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Enjolras hadn’t slept in five days.
Of course, no one knew that. He couldn’t let the world see that something was wrong. And it wasn’t as though he were falling apart; he was just simply riding the high of a destructive cycle. It was normal; this was obviously no sort of problem.
Hypomania was Enjolras’ favourite state to be in. Somehow he never felt anxiety over what he knew was inevitable afterwards. No, he stayed in the present moment where he was able to work and pump out speech after speech; essay after essay; more work than one could think possible. Yes, he never got the proper amount of sleep in that time, but night equates to half of the day, and that half could be spent doing things such as work, so why waste it sleeping?
But good things can never last, and after a five day high, which was upsetting, seeing they usually lasted at least a week, Enjolras crashed back down.
Realistically he knows that if he took his medication, this wouldn’t happen. He wouldn’t violently swing from hypomania to a major depressive episode if he simply took the medication as prescribed. But without the hypomania, Enjolras worried that nothing would get done. If the entirety of the world could function the way he did during an episode, well, he could only imagine the possibilities.
So, though he knows he should, Enjolras does not take his mood stabilisers.
They’re supposed to balance everything out. They take away the depressive swings just as much as they take away the hypomanic swings. There’s the benefit and the consequence. Enjolras knows that it’s not a healthy way to live his life, and that the few days that he spends with a long burst of energy are not truly worth the burnout that follows, yet he continues down the same path despite the voice of reason in his head (that sounds strangely like a mix of Joly and Combeferre) telling him he needs to take the medication.
He wasn’t sure if anyone actually knew about his mind. Had he ever told anyone?
Thinking on it, Enjolras realised that the only person who actually knew was Cosette. He had been diagnosed when he was 12, and gone through the lowest part of his mental health at 13. He’d met Combeferre and Courfeyrac when he went into lycée, after he had become stable; or as stable as he could ever be. Enjolras never really talked about it, and they never asked. Even Combeferre, who he shared everything with, didn’t know. It wasn’t lying, it was quite simply that he never asked and the topic never really breached discussion. And so, naturally, the only people who knew were his father and sister.
So when Enjolras’ brain decided to switch from focused to despondent at 8am, right before his Tuesday morning class, Enjolras knew he was in for a terrible day. He could pinpoint the exact moment that it happened, as suddenly he felt exhaustion hit him as though it were a physical blow. The toll of staying up for over 72 hours straight was upon him, and he felt his mood start to plummet as well.
But he kept a brave face on. No one needed to know what was happening; no one was that invested in his actual life. His professors just knew him as the prolific and high achieving student, his peers knew him as a public speaker and activist, and his friends knew him as their serious, yet still friendly enough, chief
Enjolras knew himself as not enough.
Attempting to push his thoughts aside, he schooled his expression into the neutral distaste that he typically wore as he walked into his sustainability sciences lecture. Enjolras thanked every deity he could name that today was simply a lecture day,
and there would be no class participation needed. He knew he wouldn’t be able to muster the enthusiasm, nor would he be able to hide his current depression from the class.
Settling into his usual seat Enjolras pulled out his laptop and readied himself to take notes. The lecture was to be an hour long, and none of his friends took the class, so it was up to him to make sure he focused.
The professor opened his mouth and began to speak.
Enjolras blinked and the class was over.
His laptop screen had notes that he had clearly written, but had no memory of. He didn’t remember a single word that had been spoken the entire class. Nevertheless, he saw that he had something written down, so he packed up his bag and walked outside. The time was 9 and he had another hour until he next class, so he decided to walk to PSL’s front lawn.
Enjolras settled down near a tree and pulled out his laptop to see what his notes were. He hoped that they weren’t too unreadable.
It seemed that hope never did him good these days.
The notes were questionable at best, so Enjolras sighed and closed the laptop, storing it back in his bag. The day had just begun, and all he wanted was for it to be over. He was tired but couldn’t sleep, depressed but he couldn’t show it, falling apart but couldn’t tell anyone.
