Disclaimer: I own nothing.

105lula: Good guess! Yes, one of the boys in the prologue was Enjolras, but the other was not Grantaire. :O Unfortunately, we won't be meeting Grantaire for a while yet.

I'd also like to say that this will not be a Combeferre/Enjolras story! This will be friendship only. Anyone who wants to read farther into things is free to do so (and it probably isn't that hard to do, to be honest) but I am writing this with only friendship in mind for them.


Chapter 2

When he woke the next morning, Enjolras was gone.

The only sign the room had been disturbed was the set of clothes lying folded neatly a top the bed. The bed itself was made up so perfectly that it was like no one had ever stayed there, and Combeferre almost wondered if he had dreamt the entire encounter. The room appeared completely untouched, still just as empty as the day he moved in.

The thick curtains were closed– they had never been opened – stifling the sun and casting darkness over everything. A thick layer of dust coated the desk, the only other piece of furniture in the bare room. It was just as empty as the rest of his apartment, and he didn't know why that fact suddenly bothered him so much.

Feeling unsettled, Combeferre decided to forget about the events of the night before and go about his routine. For some reason the apartment felt strangely empty to him now, although he couldn't put his finger on exactly why.

He was no stranger to solitude. He had been living alone since the day he moved to Paris, just after high school. In fact, there were boxes of old things still lying in corners of his apartment that he had never even opened. He had never felt the need; he was never one to care much about material things.

Even before moving to Paris, he had been an only child, and was mostly left alone. His parents loved him, he knew that, but he wasn't particularly close to them. He sent them letters often, but he kept a regular correspondence with them more through a sense of duty than actual attachment.

His friends - Joly, who he met while volunteering at the hospital, and Jehan, who he had one class with in first year and felt an immediate kinship with, hardly visited him either. Even Courfeyrac, despite being his oldest friend, had never stayed over.

When they were younger, things had been different. Combeferre had been a shy, quiet kid. While he never had problems with the other kids at school, none of them had ever tried to get to know him, nor he them. In class he would listen attentively but never raise his hand; at recess he preferred to stay inside and read.

Then Courfeyrac's family had moved into town, and with them they brought a bright, vibrant young man who wouldn't leave Combeferre alone. The youth had instantly become friends with almost everyone in their class, but for some reason it was Combeferre who he came to bother every day at recess, daring him to open up.

And after a time, he had.

Courfeyrac had been the first person to truly accept him for who he was while at the same time constantly pushing him out of his comfort zone. Courfeyrac always had a large group of friends that he would go about with, and that hadn't changed through high school and all the way to their third year of University. But he had always tried to include Combeferre, who had only ever wanted to stay home with his head stuck in a book. The boy's exuberant personality was impossible to resist, and as time passed, Combeferre took him up on his offers more and more, slowly coming out of his shell.

As they grew into teenagers, it was Courfeyrac who would pull him away from his homework when he was feeling too stressed out and cheered him up. It was Courfeyrac who left him alone with his thoughts when he couldn't bear to be around anyone else.

Courfeyrac who helped him escape the stifling silence of his big, lonely house when books weren't enough to fill the empty spaces.

But it had been three years since high school; so many things had changed, and his big, lonely mansion had turned into a small, stifling, empty apartment.

No longer wanting to dwell on confusing thoughts, he was thankfully pulled out of his reprieve by a knock on the door. Opening it, he found Courfeyrac and the tiny Jehan standing there.

"Hey, is that guy still here?" Was Courfeyrac's first question.

"Enjolras? No, he left this morning."

"This morning?" Courfeyrac's eyebrows shot up.

"It wasn't like that, Courf." Combeferre said, throwing his friend an exasperated look. "He couldn't go out alone that late at night, and you know I have the spare room. It wasn't any trouble."

"What are you two talking about? Who's this mystery man?" Jehan asked curiously.

"His name's Enjolras. He was being attacked outside the Musain when we passed by last night. We jumped in and the two guys backed off. I had him stay here, since he was pretty beat up." He explained patiently.

"Tall, blond, hair like a girl. Maybe you've seen him around. He's a loner, but it makes sense, as he's kind of a jerk." Courfeyrac added.

"Hmmm, I may have seen him before. There's a man like that who comes in to the library a lot." Jehan said.

"Well, whoever he is, it doesn't matter now. We may never see him again. Jehan, you needed those papers right?" At the boy's eager nod, Combeferre went to grab them and, foregoing breakfast, the trio walked out the door and headed off to their classes.


