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Paris, France

June 1832

June that summer was hotter than most. It was the kind of humid heat that suffocated you and made you sweat without effort. The students of Paris tried to ignore it, all except a worried Joly who would make sure there was enough water to go around at all of the meetings. Later, generals of the Guard would claim it was right for the boys to die in the hellish heat of that summer, as the fires of hell were what they deserved.

The barricades fell within the day. Nine of the students were never found.

The Musain was always a home for the students. Even after meetings, the nine friends would find themselves staying after to talk about little things other than revolution.

Bahorel would tease Feuilly about the state of his fans, which usually led to a small brawl. Combeferre would discuss literature with Jehan. Courfeyrac would play cards with Bossuet, who never seemed to be able to win, as Joly monitored the game to make sure there was no cheating. Enjolras would sometimes join in these conversations and sometimes work quietly in front. Marius was spotty, sometimes staying to discuss politics with Enjolras and sometimes slipping away to make sure he wouldn’t get lost when the night fell depending on where Courfeyrac was planning on spending the night.

Enjolras adored his friends, and they loved him in return. He sometimes regretted that they did at all.

Enjolras refused to let his men feel like failures. As long as they fought to the very end, he thought, they would all be victorious. He said this many times throughout that hot June day, if not to assure the others then to assure himself.

By the time night fell, he knew they wouldn’t last until the next sunrise. He knew then that he couldn’t allow anyone not dedicated to the cause to stay.

“If you do not wish to stay, you may leave from here.” He announced at sunset.

Nine of them remained by the time the others slowly trickled out. At this point, they all knew this would be their last few hours together. Courfeyrac tried to keep it light, recounting the lies he’d told women over the years. Jehan looked less than amused at this, but stayed quiet as he knew this was only Courfeyrac’s coping method. The others shared childhood stories, except for Feuilly and Marius who were fiddling with loose items around the barricade to distract themselves.

When it grew quiet, Courfeyrac silently climbed by Combeferre’s side and buried his face into his shoulder. Combeferre wordlessly accepted this gesture and held Courfeyrac closely and as tenderly as he could. It will be the last time I will hold him, he thought. He held tighter.

Joly and Bossuet copied this idea, huddling close together in their last few quiet moments before the Guard returned. Enjolras watched his friends with a sort of sadness, a sort of guilt.

He tried to ignore it. He looked forward, beyond the barricade.

“This is your last chance.” Announced the head guardsman. Enjolras looked back to his remaining friends, each of them with a fierce look in their eyes. The time for fear had passed.

“We are not the last to revolt,” Enjolras returned. “Kill us if you must. We will die for this country’s freedom. But our fighting is not over.”

Those were the last words spoken of the June Rebellion in 1832. There was no more room for words, not as they fired the last of their ammunition. Even when Jehan was taken, even as his final cries echoed through the streets. No words were spoken but angry cries. Not as Courfeyrac threw himself into battle, eventually falling in the process. Not as they all fell, bleeding for their country and their cause.

Enjolras was the last to fall. His gun was still clutched in one hand, red flag in the other, and he raised it proudly as the report was read out to him. In his final moments, he thought of the sacrifice he’d made, of his friends, of the hope he still held for Paris. And as he fell, alone, his last thoughts were of the torch he lit, hoping only for someone to pick it up and carry on.

Paris, France

May 2015

Grantaire chose Paris-Sorbonne University because it was the easiest choice. That and one of Cosette’s fathers was a professor there, so he was comfortable with the campus as he hung out there all the time growing up. It was nice enough and near his beloved bakery. Well, not his bakery yet. His soon-to-be bakery. He lived above said bakery in a cozy little flat, if you could use the word cozy to describe a studio apartment barely large enough to fit a bed and a kitchen. But it always smelled of melted chocolate or caramel so he didn’t really mind all that much. It wasn’t like he needed more room.

On an afternoon in late May, he was walking out of his first French History class of the summer. Damn summer classes. It would definitely be the last time he tried to get out of required credits.

To make it all better, they were assigned term papers on the first day. Grantaire was certain Valjean hated his summer school kids, him included. Apparently, French History had tons of lovely topics to write about so in order to keep from arguments over who was writing what (because that was likely), they chose topics from a hat. Grantaire had drawn the most obscure topic he could’ve gotten.

Grantaire certainly didn’t give two shits about the June Rebellion of 1832. In fact, he barely knew it existed at all. All he knew was that he didn’t want to write a goddamn paper about it. He figured French History would be a simple course, and he could doodle during the lectures. He was sadly mistaken.

Despite his inner toil over this paper, he decided to at least get started on it early so he wouldn’t be cramming it in last minute. He normally wouldn’t even think about the term paper until the last two weeks of the summer semester, but as he was pretty damn terrified of Cosette’s precious papa, he wanted to make sure it was at least a little decent.

If only his mother hadn’t made him go to school in the first place. He could run a bakery without a degree, thank you very much.

“I’ll give you the bakery,” She had said. “But first, go to university. Something’s out there for you. If you really wish, you can stay at the bakery for the rest of your life but I think you should go over your options first.”

Options his ass. But unfortunately, he loved his mother. So he chose photojournalism, unrelated to bakery running and something he was already interested in, and sucked it up. And at least he made some friends in the meantime.

Eponine worked at a privately owned bookstore near campus, which turned out to be pretty useful. She knew where history books would be hidden, most likely collecting dust in the back. So, as he contemplated where to even begin with such a paper, he made his way towards the library. He greeted her as he entered, over dramatically sighing as he leaned against the counter.

“‘Ponine! Lovely seeing you today!”

“What do you need from me now?”

Grantaire smiled cheekily. “Professor Valjean has decided it would be fun to assign a term paper at the beginning of the semester. I want to get a head start so I don’t disappoint him.”

“Oh because old Valjean would actually ever get upset with you.”

“Yeah, he has high expectations of me now. I think he winked at me when I drew June Rebellions of 1832 out of the hat. It was weird.”

Eponine laughed. “Sure. So, books on obscure French history? Follow me, my liege.”

In the end, Grantaire had a stack of French history books in which he’d have to scour just for a page or two on what he needed.

When he finally got home, Cosette was swerving back and forth in one of the barstools at the counter of the small family bakery. Her hair was getting rather long, something she would either pride herself in or complain endlessly about. Girls were quite the mystery to Grantaire.

“Grantaire!” She shouted happily as he entered.

“What’s up, buttercup?” He kissed her forehead as he jumped on the counter and swung his legs to the other side.

“I’m doing wonderful. And I need a cake for my father’s birthday tomorrow. He insists he doesn’t want us making a fuss, but every year he eats almost the entire thing himself.”

“That old grump is so sentimental and so bad at hiding it.” Grantaire laughed. “I’ll try to make it low fat and healthy as possible this year. Don’t want him dying on us quite yet.”

He clocked in and tied his apron around his waist happily. Despite having classes, the summer weather had put him in a wonderful mood to bake.

Later that night, Grantaire spread his books around his bed and had a stack of post-its ready to mark. As long as he got that down tonight, he’d feel somewhat accomplished.

It was harder than it seemed. He stared at the textbooks wondering why the fuck this paper mattered at all. He didn’t care about history all that much. If it wasn’t required, he’d skip out on history courses altogether. He especially didn’t care at all about this fucking rebellion. But then he saw a portrait of the unnamed leader.

He tried to scan over the rest of the page, but all he could see was this portrait. It wasn’t anything outstanding, just the typical portrait of an upper class young man. It showed him from the waist up, hands folded on a table. His face was soft, pale, and serious. His light hair was long, almost spitefully so. He had on a red frock coat with a white vest and cravat underneath. The boy looked so young. It must have been done before he went off and dirtied the family name.

Though it was only a painting, Grantaire suddenly found himself obsessed with this boy. Why would a young, wealthy boy go off and get himself killed?

There was only a short paragraph below his portrait.

Unknown Leader of the June Rebellion: a young boy who is said to have left home and a bright future to lead a fatal rebellion.

It wasn’t much of a description, something Grantaire could’ve inferred, but it caught his attention. He wanted to know why. Why would someone so fortunate fight for a cause that didn’t affect him at all?

Grantaire marked the page with a bright pink sticky note with Angel of the Rebellion written in bold letters. He couldn’t help but look at the portrait a little longer. This unknown leader was no doubt beautiful, yet it was terrifying. He was terrified of what the boy seemed capable of.

He went to sleep that night thinking of that angel and wondered what became of him.

Paris, France

June 2015

They were certainly dead.

There was no other explanation. Though, if this was heaven, Enjolras was thoroughly confused. He wasn’t aware Heaven was a garbage bin behind...what was a Burger King? Enjolras sighed at the fact that even foods seemed to lack democracy in this foreign land.

He looked around, noting that Combeferre was also in the garbage bin with him. This all had to be some version of purgatory. Or something of the like.

“Combeferre, if we’re dead, why are we in a pile of garbage?”

“I couldn’t tell you.” Combeferre spat out something vile. “Are the others here?”

Enjolras stood up. The streets looked awfully strange...the buildings between which they seemed to be trapped between looked no different. Both were built of worn down bricks. Enjolras spotted various other members of the group along the alley, all looking around in various stages of confusion. No one looked more panicked than Joly.

“I’ve spotted a rat! A rat! There must be a nest nearby! Where are we? Who have we become?”

“You seem just the same to me, Jolllly.” Courfeyrac moaned and clutched at his head. “I’ve hurt my head. Doctor, please cure me of my ailments!” Always so dramatic.

Combeferre inspected him carefully, and Courfeyrac milked every second. Bahorel rolled his eyes.

“We must all collect our bearings.” Enjolras tried to remain calm, though it was hard when he was just as lost as the rest of them. One side of the alley was a dead end and the other was...Enjolras couldn’t quite tell what was happening on the other side.

“What are those?” Bossuet pointed to where it seemed carriages were moving at a quick pace along the smooth roads. One honked loudly, making everyone jump.

“Carriages, I presume. But why are they beeping? And where are the horses?” Feuilly asked. Nobody could answer that.

Puzzled as they were, they seemed to all agree it would be best to approach the streets. As soon as they reached the opening of the alley, they were struck with a new wave of confusion.

“Where are we?” Bahorel asked, eyes scanning wildly over the tall buildings and bustling sidewalks. The honking of the vehicles on the road startled them again, all of them jumping and looking around. The bright signs and large advertisements were intimidating.

“Enjolras...”

“What happened? Where’s the barricade?”

“Is this even Paris?”

“Is this even France?”

“Perhaps it’s Warsaw...”

“If it’s Warsaw, I will retch on you, Feuilly-”

“Quiet!” Enjolras shouted. A few passerby on the streets (some who were smartly dressed business women that made Marius squeak and turn red) looked startled but Enjolras paid them no mind. “We must stay together!”

“Enjolras...” Jehan said quietly from behind Bahorel. “Why is everyone looking at us like that?”

“Like what?”

“Scared.”

Enjolras looked down. “Damn it all, we seem to still have the remains of our fight for liberty on our clothing. We must find a source of water and soon. People may think the worst of us. We are not the enemy they believe we are.”

“We must all prepare to act natural. Marius, do your best not to look at the women, perhaps?” Bahorel suggested. Marius nodded, already sweating and near tears.

“I do not want to disrespect these women,” Marius whispered almost conspiratorially. “But is it customary here to show one’s ankle so readily? Or their entire leg?”

“If it is customary, you must respect it. This isn’t your culture, Marius. Be polite.” Courfeyrac reminded him gently. Marius must be handled with care. With women, he’s known to be a bit too fragile. Courfeyrac was best at handling him since they lived together, but even he got frustrated sometimes.

“Yes, of course.”

“Now, let’s find a well.” Enjolras declared.

They walked down the busy street cautiously, earning disgusted and fearful looks as they did. Some spoke frantically into small devices, which intrigued Jehan enough to try and approach them. They ran off quickly, much to his disappointment. Enjolras walked with his head held high as to appear in control of himself, but in reality it made it easier to gaze around at this strange world they were thrusted into.

They didn’t make it to a well. It’s actually very difficult to find a well in the middle of downtown Paris. In fact, before they got too far down the street, they were stopped by an intimidating looking man in a strange suit.

“Halt!” The man shouted. Enjolras started. He glanced at this man, who appeared to have no authority, and continued walking.

“Ignore that,” he told the Amis behind him. “Just a drunk.”

“Stop where you are!” The man shouted again. “Inspector Javert of the Paris Police! You must stop now!”

This made Enjolras stop. He had a certain rage towards police who abused their power. Fighting such an injustice gave him a sense of normality.

“You cannot stop us! We have done nothing but walk along this road!” Enjolras said.

“You are covered in blood, are you not? A reasonable cause for suspicion.” The cop stood at his full height, which would’ve been terrifying to anyone else but this group of students who already went through a certain hell of their own. Nothing could make them back down now.

“Listen, we are in an unfamiliar city and are simply looking for a well to wash ourselves in. Allow us to carry on.” Enjolras took a courageous step forward. He was nearly eye to eye with the inspector. “I need no permission of yours to do so, however. I shall walk the streets as I wish without express permission from an abusive policeman.”

This seemed like a rather brave move, but instead of proving a point it only began a scuffle with this ‘policeman’, who had apparently called back up. Sirens blared loudly, startling the Amis who had begun to look around in confusion as to where that noise was coming from. He and the rest of the Amis were wrangled into several police cars and being accused of disturbance of the peace, assault of an officer, and suspicion of possible murder.

