Enj Is Probably Saving Puppies (decidewhoweare) wrote in wariscoming, @ 2015-01-01 22:13:00 |
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Entry tags: | enjolras, grantaire |
Who: Grantaire and Enjolras
What: Eating toast
When: A few days ago
Where: The Inn
Status: Complete
Since he'd first disappeared into his room over two days ago, Enjolras was yet to make an appearance. If he was coming out for food, it was early in the morning, though Grantaire suspected he hadn't eaten at all. Which was why he was finally going to bring an end to Enjolras' self imposed exile, whether he wanted company or not. He didn't particularly care if it mattered to his friend, it mattered to him that Enjolras didn't make himself sick. He'd be a hypocrite if he told Enjolras to stop hiding away, to get on with it despite his grief, but that didn't mean he wouldn't make sure he at least looked after himself.
He didn’t understand the seal. How it could do something like this to someone like Enjolras. Someone who spent his time caring for everyone around him. Grantaire might have thought half the battles were futile, might have mocked him for them, but that didn’t change the fact that Enjolras cared enough to do it.
He didn't know how helpful two pieces of toast and a mug of tea was going to be, but it was the most he expected Enjolras would eat. And at least it was something. Balancing the small plate on top of the mug, he knocked twice on the door. Switching the mug back to his free hand, he waited for the response he’d received more than once over the last few days. Previously, he’d accepted them. This time they wouldn’t deter him.
It wasn't that Enjolras didn't appreciate what his friend was doing. He was trying so hard to help, and the logical part of him knew that. But currently, all he could think about was how badly it hurt. How badly it always seemed to hurt and why did he bother falling in love in the first place if all it did was cause this sort of pain? He'd given up everything to try and put this family back together and all it had done was stolen his wife from him. Right before Christmas, a holiday he'd fought so hard to make better the year before. Now all of the fight had drained from him and he couldn't be bothered to try.
So when he heard the knock on the door for the third time, he merely rolled over, pulling the blanket over his head. He'd barely left the bed since he'd found her missing. While he hadn't allowed himself to fully break down, he knew he was teetering on the edge. It should have frightened him, or caused him to get it together. Instead, he welcomed it.
"Not now, 'Taire. Go away." It was the most he could manage. His voice was weak and he knew it and he couldn't have looked or sounded less like the leader that Grantaire had watched him become. The sad part was? He didn't care. He just didn't care about much anymore.
There they were, the words he’d come to expect over the past 48 hours. The ‘not now’, was new though. “Not now?” He asked back through the door, resisting the urge to bang his head against it. Realising he was doing exactly what he wasn’t going to do, and letting the words stop him, he opened the door instead. “You probably shouldn’t say things like that when there never will be a now, Apollo.” He moved to the emptier side of the bed, sitting the toast down on the bedside table with the tea.
Not waiting for any sort of response he moved to the window, opening the curtains just far enough to let some light in. He was well acquainted with the concept of hiding away in a dark room, and the last thing Enjolras needed was to start down any sort of path that led him to where Grantaire had gone.
Turning back to the bed, he eyed the pile of blankets that had yet to move. “You’ve got ten seconds to emerge from your cocoon voluntarily before I make it happen.”
Had he always been this infuriating or was it a recent development? Enjolras truly wasn't certain but he did know he sort of wanted to throw things at the man as he not only entered the room uninvited, but proceeded to move about as if he had been welcomed. Though he wasn't able to see what the other man was doing, Enjolras could sense it wasn't something he was going to be pleased with.
"Are you finished?" he asked bitterly, peeking one eye out from beneath the blankets. He probably looked like hell but he didn't much care. The only person who cared about how he looked, the only one who mattered in that regard, was gone.
The reminder sent a fresh wave of pain through him and he simply buried himself further. It was awful, worse than he'd ever imagined, and he wanted to apologize to Grantaire a thousand times over.
