Escaping reality

This is going to be a one-shot that just popped into my head after I was updating my story 'the weakness of being fine'. I have no idea if it is any good and its slightly AU.

He sat by himself in the Café. It was dark and silent, the people of Paris sleeping sound in their beds and his friends long gone. Gone home or gone to find amusement in the female species. He didn't care. He hadn't felt like himself for the entire evening. The letter he had received earlier that afternoon, now lying lost on the floor, had been pressing weightily on his shoulders. A burden. A constant reminder of the failure he was and would always be in the eyes of his father.

He swallowed thickly. His blonde hair falling forward and covering his eyes, now filled with unshed tears. It had been years. Years since he left his hometown and went to Paris to study law and to develop his ideals. Years since he decided not to fight for his fathers respect anymore. Years since he told himself he didn't need his approval.

And then he received the letter and all those things he told himself shattered and slipped away from him. Only a few hours since he realised he still longed for his fathers approval; his respect; and mostly his love. Only a few hours since he felt like a complete failure; a "poor excuse of a son" - as his father often called him - who would never be good enough for his father. Only a few hours since he felt everything he had build up in his time in Paris collapse, not knowing why or how or when.

He stood, walked towards the bar and helped himself to a bottle of wine. Before he knew it, half the bottle was gone and the blonde revolutionary couldn't feel any lower about himself. He felt disgusting, weak and ashamed. Here he was, drowning his misery in alcohol. He could hear all the insults he shot at Grantaire on a daily basis loud in his head, over and over again. And then he heard his fathers voice telling him he would never be worth it, never be worth anything and soon half the bottle turned into a whole bottle which then turned into two,

He didn't feel much after that anymore. He finally succeeded to numb the pain. He looked up and saw his reflection in the windows of the café. He couldn't help but chuckle. It was a laugh infused with disgust and self-loathing. "You're pathetic", he said to himself.

He sighed, and decided to go home. Standing up proved to be harder then he thought. He stumbled and fell, smashing his jaw on a chair and biting his lip. "Pathetic, pathetic", he mumbled again and he pressed his hand to his jaw, hissing at the pain and then laughing again in disbelieve of his own unworthy performance.

"Enjolras?"

Enjolras turned his head towards the place where the voice came from. On top of the stairs was his best friend looking concerned, surprised and a little frightened.

"Combeferre, what are you doing here?", he slurred, forcing himself to stand straight and trying to hide the blood seeping from his lip.

"I came to your room earlier to check up on you, you seemed a bit shaken earlier, so I thought... Well anyway, you weren't there, so I assumed you were still at the café working"

"I'm fine 'ferre, I am working actually", he said and he stumbled towards the table with his notes, his eyes catching the letter on the floor. Forgetting he wasn't alone anymore he picked up the letter, looked at it and then furiously started mumbling things at it before throwing it out the window with an angry shout.

Combeferre was shocked. He had never seen his friend like this. He then noticed the two empty bottles and the absence of Grantaire. Drawing his conclusions he asked hesitatingly: "Enjolras...are you drunk?"

Enjolras spinned around again. His eyes wide, filled with tears. "Of course I am, are you blind? I am one drunken, worthless mess!" He then slid to the floor and found himself unable to fight back the tears. The alcohol made him weak, made his defenses weak and he cried.

Combeferre stood completely shocked, unable to move, only able to stare at his friend in utter disbelief. Only when Enjolras' cries turned into sobs, he snapped out of his shocked state and hurried towards his friend. He pulled him into an embrace and tried to speak words of comfort to him, though he had no idea what had happened.

He soon got a vague idea however, since his friend whispered small sentences in between the sobs. "He hates me 'Ferre. He has always hated me. I've made his life miserable and i've never lived up to his idea of a good son. But I tried! I tried 'Ferre, I really did try. Please believe me"

Combeferre only held him tighter and placed a soft kiss on the top of his young friends' head. He knew Enjolras and his father had their issues, always had, but he figured that was all based on political grounds.

"M sorry, I'm so sorry, please don't tell the others", Enjolras muttered, seeming to remember what he was doing and how it was so not like him.

Combeferre said nothing. Instead he kept holding his friend until the sobbing stopped and he heard him whisper he was going to be sick.

Combeferre held Enjolras steady as he threw up the large amount of wine swirling in his stomach.

"I'm sorry", he said again. "I'll clean it up."

"Don't worry about it my friend. Their used to this, they'll clean it up", Combeferre said, referring to the host and hostess of the café. "You are going home, you need to sleep this off."

