Enjolras' POV

Never in my life have I felt as bad as I do now. I really shouldn't feel bad, as Grantaire is the most insolent, disrespectful, perverted person I have ever had the displeasure of meeting, and yet here I am, sitting on my couch with no sight of movement for the past fifteen minutes, and all I want to do is apologize to that messy devil of a man, but Grantaire is long gone, and will probably be long gone for the rest of my life, all because I couldn't keep my shit in my head where it belongs. No, I just had to go and spew it onto someone I know cares for me, despite all of the times he nettles me with something so unimportant that it hurts, but I don't think anything can hurt more than knowing that I just ruined a friendship I thought I could fix some way or another, a friendship I thought had potential for being something greater than debates when we're supposed to be working on improving the world, but maybe our friendship is the thing that needs the most improvement, though that friendship has disintegrated in an instant because my anger finally boiled up to the point where it was uncontainable, and it all poured out like Mount Vesuvius onto the cities of Pompeii and Herculaneum below. That goddamn volcano destroyed thousands of lives, and I basically did the same, as Grantaire, being such a passionate artist, surely has many more layers to him than a thousand, and I plowed through them all by saying some stupid shit that I could've kept to myself, even if I meant it all wholeheartedly, and now I'm debating whether or not I even meant it at all.

I should be stronger than this, right? I, the fearless leader whom all my friends revere, the strategist with several tricks up his sleeve just in case his other plans don't work out when they're as stable as they come, the loyal friend who has been nothing less than a douchebag to someone who needed his friendship most of all, should be able to withstand this. I was not the one being singled out during this altercation. I, as far as I know, don't possess any qualities that Grantaire would be overly eager to point out in future arguments. He's light-hearted when he argues, because most of the time our arguments are based out of his sarcastic comments and why they're irrelevant, why he's irrelevant, nothing to do with me. I should not be ashamed of what transpired in our debate, as it was all about Grantaire's petulance and Grantaire's stubbornness and Grantaire's unwillingness to let me live a life where he is not such a prominent concern, where I do not worry about him every time I see him because he looks like death, where I do not wonder about what he's been eating or, more accurately, what he hasn't been eating, where I do not feel the urge to sort through his house like a rogue police officer from the World War Two era in search of something to convict him of being some sort of drug addict, because how else would he look so battered up? Grantaire has become important to me, even if he can't see it and even if he would deny it, as apparently he loves me, and apparently he's certain that his love for me will forever be unrequited, and apparently I'm such a fucking idiot to let this occur. I've lost a friend tonight, and I don't know how to get him back.

I'm sure that part of the problem is the fact that Grantaire is sure that I am beyond angry with him, that I would never want to see him again when, in reality, it is quite the opposite pole, so if I could just snag an opportunity to discuss what transpired with him, then some of our miscommunications may be soothed, and there would be less of an issue to work with. But it's not like Grantaire wants to see me again, because even if the debate was not about me, it was my fault that it happened, and he's paid the price for my stupidity.

Flawless, perfect, sweet Enjolras has made an irreparable mistake, and now I'm here on the couch, alone and without the person to which I owe an apology, just so fucking numb that pain of two kinds may be on their way again, and I have no fucking idea what to do now that I've ruined everything Grantaire spent months trying to build.

He persevered through every time I told him that he was a distraction, through every time I yelled at him for being so rowdy, through every time my body language and expressions assured him that we would be nothing more than enemies, but I've done too much damage now. I never fully realized how strong Grantaire is until this moment, this moment that's too unfortunate to cherish, because I could go a lifetime without knowing that Grantaire has the mental strength of what a giant would retain in physical strength, just as long as he wouldn't be hurt by my imbecilic mistakes, imbecilic mistakes that I cannot fix no matter how hard I try, and all I want to do is sob, but I can't, because I'm fucking numb beyond belief, yet everything hurts all over, but then again nothing hurts in any place, and it's all just a confusing mess with which I don't want to deal, but all of the sudden the door is swinging open to reveal my roommate Combeferre, and he'll of course ask why I'm sitting on the couch, lifeless, when my normal self would be cramming for college studies. I've always admired his perceptiveness, but now it's just a curse. Even if I could hide my distress for the time being so that Combeferre would not detect it, it would always arise later when I am discharged from my numbness and finally realize that tears are only natural but tears still burn nevertheless.

