Enjolras

Enjolras rolled over and tried to punch his pillow into a more comfortable shape, but it was no use, he just wasn't going to get any more sleep. He should be blissfully dreaming right now, he'd just won a Commonwealth Gold medal! This was the peak of his career so far; the perfect stepping stone to the Olympics, he should be happy.

But he wasn't happy. He wasn't sure how he felt, he'd not really felt like this before, what was it? It was a sort of bad feeling, he felt like he shouldn't have made assumptions, particularly assumptions about a certain boxer. No, it couldn't be. It couldn't…be…guilt? Am I feeling guilty?

Enjolras thumped his head back onto the pillow. He felt disgusted, once he'd named it, the feeling had reared up within him, yes, it was definitely guilt. He'd never really felt guilty before. He grimaced; it was not a nice feeling. Enjolras reached out for his phone on the bedside cabinet and sent a quick text to his best friend. He wasn't expecting, but was hoping, for a reply.

E: How do you stop feeling guilty?

The reply came through a few minutes later:

Ferre: Say you're sorry

Combeferre didn't even need to ask what it was about, he knew. But his answer wasn't one Enjolras was happy with. He didn't want to say sorry to Grantaire, but he didn't want to feel like this either. He rolled over with a groan and sulked into his pillow.

Even though they'd already won a gold medal there was no let-up in training for the three English gymnasts. Courfeyrac was allowed a lie-in because he wasn't competing for another couple of days. Courfeyrac was also having a lie in because he hadn't got back to the flat until 4am in the morning. Enjolras didn't want to know what he and Bahorel had been doing, something awful judging by the huge smirk Courfeyrac had plastered all over his smug little face when he'd finally shown himself later.

However, Enjolras and Combeferre had to be in the gym first thing in the morning, with coach LeMarque putting them through their paces. Training was intense, but with the results paying off so spectacularly last night, Enjolras was determined to keep his body in peak condition to give himself the best chance of doing well in the all-around final. They wrapped up things around 12:30 and went to the athlete's canteen to get some healthy lunch.

'Have you apologised to Grantaire yet?' asked Combeferre when he sat down opposite Enjolras on one of the canteen tables.

Enjolras pulled a face.

'You need to you know, his next fight's at 3 this afternoon, you should tell him before he goes in the ring'

'I don't want to apologise and I don't want to go and see him fight' Enjolras said, 'This stupid little deal of yours has gone too far, we've seen each other compete, let's leave it at that, one each.'

'Hang on Enjolras, that's hardly fair on both counts' pointed out Combeferre, 'Firstly, you do need to say sorry to him, you assumed he was making fun of you when actually he was being sincere, I know he has an argumentative personality,' the and-so-do you was heavily implied, 'but you should have given him a chance to show you how genuinely impressed he was. Secondly, he's seen you in a final, and he's seen you win it. You ought to at least go and support him in his matches until he goes as far as he can in his competition. Think about it, he saw you in six events last night; you've only seen one fight.'

'And that was one fight too many for me' replied Enjolras angrily. 'Do you not see how brutal a sport boxing is? It's absolute madness!'

'Enjolras,' said Combeferre sternly 'You will apologise and you will come with me and Courfeyrac this afternoon.'

Enjolras just glowered, he hated being told what to do, but Combeferre could be downright dictatorial when he put his mind to it and there was no use arguing.

The three gymnasts were sat in the boxing arena a couple of hours later awaiting Grantaire's next match. It was the quarter-finals and the competition was heating up; Grantaire's opponent would be a former Olympic bronze medallist from Nigeria.

There wasn't much conversation between the gymnast teammates. Combeferre and Enjolras had both forbidden Courfeyrac from sharing details from the previous night and he was now sulking on Combeferre's right hand side. Enjolras was also being quite quiet that afternoon, but he wouldn't tell the other two what was up, and so the three of them sat mostly in silence waiting for Grantaire to appear from the wings.

His entrance was announced to loud cheers from the crowd. Unlike the gymnastics hall, the boxing arena was small and confined, there was a much more packed-in feeling, noises were louder, emotions ran higher.

Grantaire's trainer strapped on his gloves for him and gave him a slap on the back as the Englishman stepped into the ring to meet his opponent. Enjolras couldn't see Grantaire's face from where they were sat, but he looked up to the big screen to see a close up. Grantaire looked tense, Enjolras supposed there was nothing unusual in that- he was about to fight after all. However, it didn't sit well with his features and Enjolras felt a twinge of guilt at that.

