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Cosette has to read the cast list stuck to the bulletin board beside the drama office at least three times before she can believe it, and when she does, she has to work to swallow down the lump of bitterness that has formed in her throat. 

Because right there, halfway down the cast sheet, in slim black letters that make her squirm with equal parts humiliation and annoyance, is her own name…beside Sebastian. Not beside Olivia, or even Maria, and definitely not beside Viola, which is the role she’d actually auditioned for.

It had taken a lot for her to audition; she’s only been in the school for four months, is very much still considered The New Kid, or the Quiet Homeschooled Trans Girl. She still doesn’t have a single friend to her name, despite that being the exact reason why she’d gently bullied her papa into finally allowing her to attend public school for her senior year. 

(“Cosette, you’re such a lonely child”, he had told her one night over dinner, something sad in his voice, and she had looked him in the eyes and said, “Let me change that, then.” It was the first of many conversations before he finally relented). 

It was a sign surely; her favourite Shakespeare play, the role of her favourite character available. Cosette hadn’t even taken a moment to wonder if it was too good to be true. 

Now, as she stares at the cast list, the words blurring in front of her, she wants to rip it off the wall and throw it into the nearest trash can. She shouldn’t have bothered…with any of this. 

The main teacher for the school’s drama department, Mr Bamatabois, who Cosette had auditioned for, had stuck the list to the bulletin board just a moment before she’d arrived, passing through the auditorium on her way to lunch. Cosette turns to try and speak to him, to try and ask what is going on, but he’s already rapidly retreating into his office, and Cosette wonders if she’s imagining the way he’s avoiding eye contact with her. He’d done that at her audition too. 

By this time, other students are starting to gather around the cast list, and Cosette takes a step back and shrinks, letting herself quietly fade into the background, ducking her head. She can hear the excited conversation of her peers around her, and realises that she hadn’t even checked to see who actually had gotten cast as Viola. My part, a small, bitter voice in her head says, and she swallows, breathes deeply, trying to employ the calming methods Mr. Mabeuf, the school counsellor, had taught her. It’s not working, but in Cosette’s defense, it’s hard to realise that she’s the only person who’s been left disappointed. 

Or maybe not. 

Bamatabois!” a voice says, loud above the din of her classmates. “There’s something wrong; there’s no way this is the final cast sheet.” 

Cosette cranes her neck curiously, trying to see who has spoken. It’s the guy from her AP politics and government class, the blond guy. He’s head of the debate team, she thinks. Enjolras, her mind supplies. There’s so many students to keep track of. 

Bamatabois pauses with his hand on the doorknob to the office. He blinks at Enjolras, seeming to turn his words over in his mind. The look he gives Enjolras is an equal mix of smug and pitying; Cosette hasn’t had any proper classes with him as her teacher, but immediately she doesn’t like him. 

“There’s nothing wrong with the cast sheet, Enjolras,” he says a moment later, in a voice of forced patience. “That’s the final list.” 

Enjolras frowns, a deep wrinkle forming between his brows. “It can’t be,” he says softly. He glances at the small crowd gathered around both the cast list and him and Bamatabois, and then he straightens his spine and says in a much stronger voice. “I didn’t audition for Viola. I auditioned for Sebastian.” 

Oh. 

Bamatabois seems to have been expecting this. He draws himself up to his full height, raising his chin in the air haughtily, then says “I couldn’t just cast everyone in the parts they wanted, Enjolras. That’s why we have auditions in the first place.” 

Enjolras blinks, and then says, “But I didn’t audition for Viola. I read for Sebastian. If you didn’t want to cast me as Sebastian, I would have accepted Antonio. Or Malvolio. Any of the male characters.” 

Bamatabois’ face turns red, and he clears his throat, and that’s the moment when Cosette realises he did this to them on purpose. She bites her lip, forcing herself to swallow the sudden lump in her throat. Around them, the crowd of gathered students has gone silent, staring between Bamatabois and Enjolras curiously. 

Bamatabois seems to realise he’s been outnumbered, and tries to lighten the situation with a forced sounding laugh. 

“Now really, Enjolras,” he says, condescension dripping from his tone. “Viola spends the majority of the play dressed as a man anyway.” 

“ What?!” Enjolras shouts, closely echoed by several of the people gathered around him, also glaring with equal severity at Bamatabois. 

Bamatabois’ face falls further, as he realises he’s made the situation worse rather than better, although really, with a comment like that Cosette doesn’t know what he was expecting. His face settles into a deeper scowl than before, and he turns his glare on Enjolras. 

“Any more complaining about the assigned roles,” he says, “From anyone, and I’ll cancel the play completely.” 

Noises of dissent immediately burst from the gathered group, and one of Enjolras’ friends, a short guy with a mop of curly hair who Cosette thinks could be called Courfeyrac, says, “You can’t do that!” 

“Yes I can,” Bamatabois says, his face now settled into an expression of triumph, clearly pleased at the amount of power he has over a group of seventeen year olds. “This play is a privilege, not a right. If you aren’t willing to be grateful to the faculty for that, it simply won’t happen at all.” 

Cosette looks around the gathered crowd, wondering if anyone is going to speak up. After a moment, it becomes clear that no one is going to, and she doesn’t blame them. She certainly doesn’t want to be the sole reason the entire senior play is cancelled. 

Enjolras seems torn, his eyes flitting from the cast list, to Bamatabois’ face, and then to his fellow classmates. He keeps looking at Courfeyrac in particular. 

Bamatabois gives a self-satisfied nod which makes Cosette, at the back where she can’t be seen, roll her eyes. 

“That’s what I thought,” he says. “Break is almost over. You should all head back to class.” 

Enjolras is scowling, his hands clenched into tight fists at his sides, his face red with anger. 

“This is fucking bullshit, ” he snaps. It was obviously intended to be a whisper, and he’s trying to sound angry and defiant, but Cosette feels like she can hear the pain and humiliation underneath it all, probably because she feels it too. 

Bamatabois pauses, and then takes a deep breath in, puffing his chest up, mouth twisting. The whole group of assembled students waits with bated breath. 

“Detention, Enjolras,” he says firmly. “After school, one week.” 

“But-” Enjolras starts, and Cosette wants to run through the crowd and slap a hand over his mouth, before he makes things any worse for himself. 

“Another word,” Bamatabois snaps, “And I cancel the play. I mean it.” 

Enjolras hesitates, his mouth half-open, and then something in his eyes dims and he slumps where he stands, the tension falling out of his shoulders. His eyes drop to the ground, and his hands curl around the straps of his backpack, so tight that his knuckles go white. 

Bamatabois smiles like he knows he’s finally won, and it’s so infuriating Cosette wants to throw her heaviest textbook at him just to wipe the smug smirk off his face. He turns into the drama office and shuts the door behind him, and the crowd of students starts to disperse, all of them muttering about the play, glancing at Enjolras out of the corner of their eyes. 

Enjolras, for his part, whips around to stare again at the cast list on the wall. 

“Who got cast as Sebastian anyway?” he demands, and Cosette chooses that moment to make herself scarce. 

***

Cosette sees Mr. Mabeuf after school on Tuesdays and Thursdays for forty-five minutes. It had been a condition of her papa allowing her to come to public school for her senior year, and Cosette had agreed readily, considering it a small price to pay for the possibility of being around someone other than her papa, as much as she may love him. 

Plus, Mr. Mabeuf is nice. He gives Cosette peppermint tea and biscuits and lets her complain and cry about whatever she needs to, and sometimes he lets her sit quietly and listen to classical music while he marks papers for his theology class. 

Today, she had not sat quietly. Today, she had ranted and raged about her casting in the school play, because the more she says to Mabeuf, the less likely she is to say something to her papa, because she knows what his solution would be and she doesn’t like it. Therefore, Cosette leaves the session at 4.30pm feeling raw and exhausted. She hadn’t cried, but her throat is sore from the tight lump that had been in it for most of the day, and she keeps her head down, focusing on the steady thump thump thump of her boots on the corridor floor. 

