Joly sighed as he walked quickly through the darkened streets. He wished that he'd taken the car... But at least the fresh air would do him good.

He hoped Taire would be okay; he hadn't seen them have a fight that bad before. He would be okay though; Bahorel had stayed with him in the apartment (Enjolras had decided to stay with Combeferre for the night) so at least there was someone there to keep an eye on him, and Bahorel had sworn to call Joly if there were any problems, so the best thing he could do was to try not to worry.
Worrying is bad for your health, and health is important!

The medical student was snapped out of his thoughts by his phone beeping. Snatching it out of his pocket, the hypochondriac smiled as he saw a text from Bossuet.

How's R? Is Bahorel still with him?
Me and Chetta are waiting for you, get home soon :) and be careful!
Xxx B

Joly couldn't help but smile even wider, as he began typing his reply.

Bahorel is going to stay with him, he's same as he was earlier,
I'm on my way xxx :-)

Pushing his phone deeper into his pocket, the medical student sped up. The streets were dark by now, the occasionally street lamp casting a ghostly light upon the pavement, every now and then a roar of a car would reverberate though the darkened passageways.

More worries filled Jolys mind. Would R be okay? Not just emotionally, but physically. Everyone had said that Joly had been making a fuss over Grantaire, but it might get worse! Injuries could get infected! Even small injuries; R's split lip could easily pick up infection. It could concede Septicaemia! that is a really bad disease, it could kill, or leave the victim very weak or-

A muffled whimper came from Jolys right. The medical student stopped.

The sound had come from within a smaller alleyway.

A moment slipped by.

Should he investigate? Joly wasn't sure; walking into a dark alley in Paris in the middle of the night wasn't a good idea if you were with someone, but doing it alone and unarmed was potentially fatal.

Another moment passed.

Another cry of pain.

This time Joly couldn't remain where he was; this after all was the reason he'd studied medicine, he'd wanted to help people.
Summoning all he courage the young man stepped away from the lit pavement and into the shadowy side street.

"H-hello," Joly said shakily, squinting down the shabby street. A solitary streetlight flickered a little way off, it's saturated light bleaching everything an ugly amber colour.

A muffled noise came from somewhere nearby, out of the corner of his eye Joly spotted something moved.
Swallowing Joly moved closer to the huddling body, before realising with a sickening jolt that he recognised the man on the floor.

"Jehan? Oh my God, Jehan!" Joly gasped, unable to believe it was indeed his dear friend Prouvaire.

The younger man was curled into a ball on the damp stone floor, his shirt ripped open, blood drying on the dirty fabric. His blonde hair had fallen out of its neat braid, some strands sticking to Jehans clammy forehead, other were stiff with red streaks. More blood coated the skin around his mouth, his lip split. Joly shivered as the bloody poet raised his head; dark purple bruises were dotted across one side of his face, making his skin look even paler.

And that was just the injuries that were visible at a glance in the half light. Stunned Joly knelt forward, carefully trying to raise Jehan from the ground, but he merely flinched at his friends touch, his eyes hollow and terrified. A muffled whimper escaped his pain tightened lips. Jolys heart shattered; of all the members of les Amis, in fact of everyone he knew, Jehan was the one whom least deserved this! How could anyone do this to him? Who would what to put the innocent poet through such pain?

"Jehan who did this to you?" Joly asked, as softly as he could. At the question tears welled in the smaller mans eyes, and he looked away, but not before Joly caught a glimpse of his face; was that shame? The medical student wondered.

Jehan started to tremble, making his friend experience a new wave of pity and guilt.
"Shhhh, it's okay Jehan, you're going to be alright," Joly whispered, trying to draw him into a hug. As his friend put a slight pressure on his chest, Jehan lurched, a yelp of pain ripping itself from his throat. Panicking slightly, Joly pulled back the tattered remains of Jehans shirt and swallowed. Dark bruises were already growing across the poets chest, not to mention a long gash across his stomach. The bruises were already a dark hue, confirming Jolys suspicions that the impact which caused them had been very hard; it wasn't unlikely that the poet had one or more broken ribs.

