Written for the Miserables Month @themiserablesmonth
“You look like shit,” Courf said as he breezed by Enjolras and into his apartment.
“How kind of you,” Enjolras deadpanned, closing the door behind him. Courf had already taken up residency on his couch. Enjolras hadn’t even invited him in.
Courf pulled his laptop out of his bag, followed by his notes and Renaissance and Reformation textbook.
“Pray tell, what are you doing in my apartment?” Enjolras would’ve like to be more annoyed, but he couldn’t be fucked to emote. He sneezed instead.
“Ferre called me,” Courf said, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world.
“And said?” Enjolras asked.
“He said you look like shit and I should come check on you.”
“Somehow I doubt he said that,” Enjolras eyed him wearily.
“Fine,” Courf rolled his eyes. “Those weren’t his exact words. But he did say you were sick and I should drop by at some point and make sure you hadn’t died.”
Enjolras sneezed. “Case and point,” Courf added.
“Okay. You’ve dropped by. I seem to still be breathing. It’s just a cold. You can go now,” Enjolras said.
“But I have to write this paper by 8am tomorrow morning and your apartment is so much closer than mine,” Courf whined.
“Ah,” Enjolras finally understood the situation. Thankfully, Courf with a fast-approaching deadline was the only kind of quiet Courf. “Fine. I have to read for Poli Econ. I’ll be in my room.”
He shuffled off to his bedroom. His head hurt something fierce, and he’d much prefer to lie down and go back to sleep. But he wasn’t going to fall behind in his schoolwork because of a cold.
Enjolras had a specific way of doing everything. He was a very particular person. And this included only sleeping in his bed, only studying at his desk. Separation of work and sleep was a good thing.
So when he took his textbook from his desk and flopped down onto his bed, he had to wonder if he was worse off than he’d realized. He flipped open the book to the assigned chapter. He could afford to be a little more lenient whilst feeling like absolute shit, right?
The answer came to him when he woke up with his textbook on his face, a little bit of drool forcing him to peel the page off of his lip. He looked at his watch, but only concluded that he had no reference for when he fell asleep. God knows how long he’d been out for.
He was soaked in a cold sweat. He needed to shower.
He sat up and put the textbook aside, rubbing a hand across his face. His head felt like it had been stuffed with cotton while he’d been asleep. When he stood, he was hit with a wave of dizziness that left him gripping the headboard to stay upright.
When the dizziness became bearable and he righted himself, he made his way to the door. Opening it, he stumbled out into the living room and found Ferre sitting on his couch.
“Where’s Courf?” Enjolras asked, confused.
“You look like shit,” Ferre said, his face quickly shifting from surprise to concern.
“So I’ve been told.” Enjolras leaned against his doorframe for support.
“You need to sit down,” Ferre told him.
“I need to shower.”
“You’ll pass out from the steam,” Ferre said, rising from the couch. He rolled up a sleeve as he approached Enjolras before pressing the inside his forearm on Enjolras’s forehead.
“I’m not a child,” Enjolras told him, annoyed.
“You have a fever,” Ferre ignored him. He rolled his sleeve back down, taking a step back. “I’m calling Joly.”
“It’s a cold, I’m fine,” Enjolras tried to reassure him. The world was tipping beneath him again. Ferre was right, he really needed to sit down.
“It’s that or you’re going to a doctor,” Ferre said, already on the phone.
All hope of stopping him gone, he gave up and slid down the wall to sit, knees drawn up against his chest.
Ferre spoke quietly for a moment and Enjolras didn’t bother to listen. When he turned around and found Enjolras on the floor, he sighed.
“Come on, back to bed,” he offered Enjolras his hand.
“Shower first,” Enjolras insisted, taking his hand. Ferre pulled him to his feet, and Enjolras had to clasp his shoulder to steady himself.
“Compromise,” Ferre turned him around, shepherding him back into his bedroom. “You can change into clean clothes first.”
“Fine.” Enjolras didn’t have it in him to keep fighting. He sat on the edge of his bed while Ferre went to his dresser, throwing a clean pair of pajamas at him. Enjolras wrinkled his nose as he peeled his shirt off, throwing it in the direction of the closet.
By the time Joly arrived fifteen minutes later, Enjolras was very nearly unconscious again. Ferre let him in, and it seemed to Enjolras that Joly simply materialized in his bedroom.
He did as he was told, sitting up, taking the pills that were put in his hand, letting Joly check him out, including taking his temperature with an actual thermometer.