Despite his words, it was the very next day that Combeferre met Enjolras a second time. Walking into the Musain like usual, he walked up to the counter and was pleasantly surprised to find his usual coffee order already prepared and waiting for him. When he went to pay, he became even more shocked to hear that it had been paid for by someone else. Inquiring as to who, the waitress merely pointed him towards a man sitting at the table in the corner.

He recognized Enjolras at once, lounging back in his chair, a drink of his own on the table in front of him. Lazy, laughing blue eyes watched him. Surprised, Combeferre gathered his things and walked over to join the younger man.

"You left early this morning."

Enjolras merely shrugged nonchalantly. "I'm used to waking up early."

"So how are you feeling? Any pain?" The medic in him couldn't resist at least asking, although he doubted Enjolras would give him a straight answer.

"I'm fine." His eyes tightened a little at the question, but otherwise he gave no reason for Combeferre not to believe him. He could see a hint of a dark purple bruise on his wrist, but other than that there were no signs that his injuries were troubling him.

They lapsed into awkward silence while Enjolras stared steadily at him as if trying to figure something out, a long finger tapping lightly on the side of his cup. After a long moment, he leaned forward to settle his arms on the table. "Why did you really help me last night?" He asked bluntly.

Combeferre's eyebrows raised. "What are you talking about?"

"No one simply helps a stranger out of the kindness of their heart, so you must have an ulterior motive. I can't think of anything I own that you would want, so what is it?" To Combeferre's shock, the man seemed completely serious.

"That's quite cynical, don't you think?"

"It's the truth." Enjolras' expression didn't change.

Incredulous, Combeferre shook his head in disbelief. "I'm sorry you think that, monsieur, but I truly don't want anything from you. I appreciate the coffee, it was thanks enough for me, but I really must be going." Abruptly, he rose from the table, and when it didn't appear the other man was going to make a move to stop him, he swiftly left the shop.

After that day, Combeferre didn't see Enjolras for a long time. The man stopped coming to the Musain, at least when Combeferre was there to observe. While he had been a regular at the shop for some time, now he was nowhere to be found.

He tried to ignore the man's absence, but he couldn't help to feel it was in part his fault. The inital anger he had felt at the accusation had quickly faded, and he now regretted being so short with the man. He didn't know what Enjolras' problem was or understand why he insisted on being so cold when all Combeferre had done was help him, but for some reason, he still felt that there was something he could have said or done differently. He wished he could see him one last time to make sure his injuries were healing properly, if nothing else.

Unfortunately, there was nothing he could do about it now. Other than seeing him at the coffee shop, Combeferre had no idea where Enjolras lived or any other places he might find him. He remembered that Jehan had mentioned seeing someone like him at his job at the local library, but when pressed, the slim man admitted that even if it had truly been Enjolras, he had stopped coming by there as well.

When he asked the employees at the Musain if they had seen him come in lately or knew where he could find him, he was met with more negative anwers that merely fuelled the guilt hidden in the pit of his stomach. Even Eponine, a friend who worked there occasionally but knew the streets of Paris better than anyone else he had met, had no idea where the man had went. He knew Enjolras was new to the city, which meant the man could be anywhere, but no one seemed to have seen him.

Sometimes, when sitting in the Musain between classes, he would look up and swear he saw the flicker of a red coat disappearing around a corner, but it was never more than a quick glimpse and it made him feel more and more like he was chasing a ghost.

When he voiced these concerns to Courfeyrac, he was met with incredulousness and an offer to acquaint him with a lady friend to get his mind off of it. When he refused, his friend had merely shrugged and told him not to worry. "You said yourself he was new to the city, mon ami, he could have moved to a different part of the city or left Paris entirely. It's just like you to worry about a stranger, but you're better off to forget about him."

As time went on, Combeferre began to admit that Courfeyrac might have been right, and he tried to put the entire ordeal out of his mind. It occured to him that it was probably quite presumptuous to assume that he was the reason the man had stopped coming to the coffee shop, anyway.

His normal routine continued, and soon enough his school work and the hours he spent volunteering at the local hospital put all thoughts of Enjolras and his red coat far from his mind.


A few weeks passed, and Combeferre had just stopped searching for a mysterious youth with blond hair and a red coat when he finally found him again.

Courfeyrac had invited him out to the Musain one night, and although he had told himself he wasn't going to go, by the end of the night he found himself walking towards the Cafe desperately in search of a stiff drink.

It had been a long day. He had had another one of his early morning classes followed by many long, stressful hours at the hospital and his nerves were worn thin. While he usually enjoyed his hours spent helping people at the hospital, some days it was hard to take. The sheer amount of pain and suffering he had to see people endure there was astounding.

