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“No, no! Stop!” Courfeyrac put his drink down quickly and tipped forward, snatching the honey dipper out of Joly’s hand. “I’ve got a better one!” Joly closed his mouth without asking a question. No one else even so much as batted an eye at the exchange.
Courfeyrac settled back into his place on the floor at Eponine’s feet and gripped the honey dipper imperiously with both hands. Only Jehan, Joly, and Bossuet looked at him -- everyone else carried on talking.
He cleared his throat loudly. One or two hands lifted to continue the game they were playing.
“In honour of our beloved leader!” He shouted, which finally grabbed the group’s attention. “I have one.”
Enjolras pursed his lips.
“Never have I ever,” Courfeyrac began, smirking wickedly. “Been to prison.”
Enjolras rolled his eyes and curled his pinky finger down. Combeferre, Bahorel, Eponine, Feuilly, Joly, and Bossuet picked up their drinks. Courfeyrac grinned with delight.
“Never have I ever been to prison more than once,” Feuilly joked.
“You don’t have the honey dipper!” Courfeyrac shouted, but Enjolras put down a second finger. Eponine, Bahorel, and Bossuet drank again, and Joly reassuringly rubbed Bossuet’s shoulder.
There had been rules at the beginning of the game. Hours later, not many people remembered that they were even playing -- never mind that they’d started out with some kind of structure. The Amis, plus Marius and Eponine, had piled into Combeferre’s living room with enough alcohol to get an entire fleet of frat boys wasted, and curled up. Jehan insisted they do something fun, and Courfeyrac -- naturally -- suggested something he called “Never Have I Ever”.
Enjolras had known then that he would regret coming over. He had suggested they watch a movie like normal friends, but no -- evidently “La Bataille d’Alger” wasn’t good enough for a Friday night.
At some point Courfeyrac had disappeared into Combeferre’s kitchen and returned with a honey dipper. The honey dipper became the speaking stick -- whomsoever held the magical device could ask a question that began with “Never have I ever,” and the others would have to respond accordingly. Initially they were instructed to hold up their hands, and put a finger down for each question ‘failed’ -- for every action that they had done. But as they quickly realised, when one plays games with iconoclasts like Courfeyrac, Grantaire, and Bahorel -- five fingers wasn’t enough.
Although some still held up their hands in a slightly intoxicated haze -- namely Bahorel and Grantaire -- everyone had resorted to drinking in place of putting a finger down. That is to say -- everyone except for Enjolras.
Until Courfeyrac had taken it upon himself to bring Enjolras’s reign of innocence to an end, the Amis’ leader had escaped every question unscathed. It wasn’t exceptionally surprising -- not when every question until that point had been: “Never have I ever” insert-sexual-scenario here. The more drunk they got, the raunchier the questions became, and Enjolras -- serenely virtuous and alarmingly inexperienced Enjolras, as Grantaire had lyrically stated -- had all but zoned out while his friends prattled.
Now he was two fingers down and regretting his decision to stay and ensure that his friends didn’t drink themselves into alcohol poisoning.
Courfeyrac brandished the honey dipper again. “Never have I ever vandalised government property.”
Enjolras’s middle finger went down with no lack of irony. Bahorel chuckled and drank.
“Never have I ever--”
Bossuet interjected. “You can’t ask two questions back to back.” Courfeyrac hissed at him.
Jehan leaned down -- he had curled up in Eponine’s lap, where she was gently running her fingers through his hair -- and plucked the honey dipper from Courfeyrac’s hand. Courfeyrac pouted.
Jehan tapped the honey dipper against his knee as he considered. “Never have I ever gone without drinking at least once in the last--” He blinked and searched for a clock quickly. “Three hours.”
“For goodness sake,” Enjolras muttered.
“It’s fair!” Courfeyrac insisted.
“If oddly phrased,” Grantaire commented.
Jehan snuggled back into Eponine. “I’m a poet, not a grammarian.”
Eponine pulled the honey dipper out of Jehan’s hand and twirled it as she smiled far too sweetly at Grantaire. The resident cynic straightened up slightly -- he knew that look too well.
“Never have I ever,” she began, almost sing-song in the way she said it.