His earlier statement had been completely false.
This was a problem and he was indeed falling apart.
Enjolras blinked again and it was quarter to 10. He got up with a sigh and headed across campus to his French history lecture. This time he at least had Cosette, Marius, Courfeyrac and Grantaire in the class with him. They would ask questions if he were lost again, but at least they could fill in his missing notes were that to happen.
Slipping in the room 10 minutes before class began, he noticed that only his sister was there yet. He all but collapsed next to Cosette, and she looked up from her phone, startled.
“Hey alouette, are you alright?”
Enjolras rested his head on the desk he was sat at. He hadn’t even noticed the headache brewing, but now that he did, the cool table felt good against his forehead. He groaned.
“Honestly? Not really.”
Cosette frowned but before she could respond, Courfeyrac and Marius came strolling in. Enjolras lifted his head off the desk and closed his expression off. Cosette shot him a look that clearly said ‘we are going to talk later’ .
“Ready ‘sette go or Jojo, can you tell dear Marius here that the Toquet Charter is complete and utter bullshit?”
Enjolras frowned.
“Marius do you support the monarchy?”
The fact that he wouldn’t meet Enjolras’ eyes was enough of an answer. All three of his companions groaned in unison.
“Oh come on Marius.”
“Why would you support the monarchy, like what have they ever done right.”
“Marius I’m disappointed.”
Marius still looked sheepish as Grantaire barrelled into the room, less than a minute before the lecture started. He unceremoniously dropped into the seat to Enjolras’ right, and leaned over to whisper something to Enjolras.
“What’s this lecture on?”
“The June Rebellion of 1832,” Enjolras sighed, “you’d know that if you paid any attention last week.”
Grantaire frowned a little.
“Yes well last week was a pretty shitty week for me, and you’d know that if you paid attention,” the next part was barely audible, and Enjolras wasn’t sure he was even meant to hear it, “not that you’d know what anything like that feels like.”
Enjolras tried not to feel hurt by the comment, after all it was his fault that no one knew anything about him.
But before he could say anything else, Prof. Mabeuf had already started the lecture. Enjolras once again pulled out his laptop, taking care to delete the completely unrecognisable notes from before; though he was not quick enough to make sure that neither Cosette nor Grantaire saw, noticing Grantaire’s eye lingering on his screen right before all of it disappeared. Thankfully enough, Grantaire stayed silent.
When Prof. Mabeuf started the lecture, also another non participation one, Enjolras realised he already knew everything. So if he were to miss this class, just as he had the last, it would not affect him quite as badly.
Enjolras was vaguely aware of Cosette periodically glancing at him, and he was glad for her caring about him, but at the same time he didn’t want her to tip off anyone else about how he felt.
His mind paused on that fact for a second.
He didn’t actually want anyone to know.
The question had come up with Combeferre, and he had lied.
“Hey E how are you?”
“Oh I’m great.”
“I know Courf has ADHD and I have OCD, anything up with you that I should know about?”
“Nope! I’m great.”
“That’s great.”
Enjolras didn’t want people to know that there was anything wrong with him.
“Hey E how are you?”
“Oh I’m great.”
“I know Courf has ADHD and I have OCD, anything up with you that I should know about?”
“Nope! I’m great.”
“That’s great.”
“Hey E how are you?”
“Oh I’m great.”
“I know Courf has ADHD and I have OCD, anything up with you that I should know about?”
“Nope! I’m great.”
“That’s great.”
“Hey E how are you?”
“Oh I’m great.”
“I know Courf has ADHD and I have OCD, anything up with you that I should know about?”
“Nope! I’m great.”
“That’s great.”
Enjolras slammed his laptop shut, shoved it in his bag, and jumped from his seat. By now he had gained the entire lecture hall’s attention and he would be embarrassed were it not for the part of his brain telling him to get out of there .
“Enjolras, are you alright?”
“Yes Monsieur,” it sounded choked even to him, “I just realised that I’m late? Yes late, for a very important date, my apologies.”