Combeferre is a natural problem solver. That's why he's earning top marks, why he won valedictorian by a long shot, why he's taking so many extra classes with ease. His IQ is phenomenal (not that mine isn't, although I'm not doing too well with my problem solving right now), so Combeferre could aid me if I would just open up. I'm not sure how difficult that would be, but it's worth a shot anyway. Besides, even if he's at a loss for a plan, he's still good friends with Grantaire, and he could convince Grantaire to talk to me again. If he can't achieve that by willingness, then he can just push us together randomly, lock us in a closet, and only release us when we've achieved a mutual understanding and partnership, hopefully better than what our relations looked like from the time since Grantaire and I met. It's a privilege to have a friend like Combeferre, and he's here to save me from the mess I so idiotically made.

I have never been one for physical affection or displaying my emotions for the world to see — as my businessman father claims that doing so paves the road to hell, though listening to my father has never brought me anywhere besides the den of immoral manipulation — but all I can do is fling myself into Combeferre's arms to partially console myself after ruining the relationship in which I was invested fixing, the relationship I could not fix, the relationship I destroyed. This is the only movement I have shoved out of my limbs in the past twenty minutes, and I can't say I like how it feels on my bones, although it does remove a portion of the numbness I've been experiencing, at least the physical component of it.

Combeferre's emotional range is unlike mine at the moment, registered on complete and utter confusion, because, as I said, I'm not one to display my emotions, and not one to fling myself into people's arms with the hope that they can provide me with some suitable advice after I just trashed my fucking life. Combeferre glances down at me from where I'm huddled into his chest, only spying the top of my blonde curls due to our height difference, and he sews his brows together, perplexed beyond compare. "Enj, are you okay?" he draws out, still unsure of my motives, as if I would deceive my best friend.

"What the hell do you think?" I snip, so reminiscent of how I treated Grantaire before he promptly left and decided he wouldn't be so well disposed towards returning ever again, and I would expeditiously revise my tone if it weren't for the fact that the words have already jumped from my mouth and reminded me of exactly the way I made my grand mistake earlier tonight.

"Okay, so you're riled up." Combeferre continues to showcase an array of confused expressions, not really sure what to make of the situation, and honestly neither do I. "Would you like to tell me what's wrong?"

Not really. I'd rather not bring back more memories of what I did to someone I only wanted to fix. That was really my intention, no matter how much I convoluted it by the time Grantaire and I were finished bickering, but that's what bickering does for you — it redirects the route towards which you want things to go. I was hoping that I could convince Grantaire that being so stubborn will get him nowhere beyond the business field, but his type of stubbornness is too much for the business field, too. However, that's not how things sounded to Grantaire or to anyone who could've listened in, and that's where I went wrong. I'm frustrated with myself beyond compare, and frustrated further by the knowledge that I can't do a single thing about it. I can't shove those words back down my throat, and I can't elucidate what I meant by them if Grantaire won't talk to me. But I realize that Combeferre's help is the only way I could get close to solving things between us, so it's my duty to both me and Grantaire to seek his assistance.

"I had another fight with Grantaire."

Combeferre huffs out a laugh, briefly neglecting the notion that I'm a fucking mess in his arms about what I have to tell him, and he composes himself again to properly expel the logic I've always admired. "All you do is fight with Grantaire. What's the big deal?"

"Yeah, it's true that we're always screeching like an old married couple" — Combeferre invites the subtlest flavor of a smirk to his lips, but once he sees that I noticed it, it evaporates as quickly as it settled — "but I really have his best interest in mind, right?"

"Um, yeah?" Combeferre is trying his best, which I really appreciate, but I can decipher that he's well beyond discomfort, judging from the way he's shifting within our embrace like all he wants to do is escape — after all, I'm not usually like this. "So, again, what's the big deal?"

