#Modern Enjolras | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

kjack89 · 1 month ago

Text

New year, same bullshit. I’m sorry I’ve been so MIA, friends, but I hope you accept this drabble as an explanation of sorts. Love you all ❤️

“Should I be worried?”

Grantaire’s eyes flicker up to Enjolras’s, his cereal spoon halfway to his mouth. “Do you mean, like, in general?” he asks. “Because I mean, like, it’s 2025. And we’re all fucked. So.”

He sticks his spoon in his mouth and shrugs. Enjolras doesn’t smile. “That’s on me for not being more specific, I guess,” he says, scrubbing a hand across his mouth before crossing his arms in front of his chest. “You’re not painting.”

Grantaire swallows. “Well, no,” he allows, “mainly because I’m eating breakfast at the moment.”

“Be serious.”

Grantaire’s lips twitch. “It’s somewhat less funny when you know it’s coming.”

Enjolras arches an eyebrow. “And yet that’s never stopped you before.”

“Fair.” Grantaire twirls his spoon between his fingers before pronouncing, like the well-worn, inside joke it had become, “I am wild.”

Almost certainly despite himself, Enjolras smiles, just slightly. “Yeah, you are,” he agrees. “But you’re also not painting.”

Grantaire’s answering smile fades. “Could be,” he says, a little sullenly. “It’s not like you’re around enough to know.”

It’s a low blow and he knows it, but Enjolras doesn’t flinch. “Maybe not but we live in a late capitalist surveillance state so I have my ways of finding out.”

“Well, well, well, typical white man, complaining about the system except for when it directly benefits you.”

“Yep,” Enjolras says. “Are you going to keep deflecting? Because I can do this all day.”

For a moment, Grantaire’s tempted to take him up on it, to see just how long he’ll actually allow this to drag on. It’d almost certainly be good fun, and it isn’t like Grantaire’s got anything better to do.

But he can also see that Enjolras is genuinely worried, can see it in the tightness of his shoulders and the lines at the corners of his eyes that he tries to claim aren’t crow’s feet because he’s not old enough to have crow’s feet. And considering Grantaire’s previous point about all of the other things that are almost certainly more worth Enjolras’s worry, he supposes he owes him at least a semblance of the truth.

“Yes, I haven’t been painting,” he says, dipping his spoon in his bowl of cereal and stirring it, mostly to give himself something to do with his hands. “No, you shouldn’t be worried.”

Enjolras nods like he didn’t really expect a different answer. “Are you depressed again?”

Enjolras’s bluntness, characteristic though it may be, still startles a laugh from Grantaire. He sighs and looks down at his cereal bowl. “There’s not really a way to say this that won’t worry you.”

When he sneaks a glance at him, Enjolras meets his eyes evenly. “Try me.”

Grantaire jerks a shrug. “I’ve never really not been depressed,” he admits, which isn’t really a dirty secret so he’s not entirely sure why he’s saying it like it is.

Maybe because he really doesn’t want Enjolras to worry. They don’t talk about this, really, other than for Enjolras to reiterate more times than Grantaire can count that he’s always there to listen if ever Grantaire wants or needs to talk.

He knows that Grantaire’s in therapy, and takes meds, and had some very low lows previously, but Grantaire’s never felt the need to fill him in on the specifics.

It was depressing enough living it the first time.

He made that joke, such as it was, to his therapist, who didn’t laugh. “Do you frequently feel like you’re a burden to your loved ones?” she asked in response.

Of course Grantaire does, but again, he won’t tell Enjolras that.

Enjolras taps his fingers on the table, the way he does when he’s deciding on the best plan of attack or how to most effectively dismantle whatever asinine argument Grantaire’s brought up. “I thought you were doing better,” he says hesitantly after a moment.

He doesn’t pitch it as a question but Grantaire still nods. “I was.”

“What happened?” Enjolras asks, before pausing and asking, “Did something happen?”

Grantaire sighs and crosses his arms in front of his chest. “It doesn’t always work that way,” he says. “It’s not always triggered by something happening.”

Enjolras’s brow furrows. “Right,” he says shortly, something like disappointment flitting across his expression.

It took Grantaire a very long time when they got together to realize that this kind of disappointment isn’t aimed at him, but at a problem Enjolras can’t fix, an enemy he can’t fight.

At least, not directly.

He clears his throat. “But in this case, I think probably everything over the past few months played at least a contributory role, shall we say.”

