(Hi everyone! This story has been on hiatus due to lack of inspiration for a very long time, but I finally managed to get another chapter up. I really hope you like it and reviews are most welcome right now to keep me motivated. Thanks!)

Enjolras appreciated the effort Combeferre made to keep his mind from wandering to the night before, but it really wasn't that much use. He tried to watch the movie and he tried to smile at Combeferre's jokes, but all he could think about was why Grantaire and Bahorel had gone so far. He knew he could be serious and stoic sometimes. He knew he didn't always go out with them and he knew that he rather stayed home to study. But that didn't make him a boring person, did it?

Enjolras felt strangely detached from himself. He had never before felt this insecure about his being, not really, but now… First there was Combeferre telling him that he was supposed to grow up and have some fun. It may have been a joke, but it still stung. He and Combeferre had always been very close and it wasn't all that easy for Enjolras now that Combeferre was in medical school and hardly had time for him anymore. He missed his friend. He missed their long midnight talks and their quiet walks through the park. He even missed the fact that Combeferre used to drag him away from his computer when he was working too much. Now it seemed like he didn't even noticed. He was too busy with his own work.

Then there was Courfeyrac who repeatedly told him that he wanted Enjolras to have fun, because he thought his friend was far too serious for his age. He had even told Enjolras that he thought it should be his birthday present… It was actually kind of peculiar that Courfeyrac and Enjolras were such good friends. They lived completely different lives. His friend loved to go out at nights, loved to flirt with the ladies, skipped his homework and came to the library not to study but to work on his so called guide 'How to woo them damsels'. He did all things that Enjolras wasn't comfortable with at all, but they were drawn to each other and had grown up to be very close friends. That's why it always stung when Courfeyrac jibed at his lifestyle, even though Enjolras would never admit that it did.

And then of course there were Grantaire and Bahorel who always joked that he was so tense and that he never loosened up or let himself go. They had teased him often enough, but Enjolras was usually able to let it slide and not pay that much attention to it. However, it all seemed to come together now and Enjolras couldn't help but feel a little lonely. He had always thought that no matter what his friends said, they appreciated him the way he was. And somewhere in the back of his mind, he still believed that that was the case. But the events of last night had really left a mark on him. He was hurt, confused and embarrassed and he didn't look forward to facing any of his friend at all.

But to Enjolras, the most embarrassing thing was the fact that he had let himself get drunk. How could he have been that stupid? He knew his lemonade tasted different. He felt himself getting woozy and yet he didn't stop drinking it. Partly because he would've never imagined Bahorel and Grantaire to do such a thing. Especially not Grantaire… He knew the details of Enjolras' troubles with drinking and alcoholism. But maybe also partly because he was feeling unhappy. He hadn't been feeling comfortable with himself for a couple of weeks now and yesterday evening – with Combeferre's little joke to top it off - everything just came together and Enjolras wanted not to feel anything. Maybe there was a part of him that had actually consciously let himself get drunk.

Enjolras unwittingly let out a dejected sigh and closed his eyes. He couldn't concentrate on the movie anyway. His head hurt and his stomach didn't seem to agree with him at all, doing flips and turns every few minutes. An image of his father, drunk and out cold, suddenly filled his vision. He remembered the last time he talked to him. Well, more like shouted at him. He and his father never really got along, but things turned for the worse when he lost his job. The man couldn't cope and turned to the bottle, drinking more and more every day. Enjolras hated it. He hated how his father left everything to his mother. She had to find a job, work in the house, take care of their finances, make sure there was food on the table. And all his father could do was criticize and belittle her. Screaming time and again how she was not good enough. How he had sacrificed everything for her. How he had a poor excuse of a son, who couldn't even make his father proud by joining the soccer team, because he was too busy with other things.