The fight didn't start well at all.

The Nigerian boxer in red began on the attack straight away, putting Grantaire on the back foot, defences up. Grantaire was backed into the corner, no way out. His opponent didn't give him a chance to get any sort of counter attack in. Enjolras found himself holding his breath until the ref stepped in a separated the two, bringing the boxers back into the centre of the ring to start again. This time Grantaire managed to get a few swipes in, however, it only looked like one of them landed. Then, the Nigerian was back on the offensive and hammering into Grantaire once more.

'He's not giving him a chance to get anything in there!' cried Courfeyrac.

'This is not looking like a good start' agreed Combeferre. Enjolras remained silent.

The rest of the round was not good for Grantaire; the Nigerian boxer was completely laying into him and soon the two minutes was up and Grantaire retired to his corner looking tired already.

'This is not good' said Courfeyrac.

'Well he had a shaky start last time don't forget' pointed out Combeferre, 'Maybe he's just storing energy.'

Courfeyrac gave a smile which didn't show much confidence.

'You alright?' asked Combeferre turning to Enjolras quietly.

'Oh…yeah, why wouldn't I be?'

'Well I expected you to be moaning about the whole thing to be honest' said Combeferre, 'You're being unusually quiet.'

'I'm fine' he lied, he was out of sorts but there was no way he was going to say so to his best friend, and no way he was going to say why either.

Back in the centre of the arena, Grantaire's trainer was squatting down before him, looking him in the eye and talking forcefully probably hoping to spur Grantaire on to be more aggressive. The bell went and the boxers returned to the centre of the ring. Grantaire started the second round holding off the Nigerian with some well-placed punches and jabs but then it all went downhill from there, the Nigerian capitalised on a slight over-swing from the Englishman and retaliated harshly, practically pummelling Grantaire into the side barriers of the ring. Even when Grantaire tried his best to move out of the way of the Nigerian's arms the boxer in red followed him. It was soon clear that Grantaire was going to have a mountain to climb if he wanted to emerge victorious from this fight. The bell to end the second round couldn't come any sooner.

Courfeyrac groaned and put his head in his hands, 'Noooooo this is not looking good!'

Combeferre had gone tight lipped and was gripping the armrests of the plastic seats they were sitting on. Enjolras felt quite numb, Grantaire was getting absolutely hammered out there.

'It's almost like he isn't even putting up a fight' said Combeferre. Enjolras stared ahead to the ring, he could see Grantaire's trainer practically shouting at him, gesturing wildly, but Grantaire's face was blank, resigned. His black curls hung over his face as he looked down at the floor.

'It looks like he's given up' said Courfeyrac, 'It doesn't even look like him out there.'

'No it doesn't' said Combeferre thoughtfully, 'Grantaire's usually so tenacious, why's he suddenly not…oh…'

'Oh what?' asked Courfeyrac, Combeferre had turned around to face Enjolras properly now. Enjolras refused to look at him. Don't stare at me like that Combeferre.

'You didn't apologise did you?' said Combeferre astutely.

Enjolras ignored him. Stop staring at me like that!

'Did you?' asked Combeferre more forcefully.

'What didn't Enjolras do?' enquired Courfeyrac.

Combeferre explained, 'Grantaire congratulated us last night, but Enjolras thought he was making it up and called him out on it. Obviously Grantaire took offence because he was being genuine but Enjolras didn't believe him. This is on top of Enjolras's ridiculous attitude to boxing which Grantaire also got fed up with.' Courfeyrac looked shocked at this, and followed it up with a frown at Enjolras.

'I made a mistake, fine. Can we get on with watching this stupid match? Look they're back in the ring' said Enjolras trying to distract the other two. It didn't work.

'Enjolras how could you be so insensitive?' said Courfeyrac

'Insensitive to what?'

'That basically proves my point' said Courfeyrac throwing his hands in the air.

Enjolras didn't know why they were making such a big deal over this. He hadn't apologised to Grantaire despite him feeling guilty. He didn't like to be ordered about and his rebellious streak had risen within him resulting in him not wanting to send any sort of apologetic message to Grantaire. It hadn't helped, he still felt guilty, only now he was angry as well.

'Enjolras, don't you see what you've done?' said Combeferre sadly. 'Grantaire is going to lose this match because his head's not in the right place.'