“102.6,” Joly announced. Ferre stood beside him, and they both looked down at the now shivering Enjolras. “It hits 103 and he needs to see someone who isn’t a med student,” Joly told Ferre.
“It’s almost four and I have International Relations,” Ferre said. “Do I need to skip class?”
“I’ll stay, I don’t have anything for a few more hours.” The two of them spoke as if Enjolras wasn’t there.
“I’m fine, I can take my own temperature,” Enjolras slumped back down onto his pillows, pulling the blankets over him.
They just stared at him. “How convincing,” Ferre said sarcastically.
“I’ll take his temperature every hour or so,” Joly continued. “Unless it goes down, of course.”
Enjolras just glared up at them as they worked out the details. It felt like eons before they left him in peace, and Enjolras was dead to the world within minutes.
He slept fitfully, tossing and turning, shaking and sweating. He knew distantly that his temperature was being checked occasionally, but he didn’t bother to pay attention. The entire afternoon blended together, sleeping and waking becoming irrelevant to him.
At some point he must have fallen into a deeper sleep. When he woke, he felt slightly more like himself. He sat up, slowly stretching his aching muscles. He checked the time. His watch said nine. He’d lost the entire day to this fever. Eventually he gathered the strength to stand. The world didn’t spin around him when he stood, and he took that as a good sign.
He crossed the room slowly, opening the door to the living room.
The scene that greeted him left him wondering if this was a continuation of some strange fever dream. First of all, streaks of sun beamed in from the windows. Second, a very sleepy looking Grantaire was sitting on his couch, smiling at him. He blinked, confused.
“What the fuck?”
“You’re awake,” Grantaire looked relieved.
“What time is it?” Enjolras asked, sure that his watch had been wrong.
“Uh, around nine, I think,” Grantaire said.
“In the morning?” Enjolras asked, overwhelmed.
“You slept all night. And all of yesterday too, I guess.”
Enjolras couldn’t believe he’d lost an entire day.
“I’m sorry, but why are you here?” He asked Grantaire, trying to keep his voice level. “It’s fine,” he assured him, “I’m just,” he paused, searching for the right word. “Confused?”
Grantaire’s brow furrowed. “I stayed the night. I brought over some cold medicine because Courf said something about it in the group text, and Joly needed to go to his shift at the hospital, and he didn’t know when Combeferre would be back, so. I stayed,” he said simply, still looking puzzled.
“You stayed the entire night?” Enjolras repeated.
“Joly had me- wait, you don’t remember? I woke you up to check your temperature like seven times,” Grantaire informed him.
Enjolras blinked at him. He was leaning more and more towards this being a continuation of his fever.
“Sorry, I don’t-“
“Don’t apologize,” Grantaire said. “You were in a bad way, honestly,” he mumbled, looking at his feet.
Enjolras just nodded.
“But you look better. The fever broke around five this morning,” Grantaire told him.
“That’s good,” Enjolras said.
“Yeah. Anyway,” Grantaire stood up, not looking at Enjolras. “I guess I should get going. I’ll text Joly just so he doesn’t worry, but it looks like you’ll be fine from here.”
Enjolras just watched as he put on his shoes, zipped up his hoodie.
“Right, okay. See you later, then,” Grantaire said, opening the door.
“Grantaire-“ Enjolras started, but realized he didn’t know what he had meant to say. Grantaire looked at him, halfway out the door.
“Um, thanks,” he said awkwardly. “For staying the night, and the cold medicine and everything,” he tacked on.
“No problem,” Grantaire said with a shrug.
“Right. Well. Thanks anyway.”
“See you at the next meeting?” Grantaire asked.
“Yeah,” Enjolras nodded. “Thursday night.”
“I know,” Grantaire gave him a half smile, which Enjolras found himself returning.
Then Grantaire was out the door and Enjolras was alone in his apartment.
He wasn’t entirely sure why, but he found himself looking forward to Thursday night.
Hi friendos, if any of you have advice on a good cosplay wig for Grantaire (George Blagden version) or Enjolras (Aaron Tveit version), please shoot recommendations my way! From what i’ve been able to see on the internet so far, the pickins are slim! And suggestions welcome!
Hi there! I just wanted to say that this blog is sooooo cool and I love and I love you guys <3
Hey thanks! We love you too and hope you have a good day! -Joly
this is for you, it’s a positivity power moon. please think three positive things about yourself and then add 5 to your positivity count for today. go you! -R
