Hello, friends! Here's another quick Enjolras one-shot for you all. It bares some similarities to my fic "Sleeping Apollo," but is intended as a completely different story (obviously.) I hope you all like it! Please let me know what you think!

Disclaimer: I do not own Les Miserables. Also, though I wrote Jehan's poem all by myself, I do feel like I've read a similar one somewhere else before. If that's your poem, I apologize greatly... I didn't know it was yours! PM me and let me know if it is, and I can change it.

~Rosey

He Is Human After All

One year before the revolution

"Are you sure we're supposed to be up here?" Joly whispered anxiously as he, Grantaire, and Courfeyrac made their way up the stairs of the lodging house towards the fifth floor. "Enjolras said we were meeting at his apartments. Not in his room specifically."

"Of course we're not!" Grantaire beamed drunkenly, taking a swig from his bottle. "But Apollo will be thrilled to see us here a whole ten minutes early."

"Besides, he won't mind some company," Courfeyrac grinned. "Not to mention I've never seen his rooms before. This should be an adventure."

"I bet he has French flags all over the walls," Joly chuckled. "Every inch covered in them."

"I bet his bed sheets are all tricolored. And he has pictures of Robespierre all over his walls," Grantaire hiccupped, stumbling on the last step leading to the fifth floor.

"Well we'll soon find out, won't we?" Courfeyrac snorted a little at his friend's assumptions, though he had to admit they sounded pretty accurate.

Enjolras's was in 509, and when the three revolutionaries reached their leader's door, they suddenly found themselves hesitating a little. It wasn't that they were intimidated by Enjolras, so to speak, but more intimidated by the fact that they were about to, in a strange way, invade in his privacy. Somehow, going into his rooms seemed like stepping into the Garden of Eden and asking Adam what he thought of the weather. It was sacred ground, and they weren't worthy.

Finally, Grantaire got up the courage (albeit drunkenly) to knock on the door. "Hey Apollo! It's us. Let us in, would ya?"

There was no response. After another moment, Courfeyrac reached out and knocked again. "Enjolras? You home?"

Again, nothing. The three exchanged looks for a moment before Joly at last reached out and turned the knob on the door. Much to their surprise, the door creaked open and swung slowly open. The trio paused for a moment before quietly stepping inside, looking about them.

The sight that greeted their eyes wasn't exactly what they were expecting. The first thing noticeable of Enjolras's room was, indeed, a large French flag on the far west wall, but that was the only flag otherwise that was noticeable in the room except for the red one, which was draped across a chair. The only light in the room was coming from the open windows, the afternoon glow letting in a comfortable, warm shine. There was a bookshelf on the north side of the room, and it was stacked so full of books that some were spilling over onto the floor. A desk was beside the bookshelf, and it was so covered in papers that the wood wasn't even visible. Some of the papers were obviously school notes, others were his speeches, and still others contained carefully drawn maps of the streets of Paris and possible locations for barricades. His wardrobe was open, and various coats, shirts, and boots spilled from inside onto the floor. His favorite red coat was in the middle of the floor, and his tricolor pendant rested on a small nightstand table by the medium sized bed that rested against the wall.

And on the bed was Enjolras himself, wearing only his trousers, his shimmering blond hair toppled across his face, his lips parted slightly, his eyes closed. Several papers littered the bed about him, some wrinkled, some covered in his beautiful handwriting. A book was under his head like a pillow, and another sat by his hand. His perfect marble face looked peaceful in sleep, and his chiseled torso rose and fell with each deep breath. It truly was a majestic, beautiful sight, and the three comrades came to a standstill by the bed, surprised to find their noble leader sleeping so soundly in the middle of the day.

"He has every right to be exhausted," Joly finally whispered quietly. "It's a wonder he doesn't get himself sick from how much he tries to do. Wouldn't you agree, Gran- Grantaire!"

"What?" Grantaire popped up from his kneeling stance on the floor by the wardrobe where he was examining some of the discarded clothes that had made it to the floor.

"What do you think you're doing?" Joly hissed as quietly as possible, glancing over his shoulder at Enjolras, praying he wouldn't wake up.

"He has literally never worn half of this stuff!" Grantaire hissed back, picking up a velvety purple coat and shaking it slightly. "Honestly, sometimes I think he just grabs a coat at random before leaving the house."