Enjolras was only eleven years old when it all started and he had grown up hating and fearing the aggressive man. At fourteen he had finally mustered the courage to stand up for himself and his mother. He told him everything that had been on his mind for years. How he was the poor excuse of a husband and a father. How he could call himself a man. That he was the biggest failure Enjolras had ever known, who did nothing more than hide behind his bottle and making excuses for his miserable life instead of doing something about it. It earned him a kick to the stomach and an order to never come back again. But he was out. And so was his mother. They never went to the authorities, however, and his mother no longer lived in France. She moved to Italy to be with her sister a year ago and Enjolras went to live with Combeferre. That's how it happened that after Enjolras refused to press charges against Grantaire and Bahorel, the police and the medical staff send a letter to his father to tell him exactly what happened. Enjolras couldn't think of anything more humiliating.

A single tear slowly made its way down his cheek. Enjolras didn't want Combeferre to notice, so he quickly tried to brush it away, but his friend beat him to it. The older student didn't say anything, but pulled Enjolras closer against him and pressed a light kiss on his forehead. When Enjolras tried to pull away, feeling ashamed, Combeferre tilted his chin up and examined his face. He searched his friend's eyes and pulled a comforting hand through the blonde curls. It was a gesture that always made Enjorlas smile, even if just a little, and again, Combeferre's didn't fail in his purpose. He smiled back at his young friend and squeezed his forearm.

"It'll be okay, Julien," he said quietly, his voice kind and his eyes full of understanding. "I can imagine how much this must all suck right now… I know you're confused and hurt… But it will pass and it will be okay, I promise."

Enjolras forced himself to smile again and nodded. Inside however, he wondered how much Combeferre really thought he knew. Yes he was confused and yes he was hurt, but there was a lot more going on that he didn't even understand himself. Maybe it was just part of growing up or maybe it just all seemed bigger and worse because of the concussion. But still, Enjolras couldn't draw comfort from Combeferre's words. He felt lonely and it was an awful feeling.

"Is there something I should know about?" Combeferre asked cautiously. He knew his friend almost better than Enjolras knew himself, and he recognized a fake smile when he saw one. It had been plastered on his friend's face for a few weeks now and Combeferre was starting to get concerned. He had attributed it to Enjolras' study pressure at first, but now he began to wonder if maybe there was something more going on. He didn't miss the troubled flash in his friend's eyes, though it was quickly replaced by a more distant and guarded look.

"No," Enjolras mumbled softly, swallowing past the growing lump in his throat. "I'm fine… just a little tired, I guess, and my head hurts… A-and… And just the everything t-that happened last night, you know…" He tried to smile again, but couldn't look Combeferre in the eyes any longer. He hated lying to his best friend. But he didn't want him to worry. He'd be fine. He would figure it out himself. It was nothing he couldn't handle.

Combeferre watched him carefully for a little while longer. If he was concerned before, he was definitely suspicious now. But he figured now was not the time to go on about it. He would leave it be and see how Enjolras was doing when the concussion had healed and the shame and shock from last night had passed. He did however give his friend a stern look over the top of his glasses. "You know you can tell me anything, right?"

Enjolras nodded again and that was the end of it. For now.

"Okay," Combeferre said, ruffling Enjolras' hair in a friendly manner. He paused the movie they were watching and stood from the couch. "I think it's time for your next dose of painkillers. You sit tight, I'll go get them."

Enjolras smiled as he watched Combeferre disappear into his bedroom. He missed this; missed his friend and he even missed his friend's fussing. It wasn't fair, of course, and he hated to admit it to himself but Enjolras couldn't help it. He kind of liked that someone worried about him sometimes. He'd never really known that feeling while growing up. That didn't mean he liked the concerned look in Combeferre's eyes. He didn't like that at all, especially not if it was just. It made him feel guilty.

Combeferre returned within a minute with two pills in one hand and a large glass of ginger ale in the other. Enjolras' smile widened at that. Ginger ale was always a magical way to get his stomach to settle and of course Combeferre knew that. He didn't even have to ask. Combeferre handed him the glass and pills and watched how his friend quickly swallowed them down. Then he plopped back down next to the blond and pulled him close again, so that Enjolras was comfortable leaning against his chest.

