#but recently I think Courfeyrac is more suitable…

[hwashitape]

workshopping a Limbus OC……… idk!!

[whalemeansgrace]

Finding Your Voice - Chapter One

I'm writing a fanfiction in my spare time!

Please enjoy this small preview - I really hope that you like it! If you do, click here to read more!

——————————————————

Enjolras wondered how on Earth something like this had happened. Combeferre and Courfeyrac had practically forced him to go to the doctors, determined to help their friend work out the cause of his sudden voice problems and hopefully get him some medication to help with it. Enjolras had, at first, insisted that there was nothing wrong with him; a stupid decision, as he couldn’t even talk to attempt to persuade them and instead had to write it down, only worrying them further.

Now, of course, he knew what was wrong with him. The doctor who he had seen had seen him – Joly, just out of medical school – happened to be a friend of Enjolras’ typical group, which put him at ease almost immediately. He had explained, without sugar-coating it, that Enjolras was suffering from dysphonia, possibly induced by one of the most recent violent rallies that Les Amis de l’ABC had attended. If Enjolras hadn’t already been finding it impossible to force his voice to obey him, he would have been rendered speechless in that moment.

Not mute, anything but mute.

Somehow, after the latest protest that he had attended, his voice had… well, it had disappeared. The usually talkative, passionate leader of Les Amis gestured wildly to Combeferre and Courfeyrac in the waiting room of the hospital after his diagnosis, his voice having flown away from him. He would have attempted to communicate with them verbally, but the idea of failing at that and looking like a fool as he tried to talk prevented him from even attempting it. He knew that he would fail and was resigned to it, an odd mentality for the idealist.

He was thankful, then, when Joly turned to talk to his friends and inform them of the situation, giving him time to relax and think more about this whole situation. He sat down on one of the uncomfortable plastic chairs in the waiting room, his bright blue eyes taking in the other patients at the clinic to find a suitable companion to sit beside. He entertained the idea of sitting alone, but preferred the company of people to his own whirling thoughts, especially in the state that he currently found himself in.

A rather tall, dishevelled man caught his attention, dark curly hair striking against the pristine white of the hospital walls. Of course, it wasn’t very difficult to be taller than Enjolras, but the man’s height wasn’t what had caught Enjolras’ eye. Aside from being the only patient who didn’t even seem slightly nervous at the thought of being in a hospital, the man sat totally alone; unphased by this too, of course. There was something about this ‘don’t-care’ attitude that intrigued Enjolras, whose permanent mood was ‘care-very-much-about-everything’. He found himself unconsciously moving towards the other man, sitting down next to him. As opposed to them, he sat straight upright, position radiating fierce confidence. The other man gave him a curious look, clearly expecting Enjolras to introduce himself or explain why he had chosen to sit next to him.

"I'm mute," he attempted to tell the man sitting next to him, but with his very limited grasp of sign language he could only sign out a very basic 'I... no... talk.' He silently cursed himself for not paying as much attention to the YouTube videos he had found on sign language when he had been working with a deaf woman during a protest; he had a vague grasp of the language, but anything beyond greetings and the alphabet had been totally forgotten afterwards. The man sitting next to him clearly didn't speak sign language in any way at all. He could tell that Enjolras couldn't speak, but couldn't understand him. Exasperated, the shorter man pointed to the other man's notebook.

"What? You can't just look at my drawings without introducing yourself!" the dishevelled man protested, surprisingly angry and totally misunderstanding. Enjolras shook his head, miming tearing a page out and writing on it. The man sighed, reluctant to sacrifice a piece of expensive paper for a stranger to write on, but eventually tore one out very carefully. "Fine," he conceded, "but only in pencil, and only because I feel sorry for you."

Enjolras gave an unnoticeable smile that almost immediately transformed into a scowl. 'I don't need you to feel sorry for me, whoever you are," he scribbled down angrily. The man next to him snorted with laughter.

"Grantaire is my name," he replied, extending a weathered hand for Enjolras to shake. He did so rather hesitantly, as it was clear Grantaire was drunk. As a rule of thumb, Enjolras did not hold well with drunkenness. Alcohol dulled the senses and clouded the mind. Enjolras liked to feel in control, and therefore disliked beverages such as wine.