"Whenever we fight, Grantaire always looks like he'll be fine, like he is fine, even exposed to the battlefield that is me shouting at me like a barbarian, but not this time." I shake my head, shoveling the dirt of Combeferre's tee over me as a sort of protection, as a comfort. "This time, he looked like what I said seriously affected him. The content of my speech was mostly the same as always (telling him he's too stubborn for his own good, that he doesn't give a shit about anything), but there must've been something about me that put him off. Grantaire isn't usually like this, and I'm just so fucking upset, because I wanted to help him, but all I did was wreck things worse than they already were in the first place."

Combeferre hesitates for a second, whirring through the motions of his problem solving skills, before pulling away from the embrace and leading me over to the kitchen table so we can discuss things like the proper adults we pretend to be. He snags a couple pulses of oxygen from the surrounding environment, then begins without really knowing what he's doing, but he's at least trying, and I'm thankful for that, beyond words. "So why, exactly, are you worried? That sounds insensitive of me to say, but I'm trying to pinpoint the explicit origin of your stress so we can devise a plan to conquer it."

Good old logical Combeferre. It's in times like these that I cherish our friendship, a friendship I didn't smash like I smashed the one between Grantaire and me, the one I'm hoping to fix by employing my faithful roommate. I assumed this would be easy, because Combeferre is adept at resolving everything until it seems as though nothing happened in the first place, but I didn't realize the process would require so much effort from me, or that it would be so arduous to supply it.

"I really don't know," I sigh, lacing my fingers around each other and pulling away, a habit of nervousness I've never witnessed before in myself, not this steady mind I call my home. "Everything about the exchange was off, and everything was moving too quickly. I guess that's why I feel so sorry about what I did, because I definitely wasn't in my right mind, now that I reflect on it. What I want most of all is to return to where I was in our relationship, and from there I can help him further, but as for now I've sunken below the bare minimum, and all I ask is the strength demanded to hoist myself back up to that with Grantaire."

Combeferre nods, pensive, mulling everything over. I know it's a lot to swallow, primarily because I can't even understand the situation myself, and I was the one in it, and I'm doing a rather shitty job of explaining what the hell happened to put me on edge like this, because certainly it's nothing Combeferre has ever seen in me before, and it's a struggle to accommodate my sudden mood swing.

The room is silent for the time in which Combeferre ponders the matter, and though I'm extremely grateful for my roommate's presence, the lack of a solution is starting to creep its way back into my mindset, more so than before, and all I want is for Combeferre to just speak again, which he does after a few more seconds of dreadful extension.

"If you're so worried about Grantaire not wanting to talk to you after that, which is understandable" ­— I shoot him a virulent glare as if to tell him he's not helping by saying that — "no offense, then I can call Grantaire into the Corinth for a 'private meeting', and you can 'unexpectedly' emerge, and I'll probably leave you two alone like the fantastic friend I am, and hopefully by the end you'll be back to the bickering old married couple you once were."

That sounds like the kind of plan dreamed up by the best friend who has been praying for years that his two other friends would finally hook up after a long while of pining, which may or may not be my situation with Grantaire, but it's the best thing I've got, and I can decrypt that I've worn Combeferre out enough with my drama, so I don't want to pressure him further, not after he's done so much for me together.

"Can we do that tomorrow? I don't want to wait too long, or else my conscience will kill me before I can make up with Grantaire."

"And hopefully make out with Grantaire," I faintly hear Combeferre mutter, but I pretend that I don't hear it for my own safety, of course.

Rising from the table, I allow myself the deepest of breaths to try and calm down my jittery system, and I promptly thank Combeferre for all of his hard work, which he acknowledges with a tiny smile and a nod just as minute.

"I think I'm going to bed," I announce, stretching my tense muscles. "I've had a long day, and I'm sure tomorrow won't be any less adventurous."

"Goodnight, Enjolras," Combeferre laughs, watching in amusement as I stumble down the hall to my sweet, sweet bedroom.

I trust sleep to solve some of my problems, at least.

~~~~~

A/N: Combeferre is the realest okay fight me

ugh when will they just make up already omg I'm the writer but this is hurting me so much

I started this tonight and I already have 7k words r.i.p.

~Dickota