Disclaimer: Characters, brands, and anything vaguely profitable mentioned herein do not belong to the author. Promise.

Author's Notes: So this is just a drabble really, and it's probably a bit OOC for Enjolras, but I blame coffee. Yeah, totally.

Just to Review

"Now is not a good time," Enjolras said, "I'm kind of in the middle of a massive freak out, so if you could just leave that would be great. Okay. Thanks."

Grantaire, having just come in the door, quietly shut it behind him and walked over to the living room. Enjolras was sitting on the floor, surrounded by stacks of papers, books, notes, ink pens and coffee mugs. Far from his usual impeccable self, he looked a mess. Barefoot, he was dressed in a worn, gray t-shirt that and a pair of ripped jeans that had definitely seen better days. The same could be said of his hair, not that he didn't look hot, but, seriously, the guy could wear a tutu and toe shoes and still be hot.

But maybe Grantaire was biased.

More concerning was the look of distress that seemed imprinted on the blonde's face.

"Want to talk about it?" Grantaire questioned, taking a cautionary seat on the arm of the sofa.

"No. I'm about to have a panic attack, so, no, just get out of here before you see me cry."

"Okay, totally not leaving now. What's going on?"

"Dr. Sorrel promised us a take-home exam but he changed his mind, in class, today, because some people weren't focused on the review," Enjolras explained. "So, I had all my materials organized but not memorized because I had divided my time between this, criminal justice, psych, and European history; each time allotment was done according to an incorrect assumption that I did not need to memorize these notes. So now everything is different, I don't have time to memorize the third optional history time line and these supplemental cases and I'm never going to sleep again."


"Yeah, so, I love you, but you have to leave."

"So this is like OCD hell for you, right?"

"I'm not OCD, and yes."

"Whatever you say Mr. I-can't-use-the-blue-pen-because-it's-not-technica lly-a-definition."

"Shut up."

Grantaire sat for a few minutes, watching Enjolras lift one piece of paper to his face, then another. He noted a can of Monster on the coffee table, another under it, and a third by the couch.

"When did you sleep last?" he asked.

"I told you, no sleep."


"No. I don't have time for you to play babysitter. This, this is important and I-I cannot afford to fail this exam."

Failing was not an option. It wasn't, Grantaire knew, even a remote possibility. Enjolras wasn't talking about failing as in normal-people failing, as in getting an F; he was talking about Enjolras-failing, as in not getting every extra-credit question, not being able to pull up two more case examples than necessary, or, god forbid, getting below a ninety-eight percent.

"Alright, what can I do?"


"And miss you freaking out, um, no. What else?"

"Make coffee?"

"The last thing you need is caffeine."

"Leave or coffee. I don't care which, actually, strike that, if you choose leave, make coffee first."

"Okay, coffee. Have I mentioned lately that you're crazy but I love you anyway?"

"Coffee first, kiss later."



Author's Notes: Please review? I've got some longer/ more serious works with these two in progress, so any encouragement or helpful criticism is much appreciated!