Victor Hugo owns Les Miserables. The end.

Chapter 1: Welcome to Paradise

Grantaire stared at the plain brown door before him, double checking the placard on the wall. 436.

Well. This was it.

Apartment 436, 857 3rd street. His home for the next school year.

He hesitated at the door, wondering if his new roommate had arrived yet – some guy named… Calrac? Colby? Grantaire had given up on remembering it weeks ago.

He shifted the large box in his arms to reach for the door and turned the handle. He took a few tentative steps into the apartment, attempting to see over his box.

"Shit!" he yelled, tripping over something and toppling to the floor.

"Nononononononononono!" a voice cried. Grantaire could hear heavy footsteps running towards him, and a loud thump as a large weight fell next to him.

"Damnit…" Grantaire muttered into the wood floor, wincing as he pushed himself up on his elbows to check on the contents of his box. Nothing broken. Good. Grantaire couldn't afford to replace anything.

He pushed himself up fully to a sitting position and turned towards the owner of the other voice.

A young man with a mess of brown curls not unlike his own was sprawled out on the ground, frantically checking over a navy blue electric guitar he had clutched close to his body when he threw himself to the floor to break its fall.

The boy sighed and visibly deflated in relief. "She's okay," he announced. "That's my baby, right there. I call her Roxie." The boy pushed himself to his feet and replaced the guitar on the stand next to the door. So that was what Grantaire had tripped on. He turned back with a smile. "You must be the new guy."

"Like you aren't new, too," Grantaire remarked as he stood as well. "Grantaire," he said, sticking his hand out.

He grasped it and shook it once. "Courfeyrac. Welcome to paradise."

"So that's how you pronounce it…" Grantaire mused. "I've been mentally calling you Kookaburra for the past few weeks."

The man called Courfeyrac laughed. It was an easy laugh, loud and hearty. "Kookaburra. I like it. I've taken the privilege of claiming the first bedroom. It's closer to the kitchen."

Grantaire shrugged. "Cool with me. When did you get here?"

"Bout an hour ago. Come on," he said, grabbing Grantaire's box of brushes and paint. "I'll give you the grand tour."

Grantaire followed, looking around the small room.

"Well, you got the pathetic excuse for a living room here." Courfeyrac gestured towards the room in general which was, with the exception of an unplugged television set and one worn leather lounge chair, completely empty. "You'll notice I took the liberty of moving Rosita in."

Grantaire frowned in confusion. "Rosita?"

"Yes. She's my pride and joy. Your application said you didn't have any furniture, so I figured there'd be more than enough room for my girl." He patted the chair comfortingly. "I've got a couch to move in later too, but that's a two man job so I thought I'd just rope you into helping me when you got here."

"Does the couch have a name too?" Grantaire asked with a smirk.

Courfeyrac smiled. "Not unless you give it one. It's new. Well, new to me. Found it at a yard sale last month. One man's trash…"

He led the way farther into the apartment, Grantaire following with a small grin. Grantaire didn't make a habit out of feeling hopeful, but he allowed himself to feel some cautious optimism towards his living situation.

"On your left, you'll find the Bitchin' Kitchen," he continued, nodding towards the tiny kitchen.

"Really?" Grantaire scoffed, looking at Courfeyrac disbelievingly.

Courfeyrac shrugged. "I heard it on TV. You cook?"

"Passibly."

"You like bacon?"

"Is that a question?"

"Fantastic. Moving on." Courfeyrac nodded to the right and continued down the hall. "My room. Or, Where the Magic Happens. You're gonna want to knock before entering, if you know what I mean."

Grantaire nodded, laughing. "Good plan."

"Bathroom. Always important."

"Always."

"Aaand, your room," Courfeyrac announced, nudging a door open with his foot. It was a small room, about the size of the dorm Grantaire had shared with some guy named Robert last year. "You got a mattress?"

Grantaire nodded. "It'll be a pain in the ass getting it up these stairs though."

"No kidding. Just the thought of four flights of stairs with my couch is enough to tempt me to spend the next year watching TV on the floor. What I'd do for an elevator… Then again, with such high-end living conditions and elegant architecture, maybe an elevator would have been too much. Can't be greedy, you know."

Grantaire laughed, taking in the peeling paint around the window and the crack along the far wall. High-end indeed.

Courfeyrac plopped Grantaire's box down on the bed frame, the only bits of furniture furnished by the apartment. "You planning on bringing any girls back here?"

Grantaire blinked. "I-"

"Or guys," Courfeyrac amended.

"Well it's not exactly a plan, if you know what I mean, but-"

Courfeyrac raised his hands in surrender. "Hey man, no judgment. I'm just saying I'm totally cool with it if you bring people back." Courfeyrac wiggled his eyebrows suggestively. "I can promise you I will be."

Grantaire laughed, deciding that he could definitely get used to this new roommate.

"Gotta love college, right?" Courfeyrac winked. "Well. That's the tour."

"Pathetically short…"

"That's what I thought. Then again, it's $450 a month… Better than the dorms, though, right?" Courfeyrac made a face. "Okay. Well, I'll leave you to unpack. Just shout if you need help. I'll be… around."

"Thanks," Grantaire called after him.

A few minutes later, Courfeyrac's head popped into the room again. "Hey. Wanna hit the bar when you're done? There's a place not too far from here."

Grantaire smiled broadly. "Perfect."

A/N: A short little intro. More to come soon! Let me know what you think so far :-)