I know I've already posted a chapter today, and really I should be sleeping, but this just wouldn't leave me alone. It was particularly hard to write, but I hope I've done Enjy justice... Jehan is Alistair Brammer, just because his portrayal is just the most precious little thing! Sorry if he's not quite as poetic as he should be... Love to my reviewers, you're both stars :) and hi Snobbydobby, thanks for following! *mwah* xx
Jehan threw his arms around his as soon as the door opened, starting a new rush of tears streaming down Combeferre's face.
"Shhh… Hush darling… I'm here…" They collapsed on the sofa together, concern flooding from the poet as he cradled his friend, his own eyes welling with tears.
"'Ferre what is it… Please… Tell me…" He whispered into his ear, fluttering sweet, soothing kisses down his cheeks, up over his closed eyelids, kissing away the tears that had rendered 'Ferre speechless.
"Enj…" Stammering out the name was all he could manage, before presenting precious Jehan with the hair that had been left on the desk, like some form of grim ornament.
"Heaven and earth, what is going on..?" The poet's eyes looked into the guide's searching for an answer that neither of them knew; that they could not possibly understand.
"He pulled his hair out Je… I don't know what to do… You should have seen…" He reeled off the story, tears springing to his eyes as he recalled the events of just an hour previously. Enjolras, slumped over the desk, a raw patch of flesh where the hair had been stripped away by nimble fingers which had found something better to do than write essays…
Enjolras awoke at the sound of Jehan coming in, but sensibly stayed put, stayed still, listening to his friends discussing him. Discussing him and his so-called problem. It wasn't a problem, not to him, it isn't even that noticeable...
"For goodness sake 'Ferre, get yourself together…" Mumbling to himself, Enjolras twisted another hair around his fingers, giving a sharp tug and feeling the pop he had come to love. Running his fingers down its length, he gently slipped the root from the bottom with a nail, rolling it into a little ball between his fingers, before letting the hair fall down behind his bed as he contemplated what to do next. It didn't take him long to decide, and even less time to actually do. Twisting an arm around the back of his head, he wrapped a thick curl around his fingers. Horrifyingly thick; so thick it took him four attempts to wrench it from his skull, four agonizing pulls before he could look down at the loose tangle of hair and flesh in his hands. He could feel a warm sensation down the back of his head, curling around his ear and rolling slowly down his neck. He felt relaxed, for the first time in so so long. He could forget, forget everything. His studies, his parents, his feelings… He thought back to the moment, earlier that evening, when he had pulled out the first hair. He thought about the sense of satisfaction it had given him. He thought back to that moment and the quote he had been reading as he'd done it, that had inspired him to do it; Pain is the cleanser.
