Lams And Enjoltaire Oneshots

Late Night- Enjoltaire

3rd Person

"When was the last time you got any sleep, Apollo?" Grantaire asked from across the room. Enjolras poked his head up, his blond mop of hair flopping to the side of his face. Grantaire silently winced at the prominent bags under his eyes

"Why do you care, Grantaire?" He lazily poked, managing a small smile.

"You can't keep overworking yourself like this, Enjolras," He sighed, setting his empty bottle on the table

"Says who?" He asked, his tone changing, his brows furrowing. His brain was slowly shutting down by the minute, but of course he couldn't back down now. Grantaire glared at him as he strode across the room.

"Me, that's who. I worry for you Enjolras. You should go home," Grantaire said, padding around the room to collect the leader's things.

"Nonsense. There's too much work to finish up. I need to be prepared for the revolution," He said, fighting for his eyes to stay open. His hand loosely gripped his quill, trying his best to see through his blurred vision. His head thumped with pain, sensitive to any sound or light around him.

"Enjolras-" The man in green knelt down next to the man's chair. Enjolras tried to resist the urge to look at him, instantly failing. One glance at Grantaire sent him breaking down. Enjolras fell to his knees in front of him, wrapping his arms as tightly as he could manage around Grantaire's neck.

The man tensed up. He couldn't say he and his leader were close at all, he was simply the last one in the cafe. Of course he admired the blond man. Though they didn't share the same views of the revolution, Grantaire stood by him, waving his bottle as they waved their flags. But he always felt a stronger connection to Enjolras than any of the other les amis. To anyone else, it seemed they hated each other, but they both knew that wasn't the case.

That's when Grantaire realized his neck was becoming wet with Enjolras's tears.

"Hey, hey, It's okay," Grantaire soothed as the man shook in his arms. He ran his hand up and down the blonds' back, not really knowing how to comfort an actual human being.

"A week. I-I haven't slept in a week," He whimpered, hiding in the crook of Grantaire's neck. He sighed, holding the leader in red tight against his chest.

"I'll get you home, don't worry," He said as Enjolras sniffled. He pulled away from the raven haired man, glancing up at his compelling green eyes.

"Thank you," he mumbled. Grantaire smiled, running his hand through his golden locks. He gazed into the man's helpless blue eyes. Grantaire couldn't look away. They were memorising, full of pain and determination. He felt as if he could stare into them for all eternity. All it took was a glance down at his lips for him to jump off the revolutionary, a blush slapping him across the face.

"Let's go," Grantaire squeaked, flustered by the fact that he just glazed at another man's lips. He ran his hand over his face as he fetched Enjolras's bag while he peeled himself up off the floor. Grantaire handed it to him without making any eye contact before speeding down the stairs.

Regret filled him when he saw that he left Enjolras to hobble down the stairs on his own, much confused by the sudden change in attitude. Madame Houchelop stood, sweeping the floor. She looked up to Enjolras, who was gripping the railing tight, trying not to fall down.

"What are you doing, boy?! Go get him!" She whisper-yelled, pushing Grantaire towards him. This definitely snapped the drunk out of his faze, the same drunk who ran forward to the already half asleep Enjolras. He slung Enjolras's bag off his shoulder and onto his own, grunting at the weight of it, before slipping his arm around Enjolras' waist.