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It had been a busy night already, Musichetta had been running around the small dingy pub since 4 pm when the first businessmen had passed by for an after-work pint.
By now it was 8 pm and the business was buzzing. The days before Christmas were often used to try and connect with co-workers you didn't even like for the sake of a holiday. She only rolled her eyes at most people's behavior and busied herself with wiping down the bar. Éponine was behind it, trying the hardest to keep up the strained smile on her face.
As Musichetta passed her the other girl murmured: "God if I have to encounter one more stilted attempt at a conversation I will stab myself."
Well, Musichetta couldn't disagree. It was one more thing about this holiday, that had always baffled her. She had never celebrated it all big with her family, but she had definitely never felt like she had missed out.
People acted like idiots from December 1st until the 28th. How they herded together their families, where everybody hates each other, for a few day just to keep up a perfect facade.
How they feel like they have to play nice and invite co-workers to a pub, just to go back to work after the holidays and talk shit about how "Sharon can't hold her liquor."
All the fake affection was bullshit and Musichetta knew better than that. She usually spent the days with her friends bundled up on the sofa, watching shitty TV and she felt much more comfortable than most people must be.
"So do you think there will be snow on Christmas Day?"
"Are you married?"
"Oh, you have children?"
"Have you heard the news about Karen, the secretary?"
"So Julie, how's your husband?" "Sarah." "What?" "My name is Sarah! And I'm lesbian!"
Musichetta made her way towards an empty table, snorting at the terrible conversations. Well, in the end, it was good for her since most of the people drank way too much in order to get over with the night.
A new group of customers entered the pub and headed straight for the bar. Éponine greeted them and when Musichetta got over introduced them as her friends.
"That's Grantaire, that's Bahorel and that's Bossuet."
Éponine pointed at the three of them and then at Musichetta.
They were kind of a... interesting group of guys. Grantaire was small and looked like he hadn't slept in weeks and she was fairly sure there was paint in his hair. The other one, Bahorel she reminded herself, looked completely out of place next to him. He dressed up, more likely working in an office, but the black eye made that a bit hard to believe.
And the third one rounded the whole picture out. He was taller than the two of them but not as broad as Bahorel and he was definitely having splotches of white paint on his bald head. His Hoodie, depicting a pink reindeer, was torn and when he raised his hand in a greeting she saw that it was bandaged. He didn't seem like the kind of guy to be involved in a streetfight, but he certainly looked like he had been robbed five minutes ago. Still, he had caught her eye.
"And that's Musichetta."
"Ah, the infamous!", the first guy, Grantaire exclaimed. And Bossuet added: "I swear, if Éponine weren't very happy in love at the moment, I would bet she had a crush on you."
He winked and it made Musichetta laugh and Éponine blush heavily.
Éponine had only been working here for three weeks and in that time had only seldom talked about her private life, but Musichetta was glad she felt comfortable to invite her friends to the pub. And she was more than happy, that Éponine spoke highly of her. "Well, then I hope I will not disappoint you. The first drinks are on me.", she decided and then headed over to another customer.
*
Over the course of the night, she had pretty much been busy with businessmen and -women and college kids, celebrating the end of their finals. Whenever she had a short moment to spare, she had gone over to where the men were sat at the bar.
In those short moments, she gathered that Bahorel was apparently a lawyer, that Éponine was the one who had given him the black eye the last time she had been drunk and that Grantaire and Bossuet had been painting Grantaire's new flat.
"You should have seen him,", Grantaire had told her after his third beer, while he patted Bossuet on the shoulder.
"I have no idea what happened. But! I am gone for like 20 seconds. And I come back and he managed to pour the whole bucket of paint over himself."
Bossuet almost shoved him down from the barstool and grumbled something Musichetta couldn't understand.
*
It was exactly three minutes and twenty seconds after last call when Musichetta got to witness Bossuet's bad luck herself. He had been sober since he had been the designated driver. And still, he somehow managed to tumble over his own feet as he tried to hand Grantaire his jacket on their way out. He stumbled backward into another customer, who was smoking on the sidewalk and reacted by shoving him, which made Bossuet slip on the frozen pavement and hit his head.
And all that had happened in the span of about five seconds.
Grantaire, stumbling as well but at least with his jacket finally on, only laughed. After a short moment of shock Éponine, Bahorel and, to Musichetta's horror, even Bossuet joined in.
*
Since the others apparently were useless, Musichetta had decided to take Bossuet to the ER herself.
"It's fiiiine. Really. I am good. Just a bit dizzy. Is okay. I just drunk.", he mumbled from the passenger seat. He was sitting there, his face leaned against the window and a towel on his bleeding nose.
"You were sober!", Musichetta answered exasperatedly.
Luckily the hospital wasn't far away. She just hoped he wouldn't pass out.
"Oh, that's good! I embarrass myself when I'm drunk."
He paused and Musichetta nudged him, to keep him awake. "And I don't want to be embarrassing in front of you, you are cute and soooo pretty!"
That made her snort. If drunk people were supposed to speak the truth, what about concussed ones?
*
When they reached the hospital, Bossuet was getting less and less responsive. They had just stepped through the front door when a man, looking quite stressed out, approached them.
"Oh dear, are you okay?", he asked looking at the two of them alarmed.
"Are you a doctor?", Musichetta shot back. She didn't want to waste time and he looked terribly young.
"Fourth-year med student, I just got off my shift. Just let me help you to the ER, please."
He helped her to more or less carry Bossuet to the ER, which to their luck was quite empty.
"Five more minutes.", he said after he had spoken to a nurse. "I am Joly, by the way.", he didn't hold out his hand but smiled at them brightly.
"Musichetta", she introduced herself.
"And that one's Bossuet."
When he heard his name, the man opened his eyes and tried to get up from where he was resting on Joly's shoulder. When he saw the other man, his eyes lit up.
"Shiiiit he's pretty too! I should hit my head more often. I can meet lovely people."
And then he was out again.
Musichetta and Joly shared a look and chuckled.
"You've got quite an affectionate boyfriend I'd say.", Joly said with a laugh, as Bossuet snuggled closer.
"Oh, no. He's not my boyfriend. We just met at my pub. He uhm... hit his head on the pavement in front of as he slipped.It's... a long story.", she shrugged and almost missed the way Joly's face lit up.
"Ah okay, good to know. You know it would have been impolite to ask a taken person out for coffee.", he said fast. Blush spread across his cheeks.
"Wait, I didn't mean to say that out loud. I am sorry... 16-hour-shift. I mean, I still mean it, I guess." And then he looked at her and Bossuet like he wasn't sure whom he had even wanted to ask. Bossuet chipped in.
"Heeeey, can I join you on your date? You are both cool and I like you."
Musichetta laughed, somehow she could imagine the three of them getting along swimmingly.
"Sounds more than fine to me.", she agreed and winked at Joly, whose blush had only gotten worse.
"Yeah! Maybe we wait until you are, back on your feet, though."
"Great idea, I already like you. What's your name again?"