Grantaire's POV

Look, I can endure an argument. Most other people can, too. I'm not some over-sensitive diva who only accepts things if they go their way. That's not me at all. In fact, more often than not, I'm the one who has to settle for less than even a compromise, giving myself to whatever it is that the world wants for me and for those around me. I'm not so accustomed to the highlife of moral maintenance, and that's something I can live with.

But what I can't live with is Enjolras firing out these insults at me like he never cared for me in the first place, and that may be true, but only to some extent. After all, he was the one who decided to invite me to his apartment for some reason (and that reason is still unknown, but I don't suppose it was to bicker with me like drunken fools). We're friends, and he would agree to that just as much as I would, though I'm not sure why. Nevertheless, friends are bound to certain duties, duties that are kind in nature, duties that are meant to preserve friendship and preserve the happiness of both parties in the relation. But people are people, and they're disposed towards breaking a few rules here and there, disposed towards slipping outside of what a faithful friend should be. Arguments can be healthy sometimes, but not when they occur so frequently that seventy-five percent of your exchanges with someone is meant to scorn them, like Enjolras and me.

And for some fucking reason (it seems I have no idea what's going on in my life anymore), Enjolras decided that today was the day that we would fight even more than usual, as if that's possible to achieve. Yet, Enjolras is a determined man, filled with motivation, a man who never ceases to surprise me with accomplishments I never predicted could be accomplished, so it's only his nature to argue above the terrain at which I thought arguing fell short. He's the gift that keeps on giving, no matter if his gifts are pleasant or not — in this case, they were not.

And that's how I'm finding myself on the street in the middle of March, thrown from Enjolras' apartment in a move that other people would peg to me, when, in reality, it was Enjolras' acerbity that drugged me up with the display of my primal instincts, and soon enough I just had to run, because I was definitely not ready to take on the savage beast I saw before me.

My coat is as thin as my patience with my former friend, so both physical and mental chills work their way around me, like an icy hug, because — believe it or not — I am in need of a consolation, now more than ever, so a hug would be nice if it weren't from something as cold as the March air. My friends wouldn't expect this of me, but I have feelings, just like them, and though I hide those ghastly emotions with casual self-deprecation formatted to extract a laugh or two, they're still present and haunting, and they've just now emerged fully in order to bite me in the ass for being so fucking foolish as to provoke someone who was due to explode at any second. Enjolras is a bomb, and I ran out of time. He shattered everything I thought I knew, but still I must face him at meetings with my other friends, friends who aren't nearly as spiteful towards me as he is, and I will be forced to remember how he shouted at me, how he told me subtlety and with words to leave and ever come back, but I have to come back, as is mandatory by law of the people who still care about us and who still care about us mending our broken friendship, though mending broken china is near impossible. We were fragile from the start, and I guess we were just handled improperly. That's that. I'm done with any future protests my friends may put up, and I'm done with Enjolras.

I thought so much hate was incapable of anyone, let alone Enjolras, but, as I said, he just keeps on surprising me with how much he can achieve. One day probably not too far in the future, once I say something stupid like I always do, I'll realize that he can up his game of acrimony even more, and that theory will be tested on me. For now, I think he's focusing on his recovery, because I am admittedly a handful — an insolent, childish handful, attempted to be clutched in those small palms Enjolras possesses, and if I truly love him, then I should be glad I left him alone. It's the least I can do.

Not to mention that I dropped the news that I'm fucking in love with him, which is always something strenuous to digest, even if we didn't just argue only moments before. I mean, yeah, it's obvious that I've been fawning over him for the past few months, with every wink and every smirk and every sigh when I know that he'll never reciprocate my feelings. It would be clear as day to a fucking stranger, too, but it's never seemed as clear to Enjolras. He's always wrapped up with something else, like improving the world (which is a fair cause, and shouldn't be interrupted by my mindless chatter; I'm actually quite proud of him for his ambitions), and whenever he gives me the time of day, it's to scold me for being the petulant child I know I am, I know I always will be. He doesn't have time to notice anything about me, besides the wild mess of dark curls he tells me to trim, or how my clothes are always splattered by some sort of art device, or my legs dangling off of chairs I shouldn't touch, nothing that defines me, nothing that would appeal to anyone. It sure as hell has never appealed to Enjolras, and now nothing ever will, now that I've fucked shit up between us.