Courfeyrac snorted, 'Lose? He's getting ripped to shreds out there!' The sounds of the crowd reflected this with the Nigerian fans going wild, sensing near victory amid groans of the English supporters. Enjolras couldn't look at Grantaire; there was a furious Combeferre in the way.

'Well maybe he's not trying hard enough!' yelled Enjolras, It's not my fault he's losing!

'What the hell Enjolras?! I cannot believe you!' shouted Courfeyrac over the noise of the Nigerian fans who were getting louder and louder.

'You've fucked up Enjolras' said Combeferre loudly. Enjolras was jolted from his seat; his best friend did not swear; he was always so calm and collected. Now though, he was absolutely seething. 'I told you to apologise, after you asked me how to stop feeling guilty. I was so pleased you actually felt something, now you've gone and made everything worse. I hope you feel like shit.'

'Jeez 'Ferre' said Courfeyrac, 'When you let loose you really let loose... Not that I'm saying it's not justified' he added, catching Enjolras's eye and glaring at him.

'I….I….' Enjolras just stuttered. Both his friends had turned on him; he didn't know what to do. 'I…..um…' I don't know what's happening, why do I feel like this?

Ding Ding!

The bell.

Enjolras felt like the bottom had dropped away from his stomach, he lurched forward to get a view of the boxing ring. Grantaire was barely standing, he was hunched over, clutching his side. The Nigerian boxer was jumping up and down, punching the air and waving to the Nigerian fans in the stands. The ref reached out to grasp each of the boxers' hands and, after an awkward wait raised the red fist of the Nigerian boxer into the air. Grantaire's trainer rushed into the ring to help his boxer stand up. Enjolras couldn't see Grantaire's face; all he could see were the messy black curls. He wanted to see his face, to know that he was okay. But it was quite clear that he was not.

Enjolras felt like everything was rising up to smother him, a wave crashing over his head, he couldn't breathe. He watched Grantaire be heavily supported by his team out of the arena. Then, Combeferre was grasping his upper arm and practically dragging him out of his seat.

'What…where are we going?' asked Enjolras as Combeferre headed out of the stands although not towards the exit of the whole precinct but instead down several corridors towards the backstage area. Courfeyrac followed along behind them.

'We're going to see Grantaire.'

They continued on in silence after that. Enjolras's head was spinning, Grantaire had lost. Of all the things tonight, he hadn't expected that to happen. Grantaire was supposed to be good at boxing. Why had this happened?

Was it really because of me? Enjolras really didn't want to answer that question, it made all the feelings rushing around inside him threaten to swell and he actually felt a bit sick.

Is it my fault?

They came to a halt in front of the England male boxers' holding rooms and Combeferre knocked a couple of times. There was a pause then the door was yanked open by none other than Bahorel.

'What…oh hey guys…what are you doing here?' his deep voice reverberated around the close corridor.

'Enjolras has something he would like to say to Grantaire.' Combeferre was stood stiffly and thrust Enjolras forward. Enjolras didn't appreciate being spoken about as if he wasn't there, but he knew he was in deep trouble with his friends so he didn't protest.

'Ah,' Bahorel looked down at Enjolras, which was saying something because Enjolras was pushing 6,4" himself. 'Right…well. I don't think that's the best thing for him right now, he's in a bad way, body and mind all over the place, Feuilly's going apeshit.'

'It won't take long' insisted Combeferre but Bahorel looked sceptical. He was dressed in his fight gear so he obviously had a match coming up later that afternoon.

'Please B' said Courfeyrac, coming to stand next to the other two. Enjolras was pretty sure Courfeyrac was pulling his puppy dog eyes on Bahorel and there wasn't a person on earth who could resist that.

'Alright, but it had better be quick,' Bahorel warned them as he stepped aside and held open the door for the three gymnasts to move through into the holding rooms. One wall was lined with lockers and there were seats as well as physio tables as well as training equipment strewn about here and there. Enjolras would normally turn his nose up at the untidiness of it all, but he was so shaken from everything that he found he hardly noticed or cared.

'He's through here' gestured Bahorel and he led them through a series of rooms, where the sounds of people arguing got louder and louder.

'Ow fuck….that hurts' came Grantaire's pained gasps.

'Well it better fucking hurt! What the fuck were you thinking? Did you even bother to fight out there?!' came a loud voice, obviously Feuilly's.

