Spoonful of Sugar (Les Mis)

Joly is the real MVP I swear

Grantaire's POV

"Thank you for seeing me, Joly," I acknowledge, sealing the door as my friend steps through with an obvious countenance of hospitality and an eagerness to help.

One of Joly's classic smiles tap dances across his lips, and he merrily replies, "Yeah, no problem. That's what friends are for."

I often feel that I don't even deserve to call Joly a friend, after all he's done for me and after all I haven't done for him, but he's persistent in his benevolence, and when he glimpses the slightest of negative nuances in my demeanor, he pounces on it immediately until it is no more, which just proves why a distressed cynic such as myself doesn't deserve a bursting sunflower such as him.

Joly bounces to the kitchen table to pull out a chair for me first, then one for him. He sits in it backwards, as many high school boys do, and I trail behind him sluggishly. Wasting no time, Joly drives straight to the point. "So what's up with you, Grantaire?"

I am the kind of person my friends regard as fearless within who I am, but ever since my fight with Enjolras, I have not been anywhere near the same person I was. I've been more nervous, which manifests into my vision being tilted into my lap, and my hands kneading each other as they are now, as I struggle to answer Joly's question. "I think something's seriously wrong with me."

"I think the same thing all of the time, despite being a medical student with all of the symptom pamphlets on hand."

"But I've actually seen symptoms," I reiterate, actually glancing up from my hands this time. "Enjolras can vouch for that."

Speaking of Enjolras, I was planning on having to tell him to scoot out of the apartment for a while, but I woke up this morning, and he was already gone, making this whole conversation with Joly very convenient. I don't want him to hear the reason behind why I was coughing up my organs into the toilet last night, and he probably doesn't want to hear it, either. Joly is calm when it comes to these kinds of things because of his medical training, whereas Enjolras would be flipping out on me with no sight of a lid to put back on, as I'm his best friend, and all of his endeavors have served one purpose: to help me improve myself in some way, and he has labored over this even when we weren't dating. This means a lot to him — I mean a lot to him — so to see it squandered on fucking painkillers would be a tragedy.

Joly is skeptical, but it's his job as my friend to at least pretend that he believes me. "Okay, what do you think the symptoms are from?"

"Withdrawal."

Joly severs his previously collected nature, leaning in as if he misheard me, and really hoping that he did because of how confusing I sounded just then. "Grantaire, you've been off of alcohol for a few months now. Please don't tell me you've started drinking again."

"No, I haven't," I assure my now frantic friend. Joly looks inordinately relieved...until I speak again. "I'm hooked on something else now."

Joly's face plummets to the ninth layer of hell, where all jubilance is only a distant memory. It's disheartening to see such a lively soul so devoid of its liveliness, a kenopsia found only in one's personality, and it's especially disheartening to know that I've damaged one of my best friends like this, but I'd rather not damage him even more by dying because I couldn't restrain myself, so a smidge of pain is necessary to spare him from a whole ton.

"And what would that be?"

I toy with my answer for a minute, capturing it only in my head, before releasing it ambivalently. "Painkillers."

"Oh my god," Joly gasps through hands now taped to his face, worry consuming his eyes more and more by each second. "I gave you those painkillers, and you're...you're..." That worry within him suddenly reaches the brim, and tumbles out in the form of saltwater and choppy sobs.

I should've predicted this outcome, but I didn't. Yes, it was Joly who gave me the first scanty bottle of painkillers, but I associated them with Montparnasse, because painkillers and that vile man are both dangerous, whereas Joly is the poster boy for a life well spent on ebullience, so I didn't want to affiliate him with a bad crowd. Through that, however, I forgot that Joly was the person who technically got me hooked on the drugs, and although it wasn't his intention to do that (I know it isn't, as well as I know the alphabet from kindergarten; friends don't poison each other), it was his fault in a way. Well, maybe it wasn't his fault, and maybe he wasn't the trigger, but the presence of the painkillers — his painkillers — in my pocket was his doing.

I promised myself before Joly arrived that I wouldn't cry, not once, but everything I do is flimsy these days, and I soon find myself weathered by the hurricane of emotions crashing down upon me. "Joly, what do I do?" I plead through fits of tears, never feeling more helpless than I do now.

It is his duty to compose himself, as time should not be wasted on moments of weakness, but remnants of his tears still linger on his rosy cheeks. "Stay away from your painkillers, Grantaire. That's the biggest step. Just stay away."

I ponder this, while Joly allows himself a few seconds to sniffle.

"Don't try to solve your problems with medication besides painkillers, either. Do these things, and you should be fine in a few days." Joly rises, detecting that his work is done here, and stalks to the door. "It is fortunate that you aren't experiencing a full-fledged addiction, so your recovery time should be faster and easier."

"Joly," I call out softly, and he stops to turn around. "Thank you."

Joly smiles one of those fragile smiles, and nods towards me in response. "You're going to survive this, Grantaire."

~~~~~

A/N: Joly doesn't deserve this why

I'm so excited to finish this diddy dang book omggggg

~Dakooky