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Enjolras couldn’t take it anymore.
The worst bit was that Jehan was so happy, flapping and spinning and cooing over Joly’s home videos of his cats. Fae was delighted, and Enjolras couldn’t look at faer without wanting to scream.
He dropped the textbook he was holding abruptly and stormed out onto the street, ignoring the startled glances that followed him.
It wasn’t Jehan’s fault, and Enjolras would’ve been a terrible person to blame faer. It was Enjolras that was the screwed up one in this scenario. He was the one who couldn’t handle normal autistic ways of self expression. His hands twitched uncontrollably. Quiet hands, he thought, and he shoved them deep into his pockets.
“Enjolras? Are you alright?”
He was distracted from taking in breaths of cool air to calm his nerves by Grantaire sticking his head around the door.
The other student had been trying to make friendly overtures of late. Enjolras, surprised but somewhat pleased in his good moments, had cautiously considered trusting him a little more.
This was not one of Enjolras’s good headspaces.
“What do you want?” he snapped.
Grantaire recoiled in shock before standing up straighter, defiant. “Clearly my attempts to be polite aren’t wanted,” he said. “I’ll just go, then.”
“You should go,” Enjolras said. “I don’t want you here, none of us do! You don’t contribute anything that helps, and you smell weird.”
An icy feeling started settling over him. He couldn’t feel his hands at all. Were they even still in his pockets? No, they were up at shoulder-height, shaking. Grantaire’s eyes were wide with self-conscious hurt in the ringing silence.
“I’m sorry,” Enjolras said, self-aware enough to know he was way out of line. “I didn’t mean that. I’ll…”
He turned away, not having anything else he could say that would be constructive.
“Enjolras…” Grantaire said carefully.
“Please don’t,” Enjolras begged. His vision was blurred out at the edges, graying and strange. He thought he might cry, and his heartbeat slammed in his ears.
“Hey,” Grantaire said gently. “Do you want to sit down?”
Enjolras collapsed on the curb, trembling.
“I’m going to get your friends,” Grantaire said. “Stay there, okay?”
Courfeyrac joined him a minute later, rubbing his back and talking him through the panic attack. Enjolras was peripherally aware of Grantaire keeping an eye on him from the shadows of the building.
When he finally calmed down enough to stand, he felt humiliated. Not only had he stimmed thoughtlessly in front of someone he could barely call a friend, he’d lashed out completely hurtfully.
“I’m sorry,” Enjolras said to Grantaire, studiously avoiding eye contact as Courfeyrac left to give them privacy. There was no way that Grantaire hadn’t noted his stimming and meltdown for what they were. “I was completely rude to you, and I didn’t mean what I said.”
“So, I don’t smell?” Grantaire’s voice twisted with an unknown emotion. Enjolras fruitlessly tried to decide if he was being self-deprecating or just tormenting Enjolras as usual.
“No,” Enjolras said. “I have an abnormally strong sense of smell. I can smell your deodorant, and was bothered by it. I’m not normally this sensitive, though.”
“It’s okay,” Grantaire said, studying Enjolras like he might a painting he needed to write an essay on. “Also, I think you know I’ve guessed some things about you, and I just want you to know that if I’m right, I wouldn’t tell anyone.”
Enjolras flushed a splotchy red color. “I don’t know what you mean.”
“Of course not.” Even now, Grantaire’s voice was gentler than usual. Maybe it was just earlier in the day, and he was just less tired than most of the time, but Grantaire seemed to be determined to be kind despite Enjolras’s harsh words. “Are you ready to go back inside?”
Enjolras nodded and they returned to their friends.