He just barely resisted the urge to make comment about Enjolras’ hair when just the top of his head appeared beneath the blanket. Now was not the time for mocking, he firmly reminded himself, ignoring the question and sitting on the side of the bed, by his friends feet. The trouble was, realistically he was finished. Because he didn’t know what to say. Or, he knew what people were supposed to say in these situations, but he knew just how empty and pathetic they sounded, and how angry they had made him. For anyone to dare try and pretend they knew how you felt. It was nothing more than an insult. And with that experience to guide him, he chose instead to stay quiet where platitudes and comfort were concerned.
“Just...eat something, and I’ll shut up. That’s all I ask.” Once they had that out of the way, they could deal with the rest. Leaning forward he picked up the plate, leaving the mug for now, before twisting around to flop unceremoniously on his back beside the blanket lump currently masquerading as Enjolras. He set the plate on the mattress between them. “You can even stay lying down. It’s nice, actually. Your bed is far more comfortable than mine.”
The sound from the blanket lump could only be described as a groan. The idea of eating made his stomach churn. A bit of toast should have been something he could handle and yet he wanted to gag just thinking of it. "I'm not hungry, Grantaire," he protested, annoyance evident in his already weak voice.
Honestly, he knew this wasn't healthy. His head understood that he needed to get it together. He needed to get up, eat, talk to people. But everything around him, even the bed he currently lay in, was a stark reminder of her. The entire Inn had been hers and now he didn't know what to do.
Then there was a presence beside him and the mattress shifted and despite himself, he eased the blankets down just enough to see a somewhat smug looking Grantaire. "The hell are you doing?" he asked. And the tiniest sliver of a smile crossed his face. "You're not staying so don't get comfortable."
He treated that question as the rhetorical one it obviously was, instead choosing to do the exact opposite of what Enjolras said, making a show of getting completely comfortable. He put his hands behind his head on the pillow, crossing his feet at the ankles as though he intended to settle in for a while. He knew he wasn't hungry, he didn't need him to say it to know. Which was exactly why of all the options he'd settled on the toast. "I'm staying until you behave and eat your toast. I know I'm a terrible cook, but even I can manage toast. Not even burnt this time." He'd even be nice and consider letting him stop after one piece. Not that he'd actually say that. If Enjolras ate both of his own accord that was even better.
Turning his head he faced his friend, taking in the too dark shadows, the bleak look in eyes that usually burned with so much passion. It broke his heart to see his friend this way. He should never look so defeated. Even if the smile was encouraging, it wasn’t enough. "I know that it hurts," he spoke quietly after a minute of silence. "But I promise, no matter how much you might think it won't, life mocks you and carries on. And you are not meant to live it wasting away, Apollo. So eat your toast."
He wanted to continue to protest. He wanted to argue and to fight, to say that no, life wouldn't carry on and couldn't, not without her. But pain and loneliness hadn't made him stupid. Of all the people in the world who might have a clue how much pain he was in, Grantaire was the one. The man lying by his side was the one person he knew he couldn't argue with on that point.
Slowly, almost painfully, he pushed the covers away from his head and sighed. Grantaire was all over Eponine's side of the bed, like a stubborn cat. It was almost painful. The pillow had still smelled of her shampoo and now it would smell like stubborn and annoying best friends. And that was hard.
"You could still manage to burn toast," he protested weakly, but he forced himself into a sitting position and reached for one of the pieces of bread. What good would withering away to nothing do him? The smell made him want to gag all over again, but he tore off a small piece and started the slow, pain-staking process of chewing.
For how stubborn Enjolras could be, it was a weight lifted to see him reach for the piece of toast and start eating, even if it was painfully slowly. "You're right," he agreed as he watched him pick up the first piece, "I could. How privileged are you that you get the good stuff?" Though Enjolras had pushed himself in to a sitting position as slowly as if he was an old man, Grantaire remained where he was.
"Gavroche ate vegetables today. Voluntarily." He spoke conversationally, calmly, not wanting Enjolras to feel as though what he was doing was being scrutinised, turning his gaze away from him as though the paint under his nail was far more interesting. "I feel it was a big step. It wasn't even on a pizza. He'll be cooking them next." Their young friend had been devastated at the loss of his sister, though hadn't quite reacted like Enjolras. He'd become quiet, though, which was equally as concerning. Grantaire had been spending the majority of his time with him.