She’s so focused that she isn’t looking where she’s going, and as a result she smacks at full speed into the person coming out of the bathrooms. 

Cosette staggers backwards and just about manages not to fall flat on her ass, but all the textbooks and papers she’d been holding fall out of her arms and scatter all over the corridor. 

“Sorry, sorry!” she blurts out, feeling her face flush scarlet, and when she stops reeling from her sudden collision enough to actually look, she realises that the person she’s smacked into is Enjolras. He’s got his hands deep in his pockets, and is wearing a hoodie at least two sizes too big, the hood pulled up to hide his blond hair. Cosette has had enough of her own crises of confidence to recognise a dysphoria hoodie when she sees one, and she looks down quickly, bending down and starting to gather the books and papers she’d dropped. 

“It’s okay,” Enjolras says, “Here, let me help you.” He leans down too, and the two of them manage to gather Cosette’s things into a haphazardly stacked pile in her arms. 

“Thanks,” she says when Enjolras sets the last book on top. “I’m sorry. Again.” 

Enjolras shrugs. “Don’t worry about it, honestly.” He tilts his head to one side, frowning slightly as he looks at her. “Are you new? I don’t think I know you.” 

“Yeah,” Cosette says. “I only joined the school this year; I was homeschooled before that.” Enjolras is looking at her expectedly, so she adds, “I’m Cosette.” 

He smiles. “I’m Enjolras,” he says. “He/him.” 

“Oh,” Cosette says, blindsided. She never thinks to include her pronouns when introducing herself to people, mostly because she doesn’t really introduce herself to a lot of people. “She/her.” 

She expects that to be the end of it, but Enjolras says, “So, you were homeschooled? This must be…quite different.” 

Cosette nods enthusiastically. She can count on one hand the number of times she’s had an honest conversation with one of her peers since starting the school, and now Enjolras is here, seeming genuinely interested, and she mentally grips onto the subject with her fingernails and holds on tight. 

“It’s very different,” she says. “Mostly I notice that it’s just very…loud. I’m not used to so many people around, I guess.” 

She blushes, embarrassed, knowing that the statement makes her sound like a hermit, but Enjolras doesn’t seem put-off by it. He nods, silently inviting her to continue, and she does, emboldened. 

“And I auditioned for the winter play,” she says, trying to push down the bitterness she feels at being miscast and focus on the joy she felt when she saw that the school had a drama society at all. It’s not very successful, but she supposes she should get used to it. “It’s nice to have something like that. There’s only so many times I can perform the monologue from Hamlet for my papa in our living room.” 

Enjolras huffs a laugh at this, but his shoulders have hunched slightly at the mention of the play. 

Cosette swallows, and after a moment of hesitation, she says stiffly, “I appreciate you trying, with the cast list for today. For the record.” Enjolras’ brow furrows as he looks at her, and she falters slightly, but continues. “I-I got miscast as well. I auditioned for Viola.” 

Enjolras’ eyes widen. “Really?” 

She shrugs. “Yeah. She’s my favourite Shakespeare character. And Twelfth Night is one of my favourite plays.” The two of them push open the heavy school entrance doors, and make their way down the stairs at the front. Cosette looks at Enjolras, and tries her best to crack a smile, like it’s not a big deal. 

“You really wanted to play Viola?” Enjolras asks again, but before Cosette can answer he continues, “Who did you get cast as instead?” 

“Sebastian,” Cosette answers. “I heard you say that’s who you auditioned for.” She shrugs, tries to smile. “It’s too bad we can’t just swap, right?” 

Enjolras frowns. “Yeah. Too bad,” he says softly, like he’s speaking to himself rather than Cosette. 

The conversation, which from Cosette’s admittedly limited perspective had been going so well, descends into a silence, and she has to resist the urge to fill the space with some inane chatter to hold onto it. 

Enjolras swings his backpack round and leans it against his stomach, reaching into a front pocket, his hand emerging with a set of keys. Cosette looks at the keychains attached to them- a moth with very detailed wing patterns, a sun with a very weird expression on its face, a Progress flag and…is that a guillotine? 

Enjolras must notice her looking, because he motions awkwardly with the keys and says, “Do you need a ride somewhere?” 

“No!” Cosette shakes her head quickly, embarrassed to have been caught staring. “No. My dad parks round the corner.” She points to said corner, and then cringes, embarrassed, like Enjolras could be confused by what round the corner means. 

“Okay,” Enjolras says, nodding. For a moment, the two of them don’t move, the silence between them slightly tense. And then he cracks a small, awkward looking smile, and says, “I’ll see you in class. And in rehearsals too, I suppose.” 

Cosette nods. “Yeah, sure.” 

“It was nice to meet you properly,” he says, and Cosette is surprised by how genuine he sounds. Before she can reply, he’s turned away from her and is walking towards the school’s car park. As she watches, he pulls his hood down, revealing the blond hair once again. 

Cosette walks to her father’s car, in their usual spot around the corner from the school, in a daze. After his angry outburst in the corridor this morning, Enjolras hadn’t been what she’d been expecting one-on-one; he’s quiet, and possibly just as awkward as Cosette herself is, but he seems genuinely nice, and she smiles to herself. Maybe, if she asks him nicely, he’ll make a special effort to do justice to Viola. And in return, Cosette will try her best with Sebastian. 

“Hello, Cosette,” her father says when she throws her bag in the backseat of their car and gets in beside him. He looks at her, hands on the wheel, expression earnest as always, and asks the question he’d asked every day since September first. “How was school?” 

For a moment, Cosette considers telling him, thinks about saying, I auditioned for the school play, and I thought I was finally going to get to experience all the fun and excitement and friendship they say comes with high school. But I’ve been cast as a boy and now I don’t know if I even want to do it anymore. I don’t know if any of this was even a good idea. 

But she knows what her father would say to that, knows that the expression on his face would change from earnestness to worry and anxiety, and that he would suggest, not for the first time, that she should be better off being homeschooled, like she has been for the rest of her education. 

And Cosette doesn’t have the energy to have that argument, not again, so instead she just leans her head against the window frame, looking at the houses and neatly decorated front lawns streaming past, closes her eyes, and says quietly, “It was fine, papa.”

***

Two days later, Cosette once again literally bumps into Enjolras, except this time it’s his fault. He’s waiting for her around the corner from Mabeuf’s office, and Cosette yelps slightly when she sees him but, luckily, manages to stay on her feet and hold onto her possessions. 

“Hi,” he says simply, not acknowledging her yelp. 

“Hi,” Cosette replies warily, narrowing her eyes at him and following it up with “What are you doing here at this time?” 

“This was the last day of my after school detentions.” Enjolras says with an eye roll. “I’m a free man now.” 

Cosette nods. “I’m glad to hear it.” She hesitates, and then starts walking along the corridor to the entrance doors, and Enjolras falls into step beside her. 

She gets only a second to wonder what he wants before he speaks. 

“I’ve been thinking about the play,” he says, “And about what you said the other day. About how you wish the two of us could just swap roles.” 

“Yeah?” Cosette says, suspicious about where he could be going with this. The two of them leave the school together, walking down the steps, and, with the two of them once again discussing the play, she’s getting a weird sense of deja vu. 

However, this time Enjolras stops, ducking around the side of the steps to the wall underneath, and Cosette follows. The two of them stop walking and simply stand there, staring at each other expectedly. 

“Why don’t we?” Enjolras says. 

Cosette frowns. “Why don’t we, what?” 

“Swap,” Enjolras clarifies. “The two of us can swap roles.” 

Cosette sighs.

“We both know Bamatabois would never allow it. He told us as much,” she reminds him, resisting the urge to roll her eyes, because in all honesty she’s almost sick of the stupid play already, and rehearsals haven’t even started yet. 

Enjolras smiles sharply, a wicked looking glint in his eyes. 

