Enjoltaire One Shots

Boy, Why Are You Crying?

Grantaire was a professional at dealing with bad days. He was the master of hangover cures, had taken too many first aid classes with Joly to count, and could jump a car and flip a boat and get stains out of just about anything. The one thing that he had never been able to deal with, however, was crying. He himself, when he was alone for the most part, would cry, but if someone else broke down in sobs he would freeze up entirely.
One day, Eponine had stumbled into his apartment bruised and watery-eyed, fresh from a visit with her parents. R had offered her an awkward hug, and she had fallen into it, her tears soaking his shirt collar as he stiffly patted her back. It wasn't just being awkward around girls, though. Whenever he had to babysit Gavroche, if the little boy got upset, Grantaire would usually suggest a new activity instead of comforting his friend. He wasn't heartless, just easily flustered.

It was an important day- Enjolras was turning twenty-three today, though he hadn't actually told anyone. Jehan had been the one to tell R, practically whispering it and acting cagey when Enjolras returned to the room.
Why wouldn't he have mentioned it? R, after all, loved his own birthday. Even when things felt awful, back when he was younger and was still at home, his mother would always make it a special occasion- cake and balloons, presents and a few contraband sparklers that they would burn together, giggling, in his dark bedroom. The spot of levity always made him feel lighter, more detached from his problems.

That was why R was now ascending the fourth flight of stairs up to Enjolras's apartment, his arms full of brown paper grocery sacks. Inside the bags were cake and flowers and a box of contraband sparklers that he may or may not have stolen. He held tightly onto a buch of brightly colored helium balloons, which bobbed behind him every time his brown leather boots came down on the cement steps.
There it was, room 1829. Enjolras's apartment. R's fingers fumbled a little on his key as he shifted the weight of his packages, trying desperately not to drop them all. He finally managed to get it open and, wobbling slightly, entered the apartment.

Enjolras sat at the small, unsteady kitchen table in the chair facing the door, his head in his hands. His sandy hair was even more disheveled than usual, and his wide eyes had a dull cast to them. When he saw Grantaire, his jaw dropped. "W-what are you d-doing here?"
Grantaire set down his bands and began affixing the balloons to a chair. "I came to wish you a happy birthday! See, I brought balloons, and cake, and...h-hey! Why are you crying all of a sudden?"
For Enjolras had buried his face in his hands and begun to sob, his shoulders shaking. R felt his own cheeks heating up, his composure already dropping away. When anyone cried, he grew a little flustered, but Enjolras's tears made him especially weak.
He shakily walked over to the table and put a trembling hand on his boyfriend's shoulder. "Enj, what's wrong?"

"N-n-no one..." Enjolras took a gasping breath. "I haven't celebrated my birthday since I was seventeen. That was the last time I s-saw my dad. I know my m-mom said he's doing well in California, and that I should go visit him, but I've never been able to celebrate my birthday since." He dissolved into fresh sobs, his whole body practically vibrating.
R gave him a tentative hug, trying to comfort him. He had completely forgotten that Enjolras's parents had finalized their divorce on the boy's seventeenth birthday, and that he'd been completely unaware until that day. Enjolras had been heartbroken, and R had let it slip his mind entirely.

"I'm so sorry, Enjolras, I should have remembered-" Enjolras cut him off with a brief kiss. It was salty and damp from the tears, but it served the purpose of quieting him.
"R, I'm so glad you came, so that I don't have to be alone." The lighter-haired boy reached out and took his boyfriend's hand. "What did you say you have in those bags?"
Grantaire lifted a grocery sack. "There's a little cake that Jehan helped me frost, and some flowers from Joly's shop. Courfeyrac spent three hours blowing up these balloons with me."
"I love flowers," Enjolras murmured, drying his eyes on the back of his hand. He seemed a little less melancholy.
"Oh!" R had just remembered something else in the bags, and he dug out the small black box. "I brought some sparklers, if you want to light them off."
Enjolras stood, nodding. "I love sparklers," he said. The words came in his ordinary voice, albeit not as strong as usual.

So the two young men walked out of the kitchen and into Enjolras's bedroom. R lit a sparkler, and they held its long stick together, fingers laced one over the other. They held each other in the dark bedroom, illuminated only by the fizzing light of the sparkler.