"When you're done with the toast you should probably consider a shower. You stink." He glanced at the man beside him from the corner of his eye, corner of his mouth lifting in a smirk he couldn't quite mask, though he attempted it. He was hoping for the reaction the comment would usually get.
Gavroche. God, he'd been so selfish. There he had considered nothing but his own pain and his younger brother was hurting, too. Instead of being there for him, supporting him, he'd hidden himself away. "Is he okay?" he asked tentatively. Obviously he was eating, which was a step ahead of Enjolras apparently.
Then Grantaire had to ruin it. It had hardly been long enough for him to start decomposing with smell. "If it offends you, no ones asking you to stay," Enjolras reminded him. "I told you to go away, you're the one who burst in here anyway. I always said we needed to get a lock for this door." And now it didn't matter. Now if changes needed to be made around the Inn, it would be up to him to do so.
The thought made him place his half eaten slice of toast back on his plate. His eyes closed and for a moment he simply focused on keeping it together. He wasn't going to break down. Not there and not then.
"He's been quiet. But I think he's okay. He talks to me, at least." And the eating was definitely an improvement. It would have been harder if he'd had to worry about the two of them starving themselves. Grantaire was not accustomed to being the one in the position of worrying about others health. That had always been Joly's job. He'd been the worrier, the one who fretted and nagged and made sure everyone was taking care in the cold, eating enough or not drinking too much, in Grantaire's case. Now thanks to Eponine being so cruelly taken from them he'd been thrust into a position of making sure the two of them were looking after themselves when most days it was still an act of will to be looking after himself. Something else done for Enjolras.
He rolled his eyes, though he was secretly pleased at the strength of the reaction. "Finish that and I'll go," he gestured at the plate again. "Half a piece of toast in two days is not enough to eat. And I'm not putting up with you when you make yourself sick." Which they both knew was a lie. Or maybe Enjolras really didn't. But the simple fact was, he'd put up with his friend through and in anything. Would stand by him in anything, and had.
He was tempted to remind him of the nature of the seal, that people had been sent home and returned countless times. It had happened with himself, or so he'd been told. But right now he really didn't think that would help. So instead it was all he could think to do to simply pester him until he gave in.
He did feel a bit better knowing Gav was at least functioning. He hadn't done the weak thing, as Enjolras had. But then, Gavroche didn't have the memories of the Inn that Enjolras did. Helping Eponine to put it back together, to bring it back to its glory days. Watching her grow from a timid girl to a bright and successful business woman. Falling in love along the way. Proposing in front of the Christmas tree, marrying on the grounds. The Inn felt haunted now. Everywhere he looked was a reminder of her. He was even considering taking another room to escape her memory in their shared one.
Sighing in resignation, he picked up the toasted bread once more. "It needs more butter," he protested with a grumpy edge to his voice. But he continued to eat despite it, proving he really didn't mind the toast as it was. Or else, he simply didn't care.
Because Enjolras, too, knew the nature of the Seal. It gave just as much as it took away. And yet, so rarely did anyone remember. Grantaire hadn't. Gavroche had. And how long was he supposed to sit and wait and hope? It could be months or even years before it returned her. Holding his breath, hoping every time the Seal was active that it would bring her home to him... The idea was exhausting. And the worst of it was, if she did return and didn't remember? It would break him.
"I thought I'd take him out with me tomorrow. I want to go back to the art store Lydia found and he needs to get outside. You're welcome to join us." Which was said knowing full well that there was absolutely no chance that he would.
Of course, of all the things to complain about, Enjolras would complain about the toast. "My most humble apologies, Apollo. I'll keep that in mind for next time." Ridiculous grumbling complaints aside, he was eating it again, and if it wouldn't get him told off, he might have cheered. He felt terrible for even thinking it, but even in his friends anguish he couldn't help but savour time spent alone with him. And what sort of person did that make him? A question that was reason enough to just dismiss the thought. He'd stay and make sure Enjolras finished his toast, then go back and sit in the quiet and draw and talk to Gavroche and not think about it.
