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A Little Opera Goes a Long Way

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Combeferre shifted the spare key into the lock, turning the mechanism after a moment of hesitation. It was not like Enjolras to miss a single meeting, even one as small as a promise to go out to breakfast. The blonde was always on time, punctual as the day is long and treated every single engagement with someone as if it were a meeting with Rousseau himself. So when Enjolras had never made an appearance outside the small cafe they agreed on for croissants and coffee, Combeferre had been extremely concerned.


This concern for his best friend pushed the intellectual forward. He stepped gently into the threshold, eyes searching for any indication that Enjolras was present. 

“Enjolras?”



Silence was his only answer.



 Various papers, some articles from the newspaper, some with rough scrawl across them and some textbooks borrowed from the University were scattered across the kitchen table. The chair was pushed in though, so Enjolras hadn’t been there recently(He always leaves it pushed out, only pushing it in when Combeferre comes over to force him to sleep).



 ‘Maybe he’s forgotten and having breakfast on the couch. We did plan this weeks ago...‘

 Combeferre continued his search, looking into the small living room that contained a couch, a fairly messy coffee table(equal to that of it’s kitchen counterpart) and a semi-tidy bookcase in the corner. No Enjolras, be it body or sign.
 Combeferre couldn’t help the growing discomfort, his steps more briskly paced now as he made his way to Enjolras’s bedroom door. The intellectual paused a moment before knocking tentatively.

“Enjolras? Are you in there?”


 “Combeferre? Come in!” came a voice so quiet that he almost missed it, but the intellectual heard the familiarity even so. Combeferre felt a wave of relief wash over him, opening up the door to the bedroom. 


“You had me scared to deat--Enjolras?” Combeferre asked in a confused tone, looking around for the blonde. Enjolras wasn’t anywhere in near sight yet he swore he just heard him not a moment before. The room was fairly clean except for the pool of clothes on his bed, an odd thing for Enjolras to leave out. “Enjolras where are you?”


“Right here,” the same quiet voice replied almost impatiently. Combeferre removed his glasses, breathing on them before using his sleeve to wipe off the lenses, slipping them back onto his face in a well practiced motion. No dice, he still couldn’t see Enjolras.


 “I’m right on the bed!” the voice tried to shout, drawing Combeferre’s eyes to the bed. The intellectual’s orbs widened as he noticed a familiar face, surrounded in Enjolras’s clothes. Except, he was tiny. Like really tiny, almost the size of Combeferre’s hand.


 “Enjolras?” Combeferre asked in tentative tone, moving closer, slowly as if his very actions would scare the pocket sized Enjolras into running from him. This couldn’t be real. No common logic could be applied to the situation to make this real and that notion unnerved Combeferre. Small blue eyes looked up at him, complimented by a familiar frown and an embarrassed blush.


 “I’m sorry about this morning, Combeferre. I would’ve come but...,” the little Enjolras trailed from beneath the pile of clothes that surrounded him, motioning to himself and praying Combeferre would get it.


 “You shrunk,” Combeferre said rather dumbly, pushing up his glasses as they slid down the bridge of his nose for the millionth time. “...Did you /shrink/ out of your clothes?”


 “Yes,” Enjolras nods rather embarrassed, pulling one of his white shirts sleeves tighter so it covered nearly his entire upper body besides he’s face. Combeferre wracked his brain for ideas, trying to come up with a solution of how to fix this but he came up dry. Regardless of a permanent solution, he knows he needs to help his friend as much he can.


 “I’ll go find Jehan. He knows how to sew and I’m sure he has fabric lying around his house somewhere,” Combeferre decides, moving towards the door. “Do you want something to eat before I go?”


 “If you can find anything, something small,” Enjolras nods, having been starving since he woke up. Last night he’d opted not to eat dinner in hopes of finishing one of his speeches for the weekly meeting at the Musain. Yeah, speaking at the Musain seemed pretty much down the toilet at this rate until Enjolras could be returned to normal size.


 Combeferre disappeared for a few minutes, grabbing a croissant from the bread basket and bringing it back to the pocket-sized Enjolras. “Is this okay for now?” Combeferre asks gently, placing the food next to the blonde. It looked so huge compared to Enjolras.


 “Yes, it’s fine, thank you Combeferre,” Enjolras smiled, pulling off a bite sized piece and nibbling at it. Combeferre decided now was his time to move, so with a quick promise of return, the intellectual was jogging down the stairs of Enjolras’s flat.