And with that he dashed out of the lecture hall, completely uncaring of anyone’s reaction after that point.
He ran.
He ran out of the building.
He ran off the campus.
He ran towards the Musain.
He ran up the street.
He finally stopped as soon as he saw the Musain. Neither Éponine nor Musichetta were working, so Enjolras let himself into the back room with his own key; he was there so often that he had simply been gifted a key one day, so that he could come and go without disturbing their schedules.
Enjolras locked the door behind him so that no one else could accidentally wander in. His class had started at 10 and he had left at quarter past. It was currently half past and he had half a dozen texts from Cosette already.
Ready Sette Go: Are you okay ??
Ready Sette Go: That was a dumb question
Ready Sette Go: Just text me whenever you’re somewhere safe Alouette x
Ready Sette Go: Is it ok if I tell anyone else ??
Ready Sette Go: What do you want me to say ???
Ready Sette Go: Enj I really need you to text me back before Courf sends out a search party
Enjolras: I’m fine enough; not going to do anything irrational. Tell them I’ll explain later. I’m currently at the Musain but don’t tell them that.
Ready Sette Go: Ok, but I hope you know that you’re definitely talking to me about this later, ok Alouette ?
Enjolras: Fine, but in person.
Ready Sette Go: Take care love xx
Enjolras sighed and set his phone down on one of the tables. It was a meeting day, and though they were held far into the evening, Enjolras was tempted to start setting up at that moment; but he ultimately decided against it, instead opting to hopefully get something, ANYTHING, done with his laptop.
He pulled up a blank doc and stared at it, willing his brain to create words to fill the page.
He wrote nothing.
Enjolras let out a frustrated groan and slammed the lid of the laptop shut.
“Hey E how are you?”
“Oh I’m great.”
“I know Courf has ADHD and I have OCD, anything up with you that I should know about?”
“Nope! I’m great.”
“That’s great.”
Why couldn’t he get anything done?
“Yes well last week was a pretty shitty week for me, and you’d know that if you paid attention, not that you’d know what anything like that feels like.”
He did know what it felt like! He was living a shitty week, shitty month, shitty life. When was the last time he had taken any of his medication?
A big part of the work that Les Amis de l’ABC did was in relation to mental health, due to the fact that many of the group’s members had some mental health issues.
Courfeyrac had ADHD, Combeferre OCD; Marius had ADD; Jehan had an anxiety disorder and Grantaire and Éponine had depression. It would only make sense for them to be so involved with guaranteeing proper mental health services.
Many people had asked, “why would Enjolras be the leader of the group when he's one of the few who aren’t actually affected by what you’re talking about?”
The answer would usually just be something about how his voice and personality were charming and brought the general public in; because there was no way there was anything wrong with Enjolras; he was perfection.
Everyone focused more on the members of the group who would need help. There were days when Jehan couldn’t leave their house due to an overwhelming load of anxiety. Sometimes Enjolras had to wait for hours for Combeferre to finish his routine so that he could calm down and go to bed. On the days where neither Courfeyrac nor Marius could focus on their work, someone would go over to help them and make sure that they actually absorbed their lessons. When either Éponine or Grantaire has the days where they just couldn’t get out of bed, the entire group would convene at their shared flat to give them love. And it was absolutely wonderful that their group was trying to destigmatize mental illnesses, and was also showing the members who needed love just how much they were adored.
It just hurt a little that the only person who had ever cared to ask, was Combeferre when they were teenagers. No one had asked since then, which was somewhat fair, due to the fact that Enjolras carried himself in such a way that showed that he was alright. But the fact that their group focused so much on things such as that, yet still couldn’t recognise the fact that he was putting on a brave face for the sake of himself. It wasn’t that he didn’t want his friends’ help, it’s just that there was some unmovable force in his brain refusing to let them see a side of him that was anything but exactly who he wanted to be.
His thought process was interrupted by a ping from his phone; it was 11, so his class would be over by now.
