Work Text:
"You can come over here."
Enjolras made a face that Combeferre obviously couldn’t see at his phone. “All the documents are here. It would take me an hour to pack everything up.”
There was an uneasy silence on Combeferre’s end.
"Seriously?" Enjolras asked.
In his own apartment, Combeferre ran his hand over his face quickly. “Enjolras, your place is…”
"Closer to the café, and has everything we’ve been working on."
"And it’s horrifying, Enjolras…" Combeferre murmured. "You can’t even see the floor anymore."
"Marius hasn’t finished unpacking his suitcase yet."
"He moved in three months ago!"
Enjolras made an agitated noise. “I’ll meet you at Musain,” he muttered, and hung up.
Marius cradled a steaming mug of tea in both hands and watched Enjolras nervously. He’d come out of the kitchen when he’d heard his name, just in case he was in trouble, but he hadn’t wanted to interrupt while Enjolras was on the phone — and now he was afraid to ask because of the way Enjolras was fighting to hold back a sneer.
He silently sipped his tea, and winced as it burned his tongue.
Enjolras brushed past him, marching into the kitchen to start sweeping up the papers he’d left scattered across the table. He haphazardly pulled them into a pile, moving half-empty mugs and plates with crumbs to the side.
Marius didn’t move.
After about five minutes of annoyed rustling, Enjolras stomped back into view. “I’m going to the café,” he grunted.
Marius nodded.
Enjolras shoved his stack of work into a bag.
Marius tried to breathe in as quietly as possible, as to not disturb him.
Enjolras tossed the bag over his shoulder, but didn’t continue his march towards the door. Instead he took a deep breath and turned towards Marius.
Marius’s eyes widened slightly.
Enjolras slowly gestured at the living room, which had become Marius’s bedroom when he’d moved in. There was a mattress tucked into a corner, complete with a pillow that had no pillowcase, and was covered in clothes. Marius’s fully unpacked, but not hidden suitcase was in the middle of the room.
"Combeferre refuses to come over here to work, because he thinks we’re too messy."
Marius blushed and quickly opened his mouth to apologise.
Enjolras cut him off before he had the chance. “He’s just a neat freak. He just doesn’t understand that you have a full time job, and I have better things to do than fold every single pair of my socks and then colour code them.”
"Does Combeferre do that?" Marius asked quietly.
"Probably," Enjolras muttered, adjusting the strap on his bag. "I’ll be back in a couple of hours."
Marius nodded. “Do you… want me to pick up some some of my stuff? I could do the dishes.”
Enjolras shrugged. “Throw your suitcase or whatever in my room,” he replied, turning towards the door. “At least that way, Mr. Clean just won’t notice.”
—-
"You’re sure Enjolras doesn’t care?" Cosette asked for the third time. Frankly, most of the time she didn’t care what Enjolras thought, but it was his apartment, and he was kind enough to let her wayward sheep of a boyfriend live there with an extremely reduced rent.
Marius picked up his suitcase. “He told me to do it…”
Cosette moved to open the door to Enjolras’s bedroom for him.
"…oh," she said faintly, surveying heaps of books and clothes and— "Is that blood?" She asked suddenly.
Marius peeked over her head to see what she was looking at.
"Oh, no," he reassured her quickly, dragging his suitcase into the room. "It’s an art project of Courfeyrac’s. He figured Enjolras would like it."
Cosette gracefully reined in some of the horror in her expression. “Of course,” she replied, her tone still dripping with sarcasm. “Who wouldn’t want a faux-bloody royalist flag as a present?”
"I think Enjolras meant to hang it up…" Marius commented, looking for a place to store his suitcase where it wouldn’t be in the way.
It was a silly effort, considering there wasn’t an inch of space in Enjolras’s bedroom that didn’t have at least a foot of stuff on it.
Cosette sighed quietly to herself and crouched down. “Can you fit it under the— no. There are already suitcases under there. I think? I’ve never seen him wear most of these clothes.”
"Courfeyrac," Marius said again, as if that explained everything. "Oh! And Jehan, actually."
"Some of this still has tags on it…"
"He keeps it for a few months until they forget about it and then gives it to Feuilly."
