Combeferre stared back at her, trying to slow his breathing. He could feel the nerves, the anxiety bubbling inside of him. Yet he spoke as clearly as possible, making sure not to stutter. “I wanted to tell them about you, I swear I did.” His gaze fell to the floor suddenly. “But they came over to tell me that my brother’s sick. Very sick. And I know I rarely or never even mention my brother, but I just-” He slid his glasses up and pressed his hands to his face. “I haven’t seen him much since I left for college, and my parents even said that they’re considering taking me out of college for a bit to come take care him because that’s how bad it’s gotten and for fuck’s sake I don’t know what to even do.” Pausing for a moment, he dropped his hands and bit his lip. He couldn’t believe how dumb he sounded. It wasn’t like him to just break down in front of his friends, let alone Eponine, but he couldn’t act like everything was alright.
"I-I’m so sorry," He finally managed to whisper shakily. "I shouldn’t have just, um, ranted like that. I’m so, so sorry for everything."
Eponine watched him, saw the worry on his face, and sighed. How could she be mad at him for that? She would be a total bitch if she stayed mad at him for that. She rubbed her face and looked down. “They can’t pull you out of school,” she said plainly. “If they do that, you’ll get drafted. And I can’t handle losing you and Grantaire. You have the protection of being in college that exemplifies you from the draft.” She sighed again and moved closer to him, putting her arms around him. “Just… call me next time. I was worried. And if you’re late, same thing. Call. I won’t be mad.”