Work Text:
Enjolras pressed the palm of his hands into his eyes, groaning loudly. It was well past a reasonable time to be awake, but here he was, awake and jittery. He had genuinely tried to sleep, but his mind was running at a million miles a minute.
There was a fury inside of him, one that wanted him to take every single thing wrong with society down with him. The belief that he could do it permeated in his body.
Enjolras had enough of his rational mind to know it wasn’t going to happen like that, but the manic energy that filled his veins wanted him to burn everything down.
He grabbed his pillow and screamed into it, the sound of his voice loud in his small apartment. He threw the pillow against the wall, the thud of the impact tilting some of the art he had hung above his bed. Enjolras pulled himself up from the bed and began to pace. He needed to do something and everything was closed for the night and even the most night owls of his friends were asleep. It was so late it was early and Combeferre would probably wake up within the next few hours.
Enjolras had been awake for 51 hours at this point and his body ached, begging for rest, but his mind and endocrine system were pumping his body with endorphins that kept him awake. As he paced, Enjolras thought about all his ideas. He needed stronger campaigns for candidates that would redistribute wealth. He needed to create bail funds. Enjolras’s mind told him needed to get people on the street because if they would just listen to him, he could change the world.
As all of this raced through his mind, a deep set hatred bubbled in his gut. He was angry at the world and he was angry at himself for not being able to change it and angry at himself for being so full of himself that he thought he could be the one to do it. He knew he was irrational, he knew things took time, but time was too slow and he was too fast.
Enjolras grabbed his phone and opened up Combeferre’s contact. He wouldn’t call him, he’d be up in a few hours anyway, but Combeferre was smart, he could validate Enjolras’s ideas. Enjolras sent a quick text then threw his phone on his bed.
He pulled up his computer and opened a document. He began typing, maybe he could make text for a zine. Jehan liked making those, and this one could really get people going. The words felt like they were just flowing out of his body, a work of genius. Enjolras grinned to himself, watching the word count increase steadily.
Enjolras got lost in his work and was suddenly startled out of his thoughts when the doorbell rang. He set his computer aside, irritation bubbling in his chest for being interrupted. As he opened the door, Enjolras was met with a concerned looking Combeferre.
“Ah! Combeferre, come in, come in!” Enjolras said, stepping aside to let his friend in. “Did you get my text?”
“Yes, that’s actually why I’m here,” Combeferre replied, sitting down on Enjolras’ couch. “Why don’t you sit down?”
Enjolras shook his head. “I don’t need to. Let me go grab my computer to show you what I’ve been working on.” As Enjolras turned to go to his room, Combeferre grabbed his arm.
“Enjolras,” Combeferre used his stern voice. “Sit down.”
Enjolras frowned but took a seat in the chair across from the couch. He pulled his legs up onto the chair and wrapped his arms around them, his fingers tapping in rhythm on his thighs. “I told you I have been working on some ideas for posters and zines and protest speeches.”
Combeferre looked at him, soft but concerned. “Yes, and you texted me at 3:48 in the morning, when you should be asleep. It’s 5am. I’m only up because I made the insane decision to double major.”
Enjolras waved a hand. “Couldn’t sleep.”
“And when was the last time you slept?” Combeferre asked.
Enjolras paused as he tried to think. “51 hours? I think?”
Combeferre frowned, pausing to find his words. “And do you think that’s healthy?”
Enjolras waved him away. “It’s not important. What’s important is that we get all of this together. Do you think we could move up our next meeting? I have some ideas for everyone.” He pondered what he was saying for a second. “Grantaire might be hard to convince of a time change, but I need his art skills. He’s great at that.” Enjolras grinned to himself.
“Let’s put a pin in that,” Combeferre allowed. “Right now, you need some sleep.”
Enjolras’s good mood started to dampen. “I don’t need it.”
“Humor me.”
“Combeferre…”
“Enjolras.”
Enjolras stood back up and started to pace again. “I will sleep if you read what I wrote.”