Ready Sette Go: R figured out that you were at the Musain- he's headed there right now
Shit.
Enjolras: Just don’t tell him anything else about my location; I would like to be alone.
Ready Sette Go: I feel like that’s a terrible decision but I’ll trust you
Enjolras gathered his things and unlocked the door, slipping out and locking it behind him before leaving the building and starting back towards the flat he shared with Combeferre.
It was only a five minute walk, and Enjolras prayed the entire time that Combeferre would be out.
When he arrived, he called out, and learned his prayers were answered, as no one responded. So he locked the flat door and barricade himself in his room, taking care to lock that door as well.
Enjolras threw his bag on the bed and turned to go rifling through one of his drawers. Pulling out several bottles, he grimaced at the fact that there were at least three still in the packaging from the pharmacy; the dates on the packages did nothing to make him feel better, given that the newest one was from a month ago and the oldest from at least six.
He had seven bottles in his hand.
He began to sort.
Trazodone on the left, Lamictal on the right.
Trazodone.
Lamictal.
Trazodone.
Lamictal.
Trazodone.
Trazodone.
Trazodone.
He was so absorbed in his own mind that he almost didn’t hear someone pounding on the door of his room; not even the door to his flat- his actual room. Either Combeferre was home, or had given someone their key, or he was about to be murdered, which he wasn’t all that opposed to.
“Enjolras! Get your ass out here right now!”
So it was Grantaire.
Enjolras checked his phone to see if he had any texts that he had missed to warn him of this, other than Cosette’s from earlier.
Ready Sette Go: Idk if you’re going to see this in time, but now it’s R and Courf going to your flat, and I think they’re dragging Joly with them since they don’t know what’s wrong
Ready Sette Go: And now they’ve recruited Ferre and Baz
Ready Sette Go: Ok literally everyone is piling into cars to go to yours right now so I’m so sorry in advance
Ready Sette Go: I’m coming too because I’m worried about you
He sighed and realised that he should probably let every person he cared about into his room, especially if Cosette was there. He stood and stashed all of the pills back in the drawer before stretching and opening the door.
“Good morni-“
He could barely get half a sentence out before he was physically grabbed and pulled into the living room. Enjolras noticed that it was indeed every single member of Les Amis, including Marius, Éponine, Musichetta and Cosette.
He was pushed onto the couch so that he was sandwiched between Combeferre and Cosette, who most likely fought everyone to make sure she was next to him. The rest of Les Amis were scattered throughout the living room; with some on the floor and some on the excess furniture.
The first one to break the scene was Joly who immediately jumped up and pulled out a thermometer.
“How are you? Do you have a fever? Here,” he stuck the thermometer in Enjolras’ ear, “let me check right now. Any nausea? Oh god,” he turned to the rest of the group, “do you think he’s contagious?” The thermometer beeped and Joly removed it, brows furrowing as soon as he saw what the number was. “35? Someone get me a blanket, you’re much too cold.”
Enjolras sighed as Joly gingerly tucked a blanket around his shoulders. Cosette gently pried him off of Enjolras, giving him a small assurance that he was fine. She then turned to him, gesturing for him to start speaking. Enjolras scrubbed his hands across his face before straightening up and getting ready to speak.
“I suppose I should begin with an apology. I didn’t mean to disrupt everyone’s schedules today, and I can assure you it’s not truly that important-“
Cosette jammed a sharp elbow in his ribs before interjecting, “it’s actually pretty important but Enjolras will be the one to tell you why.”