“Okay,” he concedes, and then, “What if we swapped, and didn’t tell him about it?” 

Cosette narrows her eyes. “What do you mean?” 

“You learn my lines, I learn your lines,” Enjolras continues. “We act like everything’s normal in rehearsals. And then, on opening night, you perform as Viola, and I perform as Sebastian.” 

She stares at him, turning the words over in her mind. She and Enjolras, swapping roles, getting to act in the roles they actually want to act in. Cosette can’t deny that she’s tempted, but-

“Won’t we get in trouble?” Cosette asks. 

Enjolras shrugs. Apparently, this very real possibility had not even crossed his mind. “If anyone should get in trouble, it should be our school for misgendering us.” When Cosette doesn’t say anything, just continues looking at him skeptically, he tilts his head, and then says, “If you want, I’ll say it was all my idea. It wouldn’t be the first time I’ve gotten in trouble. I doubt it’ll be the last. I don’t mind covering for you.” 

Something about that doesn’t sit right with Cosette. She frowns, and then says, “I mean, that isn’t really how it works. If we do this, it would very much be a team effort. We would both get in an equal amount of trouble, surely.”

Enjolras doesn’t verbally react, but Cosette notices the tightening around the corners of his mouth, the way his face falls like he’s disappointed. 

“Plus, it would be a lot of work,” Cosette continues. “We’d have to learn the lines of the characters we’ve been cast as, so Bamatabois and the rest of the cast don’t get suspicious in rehearsals. Learning the roles we actually want on top of that…” 

“You’re right,” Enjolras cuts in suddenly. His jaw twists, and his hands come up and grip hard onto the straps of the backpack, as if he’s trying to hold himself together. “Sorry, yeah. You’re right. It was stupid. I-I’ll see you later.” 

Before Cosette can react, Enjolras turns and starts walking away, towards the direction of the school car park. Cosette stares after him for a moment, and then springs into a jog so she can catch up, shouting “Hey!” and putting a hand on Enjolras’ shoulder to stop him in his tracks. 

He looks over his shoulder at her, and Cosette allows herself to smile. 

“I never said I wasn’t up for it,” she says wryly. 

Enjolras’ disappointed expression instantly changes to one of elation, and he says, “Really?” 

“Absolutely,” Cosette confirms. “It sounds fun. And we both get what we want out of it. And what’s the worst that can happen, really? Like Bamatabois so kindly pointed out, this isn’t a requirement for any kind of grade, it’s just for fun. So we can’t really get in that much trouble for switching, surely?” She’s trying to convince herself more than Enjolras, who doesn’t really seem to care about something as inconsequential as school rules, but finally, for the first time since the cast list was stuck on the door, Cosette feels excitement at the concept of the play, rather than dread. 

Enjolras nods sagely. “For sure,” he says firmly. “After school detention, at best.” 

Cosette’s papa will be so disappointed if she gets detention. She swallows, and tries not to think about it too much. 

“I think we need to keep it between the two of us,” Enjolras continues, oblivious to Cosette’s inner turmoil at the prospect of detention. “I love my friends, but Courfeyrac can hold a secret about as well as he can hold water. Once he knows, the entire school will know, and we’ll probably get caught.” 

Cosette nods. “Don’t worry, that won’t be a problem for me,” she says reassuringly. “I don’t have any friends, so I have no one to tell.” 

Enjolras blinks, his face twisting uncomfortably. After a moment, he says a quiet “Okay.” 

Cosette holds down a wince, realising that she’s made it awkward, even if she was just being honest. To try and cover it, she says, “So, I guess the two of us will have to rehearse,” she says. “Maybe…I’d need to check, but my papa should be okay with you coming to my house after school, if you want? We can tell him we’re doing a project together or something. Then we can practice.” 

Enjolras smiles, nodding enthusiastically. “Yeah. I can drive us back to yours, save your dad picking you up.” He reaches into his pocket and pulls out his phone, unlocking it and holding it out to Cosette. “Give me your phone number; I’ll text you. We can work out a plan.” 

As Cosette is putting her phone number into Enjolras’ phone, her own, in her inside jacket pocket, starts ringing. She frowns and pulls it out, and realises she’s a missed call from her papa. Which makes sense, because- 

“Shit,” she mutters quietly to herself. 

“What’s up?” Enjolras asks, his eyes widening in concern. 

“Nothing, just-” Cosette is scrambling, shoving Enjolras’ phone back into his open palm, already heading away from him, to the spot where she normally meets her father. She’s fifteen minutes later than usual. “I have to go! Text me. You know, about the thing!” 

She jogs away without a word, and makes it to her father’s car only seventeen minutes later than usual. 

He frowns at her, worry clouding his brow, when she gets into the passenger seat. 

“Where have you been?” he asks, his voice soft, because her papa’s voice is always soft around her, even when she’s pissed him off. “I was getting worried.” 

“Sorry, papa,” Cosette says quickly. “I was-” She thinks about trying to explain to her papa what exactly she was talking about with Enjolras, but he would be worried about the way the school had treated them, and plus she’d promised Enjolras she wouldn’t tell anyone. So instead she says, “I was talking to a guy that I’m doing the school play with.” Not technically a lie. 

Her papa keeps his eyes on the road. “Oh?” 

“Yeah,” she swallows, and then says, “We talked about meeting up after school, to run lines together. He could drive me. Would that be okay?” 

She feels mean, knowing that she’s backed her father into a corner. For most of Cosette’s life, her father has been largely anti-social. The two of them have kept to themselves, had done until Cosette had demanded to be allowed to attend public school in her senior year, because she loves her papa- really, she does- but she wanted friends, or even just a friend who wasn’t their maid, Toussaint, wanted a life outside of the four walls of her bedroom and their home and their garden. 

Cosette is trying not to think about the fact that none of these things have technically materialised yet. 

Her papa letting her go to public school had been enough; whether she’d be allowed to have a near stranger in their house is something entirely different. Cosette wouldn’t be surprised if it’s too much for her father to take. 

His hands have tightened on the steering wheel, his knuckles going white. After a moment, he sighs softly and says, “Is this boy a friend of yours?” 

“I-” Given that they’ve only had two conversations so far, Cosette wouldn’t say so. But she thinks about Enjolras’ easy smiles with her, the scheme the two of them have hatched together, the way he’d said it was nice to meet her that first time they spoke, and says a hesitant, “Maybe?” 

“Hm,” her father glances at her out of the corner of his eyes. His eyes are very blue, and have the uncanny ability of making Cosette feel like she’s being x-rayed, especially when she’s done something worthy of getting in trouble, like breaking a vase or not returning a book to the library on time. 

She smiles, and tries to look innocent. 

He sighs, turning his eyes back to the road. “He can come,” he says, and then, in a firmer voice, “The bedroom door stays open the entire time.” 

That, Cosette doesn’t dignify with a response. 

***

The day of the first rehearsal for Twelfth Night, Cosette is in the cafeteria, trying not to grimace at the food being served, when she hears her name called from somewhere behind her. She frowns, because apart from the teachers, hardly anyone has called her name since she got to the school, and definitely not in the cafeteria. She eats lunch alone. 

She glances around, and sees Enjolras waving from his usual table in the centre of the room, waving her over with one hand. He’s by himself, but Cosette can see the crowd of friends he hangs around with dotted around the cafeteria; she can see Courfeyrac, and the quiet kid with the glasses whose name she can’t recall, in the queue for the lukewarm pizza. The guy from her art class, Grantaire, is beside the vending machine, laughing with a tall, broad guy who she thinks is called Bahorel. Before long, the seats around Enjolras will be filled with his friends. 

He must have a question about the play. Cosette makes her way over to him, dodging between backpacks that have been thrown over the back of chairs, trying to avoid slipping on spilled food or drinks. 

“Hi,” she says when she’s close enough that she and Enjolras can speak quietly. 

“Hey,” he says back, and then nothing else, just looking at her, and then empty seat across from him, expectedly. 