Cosette stepped over a stack of books. “And just leaves it on the floor in the meantime? Just hand it to me,” she told him, reaching for his suitcase. “I’ll put it over here, in the corner.”
Marius passed his empty suitcase over to her. “The dresser’s full…”
"Of what, more clothes?"
Marius shrugged.
Cosette propped his suitcase up in a corner of the room, where it would at least be out of the way. Or as out of the way as anything could be in that place.
"Is this the only bathroom?" She asked, poking her head in. One towel had been tossed over the shower rod, but the rest were — unsurprisingly — on the floor.
"Yeah, but he doesn’t sleep much, so it doesn’t really matter that I have to walk through here to…" He gestured at the bathroom.
Cosette turned her head to look at him. His cheeks were turning pink. “To shower?” She offered.
Marius’s entire body slumped as he internally smacked himself for not being able to think of something so obvious. “Right. Yeah, that.”
Cosette looked back into the bathroom again. “I know you don’t use all those hair products…”
Marius shook his head.
"For someone so belligerently anti-consumerism, Enjolras is awfully bourgeois."
"Oh, those aren’t his," Marius explained quickly, wading towards her. "That’s all Bahorel’s."
Cosette’s head tilted inquisitively.
Marius grinned in his slightly awkward, goofy way. “They fight about it a lot.”
Cosette took a step back and turned towards him, reaching out for his hand to steady herself as she avoided treading on a newspaper that looked like it was more than a decade old. “Bahorel stays here too?”
Marius gripped her hand tightly until she was safe in his arms. “Only sometimes. He comes and goes.”
Cosette draped her arms over Marius’s shoulders. “Where does he sleep when he stays here?”
Marius breathed in slowly, looking slightly dazed. He had his arms around Cosette’s waist, but he held her gently and almost reverently, like she was delicate but extraordinary. “They just stay up all night talking…”
"He doesn’t sleep at all?"
Marius shrugged, looking sheepish. “I don’t really pay attention…”
Cosette made a thoughtful noise.
Marius watched her face with such intense fondness.
After a moment she leaned in and kissed him on the nose. “We should do those dishes.”
He nodded quickly. “Yes. Okay.”
"Maybe we’ll even throw out some of the takeaway boxes," she said, taking his hand and leading him out of the bedroom. "If we’re feeling adventurous."
"…but what will we eat?"
She stopped at the door. Stopped in her tracks and turned to face Marius with wide, horror-filled eyes. “Tell me you’re joking.”
Marius’s eyebrows lifted right up to his hairline. He wasn’t.
Cosette covered her face with both hands.
—-
"You’re turning into quite the Wendy," Monsieur Fauchelevent told his daughter fondly.
Cosette looked down at her hands demurely, but inside she was beaming. “Papa,” she crooned, gently begging him. “It’s for their own good.”
Fauchelevent smiled, squeezing her hand. As always, he trusted that his little Cosette knew best (and she did), even if he wasn’t sure how comfortable he was with the idea of his beloved daughter adopting an entire gang of Lost Boys.
"How many of them are there?" He asked again, resigning.
"Nine," Cosette answered immediately. "But they may not all be interested—"
"You want me to buy a house for them without telling them first?"
"Not buy it," Cosette insisted. "Just find one."
Fauchelevent’s expression was loving, but skeptical.
"If you find one, then I’ll tell them," Cosette explained. "…and then we can buy it."
Her beleaguered Papa smiled and sighed. “You need to discuss this with them first.” He scratched his grey stubbled chin absently. “But I will see what I can find.”
Cosette’s face lit up. She quickly kissed Fauchelevent’s forehead. “Thank you, Papa. You’re so wonderful to me.”
"I only aspire to be as good as you deserve, my dear."
—-
"I’m not living in the same house as Enjolras," Combeferre said flatly.
Cosette’s mouth curved into a pout.
"I know why you’re doing this. You think if I get on board, then Enjolras will follow. Marius will do anything you ask, and if three of Courfeyrac’s favourite people are living together, then he’ll want to be a part of it as well. And where Courfeyrac goes, the world follows."
