"When's the trial?" Courfeyrac asks suddenly. "Grantaire said it was next month but when exactly?"

"Saturday actually. They've moved it ahead. Grantaire probably doesn't know yet. There might be another thing to celebrate on Sunday or else..." Bahorel's smile fades, but he remains calm, if only just for Courfeyrac's sake. "All we can do is tell the truth, I guess. R will be cleared. My own fate depends on the morals of the people in the court. If they've got any sense I'll be in a jail cell by Sunday morning."

"Y-you'll be cleared. You s-said it yourself. You weren't speeding or anything. They can use the p-physics to work backwards and prove that."

"Fuck it, everyone knows I'm a dangerous driver. Maybe should've learned that first before I... before I... killed them all."

"Don't-"

"Everyone knows it's my bloody fault. They just don't want to say it to my face. Combeferre, Jehan and Feuilly are dead just because I thought it was fun to drive recklessly. You're sitting here because I'm a bloody fucking boy racer. Grantaire did bugger all; he just drove out at the wrong place at the wrong time. I-If Enjolras had been okay that day, he'd have been his usual bloody self and taken the 'safer route' and I'd still be a shitty driver but at least we'd still all be here and... and..."

"Bahorel?"

"Hmm?"

"It's not your fault. It was an accident. Y-you... you weren't speeding when the cars crashed."

"Thank you. I just hope the people in the court see it that way."

"They will."

By Saturday, Courfeyrac is already out of hospital and preparing to support Bahorel and Grantaire at the court. That is until he fully wakes up, and realises he isn't feeling his best on this particular day. A heartfelt teary apology is given to Grantaire, who smiles sympathetically and tells him that with all he's been through this week, there's no expectation hanging over his head upon his presence.

"I-I... I'm not actually sure I want to be alone," he shrugs nervously.

"I can stay," Enjolras smiles gently. "As long as that's alright with you, Grantaire?"

"It's perfectly alright. It'll be fine."

When Bahorel senses that Enjolras isn't present, he isn't happy. An indescribable anger boils inside of him; without a doubt, Enjolras is avoiding the others. He sighs, taking a couple deep breaths and prays that it all goes well.

And it does. By some miracle, neither man is charged. Elation fills the group, hugging and crying and smiling and phoning Courfeyrac to tell him that everything went their way. The day goes by in a whirlwind, and before they know it, it's Sunday, and time for Joly's party.

"I'm not actually sure I want to come," Enjolras sighs as he fiddles anxiously with his tie.

"Don't tell me," Courfeyrac-in much better spirits- grins as he fails to button up his own shirt, allowing Grantaire to help him. "You've developed a sudden, crippling migraine and you couldn't possibly leave the house."

"Shut it, you," Grantaire speaks in a gentle tone, with no harshness in it at all. "You don't have to, Enjolras. But I don't think they were happy that you weren't there yesterday. I think it would be good for you to at least show your face."

"I'll come. If only to control your alcohol intake."

"I won't drink much. I promise. I've lost the taste for it, in fact."

"No, you've got over your addiction," Courfeyrac smiles.

"Not completely. Honestly? Some days are hard to get through. But I have you guys, don't I?"

So on that note, they pile into the car with Enjolras, as usual, in the driver's seat. It's only just down the road, but Courfeyrac's still a little shaky and Grantaire's leg is still painful, so the car is in need. The street is filled with cars, and it takes him a while to get parked(or he's stalling, as Grantaire mutters to Courfeyrac under his breath), but he eventually finds a space. Tentatively, he walks up towards the door where he is welcomed by Bossuet, grinning widely.

"Come in," he ushers them though. "Everyone's here already."

Enjolras breath hitches as he walks into the room. It's the first time they've all been together for a while, and he can't help but feel as if every single eye is glaring at him.

Courfeyrac instantly reverts back into his old self, light-heartedly demonstrating the fact that his hand is still weak as he tries to throw a small ball at Marius. Enjolras smiles; it's the happiest his friend has looked for a while. He's been so stressed; with the surgery, and his speech and the strange new compulsions taking over and it's nice to see him so... carefree.

If only the same could be said about himself. He knows just from the glares that he's not exactly welcome; but on the other hand, he knows that if he leaves, they'll probably hate him even more. With Courfeyrac on the other side of the room with Bahorel, Enjolras sighs a sigh that is only audible to Grantaire. In return he whispers a quick 'we just got here', and clutches to his hand.

"Coming to get something to drink?" she raises an eyebrow at the pair and ushers them into the kitchen. "Once they've got some alcohol in them they'll be fine."

"I'm just being silly," he laughs awkwardly. "These people are my friends."

"And they won't be for much longer if you don't get your shit together. Look. It's only really Bahorel that's really unhappy with you but the others? They're kind of miffed off. You're being social for once, Enjolras. I hate being torn between you and them."

It takes him a while to sink into the night. He keeps himself to himself, speaking only when spoken to. This is classic Enjolras behaviour; they all know parties aren't really his thing. But that was before. It infuriates Bahorel, to have to watch him sit there and barely say a word. With a little bit of alcohol in his veins, the inevitable is going to happen.

"Why are you even here?" he slurs in Enjolras' direction. "We've all lost the same thing; but you? You're acting as if you're entitled to more grief!"

"I-"

"No! Just shut up! You've completely abandoned us; you failed to even tell us Courf was in the fucking hospital! Grantaire had to pick up the pieces that you tore to shreds! Now I'm sorry. Combeferre's dead. But can you stop with the whole 'I'm a mess' thing? It's been months, pal. Stop with the running away. Stop with the ignoring us."

"I didn't-"

"And you were hardly even at the funerals. You just left straight after-"

"Courf was-"

"I don't fucking care, Enjolras. Stop acting as if Courfeyrac and Grantaire are the only ones that are important here. We're all meant to be your friends too! I bet you didn't even know that Eponine's fine now. I bet you didn't even know that Joly's going to be properly walking by the end of the-"

"Please, just..." Courfeyrac storms towards Bahorel, his hand hovering over the man's face. "If this hand wasn't messed up I'd punch you right now."

"He's well out of order-"

"He's done nothing wrong. If you had any fucking idea, Bahorel! On top of all the shit we've had to deal with, he's had to put up with me. You have no clue!"