Chapter Text
Enjolras isn't sure when his alarm forces him out of the reprieve of unconsciousness, but he is sure that the heavy weight in his chest isn't from the excess wine he had last night. The soft, burgundy light of early morning filters through his curtain, and his room is set ablaze by its radiance. It is bright. Far too bright for Enjolras to deal with in his current state of mind. He sluggishly lifts his hand to silence the blaring alarm and buries himself deeper into his bed. Since when did his body feel so heavy?
He blinks a couple times, blue eyes clouded with fatigue and a bone-deep weariness that sleep won't cure. Enjolras raises his arm and lays it over his eyes, blocking out the sun. He has to call in sick to work. He has to tell Grantaire not to worry. He has to tell his friends that he's fine. He has to read over the newest draft of his speech that he's delivering next monday. He has to- He realizes that he's hyperventilating. Breaths entering and leaving his chest too fast. He can't breathe- god, why can't he breathe?
Enjolras blindly stumbles out of bed, ripping the quilt off of him and desperately digging through his bathroom cabinets for his pills. His trembling fingers find the capsule, and his breathing is still way too fast. He needs to get in under control, he needs to get his life under control, he needs to stop thinking like this and be normal like his parents said. A trembling breath escapes his lips, and he quickly shakes out two pills into the palm of his hand, swallows, and slides down to his knees. "Fuck," he whispers. He leans against his bathroom wall, dizzy and confused. His vision is swimming and he's seeing in double, but at least his panic is reigned in. He swears under his breath as he sees the time on his phone.
9:57. He was supposed to be at work 3 hours ago. Quickly, he calls Grantaire. His friend picks up in 2 rings.
"Enj? Apollo? Are you okay? Why aren't you here? Did something happen? I can-" Grantaire is rambling, panic seeping into his usually aloof tone.
Enjolras pinches the bridge of his nose. It really is too early for this. "I'm fine."
Grantaire pauses. Enjolras can practically see the other man's eyebrows knitted together in concern, the other revolutionaries carefully watching Grantaire's reaction to the sudden call. "Are you sure?"
Enjolras winces. Damn Grantaire, always the perceptive one. "Yes, I'm sure. Woke up late. Didn't hear my alarm."
A longer pause this time. Enjolras can hear Grantaire psychoanalyzing every word that he speaks, every pause that Enjolras punctuates.
"You're not speaking in full sentences." The dark-haired man remarks.
"And your concern is unprecedented." Enjolras snaps back. Breathe in, breathe out. "I'll do my work from home. Just lead the rest of the meeting, Grantaire."
The blonde hears muffled swearing from the other side of the phone before he hangs up abruptly. He sighs, head tucked between his knees as he reminds himself to take deep breaths. He's okay- goddamn, nothing even happened so why the hell is he acting like this. Enjolras somehow drags himself back into bed and throws the blanket over his head. Everything is too much. He just wants to sleep.
And so he sleeps.
--
When Enjolras blearly blinks himself awake, he vaguely that the population of his bed had doubled. There is a dark-haired man, with eyes that radiate sympathy and muted concern. It was a familiar face.
"Grantaire?" Enjolras cringes at his own voice. He sounds as if he was going to chew a bunch of pills.
Grantaire stiffens, his hand that gripped Enjolras' arm tightened. The sinking feeling in Enjolras' stomach gets more intense.
"Enjolras," Grantaire says dumbly. His dark eyes are trained on the younger's blue ones, and he tries to dissect the hidden emotions hidden under the revolutionary's thick walls that he built around himself. "Why didn't you tell me?":
Enjolras forces himself up, back resting against the headboard. He narrows his eyes. "There is nothing to tell."
Grantaire laughs. It is a choked, tragic sound. He makes a grab for Enjolras' wrist. "Then what is this?"
Enjolras looks down to the underside of his pale wrist. Angry, swollen red lines glare back at him. His tongue feels heavy in his mouth. "It's nothing,"
Obviously, it's the wrong thing to say. Grantaire looks at him in outrage. "Nothing? Enj, this isn't nothing. You could've died! What would've happened if you cut too deep, if you lost control?"
The younger revolutionary stays silent. God, he doesn't have time for this. There are papers that need to be written, speeches that need to be drafted, injustices to remedy - he doesn't have time for his own selfish action. He yanks his wrist back from Grantaire's firm grasp, jolting the older man from his thoughts. Enjolras glares up at him and stumbles out of bed.
"Nevermind this, I need to get work done. If you want to make yourself useful, go home." His voice is flat.
Enjolras grabs his bag and walks to his door. Grantaire is still staring at him helplessly.
"If you aren't gonna leave, then at least sit down." Enjolras mutters before walking out the door and hearing it softly click behind him.