Enjolras tapped his pencil out of boredom as he sat in night class. Primary school was the worst. He longed to be in secondary school with his older friends. The teacher kept mumbling about mathematics when the door suddenly burst open.

Enjolras jumped in his seat before looking at the door. His friend, Bossuet, was huffing and puffing.

"Excuse you!" exclaimed the teacher.

"I need Julien Enjolras right now!"

The class turned around to stare at the blond haired boy. Enjolras gathered his belongings quickly before walking out of the classroom.

"What on earth are you doing?" Enjolras hissed.

"You are Combeferre's only emergency contact for the University that is alive." Bossuet replied.

Enjolras, almost sixteen years old, felt his heart beat faster. "What is wrong with Francis?" He asked in a low tone.

"He's cut himself."

Enjolras stopped in his tracks and stared at Bossuet.

"You pulled me out of class because Francis has a cut?" He questioned.

Bossuet began shaking, his breaths short. "Enjolras. He does not HAVE a cut. He has CUT himself."

"Like suicide?"

"Yes."

Enjolras felt his heart sink. He became weak. His legs became of no use. He leaned against a wall and slouched down. "My Francis Combeferre tried to…commit suicide?" He breathed.

Bossuet hauled Enjolras into his arms and began to carry him. The teenager was light. He was scared.

Meanwhile in Joly's dorm room, yells of pain were being blasted into the air. These cries were carried down the hallway, so it caught the attention of Jean Prouvaire, Bahorel, Marius, and Feuilly. They were sitting outside the door, as commanded by Joly, waiting anxiously. Courfeyrac did his best to keep Combeferre quiet, but there was no use. Grantaire had been called over to bring his alcohol. It was used to pour over Combeferre's deep cuts, which burned like hell. Joly had to stitch up most of the wounds because the cuts were gashes. Grantaire, for this moment, was cover. Even in serious situations, he drank. But not now. He couldn't disrespect his friend in such a time as this.

The young men in the hallway suddenly heard a rapid thudding from a bit away. The sound soon became for distinct. It was running feet. They saw their dear friend Enjolras sprinting down the hallway as fast as he could. Marius and Bahorel both stood up. Before Enjolras could get to the door, they both stopped him.

"Let me go! I need to see him!" He yelled.

"We can't let you in, Enj!" Marius cried. "It's overcrowded!"

Enjolras lost it. He fell to the floor in tears. He was sobbing heavily into his knees. None of the Amis (besides Combeferre himself) had ever seen Enjolras cry. It struck every young man who saw this in the heart.

Combeferre could hear cries from outside. He squeezed Courfeyrac's hand, which he had not let go of. "I hear him." He mumbled.

Courfeyrac snapped out of his deep thoughts and noticed the crying. "That couldn't be Enjolras." He said.

Combeferre made a distressed sound from pain. "I know what his cries sound-" He yelled in pain.

Joly had stuck a needle into his leg. Outside, Enjolras cried harder at the yell. He got up and banged on the door with his fist. "Please! Let me in!" He cried.

Marius pull Enjolras away from the door just as it opened.

Grantaire stood there. He sighed heavily and pulled Enjolras into the room. When he saw his friend on the table, stitched up and blood, he let out another cry. He ran over to Combeferre's side. "Francis!" He said through sobs.

Combeferre saw Enjolras crying. It broke his concrete heart wen he saw him cry. His hand reached up to touch his face.

"Julien…don't cry…" He whispered softly.

Enjolras pressed his face against Combeferre's bare, wounded chest. Joly rested his hand on Enjolras' shoulder.

"He doesn't have long, my friend."

And with that Enjolras wrapped his arms tightly around Combeferre.