The last one really unsettled Enjolras. They had only just arrived! They had no time to disturb peace, let alone murder anyone! Not to mention, the blood on their clothes was their own. The situation got wildly out of hand too fast. And then they were being shoved into these strange carriages.

“What is this?” Enjolras demanded as soon as the door closed on him. He pounded on the window and the roof of the car. What kind of holding cell was this?

Then it began to move.

“I demand to know what this is!” Enjolras pounded on the plastic separating him from the front of the car. Combeferre was seated next to him, head in his hands mumbling some sort of chant or prayer.

They got no answers. All of them arrived in various states of confusion at a building that appeared to be a police station if the sign was anything to go by.

They were corralled into a stuffy jail cell to await further questioning. Confused, tired, dirty, and scared, they huddled together on the floor and awaited their fate. Enjolras protested loudly about abuse of authority, which everyone tried their best to ignore. Joly complained quietly of a headache after a while. Eventually, Enjolras quieted down as he was exhausted and no one was around to hear. He instead internalized his rage to use later as a weapon. Jehan mused that maybe the Guard was playing a huge trick on them and this was the torture before death. Feuilly told him to stop being dramatic.

An hour later, a man different from the police man who had made quite the ordeal to get them there appeared outside the cell.

“Ahh, Javert said you all looked worse for the wear. Come. I believe you haven’t done anything wrong.”

They were afraid to move. Even as this new man unlocked the cell and beckoned them out, they were wary.

“Don’t let Javert fool you. He mistook you for a gang he’s been hunting down, that’s all. He is harsh because he feels he has no choice. I’m teaching him better manners.” The man smiled. The boys stared. “Oh how rude of me! I’ve forgotten to introduce myself! My apologies. My name is Jean Valjean. I have convinced Javert, the man who wrongly arrested you, to think of it again. He sometimes takes his job too seriously, you see. There’s nasty gangs in Paris.” He thought to himself for a moment. “You boys seem to have had a rough day. You look lost. You must stay at ours tonight, at least so you can get back on your feet.”

They all shared looks of disbelief. It seemed too good of a deal. Was it a trap? But then again, this was a new world. Trying to make it on the streets without help would be death anyway.

“Would you allow me to speak with my friends for just a moment, monsieur?” Enjolras said with a little edge. Valjean nodded pleasantly.

“Surely we cannot take up housing in a strangers estate!” Joly shuffled his feet.

“We are dead if we stay on the streets. What difference does it make? Death by this man or death on the streets?”

Valjean, for his part, pretended very well not to hear.

“Alright.” Feuilly said. “Enjolras does have a point.”

They all nodded in agreement and looked shiftily toward Valjean again.

“We will come with you.” Enjolras said.

“Ah, wonderful!” Valjean acted surprised. “I’ll call my daughter. She’ll be delighted to have company tonight. I’ll be back in a moment.”

When he came back without a daughter on his arm, the Amis were incredibly confused.

“Pardon, monsieur,” said Marius nervously. “But where is your daughter?”

“She is at the house, of course.”

“But you said you would call her. Surely you meant call her over, yes?”

“Ah, no. It would be difficult to call her over all the way from our home. I used my phone. Cosette has been teaching me how to use one of those ‘smart phones’. Terrifying that a hand held computer could be smarter than me, isn’t it?” Valjean smiled.

“Ah, yes of course.” Marius nodded, pretending to know what a phone was. “A phone. Yes. I, too, enjoy using the phone. Especially a smart phone. The more intelligent the better!” He looked hopelessly to Courfeyrac who had absolutely no idea what to say.

Combeferre decided a change of conversation was in order. “But how will we get to your home? There are nine of us, ten if you count yourself. What carriage would be sufficient?”

Valjean graciously ignored his use of the word ‘carriage’. “I’ll take four of you and Javert can take five.”

“Is he your brother?” Bossuet asked. Valjean laughed heartily.

“Oh, not at all.”

“But you share a house?”

“Yes.”

Bossuet paused for a moment, awaiting further explanation. “So you are close friends!”

“We were, once.”

“What happened?”

“He showed up to my office one day, a bundle of flowers in his hand. It was when Cosette was very young, so no doubt she guilted him into it. He said Cosette wouldn’t allow him to hang about anymore unless he was going to be her second father. One year later, she was the happiest flower girl there ever was.” Valjean said fondly. “Since then, I haven’t been able to get rid of him.”

The Amis gaped. Marriage? Between a man and another man? Publically? Surely they would be hanged if anyone heard of it!

“Monsieur, not to be rude...” Marius began. He always seemed to be the only one willing to voice what nobody wanted to say. “But perhaps you shouldn’t mention if you’re in a relationship with him.”

“And why not?” Valjean said, but not accusingly.

“You will be hanged!”

Valjean laughed again. “Ah, well, good thing we don’t live in such a time in which that would be true!”

“You mean...homosexuality is not a crime?” Marius questioned.

“Of course not! Now, I must go bring around the car and make sure Javert knows what is happening. You all can stay here.”

It was quiet for a moment before Courfeyrac looked to Combeferre with a glint in his eye.

“Did you hear that?” He nudged Combeferre with his elbow. He looked outrageously happy.  

“I did.” Combeferre said as a wry smile took over his face. “I no longer have a proper excuse to be embarrassed of you.”

“At least now when you’re embarrassed of me, you will not have to fear for your life! I will kiss you so much you’ll suffocate!” Courfeyrac said, laughing happily. He jumped up to give Combeferre a loving hug. “Perhaps this is a blessing!”

To everyone’s surprise, Combeferre leaned down to kiss Courfeyrac, right there in the police station. Jehan laughed giddily and hugged them both. The blush didn’t leave Combeferre’s face until long after the cars arrived.

Combeferre, Courfeyrac, Enjolras, and Marius rode with Valjean. Marius tentatively asked questions about their method of transportation, which Valjean answered as nicely as possible without patronizing him. They learned all about cars, gas mileage, and heated seating. At one point, Valjean turned on the radio, causing all of them to shout in surprise.

“I’m sorry, do you not like Today’s Hits? Cosette insists I play this station when I drive her.”

“It’s not that, monsieur.” Combeferre said pleasantly as he could. “It is that we are only wondering where it came from at all.”

Valjean laughed as if this was a funny joke shared among friends and continued the rest of the drive without saying anything.

Javert, on the other hand, had spent the entire ride mumbling under his breath. Feuilly and Bahorel were trying to figure out where they were and how they were moving so fast, but Javert refused to answer any questions. Joly kept wiping his forehead as if he was nervous, but no one dared to ask what he was nervous about. In the very back, Bossuet and Joly had discovered the joys of rolling down the windows.

“It does it all at the push of this button!” Joly mused. “How strange!”

Javert almost pulled over and left them on the side of the road.

When they finally arrived at the home, all the boys in Javert’s car let out a huge sigh of relief. They reunited with the rest of the Amis in the large yard and waited awkwardly as Valjean and Javert had a small dispute.

“How was your trip?” Courfeyrac asked.

“We discovered moving windows!” Bossuet beamed.

“Yes, and you almost got us all murdered by the driver.” Feuilly said woefully.

The house was practically a mansion. It clearly had three levels, unnecessary for a three person family, but Valjean worked hard for a comfortable home and he was constantly housing needy young students (much to Javert’s disdain) so it worked out in the end.

“Papa, you’re home!” Cosette ran out in a blur off white and gold. She hugged Valjean tightly, completely ignoring the ragged revolutionaries standing in her yard.

“I’m home too, you know.” Javert grumbled.

“Yes, but you’re grumpy looking and don’t look in the mood.” Cosette smiled wryly.  Javert muttered something disdainfully to himself, which made Cosette laugh and finally hug him as well. “Father, you do need to lighten up. Do you know how long it took me to convince Grantaire to come over tonight? Not only is it awkward because he’s Papa’s student now, but - oh! It’s the boys! I completely forgot my manners!” She walked over to where the boys were standing uncomfortable, making sure to shake all of their hands.

“Hello, my name is Cosette. Papa told me you were all rather lost.” She said sweetly. They all nodded, afraid to say anything. Marius was bright red again, looking right at the ground. Courfeyrac nudged him and said, “Now Marius, it’s rude not to greet your hostess.”

“I cannot disrespect her!”

“You have yet to glance her way! That is far more disrespectful!” He whispered harshly. To Cosette, he smiled politely. “I apologize, Cosette. My friend Marius is not used to the customs of this land and does not wish to disrespect you by gazing at your ankles.”

“Why is that?”

“I shall not disrespect you by gazing at anything you uncover that you do not grant me permission to.” He squeaked out.

“Well, Marius, I grant you permission to look wherever you like.” She said with a hint of humor. Marius laughed nervously at this, but looked up. When he did, he froze right up.

“Mademoiselle, I am sincerely sorry for being so awkward.” He bowed to her, proving more that he was an uncomfortable oaf. He then took her hand, suddenly seeming to not have control of his body. This courage came from nowhere. “You are very beautiful.”

It was silent for a moment as Cosette stared at him, a blush tainting her cheeks.

“Oh! I have embarrassed myself again! I am sorry! It is difficult for me to appear natural in front of ladies...” He shuffled back in shame.

“You aren’t embarrassing at all!” Cosette laughed delightfully. “You just surprised me by being polite for once! You wouldn’t believe the horrible attention I get sometimes...”

“What?” Valjean and Javert said at once, breaking away from their private conversation for a moment.

“Oh nothing, Papa and Father!” She said innocently. To the Amis, she smiled. “They still think I think boys are icky. Let’s keep it that way for a while, shall we? Now! Let me show you inside! You might meet Grantaire, if he hasn’t run off yet.”

They all still had so many questions, but Enjolras didn’t want to ask Valjean and Javert who were now having a heated discussion. Well, heated on Javert’s side. Valjean was eerily calm. He’d prefer asking Cosette, who seemed pleasant enough and might be easier to talk to.

They were lead through the large house floor by floor. There were enough rooms for each of them to share in pairs (save for Enjolras, who took the single room), which Courfeyrac was especially delighted about. Combeferre remained quietly pleased, fondly watching Courfeyrac bounce about. Joly and Bossuet were secretly excited as well, and Enjolras pretended not to notice. Marius questioned Cosette about the books in her library, challenging Enjolras to a friendly debate once he read through some of the political science titles.

“...and here’s the den area. This is where my friends and I like to hang out. I don’t know if Grantaire is still here, he might’ve wandered off again.” She poked her head in. “Grantaire? No, he must have gone home. Anyway, you’ll meet him eventually. I’ll let you all go to your rooms and clean up, now.” Cosette said. “If I can help you with anything, please let me know! Papa told me you were all live action role playing, which I think is pretty brave of you all! Very detailed costuming.”

Nobody bothered to comment on that one. Enjolras, however, took this as his chance to get some answers. “Cosette, I was wondering if we could ask you some questions. After we have finished cleaning up, of course.”

“Of course!” She smiled. “You all meet me in the den when you’re done. I’ve laid out some of Papa and Father’s old clothes for you. It’s all sweatpants and t-shirts, but I’m sure it will do for now.”

They all thanked her and retreated to various rooms on the second and third floor.

The first to need help with the bathroom was Feuilly. He was cursing over all of the things hanging over the bath on the second floor. Cosette found him staring at the shower head and cursing angrily.

“Do you need help?”

“What is this?” He pointed to the shower head.

“It is a shower head, of course.”

“I’ve never seen something like this!” He pulled at the handle and water sprayed in his face and he cried out. “Sacrebleu!”

“It’s okay!” Cosette fought not to laugh.

A similar cry was heard from the third floor. Bossuet had encountered the bathroom this time.

Ten minutes later, all of the Amis were gathered in the second floor bathroom as Cosette explained the system patiently. Marius got slightly distracted by the toilet, flushing it over and over again and watching it swirl down. Courfeyrac slapped his head until he stood up straight.

Eventually, they all understood how to use the shower and toilet. Joly, wary of this newfound technology, insisted he was going to use the bath anyway.

A few hours later, nearly two in the morning, the boys climbed down the stairs and wandered around the first floor of the house.

“I’m certain she said it was here...maybe down this hall?” Bahorel lead them to another bathroom. “We’re lost!” he cried.

“Oh, you guys...” Cosette rounded the corner where they were. “Follow me.”

Once they were all settled down, Cosette was happy to field questions. She promised she wouldn’t judge or question why they were asking what they were asking, though they could tell she was fairly suspicious. They all looked to Enjolras.

“First of all, where are we?”

“Paris, France.” She said simply.

“We are not!” Joly said. “We would know, we are Parisian!”

“Joly, let me ask the questions please.” Enjolras patted Joly’s knee to calm him. “What year is it?”

“2015.”

There was a long moment of silence before they all began to speak at once.

“2015? 2015? You must be joking, Cosette!”

“You are playing quite the joke, aren’t you!”

“We’re all asleep, we must be...that or dead.”

“Perhaps Warsaw is a bit more advanced than Paris, is all...”

“We aren’t in Warsaw!”

They continued shouting over each other, some amused and some angry. Jehan had nearly begun to cry.

“It’s alright, Jehan. Don’t fret.” Bahorel murmured in his ear.

“I’m not scared.” He whispered back. “Just confused and angry.”

The truth was, they were all scared. How is it that they died in 1832 and woke up in 2015? It didn’t seem real to them, yet here they were. Cosette let them ramble on, assuming they were simply playing a game by staying in character. She enjoyed it, honestly. They hadn’t broken character once.

“We need to go back.” Enjolras said suddenly, nearly too quiet to hear.

“If we go back, we’re dead again, Enjolras.” Combeferre twisted a nervous hand in his large t-shirt. “We can’t go back.”

