Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

There it is again. Once a month, for the last three months, a little white dog would follow Enjolras home from the library when it closed. This wouldn’t be a problem, except Enjolras is really really afraid of dogs.

It all started with his mother’s vicious little teacup Pomeranian. It would follow her around all day and sit on her lap when she had important guests over for tea. The stupid thing would look all pretty and adorable until Enjolras walked in. Then it would snarl and growl at him, snapping at his ankles. When it could it would launch itself off high places to attack him in the face. Eventually Enjolras learned to keep to himself in his room; the light up there was better for reading anyway.

Then it was the neighbor’s son’s untrained and overly-friendly golden retriever, who knocked a pre-teen and short-for-his-age Enjolras flat on his back to thoroughly bathe his face in spit. Enjolras went completely still in shock. His neighbor fell over himself laughing until he realized that no, Enjolras is not joking, he’s legitimately freaking out. Enjolras didn’t even remember screaming but it was apparently loud enough for someone to call the police and that snowballed into this whole thing with a neighborhood meeting over leash laws and people volunteering to teach owners how to train their dogs. Enjolras had to stand on a makeshift stage in front of everyone so his neighbor’s son could do his three-part apology consisting of a drum solo, an interpretive dance, and a puppet show that reenacted the whole ordeal. All in all, the subject of dogs is equal parts terrifying and mortifying and he’d rather avoid it altogether.

Full-grown and quite-tall-for-his-age Enjolras in the present stares down at the little white dog before him. It’s sitting on its rump and staring back, balefully round eyes watering at the edges. Enjolras abruptly turns and starts the short walk back to his apartment.

He doesn’t run back, but Enjolras doesn’t dawdle either. The place he shares with Combeferre isn’t far from the university but it’s getting pretty late and he’s not in the greatest part of town. People don’t get mugged here often but it still happens.

When the fluffy little dog first appeared three months ago, Enjolras had reacted on instinct and punted it into the topiary. He felt bad about it of course, it wasn’t on purpose. Enjolras pushed the bushes aside until he found the little dog, its fur stark white against the dark ground. It was lying on its side, unmoving. Enjolras gingerly nudged at it with his copy of Comparative Politcal Theory until it stirred. It wasn’t bleeding, and it got back on its feet, so Enjolras whispered a quick, slightly hysterical apology before scuttling off. Or, he tried to, at least. To his horror, the little dog merely shook out its fur and trotted along beside him. That was the only night Enjolras abandoned all appearances and ran back to his apartment. The tiny little dog ran alongside him until they were in sight of his front door. Then it seemed to lose interest and trotted off. It’s done that every time, once a month, for the last three months.

Enjolras slides his eyes to the side and sees the little dog keeping pace beside him despite its much shorter legs. Its tiny mouth is open and panting at the exertion. It’s a quiet night except for the sound of Enjolras’s footfalls and the dog plodding along. Enjolras takes advantage of the bright moonlight to observe his companion; it doesn’t seem interested in attacking him after all. It’s pretty cute, for a dog. Its long, shaggy fur sways with every step. Aside from the tiny pink tongue hanging out of the side of its mouth, the dog wore an unexpectedly serious expression. Its puppy-like size belies its purposeful expression, like the dog believes itself to be on an important mission. The dog stops midstep.

“Enjolras, you’re heading back too?” Combeferre smiled, rounding the corner with a stuffed messenger bag slung across his chest.

“Were you studying with Joly?”

“Yeah and it ran late. Bossuet came back early and tried to cook us dinner.”

Enjolras makes a choked sound.

“He meant well. And you have to admire that degree of tenacity. You would think after this many kitchen mishaps he would have given up by now.”

“Jeez, is everyone okay?”

“Yeah, luckily this time it was just a fire and Musichetta’s gotten really good with the fire extinguisher. I only stayed late to help clean up.” Something catches Combeferre’s eye and he looks down. “You have a friend with you.”

Enjolras looks down. The little dog is sitting attentively where it stopped, a polite three feet away.

“Remember how I told you there was a little dog that followed me back from the library?”

“That was a month ago.” Combeferre looks up, a thoughtful expression on his face.

The dog blinks, one eye at a time. It snuffles, gets up and walks away, disappearing down the street.

~*~

After the meeting the next night Cosette sidles up behind Enjolras and barks into his ear. Enjolras doesn’t fall out of his chair, but only just. She hides a feminine, delicate giggle behind a graceful hand, which is completely at odds with the horrible, evil person she truly is. Enjolras fixes her with a glare so fierce that weaker men have been known to soil themselves as a result.