“Okay fine. But I am going to say this quickly because I’m already taking too big a chunk out of everyone’s day that could be spent working on literally anything other than me. So,” he hesitated, and turned to Cosette, who nodded in encouragement, “when I was 12, I talked to Cosette because I was concerned about my mental health, and how I felt like I wasn’t completely okay. She told me that I should start to see a therapist, just in case, so I asked our father about it, and we set up an appointment. So that was at the beginning of our 7th grade year, and over the course of that year I had become a patient with a psychiatrist as well, and he prescribed me a mood stabiliser because,” Enjolras closed his eyes, and breathed a shaky exhale before opening them again and looking out to all of his friends, “because I have bipolar disorder; I have bipolar disorder, and I did at one point get hospitalised for it because of an attempt when I was 13. And I wish I could say I’ve gotten better but at this moment? I really can’t say. I’ve been diagnosed since I was 12 years old, and so now that I’m 19, you’d expect these things to be better, and I guess I’m not really helping the fact with the way I live my life but…”
Enjolras trailed off as he realised that he was being the opposite of the “quick” he had promised his friends.
He had always prioritised others over himself. His friends, citizens of Paris, the people; they were all more important than him. He was only one man; he was the vassal for change; Enjolras was simply the entity who helped pass policies; his actual personality meant nothing to the majority of people in the world. Enjolras knew his friends cared about him, he was no fool, and he also knew that a big part of their organisation was for mental health services, but the irrational part of his brain refused to believe that his friends would care about his own struggles with mental health; especially when they had their own problems to deal with.
Combeferre was the first to speak.
“You mentioned something about ‘the way you live your life’. What exactly… what do you mean by that?”
Enjolras sighed and got up, holding up a finger to signal ‘one moment’, before trudging into his room. He opened the same drawer from earlier and put the bottles in his hoodie pocket one by one before shutting the door and walking back out. He unceremoniously dumped all of them out onto the coffee table before collapsing onto the couch again.
“The Lamictal is my mood stabiliser, and the Trazodone is used for my insomnia,” he explained, “I haven’t taken the Lamictal in awhile because I just… I need the hypomania. Whenever I’m affected by it I get so much done, and then I don’t need or want sleep, so I don’t take the Trazodone.”
“Enjolras,” piped up Jehan from the table, “some of these are really old. When was the last time you took them?”
“Oh well,” he waved a dismissive hand, “sometime within the last year.”
That caused a collective frown to ripple through the group, and Feuilly jumped up to walk into the kitchen, returning with a glass of water. He placed it on the table in front of Enjolras before going back to sit down. Courfeyrac rifled through the prescriptions before pulling out one of the older bottles of Lamictal. He read the instructions and shook out two pills, handing both them and the glass to Enjolras.
Enjolras stared at them for a moment, before taking a steadying breath. He then put both of them in his mouth and swallowed, washing down with the water. A small cheer went through the room, and though the smiles and praise for such a menial task should make Enjolras feel embarrassed, he felt glad for the support. He leaned into Cosette’s side a little, and she hugged him in return.
“So E,” Combeferre began, “how do you feel? And be completely honest, because we just want to help.”
“If I’m being completely honest, like you want me to be, I’m not great. I just came down from a hypomania spree, so now I’m just in a burnout. And since I just came down from the high part of the cycle, I haven’t slept in awhile. But I mean it’s fine.”
“Alouette,” Cosette began to lightly stroke his hair, “you should sleep if you need it. It’s okay to admit that it’s not fine.”
Enjolras hummed in agreement, but before he could do more than that, Courfeyrac was practically vibrating in his seat with excitement over an unspoken idea.
“So I think you should sleep obviously, but before you do! We should go around in a circle and tell you everything we love about you because I feel like you don’t really believe us. So! I’m going to start, and I’m going to start by saying that we’ve been friends since we were like 13 or 14, and me, you, and Ferre have always been the perfect trio. I’m the people person, Ferre’s the book person, and you’re the well rounded person. Basically, you can have a stick up your ass but you’re still one of my best friends, and without you our trio would be very, very sad,” he turned to his left, “Marius! You’re up!”
“Oh euh, I like how when you tell me I’m wrong, you tell me exactly how I’m wrong. You don’t just call me dumb and move on, you’ll take the time to meticulously disect my points and tell me how wrong I am. You’re kinda scary but also very inspirational! Euh, Bahorel?”