It was silent again, uncomfortably silent. Cosette looked among the faces of the boys, all looking extremely uncomfortable in typical comfort clothes. They are really into this, aren’t they? She thought.

“Alright, well you lot look very tired.” Cosette stood. “I’ll let you get off to bed now. I can help you with whatever once you’ve gotten some sleep.”

They all murmured their agreements and shuffled out of the den. The silence hung in the air and left Cosette feeling chilled. Well that was odd.

Before she could head off to her own bed, she heard someone clear their throat. She looked up to see the cute, over-polite one (Marius, her brain supplied) standing nervously at the door.

“Cosette.” The name seemed to set sweetly in his mouth. Marius was sure in that moment he could live forever saying only the word Cosette and be completely content. He hung onto it, letting it sit in the air for a moment before speaking again. “I was wondering if you could show me to the library? I’ve forgotten where it is.”

Even in the large sweatpants and t-shirt, he held his head high with pride. Something about him intrigued Cosette. He was a bumbling idiot only hours before and suddenly he seems so...sure.

“Of course!” Cosette walked past him, not noticing the way he breathed deeply and shakily as she did so. Marius gathered his confidence again and caught up with her.

They walked in relative silence for a few moments as Cosette contemplated what she could possibly say to a guy who thinks he’s from 1830s Paris. Luckily, Marius was the first to speak.

“I am not completely unintelligent.” Marius said.

“What?” Of all the things he could’ve said, Cosette certainly didn’t expect that.

“I get nervous, you see. I don’t quite know how to handle myself around beautiful ladies. I embarrass myself. It’s been the strangest night, as well. I can talk of many things, I can.” Marius nodded to himself. “Ask Enjolras.”

Cosette blushed and looked down, going over this in her head. Grantaire’s gonna eat him right up. Oh, he’ll love Marius, won’t he? He’ll love them all. She couldn’t wait for Grantaire to laugh about these obsessive reenactors with her. He’ll probably laugh at her for being enamored with a “boy from 19th century Paris” but he didn’t have know know that part quite yet. She wasn’t even sure herself. It all happened too fast. I really do need to sleep.

As she led him to the small library in the corner of their house, she realized she had so many things she wanted to ask Marius about his friends. As he sat down in one of the plush chairs, she realized this may be the only time she gets him alone. Always one to take advantage of a situation, she curled in the chair opposite of him.

“I know you probably want to read or be alone now, but I was actually hoping to ask you a few questions of my own.” She hugged her knees loosely to her chest.

“Anything, Cosette.”

Cosette felt a little too pleased at the way that sounded. “Who are you all? I don’t even know most of your names. If you’re going to be living here, I might as well learn your names.”

Marius chewed on his lip a moment before answering. “You may not believe me, but we really are from 1832. I am sure it didn’t make it into history books but we were part of a rebellion. I often disagreed with Enjolras, as we have very varying political beliefs, but his cause was far more important than any disagreements.” He paused for a moment, almost as if coming to a realization right then. His face grew somber. “And we all died. We’re dead in 1832, I’m certain of it.”

Cosette couldn’t answer, only touched her hand to his in a show of comfort. He gave her an almost heartbreakingly grateful look in return.

“I can tell you our names. You already know of me, of course. Marius Pontmercy. My uncle is...was...not too proud that I went off to the barricades. He is...was...rich. I am not. You don’t want to know about me though, do you? No, I will tell you of us all! We are called Les Amis de l’ABC. Enjolras is our leader. He is the blond one, surely you know who I mean. Combeferre is his best friend, the one with the broken glasses. I pity him. He must be blind without them fixed. Courfeyrac is the bouncy one, he’s my best friend. We live together, or at least we did back then. We don’t live together as your fathers, of course, no. That would be more accurate for Courfeyrac and Combeferre, you see. Jehan is the small one. He is the poet with the long hair. He’s almost as fierce as Enjolras when he wants to be. He may seem sensitive, but he is intrepid at heart. Jean Prouvaire is his full name, but we simply call him Jehan. Feuilly is a gifted fanmaker and has had it harder than us all. He is the ginger one, almost as angry as he is proud. He has earned every sou to his name. Bahorel is bigger, often enjoys brawls. It has caused some trouble, but he is a good, brave man. Bossuet, the bald one, and Joly, the hypochondriac you’ll see, might as well be one name, for they are never not near each other. I am never sure if they are just friends or if they lie together like Combeferre and Courfeyrac, but they are incredibly close.” He looked down, lost in his own thoughts of his friends. “I adore them. I do hope we stay together.”

“Me too,” Cosette found herself saying. The earnest way he spoke of his friends, so fondly and happily, made her swell with emotions she couldn’t place. She wanted to hug this lost boy, tell him it would be alright. “Me too.”

Grantaire may have been getting a little bit too emotionally involved in this whole June Rebellion paper. In fact, he had been obsessively reading about it since that night he found the Angel.

He hadn’t told anyone about him. He couldn’t. Even though he trusted Cosette, Eponine, and Musichetta, the bartender he’d gotten close to recently (he swears it has nothing to do with the wine), he felt like this was something he should hold onto. He figured it might pass easier that way. He didn’t need to go and get all emotional about a guy he will absolutely never meet.

So he barged into Cosette’s house a week after Les Amis had shown up (not that he knew that yet) with the intention of very vaguely whining about his totally unfair life. Without mentioning Valjean, of course. That might be awkward.

He headed to the den with every intention of rambling about this new topic he found himself obsessed with. Valjean was still at the school, he knew, and Javert was at work for at least another few hours. He let himself in and grabbed a Vitamin Water (courtesy of Valjean’s hatred of carbonated drinks) and headed to the den. Since Cosette had texted him and said she’d be there, he decided he’d start rambling loudly before he entered because she at least deserved a little warning.

“Cosette, do you want to tell me why I’m feeling so wound up today? No, I’ll tell you! This damn rebellion! I never thought I’d say this, but it’s the most interesting thing I’ve read about since...maybe ever, but I don’t want to give it too much credit.” At this point he entered the den, finding Cosette curled up in the huge fluffy chair in the corner. He went and sat right at her feet, not seeing that there were four boys sitting uncomfortably straight in the couch beside them. Cosette thought nothing of it, simply playing with his hair as he talked.

“These boys, you see, they were just young guys. They were like...our age. And here they are, richy rich boys fighting for the poor who didn’t even want to fight for themselves! The more I read about it, which isn’t much since history seems to have forgotten the poor dudes, the more I wanna know why. I just wish there was some way I could go back and time and talk to them. And in June, Cosette! Isn’t that fucking hot? I couldn’t build a fucking barricade in June, I’ll let you know.” He paused to take a swig of his water. “No, you see, these guys they-”

And it was at that moment he realized they weren’t the only ones in the room.

“No. Fucking. Way.” He dropped his water, accidentally getting it all over himself. There is no fucking way...

“Grantaire! What the hell?!” Cosette exclaimed as he stood in front of the couch.

“You’re him.” Grantaire whispered, looking directly at the leader sat in the middle. “Merde. You’re him.”

Enjolras, who during this whole ordeal had actually been listening pretty closely to Grantaire’s rant, could only gape in response. He had been reeling, so sure that Grantaire was talking about his rebellion. One-hundred and eighty three years later and here this stranger was rambling about his rebellion. It had to be his. Barricades in June? Rich boys fighting for those who refused? It screamed of his rebellion.

His eyes were bright with this thought alone.

“You were speaking of the barricades.”

“This is totally unreal. Sorry...” Grantaire stepped back, stumbling to the door. “You’re the weird reenactor dudes, right? Cosette didn’t tell me you were from the June Rebellions. Fucking ridiculous, who chooses such a miniscule rebellion to reenact anyway? Fuck...you look just like the leader. Even without your period costuming shit or whatever. Christ...okay.” Grantaire leaned against the doorframe. “Shit.”

“Were these June Rebellions from June of 1832?” Enjolras asked, standing up and walking slowly towards Grantaire. There was nothing Grantaire wanted more than to distance himself. Too close...too much...fuck, no.

“Y-yeah. I’m doing a paper on them for French History. You probably know all about that shit, don’t you? Being a reenactor and all.”

“I don’t understand. We are not actors. We are not pretending anything. My friends and I are all from the year 1832.”

Grantaire looked to Cosette, almost angrily. “Cosette. A word.” She followed him out into the hall.

“What the fuck, Cosette?” Grantaire whispered loudly. “Who the fuck are these guys?”

“I don’t know! Papa told me they were just live action role playing or those historical reenactors but I talked to one of them last night and there’s just no way.” Cosette wrung her hands. “This sounds crazy but they might actually be from 1832. I have no idea how, but there’s no other explanation.”

“You realize how fucking insane that is right?”

“You recognized Enjolras! You must’ve seen a picture of him before then, right? How can you deny it?”

“I can’t and that’s what makes it so fucking crazy!” Grantaire ran a hand through his hair. “I’ve seen his face before. Only once and it was a portrait from when he was younger. I can ask him about it. It might only prove that he really does his research, but it’ll be something.”

Cosette nodded and they walked back into the den where Enjolras was still standing looking what Cosette could only describe as smitten. She always one to romanticize things. Grantaire thought he looked more angrily contemplative than anything.

“Is your name Enjolras?” Grantaire asked him, standing defensively with his arms crossed. He was still several inches shorter even at his full height, but at least he tried.

“Yes.” Enjolras looked suspicious. “You are Grantaire. The friend Cosette has been speaking amiably of.”

Grantaire ignored that, but filed it away to tease Cosette about later. “Describe to me the portrait painted of you.”

Enjolras gaped. “How do you know about that?” He hissed, but quickly composed himself. He took a deep breath before talking. “That was a long time ago. My mother and father wanted to record my existence. I didn’t agree, but I was forced anyhow.”

“Oh, yeah? What were you wearing?”

“A red frock coat of my own choosing. It was the only thing pleasing about that portrait. My mother made me wear a white cravat with a white vest. Black was too dark for a such a bright boy, according to her.” Enjolras wrinkled his nose angrily at that. “I was frowning and snarling as he painted, but he insisted on making me look serious instead of angry. I regret that even now.”

Grantaire stared at him, waiting for the punch line. No fucking way was this guy for real. “You’ve done your research. Cute backstory.”

“I don’t know what you mean. If anything, I should be wary of you! You’ve dug into my past, into a place I haven’t allowed friends. I am owed an explanation.”

Grantaire nodded and turned on his heel. Enjolras shot a confused look towards Cosette who just sighed.

“What is happening now?” Courfeyrac asked from where he was sitting almost (but not quite) on Combeferre’s lap. Cosette had insisted it was okay if they wanted to get all affectionate but they were still scared of showing affections when they weren’t alone. It was mostly Combeferre, really, as Courfeyrac was constantly touching everyone, probably to make up for the fact that Combeferre didn’t want to risk anything. Cosette could tell Courfeyrac just wanted to curl up with Combeferre right then but didn’t want to get involved in their business.

“That was my friend Grantaire I’ve been telling you about. He was assigned this paper a couple weeks ago about the June Rebellions, the ones you all fought in, and he’s been obsessed.”

“Obsessed?” Enjolras said, eyes soft. “They remember us?”

Cosette didn’t want to break his heart, but she figured he’d hear eventually. “Not you guys exactly. Just the, uh, barricades.”

“They remember the barricades.” Enjolras mused. “We’ve impacted the people.”

No one could say anything. Combeferre pushed the glasses he borrowed from Valjean (that didn’t quite fit his eye requirements but he wasn’t complaining) up and ran a hand through his hair.

“I knew you could do it, Enjolras. They might not think we did much...but you sparked a flame. Look at Paris now, it is so vastly better off.”

“We did it, Combeferre.” Enjolras smiled at his friend. “We lit a spark that turned Paris upside-down, didn’t we?”

They laughed in a mix of shock and delight. Cosette didn’t want to tell them the truth. She couldn’t for sure know if they were wrong. Maybe they really did change things by lighting the spark. Before she could think too much more on it, Grantaire burst back in holding a textbook in his hand. He opened it to the marked page and shoved it at Enjolras.

“Here.”

Enjolras stared at the picture for a long time. He touched the page, caressing the copy of his portrait with the tips of his fingers. “This is it. This is me. Unknown leader...this is me.” He looked at Grantaire, a fierce glint to his eyes. “You’ve discovered me in the pages of books over a century and a half after the barricades fell. Do you know what this means? There is hope for the people of our time. The world truly can improve.”

“Sure, pal.” Grantaire snorted. “Things are fucking fantastic around here.”

Enjolras paused and narrowed his eyes. “Are they not? You did not live in the time I did. The poor are ignored. They are ruled by a king. They are treated with injustice because they were born misfortunate and us upperclass citizens refuse to help.  But here, there is hope. Though there is still poverty, men are more inclined to help those in need. That is truly something beautiful.”

“Yeah, well. People will always be selfish. Their intents aren’t pure like you think.”

“Intent isn’t the issue as long as there is action.”

“You’re mistaking people for doing good when they’re always just gonna save their own asses.”

“You generalize the actions of the people.”

“You believe too much.”

“I could say the opposite of you. My actions clearly changed the city you call home.”

“Your actions did nothing! You get a paragraph and if you’re lucky a page or two about your little tantrum in the streets and everyone calls it a ‘nice try’ and moves on! You didn’t inspire people, and you didn’t change France!” Grantaire was beyond frustrated. The thing was, though, that Grantaire didn’t mean to hurt Enjolras. He was really just frustrated at the fact that they couldn’t succeed. That these boys with dreams of a new world ultimately failed and barely made it into textbooks. They weren’t historic or groundbreaking at all. The people of their time most likely forgot them within the next week of fresh gossip. So Grantaire wasn’t upset with Enjolras, exactly, but more of the fact that all of this was fresh in his mind. All of the fighting, the hopes, the planning, the protesting...all for naught. He felt angry for a revolution he hadn’t been alive for.