Enjolras didn't protest and let himself be guided home by his friend. Combeferre opened the door of Enjolras' room and placed him on the bed. Enjolras was already asleep before Combeferre had pulled the covers up.

He then sat down at the table and pulled out the letter Enjolras had thrown out the window earlier. He had picked it up when he was leading his friend home. Even if Enjolras saw it, he was too drunk to comprehend it was in fact his letter.

Combeferre opened the note. It was short and quickly written.

Monsieur,

I have received your letter. I urge you not to contact me again. I feel not related to your person and I do not wish for you to keep reminding me of the disappointment you are and always have been. I do not share your ideals and your experiences in Paris do not make me feel differently. You should count yourself lucky I have not reported you. You have always been unworthy to me; disrespectful and spoiled. To me you are a bastard child, given life by your mother but without my doing. Do not contact me again.

August Enjolras

Combeferreread the letter over and over again. This could not be true. A disappointment? Spoiled? His stomach had turned into a tight knot and his heart ached for his friend. Reading the letter a final time, he lit a candle and held the paper in the fire, watching it burn up in flames.

He looked over at this friend, now snoring softly and prepared himself for the difficult conversation they were about to have as soon as Enjolras woke up.

When the sun came up and the first rays of light lit up the room, Enjolras groaned and pulled his pillow over his head.

"You must have one hell of a hangover", a voice to his side said.

Enjolras sat up and looked at his friend. He felt confused at first, but soon the evening before came rushing back to him.

"You were drunk out of your mind you know", Combeferre said, "would've made Grantaire proud. He tried a little smile.

Enjolras looked at his friend, saw the compassionate look in his eyes and knew somehow he must've been aware of the subject of his embarrassing performance the other night.

His was proven right when Combeferre spoke again. "I know Enj. I read the letter."

Enjolras swallowed and looked away. Combeferre continued. "I never met your father, but I can tell you that you are a 100th times the person he is. I don't know your history and I do understand if you would not want me to know everything about it, but I think I know enough to understand why you sought your escape in those bottles last night and in pains me Enjolras. It pains me that one letter of your pity excuse of a father, however awful it is, makes you lose all faith in yourself like that when you know you have all the amis at your side, who claim you to be the exact opposite of what that letter says. We are the ones who know you better than anyone and we care for you and love you so much and we believe in you, we believe in what you tell us, we believe in the cause. You can tell us everything, you can..."

He was cut off by Enjolras. "I know you've been preparing this speech for the entire night 'Ferre, and I appreciate it, I do. Ad I know you're right. Last night was.. It was stupid, it was a moment of weakness and I sought my escape in alcohol and for that I feel ashamed. But looking back, thinking about it now, I understand what you say and I believe what you say."

He paused. He was telling the truth, thinking about his father now. "I think it was the combination of the letter, of being alone, of being worried and stressed.. It just brought on a very strong reaction and then with the alcohol.." He sighed. "It won't happen again."

Combeferre wanted to say something but Enjolras continued. "Sure, it pains me, knowing that I will never be worthy of my father.. But you said it, I have my friends, who mean more to me than my father actually ever has. And with that letter, however sad it makes me, I think it gave me closure."

Combeferre thought about what Enjolras said. He sensed that his friend wanted to close the subject and he seemed indeed to believe what he said. "Just know I'm here for you Enjolras. Whatever it is, whenever you feel lost or I don't know, just, don't forget that.."

Enjolras nodded. "I promise. But 'ferre, I would really appreciate it if this could stay between us. I'm not actually proud of last night and I don't find it necessary for all the amis to know about my father."

Combeferre hesitated but then agreed.

They were silent for a moment, both thinking of last night. Enjolras was the one who broke the silence.

"God", he groaned, "my head is killing me. How Grantaire manages to go through his every morning is beyond me. I almost admire him for it. Almost."

Combeferre chuckled. "I could ask him for some advice for you?"

Enjolras smiled. "I would never hear the end of it."

They were silent again. Then Combeferre stood and said: "rest up Enjolras, drink a lot of water and try to sleep some more, you'll be feeling ready to fight for the republic in no time."

He turned and opened the door. "Thank you Combeferre", he heard from behind. "For last night I mean and for today. You're my best friend, I honestly wouldn't know what to do without you."

"You would be one lost puppy", Combeferre grinned and closed the door behind him, hearing Enjolras chuckle softly.

Everything was not alright, Enjolras was not conpletely fine, but Combeferre knew he would be. And he would help him wherever he could.

(What did you think? I'd love to hear your opinion! All the love, sarahbob)