Combeferre looked pained, but agreed. “I brought my sleep medication. I have extra because my insomnia isn’t as bad anymore. I asked Joly if it’s okay to give it to you and he said one low dose won’t be too harmful.”
Enjolras rolled his eyes. “I don’t need medication.”
Combeferre raised an eyebrow. “And have you been able to sleep on your own?”
Enjolras wanted to pout, but his pride wouldn’t let him. “Whatever.” He grumbled.
Combeferre reached into his bag and pulled out a bottle of medicine. Enjolras grabbed his computer and entered his password. “I have a few tabs open. Read all of them,” he instructed. Combeferre nodded and put the computer on his lap. He opened the bottle and pulled out a blue pill.
“Do you have something to take this with?”
Enjolras shook his head and went into the kitchen. He filled up a glass with water and walked back into the living room. Combeferre handed him the pill and Enjolras took it. It went down easy and didn’t have that bad of a taste, though Enjolras hated having to take it to begin with.
“Are you going to send me to bed?” he snarled, startling himself with how angry he was.
“You can sleep on the couch as long as you sleep.” Combeferre said calmly, not commenting on Enjolras’s rapidly changing mood. “If you want, I can read out what you’ve written.”
Enjolras nodded, rearranging himself into the corner of the couch and stretching his legs out on top of Combeferre’s legs. He tucked a pillow under his neck and another under his head and closed his eyes. It felt weird, wrong. He wanted to keep going but Combeferre was smart. He knew better than Enjolras.
Combeferre began reading out what Enjolras had written, and Enjolras felt himself thinking the words along with him. Slowly, his brain began to focus just on the words without following along, just letting Combeferre’s deep, steady voice lull him into a trance. Enjolras existed in a purgatory of waking and sleep; every sound flooding his ears like the hum of the fridge and the birds outside his window. Enjolras forced his eyes to stay closed and rest, and eventually Combeferre’s voice turned into a low hum and he fell asleep.
---
Enjolras woke up about 5 hours later. His head was pounding and his body ached from the weird sleeping position, but he felt slightly less erratic. He groaned to himself, curling to press his face into his pillow. He took a deep breath, the spikes of electricity that were humming through his body subsiding slightly to a dull buzz.
“I see you’re awake,” a voice behind him said. Enjolras had to think for a second to place that the voice was coming from Combeferre.
“Yeah,” Enjolras said, his voice coming out as a croak. “Thanks for that.”
Combeferre nodded but didn’t say anything. He went into the kitchen and Enjolras heard him going through his drawers and cabinets, but he was too groggy to care about it. After a few moments, Combeferre came back with a mug and a plate. On the plate was a piece of buttered bread and a few strawberries, and the mug was filled with tea. Enjolras smiled when he smelled it; it was a black tea similar to Earl Grey, but had more lavender and vanilla added to the bergamot. It also happened to be his favorite.
“How’d you know?” Enjolras asked as he bit into his bread.
“Your text was weird,” Combeferre said. “Not only was it at a completely unreasonable time, you made several spelling and grammar mistakes. You normally text like you’re writing an essay for class.” Combeferre gave him a small smile. “You’re so ritualistic that seeing anything out of the ordinary is quite easy to spot.”
Combeferre let him eat his bread and strawberries in silence and Enjolras sipped the tea slowly. He liked the warm feeling in his chest grounding him to where he was. The bread was fresh and Enjolras vaguely remembered going to the market the day before. Honestly, everything in the past few days didn’t feel real. It was just a blur of energy and irritation and elatedness and a confidence beyond anything Enjolras had felt.
He’d had episodes like this before, but never this bad. He would struggle to sleep, mostly getting 4 hours max, but at least he could sleep. He could think through his actions and even though his sense of self was inflated, he wasn’t so far gone as he was the night before. That night he thought he was invincible, and Enjolras cringed at the ways that could have gone horribly wrong. He had been given sleeping aids before, but once he ran out the last time he just didn’t refill them because he could sleep and it happened so infrequently that it didn’t seem rational to keep the medicine when others needed it.