It scared him how emotionally attached he’s become to this topic.

But Enjolras didn’t know any of this. All he heard was the words. They shot straight to his heart, the one he’d sold to his country. The one he gave to the people who refused to fight. He thought they had sparked a flame, but maybe he was wrong. Right now, he couldn’t think straight. So against his better judgement to finish this argument, he instead walked past Grantaire and to his room. He needed to do his research. Combeferre soon followed him out, promising to calm him down. Courfeyrac and Jehan had somehow fallen asleep on the couch, which was impressive as Grantaire and Enjolras weren’t exactly quiet.

“Dammit, Grantaire!” Cosette reprimanded quietly. “I’ve been trying to get these guys comfortable for a week!”

“I’m sorry...it’s not him I’m angry with, you know.” Grantaire mumbled as he resumed his original position at Cosette’s feet.  

“I know.”

But somehow, she knew that wouldn’t be the end of it.

The next day, Cosette and Grantaire teamed together to teach the boys the ways of the new world. It was not going so well.

“So a television is like a moving newspaper?” Joly asked, eyes wide as Cosette turned on her TV. She had to stifle a laugh.

“Uhm, not exactly. You see, nowadays there’s moving pictures. It’s a new way to tell stories.”

They all stared at the screen in awe as a recorded episode of Dance Moms began. Father must have been up late marathoning again, Cosette thought with a grin. That was a secret no one else had to know about.

“Who are these children?” Bossuet said. “They’re so graceful!”

“But the women are so rude.” Feuilly added. “They should learn from their daughters.”

Cosette decided to turn off the TV before they got too invested. Feuilly and Bahorel’s protests went ignored. “Alright, so if you have any questions about the TV, ask me or Grantaire. There’s a history channel I think you all might like.”

“History is boring.” Bahorel boomed. “Is there any fighting?”

“I’ll show you fighting in real life, man.” Grantaire spoke from the armchair in the corner. “TV fighting is bullshit anyway.”

“Alright, so next up is the phone.” Cosette pulled her phone out of her pocket. A few sounds of amusement filled the room. Enjolras even looked a little interested. “You use this to call people when they aren’t nearby. For example, if I needed to tell my papa something right now, I would call him because he is at work. For you all, you will only use it for emergencies. Ask to borrow one of ours, alright?”

They all nodded.

“Grantaire, anything you want to add?”

“Well, besides everything?” He grinned cheekily. “If anyone needs to borrow clothes, I might have some that fit a few of you. Not Bahorel. He’s too huge.”

Bahorel shrugged. “Yes, but I will be the one who survives in a fistfight, so I’m not worried.”

“I like him.” Grantaire said. Enjolras rolled his eyes. “Problem with that, blondie? Do you have a secret vendetta against Bahorel that we all don’t know about?”

“No.” He said testily. “You just have shallow standards. Bahorel is much more than muscle.”

Grantaire laughed. “I believe you. He seems like a great guy. You’re defending him needlessly. Nice to know you respect him for more than his body, though.”

Bahorel made a kissy face at Enjolras, who scowled even more. It was hilarious to watch him turn a deep red. Courfeyrac gave him an enthusiastic hug.

“Our dear Enjolras, you have a soul after all!” Courfeyrac kissed his cheek. The look of absolute disgust on Enjolras’s face made everyone laugh. He wiped his cheek furiously.

“Anyway, I have to head off to class. You all have fun and be nice to Cosette. Don’t use a toaster while you’re taking a bath, and don’t eat yellow snow.” Grantaire saluted and exited the room with a bow. Feuilly turned to Cosette excitedly.

“What’s a toaster?”

Later that night, the gods somehow bestowed some love upon Grantaire. He got the opportunity to teach the statue that was Enjolras how to bake.  

It started off with an offhand comment during dinner. Enjolras inquired on how Grantaire was able to make such delicious food. It was pleasantly surprising to hear that from Enjolras of all people, so Grantaire’s defenses were weakened. In any other case, he could’ve easily ignored it and moved on with his life, never finding himself in the position to teach a 19th century revolutionary how to cook using modern technology. But instead, he found himself explaining the different buttons on the stove and how to use a KitchenAid mixer. Enjolras was paying him rapt attention, so he really couldn’t complain.

“Alright, so you want to try?” Grantaire offered the mixer to Enjolras, who looked nervous. They were attempting simple chocolate cookies and had finally gotten to the point where they mix the dough. It was worth the flour in his hair and brown sugar on Enjolras’s cheek. In fact, Grantaire had to stop himself from reaching out and wiping the sugar away. “Here, you hold onto it and I’ll stand behind you and make sure it doesn’t kill you.”

Enjolras was a funny sight to see, holding the mixer uncomfortably and staring at the dough as if it were an enemy. Grantaire put his hand over Enjolras’s on the mixer and directed it back into the bowl.

“Okay, just…” It was very hard to concentrate with his chest to Enjolras’s back. Enjolras was a horrible distraction and he smelled like vanilla. Grantaire tried to compose himself. “Start it off on level one, okay? Then slowly get it to go a little faster. Like this...” They managed to keep a majority of the dough in the bowl. A few small chunks flew out to hit their faces, but it was the last thing on either of their minds.

“Simple, right?” Grantaire said, trying to ignore his beating heart and sweating palms.

“Yes.” Enjolras nodded. “And it tastes delicious.”

Courfeyrac burst in shortly after to steal some of their dough, but neither of them could care less. Enjolras was blushing, interestingly enough.

“I will just...go wash my hands before we continue.” Enjolras said and fled quickly. Courfeyrac smiled through a mouthful of cookie dough.

“You’re not supposed to eat that raw.” Grantaire said, as if that wasn’t the most ignored heath tip of all time. “At least save some for the rest of us!”

“You could just lick it off Enjolras’s face.” He laughed and then bounced back out. Grantaire tried to protest, but it was all in vain. Plus, it was time he admitted it to himself.

He was so, so screwed.

Enjolras apparently really loved HGTV and the History Channel. Of all the Amis, Enjolras is the most likely to be stationed in front of a TV, notebook in hand. He actually took notes from the History Channel. Nobody does that. He was halfway through an episode of some miniseries about the sixties when Grantaire walked in.

"I cannot believe you allowed the world to go to war twice in thirty years." Enjolras shook his head at Grantaire. "How foolish."

"Yes, I'm sorry. I personally apologize for being the one responsible for both those. It was my mistake." Grantaire said. "I should've stopped those two wars from happening half a century before I was born."

"Well, don't let it happen again."

"I'll see what I can do."

They silently watched as the narrator explained the British Invasion. Grantaire glimpsed over at Enjolras's notebook to see British Invasion = not an act of war. He tried his hardest not to laugh. 

"So why aren't you hanging out with the others?" Grantaire tried casually. "Combeferre seems a little lonely."

"I just would like to spend time alone." Enjolras said defensively. "Don't involve yourself in my relationships."

"Okay, geez." Grantaire stood up. "Have fun with the 20th century. Don't cry when you get to the Cuban Missile Crisis."

Enjolras clearly got bothered by that. "To threaten an entire-"

"It wasn't even your country!"

"America is a friend and ally! Its history is just as important-"

Grantaire walked out before he could hear the rest. 

“You need to get jobs.” Cosette announced three days later at breakfast. Bahorel was shoving his third pancake into his mouth, Feuilly egging him on. They all looked a lot better, Cosette had to admit. Javert had forced them to get haircuts, of any style they desired, if only to fit in and look somewhat put together. Marius was rather obsessed with the idea and begged Cosette to help choose a handsome cut. She showed him about thirty pictures in various issues of GQ before he settled on a pompadour, which his curly hair made look ridiculous yet charming. He was still trying to learn how to style it, so it looked rather messy. Cosette couldn’t say it was ugly, though.

“Jobs.” Marius said into his cereal. “Ah yes! I would like to be a lawyer.”

“Marius, your law degree means nothing.” Feuilly said, no real malice to his tone. “Though if there is a crafts store, it would be preferred that I work there.”

Then suddenly, everyone started brainstorming ideas of where they wanted to work. Before it got too far, Cosette interrupted.

“Alright, alright! You are lucky it’s Saturday and I’m not working. I prepared pretty well for this. I’m going to be taking five of you around to apply places, hopefully places that won’t ask too much about your history. Grantaire has agreed to take the other four of you. Play nice with him, okay?” Cosette looked directly at Enjolras, who looked far too unconcerned.

“I will be as polite as he will be.” Enjolras drawled.

“Good. Because you’re going with him.” Cosette smiled. “He needs all the information possible on your revolt and I need to stay away from both of your angsty pity parties for a good while.”

Enjolras looked like he wanted to protest, but Cosette shot him a look that shut him right up.

“May I just ask, mademoiselle, who is going with you?” Marius raised his hand slightly, blush on his cheeks.

“I will take you, Jehan, Combeferre, Courfeyrac, and Bahorel.” She smiled. “Grantaire will have Joly, Bossuet, Feuilly, and Enjolras.”

“Would it be wise to split Combeferre and I up?” Enjolras tried weakly. It wasn't that he hated Grantaire, it's just that they would most likely end up fighting or having some in length discussion that distracted them from the task at hand. 

“I think it would be the wisest decision I’ve made all week.” Cosette said with a tone of finality. If Combeferre and Enjolras were in the same car, they’d most likely end up talking about trying to get back home instead of focusing on the task at hand. “Get dressed. You won’t get hired looking like that.”

They all got up at once and Cosette felt a sense of pride.

Grantaire was less than pleased about having Enjolras in his car. Normally, it wouldn't be an issue. He enjoyed Enjolras. But Enjolras insisted on keeping a stony silence and looking disinterested in the world around him. Grantaire was still intrigued, but there was no way in hell he would be able to handle him all day. Also, he was afraid he might get killed by the daggers in his eyes. To avoid confrontation, he kept up a steady stream of conversation with Bossuet and Joly. They were quite the laugh.

“Bahorel can drink anyone under the table, but Joly is quite the competition when he wants to be.” Bossuet said proudly.

“I can’t believe that for a second. He looks like he weighs less than ninety pounds.”

“He surprises us all.” Joly blushed.

“I shall never drink again.”

“I’ll drink enough for the both us, then!” Bossuet said jovially. Grantaire really liked him.

“Alright, where to first?”

Nobody had an answer to that. Enjolras was looking moodily out the passenger side window, something Grantaire really didn’t feel like addressing. Feuilly fiddled with his polo.

“Are there any crafts stores?” Feuilly asked. “I am good with my hands.”

“Oh, are you?” Bossuet’s eyebrows shot up.

“Shut up, Bossuet!”

Grantaire couldn’t help but laugh. “I’ve got friends in high places, you lucky bastard. I’ll be sure to put a good name in for you.”

“How did you know I was a bastard?”

Grantaire can’t respond to that for a moment. “It’s just a...okay, nevermind, we’ll talk about that later. Let’s hit the road.”

Marius could not stop talking. It wasn’t even so much talking anymore as it was stumbling through sentences and questions. Courfeyrac tried his best to shut the poor kid up, but he seemed unable to close his mouth for more than a few minutes at a time.

After ten minutes of this torture, they finally pulled up to a modest bookstore with a sign out front declaring Fauchelevent’s Book Nook. It was quaint, yet large enough to home a large variety of books. Marius was thoroughly charmed.

“This is magnificent.” Marius said in awe. “I would be honored if they would allow me to work here.”

Cosette stifled a laugh. “Alright, don’t get too excited. It’s just a library. Mostly you would be putting away books and helping with check-out. Eponine will tell us if there’s any openings.”

Turns out, there was an opening. Cosette didn’t need to pull any strings, even. Marius was possibly the most enthusiastic applicant and Fauchelevent was always hurting for help. Not only was Marius hired on the spot, but he agreed to take on Bahorel as well to help with heavy lifting and remodeling. Cosette was more than relieved to leave the both of them there to fill out paperwork.

“Thank you, Monseiur Fauchelevent. ‘Ponine, I will be sure to get them off your hands in a little. I’ll take you to lunch as a thank you.” Cosette smiled.
“No need. It gets boring around here, sometimes. Grantaire isn’t always around to bother me. Speaking of him, we’ll have to get together sometime. It’s been a while since the whole gang hung out.”

“I’ll revive our group message! We’ll get Musichetta in as well.”

Eponine smiled and waved them all goodbye. Cosette was ready to gather the rest of them and head back out when she felt an uncertain tap on her shoulder. She wasn’t surprised to find it was Marius.

“I just wanted to thank you, Cosette.” He said, shuffling his feet a bit. “You have been nothing but kind. When I am able to, I will repay you.”

“Don’t worry about it. I’m more than happy to help out a few strangers in need.”

They shared a pleasant look before Cosette turned away. How could she be falling into the charms of such a silly man? She shook her head and smiled to herself as she got the remaining men into her car.

“Cosette, what has you blushing?” Courfeyrac teased. “Is it our little Marius?”

“Not at all.” Cosette said quickly. “Where to next?”

She pretended she didn’t see Courfeyrac and Combeferre exchange amused glances in the backseat.