“Well chief, you’re crazy smart, and unlike me, you actually take the time to make good, thought out decisions, which sounds easier than it actually is. Your planning is just great honestly. And it’s Feuilly now.”
“There isn’t a crazy wide class divide between us, but even if there were, I know you’d still treat me like an actual human being, and you’d still respect me. And I know that you admire me for being a hard worker, but you work just as hard. Ép, you’re next.”
“So you've clearly been dealing with this shit for a long time now, and though it’s not a good thing that you’ve been dealing with it on your own, it’s still pretty damn admirable that you’ve been able to keep it together. You’re always so well put together like damn son, you mean you don’t sleep and you still look that hot? Shit dude, you’re a wholeass Olympian. But I’m passing the torch to Jehan.”
“I don’t know how to sum it up all right now, so I’m passing on to Bossuet, but just know that I’ll write you at least three sonnets.”
“Even though I always manage to mess up all the jobs you give to me, you still make more to let me feel included, which is just sweet of you. Joly?”
“I know I can be a bit… intense, with all of the medical things, but you don’t interrupt or call me stupid or any of that. I’m sure you probably don’t believe half of the things I tell you, but you entertain the thought at the least, which is enough for me. Chetta’s next.”
“So I haven’t known you for as long as everyone else but from the small amount of time that I’ve been around you, you’ve been welcoming to me. You’re accepting of the untraditional nature of my relationship, and I just think it's amazing how you accepted it so quickly. Ferre I think it’s you now.”
“E, I don’t even know where to start. You might as well be my brother, and as far as I’m, concerned, you are. I know the ‘platonic soulmates’ is a bit of a joke, but I feel like it’s simply the best way to describe our relationship. I’d do anything for you, and I know you feel the same. I’m just glad that you’re still here. Cosette, it’s you.”
“Just like Ferre said, you’re my brother. I mean like blood related, but it’s basically the same in my opinion. But you’re my brother. You might be older by like, six minutes, but you’ll always be my baby honestly. We got through a kind of shitty childhood and we’re standing here strong after 19 years. You’re not afraid to be you, and I’m glad that you’re around. Is that everyone?”
“No,” interjected Courfeyrac, “there's still Grantaire.”
Everyone in the room turned to face in his direction.
“Oh yikes,” Grantaire looked away, “that’s a lot of attention, euh…”
He trailed off, still looking away. Enjolras felt an inexplicable pang of sadness from that. He should’ve expected that Grantaire wouldn’t be able to say something nice about him.
“You don’t have to say anything,” he said, hoping it didn’t sound as sad as he felt; judging by everyone’s expressions, he did not succeed.
“Oh no! No it’s not that I don’t want to, or can’t think of anything it’s just,” he cursed under his breath, “alright okay I think I’ll just put everything out here now. I absolutely adore and love everything about you. Every idiosyncrasy that you have is perfect. You’re the most interesting person I’ve ever met, and even though you’re wrong about stuff, I could talk to you for days and not get bored. So I guess, basically, I love you, and yeah.”
Enjolras took a second to let the information sink into his brain before he reached his arms out in a grabby motion. Grantaire just stared at him for a few moments, before Combeferre stood up and vacated his spot in favour of walking over to where Courfeyrac was; only then did Grantaire get up and sit next to Enjolras, who immediately wrapped his arms around Grantaire’s middle and pulled him closer.
“Wouldn’t have thought you to be a cuddler,” Grantaire gave a small chuckle.
“Shut up.”
Grantaire only laughed again and pulled Enjolras, who was beginning to nod off, closer. Enjolras, despite being at least 25 centimetres taller, used Grantaire’s chest as his pillow as he began to fall asleep.
When Enjolras finally slipped unconscious, his feet were in Cosette’s lap, and Grantaire’s hands were running through his hair. He slept surrounded by his friends’ idle chatter, in a room full of love and support for him; he had just taken his medication and was on track to really recovering. There would still be his depressive period to deal with, but at least he wouldn’t be alone this time.
Enjolras was going to be okay.