I know I shouldn't be posting this, since I haven't updated Eponine? in forever... But I've kind of lost inspiration for that one at the mo, and this has just popped into my head without any warning at all while revising for my A Levels at stupid o'clock in the morning (2:15am..). Anyway, hopefully my other fic will get back in gear after my exams, but until then, I leave you with this :) As always, feedback is very much appreciated!
AnnaLiz xx
Enjolras sat at his desk, chewing the top of his pen while idly twirling his golden curls around his fingers. He was deep in thought, as always, but, for some reason, the words just wouldn't flow tonight. His relatively calm exterior did not betray his inner turmoil. Unless a person got close enough to really look into the student's ice blue eyes, they would not see the distress reflected there.
"Why can't I do this?!" He roared suddenly, ripping his hand from his head and slamming it on the desk in anger, causing the solid wood to shudder and various papers to flutter to the floor, only angering the revolutionary further. It was when he lay forward against the desk, burying his head in his arms, that he felt a strange tickling against his cheek. Raising his eyes, he found a blonde tuft stuck between his fingers. His hair. The colour entranced him; he'd never looked at his hair that closely before. Slowly, he lifted his head to get a better look, running his hand up and down the strands he had tugged out of his head in his anger. He hadn't even noticed the pain. How strange…
Combeferre was late coming home that night, he'd been having too much of a good time to leave, and he knew his flatmate would appreciate the extra few hours of quiet in which to do his essays. However, his slightly drunken mind was not prepared for the sight that met him when he stumbled into their flat at 4am that morning. Enjolras was slumped over a pile of papers, asleep. Nothing unusual there. There were scraps of paper, pens and various textbooks scattered across the room, obviously thrown there by his room-mate in a fit of frustration. Again, nothing unusual. The man's hand was pressed against his head, like he'd fallen asleep leaning on it; all normal behaviour. However, what caught his eye, and shocked him immediately into sobriety, was the pile of blonde curls lying on top of Enjolras' desk, and the angry red and irritated patch of bare flesh that could not be hidden by his long, elegant fingers.