After charming Myriel into allowing Feuilly to teach a few crafts courses at the youth center in town (and Feuilly showing off some impressive impromptu crafting skills), Grantaire headed back to the car to figure out what to do with the rest of the fools. Feuilly wouldn’t start until next week, but Myriel insisted on at least going over a vague syllabus on what he would be teaching. Grantaire agreed to pick him up in an hour.

“Okay, what do the rest of you all want to do with your lives?” Grantaire asked. He wasn’t surprised to get no answer. “Okay then...because we’re short-handed with my sister skipping town this summer, I’ll probably be able to hire maybe one or two of you at the bakery, but it’s only if you know how to behave yourselves. That means Bossuet, you probably won’t be my best bet.”

Bossuet shrugged. “I cannot disagree. I’d be most likely to eat all your pastries.”

“At least you’re honest.” Grantaire smiles. “Can any of you cook?”

Joly raised a tentative hand. “I can follow recipes quite well.”

“Alright, you’re hired. Maman always needs an extra hand when I’m not around.” Joly looked relieved. “Anyone else? Enjolras, do you know how to use a broom?”

“What do you take me for?” Enjolras said irritably.

“Well, gee, excuse me for asking. You can be our busboy and sweeper until I decide you’re fit to be behind the counter. That leaves our dearest Bossuet.”

“I am good with people!” Bossuet claimed happily. “I love the people, the people love me.”

Nobody disagreed.

“I have a perfect job for you.” Grantaire said victoriously. This wasn’t nearly as difficult as he thought.

The drive to the Musain was quiet. Enjolras wouldn’t stop fiddling with his hands, which made Grantaire nervous. Joly and Bossuet continued to play with various things in the back of Grantaire’s car.

“What is this?” Joly said in awe, pulling out a box from under Grantaire’s seat. “Extra large, ribbed…” He unwrapped one of the small packages. “Where does this go?” He began to try and roll it over his hand. Grantaire nearly swerved into oncoming traffic once he realized what it was.

“Uh, put that away! Like...now! Holy shit, put that away.” Grantaire turned a deep red. He didn’t know why he was so embarrassed; these guys didn’t even know what a condom was, apparently. Joly hastily put the condom away, apologizing profusely.

“It’s, uh, it’s fine. Just don’t...don’t open random things anymore, yeah? Ask me first.” Grantaire said. Enjolras was looking at him curiously. “We’ll have a discussion about that later, okay? Just not now.”

Grantaire parked the car quickly and nearly jumped out. Bossuet followed obliviously, while Enjolras tried not to laugh at Grantaire’s obvious discomfort.

“Enjolras, you haven’t laughed since we’ve arrived.” Joly said with a smile. Enjolras looked to Joly, but couldn’t find a proper answer. He didn’t know why he was laughing at the man who had been nothing but kind to them, despite a rocky start. Something about him seemed comforting to Enjolras, but he couldn’t explain why. Maybe it was the comfort of mystery. He always did love a good puzzle.

Musichetta was more than happy to see Grantaire, though he wasn’t there for a drink this time.

“Who’s the cutie on your arm?”

Bossuet stepped forward from behind Grantaire and offered a hand out. He was pale as snow as it was, but the deep tan of Musichetta’s hand only made him look paler. He didn’t seem to mind.

“My name is Bossuet,” He said sweetly. “I wasn’t aware Grantaire’s company was so beautiful.”

Musichetta scoffed. “Well, aren’t you a charmer. I take it Grantaire has brought you around to try and fill up the host position.”

Bossuet looked to Grantaire for confirmation. With a long-suffering sigh, Grantaire nodded. “Yes, mademoiselle. That is correct. I think I’d do exceptionally.”

“Don’t let him serve. He can barely balance himself. I wouldn’t trust him with a tray of food.” Grantaire warned. Bossuet shrugged, unable to deny it.

“I’m not so steady on my feet,” He said with a smile.

“Alright, I’m only agreeing to this because I owe Grantaire about twenty favors. Plus with the summer hours being extended, we do need a couple extra hands.” Musichetta said. “Come back tomorrow, I’ll see what I can do with you.”

Bossuet smiled wide and nearly tripped himself with excitement on the way out. “Thank you!” He called behind him. Grantaire was just relieved to find these misfits something to do with their free time besides fumble with modern technology.

It was surprisingly easy to find Jehan a job. A flower shop a street away from the Book Nook was hiring, and Jehan was charming and knowledgeable enough about plants for the old lady to welcome him.

Combeferre and Courfeyrac were a bit tougher. They tried a few restaurants, but they all were looking for experienced servers. Courfeyrac didn’t seemed fazed, but Cosette was growing tired of this search. They managed to find an ice cream shop overrun with customers and desperate for extra employees, which seemed all too perfect for Courfeyrac. He accepted with a grin and inspected his uniform fondly.

“How exciting! Combeferre, perhaps if you come by to visit me, I’ll slip an extra something sweet your way.” He said with a wink. Combeferre blushed.

“You know how to treat a gentleman,” He said. “You better keep that charm in your pants.”

“Not around you, my dear.” Courfeyrac winked.

“Okay!” Cosette interjected. “We’ve got to swing by and pick up Marius and Bahorel soon...Combeferre, perhaps we could try another day. I’m sorry we couldn’t find anything.”

“Do not worry.” He assured. “I suppose an out of date Literature degree would be of no use, anyway.”

“You studied literature?”

“Yes, though I was supposed to be studying medicine like Joly. Difference is, Joly enjoyed medicine most of all. I was interested, though more interested in other areas of study. I suppose my parents never figured out my change of heart.” Combeferre said. Courfeyrac took his hand in wordless comfort.

“When we get back to my house, I might be able to find a solution.” Cosette said.

Valjean was more than happy to offer an assistant position to Combeferre. All Combeferre had to do was grade tests and papers. Not too difficult, and definitely within Combeferre’s abilities. No one had to know that Valjean didn’t actually need an assistant, especially with him only teaching two courses that summer. But some secrets are better kept.  

With everyone now employed (miraculously, thanks to the dozens of favors they had to pull), Cosette felt she could breathe easy. All that was left was opening up bank accounts, learning the metro, and buying all new wardrobes so that her fathers could have their clothes back. It was looking to be an incredibly busy summer.

Two Weeks Later

“Okay, so what’s this called?”

“A cash register. I’m not that unintelligent. I do pay attention.”

“How do you open it?”

“You push these buttons so that the amount of money they give you shows up on this black rectangle. Then press the green button.” Enjolras showed off his ability to open up the register with impressive disinterest. “There.”

“Good.” Grantaire grinned. “You are officially ready to run the cash register.”

“Hooray.” Enjolras said flatly.

Of all the men Grantaire has had the pleasure of getting to know over the past two weeks, Enjolras has certainly been the most confusing. He seemed to be completely emotionless sometimes, though sad and burdened at others. Grantaire had moments with him where they could joke around and laugh, but then quickly Enjolras would turn cold and distant.

He did just fine at work, which was relieving. It might’ve been awkward if Grantaire had to fire one of them. Enjolras seemed to be just fine with the customers and Joly was showing promise at baking competently. Enjolras even seemed willing to help out in the kitchen after a few more baking lessons from Grantaire.

The trouble is that Enjolras seems to have no interest in talking to him about his past and the revolution. Grantaire had asked all the other guys about the time they came from, and they’ve all answered with long winded speeches of the past. Enjolras just looked at him with empty eyes and said “It was nothing you would understand.”

Needless to say, Grantaire felt a little confused.

Joly and Bossuet turned out to be fantastic companions. Joly was a little bit anxious a lot, but that was alright because Grantaire didn’t care. He was easy going enough now to handle someone who couldn’t be. Bossuet was hilarious and even funnier when he was drunk. Bahorel wanted to learn how to properly kickbox, which Grantaire was more than happy to help with. He gave kickboxing lessons for a low price on his days off of the bakery. It was a hobby he could make money off of, so why not? He assured Bahorel it would be free.

And the others were just as easy to get on with. Jehan was intelligent as he was romantic, Marius was easy to pick on like a younger sibling, Feuilly knew art and was fascinated to learn more (another hobby Grantaire kept quiet about), Combeferre could hold a debate, and Courfeyrac was a riot. But Enjolras...he was something else.

But Grantaire understood that not all people got along. He was bound to make an enemy out of at least one of the nine guys who waltzed into his life unannounced. But he couldn’t understand why Enjolras was so cut off from him. Even Combeferre, who seemed to keep private about most things, was open about the past. Enjolras just seemed...Grantaire couldn’t place it. And it wasn’t like he was always so cold. He could be kind and fun to be around just as easily as he could be cruel and a pain in the ass.

“Is it time to close, now?” Enjolras asked bluntly. “I would like to go home.”

“Sure, Enj.” The nickname slipped out. Grantaire couldn’t help it. Enjolras stared at him blankly for a moment. “I’ll just go tell Joly he’s good to go.”

Enjolras nodded, gaze shifting to the display case. Grantaire would figure him out sometime. It was on his list of mysteries to be solved.

“Is Enjolras okay?” Grantaire asked one morning while he and Bahorel prepared for another round of kickboxing lessons. He’d been meaning to ask, but it’s so difficult getting any of them alone.

“He has trouble letting go of the past. He always has.” Bahorel said. “He is not doing poorly, just having difficulties adjusting to a new life and no cause.”

Grantaire nodded. “I see. He seems sad.”

“We try to help him as best we can. Only Combeferre really knows how to speak with him. He is the only one who wants to go back. The rest of us are much happier here than the hell of home.” Bahorel said with a smile that masked the weight of his words. “I would much rather stay here and live happily, knowing the past is behind us, than go back and die again.”

“I think I can agree to that.” Grantaire finished up his hands. “Alright, so where were we last week?”

They expected Marius to have a difficult time adjusting, but after overcoming the hurdle of social customs, he turned out to be the most excited about this new world. Eponine was sort of put off by his weirdly gung-ho attitude, but it made for some humorous interactions with customers. She was almost certain some people came just to listen to Marius stumble through a sentence or two.

Bahorel was a pretty attractive man, too. Eponine really couldn’t complain about the new handsome help around here. She sat back and waited for some poor soul to need help finding a book.

Half hour later, when Eponine was finishing up a doodle on the back of a receipt, Marius approached her nervously.

“There aren’t any customers around, so I thought I might ask you a few questions.” Marius said, pulling at his shirt.

“Sure thing.” Eponine said. “What’s up?”

“How might men today approach a woman?” Marius leaned against the counter, voice low.

“Why? Have a lady in mind?”

Marius blushed madly. “I - erm - perhaps.”

“No need to get all fidgety. Just ask her out.” Eponine shrugged. It really wasn’t a science. Pretty simple.

“But where would I take her?” Marius asked. He took a pen from Eponine’s stash and began to fiddle with it. “I don’t know anything about this city anymore.”

“Well, there’s this little bistro called the Musain on the other side of town-”

Marius froze. “The Musain?”

“Uh, yeah?” Eponine said.  “It’s a really old building. It’s been the Musain since forever, though. It’s a historical building, so they can’t change anything about it except refurbish and update what’s already there. MUSAIN was practically tattooed onto the building, so the name stuck. All the historical committees refused to let anyone call the building otherwise. Fuck if I know why.”

Marius felt like he was going to pass out. It just couldn’t be possible. They all assumed the Musain was destroyed along with the barricades. How could it still exist? This had to be a sign. He had to get to Enjolras, he had to-

“Whoa, calm down...what’s the matter with you?” Eponine was about ready to smack this kid. He looked like he was about to start hyperventilating.

“Er - I...I just had a strange sense of deja vu.” Marius pinched the bridge of his nose, hand still shaking. “And I don’t feel well. Do you think I could…” He motioned towards the door.

“You do whatever you need to do. Just be sure to clock out first.”

Marius nodded and wandered towards the door. Eponine whipped out her phone almost immediately.

[To: Grantaire] Alright, what the fuck is up with your weirdo friend Marius...he was cute and fun but now he’s starting to scare me

[From: Grantaire] We told you everything what more do you want from us ffs

[To: Grantaire] Yeah but I just mentioned that he should take his lady love out to some bistro and he had a panic attack

[From: Grantaire] Eh let him be for now...Enj will know what to do with him. Still on for tonight? Cosette is making a homemade quiche and Musichetta is bringing the wine

[To: Grantaire] Hell yeah...will all the boys be there?

[From: Grantaire] If they are, Cosette better be making a huge quiche

It turns out, Cosette prepared for this, like all other things, very thoroughly. She had at least four large quiches prepared by the time Grantaire arrived. Musichetta was already there, a bottle of white wine in front of her.

“If I had known we were feeding half of Paris, I would’ve brought more.” She said. “Unfortunately, everyone will have to deal.”

“I always have a bottle or two stashed away. No worries, Chetta!” Grantaire tapped her nose as he passed her on the way to the kitchen.

“You know, my fathers won’t be too fond of you once they figure out you hide wine in their own home.” Cosette said as she put a tray of rolls in the oven.

“I can charm their anger away.” He grinned.

“I’m sort of scared of how true that is.”

The nine boys trickled in eventually. Some were shy or quiet, while others just barged in happily laughing over something nobody else could understand. Bossuet was of the latter party. Enjolras was absolutely not. If anything, Grantaire thought he looked more serious than before, which was an impressive feat.

“Enjolras,” Grantaire poured them both a glass of wine. Enjolras stared at his in disdain. “How was your day?”

“I was in your company. You know how my day was.” Enjolras said icily. Alright, then. It was going to be one of those days.

“You worry me.”

“I worry you?” Enjolras’s eyebrows shot up at that.

“Your face is going to freeze if you keep it so serious. Smile a little, yeah?” Grantaire inched the wine towards him.

