He really didn't know what to do with this, now. And that was hardly fair on Enjolras, not knowing how to deal with his friends open concern. And it wasn't his friends fault, it was his own inability to deal with the onslaught of emotions. But he sank down to sit beside him on to the couch, elbows resting on his knees and forehead resting on the heels of his palms, fingers sliding in to his hair. Yelling over or not, he was still stupidly hungover. Hell, Enjolras had probably never been that hungover in his life.
Not to mention he couldn't simply pretend what had happened hadn't happened. And he would if he could. But his eyes were still red and he still felt completely exposed, all the feelings he'd buried for so long too close to the surface. "I haven't really thought about it like that for a long time," he confessed. Being happy. Not that he'd spent every day miserable. That was hardly why he drank. If he was a sad drunk it would have been counter productive. No, drinking had become addictive because it had left him feeling better.
"You won't lose her. Not now, it wouldn't be fair." Of course, that was as useless a sentiment as wishing. He didn't think it was particularly fair what had happened to him. But he refused to believe it would happen to his friend. He shook his head at his friends apology, looking at him sideways for only a moment though he didn't lift his head.
"Don't do that. Don't apologise. Everything I said I was...we were just angry. Just...you know I don't blame you and it isn't your fault, anyway." And once he'd slept, once his eye and his hand and everything stopped hurting, he'd be able to do the same. To forget it. Because Enjolras might have seen something he'd kept hidden for a long time, but that didn't mean he was ready to face it. Not when it felt like this.