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Enjolras was writing when it happened. It hit fast and quick, taking him by surprise. There was no reason for it, at least none presented themselves to his mind. Nothing he was writing was particularly emotion-evoking, and Combeferre and Courfeyrac were sitting nearby, caught up in a debate of some trivial matter.
It was late, yes, but a calm night, and it had been a good day overall. The meeting hadn’t been the best, but Enjolras accepted that, his guilt being shoved deep over the decision to go home early rather than socialize with the rest of Les Amis.
But, this wasn’t the first time his mood had changed quickly and intensely. It had, perhaps, been a while, but that whole had been good. Which is why he was sudden so distraught with the wash of emotions flooding him.
Deep sadness, consuming dread, a lack of hope, and a seemingly endless well them. It captured his heart, drowning it and drenching it. It stole his breath and made breathing difficult. It was such a poignant sense of loss and depression that he had an overwhelming impulse to cry.
His hands shook as he set down his pen, putting his head in his hands as he tried to calm himself and steady his breathing. It was to no avail, and tears began to wet his eyes.
Knowing that there was no way to repress any of the emotions consuming him, he stood and began to aimlessly order the pages on the desk; he could always get what he needed the next morning.
The chair had scraped against the floor, alerting his friends.
“Are you alright?” Courfeyrac asked.
“Yes,” Enjolras replied; his voice had trembled on the lie; “Just going to go to bed.” He briefly looked at them on the sofa, head downturned, and went to exit the room, but that was all that it took.
“Enjolras.”
He froze at Combeferre’s voice. He always knew.
Enjolras turned slowly, shaking ever so slightly his one arm wrapping around himself and his left hand coming up to wipe at his quickly overflowing eyes.
Combeferre’s voice softened infinitely. “C’mere.”
A sob finally was fully formed, and Enjolras rushed into the arms of his dear friend.
The trio maneuvered so Enjolras was between Combeferre, seated on the couch, and Courfeyrac, seated on the armrest. He was tightly held by the sturdy and secure Combeferre and Courfeyrac embraced from the behind, his hands flirting comfortingly on Enjolras’s arms and back, running smooth and soothing patterns into them.
Enjolras was sobbing uncontrollably. The deep fear and pain that had so suddenly captured him was being released.
“Shh, just let it out,” Combeferre said, his hushed timbre parting through the cries.
“I’m sorry!” Enjolras gasped. He felt so shameful for this display. There was no reason! he felt, absolutely none! The senseless whims of melancholy seemed childish. He was a tearful and compassionate person, crying often. He felt no shame in that. But the emotions that were as unpredictable as weather were what caused him intense frustration. “There’s no reason for this! Nothing’s happened, and yet-” Here he sobbed, no true ending to his sentence. “I’m so sorry, so, so sorry. I am so sorry.”
“Hush,” Combeferre reassured. “It is alright. Perfectly alright to feel this way. We shall hold you till this passes. And even then, as long as you wish. We are here for you.”
This comfort, those truthful and heartfelt words, easily became a lantern, a comforting light in the dark. Enjolras clung to that.
“Yes,” Courfeyrac agreed. “We shan’t leave you, my dear.”
Enjolras’s sobs became fused with ones of relief. The fear was there, yes, the darkness and pain thick and nigh unberable, but his friends’s solid presence and words were a blanket, a candle in frightfully dark room; warm and encompassing, inside and out.
Combeferre and Courfeyrac continued to whisper reassurances, calming and comforting words and phrases. His tears eventually began to peter out, becoming a slow flow rather than the crashing wave as before. He felt safer, though the emotional whim was still there. Exhaustion was the successor to tears.
Enjolras leaned into his friends, the occasional cry still leaving him. He did not want to leave them. He did not want them to leave him.
“How about a rest, hmm?” Combeferre asked, looking down sweetly at the small man in his arms. “Should we go off to bed?”
Enjolras whined his protest of separation, not being able to articulate.
“Dear, you’re all tuckered out. You’re nearly asleep in my arms. Let’s go to bed, hmm?”
“Don’t want to be alone,” Enjolras mumbled.
Combeferre’s lips pressed together, an adoring smile fixing itself. “Did you think we’d leave you, my dear?” A small huff of laughter buoyed his words.
Enjolras whined once more, pressing more firmly into the two embraces.
“We won’t be leaving you,” Combeferre assured.
Enjolras’s muscled untensed. His eyes had fallen shut earlier, and sleep began to steal upon him.
“We’ll be staying right with you,” Courfeyrac added, pressing closer to his friend before drawing away, letting Combeferre rise with Enjolras in his arms.
In Combeferre’s room, after removing shoes and waistcoats, the three snuggled into each other, the covers pulled snug around them. The embrace from the couch was replicated: Combeferre holding Enjolras and Courfeyrac holding Enjolras from behind.
Sleep passed upon them, comfort and light easing Enjolras into a bearable state, seeing him through the storm of emotions that had set upon him. He trusted the comfort and light to anchor him through. And he needn’t worry; his friends were there.
Combeferre and Courfeyrac would stay with him always.