True though it is, he mostly says it for Enjolras’s sake. Enjolras just nods slowly. “Are you not painting because your depression is bad again?”

Grantaire exhales sharply. “I’ve painted a lot while depressed.”

Enjolras’s expression doesn’t shift. “Another excellent deflection.”

Grantaire barks a laugh and scrubs both hands across his face. “You know me too fucking well.”

“Or just well enough.”

Grantaire lowers his hands and sighs again. He doesn’t quite meet Enjolras’s eyes as he says, “Every time I go try to paint…it’s like I can’t see it anymore, you know?” Enjolras almost certainly doesn’t know, but he’s struggling to put it into words in a way he can understand. “Like I can’t picture it in my mind, how I want it to look, or how to get there. It’s– it’s like trying to paint in fog.”

It’s not an exact metaphor, but it’ll do.

Enjolras nods slowly. “But I don’t need to be worried.”

“No,” Grantaire says, before wrinkling his nose. “Yes? I never know what the correct response is.” Enjolras just gives him a look, and Grantaire tells him, “No, you don’t need to be worried.” He pauses, worrying his bottom lip between his teeth before telling Enjolras with an almost tired conviction, “It’ll come back. It always has.”

“And if it doesn’t?” Enjolras asks.

Grantaire cracks a smile. “Then you can worry.”

Enjolras takes a deep breath. “Ok,” he says simply.

Grantaire eyes him resignedly. “You’re going to worry anyway, aren’t you?”

A smile twitches at the corners of Enjolras’s mouth. “Newsflash, asshole, I’ve been worried this whole time,” he says dryly, and Grantaire’s smile widens at the quote.

“I’m sorry,” he says, and Enjolras’s smile disappears.

“What? Why?”

Grantaire shakes his head, mostly because he knows Enjolras won’t like his explanation. “Because you shouldn’t have to—”

Sure enough, Enjolras cuts him off with a scowl, though his voice is gentle as he tells him, “That ship I’m pretty sure sailed when I fell in love with you. Or, frankly, probably a good deal sooner than that.”

There are so many things that Grantaire wants to say that, but he can’t bring himself to. Instead, he stretches his hand across the table and tells Enjolras, sincerely, “I love you.”

Enjolras takes his hand, lacing their fingers together. “I know,” he says softly. “I love you, too.” He squeezes Grantaire’s hand before adding, “I hope it comes back soon.”

“Yeah,” Grantaire agrees. “So do I.”

#exr #enjolras #grantaire #enjolras x grantaire #enjoltaire #fanfiction #modern au #Les Miserables #established relationship #depression cw #mental illness #drabble #ficlet

166 notes · View notes

kjack89 · 8 days ago

Text

Just going to try to write my way through it, I guess.

Pre-slash/friendship, modern AU. Cw: suicide ideation, depression.

“Hey,” Grantaire said, a little awkwardly, and Enjolras glanced up at him. “Can I, uh, talk to you?”

For a brief moment, Enjolras was tempted to either point out that they were already talking, or the grammatically correct way of asking was ‘May I’, or any other of their usual way of mostly mocking the other, but something about the way Grantaire was toying with the hem of his t-shirt made Enjolras think this was something serious.

“Yeah, of course,” he said instead, tucking his phone in his back pocket. “Do you, uh, want to go outside?”

The back room of the Musain had thinned after the meeting had wrapped up, but there were enough stragglers that someone would probably overhear if they stayed. Grantaire jerked a shrug and gestured for Enjolras to lead the way. He rolled his eyes but did, heading out to the alley with Grantaire on his heels.

“So,” Enjolras said, crossing his arms in front of his chest and resting his back against the brick wall. “What’s up?”

Grantaire mirrored his pose, his shoulder just brushing against Enjolras’s. “So you know I had surgery recently.”

Enjolras glanced sideways at him. “Yeah,” he said, a little cautiously. “Gallbladder, right?” Grantaire nodded. “How, uh, how’s the recovery been?”

“Fine,” Grantaire said. “As expected.”

Enjolras nodded. “Ok,” he said, still cautious about where this was headed. “I mean, I’m glad to hear it, but—”

Grantaire turned to face him, shoving his hands in his pockets. “I need you to do me a favor.”

That was not entirely what Enjolras had expected. “Sure?”

Grantaire took a deep breath before withdrawing one hand from his pocket, extending it to Enjolras. “I need you to hold onto these.”

Enjolras reached out automatically. “What—” he started, breaking off when he saw that Grantaire had just handed him a pill bottle. “You’re allowed to take painkillers.”