“We don’t all need alcohol to feel happy, Grantaire.”

Grantaire’s smile fell immediately. He didn’t let that hurt too bad, though. He knew Enjolras was in an incredibly strange place right now. “Alright. After dinner, we’re going for a walk. We will talk about this.”

Enjolras was a little taken aback by that. He honestly couldn’t even place what Grantaire was talking about. What did they need to talk about? Before he had any time to process this, Marius burst through the door.

“Ah, Marius! You weren’t due home for another hour!” Bossuet said with his usual note of glee. His smile was quickly chased off by Marius’s pained panting for air. “What is wrong with you today?”

“The Musain…” Marius gasped. Enjolras stood immediately at that. “It…”

“The Musain? What of the Musain?”

“It still exists.” He breathed.

This had the majority of the table in a flurry. Grantaire and Musichetta shared confused glances. Cosette was incredibly lost.

“Hey!” Grantaire’s voice boomed above the rest. “Let’s all sit down and discuss this over dinner. Cosette made a very nice meal for us and we’re going to eat it.”

A few of the boys who had stood during the excitement sat down once again. Enjolras stayed standing, staring at nothing.

“Enjolras?” Grantaire tried. Enjolras still stared. “Hey, listen, we’re going to figure this-”

“I want to go home.” He said, voice fierce and eyes bright. Grantaire’s heart hurt for how young he looked. It was a harsh reminder that these were just schoolboys, barely even adults. Grantaire couldn’t imagine the hell they’ve been through. “This could be it. Don’t you see?” He looked around at his friends, who appeared to be subtly recoiling. Combeferre took Courfeyrac’s hand, but they both remained calm. “We don’t belong here.”

“What makes you think we belong back there?” Combeferre said evenly. “We are dead there. We are nothing but rotting corpses. We go back, and we are ruined again. We have done our duties to our time, now it is time for us to help this century.”

“What use is that?” Enjolras bites. “What use is us dying young again so that we can barely shift the world towards change?”

Courfeyrac stood and approached Enjolras carefully. “What happened to our fearless leader? What happened to the man we all went head first into battle with? The one who would risk his life so that others could be happy?”

“He died in 1832. As he should’ve. As I should be.” Enjolras said coldly before turning on his heel and fleeing the room. The air was silent. For a long moment, no one moved or spoke. Eventually, Combeferre cleared his throat.

“You must understand…” He began, voice attempting to stay steady. “The Musain was our home. We met, planned, and rallied there. It was where many of us died. If there’s any place that could give us hope of returning, it would be there.”

“I cannot go back.” Courfeyrac said. “Call me a coward, but I refuse. I won’t die again.”

“You don’t have to, Courf.” Cosette said. “I assure you. Nobody can make you go back if you really don’t want to.”

“Good.” Courfeyrac’s wet eyes shot from face to face around the room. “The injustices of the past are far too vile. I know I didn’t live them, not really, but the time on the barricades was enough. I will accept being weak and selfish if it means not having to watch you all die again.”

Marius was crying by this point, making no show to hide it. “I agree, my friend.” He kept his eyes on the table in front of him. “Forgive me. I seem to have been overcome with my emotions. I shall…” He cleared his throat. “Retire to my room. Thank you for the lovely dinner, Cosette.”

Nobody knew what to say. All of the Amis were looking away from each other. Courfeyrac stood frozen in place.

“Here’s what we are going to do.” Grantaire said after far too long. “When Eponine gets here, we will eat. Then I will talk to Enjolras and maybe tomorrow we can go visit the Musain.”

Everyone hastily agrees. They make it through dinner, but it was an awkward affair. Most of the boys left right after they finished eating, leaving Eponine confused and annoyed.

“Next time shit goes down without me, I’m not sticking around for the shitty aftermath.”

No one could blame her.

Grantaire knew he had to be careful with Enjolras. While he was a strong and passionate man, he also had a wearing heart that needed to be approached with caution. There was no room for snark tonight. He knocked the door with heavy hand.

“I wish to be alone.” Enjolras said, as if it wasn’t completely clear already.

“And I wish to speak with you.” Grantaire replied. “Please.”

There was a long silence. Grantaire was certain that Enjolras would completely ignore him, so he prepared to wait him out. Thankfully, he didn’t have to. Enjolras opened the door in his Cosette-chosen-jeans and short sleeve button up, looking so painfully normal that Grantaire actually felt his heart constrict. His eyes were a whole other story. Eyes usually are.

“What could you possibly have to say to me that I’m not already aware of?”

“I never said I was going to be the one doing the talking.” Grantaire said. “Follow me.”

Enjolras didn’t know why, but he did. He decided not to ask where they were going; he still couldn’t recognize the streets anyway. He watched as Grantaire took him swiftly down the street, the pleasant neighborhood turning into a quaint park. It was everything Enjolras would never let himself indulge in: calm. Grantaire gestured to a large pond that filled the center of the park.

“Let’s take a walk.”

They did. Enjolras knew that one of them was supposed to start talking at some point, but he felt like he had nothing he could say. He couldn’t allow himself the luxury of dumping every last emotional horror on this man he only knew a few weeks. They may have been spending copious amounts of time together, but that didn’t mean anything.

When Enjolras refused to speak, Grantaire took it into his own hands.

“Why do you want to go back?”

It was a loaded question. Enjolras really couldn’t think of where to start. He folded his hands neatly behind his back and stared ahead. “You don’t understand.”

“How about instead of continuously telling me how much I don’t understand, you try and help me understand this time?”

Enjolras was quiet for another moment. “They are my friends.” He began. “They are the only true friends I’ve ever known. I lead them to their demise. There isn’t a day that passes in which I’m not reminded of that mistake.” He closes his eyes briefly. When he opens them, Grantaire sees nothing but horrific regret. “I need to go back to try and right the wrongs I’ve done. Perhaps if I could go back just an hour before the final attack, I could convince them to leave. Perhaps if I could go back even further and put off the rebellion another year...I know the chances of going back that far are slim. But stranger things have happened.” He gestured to himself and the world around him. Grantaire smiled. “Even if I’m the only one to return, even if I return to be killed again, I feel as though I must. I do not deserve the friends I was given. They deserve a much more competent, patient leader.”

“I thought it was Combeferre’s job to be competent.”

Enjolras smiled ruefully. “I think I should’ve trusted him more. Instead, I went with the plans I wanted. And I got all of my friends killed.” He turns to look at Grantaire, eyes pained. “Do you know what that’s like? Watching your friends die because of you?”

“I’m happy to say that I don’t. But I don’t think your friends see it like that, Enj.”

“I knew you wouldn’t understand.”

“What?” Grantaire stopped. Enjolras did the same. “You’re angry with me because I don’t know what it’s like to watch my friends die? Are you upset because I haven’t lived through absolute hell like you? Because I know what pain feels like and I know what loss feels like, even if it’s not close to your pain and your loss. And another thing, your friends are still alive. Stop talking about them like they’re not here with you, experiencing the same exact pain as you are.”

“They shouldn’t have to! They were supposed to live long and happy lives. I took that away from them.”

“Long and happy lives?” Grantaire scoffed. “Alright. So Feuilly was living happily back then, was he? Because he has told me multiple times that he’s found more opportunities here than in his whole lifetime. Were Courfeyrac and Combeferre happy? Courfeyrac is infinitely happier here than there. He’s told me multiple times. Combeferre said he’s never felt more comfortable with himself. They don’t have to hide here. The reason you’re here is because none of you were happy with the world back then, so you tried to change it. By some universal fuck up, you got catapulted in time to us instead of heaven. Can’t you see? You’re the reason they get to live long and happy lives. A life might be long, but trust me when I say it could be far from happy.”

Enjolras was speechless for a moment. “I was not aware they felt that way.”

“Maybe if you actually tried to speak with them once in a while, you would know.” Grantaire’s voice calmed down. “Combeferre’s worried about you, especially. He said you two haven’t spoken alone in at least a week. You know friends are supposed to worry about you.”

“I don’t want them to worry for me. It didn’t end well last time.”

Grantaire threw his hands up. “You know what? Fine. Have your pity party, go fucking cry your heart out, but don’t expect me to support that. You have friends who love you. Not everyone gets that.”

Enjolras was taken aback by that comment. Surely Grantaire wasn’t talking about himself? He had friends all over! Enjolras had witnessed it himself. Regulars at the bakery, people on the street he photographed for a student project, street musicians who smiled as he dropped handfuls of money in their bins...Cosette, Eponine, Musichetta. “I hope you are not talking about yourself.”

“That’s not-”

“How could you possibly discredit their feelings toward you?” Enjolras felt a little angry. Those three were incredible friends. Enjolras saw it firsthand.

“I could ask the same to you.” Grantaire shot back. “I adore my friends, don’t you ever insinuate otherwise. You and I get to be lucky like that. We have those friends who love us instead of betray us. Fuck, Enjolras. How can you not see that?”

“I…” Enjolras couldn’t find the words he needed. “I do see it. I only regret it.”

“How fucking ungrateful are you?” Grantaire burst.

“The day you watch your friends die one by one is the day I will consider your opinion relevant.”

“I don’t need to watch my friends die to know I would never push them away for following me through hell. Fuck, don’t you just see that we’re worried about you?”

“We?” Enjolras laughed. It absolutely terrified Grantaire. “Forgive me, but it seems foolish for you to choose to worry for me. You have a brave heart. If you truly want to toss it, do so on a much wiser man.”

“No.” Grantaire said sharply. “And don’t try and tell me who to care about.”

“I am only warning you.”

“Fuck your warnings, okay? I’m writing a goddamned paper on your revolution, so you better believe I think you’re worth it to care about. I know about why you did it. I know about the conditions of the time. I know everything you think I don’t. Even if you won’t talk to me about it, the others will. And it only makes me worry about you more.”

“I don’t need someone else to worry for me!” Enjolras said frantically. “Please. For all our sakes, ignore me. When I go back, forget me.”

“I can’t. I won’t.” Grantaire held Enjolras gently by the shoulders. “Why don’t you accept that people want you to be alright?”

Enjolras shook his head. “I simply cannot.”

Grantaire nodded. “Okay. Well, don’t expect me to stop anytime soon.”

Enjolras agreed and they carried on.

“Marius?” Cosette called. She didn’t really want to encroach on his privacy, but the situation was strange. If she had to break down his door to give him a hug, she just might. There was a faint sniffling coming from the room. Cosette ignored her breaking heart. “Marius, please. Just let me in, okay? I’m not going to judge you.”

She was sort of surprised when the door squeaked open. Not that Marius was aggressive, but she was expecting a bit more of a fight. She shrugged it off and slowly stepped forward into the room. Marius had retreated to his bed and sat with his head low, face red. Cosette sat next to him.

“How are you feeling?” She rested a hand on his back.

“I am confused.” Marius said. “How am I supposed to feel right now? Scared? Regretful? Angry? I’ve come to terms with the fact that I will never understand how I got here. But I am not scared. I don’t regret anything. I’m far from angry. How is Enjolras all of those things? We were granted another life, one in a world far greater than the one we came from. I want to grieve, but there is nothing to feel sad about. And I feel guilty for not being sad.”

“You don’t have to feel anything.” Cosette took his hand. “Listen, you are in a unique situation. However you want to feel about it, you feel it. However you want to see it, go ahead and see it that way. Enjolras doesn’t know what to think either. I don’t think any of your friends do. You’re not alone.”

Marius smiled sadly. “I was the second to last to die. I don’t know how I lasted so long...I witnessed most of the deaths. Combeferre had to watch Courfeyrac die. At the end, Enjolras ran to the top of our barricade and the last thing I saw before I...the last thing I saw was him waving a red flag. There is nothing you could offer me that would make me want to relive that night. Why Enjolras wants to go back to a world of pain and suffering makes me feel so sad for him.”

“Why is that?”

“He is so alone. He has his friends, yes, but without his revolution he would have no identity. That is by his choice.” Marius finally met Cosette’s eyes. He ran a hand over his weary face and smiled. “Thank you, Cosette. You have been so kind. Y-you are rather remarkable.” He blushed.

“You are, too.” Cosette smiled sweetly. “You’re brave. You have a heart of a lion. Anyone who says otherwise is a liar.”

“May I…” Marius turned even redder. “I mean to say, could I perhaps…” He cleared his throat. “It would be my honor to, erm-”

“Marius, you’re too silly.” Cosette laughed. She gently took his face in her hands, meeting his eyes. “Kiss me now, please.”

It wasn’t the most graceful first kiss. Marius was still a little misty eyed, Cosette was at an awkward position. Marius still felt his heart lighten and Cosette felt hers swell, so it was perfect for them. Marius pulled away with a light laugh and blushing cheeks.

“I will take you out.” Marius promised firmly. “After I ask Valjean if it is alright, of course.”

“I can’t wait.” Cosette beamed.

Despite Marius and Cosette’s high spirits, the rest of the house was incredibly tense for the remainder of the week. Bahorel made a point to train with Grantaire every other night to avoid the awkward air. Jehan had taken to holing up in his room to write and mope, which Feuilly shortly joined in doing. Eponine liked their idea, so she tended to bother them whenever she came over. Feuilly was teaching her how to make a birdhouse, so it was productive for everyone.

Courfeyrac, on the other hand, became a nonstop storm of movement. He was constantly on his feet, talking to anyone he could to take his mind off of things. Combeferre couldn’t calm him down, which scared them all. Cosette was reasonably distracted by her blooming love life, so Grantaire took one for the team and tried his best to play babysitter. He spent more time at Cosette’s than at his shitty studio apartment these days. Javert and Valjean, busy men as they were, somehow seemed oblivious to all the chaos happening under their roof.