“No,” Grantaire interrupted, but Eponine ignored him.
“Never have I ever gotten off while thinking about Enjolras.”
Enjolras bent over and put his face in his hands. Grantaire owned it, and tipped the bottle back. Luckily all eyes were on either him or Enjolras, and no one but Eponine noticed both Courfeyrac and Jehan turn a little bit red around the ears and drink.
“Sorry,” she murmured, running her fingers through Jehan’s hair again.
“Give me that,” Grantaire demanded, once he’d lowered his bottle. Nearly everyone else had done the responsible thing and found cups to mix drinks -- but never Grantaire. He was comfortable with a fifth of whiskey in his lap. The only other person to be quite so daring was Combeferre -- but somehow cradling a bottle of champagne to his chest with a dazed expression on his face didn’t have quite the same effect.
Eponine laughed derisively and handed the honey dipper to Marius, who seemed quite shocked to suddenly have a wooden stick in front of his face. He marvelled for a moment before he took it.
“Marius, give me the honey dipper,” Grantaire instructed, holding out his hand. But with Marius on the other side of the room, and neither of them being willing to move -- the honey dipper remained with Marius.
“Never have I ever,” Marius said slowly, “loved more than one person. Ever. Never have I.” He waved his hand to indicate a forceful finality.
Joly and Bossuet toasted, touched their cups together, and drank. Jehan quietly chugged what was left of his, and everyone else -- with the exception of Enjolras, yet again -- took a quick sip.
Grantaire pushed his bottle into Bahorel’s hand and lunged across the floor towards Marius. Marius jumped and shoved the honey dipper at Enjolras. Grantaire froze with his hand outstretched. Enjolras held the honey dipper like it was contaminated.
“Must I--” he began.
“Yes,” everyone interrupted.
Grantaire grudgingly withdrew and slumped back down into his place between Joly and Bahorel.
“Never have I ever let fornication get in the way of more important issues,” Enjolras said, lifting his chin slightly.
“No shit,” Bahorel chuckled into Grantaire’s bottle. Grantaire rolled his eyes and peeled it out of his fingers.
As everyone drank, Bossuet said: “Never have I ever referred to sex as fornication,” and winked at Courfeyrac, who grinned.
Enjolras put his fourth finger down.
“What are we going to do when he has to lower his hand?” Eponine asked.
“Make him drink,” Courfeyrac answered instantly.
Enjolras sighed and handed the honey dipper to Combeferre, who passed it on to Feuilly. As far as Combeferre was concerned, he had lent his friends his home, and too much of his alcohol, and he answered their questions when they asked -- that was more than enough participation on his part.
“We could do dares,” Bahorel said.
The room went surprisingly quiet.
It wasn’t that they weren’t intrigued -- most of them were. Most of them actually liked the idea, but there was an element of danger in that suggestion, given how inebriated and how deeply codependent they all were. They got away with playing the game in the first place because there wasn’t much they didn’t already know about each other.
Did they dare to dare?
“I like it,” Courfeyrac answered.
“You would,” Eponine muttered, nudging him with her foot.
“I need another drink first,” Jehan said, struggling to his feet. He wobbled as he stood upright. Half a dozen empty cups lifted in his direction.
“I’ll help you,” Bossuet told him, standing up. They gathered up the cups and retreated to the kitchen.
“So what do we make him do?” Courfeyrac asked.
Enjolras cleared his throat loudly. “Do I get any say in this?”
“No,” they chorused. He sighed.
“We shouldn’t decide beforehand,” Joly chimed in with surprising clarity. “Depending on the dare, some people might be inclined to make him lose sooner--”
“That’s the whole point!” Courfeyrac told him.
“Yes, but the question could affect the outcome of the dare.”
Enjolras silently pinched the bridge of his nose with one hand, pulled out his phone with the other, and wondered how he’d come to be friends with such children.
“Fine,” Courfeyrac consented. “Fine. Who has the honey dipper?”
Feuilly held it up.
“Well?”
Feuilly pointed the honey dipper in the direction of the kitchen. “Waiting on our wayward bartenders.”
“Kind of you!” Bossuet called from the kitchen. Feuilly smiled.
