Grantaire's POV

Pride comes before the fall — that phrase is one ingrained into the minds of almost all humans, and I now understand why. If I hadn't tried to be that righteous friend who always saves other people and scorns the villains, then I wouldn't be hunched over the toilet at eleven o'clock at night as my insides attempt to free themselves of the prison in which they've resided for over twenty years. I wouldn't be shaking as if it were December in the middle of March. I wouldn't be thinking everything I see is out to get me because of my prior mistakes and the mistakes I'll make in the future. I wouldn't be able to see an eclipse in my eyes. I wouldn't be so ashamed of my actions, of my impulsiveness, of who I am. I would, however, be happy, even if that happiness is artificialized by downing ten painkillers per day.

I can deal with this on my own, and that's what I plan on doing, until I hear the front door click, and see Enjolras wandering around the apartment through the half-open door. He's whimsical, smiling and searching the place for me, and when he finally does find me, his smile is promptly wiped away, and he rushes towards the bathroom, where I lie defiled on the cold surface of the floor as I vomit up what little I had to eat today.

Enjolras kneels on the tile with me, scooting a hand over my back, and waving it around in circular motions, all the while slinging his brows together in confusion. "'Taire, what the hell happened?"

I look up at him, almost with the same characteristics as a child, and, in that typical groggy tone of someone who's been expelling their liver, admit, "I don't feel so good."

"Do you need me to get anything for you?" Enjolras waits for my response patiently, which arrives within a reaction time that would point a doctor towards a serious ailment, and when he spots me shaking my head subtly, he stands up anyway. "Well you at least need water to replace the fluids you lost barfing up your lunch."

I don't inform him that I didn't eat lunch, because that would make Enjolras more cautious of me, and by the end of the week I'll probably be on some sort of low key suicide watch, something extremely limiting to a free range artist. I also don't inform him that this isn't some regular sickness, no. I believe it to be the inevitable withdrawal symptom set, the one I've experienced before with the different medium of alcohol. Enjolras has witnessed it, actually, as he was most of the reason why I decided to quit drinking, but I don't think he's aware that withdrawal was what it was, and he won't figure it out this time, either.

Enjolras is back in the bathroom with bottled spring water in an instant. He offers the bottle to me but retracts it almost immediately in order to open the cap, because quite frankly I am in no shape to do so, with my vomit-stained hands and heavily perspiring skin.

I accept the gift graciously, lifting the item to my lips before slamming it down on the floor again to accommodate a sudden rush of puke flowing out of my mouth and into the toilet. I glance at Enjolras pathetically, who rebuts with a tilted smile. Once again I endeavor to take a swig of water, and this time it succeeds. I utilize the opportunity to swish it around my cheeks like mouthwash, an activity more disgusting than anything while it lasts, but afterwards I feel refreshed and glad that I did it, as most of the sourness of my stomach has been deposited into the porcelain bowl before me.

"T-thank you for being here, Enj," I sputter through the residual sickness spoiling my mouth, an obstruction to the words I need to speak. Despite my qualms about his presence, I now realize that having someone with me is a treasure unlike no other. I can feel safe, protected, worthy of someone, because they ventured here to help me, and that's just phenomenal.

Enjolras rubs my hunched back, nodding calmly. "I would be a terrible boyfriend if I didn't take care of you."

It's somewhat heartbreaking to understand that Enjolras is so concerned with being the perfect boyfriend to me, when before we kissed, all we did was fight, and sometimes it would escalate so badly that we wouldn't talk to each other for a few days unless we found an opportunity to throw insults wherever we could. We're dating, I assume, because he seeks to help me, and that makes him perfect in itself. Meanwhile, I am the epitome of trash, a barnacle who latches onto whatever it can find, and therefore ruins the appeal of the entire thing solely with my existence. I don't deserve Enjolras, not in the slightest.

"You're so wonderful," I sigh, all of the sudden enamored by the person with whom I am allowed to spend forever. "I would kiss you, but I smell and taste like vomit, and that's oftentimes a turn off to someone you're trying to impress."

Enjolras giggles, a bittersweet melody to my aching ears. "I appreciate the sentiment, Grantaire."

A sappy smile lacquers my visage. "I appreciate you, Enjolras."

~~~~~

A/N: these chapters just keep getting shorter and shorter bc I really want to finish this clusterfuck of bad decisions

but this ending is gonna fuk u up

~Dakootie