Work Text:
The protest had started out peacefully, but as always, things got out of hand pretty quickly. Combeferre could hear people shouting from every direction- it was impossible to tell whose shouts belonged to whom. He pushed through the crowds of angry students, desperately hoping to find a familiar face.
After several minutes of frantic searching, and about a dozen fists and elbows to the face, he heard the shout of their fearless leader and his most loyal companion.
The man’s face was red and blue, a large bruise forming across his right cheekbone. His long blond curls were sticking to his face and neck. Eyes fierce and focused, he was shouting directions at the disoriented protesters in an attempt to separate a particularly violent clump of people to his right.
Combeferre felt a set of arms reach out and grab him, pulling him backwards. He was ready to fight back, when he realized that the arms belonged to one of his friends. Bahorel and Feuilly were standing behind him, both of whom seemed to have avoided most of the fighting. Bahorel’s hand- that had thankfully released him from its grip- was a bit rough, but that was probably from the fight he had at a bar several days prior.
“Where have you been, man? You look awful.” Feuilly was surveying the damage on the young scholar’s face with a weary expression. Combeferre was certain his eye was going to be swollen soon, and he was beginning to taste the blood in his mouth from a split lip. “You should head back to your place. I think Jehan and Bossuet are already on their way over.”
Combeferre just shook his head and pushed his glasses further up on his nose. “I’m not just going to leave now, with half our group still unaccounted for.”
Bahorel just waved a hand nonchalantly. “The guys are fine. Eponine and Grantaire passed by a second ago and they were both okay. I think you should go back and let Joly look at your eye.” Feuilly nodded in agreement and lifted his hand to touch the now darkened skin, but Combeferre slapped his hand away.
“What about Enjolras? I am not just going to leave him here,” he shouted. The past several times that they left Enjolras alone, he had come back in terrible condition. The man knew he was already pretty beat up and he was not going to leave him here to face more brutality. No matter how stubborn Enjolras could be, he was not indestructible.
Bahorel was obviously thinking about this before he gave Combeferre a pat on the arm. “You’re right. As soon as you find Enjolras, get him and yourself back to the flat.”
Combeferre nodded before heading off to find his friend.
~~~~
Back at the apartment that Enjolras and Combeferre shared, most of the group sat huddled around. They had been talking for about thirty minutes about the events at the rally, when Jehan spoke up. “Where are Enjolras and Combeferre?”
Bahorel looked around once before saying that they should be back soon. As if on cue, the group could hear loud voices coming from the hallway outside the room. The man who had just spoken pointed to the door as if to say, ‘there they are.’ The pair wasn’t arguing so much as just talking quite enthusiastically. As they entered the room, they could hear Enjolras fussing over Combeferre’s now swollen eye.
~~~~
“It’s not that bad, honestly. You look much worse,” Enjolras reasoned when Combeferre tried to get him to put ice on his bruised face. “There really isn’t much you can do for it except let it heal. Joly said so himself.”
Combeferre just grunted before sitting down at the table next to his friend. Once Enjolras had made up his mind, there was no point in arguing with him- Combeferre knew this almost too well. Reaching up, he shoved the blond man’s face roughly, making sure to press against the dark purple patch of skin. “Ouch, what the hell was that for?” Enjolras gave him an incredulous look, cradling his cheek in his hand.
“For being reckless and absolutely impossible.” Combeferre smiled at him to show he wasn’t really that upset with his friend. “Besides, I thought you said it wasn’t that bad.” Enjolras gave a forced laugh before standing up and smacking Combeferre on the back of the head, on his way to the kitchen.
He returned carrying an ice pack and a glass of water. Without saying a word, he pulled Combeferre’s chair away from the table, so he could stand in front of him. Enjolras motioned for him to take off his glasses at the same time that he shoved the glass of water into his hand.
Combeferre downed the water in seconds and placed the empty glass on the table next to his discarded glasses. Enjolras nodded and grinned softly, placing himself in his friend’s lap. “Now sit still,” he uttered as he covered the swollen eye with the ice pack.
“And what else would I do? I can’t move with you sitting on me.”
Enjolras snorted. “Exactly.” He continued to hold the compress against Combeferre’s eye until the pack warmed to room temperature. “Does it feel any better? It looks like the swelling has gone down a bit.” The young man look pleased and leaned in to place a soft kiss on his companion’s cheek.
“It feels much better. Thank you Enjolras.” He went to return the affectionate gender, but before he could realize what he was doing, he pressed his lips firmly against the bruised skin of the man’s injured cheek.
Enjolras let out a hiss from the pain against his sensitive skin. “You did that on purpose,” he grumbled, getting up from his seat in Combeferre’s lap. The man still seated rolled his eyes and pulled the young man back to him. He enveloped the man in his arms and rested his head against Enjolras’ shoulder.
“Like you said: it’s not that bad.”