The silence is stretching longer, and Cosette shifts where she stands, feeling awkwardness seep into her bones. After it stretches on for another agonising few seconds, she says, “What’s up? Did you want to ask me something about the play?” She wants to wipe her hands, now slightly damp, on her skirt. But she’s holding her lunch tray, so that’s not possible. 

“I-” Enjolras frowns, a wrinkle appearing between his brows. After a moment of silence, he shakes his head slightly, and says, “Uh, no. I was just- going to ask if you want to sit with us?” 

Cosette blinks. She didn’t know what she’d been expecting, but it certainly wasn’t that. 

“Oh,” she says slowly. “That would…actually be really nice, yes.” 

Enjolras quirks a small smile, and nods at the chair opposite him, which Cosette sinks into without question. Almost as soon as she’s done so, his friends are swarming the table, taking their own places for lunch. They look at Cosette curiously, but they don’t seem like they’re going to be rude. 

“This is Cosette,” Enjolras explains once everyone has sat down and is looking between the two of them, clearly waiting for an explanation. “She’s playing Sebastian in Twelfth Night.” 

“Enjolras, just so you know, I don’t think Bamatabois will let you take the role if Cosette dies in mysterious circumstances. And I think we’ll have to rat you out as prime suspect should that happen,” the boy sitting beside her says. He smiles at Cosette, and, oddly formal, holds his hand out for her to shake. “I’m Jean Prouvaire. Call me Jehan.” 

The rest of the table introduces themselves to her, and Cosette sits back, choosing to observe, and let the conversation flow around her. As she does so, she can hear Enjolras having a whispered conversation with Courfeyrac, whose face is pinched tight with worry. She ducks her head and focuses on her sandwich, trying to look like she isn’t eavesdropping. 

“It’s not a big deal,” Courfeyrac is saying. 

“I know from several years of observation that that isn’t true,” Enjolras says. In contrast to Courfeyrac, he sounds amused. “You’ve wanted to do a senior play since middle school, and I know Twelfth Night is one of your favourites.” 

Courfeyrac rests a hand on Enjolras’ lower arm. “I don’t want to do it if it comes at the cost of you being uncomfortable. It’s not worth it to me, then.” 

“Courfeyrac,” Enjolras says firmly. He glances across the table at Cosette, and his lips twitch like he’s trying to hide a smile. “I promise you don’t have to worry about it. I have a plan. I want to do the play.” 

“Really?” Courfeyrac asks, now looking at Enjolras with thinly veiled suspicion.

Enjolras blinks innocently and says, “Is it really that hard to believe?” 

“ Yes ,” the quiet kid with glasses, who Cosette now knows is called Combeferre, cuts in. “You're up to something. You have that look on your face.” 

“Hm,” Enjolras says non-committedly, standing and gathering his empty lunch tray. “Bold of you to assume it's just me who is up to something.” He shoots Cosette a quick grin, which Combeferre and Courfeyrac would have to be blind to miss, and then he's walking away from the lunch table, leaving the two of them looking between Enjolras and Cosette suspiciously. 

“So,” Courfeyrac leans forward, elbows on the table, towards Cosette. “I don't suppose you feel like telling us what that was about?” 

Cosette hesitates, then smiles and lifts her own lunchtray, now empty. 

“I suppose you'll have to wait for opening night to find out,” she says sweetly, before following Enjolras out of the cafeteria. 

***

It becomes clear in their first rehearsal after school that Bamatabois has seriously fucked up, in thinking she could just miscast Viola and Sebastian completely and not have the play suffer as a result. 

Cosette knows that she’s a competent actress, knows that her audition for Viola was technically perfect, and Sebastian’s lines make her stumble as she struggles to dredge up much enthusiasm for the role. For the purposes of her and Enjolras’ scheme, she’s at an advantage; she’d already known a lot of Viola’s lines by heart, through her own affections but also from the hope that she would get cast. But the prospect of having to learn Sebastian’s lines alongside them is making her nervous. 

Similarly, although Enjolras is very evidently not a terrible actor- He’s good at projecting his voice, seems to have a magnetism that means when he’s centre stage, every eye stays on him- Cosette can tell that with Viola’s lines, his heart isn’t really in it. His delivery is lacklustere, big dramatic moments appearing to fall flat. Cosette winces again when Bamatabois sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose, and tells him to run it again. 

“Maybe, if you’d actually cast me in the role I want to be in-” Enjolras starts to snap after the third time this happens. He looks set to continue, but Bamatabois’ carefully raised eyebrow seems to remind him of the promise he’d made, to cancel the play if he fought against his casting anymore, and he trails off. There’s a slight pause, and then he says quietly, “I want to take a break.” 

Bamatabois relents, and Enjolras stomps off the stage and all but throws himself into the chair next to Cosette as the people playing Olivia and Malvolio take to the stage to start running their lines. 

“Having fun?” Cosette asks him wryly, and he gives a humorless snort in response. This makes Cosette frown. 

“Why are you even doing the play?” She can’t help but ask. “It doesn’t seem like you’re even that into this.”

“I’m not- It’s not that I don’t like acting,” Enjolras says quietly. “It’s just- It’s not my favourite thing in the world, but Courfeyrac wanted all of us to do the play in senior year before we all graduate, and I couldn’t bear to say no to him.” His expression sours further. “And Sebastian seemed like a safe role for me. I didn’t think I’d end up cast as the main character. ” 

Cosette has never been close to someone in the way Enjolras and Courfyerac clearly are, so she can’t exactly dispute Enjolras’ reasoning. Instead, she nudges him lightly in the side. 

“Good thing you’re not, then,” she says smugly, and then, to take both their minds off of the fact that they have to swap roles. “Who did Courfeyrac get cast as? Orsino?”

Enjolras shakes his head, and looks at the stage, where the girl playing Olivia, Musichetta, is running lines with Jean Prouvaire. “No. He got cast as Toby. Orsino went to Grantaire.” Enjolras’ expression twitches into something between annoyance and amusement; Cosette has absolutely no idea what that’s about. 

The two of them fall into silence, and Cosette looks down at her copy of the play. She’s tabbed the pages with Sebastian’s lines on it, for appearances’ sake, but inside she’s highlighted all of Viola’s lines. She opens the playbook at a random page, and gulps at the amount of purple highlight on it. 

Enjolras, too, is looking down at her page, a grimace on his face. 

“Is this a bad idea?” he asks her quietly. “There’s so much to learn in Viola’s lines alone; how are we going to remember both her lines and Sebastian’s?” 

Cosette hasn’t exactly worked that part out herself yet, but she’s not ready to admit it. She shrugs, and asks in as casual a voice as she can muster, “Well, how about you come to mine after school today and we can start practicing? The sooner we start learning each other’s lines, the better.” Her heart pounds erratically against her chest; she’s never asked one of her peers to come round to her house after school, like they’re friends. “I’ve already asked my papa. It took some convincing, but he’s okay with it.” 

Enjolras’ lips twitch. “He sounds strict.” 

“He’s…protective. And he likes his privacy.” 

Somewhere from the front of the room, Bamatabois calls Enjolras’ name, but he ignores him, still looking at Cosette, playing idly with the sleeve of his sweater. 

“My parents aren’t there most of the time,” he says. “They work a lot. I would invite you to my house, but they have security cameras set up so it’s probably not worth it.” His name is called again; he ignores it. “They’re probably the only people more concerned about privacy than your father.” 

Cosette grimaces. For all her papa’s protectiveness annoys her sometimes, she couldn’t imagine being watched by a security camera like some sort of criminal. 

When Enjolras’ name is screamed across the auditorium for a third time, he rolls his eyes and gets to his feet. “Jesus Christ,” he mutters irritably under his breath, before making his way to the front of the room, leaving Cosette frowning behind him. 

***

In fairness, Cosette had been mostly joking when she’d suggested she and Enjolras swap roles. It had been a passing fancy as much as anything, not something that they would actually try to achieve. 