He didn’t mean to blurt it like that, didn’t even know that they were painkillers, though given Grantaire’s history, it probably made the most sense, and besides—

“I know that,” Grantaire said, breaking Enjolras’s thought spiral.

At least temporarily.

“I mean,” he said, scrambling for something to say that wouldn’t make him sound like an idiot, “even with your– your problem.”

Grantaire raised both eyebrows. “My addiction,” he said. “You can say it, it’s not a dirty word.”

Enjolras jerked a nod. “Right, of course. I just mean—”

“I can take prescription painkillers as prescribed by a doctor without violating my sobriety, I know,” Grantaire said. He gave Enjolras a sideways look. “Little curious why you know that.”

Enjolras shrugged, feeling a flush cross his face. “I did some research,” he muttered.

Grantaire blinked. “Did you?” he asked, sounding surprised.

Enjolras cleared his throat. “So then why—”

Grantaire looked away. “I just. I don’t think it’s a good idea for me to hold onto them right now.” He shrugged. “But I am still in some pain so if I need one, I’ll come to you.”

Enjolras glanced down at the pill bottle. “Don’t you think Joly, or Combeferre—”

“You’re the only one whose schedule is as fucked as mine is.”

Enjolras half smiled. “Fair enough.” His smile faded as he turned the pill bottle over in his hand. “I still don’t understand,” he admitted. “If you think you might relapse…” Something tightened in Grantaire’s expression, and Enjolras felt his stomach plummet with realization. “You’re not worried about relapsing, are you.”

He didn’t pitch it as a question, and Grantaire shook his head. “No,” he said quietly. “No I’m not.”

Enjolras’s mouth went dry. “R—”

Grantaire scrubbed a hand across his mouth before forcing a smile that looked more like a grimace. “Look, it’s not– things just aren’t great right now, you know?” he said, something dismissive in his tone, as if this wasn’t a big deal, or as if he was trying to convince himself of that. “And I don’t need to have any, uh, means on hand to do something stupid.”

Enjolras’s grip on the pill bottle was so tight that his knuckles were white. “Are you—”

Grantaire’s eyes darted to his and away again. “I don’t have any plans, I promise.” He shrugged again, twisting the hem of his shirt between his fingers. “But it’s also getting harder and harder to see a way through it, you know?”

“Yeah,” Enjolras said quietly. “I know.”

Grantaire took a deep breath. “Anyway. Like I said, I’ll, um, I’ll let you know if I need one.”

He turned as if to leave, as if he thought there was any world in which Enjolras would let him just walk away. There wasn’t, of course, and Enjolras reached out automatically to grab his arm. “Grantaire—”

“What?” Grantaire asked, something wary in his expression as he glanced back at him.

“You’re not allowed to do anything stupid.”

Something tightened in Grantaire’s expression before he barked a dry, humorless laugh. “To listen to you, I do something stupid every day.”

But Enjolras refused to let him brush this off. “You know what I mean.”

Grantaire sighed. “I promise, I have no plans—”

“But you have thought about it,” Enjolras said sharply, daring Grantaire to contradict him. “And like I said, you’re not allowed to.”

Grantaire shook his head. “I never was very good at following orders, Apollo.”

Enjolras gave him a look. “Like my order for you to never call me that again?”

A ghost of a smile twitched across Grantaire’s lips. “Exactly.”

Enjolras didn’t dignify that with a response. “I don’t care,” he said stubbornly, finally letting go of Grantaire’s arm. “I’m giving you an order anyway. If the thought of disobeying an order or, I don’t know, disappointing me or whatever gives you even a second’s hesitation, then it’s worth it.”

Grantaire sighed, his expression tightening again. “The disappointment angle is a nice touch, but I disappoint you in everything I do, so.”

He jerked another shrug but Enjolras shook his head. “No,” he said quietly. “You don’t.” Grantaire didn’t look convinced and Enjolras frowned, searching his expression. “If the thought of disappointing me won’t help, what will?”

“Intensive in-patient therapy that my insurance won’t cover, an updated drug regimen that I can’t get approved because the next appointments to see a psychiatrist are 6 months out at the earliest, and a society that’s not on the precipice of fascism, mostly.”

Enjolras nodded. “Well. Good thing I’m already doing what I can on that last front.”

Grantaire managed a small, tired smile. “I know.”

Enjolras hesitated before asking, “Is there anything else?”

“It’s not the kind of problem that has a solution,” Grantaire told him.