They sat in comfortable silence for a while, both lost in their own minds, until the sharp vibrate of Enjolras' phone brought them back to the present. Enjolras sighed as he checked the message and fiddled with the blanket. It was Grantaire again. The man had been calling non-stop the entire day now – Bahorel as well – and Enjolras didn't know what to do with it. He could understand that they felt guilty and that they wanted to talk to him, but he just didn't know if he wanted to see them yet. Combeferre told him a few of the other Amis would come and visit in the afternoon and that was already hard enough. Enjolras didn't exactly looked forward facing them either, but at least they hadn't contributed to Grantaire's and Bahorel's plan. Apart from that, it was still Courfeyrac's birthday and Enjolras felt like he had already ruined it enough.

"Grantaire?" Combeferre asked quietly.

Enjolras sighed again and nodded. "It's the fifteenth time now within two and a half hours… I don't know what to do 'Ferre. What do you think I should do?"

Combeferre dragged a hand across his tired face – thinking back on his conversation with the two men earlier that day – and shook his head. He knew how much Grantaire and Bahorel regretted their little game and he knew how much they wanted to apologize to Enjolras, but he had also told them that he wasn't going to fix their mess this time. Even if he thought it was better, he wasn't going to push Enjolras into talking to them. Not until he was ready.

"I think you should do what you feel comfortable with," he said, smiling slightly at the frustrated groan he got in response.

"That isn't really helping me, because I don't know what I'm comfortable with… Part of me wants to talk to them… Hear them out, yell at them, curse them… I-I feel kind of guilty ignoring them like this… And then another part of me just wants nothing to do with them. Not now, not yet."

Combeferre nodded and gazed at his bruised hand. He understood the feeling of being angry and feeling guilty at the same time. He didn't like violence at all and he started to regret hitting his two friends. Even though they deserved it.

"Look," he began softly, "From a doctor's point of view, I don't think it's a good idea if they visit you yet…. You can't use the extra stress right now and the other Amis visiting is going to be enough for now. And aside from that… I don't think I can be of much help to you. You need to make that decision on your own."

Another sigh. "Yes, but I don't know… I want them to stop calling me."

"Then tell them that," Combeferre said dryly. He watched Enjolras' troubled face for a second and closed his eyes before speaking. "Ask yourself this. Do you want to talk to them? Without thinking about when or where, just in general, do you want to hear them out?"

Enjolras nodded. That was an easy question. Of course he wanted to hear them out.

"Okay, well then just leave it at that for now. Send them a text that you want to speak to them, but that you need some time and space. You can contact them again when you're ready."

Enjolras thought about that for a second. That was something he could do. Then at least he had answered them, given a response to their constant calling and messaging. Yes, he would do that. With slightly trembling fingers he selected both Grantaire's and Bahorel's numbers and ticked out a short message.

"Hi. Thank you for the messages. I am okay, I guess. I am willing to hear you out, but not just yet. I need time. Please stop calling me. Bye."

He pressed 'send' and then dropped his phone back on the coffee table. With another sigh he carefully sank back into Combeferre's chest. "I hate this," he mumbled tiredly, feeling those traitorous tears burn behind his eyes again.

Combeferre smiled sadly and let his cheek rest atop Enjolras' head. "I know," he said quietly. "We'll work it out. We always do, Julien." He rubbed his friend's forearm a few times and pressed another kiss to the blond curls, hoping he was able to offer Enjolras a little comfort. "Do you want to watch TV some more or do you want to go to sleep?"

Enjolras was feeling tired and sleepy, but he didn't want to be alone in his bedroom, so he told Combeferre he wanted to watch another movie. The warmth of the blanket, the soft murmuring of the television and his friend's comforting hold combined with the drugs lulled Enjolras into a deep sleep soon enough. He would wake up again a few hours later by someone knocking on the door and hushed, anxious voices in the hallway.

TBC.

(I have difficulty with continuing this story, but I'm doing my best. I have some ideas for the future and I never leave a story hanging. Reviews help a lot. Ideas are always welcome.)