Sitting on the floor of the bedroom with Enjolras, the playbook opened in front of them, Cosette is starting to think it was a bad idea. 

The two of them keep getting confused, keep accidentally reading each other’s lines or pausing, expecting the other person to fill in. This, combined with the fact that they’re also trying to fill in for the parts that will be played by others, mean that within an hour the two of them are stressed, frustrated and cranky. 

“Let's just-” Cosette snaps when Enjolras tells her she’s read the wrong line for what feels like the fortieth time. “Can we take a break? Go outside for a while?” 

Enjolras has a furrow between his eyebrows from how deeply he's looking down at the page, but at Cosette's words he closes the book with a snap and stands, wincing when something in his back cracks. 

“There's a coffee place I like in town that’s still open,” he says. “I can drive us there.” 

The two of them are silent as Enjolras drives them to the cafe he was talking about, some tiny hole in the wall in the arts district. It doesn’t have a space for the two of them to sit in, so they walk down the street in relative silence, eventually stopping outside their town’s only theatre, sinking side by side onto the steps. 

“Sorry for snapping at you earlier,” Enjolras says awkwardly. He’s not looking down at her, instead focusing on the iced latte he’s drinking, pushing the ice around the cup with his straw. “I’m kind of worried that we’ve bitten off more than we can chew with this.” 

Cosette sighs, and takes a sip of her mocha. 

“We haven’t,” she assures him. “Sebastian has a lot less presence in the play than Viola. You just need to learn enough of her lines that you could pass for learning them to Bamatabois. And-” She blushes. “I know nearly all of Viola’s lines already anyway, so-” 

When she looks up, Enjolras is staring at her with a bemused expression on his face. 

“You really like this play, huh?” he says. 

Cosette nods. “I’ve always liked Viola. Like, I know for Shakespeare it was more about the comedy of a man playing a woman playing a man, but…There’s something about how Viola acts like a man out of necessity, and she’s good at it, but when all is said and done, she’s still clearly a woman.” She clears her throat, looking at Enjolras. “I’m sure you understand why I found that intriguing, when I was younger.” 

Enjolras nods. There’s a strange expression on his face, like he’s torn about something. Before she can ask, he says, “I want to apologise.” 

Cosette frowns. “For what?” 

“I should have made more of an effort to look out for you when you first got to school,” Enjolras says quietly. “We’re the only out trans kids in our school. And we’re not exactly the same, but a lot of our experiences are. Like with the play, for example. I should have reached out, made more of an effort to make sure you were comfortable and settling in.” 

Cosette shrugs half-heartedly.  “Don’t worry about it. You have way too much on and way too many people in your life already to have been worrying about some homeschooled girl you don’t know. Plus,” She smirks slightly. “This whole thing was to prove to my papa that I’m ready to be more independent. Can’t really do that if I have you holding my hand the entire time, right?” 

“Still though,” Enjolras presses. “I know how difficult high school can be when you’re trans. Just- Know you can talk to me, if you want to talk to someone who isn’t your dad or Mabeuf.” 

Cosette blinks, taken aback by the sincerity in his tone. She looks at him for a moment, trying to parse out if he’s offering out of pity, or some misplaced sense of obligation. 

But Enjolras simply smiles at her, closed mouth but still genuine, and gets to his feet, brushing the dirt of the step off his pants. 

“Come on,” he says. “If we leave now, we might get time to practice my first scene with Antonio before your father kicks me out.” 

***

Three weeks later finds Cosette standing on the stage in the auditorium where they’ll be performing the play, apologising to Combeferre, who is playing Antonio, for the fiftieth time. 

They’ve been rehearsing for the play after school for three days a week for four weeks now, and that, combined with the clandestine rehearsals with Enjolras after that, as well as her continued sessions with Mabeuf, and her own schoolwork and homework on top of that, have Cosette feeling an equal mix of exhausted and confused. 

It’s for that reason that Bamatabois holds up a hand to stop her mid sentence again. 

“That’s Viola’s line,” he says, sounding very much like he’s speaking through gritted teeth. “ Again. Honestly, Cosette, what reason do you even have for looking at Viola’s lines?” 

Cosette feels her cheeks heat, and before she can stop herself, she finds herself seeking out Enjolras. He’s sitting in the front row of the auditorium with Bossuet, clearly filling in for Joly, who is off school with the flu. When he catches her watching him, he glances at Bamatabois, and raises an eyebrow. 

“I haven’t been looking at Viola’s lines,” she says, lying through her teeth. “I just know this play very well. I studied it when I was being homeschooled.” 

Bamatabois scoffs. “Clearly you don’t know it well enough, given that you can’t seem to remember any of Sebastian’s lines. Maybe you should focus on that, instead of a role that has nothing to do with you.” 

Cosette knows it’s silly, but she feels her eyes sting despite herself. She bites down hard on her bottom lip and wills herself not to start crying in front of her classmates. As though unwilling or unable to stop himself, Enjolras scowls and turns in his seat, looking up at Bamatabois. 

“Maybe, if Cosette had been cast in the role she actually auditioned for, you wouldn’t be having a problem,” he says pointedly. 

Bamatabois’ eyes flare with anger, and he focuses his attention on Enjolras. 

“And you’re no better, Enjolras,” he snaps. “Really. You’re supposed to be the main character, but your attitude has me wondering if you’ve so much as opened your playbook yet.” He rubs a hand across his forehead, and a small, bitter part of Cosette hopes he has a migraine. “In fact, let’s leave the scene with Sebastian now. I want to go through the final scene again. You and Grantaire can’t seem to get it right.”

Without a word, Enjolras gets to his feet and stomps towards the stage. Cosette is exiting, her head down, when she feels someone grab her arm, and looks up. It’s Enjolras, his eyes dark and serious. 

“Ignore him, he’s a bastard,” he says in a fierce whisper. “We’re going to show him on opening night.” 

Cosette nods and manages a smile for what feels like the first time all day, gently loosening Enjolras’ grasp from her arm before he cuts off her circulation. 

“You’re right,” she says. “Thanks.” She glances over her shoulder at the stage, where Grantaire, who is playing Orsino, is waiting for Enjolras. “You better get up there before Bamatabois bites your head off again.” 

Enjolras rolls his eyes, but he looks slightly amused despite himself. Cosette settles down in a seat beside Bahorel, who is seeing how many paper planes he can throw at Bamatabois before he gets noticed. 

Enjolras performs the play’s final scene perfectly, fuelled by what Cosette can only guess is pure spite. 

***

“Do you think Grantaire has a problem with me?” Enjolras asks her out of the blue the night after when the two of them are sitting on the floor of Cosette’s room, practicing the scene where Orsino meets Cisario for the first time. 

Cosette looks up from her copy, where she’d been highlighting Viola’s lines in purple. “What?” 

“Grantaire,” Enjolras looks up with a frown. He has his own copy of the play open in his lap, Sebastian’s lines underlined in red ink, but he doesn’t seem to be paying attention. “He’s being really weird with me when we’re running lines together. And-” His cheeks flare bright red. “When Bamatabois suggested the other day that we try for a kiss in the final scene, he looked like he would rather stick pins in his eyes. So, like- Do you think he has a problem with me?” 

Cosette curls her lip, trying to hold back the grin she can feel threatening to break across her face. 

Ever since she and Enjolras had hatched their plot to swap their roles, she’s been consistently invited to sit with Enjolras’ friends at lunch every day, and as such has gotten to know all of them quite well. She’s slowly getting used to Courfeyrac’s exuberance, has bonded with Jean Prouvaire over a shared love of gothic literature and fashion, has grown accustomed to Bahorel’s good-natured ribbing, and even given it back to him a few times. 

She’s spoken to Grantaire a few times; they share an art class anyway, so can always find something to talk about by way of final projects or their teacher and the fact she always smells slightly of what Grantaire is convinced is pot. 