"That is what he does," Joly rolled his eyes. "He doesn't care a wit for fashion. He just always looks put together because he's Enjolras."

"And he's a god," Grantaire mumbled as he picked up another coat that he had never seen before…a blue one with a green collar.

"He's as human as you or I," Joly sighed, still trying to keep his voice down.

"I'll believe that when I see it," Grantaire muttered.

"Come look at this, you two!" Courfeyrac's voice came from behind them, making the other two revolutionaries jump slightly before turning to face him. He was holding a piece of paper in his hands, and was obviously trying hard not to laugh. Shrugging slightly, Grantaire and Joly went to read the paper for themselves. It was a very short poem, written in Jehan's handwriting.

Enjolras is a beautiful revolutionary

Golden hair with a curl

It's really quite sad

How he can't get a girl

As they finished reading the poem, all three had to practically cram their knuckles in their mouths to keep from laughing aloud, glancing over their shoulders at their sleeping friend, hoping to not waken him.

"I didn't know he kept this!" Courfeyrac finally managed, chuckling helplessly. "I figured he burned it or something!"

"He keeps all the things his friends give him. Look!" Joly gestured to a note that was in his own handwriting that simply said I have to borrow your class notes! "And look! There's a note Combeferre wrote him for his Birthday last month!"

"He does care for his friends, you know," Courfeyrac smiled a little. "We're not just a army to him. We're his friends as well."

"I know," Joly nodded. "I just never realized how much he cared, I suppose. Rather like a marble statue, that one. But it's obvious that he does care. A lot. He keeps everything. Every last note any of us have written him…"

"Mis amis… Look at this one," Courfeyrac mumbled, quieter than before, reaching for a new note. The other two read over his shoulder as he held the note up to the light streaming in through the window.

Dear Julien,

I cannot write long, because my strength is weakening daily and my hand will not hold a pen for more than five minutes at a time. But my dear son…I want you to know that I love you very much, and that when I'm gone, I want you to keep on being my strong, perfect angel. Be careful, and if you truly feel a revolution is needed to change the world, then I beg you… Try your very hardest to survive. Even if your grandfather is gone, and I shall doubtless be gone as well… Know there's always something to live for. Whether it's France, the people, or your dear friends. There's always something.

I love you so much, my darling. Focus on your studies, even as you plan this revolt, get enough sleep, wear a coat when it's cold, and I know you love cinnamon tea but you know you're allergic, Julien, so please try and refrain yourself.

I love you dearly, my beautiful son.

Your mother,

Madeline Enjolras

"Oh my goodness…" Joly whispered under his breath as he finished reading the letter. "Poor Enjolras…"

"I knew his mother was sick," Courfeyrac whispered, stealing another glace over at the man on the bed to ensure he was still sleeping. "He mentioned it once to me in passing. But he never said more than that she was ill."

"Why does the letter only mention his mother and grandfather?" Joly asked quietly. He was still looking down at the letter in almost disbelief.

"His father was a fool, that's why," Grantaire spoke up. "Never home, the cruel man. And when he was… Anyway, Enjolras was raised by his rich old grandfather and his mother. His father was never really in the picture."

"How do you know this?" Joly looked over at the drunkard whose face had sobered a little in the past few moments.

"Gathered it from bits and pieces of our conversations," Grantaire answered, taking a swig from his bottle. "He never came right out and told me, of course… I doubt he'd tell anyone that his dad was a drunken idiot worse than yours truly."

Joly and Courfeyrac nodded a little, and then the latter turned to the desk again. A half-finished letter lay atop the pile of papers, and he picked it up, almost afraid to read it.

Dear Mother,

I hope this letter finds you feeling better. I am going to be home for Easter, and that is only two weeks away. Promise you will still be there. Your Julien is going to make everything better. I'll take care of you. I promise.

The revolution is coming along. The judgment day is far closer than people realize. But I promise to be careful.

I'm scared

I can't do this

I am not a real leader

These last three lines were hastily crossed out, however, and under them was written:

I am doing fine. I promise to keep warm and keep up on my studies. I will try and get back earlier if I can but

And that was where the letter stopped. The three comrades blinked a little at this, wondering why it was so abruptly ended and trying to comprehend the fact that this so very human letter was written by the Greek God asleep on the bed.