“Do you know what happened?” Combeferre eventually asked.
“I don’t know… but it wasn’t good,” Enjolras admitted. He explained to Combeferre about his previous episodes and how this one was just worse.
“I checked your computer for some of your actions. Do you know you spent over 500 dollars on a special printer?” Combeferre asked.
The memory suddenly flooded back into his mind. Enjolras had thought he needed the best printer to make those zines with Jehan. The quality would help prove their message. Enjolras groaned and tucked his head into his knees.
“I forgot about that,” his muffled reply came.
“Enjolras,” Combeferre said calmly. “I think you should see someone. You didn’t sleep for 2 full days. You were reckless with your money. You had an inflated self image. Your thoughts were going so fast you couldn’t even text regularly. This is a textbook manic episode and you need help.”
Enjolras didn’t lift his head from his knees and didn’t reply to Combeferre.
“The university has mental health services,” Combeferre continued. “You can see one of the school psychologists who can connect you to any other professional help you need.”
“I’m fine,” Enjolras snapped.
Combeferre rolled his eyes. “No, you're stubborn and don’t like accepting help.”
“Just…” Enjolras started. “Just let me run this out. It’s a fluke, I’m fine.”
Combeferre gave him a hard look but didn’t argue. “One week,” he conceded. “If you go back to a regulated state, I won’t push. But if you spike back up or drop down, I’m dragging you to the Student Center myself.”
Enjolras nodded and yawned. After eating something, his body was finally starting to want to sleep again. Enjolras couldn’t remember the last time he ate, but he wouldn’t tell Combeferre that.
“Go get some more sleep,” Combeferre said gently. “If you want, I can stay for when you wake up, but that’s up to you.”
Enjolras shook his head. “No, go home. I’ve bothered you enough.”
Combeferre gave a reassuring smile and put his hand on Enjolras’ shoulder. “You’re my best friend and someone has to take care of you if you can’t do it yourself.” He pushed Enjolras slightly. “Go back to bed.”
Enjolras didn’t argue.
---
By the time Enjolras woke up again, it was the middle of the afternoon. His body finally let go of the ache it had been holding. He specifically noticed the knot in his back that was holding him up had untied and he arched back to crack his spine. Enjolras let out a pleased sigh at the clicks running down his back.
He pulled himself out of bed and looked out the window. It was a beautiful day and he pushed open his windows. Now that he could think clearly - well, clearer - Enjolras felt like the breeze was the best thing he had ever felt and mentally thanked Combeferre for getting him to sleep. He’d probably send him a text letting him know he actually slept and was feeling a bit better. He really, really didn’t want to see a psychologist.
As the breeze came in, Enjolras was suddenly aware of how sticky he felt. He hadn’t bothered to shower in the last few days and he had been wearing the same clothing for even longer, which consisted of an oversized shirt and sweatpants. He scrunched his face at the lack of hygiene.
Enjolras shed his shirt, and grabbed a clean one, some fresh underwear, and actual pants. He made his way to his bathroom to hop into the shower. His bathroom was one of his favorite places in his apartment. Enjolras didn’t have a bathtub, but he had a glass shower and a small window that let soft light into the bathroom no matter the time of day.
As Enjolras undressed, he looked into the mirror, cringing at how he looked. He looked worse for wear, with deep set dark circles under his eyes and sickly pale skin. His hair was also greasy and lost its natural waves, sitting limply against his head. He couldn’t even imagine the image he was in front of Combeferre earlier that day.
Enjolras turned the shower on, the initial cold shocking his system until the water began to warm up. The steam in the shower felt good on his lungs and Enjolras spent a moment just breathing, allowing the rest of the electricity to leave his body. Finally, he dunked his head under the water, his hair grabbing onto the water and hanging heavy against his shoulders. When he poured shampoo into his hands and started scrubbing his hair, it barely foamed up from how greasy it was. Once the shampoo had been worked in, however, his hair felt less heavy. Enjolras combed in some conditioner to be left in while he washed his body.