“That look doesn’t work on me, you know. I was there when you first learned how to do it. And I don’t know why you’re so mad. A little bird told me that you’ve warmed up to doggies lately.”

He’s in for some kind of long discussion judging by the way Cosette takes a seat at his table, carefully scooting her chair in. Enjolras sighs and recollects his scattered papers. “Stop shaking my friends down for information, Cosette, you’re protective-sister thing is overbearing and invalid because I’m the older one.”

“My overbearing habits formed out of necessity; you have fully-developed ideals of the big picture, the important things concerning life and liberty, the rights of man, and this is admirable but you have no common sense.” Cosette reaches out to take his hand between hers. “Honey, we take turns calling you to remind you to eat.”

Courfeyrac was walking by with a round of drinks and decides to slide into the chair beside her, sloshing the contents of his tray. “Are we talking about how it takes a village to raise an Enjolras? That’s my favorite conversation.”

“No, we’re talking about Enjolras’s not-at-all-subtle issue with dogs.” Cosette smiles indulgently, letting go of his hand to take a beer from the tray.

Courfeyrac pales and takes a deep swallow from his drink. “Again, Enjolras, I’m so so sorry—“

Enjolras plants his hands on the wooden table. “No, Courf, it’s fine-“

“Butterbutt just really liked you; he’s calmed down now with age.” Courfeyrac’s eyes swell with emotion as his voice climbs in volume. He makes to get up. “I still have the puppets if you want me to apologize some more.”

“No! No, it wasn’t entirely Butterbutt’s fault,” Enjolras leaps forward to push Courfeyrac back in his seat. “It was more because of my mother’s evil dog’s fault.”

Now it’s Cosette’s turn to lean forward. “That’s not fair and you know it. Mama’s dog was a perfect lady.”

“She tried to eat my face! Every chance she got!”

“Because your hair looked like a dog! A baby dog! Mimi was trying to mother your hair!”

Bossuet hobbles over on his crutches. “Hello, I like hair. I want to talk about Enjolras’s hair too.”

Joly pulls out a chair for Bossuet and gets him settled before taking his own seat. “And Courf never made it back with the drinks.”

Enjolras feels his face flush. “We were sort of having a private conversation.”

“Ooh I love private conversations!” Jehan prances over and looks excitedly between their faces. Éponine trails behind him, one hand tapping away on her phone and the other hand gripping Grantaire’s collar to drag him along. Once they’ve stopped moving Grantaire leans his full weight against Éponine’s side, burrowing his face into her neck.

Grantaire is usually pretty run down, which is to be expected with the alcoholism and the demands of being an art student, but today he looks dead on his feet. His signature five o’clock shadow has progressed into a patchy beard in the two or so days he hasn’t shaved. He was always tired but he usually wore his tiredness like a warm cloak to match his dry quips and sardonic smiles. Tonight he just seems exhausted.

Éponine pauses in her texting and looks up, kohl-rimmed eyes lidded in boredom. “Yeah chief, you can trust all thirteen of us to keep a secret.”

Enjolras tears his eyes away from Grantaire and looks up to see that, yep, all thirteen of his closest friends (including Gavroche) are gathered around his table. They’re drawn to gossip like moths to a flame.

Enjolras swivels around until he finds Combeferre. “Is nothing held in confidence, Brutus?”

“You can’t be pissed at him, he didn’t even know about your dog problem!”

Combeferre grips Cosette’s shoulder to calm her and leans in. In his most doctor-ly voice he assured Enjolras “We all love you, and we’re here to help you.”

Jehan cocks his head to the side. “Enjolras has a dog problem?”

Combeferre nudges his glasses. “It’s only a teensy, tiny, fluffy dog problem.”

This finally seems to intrigue Éponine enough that she tucks her phone into her pocket. “How tiny?” She elbows Grantaire in the gut, causing him to snuffle and stand up straight. His eyelids stick as he blinks blearily at them all like he’s offended that everyone’s here.

“Is this an intervention?”

“No!” Enjolras asserts.

“Yes!” Cosette yells, at the same time and much louder. “Look, Enjolras. I love what you do here with Les Amis. But you have to recognize that one day, probably in the near future, the police are going to bring dogs to these rallies, to intimidate us or to hunt us down, whatever. When that day comes we can’t have you paralyzed with fear. All jokes aside, you could get seriously hurt if you don’t remember to run when they come after you.”

