Enjolras and Grantaire have their first bad week living together. Work Title inspired from this Victor Hugo quote - "Music expresses that which cannot be put into words and that which cannot remain silent." Chapter title from the song Icarus By Bastille.

Grantaire didn't notice that Enjolras had went to be early, or that midnight had passed, or that most of the night had passed, or that the sun had come up. He was focused on a painting. The past week had been a rather shitty one, and he hadn't been completely - there. Enjolras was in a bad mood to begin with due to a migraine, so Grantaire was just letting him have quiet.

In Grantaire's mind, everything was great with Enjolras and himself. They had settled into a flow of living together, but this really was his first bad week since they began sharing the same living space. Grantaire wasn't sure what started the moody week. He blamed the weather, but honestly, sometimes he just had times where he was content to be left alone for a while. Enjolras had helped lessen the bad times, but they still taunted him at the edges of his brain. Sometimes they slipped up on him. This was one of those weeks. He couldn't completely explain it to Enjolras, even though he wanted to and Enjolras wanted to understand.

As the sun pierced the blinds in second bedroom that Grantaire had claimed as his art room (which made Enjolras happy to contain all the paint to one room), Grantaire sat his paint brush down to examine his painting. It was one from a photograph Courfeyrac had taken of him and Enjolras after they fell asleep cuddling. Grantaire usually never painted himself, but when it was with Enjolras, he didn't mind. He heard Enjolras in the kitchen, so he went to see how he was feeling.

"Morning, how are you feeling?" Grantaire noticed most of the lights were still off, which was a sign to the migraine still being there.

"Did you not do any dishes this week, R?" Enjolras said in a way that Grantaire had nicknamed "I haven't had coffee yet, leave me alone" voice.

"Shit. I forgot." Partially true. Also didn't feel like it. Didn't want to. Didn't really want to move much. Bad week. Tried to tell you earlier. You countered with how bad your headache was. "I'm sorry, Enjolras. Go lay back down, and I'll do some now. Want me to make coffee?"

"Don't worry about it. Go back to whatever was more important. I'm up and in here now, so I might as well do it anyway." Enjolras snapped.

You are crabby with a migraine and no coffee yet. "Hey, I said I'm sorry. It's been a rough week for me. I'm fucking sorry. Now, if you want to keep being an arse like that, I'm just going back to painting."

"Fine. It's all you've done all week."

"I told you this week wasn't going great. You brushed if off with 'It'll be okay.' I wish it was that easy. I wish I wasn't like this. I wish I was as cold as you. I wish I wasn't partially broken." Grantaire yelled back.

"And I wish I wasn't having to always deal with your emotional issues! I wish I knew what to do to fix you." Enjolras was standing right in front of Grantaire now. His eyes were cold, and his face was tight with frustration.

Grantaire felt like Enjolras just stabbed him. You can't really feel like that. "I said I was sorry. Look, I'll do the dishes and clean up some. I'm sorry."

"Stop apologizing."

"Stop being mean." Grantaire snapped.

"Truth hurts, R."

Grantaire felt himself shaking. "If you really think that, Enjolras, get the fuck out. You knew what you were getting into with me. You KNEW I was damaged goods. So if you really think that about me – about us – LEAVE. Then you can go be an ass with a migraine somewhere else." Fuck, don't cry. Stop it, R. Don't let him win by crying. Enjolras' face changed as Grantaire yelled at him. He reached out to grab his hand, and started to open his mouth. Grantaire jerked away, "NO. The truth has a way of coming out when people are at their worst. Feel better now getting that out?" Grantaire knew he was being just as much of an ass, but he didn't care – Enjolras had done the one thing he swore he never would. "I've been waiting for you to get fed up with my problems. Thank you for proving that fear to be true."

Before Enjolras could insert his foot farther into his mouth, Grantaire went back to the room that housed his art supplies – his little bubble of sanity. He slammed the door probably harder than he should have. Grantaire was sobbing. He had been biting his inner cheek to keep it in some in front of Enjolras. The sound of him banging his head on the door was interrupted by what he guessed to be Enjolras leaving the apartment. Grantaire's attempts to calm down failed. Enjolras was the last person he thought would hurt him. Picking up his cell phone, he tapped on the screen to text Jehan.

R: Mind if I come over?

Jehan: Not at all. Courfeyrac just left for work. I'm home today. Everything okay?

R: Everything's fucking peachy.

Jehan: I have alcohol.

R: Of course you do, you live with Courfeyrac.

Jehan: Point taken. Are you okay?

Grantaire left that text unanswered. No, I'm not okay. Not at all.

Enjolras' head felt like a drum line was marching through it. A screaming match with R was NOT how he wanted to spend his first ten minutes of being awake. Not to mention, the entire sticking his foot in his mouth, but you'd be hell pressed to get him to admit he did such a thing. He did what Grantaire asked him to do. He left. Enjolras did wish he could fix Grantaire. Not in the way it came out of his mouth this morning, but he hated to see Grantaire hurting. Taking out his phone, he texted Combeferre.

Enjolras: I'm coming over.

Combeferre: Uhh, okay. What's wrong? Its early morning on a Saturday.

Enjolras: Can't I just visit a friend?

I'm getting tired of sass this morning, and it's not even nine a.m.

Combeferre: Yeah. Do you need coffee?

Enjolras: Yes, and the stronger the better.

Combeferre: At the risk of you hitting me when you get here, what happened with R?

Enjolras: Why do you think something happened with R?

Combeferre: Call it gut instinct on the fact you are seeking refuge here when you should be in bed cuddling with R or some shit like that.

Enjolras: I don't know what the fuck happened with R.

Combeferre: What did you do, Enjolras?

Enjolras left that last text unanswered. Why is it always my fault? Even if I did swallow my damn foot whole.