Combeferre shifted his champagne to his lap as he dug his phone out of his vest pocket.
A moment later, Jehan and Bossuet returned with drinks a plenty. Bossuet tripped and fell back into the space where he’d started, beside Joly, but Jehan abandoned Eponine’s lap in favour of Courfeyrac’s. Eponine didn’t mind, she turned and stretched her legs out over the arm of the chair.
“You were saying?” Courfeyrac prompted after he’d obligingly wrapped his arms around Jehan.
Feuilly made a face somewhere between churlish amusement and deviousness.
“Never have I ever slept with anyone in this room,” he said simply.
Enjolras kept his eyes on his phone, but smiled.
Courf, Jehan, Joly, and Bossuet toasted each other with brimming cups, and sipped.
Eponine was slightly more subtle, but Marius’s eyes widened all the same. “Ponine, did you just...”
If he’d been less than thoroughly shit-faced, he wouldn’t have asked. It wasn’t his business, and he shouldn’t have cared -- but in his drunken blustering, the question slipped out, and all eyes turned to the girl in the armchair.
Eponine smiled mischievously and drank again.
More than one person looked at Grantaire. He looked up from his whiskey, and muttered: “Seriously?” with his lips still around the bottle’s mouth.
Jehan’s eyes were focused on Bahorel, directly opposite him. He hadn’t seen Eponine drink -- but he had seen Bahorel tip the wine in his hand back slowly.
“Never have I ever had sex with Eponine,” Jehan blurted out.
“You don’t have the honey dipper,” Courfeyrac whispered in his ear.
Bahorel chuckled and drank. Courfeyrac gasped out loud.
“Never have I ever had sex with Eponine more than once,” Jehan said more shrilly.
Bahorel drank again.
“Never have I ever been in a current sexual relationship with Eponine Thénardier!”
“Thank god for that,” Eponine answered. Bahorel looked across the room at her, tilting his head to the side slightly. Everyone but Grantaire, Enjolras and Combeferre watched their silent exchange with baited breath.
Eventually Eponine smirked -- and Bahorel drank again.
Jehan let go of his drink and clapped both hands to his mouth.
Feuilly apologetically handed the honey dipper to best friend, who dismissively assured him that it was fine. Obviously if it had been a serious thing, he probably would have known.
“So it isn’t serious?” Marius asked with all the concern of a mildly creepy big brother.
“Did anyone know?” Courfeyrac added.
Joly and Bossuet shook their heads. Obviously Feuilly hadn’t known, and neither had Marius.
But Grantaire was Bahorel’s roommate. Courfeyrac and Jehan simultaneously zeroed in on him.
“Did you know?” They asked.
Grantaire drank, by way of an answer.
“You didn’t say anything!”
“Why should I?” Grantaire answered back, even though his eyes were on Enjolras and Combeferre. “Are you two fucking texting each other?”
Enjolras and Combeferre looked up. Combeferre was too tipsy to feel guilty -- and Enjolras rarely felt guilt about anything -- but there was a certain aura of contrition in their corner.
“For fuck’s sake, you’re sitting bloody next to each other! Somebody ask something so we can punish Enjolras.”
Enjolras looked up sharply.
Bahorel smiled, but genuinely felt torn. Grantaire and Feuilly were his closest friends in that group -- and obviously he harboured a certain amount of affection for Eponine -- but he didn’t dislike Enjolras.
They’d spent three nights in a jail cell together once. That kind of bond left an impression.
But at the end of the day, he was a fan of chaos -- and he liked causing it.
“Never have I ever talked a federal agent out of charging me with a felony.”
Enjolras held up a closed fist. He had all five fingers finally down.
Absolutely no one was surprised by the confession -- they’d heard that story about twelve hundred times since the day. But Courfeyrac practically bounced. “What are we going to have him do?”
“I elect to be shot,” Enjolras answered.
Bahorel snapped his fingers. “Damn, I left my pistol in my other trousers.”
“Then I’ll drink,” Enjolras amended. “Where’s the wine?”
“Too late for that now,” Courfeyrac told him.
Combeferre offered his champagne.
“I think,” Eponine began, dragging her finger around the edge of her cup. “That he should kiss someone.”