What she hasn’t spoken to him about is the way he looks at Enjolras, the way his eyes seem to follow him around the room. He’s clearly got some sort of crush on him, and Cosette wonders if Enjolras is being deliberately obtuse, or he’s genuinely completely oblivious. 

“What kind of problem would he have with you?” she asks, trying to keep her voice mild. 

Enjolras shrugs. “I tried to practice the kiss earlier and he yelled ‘Woah there!’ and literally leapt away from me.” Cosette has to bite her lip so she doesn’t laugh out loud.  

Grantaire was probably panicking about kissing his crush, and having their first kiss be in an auditorium full of their peers. However, it is absolutely not Cosette’s job to tell Enjolras how Grantaire feels about him, especially when Grantaire hasn’t confirmed anything to Cosette himself. No matter how obvious it is. So instead, she clears her throat and tries to put on a voice of affected innocence when she says, “I don’t think he’s got a problem with you, but maybe you can ask him yourself to be sure?” 

“Hm,” Enjolras’ face twists, apparently unhappy with her answer, but Cosette barely notices this, too distracted by the sudden realisation she’s had. 

“Oh my god,” she says slowly. “Grantaire’s going to think he’s kissing you that night, but he’s kissing me instead. And he’s literally not going to know until I’m there, and it’ll be too late to back out then.” 

Enjolras blinks, and then his eyes go wide as the realisation hits him. 

“Oh shit, you’re right,” he says. Cosette can’t help it; a laugh bursts out of her before she can stop it. 

“Oh god, we’re going to have to tell him, aren’t we?” she says. She snorts with laughter again, and Enjolras laughs too. “The course of the play isn’t enough for him to grow accustomed to the fact that he won’t be kissing you that night. We need to warn him so he isn’t-” She stops suddenly, before she can say disappointed. 

Enjolras, who had still been laughing, stops, cocking his head. “So he isn’t what?” he asks. 

“Nothing!” she says quickly. She gets to her feet, and grabs Enjolras’ car keys, which he’d left sitting on her dressing table. 

“Let’s go get a coffee,” she says, hoping to distract him from their previous conversation. “If I get a caffeine hit, I can keep going for a few hours.” 

***

One week to the opening night of the play, the day of their first dress rehearsal, leaves Enjolras and Cosette reeling with the realisation that, as well as learning each other’s lines, they also need to adapt each other’s costumes for the play. The school’s drama department has a fairly large selection of costumes from senior Shakespeare performances past, comforting as Cosette had realised that the dress Enjolras was wearing to the dress rehearsal would be too narrow for her broader shoulders, that the trousers she had to wear as Sebastian would be several inches too long for Enjolras’ legs. 

Enjolras had assured her that he had a passing knowledge of sewing and clothing modification, learned from his grandmother, and the two of them could make it work. So they had snuck into the drama department at the end of rehearsal, while other people were practicing, and grabbed as many outfits as they could, in hope of finding something that they could alter. 

Cosette has accidentally stabbed herself with the sewing needle at least three times, but thanks to Enjolras, they’re making steady progress. And with the two of them working in a silence that feels much more comfortable than it had eight weeks ago, apart from the classical music playing from Cosette's phone in the background, she feels like she's with a friend. 

She then proceeds to stab herself with the needle again. Shit. 

“Careful,” Enjolras admonishes her. Cosette grimaces as she looks down at the small trickle of blood coming from her finger. 

“Don’t move, you’ll get blood on the costume, and we don’t have time to sew a new one,” Enjolras says. 

“I’m fine, by the way,” she says snarkily, shifting so she can kick him lightly in the thigh. He ignores her, already rooting around in his backpack, emerging a moment later with a familiar toiletries bag. He hands her a band aid, buried amongst the make-up remover and old tubes of lip gloss. Cosette had complimented one of the shades, once, and he had handed it over, unopened, without question. 

Cosette has hung out with Enjolras enough times now to know that, just before he goes home, something changes. He’ll stand and disappear into the bathroom, emerging ten minutes later with his hair taken out of its ponytail and neatly styled, a new shirt on, a thin layer of gloss on his lips, mascara on his eyelashes. 

He normally leaves almost immediately after that, no matter how many times her papa has-albeit begrudgingly- offered to let him stay for dinner. It confirms what Cosette already had sort of guessed; that Enjolras isn’t out to his parents, and apparently has no plans to come out any time soon. 

Cosette frowns as she secures the band aid around her finger. She thinks of the play, of their plan to swap roles, and something isn’t adding up. 

“Can I ask you a question?” she says slowly. 

“Uh-huh,” Enjolras affirms, not looking at her. He stabs the needle through the sleeve, then grimaces and starts to pick it free of its’ stitching again. “Shit.” 

“You’re not…out, at home. Are you?” Cosette asks, hesitant, and wondering if she’s crossing a line by asking. 

This is enough to get Enjolras to look up from his sewing. He raises an eyebrow, looking at her questionably. 

“No?” he says, sounding perplexed. “Why?” 

“I just- What are you going to do about the play?” Cosette says. “Surely, your mom and dad are going to notice something when you’re playing a man on opening night?” 

She wasn’t sure how she was expecting Enjolras to respond, but she frowns, confused, when he snorts in amusement and goes back to his sewing. 

“Believe me, that’s not going to be a problem,” he says. He ducks his head, the longer strands of hair from his ponytail falling forward and partially hiding his face. 

Cosette frowns, and shuffles towards him, adjusting her position until the two of them are sitting side by side, their arms pressed together. 

“How come?” she presses. 

Enjolras doesn't reply, just shrugs, his eyes still on the floor, so Cosette nudges him in the ribs. “How come, Enj?”

“Well, I mean,” Enjolras huffs an annoyed breath out, and then finally looks up from the floor and to Cosette. “They're not going to come and see it.” 

Cosette blinks, blindsided. “They're not?” 

Enjolras blinks back at her, like she's the one not making sense. “Of course not. They never do. I don't even think they're in the country for it. They have some big meeting or conference or something in Johannesburg.” 

Cosette frowns. “So they're not planning on watching you perform?” 

Enjolras shrugs. “It’s not a big deal, honestly. I’m well used to it at this point. They’re not even home half the time. But,” He grimaces, puts down his sewing to start chewing at the skin around his thumb instead. “They ever tell me when they are going to be home. That’s why I get changed, just in case they are.” He huffs a breath, and gives Cosette a half-hearted smile. “Honestly, I’m fine with them not coming to the play. It’s a blessing, really. Saves me from having to explain to them why I’m playing Sebastian. Not that they know enough about Shakespeare to care, really.” 

Cosette senses that Enjolras wants to move on now, so she gasps dramatically and clutches a hand to her chest. 

“What uncultured swines!” she says, using her Shakespeare voice. “It’s a wonder you turned out so well adjusted!” 

“I wouldn't go that far,” Enjolras says wryly, but he's smiling properly now. He holds his hands out to Cosette, a small gathering of safety pins in it. “If I put Cesario’s trousers on, can I trust you to hem them without stabbing me in the ankle?” 

Cosette rolls her eyes, and considers poking him with the needle to prove a point. But she’s gentle when she hems the trousers for him. 

“You can stay for dinner, you know,” she says, focusing on adjusting the length of the trousers rather than looking at Enjolras. “I think my father has finally warmed up to you. It must be- Just, if you want company. You said your parents are away a lot. And it would delay you having to get changed for a bit.” 

She glances up, and Enjolras is looking down at her, a slight furrow between his eyebrows. For a brief moment, Cosette expects to feel the sting of rejection, prepares to remind herself that this is a collaboration based on mutual interests and nothing more, but then Enjolras smiles. 

“Yeah, okay,” he says. “That would be really nice.” 

Cosette looks down at the trousers again, and can’t seem to stop smiling. 