"He must have fallen asleep writing it," Joly mumbled finally. "Or got too tired to finish it and went to bed."

Grantaire hadn't moved since he read the letter, and only now seemed to find his voice. "He's…he's scared."

"Of course he is," Courfeyrac whispered as he sat the letter back down on the desk. "We've told you a million times he's just as human as you or I, Grantaire."

"But…he's Apollo…"

"He's Julien Enjolras, Grantaire. He's a twenty-one-year old boy with a sick mother and a worthless father. He is not Apollo," Joly whispered quietly, looking back over his shoulder at their sleeping friend on the bed.

"Who would have thought it?" Grantaire said quietly after a moment. "He is human after all."

Joly stepped over towards the bed, looking down at the sleeping young man, who still looked godly, but somehow had turned human right before their eyes. "He looks so exhausted… He's just a child, really. We all are. And he has the revolution and school work and his mother…"

"He needs sleep," Courfeyrac whispered, stepping beside Joly and looking at their resting friend as well.

"He's not leading the meeting today," Grantaire's voice came from behind them, and they turned to look at their usually drunken friend, whose face had turned more sober than they had ever seen before. "We are. He's staying here and sleeping."

The other two revolutionaries were still for a moment before a small smile crept across both of their faces. Joly nodded a little. "That sounds like a wonderful idea, Grantaire." He looked back over at the sleeping Enjolras, and winced a little at his friend's position on the bed. "But that can not be comfortable. A book for a pillow isn't exactly ideal."

"Well we can fix that one," Courfeyrac mumbled softly, stepping over to the bed. He gently picked up one of the pillows that had fallen to the floor from the bed and then straightened again. Softly, carefully, he lifted Enjolras's golden head off the book and sat the novel aside, slipping the pillow under his friend's head as soon as the book was gone. Enjolras shifted a little, but he was so deeply exhausted that he didn't waken, only settled down into the pillow, unquestionably looking more comfortable. Courfeyrac chuckled a little, brushing some of the golden locks back off his friend's forehead. "That's got to be more comfortable."

"Here," Grantaire was suddenly by Courfeyrac's side, a blanket in hand from inside Enjolras's wardrobe. Gently, he draped the blanket over Enjolras's sleeping form, moving aside the papers and books that littered the covers and putting them on the floor. "Can't have him catching cold."

"Come along, Grantaire. Let's leave him to rest. Joly? You coming?" Courfeyrac turned to face their other friend. He paused, however, when he saw the medical student scribbling out a note on a piece of paper from Enjolras's desk. "Joly? What are you doing, mon ami?"

"Leaving a note," Joly replied simply, holding it out to show his friends. The other two students stepped over to him, reading the briefly written note.

Julien,

If you are reading this thinking you need to be at the meeting, stop right now and go back to sleep. You are exhausted, and you need rest. Grantaire, Courfeyrac, and myself came by to see you before the meeting, and found you sound asleep on a book. A book, Enjolras. If that doesn't scream "I need sleep," nothing does. Don't you worry about a thing, Apollo. We can lead the meeting for one day. Rest.

Julien, just because you're our leader does not mean you aren't human. If you ever need help of any sort at all, you have your friends. You know that. Take advantage of us every once in a while. Lean on us when you need it. And don't say you never need it. That's a complete and utter lie. Let us know when you need help, and we will be there.

Rest, mon ami. I shall see you tomorrow.

~Joly.

"That was lovely, Joly," Courfeyrac smiled a little. He clapped his friend gently on the back, and then watched as Joly sat the letter on the nightstand by Enjolras's bed so it would be in plain sight when the beautiful blond leader awoke.

"I think he needed to hear it, anyway," Joly whispered. The three students watched their sleeping friend for one more moment before quietly stepping towards the door, casting one last glance at the young man on the bed before closing the door behind them.

"Come along, mon amis," Joly rose his voice back to the regular speaking level as he, Courfeyrac, and Grantaire headed down the stairs. "We have a meeting to lead."

"What do we tell them if they ask where Enjolras is?" Grantaire asked, his voice still slightly slurring.

"We tell them he's taking a break for the day," Joly responded simply. He turned to his friends, offering them a little smile. "He is human, after all."

And that's the end! I hope you all liked it. If you did, please REVIEW!

Stay revolutionary!

~Rosey