Joly genuinely said “Oooh.” out loud.
Grantaire’s cheeks turned an uncomfortable shade of pink. Enjolras’s jaw tightened.
“Someone in this room,” Eponine added, although she wasn’t looking at Grantaire. “And definitely on the lips.” Courfeyrac applauded. Jehan bit his lip.
Feuilly and Combeferre apprehensively watched Enjolras, who had turned that commanding stare of his on Eponine. “I get to choose the person,” he told her.
She pursed her lips. She wanted to argue, and in another situation, she absolutely would have. But considering what he was being forced to do -- even she wasn’t quite that heartless.
Besides -- her very curious nature wanted to know who Enjolras would pick.
“Yes,” she consented.
Enjolras nodded. He slid his phone back into his pocket and stood up.
Grantaire picked at the label on his bottle. Everyone else stared at Enjolras, even Combeferre.
“Well?” Eponine asked.
Enjolras stoically straightened his shirt and walked across the small space. He stepped between Joly and Grantaire, and kept going until he was next to the floor-to-ceiling bookcase. He turned to his so-called friends, and with a straight face motioned to a bust on the middle shelf.
“Marie Curie,” he introduced. Combeferre covered his eyes with one hand.
Enjolras -- stubbornly ignoring the loud protests and mixed applause -- chastely and reverently placed a delicate kiss on her marble lips.
“You wanker,” Eponine growled.
Enjolras smiled and returned gallantly to his place on the floor.
“Who would you have picked?” She asked. “If you weren’t such a smart ass?”
“The world may never know,” Enjolras answered.
Eponine yanked her shoe off and chucked it at his head. Enjolras caught it and chucked it back.
“Stick in the mud.”
“Nosy brat.”
“Five euro on Eponine,” Bahorel announced.
Grantaire held out his hand. “Five on Combeferre.”
They shook as Combeferre peered through his fingers. “Excuse me?”
Enjolras glanced up at Eponine. “You should take that bet.”
Eponine’s eyes narrowed suspiciously. “In favour of?” She glanced at the boys gathered around her. A moment later, she said: “Twenty on Marius.”
Marius blanched.
Grantaire and Bahorel exchanged deeply dubious looks.
“No way,” Grantaire said with a hint of sourness. “You wouldn’t.”
Enjolras looked positively angelic.
“I think he would,” Bossuet answered slowly. “But Combeferre would know--”
“I’m not a part of this,” Combeferre replied immediately.
“I want twenty euro!” Eponine interrupted. “I’m right, aren’t I?”
Enjolras shook his head. “I’m not telling.”
“I’ll trade you a dare for the answer.”
The leader of the Amis blinked.
And as loathe as he was to get sucked into that aspect of their game, there was something he’d been meaning to ask Eponine. He watched her thoughtfully.
“Do you have your phone on you?” He asked. Grantaire groaned.
“Of course.”
Enjolras dragged his out of his pocket again. “Answer this question, and then I’ll answer yours.”
Courfeyrac straightened up. “Hey, we want to know!”
Enjolras didn’t stop typing. “Tough luck.” He hit send, and looked up again.
Eponine dug her phone out of the boot still on her foot. Enjolras waited patiently as she pulled up his text.
She burst out laughing. “Oh my god,” she answered mirthfully. “I can’t believe this is a serious question. To like, the millionth degree.” Enjolras frowned. Eponine typed out an answer and sent it back.
Enjolras reluctantly read it before he completed his half of the bargain.
Eponine grinned wildly when she got it, but did nothing to betray the actual answer. Courfeyrac huffed.
Grantaire leaned over and whispered to Bahorel. “Wait ‘til she leaves. You grab her. I’ll nick her phone, and then we’ll leg it.”
Bahorel whispered back: “She’ll kick you in the ‘nads and leave you crying on the pavement.”
Grantaire hung his head -- that was the absolute truth, and even he knew it.
“You could just ask her for her phone like a civilised human being,” Eponine told him.
“In exchange for?” The cynic asked.
“Twenty euro and a favour.”
“I don’t have twenty euro.”
Eponine smiled.
Grantaire twisted and looked imploringly at Bahorel, who snorted. He held up his bottle of wine. He was drinking all twelve euro that he had.