Making up his mind Joly began to raise Jehan to his feet, taking as much of the other weight as he could. Joly was a medical student and he needed to examine his patient, but a dark dingy alleyway in the middle of the city wasn't the ideal place to do so... But where was? Jehans apartment was too far, as was Combeferres, which would have been ideal, as he was also a medical student. However, Joly realised that he would probably have sufficient equipment to help Jehan at his apartment. Also Bossuet was staying at Chettas tonight, so that would actually be better.

Deciding that his apartment was the best place to take Jehan, Joly started to move off in the direction of his apartment block. But as the pair tried to walk, Jehan crumpled, agony etched across his face

Joly hesitated, his heart telling him one thing and his head telling him something else. Moving Jehan right now would mean complete agony for the poet, but on the other hand leaving him here was unthinkable... No he needed to get Jehan back his apartment as soon as possible.

"I'm so sorry," Joly whispered to his friend as he forced himself to set off again, hauling the barely conscious Jehan behind him.

Courfeyrac paced up and down the apartment he shared with Jehan.

It was the morning after the argument they'd had, yet the poet still hadn't returned home. The dark haired student pulled out his phone once again, still nothing.

Why had he done it? Okay maybe Jehan had been the one to start the fight, but it had been him, Courfeyrac who'd taken the argument to a whole new level. which had ended with the love of his life walking out the door, leaving him... Maybe forever.

Oh why had he done it? Why had he called Jehan weak? He wasn't weak; he was the strongest person Courfeyrac knew. He never gave in, and he never gave up.

But now he was gone.

Courfeyrac sat down on the squashy sofa, drumming his fingers nervously on the arms, feverishly checking his phone again.

Still nothing.

Courfeyrac considered sending another text. But he knew it would be useless, he'd already sent 4...

Standing up again he snatched up his laptop. No new emails.

He checked his phone again. No new messages.

He even crossed to the letterbox, to check the mail (okay it was a long shot, but Jehan would sometimes write letters to Courfeyrac). No new letters.

Returning to his seat by the window, the dark haired man started to tap his foot again.

He couldn't take this anymore. With a huff he snatched up his mobile, dialling Jehans number.

It went straight through to voicemail, had Jehan switched his phone off? Ignoring this, Courf swallowed and left a message, unable to keep some of the guilt out of his voice:
"Jehan, I'm sorry about last night, would you please just come home so we can talk abut this? Love you," Courf hung up feeling awkward abut the last part of the message.

Sighing, Courfeyrac went back to tapping his foot and staring at the door waiting for his lover to return.

It was just past noon when Courfeyrac lost it. With what was almost a growl he picked up his phone, and started to scroll through the contacts. He really hadn't wanted any other members of les Amis getting involved, but desperate times call for desperate measures.

... But who would Jehan go to?

Perhaps he'd go and stay with Grantaire, after all he'd just had a fight with his boyfriend. Jehan probably felt as though he'd understand R the most, and he might have wanted to check on him.

Grantaires number dialled. The phone was answered on the first ring, and he heard pleading in the slightly slurred voice of Grantaire " 'njolras I'm sorry I was a dick! I'm sorry and-"
"Taire it's me for Christ sake!"
"Oh... hey Courf," the misery in R's voice was tangible.
"Grantaire, is Jehan with you?" Courf asked, nerves tingling.
"No," the other man was clearly caught off guard by the question.
"Have you seen him at all?"
"Not since last night. Why?" Grantaire asked picking up on the fear in his friends voice.
"It's nothing," Courfeyrac muttered, not wanting to share what had happened with anyone.
"Courf, what's wrong?"
"It's nothing! Will you just drop it!" Courfeyrac snapped, his anxiety making him angry at the drunkards nosiness.

With a hiss, Courfeyrac hung up.

He was about to slid the phone back into his jeans pocket, when it rang again. Ripping it open he practically yelled "Look, R, just fuck off, Okay? it's none of your business!"

"Courf, it's me!" Courfeyrac blinked, recognising Jolys voice.
"Oh, sorry Joly. What's up?" Courf asked, trying to sound interested, and to stop thinking about his missing boyfriend.

"It's Jehan," Joly said quietly. In an instant Courfeyrac was on his feet.
"What?"
"He's... he's been hurt. I think you should come round to my place."

Courfeyrac as frozen to the spot where he stood. Jehan... Hurt! His blood seemed to have turned to ice in his veins.

Taking a deep breath Courfeyrac asked "Is he going to be okay?"

TBC
~ ~ ~

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