Chapter Text
“Enjolras, will you see if that bag over there has any salbutamol in it?” Combeferre was speaking over his shoulders, “I had a girl with asthma in the protest yesterday, I should prepare just in case,”
Enjolras reached to the enormous red bag beside him and opened one of its front pocket. “It’s there already.”
Combeferre gave him a thumbs-up without looking up from where he was crouching, a long checklist in hand. Enjolras had stumbled into Combeferre’s flat before dawn, anxious of the upcoming protest, eyes bleary and slightly shaking from excessive caffeine he had over the consolidation plan in the biggest one of Sorbonne’s many canteens, planning with other student groups.
He had hoped to find Combeferre still in his bed, his pyjamas rumpled and his hair untidy for once, fast asleep and to steal for himself some hours snuggled beside his best friend. Just for a little shut-eye, before both of them have to get up for the day. Instead, he had find his friend in his living room, a notebook in hand, a few dozen red bags beneath his feet, wide awake.
“Joly had just left. He had those Panacea first-responder kids borrowing us these medic bags, so he brought them to me at the end of his shift.” he said, when Enjolras shoot him an inquiring look. “I will go over them once again, and then we can move on to checking the protective equipments Jehan found for us.”
And so there they are, making sure IV plabottles and paracetamol strips and bandages and gauzes and oxycans, among other things Enjolras only half-recognize are there in their right place within the many, many pockets of the bag.
Enjolras was in the middle of uncapping and peering inside a disinfectant bottle to see if they have to refill it when Combeferre catches the sight of his trembling hand.
“I’ve been so careless with you lately. I’m sorry.” he said, taking the bottle from Enjolras’ hand. “You must have come here to sleep, yet I’m making you go over this,” his gaze was soft and regretful on Enjolras’ face, and although he was a little embarrassed by the excessive care that Combeferre had sometimes given him, as if he was still little child, he admit that it did feel nice.
(It’s only sometimes that it didn’t feel nice, when Combeferre regarded him like a little brother, when his chest tightened at the thought of it, but Enjolras isn’t going to think about that.)
He bit down a smile and shrugged. “I wanted to help. This was something we are all responsible with, anyway.”
“Still, you’ve been up all night at the meetings.” Combeferre took his hand and began leading him to his bedroom, nudging some bags out of the way with his foot. “Come, I will lay down with you.”
They have known each other since they were babies, but this ritual has only started since they were in high school together. Combeferre had been a year his senior, and Enjolras’ parents had sent him to the same boarding school as Combeferre so Enjolras wouldn’t feel so lonely, so far from home. Enjolras had cried so hard the moment his parents left despite himself and laid in bed for hours, staring at the unfamiliar ceiling. He had given up on sleep when he went to the common room and found Combeferre finishing up his homework. Combeferre had insisted on accompanying him until he feel sleepy, and both of them had dozed off on the sofa until morning.
Over the course of the year they had slept together on the sofa, or Combeferre’s bed, or Enjolras’, whenever Enjolras feels anxious enough not to be able to sleep. Their keepers had rebuked them for it at the beginning, but upon seeing the familial, almost fatherly warmth Combeferre showered Enjolras with, they didn’t really see the point of doing it anymore. It wasn’t like Combeferre would do anything but sleep beside him.
Combeferre laid down in his bed (already made, Enjolras noticed), and reached for the blanket, lifting it a little so Enjolras can slide easily under it. He felt Combeferre’s arm encircling his waist, Combeferre’s soft breath on his neck, and can’t help but feel contented.
“Ferre, I’m a little worried about the protest,” he confessed, softly, burying his nose on the blanket. He had rarely voiced these thoughts aloud.
“Hmm?” Combeferre’s voice answered him, already sounding sleepy.
“It’s…” he paused. “I have a feeling that things would get violent. The things the other groups were reporting, it didn’t sound good,”
“Protests often get violent. This is not new for both of us.” Combeferre paused, “It’s not like you haven’t been the one to start it at some of them,”
Enjolras fought back a giggle and kicked his shin. “I never started them. Maybe I do escalate it, to protect our friends. Either way those cops deserve it,”
“Yes, yes. I agree with that one,” Combeferre laughed and continued, turning serious, “You will have the protective equipment, we have made sure of those equipment’s quality, we have made sure that everyone will have one. We have the buddy system you and Courfeyrac made, too, and we have made sure that everything conceals our identity,” Combeferre’s voice is telling him, steady and calm. “The crowd will be a tough one, we have marched with them before, and we have seen how they will not leave anyone targeted or exposed,”
“But you are not,” Enjolras cut in.
He can feel Combeferre’s smile, instead of seeing it. “I will be at the medic post, near the ambulances. It’s kind of important that the medics are easy to find, you know.” He feels the arm around his waist pulling him closer, embracing him. “You don’t have to worry about me. It’s you I’m worried about,”
Enjolras made a sound of protest, but Combeferre shushed him out.
“Rest easy now, we will be okay. We have managed to be okay this far, didn’t we?” Combeferre said to his hair.
Enjolras wishes he had the same conviction.
When he tied the medic identification band on Combeferre's arm that afternoon (and receiving a kiss on his forehead, a parting gift he received often but still made his heart beat a little faster everytime), just before they part ways, he had hoped that he can believe Combeferre’s words. Combeferre had never say anything to him that wasn’t true and he wasn’t about to start now. He focused on counting their friends head, protected by yellow construction worker’s helmet, and make sure none of their faces is showing behind their facemasks. He helped Marius with the zippers of his bag and called Eponine to make sure she's ready to keep watch on the street's CCTV. Out of the corners of his eye, he could see Combeferre’s retreating back along with other medics and felt a strange sense of dread in the pit of his stomach.