Enjolras, Combeferre, Courfeyrac rounded the corner behind Bahorel to see Grantaire laid back on a physio table, shirt off and a medical attendant bent over his chest, stretching his arm up to get a good look at Grantaire' ribs which were starting to go a mottled dark colour already. Grantaire was obviously in pain because he had turned his face into the pillow and had his eyes screwed shut 'Jesus….fuck…' he groaned as the medic prodded his chest a little. With this going on, he hadn't seen the new arrivals, Feuilly had however.

'And who in God's name are you?' he rounded on them.

Grantaire's eyes flew open and he looked directly at Enjolras. His green eyes pierced Enjolras's blue ones and Enjolras felt something squeeze in his chest, Grantaire's look of shock quickly turned into pain, which could have been from his ribs but Enjolras suspected it was because of something else….him. Great now I feel even worse. He gulped.

Feuilly was stood before them, a shortish, ginger, Irishman dressed in the team England staff kit. He looked to be in his mid-thirties and his face was flaming red from either shouting, or anger, or quite possibly, both.

'Hello' started Combeferre pleasantly, 'My name is Combeferre, this is Courfeyrac and Enjolras and we're friends of Grantaire's, we would-'

'Enjolras?' barked Feuilly, looking at him sharply. Enjolras felt uncomfortable under his scrutinising gaze. Feuilly turned back to Grantaire on the bench, the boxer was still staring at Enjolras but quickly snapped his attention to his trainer. 'This him?' Feuilly asked to Grantaire who nodded, then winced.

This conformation was seemingly all Feuilly needed to then commit bodily assault on the gymnast. Enjolras found himself slammed into the brick wall, held up by Feuilly's meaty hands gripping his sweatshirt. He had all the wind knocked out of him and was gasping, panting for breath.

'Hey!' shouted Bahorel stepping into stop things. Feuilly held up one hand and Bahorel stopped in his tracks. Enjolras realised then how much power Feuilly had and started to feel a little scared. The boxing trainer was very much the one in control here.

'Now, you.' Said Feuilly in a snarl, 'Would you like to explain to me what you have done to debilitate my star boxer so he can no longer even function?'

'I…I..I..' Enjolras was stammering again. Twice, in the same afternoon, he had been so thrown off balance- one time actually thrown into a wall- that he had lost basic cognitive function. This is not good.

'Mr Feuilly sir' began Courfeyrac in a small voice.

'Shut up boy' growled the trainer. There was silence, apart from Grantaire and Enjolras's shallow breathing, both of them having difficulties but for different reasons.

'Sir..I don't know what you're talking about' said Enjolras, trying to wriggle so he was more comfortable, but Feuilly's grip on him would not budge.

'Don't lie to me!' shouted Feuilly, 'What did you say to him, what did you do?'

'I didn't do anything …Grantaire and I had a disagreement last night. That was all' protested Enjolras raising his hands in a submissive gesture. Feuilly didn't look convinced.

'Sir, you may want to put down the English gymnastic gold medallist,' pointed out Combeferre who was standing next to Courfeyrac looking worried.

'Feuilly put him down' wheezed Grantaire from the table. 'It's got nothing to do with him, it's my fault, I'm the one who lost.'

'You weren't in your right mind today' grumbled Feuilly to his mentee, his hold on Enjolras slackened a little bit, 'You're the best out there Grantaire, when you put your mind to it, but you were lousy today, something got to you and if it's this boy' Enjolras was unceremoniously bumped into the wall again just to emphasis the trainer's point, 'then he should know he's cost you a medal'.

'He hasn't cost me anything' Grantaire replied, but even Enjolras could tell he was lying; the way Grantaire's head ducked, curls covering his face, the biting of his bottom lip. It hit home to Enjolras just how awful his attitude towards the boxer had been. Right from the start he'd disliked him, he hadn't even given Grantaire a chance! And now, now, he was battered and bruised and had nothing to show for it. Enjolras knew how important it was to be in the right frame of mind for a competition and he had been deliberately argumentative and narrow minded towards the dark haired man. This was Grantaire's career and Enjolras had continuously looked down on him throughout their short acquaintance, how could he be so cruel? Very easily he thought, you didn't even care did you?

