Chapter Text
New York City, New York
East 9th Street, East Village
Enjolras had his books scattered all over the coffee table, papers and speeches for Les Amis covering every surface and if he had school, there would be various philosophy papers and political science reports as well. No one understood how he could operate under such conditions, sometimes people doubted even he did. It was a constant surprise how well Enjolras could work with the amount of work he took on.
But then of course, the people closest to Enjolras would say he didn't work well, he just produced good work. The fact that Combeferre could see the stark, dark circles under his roommate's eyes even from across the room was proof of that. The tea kettle Combeferre had put on sang its shrill shriek. The bespectacled man lifted the kettle from the stove and poured a cup; the blonde man leaned back and ran his hands through his hair, ignoring the few strands that fell from stress.
"Can you please make that noise stop?" Enjolras asked, frustrated and rubbing his temples.
Combeferre simply got two aspirin from the cabinet and brought them to Enjolras with the tea. He shut his roommate's laptop and set the tea and aspirin on top.
"Drink," he demanded.
"You're lucky I already have that speech memorized. You know I have everything set to auto-delete when my laptop's shut," Enjolras replied, taking the pills.
"I know," Combeferre said simply. Enjolras glared in response. "You need a break. And I don't mean a thirty minute one where I hold your computer hostage and force you to watch Star Trek with me while you work on your phone when you think I can't see."
Enjolras coughed, he thought he hid that quite well. He set down his mug on a space of exposed table and moved to reopen his laptop. Combeferre blocked him and grabbed the laptop. He tossed it onto the armchair next to him.
"Hey! That cost me a lot of money," Enjolras yelped.
"Money you can spare, I know your parents, remember. They're best friends with my parents."
"Doesn't matter," Enjolras said petulantly.
"You need a break," Combeferre repeated.
"I'm taking one," the blond replied, taking a pointed sip of tea.
"You know what I mean," Combeferre sighed.
"No, actually, I don't. It's not like I can leave my work. Even if I don't have summer classes, I still have Les Amis, I still have protests. Injustice doesn't stop, why should I?"
"There are other members of Les Amis. There's me, there's Courf. You're not the only leader. And have you seen the stuff that's up to go to court in the next month?"
"No."
"Exactly, because there's nothing. A full month, Enjolras. You can take a month off."
"A month?! You expect me to stop for a month?" Enjolras asked, his face twisting in disbelief.
"Thirty days, yes," Combeferre nodded. "You need it. Don't tell me you don't see how tired you are when you look in the mirror everyday. Don't tell me you don't notice your hair falling out. I do the cleaning, remember, I have sweep up your goddamn hair. You're twenty-three, Enjolras. You drink at least five triple espressos every day. Your clothes are too loose because you forget to eat. You forget to drink anything that isn't coffee. I swear if I didn't force you to eat at the Musée, you would have died three years ago from starvation. I know you want to save the starving poor, but you don't have to become one."
Enjolras let the words sink in. He finished his tea and walked to retrieve his laptop from the arm chair. "I'll think about it," he said, reopening Word to write his speech.
Combeferre threw up his hands in exasperated surrender and walked away muttering something that sounded suspiciously like, "I swear to God, this fucking man will be the death of me."