At least Bossuet and Joly had their shit together. They just did what normal people did and focused on working a little more. Musichetta and Grantaire couldn’t complain at all.

Enjolras was another story. He was unpredictable. He seemed fine after his and Grantaire’s walk in the park, but then he would become secluded. Then he would do his version of begging for shifts at work. And worst of all, Grantaire had walked by his room the other day only to hear him praying and pleading with a broken voice. When Grantaire asked Combeferre, he said that Enjolras was the least religious of them all. Grantaire didn’t know his heart could break any more.

The summer carried on. Grantaire had a few more weeks left until that damn paper was due, but luckily there were nine primary sources he could consult with anytime he hit a block. Although he had spoken to Enjolras the least about the rebellion, his paper seemed to focus mostly on him and his motives. No matter how he rewrote it, it was just too easy to go on and on about the leader and his role. Grantaire was beginning to feel like he was in way too deep. So he did the only thing he really could do and called Eponine to help him mope away over some leftover pastries from the bakery.

“So you’re infatuated with Enjolras, who’s surprised?” Eponine said as she sat down on Grantaire’s bed with a strawberry tart. Grantaire let out a moan.

“Well, you know.” Grantaire huffed. “Me.”

“You’re surprised? Is that joke? You bookmarked his portrait in that crusty history book. You took him on a romantic walk around the pond. You flirt-argue with him like it’s your purpose in life.”

“And I have explanations for all of those. I bookmarked the portrait for reference. It wasn’t a romantic walk, it was to calm him the fuck down. And flirt-arguing isn’t a thing, so stop with that.” Grantaire said. “Though maybe it is my purpose in life to argue with him. That might be why fate brought him here.”

Eponine scoffed. “You’re more dramatic than Gavroche. Who, by the way, is begging you to teach him to kickbox. He happened to meet Bahorel the other day and has made it his life mission to become a bodybuilder.”

“He’s twelve, isn’t his life mission supposed to be video games and running away from girls?”

“Children are fickle.” Eponine shrugged. Grantaire agreed. They ate their desserts in silence for a moment.

“So are they ever going back, you think?” Eponine was around the house a lot less than Cosette and Grantaire, so she always had to get caught up on things. She demanded to always be in the know, especially after the whole dinner debacle.

“Nobody has the first clue how to even send them back. Either way, the only one who wants to go back is Enjolras. And his flimsy excuses for why are getting annoying. He won’t even talk to Combeferre.”

“God, I love Combeferre. He is hilarious.” Eponine laughed. “You should hear a conversation between him, Courfeyrac, and Marius. It’s like two little kids and their devious uncle.”

“That is...disturbing. Also, are you sure you’re talking about Combeferre? Studious, logical, gentle giant Combeferre?”

Eponine nodded, mouthful of tart. “Yeah! He has a great sense of humor. Takes the piss out of Courfeyrac and Marius all the time. But he does so in such a subtle and clever way. Definitely my favorite.”

“How the hell am I missing out on Combeferre taking the piss out of anyone? This is so unfair. You can have Enjolras, I want Combeferre.”

Eponine sighed. “He isn’t mine to give away. I can only offer you a Montparnasse. Go beg Courfeyrac.”

“Well, Enjolras isn’t mine either.”

Eponine just laughed.

Things didn’t get much better. July rolled around quickly, which meant hotter weather and testier moods. Cosette and Marius took to distracting each other whenever possible. Their favorite thing to do was go on romantic long walks through the city. It would’ve made Grantaire vomit a little if he weren’t so happy for Cosette, and just a little jealous. But Marius seemed to finally be finding stable ground as well, so it was a relief.

Then Marius and Enjolras got into a fight.

It was rare that everyone was actually home. The Amis loved to explore and work and find new people to converse with. One night, it was just Marius, Enjolras, and Grantaire. Cosette had taken off to show Joly and Jehan the Luxembourg Gardens, so Grantaire agreed grumpily to make sure nobody killed each other in the house. While none of the boys liked the idea of being babysat by people their own age, they agreed it was best to have one of them around in case something went wrong and they didn’t know how to fix it.

Grantaire was editing page four of his paper, enjoying the quiet evening. He had his laptop and a few books open around him, cup of coffee to his right. Nothing could stop him from finally finishing off this paper.

Then the yelling started.

Grantaire honestly didn’t even know Marius could yell. He didn’t seem the type. However, the loud voices from the den proved otherwise.

“You will never understand.” Enjolras sounded like a petulant child.

“You are so foolish. We died right before you, have you forgotten?”

“I’m leaving. You are a child, Marius. You won’t last here for long and it is best that you all understand that. No one cares for us here, just as no one cared for us then.”

It’s the same old argument. Enjolras, who usually could argue with anyone until the cows come home, had been repeating the same shit since he got here. Now, Grantaire clearly didn’t know Enjolras as well as the others, but he could tell it was unusual. Enjolras was a good speaker, but he’s lost all his skill.

“We don’t even know how to return! If you leave, don’t expect us to follow you. Not this time.”

“I suppose I’m the only one who can take responsibility for the rebellion, then. I will be the one to deal with the consequences.”

“Are you suicidal?” Marius shouts, voice tense. “Do you even care about your friends?”

“Friends? I don’t need friends.” Enjolras sounded manic, something Grantaire could tell was a forced lie. Unfortunately, Marius was far less skilled at reading people. He bought it.

“I see.” Marius said. Before Grantaire could move, he heard a slamming door and tense silence. He decided it was time to intervene.

Marius was sitting in the living room, curled up with a book. He decided he’d let him simmer down. Enjolras was probably more likely to do something stupid at this point anyway. He entered the den without a plan, but with a whole lot of determination.

Enjolras looked like hell. Grantaire wasn’t exactly the pinnacle of beauty at the moment, but Enjolras was a mess. His hair was everywhere, his eyes were red and heavy with bruises underneath that told stories. He looked lost without any idea of how to get out. Grantaire wished he knew how to properly help him.

When Enjolras noticed Grantaire in the room, he sat up uncomfortably straight and nodded once. “Hello.”

“Don’t fucking do that.” Grantaire said quietly, as if afraid he was going to scare Enjolras off. “Tell me what’s going through your head.”

“No.” Enjolras said.

“Okay.” Grantaire shut the door behind him and sat at Enjolras’s feet. “Neither of us are leaving until you talk.”

The silence was thick. Enjolras looked slightly panicked, but Grantaire could tell he was trying to keep it together. Finally, it seemed he was sick of this game.

“I don’t need your permission. You aren’t my mother.” He stood up. “I hardly know you.”

“We’ve only spent the past six weeks working closely together, talking everyday, and almost living together. You’re right. You must barely know me at all.” Grantaire rolled his eyes. “Try again. Just because I didn’t grow up with you doesn’t mean we don’t know each other.”

Enjolras was silent for a moment. “I don’t need you.”

“You need someone.”

“No I don’t.”

“Explain why you’ve been crying, then. Explain the praying, the pleading, the anger. Explain that and tell me how you plan to be happy again when you keep pushing away the people who want to help.” Grantaire’s voice steadily rose.

“I don’t need to explain myself to you.” Enjolras said harshly. “If you would excuse me, I would like to sleep.” Grantaire glanced at the clock on the DVD player. It was barely seven. By the time he looked up again, Enjolras had already fled the room.

“Fantastic.” Grantaire sighed.

Despite what he encouraged everyone to believe, Enjolras was capable of being terrified. He pretended he wasn’t for the sake of his friends. He didn’t want to look weak. There was nothing worse than a leader who showed weakness, he told himself. But the negative side to this was that he found himself unable to indulge in comfort.

So he was always running. He ran from his friends and his real life, everything that really scared him. It was easy to focus on fighting for justice, trying to better everyone else’s life. He didn’t need to worry about his own. He didn’t need to think about his parents and how they always hated that he wasn’t what they wanted. He didn’t need to think about how he had never had a purpose in life until he learned to help those in need. And what’s his purpose now? He had to figure out this new society and where he fits in...he just didn’t know.

And then there was Grantaire...he was something else. He was difficult to talk to, didn’t leave Enjolras alone, wouldn’t let him hide behind words...it was infuriating. Everyone else was afraid of him. Even Combeferre was starting to step back. That was the whole point. Enjolras wanted everyone to hate him. So why wouldn’t Grantaire?

With all of this running through his frazzled mind, Enjolras found himself walking swiftly along the Seine, hoping it would bring him to streets near the modern Musain. The river had changed so much since he remembered it...just like everything else. Now there were vehicles everywhere, electric lamps lining the water, and people with their phones minding their own business. It was a different world. He felt overwhelmed all of a sudden with no one by his side to explain everything.

He was wearing an old pair of boat shoes that were apparently popular in the 1980s. The fact that something was considered old school a century and a half after Enjolras had lived was unthinkable. His bare feet still felt strange against the inside of the shoe. Cosette described the style as Nautical Prep, which meant nothing to him. His shorts felt too short and his shirt too tight. The more he walked the more suffocated he felt. The sudden desire to be in his own clothes washed over him.

If he had a cell phone, he could’ve looked up the location of the Musain. But he couldn’t figure out modern technology and phones scared him. So he was left with instinct. He abandoned the Seine in favor of trying old streets that felt familiar but were alien. The more he wandered, the less sure he was. He’d hardly traveled without someone the past month, but most he just went to work and back to Cosette’s. He didn’t wander around Paris like the rest of them, no matter how much his heart wanted him to.

Twenty minutes later, he finally admitted to himself that he was helplessly lost. He felt his breath shorten and tried to quickly calm down. It didn’t work. Around him, people were walking and walking and walking, but he was standing still and confused.

“Hello, do you know where-” He tried to stop a business man. He was ignored. “Mademoiselle, could you tell me-” Brushed off. It happened again. And again. And again. He finally gave up and ducked into the cleanest alleyway he could find and tried to regain control.

He was completely lost.

Grantaire started panicking after he realized Enjolras wasn't in his room. Cosette walked in on him practically screaming at Marius and immediately steered him towards a chair. With an upset Marius and angry Grantaire, she almost forgot about Joly and Bossuet. Things quickly spiraled into chaos as the rest of the boys began to come home as well.

“Everyone!” Cosette yelled. “Den, now!”

It took almost a half hour and one giant kettle of tea later before everyone was settled. Grantaire was pacing the middle of the room while the Amis all looked various degrees of nervous and guilty. Cosette took a deep breath and stood in front of them all.

“Where is he?”

A simple question nobody could answer. Marius looked at his hands and shifted in his seat.  

“Now that we’ve covered the fact that nobody knows where Enjolras went, I’m splitting us up into search parties. Father will be home shortly. I’ll wait for him. He’ll be a huge help. We will take Combeferre, Courfeyrac, and Jehan. Grantaire, you take Joly, Bossuet, Feuilly and Bahorel. I’ll call Eponine and see if she and Gavroche can take a look around their neighborhood. Musichetta might be able to look around as well.”

“What about me?” Marius said.

“Someone has to be here in case he comes back.” Cosette smiled gently. “Papa will be back later this evening. He will be able to call us if you have trouble with the phone.”

Marius nodded, but it was clear he was bothered by being the only one stuck at the house. Cosette couldn’t waste too much time worrying about that. “Grantaire, get going. I’ll take care of everything back here.”

Everyone in Grantaire’s group walked out, leaving four of them and Cosette to sit in tense silence. When Cosette left the room briefly to call Eponine and Musichetta, Combeferre was the first to speak.

“I want to apologize-” He began. The others were having none of that. It was bad enough they were losing Enjolras, they didn’t need Combeferre spiraling into guilt as well.

“No. This isn’t your fault.” Jehan said sternly.

“I was his confidante and closest friend. I should have tried harder with him.” Combeferre dropped his head into his hands wearily. Courfeyrac was appalled at this.

“No, love. Don’t be an idiot. He pushed us away on purpose.” Courfeyrac wrapped his arms around Combeferre, resting his head on Combeferre’s shoulder. “You didn’t do anything but love him, like the rest of us.”

“Maybe that was our mistake.” Marius spoke shakily. Of all the boys, he felt like he had the most blame to claim from this. “It was too easy to get angry when he spoke so carelessly about losing his life. Instead of pushing him to talk to us, I just shouted at him.”

“You shouted at Enjolras?” Jehan looked amused.

Marius ducked his head. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry. I’m sure we all wish we had a chance to yell at him the past few weeks.” Jehan said. It was the truth. Even Joly had confessed a secret desire to lay the truth down to Enjolras. They were all too afraid of spooking him, as if he were an animal. Well, now they realized the consequences of waiting. It felt horrible.

“We’ll get him back,” Courfeyrac said certainly.

Cosette walked back in with a determined look. “My father just pulled in the driveway. Are you all ready?”

Courfeyrac, Combeferre, and Jehan shared looks. They nodded and stood. It left Marius feeling rather put off, but he refused to complain. The guilt was mostly on his shoulders for this incident. As if sensing his sadness, Cosette knelt in front of him and took his hands in hers as the others exited towards the front hallway.

“We’ll return with him.” Cosette promised. She kissed both of his cheeks sweetly. “Please don’t be sad.”

Marius nodded, leaning in to kiss her once before she left. It was difficult to let go of his hands, but she managed. Watching her leave was slightly painful, but Marius sucked in a breath and began the long wait.

Enjolras was shaking. He wished he hadn't done this to himself. He wanted to hug Combeferre, let Courfeyrac and Jehan kiss his cheeks, let Bahorel clasp him on the shoulder. But he was here instead, hiding again because he couldn't face what he'd become. He felt ashamed. How could anyone forgive him after all this?