At Eponine’s feet, Jehan held up a twenty euro note. Courfeyrac kissed him on the cheek.
Eponine ruffled his hair. “It’s forty for you, sunshine. You and this heathen are a combo deal.”
Jehan reached into his floral print wallet and pulled out a second twenty euro bill. Eponine took both with a gleeful cackle and handed over her phone. Enjolras sighed.
Courfeyrac and Jehan huddled together, and scrolled through her text messages. They side-eyed Enjolras with similarly unimpressed expressions when they read his question, and then frantically searched through Eponine’s other contacts.
She kissed the two bills in her hands and almost purred.
“Well, this has been fascinating,” Feuilly said, putting his cup down. “But I think Combeferre is going to fall asleep.”
Combeferre mumbled dismissively, but Feuilly was right. He had drawn his feet up into his chair and closed his eyes. His champagne bottle rested in his lap, but he’d finished it nearly half an hour ago, and the alcohol was clearly having an effect. He wasn’t a heavy drinker -- it was more than he was accustomed to.
Enjolras nodded. “We should go.”
He and Feuilly stood, pried the champagne bottle out of Combeferre’s hands, and handed it off to Joly. For whatever reason, Joly and Bossuet were fairly sober -- they picked up the cups and trash littered across the floor, and ferried it into the kitchen. And at Joly’s insistence, they even returned with clean cups of cold water for Bahorel, Grantaire and Marius.
“Gross,” Grantaire muttered, scraping his tongue against his teeth.
Feuilly and Enjolras each took one arm and hoisted Combeferre out of his chair, escorting him chivalrously to his bedroom, where he collapsed faced down on his bed.
Eponine snatched her phone away from Courfeyrac and Jehan and slid it back into her boot. “I’ll make sure Marius gets home safely,” she assured them. He lived the furthest away, and was clearly a bit too moon-brained to be going anywhere on his own. Joly nodded.
Relieved of their entertainment, Courfeyrac and Jehan stood in the middle of the room like lost puppies. Bossuet was slowly and haphazardly putting their hats and scarves on, and trying to coerce them into donning their coats. He did succeed eventually -- Courfeyrac wound up with Jehan’s earmuffs, and Jehan had Courfeyrac’s hat -- but it was a good effort, and didn’t matter much anyway. They were going to the same place.
Feuilly stepped out of Combeferre’s bedroom and slapped a hand on Bahorel’s shoulder. “I’ll look after the big guy here.” Bahorel absently patted his hand.
Joly counted on his fingers. “That just leaves--”
Grantaire flopped down into the chair that Eponine had vacated. “I’m good. I’ll be here when you wake up. Just get me a drink that doesn’t taste like--”
“Water?” Bossuet filled in.
“I was gonna say--”
“I’ll see to Grantaire,” Enjolras said quietly. He shut the bedroom door and stepped out of the short little corridor. Grantaire looked vaguely worried.
Eponine arched an eyebrow quizzically.
“Goodbye,” Enjolras added commandingly.
The Amis shuffled out in slow, wobbling herd, followed by Eponine and Marius.
Enjolras turned to Grantaire. Grantaire sank down even further into the chair, letting his legs stretch out in front of him.
“You can’t sleep here,” Enjolras told him.
“Can too.”
“Combeferre gets up at seven thirty.”
“In the morning?” Grantaire asked loudly. His mouth hung open in shock.
“Yes, morning. Something you’re not familiar with.” Enjolras put a hand under his arm, just as he had with Combeferre, and pulled him up. For someone a full two inches shorter than he was, Grantaire was surprisingly heavy.
In his defence, Grantaire wasn’t trying to stand. He moaned and went limp.
Enjolras frowned. “I’m not leaving you here.”
“Where’s my whiskey?”
“You drank it. Get up.”
“Make me.”
Enjolras’s jaw tightened. Grantaire hung over the arm of the chair like a ragdoll.
“I’m not playing this game.”
“It isn’t a game, I just wanna go to fucking sleep.”
Enjolras tapped his foot three times, but Grantaire didn’t move. Slowly, Enjolras leaned forward. “Get up,” he demanded. “This is your last warning.”