As it was, he was hardly in any sort of position to judge anyone for their methods of grieving. He'd turned something which you were supposed to deal with and move on from in to his life's pursuit. "Do you want some tea to wash away the taste of the intolerably under buttered toast?" He gestured vaguely in the direction of the table beside the bed. That was probably lacking in enough sugar and milk and heaven knows what else, too. But despite knowing his own preference in such a situation might be a well spiked coffee, he doubted Enjolras would feel the same after over two days without eating.
An outing sounded good in theory, but he knew he'd be useless and intolerable. But rather than dwell on how horrible being outside sounded at the moment, he tried to deflect with humor. "No, thank you. You can bring me back some watercolors, though, I've decided to show you up." As if that would ever happen. Grantaire could paint a sunset without blinking while Enjolras would paint two stick figures holding hands and call it his masterpiece.
Wordlessly, he held out his hand for the mug, then reached over Grantaire when he was too slow. Also, he didn't relish the idea of his friend dropping the tea in his reclined position. The tea was just right, made exactly as he preferred. Strong with just a little sugar. The work of someone who knew him well. A fact he was grateful for, because he didn't think he could fake it around strangers. He didn't need to with Grantaire.
"Thanks," he murmured, picking at the second piece of toast. Maybe if he could just finish a few more bites, it would calm the storm that had been brewing in his stomach for some time.
The attempt at a joke, pathetic though it was, was better than anything Grantaire could have hoped for, and so he took it and ran with it for all it was worth. “Baby steps, Apollo. I think it’s best we start small. I’ll get you some finger paints. Maybe some face paint.” He hardly considered himself an expert on the subject, but he knew he could put a picture together and make it recognisable as what he’d planned. Enjolras might need to work at it a bit. Then again, he had an uncanny ability to become good at most things he tried. Art would likely be no different.
He was stopped from moving to get the tea when Enjolras leaned across him, and so he stayed where he was, eyes on his friends arm as it passed over the top of him, feeling a bit more like he could look at him now without making it seem like he was just making sure he was eating. He’d started on the second piece without prompting now anyway, and that was enough. “Maybe I’ll make the ultimate sacrifice next time and cook you some eggs.” It was no secret that Enjolras enjoyed them whilst Grantaire couldn't stand them. It was for the same reason he picked every piece of mushroom off his pizza when Enjolras was the one to order it.
There was no complaint about the tea, and so he figured his memory hadn’t failed him on that. They’d had enough cups of tea together over the last few months. On all those occasions when tea had been the last thing he’d been wanting to drink, and Enjolras had decided he’d had enough coffee for the day.
"If you buy me face paint, watch how you sleep," Enjolras warned. It felt odd, teasing his friend, being almost happy. Though he knew it wouldn't hurt forever, it certainly felt like it. But he supposed people also had complex layers of emotions. It was absolutely possible to be miserable and still enjoy time spent with someone who cared enough to make sure he ate and showered and took care of himself. "I think you'd look brilliant covered in little blue stars. I could probably manage that in my subpar artistic abilities."
His eyebrows lifted, amusement evident on his face at the mention of cooking eggs. Grantaire seemed to flinch at even the smell of Enjolras' breakfast cooking, so the offer to make it was an honor indeed. "You'd likely make them too runny," he insisted. "Or too hard. I'm still not entirely sold on your culinary skills."
Which left him wondering what the hell he was going to do about the Inn. Thanks to his Bauble, they didn't need to worry about funding it. But it had been Eponine's dream, not his. He'd merely supported her as she'd needed it. His cooking was okay but nothing worth serving and he didn't fancy the idea of chasing after Inn guests' every need. "I don't know what to do now," he finally admitted out loud. "About any of this. The Inn, Gavroche, her friends..." Absently, he twisted his wedding band around his finger before picking the tea back up to give his hands something else to do.
Laughing, he gave his friend a disbelieving look. “It’s sad that I can picture you attempting that. Though I thought we’d established you favour red paint. Just remember there are plenty of ways I can paint portraits of you.” Though he sincerely doubted it would be possible to depict Enjolras in a way that wasn’t flattering.