Enjolras went straight for the most pressing areas of his body, mainly his armpits. He hadn’t worn any deodorant in days and he was finally aware of how much he reeked. He started scrubbing the areas, then moving on to his chest and legs. He even took the time to wash the underside of his feet, which was always a slipping hazard.
Declaring his body done, Enjolras tilted his head back under the water to rinse out the conditioner. He ran his fingers through his hair, the natural softness having returned once more. Enjolras let out a pleased sigh and just stood in the water for a moment. He probably had so many tasks he had to do after his episode made everything else besides the cause seem insignificant and some anxiety began to settle in his gut. But now? Now he could just stay in the shower and everything would be okay.
After a few minutes and the water starting to cool down, Enjolras turned off the shower and grabbed a couple towels to dry off. He used one for his body and one to dry his hair and make sure his waves stayed pronounced. He didn’t like to admit it, but he did love the compliments to his hair so he took some extra time to make sure it wasn’t frizzy or tangled.
When Enjolras looked at himself in the mirror, he had to admit he looked better. While the dark circles were still there, signs of life were returning to his skin from the heat of the shower. He smiled, he wouldn’t have to go to that damn psychologist. Not that there was anything wrong with that, he amended in his head, but he didn’t need to go. He was fine.
Enjolras put on his clothes and went to sit in the living room. The first thing he did was cancel the order for the printer and get the money back. The whole process felt humiliating and he considered having Combeferre be sworn to secrecy about the whole ordeal.
After that, he checked his phone and saw all the messages his friends had been sending him. Courfeyrac had started by sending him posts on Instagram - an app that he rarely posted on but kept downloaded because Courfeyrac enjoyed sending him posts from his explore page. After not responding, Courfeyrac had begun sending question marks asking where Enjolras was. Enjolras sent a quick message about being busy and offered to meet up soon. He wasn’t too happy lying to Courfeyrac about what he had been doing, but he hadn’t even wanted Combeferre to come check on him, and Courfeyrac was definitely more pushy than Combeferre when it came to taking care of his friends. Enjolras loved that about him, but he wasn’t in the mood to be on the receiving end.
Apparently Enjolras had texted Jehan about a zine, most likely when the episode was starting and everyone was still awake. Jehan had taken it with grace, even as Enjolras cringed at the way he had texted. Jehan had just told him to get some sleep and they could talk about it in the morning. Enjolras sent him a message saying he’d send some of his ideas once they were edited.
By that point, it looked like Enjolras hadn’t really sent any more messages than that. But as he scrolled, he saw a sent message that never got a response. It was sent to Grantaire and Enjolras’ stomach dropped. Grantaire and him were on unstable ground most of the time. Enjolras considered him a friend and really enjoyed their banter, but they were fundamentally different and could antagonize each other. But that was what drew Enjolras closer. He longed to talk to Grantaire for hours, watch him paint, watch him box and dance and move in all the ways Enjolras couldn’t. Enjolras was terrified at what he might have said while feeling invincible.
Enjolras opened the message and the first thing he noticed was that none of his letters were capitalized. That was what Combeferre noticed about his texts that made him concerned to begin with. Would Grantaire have realized that? Finally, Enjolras actually took the time to read the message.
“heyy grantaire u should come over i wantto talk i love ur voice”
Enjolras felt his face flush and he wanted to curl into a ball and never unroll. The worst part was that he saw the “Read at 9:10am” message under his text. “I’m never going to talk to him again,”
Enjolras declared to himself. He would move across the country and get a new name and never come back because he had texted Grantaire that he loved his voice and now Enjolras will never hear the end of it. He was honestly surprised Grantaire hadn’t taken the opportunity to mock him about it.