Considering the fact that he wasn't truly interned there yet, he was often given only small, menial tasks like helping out the nurses and comforting patients' friends and family. When it came to the serious cases, most of the time he was shooed out of the room before he witnessed anything too damaging.

On busier days, however, the doctors and nurses couldn't shield him from the worst of it. He knew what he was signing up for when he chose to go into medicine, but the extent of the injuries he could see on these days still turned his stomach and put him in a black mood.

It was days like these that made him wonder if he had chosen the right profession.

"Combeferre! You made it!" Courfeyrac cheered, no doubt already far past tipsy. The bright lights and loud noises inside made Combeferre regret his decision to come almost immediately.

"You look like you need this." Giving his friend a tight smile, he gratefully accepted the drink that Bahorel handed to him. The large man was Courfeyrac's favourite partner in crime on nights like this, although he could hold his liquor far better than the other man.

Combeferre spotted more people he knew mingling around the bar, although he couldn't bring himself to start a conversation with any of them. Marius was talking to Eponine, a bartender also in their circle of friends, but he could tell from her expression that he was undoubtably talking about Cosette again. Marius had been hung up over the blonde for months, but he was too oblivious to notice what he was doing to his friend, who would never admit it but was hopelessly in love with the naive boy.

Knowing that that situation was far too painful for him to become involved in, Combeferre shook his head and combed the room in search for others he knew.

Jehan was absent, but that wasn't a surprise. The petite man preferred to stay home on nights like these, not caring for the boisterous, rowdy atmosphere. Feuilly, too, was missing, but that wasn't a surprise either considering he was holding down two jobs and often worked nights.

Sitting at an empty table and slowly nursing his drink, Combeferre was wondering how early he could slip out without Courfeyrac noticing when a flash of red caught his eye. Blinking quickly, he at first wondered if he was imagining things, but when the slim man didn't disappear he knew he wasn't dreaming.

Instead, the man noticed Combeferre sitting all by himself in the corner and came over to sit with him.

"Long time no see, doctor," was his only greeting, leaving Combeferre to gape at him in shock. "What?" The man at least had the decency to look confused.

Regaining his wits, the young medic managed to reply, "I've been trying to find you since that day a few weeks ago, but no one had any idea where you'd gone."

"Ah, I see. I had to leave Paris to take care of a few things that had come up back home, but I'm back now." He gave no other explanation.

"And home is...?" Combeferre trailed off, waiting to be supplied with a location and learn a bit more about the enigma sitting in front of him.

Enjolras chose not to answer, instead abruptly changing the topic with a question of his own. "So those are friends of yours?" He asked, jutting his chin towards the bar, where Courfeyrac and Bahorel now sat, Eponine supplying them with drinks as they tried to beat each other at a drinking game. Courfeyrac, Combeferre knew, would surely lose after a few more shots, but he didn't blame his friend for trying.

Deciding to indulge the man rather than press the issue, he allowed the change of subject, replying, "Yes, Courfeyrac's my oldest friend, and we met Bahorel and the others at the University when we moved to Paris."

Courfeyrac had met Bahorel on the day they arrived due to the fact that they were paired up to share a dorm room, while Combeferre had moved into his own apartment off campus. The three of them had hit it off quite spectacularly, with Jehan, Feuilly, Marius and Eponine joining their regular circle of friends shortly after.

"Why aren't you over there with them, then?" Enjolras turned back to him.

Shrugging, he merely said, "I promised Courfeyrac I'd come, but it's been a long day and I'd prefer the peace and quiet." The faces of the people he'd seen at the hospital today flashed before his eyes and he downed the rest of his drink in a single gulp. Enjolras merely watched him intently from the corner of his eye, not saying a word.

"It seems more like there's something you're trying to forget," The man commented softly, but Combeferre didn't answer. He only stared down into his glass, watching the golden light flicker along its sides, his tongue stuck to the top of his mouth. Enjolras merely shrugged, not pressing the issue, but Combeferre could have sworn his mouth twitched up a bit at the side.

A spark of anger lit inside him, but it sputtered and died just as quickly as it came. It seemed they both had things they'd rather not talk about. Well played, he thought, and together they watched the crowd growing around the bar.

True to Combeferre's predictions, it was only a few drinks later that Bahorel was announced the winner. Courfeyrac, laughing histerically, clapped his friend on the shoulder and stood up, nearing falling over in the process.

"Well, I think he's had enough. I'd better go make sure he gets home alright." Combeferre announced. Enjolras didn't reply, merely nodding in farewell, and he left to gather up his wayward friend.

Later that night, after escorting his drunken friend home, Combeferre returned to his flat and lay awake in bed for a long time, trying not to think about big, empty houses or the colour of blood.