'My name is Enjolras,' he wrote down on the paper, neat, cursive handwriting before handing it back to Grantaire, who looked it over. His brow furrowed as though considering something - Enjolras couldn't really blame him. The latest protest that Enjolras had been a prominent figure at had got seriously out of hand, more than earning its place on the national news and cementing Enjolras and his revolutionary friends in the minds of the general public. Tactfully, Grantaire didn't comment on it; did he even know about current events, Enjolras wondered. He wouldn't be surprised if he didn't, actually.

"Nice name, though I had you down as more of an Apollo," Grantaire joked warmly, causing another frown from Enjolras. This one, however, was not out of anger but confusion. Apollo, the Ancient Greek sun god? He supposed that his striking blond hair would be reason enough for that association. Still, he had to know for certain the reason as to why. He tried, as a rule, not to be judgemental but Grantaire certainly didn't strike him as the type of man to lose himself in Greek mythology.

'Why?' he scrawled onto the paper, drumming his fingers as he waiting for an answer, blue eyes locked on Grantaire expectantly. The dark haired artist waved a dismissive hand, as though that was a suitable answer. Yet again, another mannerism of Grantaire's that annoyed Enjolras, despite barely knowing the man for five minutes. He paused thoughtfully before grabbing a hipflask, filled with what Enjolras presumed was alcohol, and brought it to his lips. Enjolras was prevented from hearing whatever answer Grantaire was about to give, however, due to someone clearing their throat in front of them. The pair looked up to see Joly standing in front of them, gaze fixed upon each in turn.

"Enjolras, I've explained the situation to Combeferre and Courfeyrac," he told him, his voice smooth and reassuring as he drummed his fingers on his cane. "You'll probably need to stay with someone - just in case something happens and you needed to call 112." Enjolras nodded, understanding Joly's worries entirely. He would stay with Marius and Courfeyrac for the time being, though their apartment was too small for it to be a permanent solution - Combeferre lived on university premises and would probably be kicked out if he replaced his roommate with Enjolras. He would have to find someone to move in with him.

Joly then turned to Grantaire, his voice becoming slightly more harsh; it was still his usual, cheerful voice but it not had an underlying and rather dangerous edge, like a disguised knife. "Is that alcohol, Grantaire?" he questioned suddenly.

Grantaire shook his head.

"No, Doctor," he reassured Joly with a confident smirk as he held out the hipflask. "Drink some - it's just water, though I don't have a water bottle."

Joly declined Grantaire's offer to taste the beverage, but seemed convinced by the explanation. Enjolras stood up to leave, giving a quick wave of goodbye to Joly, who returned the parting gesture with a bright smile. The blond left the hospital premises promptly, accompanied by two of his closest friends - they obviously knew better than he where Courfeyrac's home was. He had a new apartment to get to and a roommate search to begin; he didn't want to impinge on their hospitality any more than necessary, so he would have to start writing his advertisement soon. He knew that he had a certain way with words, and simply hoped that they would not fail him in this hour of need. His apartment would probably be big enough for two, seeing as he had bought it when he had a lot of paperwork to stack in the various rooms. Having transferred most of it to digital files, however, the large space only made him feel rather lonely. A roommate would be a welcome distraction from his current... condition.

He attempted to ignore the rather pitying looks that his friends gave him on the way back to Courfeyrac’s apartment, choosing instead to stare out of the window of the bus that they had taken at the places passing by. Paris truly was beautiful during the sunsets, the blazing light creating a perfect picture. The heavenly visage was shattered, however, when Enjolras noticed lingering reminders of the previous day’s riot, the violence caused by what had initially been a peaceful protest by Les Amis and some other demonstrators. Then…

The bus stopped by the flat, jolting Enjolras out of his reverie. The building was well-kept and neat, and though each individual flat was small, its proximity to the heart of the city made it well worth the money spent. The group entered in silence, Combeferre making coffee and Courfeyrac turning on the TV, quickly changing the channel when noticing that the news was on again, reporting on the protest. Enjolras was thankful for this; despite usually keeping up with the news with enthusiastic zeal, today he would much rather drink coffee and watch bad reruns of Friends. He had a feeling that he wasn’t the only one. Recent events had been draining on all of his friends, he realised as he sipped his cappuccino and stared over the top of the forest green mug at the screen. Maybe it would do them all some good to watch a senseless show and ignore real world responsibilities for a little bit. Ignore the real world and ignore the sympathetic looks that Combeferre and Courfeyrac continued to sneak him.

He knew that he would have to face his problems at some point, but this was not the time. For now, he was content.

——————————————————

Thank you so much for reading this! If you enjoyed it (and I hope you did - I'm only just starting out in the world of writing) then you can find the next chapters here.