***

The opening night of the play is the last day of the semester before winter break, the other two nights stretching over the weekend, and the seniors are given a half day for last minute rehearsals and preparations. Cosette has spent the entire morning barely concentrating on her actual classes, full with the nervous anticipation of a performance ahead, and what she and Enjolras are doing to it. 

Enjolras has added her to a group chat with his group of friends. She hasn’t quite plucked up the courage to speak in it yet, aware that she is a new addition, both to the friend group and the school in general. Still, their banter and excitement in the chat makes her smile, even if her math teacher does glare at her severely at one point as she reads her texts under the desk. 

The seniors finish school at lunchtime. Cosette goes home, but the house is too quiet- Her papa doing errands in town before he goes straight to school for the play, Toussaint visiting her sister in a different city for a few days. Her anxiousness is getting the better of her by the minute, so after an hour and a half she pulls out her phone and texts Enjolras. 

Coffee and a last minute rehearsal? 

He replies almost instantly. Definitely. 

The play starts at 7pm. Enjolras is due onstage at 7.10pm. Or so Bamatabois thinks. 

In order to avoid revealing their deception until the last possible minute, Enjolras and Cosette are deliberately showing up late to opening night. At 6pm, the two of them sit in Enjolras’ car, parked in the spot around the corner from the school where her father waits, clutching long empty coffee cups, their playbooks opened in front of them, now so well-used the corners are ragged. 

Both their phones are on silent, the constant noise of the group chat asking where they are having put them off their last minute rehearsal. They’d been running lines until fifteen minutes before, but now they’re both quiet. 

Cosette swallows. “I’m so nervous,” she admits quietly. She hopes Enjolras understands where she’s coming from; from an outwards appearance, like eight weeks ago when they barely knew each other, Cosette wouldn’t have been sure if Enjolras had the capacity to be nervous. But she knows him now, and she knows performing isn’t his favourite thing in the world, that he’s had the same concerns about misremembering lines as she had. 

He nods. “Me too.” 

Surprisingly, this comforts her slightly. But she still sighs, chewing the inside of her cheek hard. 

“What if it doesn’t go well?” she asks. “What if we forget our lines? What if people think it’s stupid? What if we get laughed at?” She’s speaking without thinking, voicing aloud the worries that had kept her awake and staring at the ceiling the night before. 

Enjolras hesitates, like he’s considering his answers to her questions; not that she was expecting that from him. After a moment, he says, “I think it is going to go well; we’ve been living and breathing this play for two months now. I think we’re ready.” He seems to become emboldened as he speaks, looking at her with something fierce in his eyes. 

“The only thing people should find stupid, ” he says savagely. “Is that we had to do this in the first place because Bamatabois insisted on misgendering us. I know it’s not just us who are angry about it, and anyone who doesn’t think it’s stupid isn’t worth either of our time.” 

“And thirdly,” he finishes. “No one’s going to laugh. Our friends wouldn’t do that.” 

Cosette frowns. “ Our friends?” 

“I- Yeah, Cosette.” Her words seem to have stopped Enjolras in his tracks. He blinks at her, looking perplexed. “Of course, our friends. What else?” 

“I just-” Cosette shrugs, looking out the front windshield, feeling embarrassed. “I wondered if maybe it was temporary. For the play.” 

Enjolras doesn’t say anything for a moment, just stares at her with an expression crossed between confusion and sadness. Eventually he says, “Cosette, I… No. No, it’s not like that at all.” 

She frowns, hardly daring to believe it. “Really?” 

“Of course, ” Enjolras presses. There’s something desperate in his voice, like it’s important to him that Cosette believes this. “Cosette, you’re my friend. You’ve been my friend since this whole thing started.” He frowns. “I guess- We were so caught up in doing the play, maybe I didn’t make it as clear as I should have.” 

Cosette can’t manage to push down the wide smile she can feel spreading over her face, so she doesn’t try. She does duck her head though, hiding behind her hair. 

Friends. Cosette has friends now. 

“Cosette?” Enjolras says, his voice quiet, hesitant. 

She looks up, still smiling, and reaches forward, brushing his arm with the back of her hand. 

“It’s a good thing,” she says, meaning a lot of things. “What we’re doing. We deserve to be whoever we want to be. And maybe…it won’t happen again, after we do this. With any other kids.” As much as this has been out of fun and spite, there’s a small spark of hope in her chest that, even if she and Enjolras get in some sort of trouble with the school, they’ll at least listen after this. 

Enjolras nods. “I hope so.” 

She checks the time, and realises with a jolt that she only has half an hour to sneak into the school, change into her costume and do her make-up, ready to be on stage for 7.10. 

“I have to go,” she says. She leans down, starting to gather the gym bag with their altered costumes. 

Enjolras nods and smiles. “I’ll see you in there,” he promises. He’s not due on stage until Act II, so for now, he’ll stay in the car. “Break a leg.” 

Cosette steps out of the car, but something compels her to pause just before she slams the door behind her. She turns to Enjolras, watching her from the driver’s seat, and says, “I am all the daughters of my father’s house-” 

“And all the brothers too.” Enjolras finishes the line without hesitation, and he’s grinning so wide his eyes are crinkling at the corners. Cosette can’t help but grin back at him. 

***

Cosette lurks behind the door of the bathroom she had gotten changed and ready in, watching the scene from backstage. It’s in a state of minor chaos, and, unsurprisingly, Bamatabois’ face is purple with rage; for good reason too. The lead for the play and another minor character still haven’t shown up. 

Despite that, the first scene is going ahead, probably to account for the fact that there are parents and families and friends in the audience who have paid to see some sort of performance. So Grantaire and Joly and Bossuet are on stage, Grantaire delivering Orsino’s ‘If music be the food of love, play on’ speech. 

Cosette waits for as long as she can, until Grantaire has finished that speech, before she finally steps out of the bathroom with her heart in her throat. 

“It’s okay,” she says in a voice of forced calm as every eye backstage turns to her. “Don’t worry; I made it.” 

By this point, scene one of act one is nearly finished, so before anyone has the chance to say anything, she dodges around Bamatabois, ducking under the arm he was holding out, like he was going to try and catch her, and runs to the stage. 

She walks onto the stage, perfectly calm. 

She squints against the light and warmth of the spotlights shining down on her, before adjusting- That’s what a dress rehearsal is for, after all. She looks out at the audience in the auditorium, and through all the faces, she spots her papa. Even from here, she can see his smile, so wide his eyes crinkle at the corners. 

All of this, she notices in a split second. Quickly, she turns her face away from the crowd to Bahorel, playing the sea captain opposite her. He’s frowning at her, obviously confused as to why Cosette has stepped onto the stage instead of Enjolras. 

She can only hope that he picks up on what’s happening pretty quickly. 

Cosette swallows, tips her chin up high, and says in a voice that reverberates around the auditorium, “What country, friends, is this?” 

Bahorel blinks, but Cosette can tell from the glint in his eye, the way his lips are curling into an expression of barely contained glee, that he’s picked up on her and Enjolras’ plan. 

“This is Illyria, lady,” he says in answer, and Cosette’s heart soars. 

***

By the beginning of Act Two, when Enjolras is the one to stride out on stage with Combeferre instead of Cosette, who is offstage hiding her grin into the back of her hand, Bamatabois seems to have given up entirely on trying to maintain control of the play. He storms around backstage with a face of thunder, but by this point the rest of the cast and, apparently, the audience, have caught on to what Enjolras and Cosette are doing. And Enjolras was right- No one is laughing at them. Everyone, especially but not limited to their group of friends, seem…really happy for them. It’s a heady feeling, to know that people are paying attention, to know people have noticed and cared about the injustice of the senior play casting. 

Cosette will take time to think of all that later, but her main focus is on the play. She remembers her lines, remembers her cues, locks into that part of herself that is Viola, the part that she had always held onto tightly and retreated into when she wasn’t sure who she herself was. 