“Runny eggs?” He pulled a face. “They’re slimy and disgusting enough as it is without making them runny.” The thought alone of eating them was enough to make him lose his own appetite. “I have never once claimed to have good cooking skills. Not that you can call yourself a chef.”
He didn’t give an immediate response to the confession, thinking over the words. “Why don’t you bring in some help? Hire someone to do the cooking for you. You’ve gone on and on about that place of your friends that helps people find work. Why don’t you hire someone downtrodden who can cook? If you want to keep the inn going, that is. You don’t have to you know. It’s your choice.” He didn’t want to offend by suggesting it, but he could keep Eponine’s memory alive without the inn. Or just as easily have people here to help if that was an inappropriate consideration. “Gavroche will have to go, obviously.” He kept a straight face as he went on. “As for her friends, I sort of thought they were your friends too.”
"Maybe I'm not feeling much like painting with the blood of angry men," Enjolras countered, the corners of his lips turned up just slightly. "Give me a few days, I'll have a whole speech about the color blue." There was nothing to be said about the painting of his portrait. Grantaire had drawn him and painted him before so he knew no matter how unflattering he made it, it wasn't necessarily the way he'd seen him.
He'd half finished the second piece of toast, hopefully enough to get Grantaire to leave him alone for the day. He set it down and turned his attention to the tea, breathing in the scent before taking a long drink. "I can cook," he protested, his voice dropping. "I just haven't had to much." Why would he, when he'd been in love with a woman who was brilliant in the kitchen? Just another of the dozens of things he was missing about her.
The truth was, he had no desire to run the Inn. He was no Innkeeper. Being the Innkeeper's husband had been more than enough for him. He didn't want to let her dream die, though. It felt like losing yet another part of her. "I suppose we'll stay open for the displaced for now," he began slowly, "and just close the rest for business. Honestly, I'm in no mood to make major decisions." Later, when he'd had time to let the pain dull, when her image wasn't quite so fresh in his mind, maybe then he could think more clearly about long term decisions. "I'm sure Robin could recommend someone if we decided to go that route. Till then, we're keeping Gav, tempting as it may be. And...I suppose some of them were my friends, too. I just... I don't make friends that easily. You know that."
“I’ll believe it when I see it. For now I remain convinced your best ability lies in ordering pizza. Must be all that skill with speeches. Do they give you a discount if you orate at them long enough?” His expression was teasing as he watched his friend set down the remainder of the toast. He’d leave that lie for now, impressed with how much he’d managed. He knew just how intolerable he’d been himself in those first few weeks he’d been returned from Panem. Even if that was for different reasons, he was trying his best not to be too hypocritical.
“That’s easy enough to organise. Give Gavroche five minutes and he’ll have the place cleared out.” Though he was joking, he silently agreed. Enjolras didn’t need to deal with that kind of responsibility right now, and most of it was going to fall to him, despite the help he was giving, where he could. He eyed his friend sceptically at that comment. “People are stupid. But then you never did believe that. If they took the time to look past all your speeches and causes for homeless puppies they would befriend you in a moment.”
Enjolras merely smirked. "Believe it or not, I did keep myself alive during my bachelor years, and it wasn't by pizza. Particularly in Paris as we hadn't yet discovered how brilliant it was." Sighing, he put his plate on the bedside table. That was all he was going to manage for now. He did appreciate the effort, though. Maybe next time he'd work his way up to adding peanut butter or some jam. Which just reminded him of John and how the Seal seemed to hate him, and if he could tie Gavroche and Grantaire down and keep the Seal from getting to them, he might just consider it. "Besides," he continued, trying not to dwell, "if I were so superior at ordering pizza, you wouldn't pick off half the toppings."
"We only have one paying guest at the moment and he checks out this week," Enjolras said thoughtfully, the joke flying over his head. "I'll have to contact anyone with reservations, though." The thought made him a bit ill. It wasn't something Eponine would ever have done. But Eponine wasn't there and that was the entire problem, wasn't it? If she were, they wouldn't be considering this at all.