Enjolras put his phone down and took a deep breath. He couldn’t focus on this, he had actual work to do. His Introduction to International Relations class had an essay due at the end of the week and he had only gotten halfway through it and he had to study for a Principles of Journalism exam. If he scheduled his time right, he could get all his work done and freak out over texts to Grantaire in a reasonable amount of time. Enjolras pulled his hair up into a ponytail and began to work.
---
By the time Enjolras finished his work, it was evening time. His essay wasn’t his best work, but it was done and that is what mattered. He had studied for Journalism the best he could, but his ability to focus wasn’t great. He was so tired.
Enjolras pushed his computer aside and went into the kitchen to make dinner. He wasn’t an amazing cook, but he was competent enough to make a solid meal. He pulled some vegetables from the fridge to mix with cut up chunks of meat to make a simple stir fry. Enjolras grabbed a bowl and sat at his dining room table to eat dinner.
He pulled out his phone, checking in on everyone. The group chat that they were all in was full of messages of an upcoming pride festival an hour away. The festival lasted a week so they could most likely find a time to go, the issue was just finding the time that all of them could go together. The biggest issue was Feuilly’s work schedule and Joly’s medical school exams coming up. Enjolras sent a message saying he could make time pretty much any day and to keep him posted on any plans.
His message sparked a symphony of his friends saying hello and how they hadn’t heard from him in a bit. Enjolras smiled for a moment, he really loved his friends. Then came a message from Grantaire.
“The mystery man appears.”
Enjolras didn’t really know what to make of the message. Was he a mystery man because Grantaire didn’t know what he had meant in his text? Was he a mystery because he had disappeared for a few days? As always, Enjolras found himself wondering what was going through Grantaire’s head.
Shaking it off, Enjolras sent a message saying he just had a lot of work to do the last few days and now that it’s done, he can come to the festival. It wasn’t technically a lie; all his friends knew he was a workaholic, he just was working on a plan to change the world, not on his essay for IR.
“Well, we’re happy you’re back.” Grantaire sent back. He still hadn’t responded to Enjolras’s direct text to him.
Enjolras set his phone down and finished his dinner. He was suddenly feeling very sluggish, which he chalked up to the rollercoaster of emotions he had been on the last few days. Brushing it off, he went and cleaned his plates and made his way to his bed.
He shrugged off his clothes from the day and switched into a large t-shirt and boxers and slipped into his bed. His thoughts felt slow and unfocused, so Enjolras turned on some music to focus on. He felt his mood slipping even more. At first, it was just the natural come down from the high he was in, but now he felt like he was drowning. He had had maybe 10 hours of feeling okay, and now he was slipping again, but this time in the opposite direction.
Enjolras willed himself to go to sleep, to let the emotions flow through him and be better in the morning. He fell asleep feeling like he had been turned upside down.
---
Enjolras felt like a freight train had hit him right in his chest. There was a sadness in his body that he couldn’t account for. The thoughts in his head filled him with dread as every single mistake he had made flashed behind his eyes. He felt his breath coming in heavy and he curled even deeper into his bed. The pain in his chest worsened as he thought about his friends, about Grantaire.
Why hadn’t Grantaire responded to his text? It was a weird text, to be sure, but Grantaire wasn’t one to let such a good opportunity go by. Was Grantaire only interested in talking with him when they were with their friends? They rarely had time alone, maybe Grantaire liked it that way?
Enjolras squeezed his eyes shut as he felt tears build. This couldn’t be right, could it? Why would any of his friends spend time with him? Combeferre only came over because Enjolras was in a state, was it always this way? Was Enjolras only a person for his friends to babysit?
The ability to think rationally was slipping more and more every second as it became harder and harder to breathe. Enjolras flipped over onto his back and stared at the ceiling. The blank white seemed to be mocking him and everything felt so heavy and all he wanted to do was sleep.
He could take his sleep aids, he thought to himself. Combeferre had given him some extra just in case the episode didn’t pass as soon as he’d like. But as that thought crossed his mind, Enjolras forced himself up. He couldn’t think about that, he couldn’t. That was too far, he wasn’t that far gone. He just had to face his problems head on.