Marius, of all people, wraps his arms around Enjolras’s shoulders in solidarity.

“Which is why I’ve convinced Mama and Papa to bring Mimi down for a visit.”

Turns out, Marius was really there to hold Enjolras back from lunging at his sister.

Chapter Text

Marius might be a graceless beanpole but luckily it doesn’t take much more than a can-do attitude to sit on someone who’s trying to maul the love of his life. But an angry Enjolras is a wily Enjolras, and a truly terrified Enjolras is shameless. He swings the jut of his hip into Marius’s crotch, hearing him yelp and fall over but not wasting the time to confirm with his eyes. He books it for the door, stopping just long enough to grab his bag off the back of his chair.

He’s acutely aware that his close relationship with his sister doesn’t give him much time. She’s going to figure out what he’s doing pretty fast. Enjolras ducks into a dingy corner liquor store, the only place on the way home that’s still open at this hour. They don’t have much, just a couple bags of nuts and chips, but he grabs all the food he can and throws money at the cashier like it’s the End of Days. This stuff is all terrible for him but it can’t be helped; all the groceries at their apartment need to be cooked to be eaten and he doesn’t like his chances with Sterno.

When he gets back to the apartment, it’s thankfully still dark. He grabs his books, his laptop, the coffee machine, and on second thought his pillow and duvet, and tosses it all onto the bathroom floor. Lastly, he takes one of the kitchen chairs into bathroom with him and wedges it under the doorknob just as the front door lock clicks open. Enjolras sits on the closed toilet lid and stress-eats a handful of Doritos.

Combeferre knocks his knuckles against the bathroom door in his distinctive, non-nonsense pattern. “Enjolras, you can’t barricade yourself in the bathroom.”

“I have evidence otherwise.”

“Let me clarify that.” Cosette struggles with something that clatters dully against the wooden door. “You can’t barricade yourself in the bathroom without your laptop charger.”

Enjolras’s hands spasm, turning the remaining Doritos turn into dust. She probably stole it out of his bag at the meeting, and knew he wouldn’t check for it. He needs to act fast. He calls out, “Who else is out there? I know at least some of you came along to see the show.”

Jehan pipes up, “It’s just me for now, Courf is helping Marius put ice on his dick.”

“My kingdom for a horse, Jehan, just slide me the charger under the door.”

Jehan makes an inquisitive sound, and Enjolras can imagine his head tilting to the side, birdlike. “What are you offering me?”

“I have pictures of Courfeyrac from before puberty and spoiler alert: he grew into that nose.”

Cosette sucks a breath through her teeth. “It’s a bold strategy, Cotton, let’s see if it pays off for him.”

In that moment, the stars and planets align to cause the rarest of all events to occur: Combeferre loses his patience. “Enjolras, you are one of the bravest men I’ve ever known. Come out now or I tell the super to shut off our water.”

After a moment Enjolras unhooks the chair, squealing the rubber-padded ends against the linoleum floor. They probably have a point about him facing his fears; at the very least he’d be able to practice curbing these foolish reactions. Tonight he tried to outmaneuver his sister and Combeferre, which is definitely one of the dumbest things he’s ever tried. He didn’t stand a chance, really, so there’s some comfort in that.

It’s just- the police don’t scare him, threats of arrest and expulsion don’t scare him, because he knows he’s right. Dogs, though. You can’t reason with dogs. You can’t argue against dogs in court.

He can make out Cosette and Combeferre conversing in low voices; then there’s a smattering of feet against the hardwood floors and the front door shuts with a heavy thud. He hears Combeferre latch the lock firmly behind their friends. Moments later the bathroom door swings aside and Combeferre leans against the frame, sighing. He claps a hand on Enjolras’s shoulder, casting a look around the room that’s equal parts amusement and exasperation.

“Cosette says your parents will be here tomorrow morning, so get some sleep.”

~*~

He dreams about the little white dog. In the dream the dog is trotting alongside Enjolras, like usual, but instead of its serious little expression it looks happy. He’s panting to keep up with Enjolras’s longer strides, but he’s also jumping and barking happily, licking at Dream-Enjolras’s leg. And it feels normal; it feels comfortable.