It was Gavroche who found Enjolras curled up in an alley behind a liquor store. He only had to look for about ten minutes before coming down the only alley that wasn’t filled with an abundance of trash. Gavroche hadn’t met Enjolras officially, but he hung around Grantaire’s bakery enough for the free food. Enjolras was usually sweeping or taking orders. Their lives orbited each others, but Gavroche was more than happy to help out.

“Oi!” He called. Enjolras startled, eyes wild. “Enjolras, yeah?”

Enjolras nodded.

“My names Gavroche. I’m a friend.” He offered a hand out. Enjolras stared at it. “C’mon. I’m Eponine’s brother. She’s gotta have mentioned me at least once.”

Enjolras nodded slowly. “The name does sound familiar. And you look-”

“I hang around Grantaire’s bakery every now and then.” Gavroche said proudly. “Now come on. They’re all worried about you. Eponine’s lookin’ all around too. And you’re sort of in a strange neighborhood. Where were you trying to be?”

“The Musain.” Enjolras said guiltily. “Don’t tell the others.”

“Sorry. I don’t keep secrets like that.” For someone so much smaller than Enjolras, Gavroche was easy to respect. Enjolras couldn’t argue with someone so sure. It could’ve been because of how shaken Enjolras was, but he ignored that. He was happier to go home than remain lost in the streets that were once familiar. They walked the rest of the long walk in silence. Enjolras couldn’t relax, but Gavroche didn’t say anything about it.

“I found ‘im!” Gavroche burst into the front door excitedly. “He was lookin' for the old Musain.”

Valjean was waiting in the front room with Marius, but otherwise no one else was there. The look on Valjean’s face was enough to make Enjolras feel incredibly horrible.

“Do you have any idea how worried everyone has been?” Valjean said sternly. His tone made Enjolras wince. It would’ve been less painful if he just yelled.

“I apologize.” Enjolras said quietly. “It was foolish of me to try and travel alone.”

“I don’t know where you’re from,” Valjean’s eyes searched his. “But I have taken you in. I do actually care about your wellbeing. I might not be around as much as Cosette, but I have grown fond of you all. Don’t pull a stunt like that again, especially seeing as you have no way of getting in touch with us.”

Enjolras nodded before facing Marius, who looked completely drained of all color. He wasn’t usually one to feel urges to hug people - he wasn’t Jehan or Courfeyrac - but at that moment all he wanted to do was wrap Marius in an embrace. He stepped forward and offered a hand to clasp instead. Marius took it gladly.

“Enjolras, I’m-”

“No, Marius. I was wrong today.” It took Marius’s breath away for a moment. Enjolras hated admitting defeat. He stood by his words until he was red in the face. He really must have been shaken up to so quickly retreat. “I value your friendship and I admire you.” It came out slightly uncomfortable, but Marius didn’t care. Before Enjolras could say anything else, Marius surged forward and wrapped him in a tight hug.

“I am so glad you are okay. Please stay.” Marius said. All Enjolras could do was nod.

Gavroche cleared his throat. “As adorable as this is, can we call the others? My stupid sister left me alone without a phone.”

“Don’t call you sister names.” Valjean chided, but pulled out his phone.

As much as Enjolras felt he didn’t deserve the second chance he was given, he had to admit that he felt safer and much more relaxed being back home. He knew they couldn’t live here forever and that things needed to change, but it was alright for now.

Grantaire was not happy. Not at all. Just who the fuck did Enjolras think he was? Grantaire thought that when someone called and said Enjolras was okay that he would feel relieved, but instead he felt furious. The small group of Amis he brought with him were confused, but they followed him back home regardless. Instead of waiting for everyone to file in the house after him, he stormed into the den where everyone was crowded and immediately found Enjolras among the faces of his friends who had recently arrived with Cosette and Javert.

“You idiot.” He stood over Enjolras who was relaxing in one of the armchairs. Cosette tried to stop him as the rest of the boys ran in, but it was useless. When Grantaire got angry, there was no stopping him from going. Cosette and Eponine exchanged worried glances. “Why the ever living, breathing, shitting fuck would you do that? Do you have any idea how worried we were? It’s like you don’t even understand what friends are!”

“Grantaire-” Enjolras tried.

“No! It’s my turn to talk! I gave you a chance earlier! I might think you all did shit nothing in your rebellion, which is frustrating as hell, but I still respect you. I know about you, okay? I talk to your friends, probably more than you have recently. I know you're scared, I know you hate showing it. I know all these things about you, and they’re all filed away in my fucking head, but you just keep pushing back. Things have changed, and you don’t know this city anymore. That’s a tragedy, I know. I’m sorry. But stop fucking running. All these people have missed you. No one here agrees that you should be dead. Nobody. Not me, not anyone. In no universe should you sit back and let your friends feel everything while you hide behind your little barricade of apathy. They’re sitting there willing to forgive you after all the shit you’ve pulled on them. I want you to thank them, love them, and fucking pull yourself together and admit you’re not alright.” Grantaire heaved a breath when he was done. The silence was lethal. All that could be heard was Grantaire’s breathing and the sound of crickets outside. Enjolras looked absolutely stricken.

“You’re right,” he said. “Everything. You’re right about everything.”

“Everything?” Grantaire said doubtfully.

“Well, not about our rebellion.” Enjolras smiled ruefully. “But that’s an argument for another time.”

Grantaire nodded, still not really believing this. Enjolras never agreed with him, especially about this. But he couldn’t really complain. Much to everyone’s surprise, Enjolras stood, forcing Grantaire to take a step back.

“I owe everyone an apology.” He looked around the room. He couldn’t help but tear up at the sight of all his friends still gathered around. “I have been cruel, and I haven’t been kind. I should’ve trusted you. I regret that more than anything. You trusted me, but I did not return the favor.” He swallowed around the lump in his throat. “If you would be able to, I must ask for you help in...recovering. This has been a difficult time for us all. It would mean a lot to me if I could-” He couldn’t find the words for what he wanted to say, but he didn’t need to. Combeferre stepped forward, gathering Enjolras into his arms.

“We forgive you.” He said into Enjolras’s hair. “We’re still rather angry, and we will talk about this, but we do love you.”

"And if you try to find the Musain again, we will kill you." Courfeyrac said as he stepped forward. "We want to bury that hatchet. You should, too."

Enjolras didn’t let himself cry until everyone gathered into one giant hug. Grantaire, Cosette, Eponine, and Musichetta watched with amused faces from the outside. Nine men practically puppy piling onto each other made for a pretty interesting scene.

“Get in here, you fools!” Bahorel shouted. Then it really became a puppy pile. Grantaire was happy to be breathless.

One Month Later

The Amis continued to adjust to modern life fairly well. A few had even managed to save up enough to buy themselves phones. Grantaire didn’t bother to introduce them to texting yet. They were still getting used to typing on a desktop computer. 

Grantaire’s history course was coming to a close, meaning he had to do the finishing touches on his paper. It was a mess to him, but it was the best he could do. A whole lot of shit went down this summer. Plus, there was just too much information to squeeze into six pages. His sources were almost entirely primary, but he was sure Valjean would understand.

Before sending it off to be graded, Grantaire thought maybe one person would like to read it. He approached Enjolras one day after work with his final copy.

“Hey, thought you might want to see this.” He dropped the paper on the table where Enjolras was rolling silverware. “Give it a read through before I turn it in. It’s basically about you, anyway.” Grantaire scratched the back of his neck nervously.

“Alright,” Enjolras said, eyeing the paper seriously. “When will you be turning it in?”

“End of the day.” Grantaire shuffled his feet. “No rush, though. It won’t take too long. Just let me know if any of the information is really wrong. I had to at least use one book, so they might not have interpreted it right. I know how important this is to-”

“Grantaire.” Enjolras said with amusement. “It’s fine. I’d be honored to read it.”

“Alright, okay…” Grantaire stood there awkwardly for a moment. “I’m just going to go, you know...uhm. I’ve got to finish cleaning up.”

“Go ahead.” Enjolras watched as Grantaire shuffled back to the kitchen. He picked up the paper and began to read.

June 1832: How A Small Rebellion Changed France

In June of 1832, the weather was unbearably hot. France was run by a selfish king, the poor were getting poorer, and the rich were turning a blind eye. While many wished for change, it was easier for them to remain impoverished than fight for something better. One small group of seemingly privileged students thought otherwise. Lead by a passionate rebel, Les Amis de l’Abaisse attempted to overthrow the failing system by holding a revolution in the dead heat of summer...

Enjolras finished the paper within half an hour, but he read it again. And again. And again. He couldn’t stop. Despite all his criticism, Grantaire wrote a beautiful piece detailing the rebellion. He used accounts from all of his friends, both amusing and tragic, to describe that summer without completely tearing it apart. But most of all, Enjolras was surprised at how Grantaire talked about him.

“Enjolras was firm in his beliefs and fought for a better life, despite everything telling him to play it safe. His courage and dedication is admirable, although many would agree that going into battle so unprepared was naive.”

“He was bright and everyone orbited around him. When he walked, he left a path that begged others to follow. His leadership is the sole reason this rebellion is read about at all today. Without him, they would not have a voice.”

“If more leaders possessed the selfless and brave qualities the leader of the June Rebellion did, governments might flourish.”

Enjolras set down the paper finally and sat back with tears in his eyes. He was absolutely speechless. Yes, Grantaire made it clear in the paper that the rebellion was far from perfect and effective, but he still showed so much respect for them. Enjolras didn’t know exactly what he was feeling, but he knew he had to see Grantaire immediately.

Grantaire was wiping down the last counter of the day when Enjolras strode in with determination all over his face.

“Did you mean this?” Enjolras set the paper down on the counter next to them. “Did you mean any of it?”

“I meant it all. I would never put it in a paper if I didn’t.” He said, unable to meet Enjolras’s gaze. “I can’t believe you didn’t know. I might not agree with your methods, but I’d be stupid not to respect you for fighting for what you believe in.”

Without stopping to think, Enjolras kissed Grantaire with all the passion he could muster up. For Enjolras, that was a lot. He buried a hand in Grantaire’s hair and rested a hand on his hip. They kissed for too long and too little all at once, but if they kept going Grantaire was sure he would pass out.

“What the-” Grantaire’s eyes were wide. “Whoa. You just...wow.”

“Sorry. You’re just-” Enjolras gestured to Grantaire. “You’re full of so many things and I just think it’s time you knew I respect you a lot as well.”

Grantaire laughed breathlessly and brought Enjolras in for another kiss. “I’m glad it’s clear we both respect each other so much, but I wouldn’t mind a little debauchery.”

Enjolras was all too happy to abide.

Courfeyrac was the first to find out about Enjolras and Grantaire. He meant to duck in the bakery just before close to steal a pastry or two for him and Combeferre when he noticed to figures getting rather close near the counter. He recognized them just as Grantaire pushed Enjolras against the counter and kissed him soundly.

"My, my! I knew it! I just won a handful of money. Thank you both for this!" He took out his crappy phone and took a most likely painfully pixelated photo. He smiled widely. "Don't reproduce yet. We have enough to worry about."

He then stole a few doughnuts and wiggled his eyebrows suggestively before exiting. Grantaire didn't even have time to tell him to fuck off. It was a tragedy.

"We can't go home." Grantaire hid his blushing face in Enjolras's shirt. "We just can't."

"Why not? I think this is a perfectly good opportunity to pay Courfeyrac back." Enjolras smiled slyly.

"Oh, man, I think I'm gonna love you." Grantaire kissed him again just because he could. 

Nobody else thought too much of their romance, besides the offhanded comment about losing precious money because of it. Valjean smiled knowingly when they walked in the house hand in hand, which was actually pretty uncomfortable seeing as he was his professor. Grantaire should probably look into transferring. After weeks of tense air and pent up anger, the atmosphere felt light and relieving. They all vowed to keep it that way. 

When summer ended, the usual dread of going back to school was no longer present. Grantaire couldn’t wait to be in love in the autumn. Cosette was already planning her fall dates with Marius. The list was pinned up in her room. Grantaire rolled his eyes whenever she asked him for suggestions.

“I’m a simple man. I don’t plan dates. You can’t plan love.” Then he started singing Can’t Hurry Love until Cosette groaned and made him stop.

“Come on! You have to have some plan to woo Enjolras, right?”

“Nope.” Grantaire sat back easily. “I’m just going to let him woo me.”

“You brat.”

Grantaire grinned.

Sometimes they fought over stupid things, like books or where to eat, but Grantaire was surprised by how easy Enjolras was to be with. Once he accepted there was no going back, he loved talking about 19th century Paris. Sometimes they’d take walks through the back alleys of the city and Grantaire would explain what was what and Enjolras would take his hand to make sure he didn’t get lost again. It felt good. It felt right.

Everything seemed to be looking up. Jehan shared his poetry sometimes, and the stories Bahorel told were lively. Feuilly was teaching Grantaire to draw again, while Grantaire shared the new technologies of art. Combeferre and Courfeyrac taught everyone how to properly dance. Well, as properly as they knew how. Grantaire was a lot better at modern waltzes, but the classics were no trouble to learn. Soon enough, everyone was dancing throughout the house with or without a partner. Even Javert and Valjean joined in. Everyone was learning to be happy in their new Paris. The mystery of how they got there was of no concern, as long as they could look forward instead of back.

They knew they were going to have to move out eventually and try and live separate lives. For now, though, they were more than content with each other and the new Paris that had a world of adventure hidden in her streets.