His school work was done. His speeches were written. All of his possessions were in perfect order. Posters had been made and hung. Flyers had been passed out. He'd eaten. He'd slept. What was left for him to do? Julien Enjolras stood in the middle of his and Combeferre's shared apartment, slack-jawed and staring vacantly at a wall. He had nothing left to do. This was perhaps the first time he'd ever nothing to do. Free time? What was he supposed to do? Drink, like Grantaire? Write a poem, like Jehan? Flirt, like Courfeyrac? None of those things were Enjolras. Enjolras liked work, he lived for it. And now that there was nothing to be done, Enjolras was left questioning his own existence. It was a good thing that Combeferre chose that moment to walk through the apartment door. He hung his bag on a hook by the entryway, before turning to see Enjolras. He stood staring at the man for a moment, nonplussed.
"Um, Enjolras? Are you… okay?" Combeferre began slowly. Enjolras slowly pivoted to face him with wide eyes.
"I… I have free time. There's nothing to do. I…. I'm… bored." Combeferre's worried face disappeared and he chuckled and shook his head.
"Oh, Enjy. Sometimes I wonder what you'd do without me. Come on," he said, picking his bag back up, "a bunch of the Amis have gotten together done at the Musain. If you need to wallow in boredom, you can at least do it in our company." Enjolras blinked and nodded, following Combeferre through the streets. The Amis held back their laughs as Combeferre explained Enjolras' dilemma, and drank and partied to help him forget about his work-less state.
By the time Enjolras and Combeferre returned home, Enjolras had remembered or found about twenty things that absolutely had to be done in the next five minutes. Combeferre rolled his eyes as Enjolras began to write feverishly, glad that his friend had managed to get at least one day that wasn't completely filled with work.