And just like that, the time passes, and they’re in the final act of the play. For all the time she and Enjolras have spent rehearsing together, this will be the only time they share the stage. She determinately bites back her smile when she finally sees him standing across from her, and she can tell he’s struggling to hold back a smile too. She’s saying her lines on autopilot, caught up in a ridiculous swell of affection for what the two of them have made out of this ridiculous, unfair situation, and what has grown from that.   

“That day that made my sister thirteen years,” Enjolras says, and takes a step towards her. 

Cosette allows herself to smile then, and when she says “That I am Viola,” she spontaneously reaches out and grabs both of Enjolras’ hands in hers, gripping hard, feeling him squeeze equally hard. Cosette, in that moment, wants to convey all her emotions into the simple grip of her hands. Thank you for standing up for us. Thank you for letting me be your friend. Thank you for sharing your friends with me. She hopes that he feels the same way. 

The play ends, Cosette sharing one simple, chaste kiss with a grinning Grantaire, and the applause starts, the audience disappearing as the curtain comes down in front of them. The entire cast has the space of a few seconds to rearrange themselves in a line, and then the curtain is raised again for the bows. 

Everyone gets a strong round of cheers, but they get louder than ever when Enjolras steps forward to bow for Sebastian, grinning so widely his eyes are crinkling at the corners. 

Cosette, as the lead of the play, is the last to step forward. She sees her father, a head taller than everyone else when he’s on his feet, and a lump catches in her throat which she has to swallow around, smiling and waving at him around the tears in her eyes before she bows. Spontaneously, she turns and grabs Enjolras’ hand, yanking him forward to share centre stage with her as he laughs, and the two of them dip into a bow and a curtsey respectively, both of them grinning widely as the cheers reach a crescendo. 

The curtain comes down for a final time, and just like that, the opening night of the play is finished. The auditorium is filled with the sounds of conversation and the shuffle of many people leaving. 

Cosette just about manages to get off the stage before she turns and all but flings her arms around Enjolras’ neck, holding him tightly and rocking the two of them slightly, feeling him laughing and gripping her back equally as hard. 

“We did it,” she says, still hardly believing it herself, “We fucking did it.” 

Enjolras laughs into her shoulder. “I cannot believe we pulled that off. It was perfect. You did so well, and I think now-” 

“ENJOLRAS, COSETTE,” Bamatabois all but roars, cutting off whatever Enjolras had been about to say. He strides over to the drama office door and opens it so aggressively that Cosette half expects it to rip it off its hinges. He turns, his face red with anger, to both of them, and points one long finger inside. “Both of you get in there now .” 

Cosette looks at Enjolras to find him already grimacing back at her. She rolls her eyes, and the two of them break into step obediently, entering the classroom. They knew about the possibilities of getting in trouble for their little stunt, but Cosette had been so caught up in the euphoria of the play going well that she had all but forgotten about it.

A small part of her had also hoped that after the night’s success, perhaps Bamatabois would see the error of his ways, and let her and Enjolras away with it. Judging by his face right now, he intends on doing no such thing. 

After Enjolras and Cosette file into the classroom, their shoulders slumped, Bamatabois follows them in and starts to slam the door shut, only to find it blocked by Bahorel’s palm. All their friends file into the room behind him, gathered in a cluster around the door. 

Cosette is getting quite worried about the large vein on Bamatabois’ forehead; it looks close to popping. 

“All of you get out,” he spits. “This doesn’t concern any of you.” 

“Actually, it does,” Courfeyrac says, stepping forward, a smug smile on his face. Something in the casual confidence of his demeanour stops Bamatabois in his tracks. He stares at Courfeyrac, mouth gaping open like a fish. 

“You see, my mom and dad were in the audience tonight,” Courfeyrac says. “The de Courfeyracs? You might know them, since between my two older brothers and myself, they’ve donated quite a lot of money to the school’s drama department over the years.” 

There’s a sudden burst of laughter from Enjolras, which is hastily stifled with his palm when Bamatabois briefly looks away from Courfeyrac to glare at him. 

“Yeah,” Courfeyrac continues, still with that same smile on his face. “Anyway, they really, really enjoyed the play. I saw them for a little bit during intermission, and they particularly liked Cosette and Enjolras’ performances.” His grin widens. “I think they would be really disappointed if they found out you made them perform in roles they weren’t comfortable with, for the rest of the play’s run. I’m a bit of a blabbermouth; I don’t think I could resist telling them if that happened.” 

Bamatabois doesn’t say anything, just sputters incoherently. 

Combeferre speaks then too. “I think the entire cast know that tonight’s performance was perfect, so we’ll make this really simple. If you force Enjolras and Cosette to swap roles, we’re all pulling out of the play.” 

“ What ?” Bamatabois snaps, but Jehan talks over him like he hadn’t said anything. 

“Going to be quite hard to put on a performance of Twelfth Night with no Orsino, or Olivia,” he meets Cosette eyes, and grins. “Or, presumably, Viola and Sebastian.” 

“All the audience members for the next two nights have already bought tickets,” Feuilly adds cheerfully. “That’s a lot of money the school will have to refund, if the performance doesn’t go ahead.” He shrugs. “I don’t know how the headmaster or the school board will feel about that.” 

Cosette finally looks away from the rest of her friends to Enjolras, who is smiling widely. He raises an eyebrow at her in a silent question, and she turns back to Bamatabois. 

“You know, Mr. Bamatabois,” she says. “I can’t seem to remember any of Sebastian’s lines. I guess I didn’t rehearse hard enough for the role. Oops.” 

“It’s funny you should say that Cosette,” Enjolras says, innocence in his voice which anyone who knows him at all would instantly clock as fake. “I can’t seem to remember any of Viola’s lines either.” He blinks at her. “I don’t think we’ll be able to learn an entire play in one night.” 

Cosette nods her head in agreement, and they both look at Bamatabois again, wide-eyed and innocent, waiting to see what he does. 

He closes his eyes, hissing a breath in through his teeth. His face is still bright red, but as they watch, his shoulders slump in defeat, and he rubs his temples like he has a headache. Good. Cosette hopes it’s excruciating. 

“Fine,” he says through gritted teeth. “ Fine. Cosette, you’re Viola for the rest of the run. Enjolras, you’re Sebastian.” He points towards the classroom door, where their friends stand, grinning. “Now, all of you out of my sight.” 

Their friends file out of the room, Enjolras and Cosette following behind. Just before they leave, Enjolras turns to face Bamatabois again, one hand on the door knob. 

“You know Bamatabois, if you don’t want your precious play to go to shit next year,” he grins. “Maybe don’t fuck with the trans kids.” Bamatabois’ disbelieving squawk is cut off by Enjolras slamming the door in his face. 

Cosette snorts a laugh, and gives Bamatabois, watching them with open shock through the glass pane in the door, a sarcastic wave. She and Enjolras turn and walk to the bottom of the corridor, where their friends are waiting for them, side-by-side. 

“Gotta wonder why that guy is a high school teacher,” Joly remarks cheerfully when they reach him. “He seems to really hate teenagers.”

“I think he hates everyone,” Bossuet says. He grins, and says, “Cosette, his face when you stepped out. We should have gotten a photo for the yearbook.” 

As one group, they all start walking down the corridor, all chatting excitedly about the play, about Cosette and Enjolras’ plot. Someone yells about getting milkshakes from the diner down the street. Cosette finds herself falling back, watching the group in front of her, unable to stop herself from smiling until she feels her face will split in two. 

Enjolras looks over his shoulder, and a furrow forms between his eyebrows when he realises Cosette has fallen behind the rest of the group. He whispers something in Combeferre’s ear, and then falls back until he’s in step with her. 

He motions with his head at the group in front of them. “You’re invited, obviously,” he says softly. And the wonderful thing is, Cosette knows it’s not out of forced politeness, or because he doesn’t know how to get rid of her. She believes him. 

Cosette grins, and links her arm through Enjolras’, tugging so the two of them can catch up with the group. “I didn’t doubt that for a second.”