Enjolras grabbed his phone and opened Grantaire’s contact information. He hesitated for a second before pressing the call button. As the dial tone rang, Enjolras’s confidence wavered. He had only been able to say what he was thinking when he thought he was invincible. What the hell was he going to say now? After a few rings, Grantaire picked up.
“Enjolras?” he asked, sounding confused.
“Yeah,” Enjolras replied, voice hoarse and not really sure what he was going to say. He had so much to say. He had nothing at all.
“Are you okay?” Grantaire asked, still unsure of what was happening.
Enjolras opened his mouth to reply, but a sob worked its way out of his body.
“Enjolras,” Grantaire said, stronger this time. “Where are you?”
“At… at my apartment,” Enjolras got out, realizing he was unable to properly breathe from the sobs shaking out of his body. “I can’t…”
“I know, I know,” Grantaire soothed. “Give me 15 minutes and I’ll be over at yours. Will you be okay until then?”
Enjolras nodded before realizing Grantaire couldn’t see him. “Yes,” he forced himself to say.
“Okay, okay…” Grantaire said, seemingly to himself. “Just, just stay there. Stay safe. I’ll be there soon.” Grantaire hung up the phone and Enjolras felt like he was going to be swallowed by the silence.
Enjolras made his way to the living room, pulling one of his blankets along with him. He sat down on the couch and wrapped himself in the blanket. He pressed his face into the plush material and sobbed, the tears soaking the soft fabric. He didn’t even know why he was crying, everything just felt too much and he couldn’t handle it. He hadn’t written the best essay for International Relations and he couldn’t study for Journalism and what was he going to do with that? Would he be able to graduate and live in the real world? What difference could he make if he couldn’t even write a damn essay?
The negative thoughts cascaded through Enjolras’s mind like a dam had burst and the water had made its way into his lungs, drowning him. He hadn’t even realized that Grantaire was knocking at his door until he heard his name yelled from the hallway.
Enjolras walked over to the door, blanket following him, and he opened the door. Grantaire stood in front of him, looking slightly panicked and disheveled. He was in his pajamas and a pair of gym shoes and his dark curls looked as messy as the rest of him. Once Grantaire looked at Enjolras, he grabbed his hand and pulled him back into the apartment, Enjolras following him willingly.
Grantaire sat Enjolras down, letting go of his hand which made Enjolras whimper. His mind was telling him all of the ways he was bothering Grantaire, how Grantaire was in pajamas and clearly was going to bed and shouldn’t have had to come to Enjolras’s apartment. This just made more tears spill from his eyes, his body shaking with the effort.
Grantaire didn’t say anything, he just wrapped his arms around Enjolras and pulled him into his chest. It wasn’t the best angle as Enjolras wasn’t so much as holding on as he was slumped into Grantaire’s body as Grantaire held him up. Grantaire was running one hand along Enjolras’s back as the other held him steady and Grantaire was humming slightly where his head was on top of Enjolras’s, the vibrations going into Enjolras’s skull.
“I’m sorry…” Enjolras said, finally lifting his arms to hold Grantaire back.
“About what?” Grantaire asked, genuinely confused.
“Everything. For being a bad friend. For always arguing with you. For forcing you to do something you don’t even believe in. For…” Enjolras’s sentence broke off as he started crying again.
Grantaire moved the hand that was on Enjolras’s back into Enjolras’s hair, carding through the golden locks. “You have nothing to apologize for,” Grantaire whispered into his head.
“Yes I do!” Enjolras cried out. “I… I’m not cut out for this and I’m bringing everyone down with me.”
Grantaire stayed silent for a second before he spoke again. “10,000,” he said.
Enjolras was startled, his tears stopping for a second. “What?”
“10,000,” Grantaire repeated, like it was obvious. “That’s how much we raised to support local LGBTQ+ organizations.”