Enjolras slowly surfaces from the dream in a cocoon of warmth, his mind relaxed. Then the memory of last night’s events slams into his mind at ninety miles an hour and he throws the covers back, rushing out into the main room. His heart is hammering and he scans the room, afraid that his parents would leave Mimi here while he was asleep, because way too many people have keys to their apartment and anyone could come in and steal things or murder them or leave a dog and-

And Enjolras stops and realizes how ridiculous he’s being.

The apartment is in its usual Saturday-morning disarray, nothing out of the ordinary among their usual chaos. Dishes are piled in the sink and on the surrounding counter. Papers and thick textbooks are strewn over ever surface of the apartment, interspersed with forgotten mugs of coffee. The trash is starting to smell, and Combeferre’s going to stress about not being able to find his shoes soon. There’s still glitter all over the kitchen from last Tuesday when Courfeyrac went through his ‘dramatic emphasis’ phase.

At the start of their cohabitation, Combeferre and Enjolras had sat down together to basically agree that if we don’t make a mess we don’t have to clean up a mess. They were naïve little freshmen at the time. Combeferre and he are pre-med and pre-law respectively; along with the meetings, the resulting protests, part-time jobs, volunteering at the on-campus clinic, Combeferre’s mysterious new lady-friend, and their co-dependent social schedule, the apartment hasn’t been cleaned since the start of the semester. They try to straighten up every weekend but it’s been a moot effort with their friends coming in and out and why do so many of these people have keys to their apartment?

Combeferre stumbles out of his room. His hair is flattened on one side and fluffed up on the other. He’s mostly still asleep and doesn’t have his glasses on, so he navigates his way to the coffee machine entirely by feel, groaning zombie-like along the way. This journey to the coffee machine is even more impressive when one remembers that it’s still in the bathroom.

Enjolras grabs the grinds, a spoon, and the last clean mug from the kitchen and heads after him, coming in just as Combeferre starts making mournful whale sounds from where he’s cross-legged on the bathroom floor, patting at the machine in vain. They fill the coffee maker with water from the tap and it does its thing while Combeferre and Enjolras stay slumped against the bathtub. When the coffee’s done they pass the mug back and forth, waking up in increments.

After some time, Enjolras heaves himself up and blows his fringe aside. He fixes Combeferre with a steely gaze. “I think I’m supposed to be upset with you. You decided something would be good for me without discussing it with me first. There are probably some problematic consent issues with that.”

Combeferre sits up as well, looking chastised. The two friends stare at each other for a beat, then two. When Combeferre responds, it’s with resigned determination. “I’m sorry.”

Enjolras’s nods once, his expression softening. “I trust your judgment. Sometimes more than I trust my own. So I’d like to think you know what you’re doing.”

He pats Combeferre on the knee and leaves him to finish waking up with the rest of the coffee.

~*~

An hour later they’ve gotten the apartment as clean as they’ve ever bothered to make it. Combeferre excuses himself when Cosette arrives, citing a study date with his Mystery Lady.

Cosette huffs when the door shuts behind him. “He thinks he’s being sneaky but he really isn’t.”

This surprises a laugh out of Enjolras. “I think it’s only obvious to us because we live with them. I doubt any of the others know.”

“Nerds, the lot of them.” She pulls out a Limited Edition The Hobbit Moleskine notebook, bound tight with an elastic strap. Its burgundy cover threatens to burst open from the sheer volume of additional sheets she has slipped between the pages. Multicolored adhesive tabs stick out at all angles. When she flips through it, searching for a particular page, the pages crinkle under the strain of all the looping handwritten notes. Just a cursory glance shows that she regularly ignores margins and treats the pre-printed lines with contempt, writing horizontally, diagonally, in columns going left to right, in spiraling boxes.

“Ok, so I asked Google for some tips as to how we can ease you out of your phobia. It’s mostly exposure therapy, and mind over matter stuff.” She pulls a bundled up sweatshirt out of her bag and shoves it into Enjolras’s arms. “Practice on this.”

Enjolras looks down at the bundle. Aside from a few dubious white hairs stuck to it, there’s nothing else particularly dog-like about it. He gives it a cautious sniff. “Why does this smell like dog?”

“How dare you, that smells like dog and Grantaire. That’s his work hoodie, unwashed and ripe from when he temped at that pet hotel last week. Éponine stole it one night when she was desperately cold, and I stole it off her another night, and now it’s yours.”

Grantaire's had a multitude of strange jobs, but this one stuck out in Enjolras's memory. It was one of the few times he's seen Grantaire truly happy after a day of work.

“Now remember: dogs are not out to get you. Fish are friends, not food. You’re supposed to repeat this to yourself five times a day.”