At his teasing, Enjolras merely smiled slightly. "Let the puppies go, Grantaire, I was thirteen." Which felt like a lifetime ago, now, but had really only been ten years. He felt like an old man, not the twenty-three year old with his stolen life in front of him. In truth, he should have been dead. Every moment was one more he was lucky to have. But he just couldn't make himself feel lucky just then. "Besides. I have you, at least."
“No, not pizza. Probably not food either. On the flame of equality and patria.” He didn’t comment when Enjolras set the plate aside. He felt like he’d had a victory with getting him to eat at all. If he finished the tea that would be a bonus. “Picking off the toppings is the best bit. It adds a whole new level of excitement to dinner. It also seems to irritate you, and that’s never a bad thing.”
He shrugged when Enjolras mentioned calling the people with reservations, or the best version of a shrug while lying down. “I can call them, it won’t take long.” It wasn’t a big thing and yet he knew it would be for Enjolras at the moment. “Never,” he returned the smile, amused. “The puppies will never be forgotten.” He bit back a sigh when he tacked on the comment about having him there, instead letting the amused smile grow. That was mostly how he felt where Enjolras was concerned. Not that he’d ever say that aloud. “Ah yes, everyone’s favourite consolation prize. What’s not to love when it comes to my company.”
Enjolras merely rolled his eyes at the jokes regarding his patriotism and, of course, his fight for a better world. Grantaire would always mock him for it. He didn't and couldn't understand why, when all he wanted to do was make life better for people. He got judged just the same.
"Actually," he began, choosing to smirk instead, "it doesn't bother me, except you refuse to place the order so you can get what you'd like. I'm not opposed to a non...well, me." Mr. Perfectionist smiled anyway and shrugged. "They even do this remarkable high tech thing where they-get this-put toppings on only half the pizza!"
In some ways it still felt too raw and too fresh to be laughing. As if it were a betrayal to be happy when his wife had been returned. Returned to her death and wasn't that a sobering thought. And it might have broken him if he hadn't heard Grantaire's words. "You are no consolation prize, mon ami," he said softly turning his head to look down at his best friend. "You're one of the few good parts about this last week. I don't know what I'd do without you right now."
“You were just always the one to do it.” Like with many things, and even with something as simple as ordering pizza, it was natural for Enjolras to step up and take control. Grantaire was just as happy to let it happen. “If you want to start ordering pizza without mushrooms I’m not going to argue. Gavroche would prefer it with less green, whilst we’re on the subject.”
Enjolras seemed unable to stay laughing for long, before his eyes grew shadowed, obviously with thoughts of Eponine. Still, he’d never been one to tread too carefully when it came to the things he said, and he wasn’t about to start lying to spare feelings now. “You’d still be wrapped up in your blankets, I imagine. But the difference between you and I, Apollo, is that you would only hide for so long.” He wouldn’t let the hurt defeat him, wouldn’t let it control him. He had far too much strength for that, far too much certainty that the things he was doing were right. It was something Grantaire had always admired in him.
"Because I was the one who knew how the telephone worked," Enjolras reminded him, the barest hint of laughter reaching his eyes. "You're more than capable of doing so now. You can even do it on the internet." He did make a mental note, though, to start ordering half without mushrooms. Or just get Grantaire his own pizza. He deserved that much. "And as that's one of the only ways I can get Gav to eat his vegetables, the green stuff will continue."
He hoped Grantaire was right. That he wouldn't want to hide away forever. That some of the passion for life that he typically carried would return. At the moment, though, he was so content to just stay buried. No one would bother him, no bad news would reach him. The only thing he had to worry about was losing the only family he had left: his young brother-in-law, and the friend who had never turned his back on him. "I don't know," he replied wearily. "It's sounding pretty tempting right now."
“Why would I do that, when you manage it so well? I’d hate for you to feel like you were losing control of something.” Or something he could have control of, anyway. It seemed like there was less of that in this place. “As for Gav and his vegetables, I guess you just don’t have the talent for talking him in to it that I do. Minimal bribery is involved.”
