A Leader's Faults [Les Miserables]

Chapter One

Enjolras felt exhausted, utterly and completely exhausted. Everything ached, he had an increasing pile of work to get through, and he was certain that there were bags under his eyes. He sat in his room, bent over his desk as he scribbled notes down. He had a million things that needed to be done, but here he was, starting a new project. He had a hard time focusing on one thing and sticking to it without getting caught up in a thousand other ideas. It was exhausting, the way his brain never seemed to shut up. He rubbed his eyes and leaned back in his chair, staring at the words he had jotted down, unable to process any of them in his half-asleep state. He groaned and put his head in his hands, blond hair washing over his shoulders. He found his mind drifting away from his work and towards Grantaire, the angry cynic that Enjolras had been sure he hated. He did hate him. He hated the way he mocked Enjolras' work, the way he never took anything seriously, the way his lips would curve into that god-awful smirk whenever he thought he'd won. He hated his disgusting clothing, his wild curls, his attitude, everything about him. There wasn't a single thing about Grantaire that Enjolras didn't absolutely despise.

Okay, so maybe his art was breathtaking and could take all words from Enjolras. Maybe the way his laugh could fill an entire room brought a smile to Enjolras' lips. Maybe his kindness and compassion for others made Enjolras' heart do little flips inside of his chest, but that didn't mean anything. Sure, there were things about Grantaire that Enjolras liked, but he didn't like him. That was the distinction. Grantaire was infuriating to the leader and he was barely able to stand being in the same room as him. That must be why Enjolras couldn't seem to get the cynic out of his head, pure frustration.

He groaned and lifted his head, checking the time on the clock beside him. He sighed deeply when he realized that it was nearly three in the morning, destroying any chance he had at a full night's rest. He shouldn't be surprised, that was how it went most nights. He'd promise himself that he'd get some sleep, he'd find himself invested in something, he'd look up, and it would be early morning. It happened all the time. He sighed and ran his hands through his hair, feeling himself grow even more frustrated at himself. It was concerning, almost, how quickly he went to anger. He supposed that it couldn't be helped, that was just how he was. He'd always been rather quick to anger and frustration before other emotions.

Enjolras stood up, leaving his things at his desk as he fell into bed, staring blankly at his ceiling without bothering to turn the lights off. He wished he had a way of explaining himself, of understanding why he was the way he was. Emotions were distant to him, incomprehensible, mysterious. How was he supposed to understand them? He groaned and rolled over, burying his face in his pillow, screaming into it until he wore himself out, allowing sleep to overtake him. Hopefully, he'd feel better in the morning. If he didn't, well, there was always the next day.