Cosette waits until Enjolras does so, rolling his eyes.

“Now pretend the hoodie is a dog. Pet the dog.”

Most people who have met Enjolras for longer than two minutes can tell you that he’s a man who relentlessly pursues an idealized future, a freedom fighter who keeps his goals at the forefront of his mind with a single-minded focus that is as daunting as it is admirable. He’s a man who can convince a crowd of strangers that his dreams for the future is achievable, because he himself constantly sees it as within his grasp. He’s a man with vision.

Enjolras stares down at the sweatshirt bunched in his hands. He visualizes. He shrieks and hurls the sweatshirt at the couch, climbing up and over the kitchen counter.

Someone pounds on the door, causing Enjolras to shriek again and climb back over the kitchen counter, his chest heaving.

Cosette sighs and slips a sticky note bookmark onto the page before shutting her notebook.

~*~

Valjean’s knees pop when he starts climbing up the stairs to his son’s apartment. “Are you sure you want to leave Mimi with Enjolras? I know Cosette isn’t allowed to have pets at her dormitory, but Enjolras? He’s never been very good at keeping things alive.”

Fantine hoists the sleeping dog higher up on her thin shoulders. Mimi snuffles, readjusting in her arms. “I know honey. That’s why we made sure he’s living with Combeferre, remember?”

“And he never seemed to warm up to Mimi.” Valjean wrings his hands distractedly.

“I know, dear.”

“I know he said it was just allergies, but what kind of allergic reaction would make a boy run screaming out of a room whenever the family dog walks in?”

“I don’t know dear. But maybe he’s grown out of it? Some allergies get better as the child grows up.”

Valjean looks abashed. “I sort of wanted you to put Mimi up for adoption. Are we bad parents for not putting our son’s health above all else?”

Fantine readjusts her grip. Mimi’s getting overweight in her old age. “I did ask him a few times if he would be more comfortable without Mimi in the house, but he assured me that he didn’t want us to do that. He knew that Mimi was a gift from my work union, and that it would look bad if we got rid of her. Enjolras really is such a thoughtful boy.”

“Like how he’s offering to watch Mimi for us.”

They reach the landing for Enjolras’s floor. Valjean and Fantine share a fond gaze over the top of Mimi’s fluffy head, lost in memories. A blood-curdling scream echoes through the hall, snapping the parents back to the present.

“Enjolras!”

~*~

Cosette plasters a sunny smile on her face before answering the door. “Mama, Papa!”

“Cosette, are you alright? We heard screaming.” Valjean spins Cosette around with little effort, looking over her for injuries.

“We’re fine, Papa, Enjolras is just being excitable.” Cosette hugs her parents, squishing Mimi between them.

Enjolras stands and clears his throat. “Hello Mother, Father.”

Fantine smiles indulgently and sets Mimi down on the floor. The dog stays where she's put, starfishing across the carpet on her belly to resume sleeping. Fantine moves forward to smooth Enjolras’s hair back, kissing him on the temple. “You cleaned up the apartment for us!”

Enjolras flushes. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, it always looks this way.”

Valjean sets a lumpy duffle bag on the counter. “This should be everything you need for the week. You kids know how to reach us if there’s any trouble.” He hesitates, then thinks better of it and pulls Enjolras aside while Cosette and Fantine unpack the bag.

“Son, I assume you’re still on that activism lark? You remember my feelings on this matter.”

“Father, I can’t run away every time the police show up, I’m the leader.”

Valjean clasps Enjolras around the shoulders, his expression grim. They’ve had this discussion many times before, and stand at an ideological impasse: Valjean believes volunteer work and charity is the best way to help those less fortunate, and Enjolras believes in attacking society’s problems at the source.

They are about the same height but Valjean’s a much broader man; his hands sit heavily on Enjolras’s narrower shoulders. “Well, you can learn to take cover at least. And running away to fight another day has its tactical advantages.”

They catch up a little bit before Fantine and Valjean have to leave to catch their flight. The moment the front door shuts behind them, Enjolras springs backwards onto the back of the couch, as far away from the dog in the entryway as he can get. Mimi still hasn’t moved.

“Is she dead?”

Cosette seems to be thinking the same thing, though more out of concern than hope. She walks over to inspect the dog.

The honey-colored fur above Mimi’s splayed hind legs sway with the gust of a soft, inaudible fart. Mimi twitches and readjusts her legs, no signs of having awaken.