Just read back through the 1st chapter, appreciate those who have followed this so much! Thank you, arcentz and lovelesmis24601 you beautiful people *mwah*. Just thought I'd better clear something up, the time period between the 1st and 2nd paragraphs is about 8-10 hours, and my Combeferre is inspired by the gorgeous Killian Donnelly, Enjolras is Aaron :)
PS - I don't own Les Mis, booo :( Forgot that in the last one, bet you all thought I was Victor Hugo for a moment...! Haha.
Combeferre remained stationary in the doorway as he worked to comprehend what it was that he was actually seeing. His best friend had pulled out his own hair. He was completely at a loss for what to do, though his rational self was telling him to get Enjolras to bed. Away from the knotted blonde tangles. Cautiously padding over the floor, which was thickly carpeted with crumpled paper, he placed a gentle hand the other man's shoulder.
"Come on, mon ami..." He earned a low growl in response as well as the opening of one pale eye, prompting a strained laugh.
"It's time for bed... You fell asleep in your work again, idiot." Combeferre tried to ease the unnamed emotion that was setting itself in the very core of his being, but the next noise that came out of his mouth, he intended to chastise his friend for working himself so hard again, came out as more of a strangled squeal, fully waking the blonde who lifted his head at the noise, a frown creasing his pale features.
"Are you alright 'Ferre..? You're acting a little odd..." He touched his arm, concern batting away his irritation at being woken, and he found that he was shrugged off, although it was rather more roughly than had been intended.
"Can we talk in the morning... I'm just exhausted..." Combeferre had never been so happy as when Enjolras stood and got ready for bed without another word, save a small nod in response to his question. Now all he had to do was figure out how he would go about asking...
He waited until he heard Enjolras' soft snores before picking up his phone again from his bedside table. Hovering over Courfeyrac's number, he decided against it. Who could the guide turn to when he needed assistance? Who was there really, aside the man he wanted to talk about, who would be able to provide him with the words he needed… Jehan. He dialed the number instinctively, praying that the younger man wouldn't be asleep yet.
"'Ferre..? I was sleeping… What's wrong..?" He could hear the confusion in his voice, the worry and the slight undertone of affection, and before he knew what was happening, Combeferre burst into tears. The salty rivers flooded in torrents down his face, soaking the duvet beneath him.
"Ok baby, I'll be there soon, hold on…" The voice was soothing, a warm comfort that his bewildered mind desperately needed.