enjolras!”
This time the aforementioned blond does hear him. It would be a surprise if everyone on this side of the Latin Quartier didn’t hear him. Marius said his name loud enough.
Enjolras, who has the bowl-sized mug lifted to his lips, slowly lowers it to glance over at Marius.
Marius flushes immediately. “Crap, he heard me,” he murmurs into the phone, trying not to make his lips move too much. (All while Cosette asks, “You’re talking about them while they’re here?!”) He awkwardly lifts his free hand and waves it in Enjolras’ direction. “Good morning!” he half shouts, trying for a cheerful expression, ignoring the fact that it’s half past eleven, and hoping the other will just go along with it.
Enjolras does, for the most part. Or he does his version of it anyway. Rather than the stern expression he’s worn in the past, he waves back and his eyes are a little unsure but at least there isn’t a total grimace on his face. He then takes a long sip of coffee, nods curtly once in Marius’ direction, and heads back towards his bedroom.
“So, yeah, my other roommate. Enjolras.” Marius lays his head against the wall. “I’m pretty sure he thinks I’m a complete idiot.”