“I know that.”

“I mean, I’m sure you’d love to organize a march against my mental illness or whatever—”

“I really would,” Enjolras said.

Grantaire’s lips twitched. “Change.org petition?”

Despite everything, Enjolras snorted a laugh. “Oh, absolutely. Sign here to tell Grantaire’s depression to fuck off.”

Grantaire’s smile widened. “If we get 10,000 signatures, the White House has to respond.”

“Exactly.” Enjolras hesitated before telling him, “If there was anything I could do, I would. In a heartbeat.”

Grantaire’s smile faded. “Yeah, well.” He scuffed the toe of his shoe against the ground. “Kind of a moot point. But, uh, thanks. For, you know.”

“Yeah,” Enjolras said, matching his tone. “You’re welcome.”

Grantaire hesitated, glancing up at him. “Enjolras—”

“What?”

“Give me a reason not to.”

Enjolras sucked in a breath. His immediate, initial instinct was to tell Grantaire anything he wanted to hear, to tell him that he knew Grantaire had feelings for him and maybe, with time, Enjolras could develop feelings back. It wasn’t entirely a lie, after all.

But it also wasn’t what Grantaire needed to hear.

He needed to hear the truth.

So instead, he took a deep breath, and he told him, “Because I want to win.”

Grantaire stared at him. “What?”

“Four years from now, ten years from now, however long it takes. I want to be able to tell you, ‘I told you so’.”

Grantaire’s brow furrowed. “About what?”

“Any of it,” Enjolras told him. “All of it. That we were right, that we changed things, that things got fucking better because we fought tooth and nail for every scrap of better we could get. I want to be able to tell you that.”

Grantaire cocked his head. “So to be clear, you want me to stay alive so that you can gloat?”

He sounded almost amused, and Enjolras shrugged. “I figure if your spite’s not enough to keep you going, maybe mine will.”

“You’ve got enough spite to share?” Grantaire asked dryly, and at the look Enjolras gave him, barked a laugh. “Ok, stupid question.”

“Very,” Enjolras agreed.

Grantaire’s eyes narrowed. “You’re supposed to say there’s no such thing as a stupid question.”

Enjolras arched an eyebrow. “And yet you’re bound and determined to prove that statement wrong every single day.”

“Maybe that’ll be what keeps me going,” Grantaire said.

But Enjolras didn’t laugh at that. “Whatever it takes.”

Grantaire nodded. “Right. Thanks, I think.”

Again he turned to go, and again Enjolras couldn’t let him. “Grantaire—”

“What?” Grantaire said, and Enjolras reached out to pull him into a hug. “Oof. Um. Hi?”

Enjolras didn’t let go as he told him, as fiercely as he had promised anything in his life, “If you do anything to hurt yourself, I will kill you.”

Grantaire huffed a light laugh, patting Enjolras’s back. “I think that would kind of defeat the purpose—”

“I mean it.”

Grantaire shook his head and tried to pull away. “Enj… I’ve failed at everything you’ve ever asked of me.”

Enjolras nodded. “I know.”

“What makes you think this time will be different?”

“Because it has to be.”

“Well,” Grantaire said, after a long moment. “We’ll see, I guess.”

Enjolras nodded and gave Grantaire a tight smile. “I’m going to be unbearable for a while, just as a fair warning.”

Grantaire made a face. “I would expect nothing less.” He hesitated before adding, “And you can tell people, I guess. It’s not really a secret.”

“You realize I’ll be roping all of our friends into making sure you stay alive.”

Grantaire just shrugged. “It’s not the worst thing you’ve roped them into.”

“You say that like it’s a bad thing.”

But Grantaire didn’t smile at that, instead looking away as he told Enjolras, “I really never wanted to be one of your causes.”

Enjolras shook his head. “You’re not,” he said firmly, and when Grantaire gave him a look, he added, “But you are one of my friends.”

Grantaire jerked a nod. “I– thank you,” he said quietly.

“You’re welcome,” Enjolras repeated. “And I’ll, uh, I’ll keep these safe.”

What he wanted to say was, I’ll keep you safe, but judging by the small, lopsided but nonetheless genuine smile Grantaire gave him, he understood anyway.

And hopefully, he might find a way to believe that Enjolras meant it.

#exr #Enjolras & Grantaire #enjolras #grantaire #enjoltaire #fanfiction #Les Miserables #pre slash #friendship #modern au #suicide ideation cw #depression #self indulgent

62 notes · View notes