I’m so tired that I have a headache and I can’t get…”
Oh god this was me last night 😦 Worst night’s sleep EVER and when I finally did sleep (not enough) I had the weirdest goddamn dreams. I hate summer so much. SO MUCH.
IT WAS AWFUL. D: I’ve had screwed up dreams lately, too. -.-;;; I never remember them when I wake up, but they’ve definitely been weird af. I’m sorry your sleep has been messed up, too, though! 😦 Insomnia definitely sucks.
(And I’m all jittery and twitchy already, so I’m worried that tonight will be another night like last night which is NOT GOOD because I have plans tomorrow night and all day Saturday and I have a paper to write tomorrow. -.-;;; UGH.)
Jehan paused in the hallway, poised to open the door to his room. That noise… Turning away from his own door, he edged down the hall towards Grantaire’s. As he edged closer, the sound of someone softly sobbing became unmistakable. He hesitated, torn between the need to help and the need to leave Grantaire his privacy, but in the end, he knocked quietly on the door.
The sounds of crying immediately ceased.
Not to be put off by Grantaire playing turtle, Jehan knocked again. “R… I know you’re in there. I can hear you. Is everything all right?”
A creak of bedsprings then, and a quickly muffled curse. Jehan waited, heart in his throat, for Grantaire’s answer. Grantaire’s voice, when it finally came, was thick with those tears that had stopped so precipitously upon Jehan’s knock. “I’m fine.”
“You don’t sound fi—“
A rise in pitch now, a hint of frantic desperation around the edges. “Really, Jehan, I’m fine. Just… it’s nothing, OK?”
Not one to be deterred, especially when he hadn’t been asked to leave, Jehan squared his shoulders. “I’m coming in, R. If you don’t want me there, now’s the time to get up and lock the door.” When a count of twenty had passed with no sounds of movement from inside Grantaire’s room, Jehan slowly pushed open the door. The sight that met his eyes was… not the one which had been expected.
Grantaire was curled up in the corner of his bed, the stuffed manatee that had been a gift from Jehan clutched to his chest, and the light from his laptop monitor throwing the tears tracks on his cheeks into glistening relief. Jehan edged closer, easing around to see what Grantaire had seen that had made him so upset.
The computer was paused on a Youtube video, “Homeward Bound : The Incredible Journey (partial ending).” In the frame was an American Bulldog, hunched over and peering through broken wooden slats at the top of a muddy embankment. Jehan jerked back, then reached out to cuff Grantaire on the back of the head. “R! You know better!”
Grantaire cringed, arms already lifted to cover his head. “I know, I know! I’m sorry. I was watching kitten videos and I got sucked into a Youtube spiral and, the next thing I knew, I was here! I swear, I didn’t leave you out on purpose!”
Jehan crossed his arms over his chest, a tight scowl on his face as he stared down at Grantaire’s cringing form. Finally, he shook his head and said, “Fine. If we’re going to do this, then we’re going to do it right. I’ll go get the DVD and you make the popcorn.”
An hour later when Feuilly returned home, it was to find both of his roommates curled up on the living room couch, clutching their favorite stuffed animals, and sobbing like they were at the funeral of a beloved friend. He didn’t even have to look to know what would be playing on the TV. With a fond smile and a roll of his eyes, he simply climbed over the back of the couch and settled in between them, resigned to the wet shirt he would end up with when Jehan and Grantaire got done with him. After all… what were friends for?
*eagerly waits* I am ON BOARD for this. I will wait till next years’ Barricade Days if I must!
😀 YAY!! Seriously, the idea walloped me during the wedding scene at LM this afternoon, but it was kind of a nebulous “Courfeyrac at Marius’ wedding” kind of thing? And then on the train home, my brain went “LET’S FIGURE IT OUT” and then the next thing I knew, I was plotting the next LM x HL fic. ^_^
I wish I could like this about twenty more times. I’m sorry that some suck had to happen to get you to this point, but I am glad that you’re awake and that you’re going to try to stay that way. I just want you to be happy because you deserve all the happiness!
*big hugs* RIGHT BACK AT YOU. And thanks. ^_^ Honestly, I just hope I can hold onto this moment of clarity and motivation. *crosses fingers* I am sure as hell going to try, though!
There’s no sound but the shuffling of his feet on the uneven wood floor of the hallway. He tries again.
“Courfeyrac, come on. I didn’t mean it.” And then, because if he can’t be charming and he can’t be good with people and he can’t be naturally kind, at least he can be honest, he adds, “That way.”
“You meant it.” Courfeyrac’s voice is stretched thin and uneven.
“I didn’t mean your family. Courfeyrac.”
“Combeferre, go away. I don’t want you here right now.”
Combeferre has never been able to read people well, but even he knows that this is Courfeyrac’s serious voice. And yet. He can’t bear to walk away, to leave things be when they are so terribly Wrong. Not when it’s Courfeyrac on the other side of that door. “I’m sorry,” he tries. “It was rude and unthinking of me. I didn’t–I’m not like you, Courf, I’m not good with people.”
The door is wrenched open, and Courfeyrac is there. His eyes are wet but Combeferre knows he’s not really crying–he’s just angry. (He knows him that well, God, he knows him so well, how is it that there is one person in the whole world who he actually gets and he’s still managed to hurt him?)
“I’ve heard that–that cowardly excuse from you too many times,” Courfeyrac snaps. “It’s not good enough, Combeferre. There’s a difference between being awkward, and being cruel, and you like to pretend you don’t see it.”
Combeferre ducks his head, heat rising to his cheeks. Courfeyrac runs on, flinging out the words with frighteningly precise ennunciation, even as his tongue’s going a mile a minute. “It doesn’t take any kind of social acumen to recognize when something you want to say might hurt someone–it just takes a little bit of logic and enough caring to actually stop and think about the facts.”
Unspoken: Combeferre literally has a master’s degree in logic. Combeferre is a slave to logic. Combeferre is the one who is constantly pleading with Enjolras and Courfeyrac to stop and think about the facts.
Unspoken: Combeferre doesn’t care about Courfeyrac.
It’s not true, Combeferre’s brain protests–and yet it’s where all the facts are pointing. Given what’s gone down this evening, the logical conclusion is that Combeferre is a selfish bastard who likes people only for how they benefit him and doesn’t actually give a shit about Courfeyrac’s feelings.
And Combeferre is a slave to logic.
He turns away, and the door slams behind him and he can still hear Courfeyrac’s restless pacing around the room. And he knows Courfeyrac well enough to know to text Joly with the suggestion he and Bossuet drop by to channel Courfeyrac’s angry energy into something less destructive than what he’ll come up with on his own. He’s sent the text and received an affirmative reply (bless Joly, he doesn’t ask what happened), and has already let himself out of the apartment before he realizes that he’s once again proved that he knows Courfeyrac so well.
He really has no excuse.
As he turns up his collar against the cold, spitting rain that feels more like November than April, it occurs to him that he might also be being a little overdramatic, about the whole thing. He said something shitty; now, twenty minutes later, he’s come to the conclusion that he’s an inhuman wretch with a rotted-out soul who’s probably going to die alone and deserve it. It pains him to realize that that part of his personality is a fairly recent grafting, courtesy of Courfeyrac.