He nodded in silent agreement, picking at the blue paint under his fingernail again. “It is. Tempting, I mean. Unfortunately the problems pile up at your door and wait for the moment you finally open it again. You can trust me on that one.” Which didn’t mean he didn’t fall into the vicious circle of doing it again and again. There were those times when even the thought of facing the day and the world in all its harsh reality was exhausting.
Frankly, Enjolras felt enough like he was losing control. He had no say over the Seal at all. And that was hard. Particularly now. He hadn't been able to stop it from taking his friends. Marius, Grantaire, and Gavroche had all been taken, to say nothing of how many had left who weren't from his world. And now it had stolen his wife; he had wanted to wait to get married but she had insisted. She didn't want either of them taken before they could be wed. It was like somehow she'd known. Shaking himself out of his thoughts, he let a glimmer of a smirk cross his face. "Maybe he just likes to pick fights with me. You can lead the vegetable battle from now on."
Though logically he knew Grantaire was right, he still hated this. He still didn't want to go out and face the world. To see all those eyes filled with pity and to see a world she wasn't in. It was winter, and the people of the streets would need warm things and she wasn't there to help them. And what was he going to say to them? She had died, honestly, but what if the Seal brought her back?
It was too complicated, too confusing, and he flopped backwards to the mattress at Grantaire's side. All the thinking was doing was giving him a migraine. "I know. And I'm sorry. Tomorrow, maybe. I'll try tomorrow." Or the next day. Definitely by the weekend.
"That's fine," he replied flippantly. "So long as you're aware bribery will be key." Which was only mostly true. Gavroche had a knack for getting what he wanted from a situation, and they both knew it.
He turned his head again, watching his friend with a small frown. "Don't." He spoke quietly but earnestly. "After everything you don't ever apologise for the way you feel. She was taken from you and that's not fair. It's nothing you ever deserve." And he'd argue with anyone who said differently. Enjolras could take as long as he needed and he'd make sure of that.
Enjolras could only nod at that. Because no, it wasn't fair. Life wasn't fair and no one knew it like the man at his side. That didn't make him feel any less weak. Probably because he'd lectured Grantaire for so long. He'd nearly given up on him entirely. And now that he knew his own intense levels of pain from loss, he hated himself just a little for the way he'd behaved. All that time he really had been the marble statue everyone had accused him of being. Not letting emotion break the surface. Probably for this reason. Probably due to the fear of falling apart.
He'd let his own best friend down and now, despite that, the man lay beside him and told him to feel whatever he wanted. It was almost too much and he nearly broke. But no. He wouldn't, he couldn't start crying now. He'd made it this far. But the choking of his voice was unmistakable. "I don't deserve this. You. You know I don't. But I am so damn glad you're here."
He shook his head, eyes still on his friends face. He hated that he knew Enjolras was doing everything right now not to fall apart. That he knew how important it was to him to be strong and hold it together. He wanted to tell him to just let it go (despite the spontaneous song that would prompt from Gavroche if he knew). He wanted to tell him it was okay. But he couldn’t, because to him that was a lie. And he wanted to, but he couldn’t lie to Enjolras.
“There’s a lot of things I mock you for. But I’ve never thought of you as stupid. I don’t know where the hell you got the idea you don’t deserve me.” It was some kind of miracle Enjolras even put up with him at all. Reaching for his friend's wrist, he wrapped his fingers around it in a brief squeeze before letting go, rolling off the bed to get to his feet. “Hide as long as you need. I think I should probably go make sure the kitchen hasn’t been burnt down and call those people. But I’m coming back with dinner and you’re eating it.”
Once he had the plate with its sad scrap of toast he walked back to the door, pausing as he opened it to look back at Enjolras. “You really should think about that shower, too.”
Enjolras felt the now familiar pull at his heart at the comforting touch. He'd needed that, more than even he had known. Maybe locking himself away hadn't been the best choice. Maybe what he had needed was his best friend.
"Then I guess I'll expect to be bothered by you at dinner time." And while he wasn't looking forward to the food, he found he almost craved the company. He pushed the blankets off of his lower half and stood. "Maybe I will. But then I'm going back to bed." His smile was small but it was there as he waved Grantaire out of his room and made his way to the bath.