“What…?” Enjolras started.
“You said that you’re not cut out for this,” Grantaire interrupted him. “I think those 10,000 dollars say something else.”
“Be that as it may,” Enjolras tried again.
“And we all have agency over our lives,” Grantaire said, cutting him off again. “Don’t you agree?”
“Yes, but,” Enjolras said.
“No buts.” Grantaire said finally. “You’re cut out for this and we’re all following you because we want to.”
Enjolras slumped forward again. “That doesn’t change that I’m a bad friend.”
Grantaire stayed silent for a while. “What makes you think that?” He asked eventually.
“What doesn’t?!” Enjolras exclaimed. “I’ve never been good to you. We argue all the time. We don’t text or talk outside of meetings. You deserve so much better than me.” Enjolras wiped his eyes furiously.
“What if I don’t want better?” Grantaire asked. “What if you’re already all I want?”
Enjolras closed his eyes, not able to bear looking at Grantaire.
“Enjolras, when have I ever stuck around when I didn’t want to?” Grantaire tried.
“Never,” Enjolras mumbled.
“And do you think our arguments are actually serious or that we’re genuinely mean to each other?”
“...No.”
“Then I see no evidence that you’re a bad friend. Just intellectually engaging, which is a good thing by the way.” Grantaire said simply.
Enjolras opened his eyes to look at Grantaire again.
“I think I need help,” he whispered.
Grantaire nodded in agreement. “I figured something was wrong when you texted me the other day. I didn’t realize how bad it had gotten. Honestly my first thought was that you were drunk.”
Enjolras shook his head. “I didn’t sleep for almost three days. I thought I could do literally anything. Money didn’t mean anything to me,” he explained and he saw understanding coming into Grantaire’s eyes. “Combeferre came over and gave me a sleep aid to get me to sleep long enough for the mania to calm down. I got about a day of normalcy and then this happened. Everything hurts, I just want to do nothing…” he paused. “I want to be nothing,” he admitted.
Grantaire pulled him back into his body, making Enjolras make a muffled exclamation.
“Listen to me,” Grantaire said, a tone of seriousness that Enjolras had never heard before. “You are everything. You are strong, intelligent, kind, loving, and so so so worth it. You’re worth everything because you are everything. Please,” Grantaire’s strong voice broke for a second. “Please don’t think like that.”
Enjolras wrapped his arms around Grantaire and allowed himself to cry. He sobbed until he was gasping for air and needed to pull back.
“What can I do to help you?” Grantaire asked, running his fingers through Enjolras’s hair again.
“Can you just… talk?” Enjolras asked. “I told you I like your voice.”
Grantaire nodded. He began to tell Enjolras about his day, his art, how he beat Bahorel in a boxing match the other day, how Joly and Bossuet managed to buy Musichetta the same card as a gift without talking to each other, and any other random thing that came to his mind. Enjolras allowed the deep vibrations of his voice flow through his body, easing the severe ache that had turned his body to stone.
“You know something,” Grantaire asked, pushing Enjolras back slightly so he could see his face.
“What?”
“You’re beautiful,” Grantaire stated.
Enjolras blushed. “Everyone says that, it’s not a big deal.”
“Yeah, they do. But not the way I mean it.” Grantaire smiled at him. “You’re beautiful because you have a nice face, yes, but also your entire being is beautiful. We could be blobs of energy and I would still call you beautiful because it reverberates off of you and draws everyone in.”
Enjolras felt like lightning had struck him. “I love you.”
Grantaire looked shocked and almost pulled out of the embrace but Enjolras pulled him back in. “I love you.” He said again.
“You’re drunk on emotion,” Grantaire said, voice thick.
“Maybe that’s why I’m able to say it, not because,” Enjolras said into his chest.
“Let’s make a deal,” Grantaire offered. “I’ll believe you if you go to the school psychologist.”
Enjolras smiled up at him, the motion feeling foreign after the deep darkness he had been in.
“Deal.”