A/N: That was not a quicker update... sorry? In my defense I have exams coming up and my boss decided that would be the perfect time to give me a bunch of long work weeks, so forgive me. Anyway, enjoy, as always, constructive criticism is greatly appreciated!

Disclaimer: I don't own them, they belong to the lovely Victor Hugo.

Enjolras looked at Combeferre, at a loss for what to say. He never spoke about what happened to his mother. It was too painful to even think about; every time he did he couldn't help but be thrown back into the memories, like he was watching it happen all over again. The only thing he had ever wanted to do was push it out of his mind and never think or talk about it again. And it had been relatively easy up to this point considering no one had ever asked.

And now, Combeferre, a man that he just met a day ago, asks him about it and he suddenly feels like he wants to tell him. Not just because he feels obligated to because Combeferre told him the story about his brother, but because no one has looked at Enjolras with that much caring and compassion since his mother died. And finally, Enjolras realized that Combeferre didn't have an agenda, he only wanted to help.

Enjolras intended to tell him, somehow he hadn't felt this close to anyone in years, but when he opened his mouth he realized he couldn't say it. He couldn't tell Combeferre the story of what happened, of how he failed the only person that really ever mattered to him. He couldn't watch the caring in the older man's eyes turn to disgust. He couldn't stand to have the first person since his mother that actually cared about his wellbeing suddenly hate him because he found out how much of a coward he is. Because he failed.

So, Enjolras didn't tell him what happened. He locked the memory back up inside his mind and swore to himself, once again, that he would never speak or think about what happened. "She was killed when I was ten," he said instead. "Father never really was one for philanthropy so we stopped." Combeferre looked like he wanted to press him for more information but seemed to think better of it after a moment.

"I'm very sorry," he said.

"Thank you."

They sat in silence for a moment, until Enjolras stood up suddenly. "I must be going," he said. "My father will be expecting me. It was nice speaking to you, Combeferre."

Combeferre stood up after Enjolras. "And you as well," he said. "I hope we can meet again?" he asked, hopefully.

"I would enjoy that," Enjolras said, a small smile in his face. "Until we meet again," and with that, Enjolras left the café, and began walking home.

Combeferre knew that the chances of getting Enjolras to really open up to him were slim. Still he couldn't help but feel a hint of disappointment when he saw the shutters go up behind the younger man's eyes when they broached the topic of his mother. He had wanted to press further, his curiosity nearly getting the best of him, but he quickly thought better of it. Combeferre knew that if he did he would spook the younger man, likely causing him to close off completely and then everything would have been for nothing. He would not be able to help Enjolras out of whatever situation he was in and he wouldn't be able to live with himself if that happened.

Despite not knowing him for long Combeferre felt a fierce protectiveness over the boy. He felt the need to protect him from whatever misdeeds were being done to him. And based on what he had seen of Enjolras he could tell that he had a very kind heart. He cared deeply about the people, no matter who they were, and was obviously prepared, eager even, to stand up for them, regardless of the consequences to himself. He was sure to become historic and was the kind of man that Combeferre would be willing to fight next to. But to do that, he had to help him first. He didn't know what he had expected, really. He had only met the boy the day before, Combeferre couldn't really expect him to want to tell his problems to someone who was essentially a stranger, especially someone as private as Enjolras.

But still, he was not discouraged. Enjolras appeared to be warming up to him and he got the impression that that did not happen easily. He just had to take it slower, show the boy that he could be trusted, that he would help him. And no matter what it took Combeferre was going to help him.

Enjolras walked swiftly back towards his house, he couldn't bear to call it a home. Homes were safe and secure. They were where you felt love, and happiness. None of those things existed in the Enjolras household. No matter how much he dreaded returning to that place he didn't dare be late. His father expected him home at exactly one in the afternoon for extra lessons, and consequences of being late could be quite severe, especially the day following a drinking binge. So when he finally came to the large, daunting house he only hesitated for a moment before stepping inside.

He entered the dining room, where his lessons were usually held, but didn't find who he was expecting. Rather than his tutor, he saw his father sitting at the long dining room table, his hands folded in front of him expectantly. He looked up when he heard Enjolras enter, an emotionless look in his eyes. "Come, Julien," he said, motioning at the chair across from him. "Sit."

Enjolras approached slowly and sat hesitantly in the offered chair. "Where is Monsieur Borde?" he asked.

"He's just running a bit late. He'll be here momentarily," he said, his gaze never leaving Enjolras's. "So," he began, "what's this I hear about you running around with the new boy?"

Enjolras's heart sped up. How did he know about Combeferre? "And who told you that?" he asked, masking the worry in his voice with an emotionless façade.

"That does not matter," he responded. "Now, what have you been telling him Julien?" he asked.

"Nothing, father."

"Are you sure about that?" The look his father gave him would've made the strongest of men feel fear, but Enjolras only returned it with equal force.

"Yes," he replied. "I'm sure."

"Good," his father said. "Because you know how much I hate outsiders getting involved in our business." And Enjolras did know. The last person he had started to open up to had been forced to leave town and hadn't been heard from since. There was no way he was going to let that happen to Combeferre.

Enjolras and his father stared at each other, neither looking away until they heard a loud knock on the door. "Well," his father said, "that would be Monsieur Borde. I'll leave you to your lesson, then." And with that, the older man stood and left the room, leaving the young Enjolras alone with his thoughts for a few moments.

He thought of Combeferre, the only person he had felt like he could be close to in years. He didn't know what he would do if his father decided that he was a threat. With the amount of resources at his disposal there was no telling what he could do. He wasn't going to let that happen. Even if that meant avoiding the only person left who actually cared for him; he refused to allow Combeferre's life be ruined because of him. He had made his decision.