Cosette folded her arms over her chest and leaned back in her chair.
Despite her best efforts, Combeferre was unaffected. “Go and convince Courfeyrac,” he told her. “He’ll say yes in a heartbeat, with or without me.”
"But it would be so much better with you," Cosette practically whined. "I have to convince Feuilly, and I’m positive it will seem too codependent to him. But it would work for Bahorel, and Marius thinks it would be helpful for Eponine."
Combeferre raised one eyebrow.
"She used to sleep on Courfeyrac’s couch when he and Marius were living together. But when Marius moved in with Enjolras, it was too awkward, I guess? Enjolras isn’t as… approachable as Courfeyrac."
"He… can be," Combeferre said, defending his best friend.
"He’s a wonderful person," Cosette said, unfolding her arms and sitting up again. "But he and Marius areterrible roommates. They get along, but they’d eat out of a garbage pail if it meant saving a little money or furthering their efforts to commit class suicide.”
Combeferre smirked into his coffee. She wasn’t wrong about that.
"I don’t think either of them even knows how to turn the stove on."
"Enjolras does when he can’t find a lighter."
Cosette was beyond being surprised by anything anymore. “But you see my point?” She insisted. “I’m surprised they haven’t contracted some kind of disease yet.”
"I do," Combeferre nodded. "And that," he said, putting his cup down. "Is why I refuse to live with either of them."
Cosette sighed exasperatedly.
She was frustrated. She’d thought Combeferre would be an easy sell, but they’d been through this conversation three times already, and he hadn’t budged.
He admitted it was a good idea — a house big enough to comfortably fit most, if not all of his core group of friends. They spent enough time on each other’s sofas and trying to figure out where to meet up every weekend that it made perfect sense for them to simply come together in one place. But Cosette didn’t intend to live there herself (or so she told her father), and because of that, she wasn’t considering some of the more significant details.
Yes, living with other people would mean Enjolras and Marius would be fed and looked after.
But messy habits were hard to break. Combeferre had known Enjolras for a very long time, and never in that span had he managed to teach Enjolras how to not live like a slob.
After a while, he’d just given up. Some battles weren’t as important as others.
"It won’t be perfect," Cosette admitted. Combeferre’s expression suggested she was understating the severity situation. "I know." Cosette held her hand up. "I know. But… wouldn’t it be fun?"
Combeferre’s mouth thinned.
"It would be like your own personal dormitory, just for la Societé," she coaxed gently. "No more hiking to the library and being shushed for your excitement. No carrying things back and forth from Musain…"
Combeferre stayed quiet.
"You all could literally work from home, and it could be all of you there together. …if the others agree and decide to do this, do you really want to be the only one not there?"
Still not a word, but Combeferre did noticeably frown. Cosette struggled to keep from smiling. She had him.
"Be rational," she coaxed. Combeferre rolled his eyes. "Is one little detail—"
"A very important detail," Combeferre interjected, adjusting his glasses.
"But is it worth it? Really? You know how much everyone will love this."
She wasn’t wrong. Combeferre stared at the table as he mulled it over. He knew she wasn’t wrong — he’d liked the idea when she’d first mentioned it to him, and he liked it now, but the idea of living in the same house as the kind of mess that Enjolras and Marius could create physically repulsed him.
But that was the only thing.
And surely, if they were in the presence of other people who might be adversely affected by the hellscape they preferred to inhabit, maybe they wouldn’t be quite so… slovenly?
Cosette was afraid to hold her breath. She was very familiar with how long Combeferre could take to come to a decision. (Frequently he just avoided concrete choices altogether.)
"You think we could find a place big enough for all of us?" Combeferre asked.
Cosette nodded immediately. “There are a lot of old houses for sale that have been renovated and turned into small dorms by the universities. Papa says it’s the upkeep that makes it difficult to maintain so many, so—”
"So they’re on the market, and they’re cheap."
Cosette nodded again.
Combeferre looked up at her. She was leaning forward so much that she was sitting on the edge of her seat, almost bursting with anticipation.
He took a deep breath, and closed his eyes. “Alright,” he conceded. “I’m in.”