The fact that Enjolras was so calm during the debate irks me, too. Usually, he unleashes his full artillery of anger upon me, shouting and cursing and saying whatever he can so that I cower away from him (which I never do, both because I never want to be alienated from Enjolras more so than I already am, and because I'm stronger than he thinks I could ever be, if he's unaware just how much of a stubborn asshole I come across as), and usually I can withstand it. But this time was different. He did not shout, nor curse, nor insult me with diluted claims. He spoke directly, with no apprehension, with no fear, with no guilt. He wasn't confident, no. He was just numb, so fed up with me that the stress subdued itself from his mindset, like a heat so strong that it chills to cold. With the mixture of Enjolras' overly collected nature, and me informing him that I'm head over heels mad for him when I've never believed in anything else, the situation will forever be a prominent one in my memory, and may be known as the last time anything was ever somewhat okay between us.

All I want is a reprieve, from all of it. I don't know how I'll obtain it, or how long it'll last, but I need it like plants need sunlight, like I need Enjolras in my pathetic little life. My reprieve will only be temporary, but temporary is all I ask. I'm used to the scanty amounts, the scraps, and the scraps have never looked as delicious as they do now. But there are no scraps this time, because why would I deserve them? I am reduced to nothing, not even worthy of the leftovers, and I will receive nothing.

Defeated, I shove my hands into the pockets of my jacket in an action that will hopefully regain some of my dominance, because I need to feel powerful in this moment of the complete opposite, but unfortunately I am left bare. Fortunately, however, I stumble across something lurking within the cushioned pockets, something given to me a few days ago by my med student friend named Joly for my incessant migraines, a product of living inside of this conflicted inferno for twenty dreadfully slow years.

Painkillers, just what I need for the dreary expanse that is living in this torture device of a body. Checking the other pocket, I quickly confirm that these painkillers are the only things in my jacket, and I need an occupation of some sort, so I opt to utilize them in some shape.

Painkillers are meant to treat the physical effects of being fucking human, as we all are, and that's only under certain circumstances — as in, when you're actually in physical pain. However, since mental tragedies are often somatized into physical results, what could a pill or two hurt, yeah? And even if I'm not in physical pain, and have no risk of being in physical pain, what an artistic thing it is to use painkillers on my poor emotional health. It's somewhat of an abstract solution, and maybe the trusty placebo effect will join in on the action, too. I need all the help available for this horrid state in which I'm dwelling and in which I will be dwelling for a while, as the wounds Enjolras dragged into my skin are quickly fading to scars, albeit no less painful and no less reminiscent of that heated altercation of only a couple minutes prior to where I am now (though you can't really expect me to keep track of time when everything's firing off at once inside my mind, which is why the painkillers seem like such a smart tactic to use right now), and at least this time, those scars were not inflicted by me, and while it would be such a treat to tack the blame onto the person who is the rightful convict, there's still a portion of me, a portion holding on by the skimpiest of threads, who retains just as much vigor as Enjolras does, who is vouching for Enjolras, who still loves Enjolras with every fiber of its deteriorating presence, however limited, and that's the portion that tells me one painkiller is enough for now.

I can figure this out on my own, with only a bit of help from drugs, because I know what addiction feels like, how it thrashes you from every plain of security and leaves you for dead, and I'm not returning to that. No, I'll simply work things out in a natural way, with a bit of cheating taped onto the end. And even though this argument is one of the worst ones I've ever experienced with Enjolras, I have a sprinkle of unfounded faith that I can get through this.

~~~~~

A/N: everything is just so b a d,,,,,,,ohmygodwe'realldead

but honestly i fucked shit up so early in the story like ??? I should let my readers live for once but I just really like sad stories

~Da[n]k[meme]ota