'Can..Can I please have a word with Grantaire alone?' he asked, trying hard to keep his voice level. Feuilly looked at him in disbelief, 'If you think for one minute I'm going to leave you alone with-'

'Feuilly it's okay,' said Grantaire, 'Let him have 5 minutes.'

'Come on coach' said Bahorel, putting a hand on Feuilly's shoulder and encouraging him away. Feuilly acquiesced, hands dropping to his sides, but he glared at Enjolras the entire way out of the room. The medic, who hadn't bothered to say anything the entire time, followed with Combeferre and Courfeyrac right behind. Courfeyrac said quietly 'We'll be right outside' as he pulled the door to.

'Well..' said Grantaire from where he was lying prone on the physio table, 'You've got 5 minutes, make it quick.'

Enjolras just sagged against the wall. It hurt a lot when you got slammed into one, but then again, Grantaire had just been beaten up so he couldn't really complain.

'You're trainer's tough' he half laughed.

Grantaire didn't buy the interlude, 'What is it Apollo?'

Enjolras took a deep breath and stepped away from the wall, he tugged his sweatshirt down straightening it out. 'I'm sorry' he said sincerely.

Grantaire just stared. 'That's it?'

'What's it? Oh, yeah, I….um…I'm really sorry, about last night, about everything really. I'm sorry for being narrow-minded and saying that boxing wasn't a real sport and saying that you weren't a sportsman. You are good at what you do, and I'm sorry you didn't get a chance to prove it tonight' Enjolras was thumbing the material of his sweatshirt as he stumbled on the words, why is this so difficult to talk to him?

Grantaire was still staring at him, 'Are you…are…did you hit your head or something Apollo? Did Feuilly give you concussion? What did…what are you saying?'

'I'm apologising!' Enjolras almost shouted, 'Why can't you just accept that?'

'Jesus Apollo, I accept your apology! Alright?' Grantaire was trying to sit up as he spoke but was having difficulty. Enjolras moved forward to help him; he grasped under Grantaire's left shoulder and placed another hand on his waist to steady him and together they got him up into a sitting position. Enjolras stepped back and removed his hands from Grantaire's skin very quickly, he was hot and sweaty and when Enjolras had leaned in to help him up his face had come close to Grantaire's neck, and he had smelled really, really good.

Well that's confusing.

'Okay, well, great thanks' said Enjolras trying to appear as if he was fine and hadn't been at all affected by touching Grantaire's very naked chest. He tried not to look at him, at the dusting of dark hair over his torso and he definitely was not looking at the darker trail of hair going lower over Grantaire's abdomen and disappearing into his shorts. This is very very confusing.

'Did what I say really impact on your performance today?' Enjolras asked. Both Feuilly and Combeferre had said that but he wanted to know from Grantaire, maybe this was just twisting the spike of guilt inside him even deeper but he wanted an answer.

Grantaire screwed up his face in reply. Enjolras's heart sank. 'Maybe, I don't know Apollo, my head was all over the place. But' he said in a more panicked tone, he must have seen Enjolras's face 'It was me in the ring, I am the one responsible for my actions not you, and I was not on top form today.'

'Grantaire, I am so sorry' said Enjolras, his voice breaking. God what is wrong with me? 'Why did you even listen to me? You should have just ignored me!'

'Hah' laughed Grantaire which caused him to tense up in pain. Enjolras stepped in closer to him, he didn't know why, it was a knee-jerk reaction; he wanted to be able to help. 'You're pretty hard to ignore Apollo.'

'What… what do you mean?' said Enjolras scouring Grantaire's face for an explanation. Grantaire just looked up at him, eyes wide, impossibly green.

'Enjolras…..' said Grantaire almost reverently, his tone making something stir in Enjolras's gut. 'Enjolras you-'

But then the door to the room crashed open making both of them jump. Courfeyrac came stumbling in, 'Grantaire!' he cried.

'Shut up, I'm telling him!' yelled Feuilly striding into the room. 'Get up kid, you're going to the semi-finals!'

'The fuck?' exclaimed Grantaire.

'The Nigerian lad just failed his post-match drugs test' announced Bahorel also entering the room with Combeferre who was beaming. 'Evidence of doping detected, he's been disqualified which means you advance to the next round instead.'

'The fuck?' repeated Grantaire looking from face to face as if he was waiting for someone to declare the whole thing a joke. He glanced back up to Enjolras shock on his face. Enjolras smiled down at him and extended his hand, 'Congratulations' he said and they shook on it.