For a brief moment, Grantaire seemed about to obey. And then his lip curled. “Or what?”
Enjolras picked up the glass of water sitting on the little table next to him and threw it in his face.
Grantaire sat bolt upright and spluttered indignantly. He started to yell, but Enjolras slapped his hand over Grantaire’s mouth quickly. Grantaire fumed.
“We have to go home,” Enjolras explained calmly. “I would prefer that you walk with me, but I will drag you if necessary.”
He wasn’t joking.
It took Grantaire a full minute to calm down and breathe evenly again. Enjolras slowly pulled his hand away. “Are you ready?”
Grantaire nodded.
Enjolras grabbed Grantaire’s coat, his knit cap, and a scarf that belonged to Combeferre. Given the fact that Grantaire was now slightly wet, it was the least he could do to try and prevent pneumonia -- Joly would have been furious.
They marched out the door, and down the street in silence. Enjolras had said all he needed to say, and Grantaire -- Grantaire couldn’t help feeling slightly bitter. Bossuet had cared for Jehan and Courfeyrac. Bahorel was probably going to crash at Feuilly’s, but Feuilly would nice about getting them both there.
And then there was Enjolras -- the incessant hard-ass, who couldn’t even let him just go to sleep on the fucking floor.
Grantaire’s nostrils flared slightly.
Honestly, maybe if he’d just had a couple of minutes, he’d have been able to stand up and walk out the door on his own. He was familiar with Paris at night -- he didn’t need Enjolras’s help.
He definitely didn’t need Enjolras looking after him like the old family mutt.
He stopped, feeling a sense of clarity wash over him.
Enjolras stopped as well -- and spoke before Grantaire ever had a chance.
“You know, in future if you’re genuinely that desperate to kiss me, you might think to ask me, rather than having Eponine coerce me in a game.”
Grantaire blinked rapidly. “That’s what you asked her.”
“No.”
Grantaire was not too proud to ask: “Well, what then?”
Enjolras exhaled slowly. His breath rose up in a cloud, obscuring his face from view for a moment. “I asked her whether or not you were serious about your interest in me.”
“...you thought I might be teasing you.”
“It tends to happen.”
Grantaire laughed at that. “I’m not.”
“I know.”
A bell tower tolled in the distance as they stared at each other. After the third chime rang out and died, Enjolras looked away, and started walking again. Grantaire stumbled slightly, but followed suite. His mind felt sharp, thanks to the water and the bitterly cold night air -- but the rest of his body was still sluggishly trying to keep up.
He would have given up the five euro note in his pocket to magically become sober.
“Why Marius?” He asked, forcing himself not to wobble.
Enjolras smiled.
“Are you certain I would have chosen him?”
“As certain as I am about anything.”
“Why?”
“Because Eponine thinks you would have.”
“Eponine knows that I chose Marius,” Enjolras corrected.
“But why?”
“Because Marius isn’t a brother to me.” Enjolras kept his eyes focused on the street ahead and his hands in his pockets. “Combeferre, Courfeyrac -- we’re family.”
Grantaire felt a sick sort of dread roll through him. “And me?”
Enjolras glanced at him. “You?”
“Am I … just another brother to you?”
The leader of the Amis seemed to struggle slightly. “No,” he answered. “You aren’t.”
It was a strange sensation, Grantaire realised, being both hopeful and devastated at the same time. “What am I?”
“I don’t know.”
He felt like he was marching to an arrhythmic drum.
“Can a man with nothing in his head be someone?” Enjolras asked.
Grantaire’s voice was a little stronger when he answered: “You’re quite cruel sometimes.”
Enjolras did not falter.
“I’m aware of it.”
“If you can be both good and bad, then why can’t I?”
“You’re not bad,” Enjolras said quietly. “You are a good heart ensnared by bad habits.”
Grantaire made a face. And then he made another, and he groaned as loudly as he could. Enjolras blinked quickly and stared at him -- genuinely surprised by the sudden outburst.
“Tomorrow I’m going to kiss you,” Grantaire told him bluntly. “After I brush my teeth.”
Enjolras tried to come across as stony, but the corners of his mouth twitched. “Tomorrow you can try.”