When the three medical students left the university that evening, Joly and Combeferre walked as far as the library with LeClair and bid him a genial farewell. Combeferre shared rooms with Enjolras in the wealthiest part of town, while Joly lived with L'Aigle a few streets away from them. LeClair, who headed off in the opposite direction, lived alone in a much poorer part of Paris. He tried not to envy his friends their wealth, but it was often very difficult. Very difficult indeed!

He practically ran down the cobbled street and bounded round the corner, so as to be absolutely certain that he was out of earshot of his friends, before he burst into a violent fit of coughing. He slumped against a wall for support, almost bent double. The huge wrenching coughs pained him like a kick in the chest and his heart was began to hammer at a furious pace.

The wheezing tore at his throat and left him dazed for several moments. When he finally got his breath back, LeClair hurriedly wiped the perspiration from his pallid face and began slowly making his way towards the wretched, cold hovel that was his home.

"Hello Claude, my love," said Madame Dupont, his landlady, when he went in the door.

"Good evening, Madame," LeClair bowed his head politely, before hastily making his way through to his room and collapsing on the bed, breaking into another fit of violent coughing.

When he finally had the ability to breathe again, Claude flopped weakly back against his pillows, flushed with the heat and yet, paradoxically, shivering like some wounded animal. He sighed sadly, as he looked around the room. The paint on the wall was chipped and peeling, the draughty window was filthy, the threadbare rug on the floor was rough and worn. The only furniture was a small armoire, a bed and a chair – the dark room was a stark contrast to the vivacious and friendly personality of its inhabitant. It was cold and cheerless, and only heightened the black veil of gloom that threatened to envelop him every time he walked through the door.

"Oh Christ!" he choked to himself weakly, reaching for the small basin which sat at the side of his bed, as he gave a deep cough that sent sharp waves of pain through him. "If you have any mercy at all, stop this torture!"

And he ducked over the basin and was violently sick.

Combeferre and Joly walked the rest of the way together, parting cheerfully when they reached the building where Combeferre and Enjolras's rooms were. Combeferre climbed the stairs quickly, pausing only moments to drop off a book at the apartment which Prouvaire and Courfeyrac shared; a floor below his own. He mounted the last flight at the same speed and let himself into the apartment to find, to his surprise, that Enjolras had arrived home first; deviating from his usual habit of spending an extra couple of hours in the university library for private study.

Their rooms were of an average size; pleasant and warm. In fact, for want of a better word, they were homely, and as different from poor LeClair's rooms as it was possible to be. The rooms were clean and bright; there were books on the shelves, pictures on the walls, and the furniture was of the best quality; a clear indication of the wealth of both students.

"Good evening, Julien," Combeferre said pleasantly, putting his blue coat over the back of a chair as he passed he entered their sitting room. "How was your lecture?"

Enjolras looked round from where he was sitting in the bay window, causing Combeferre to blink in surprise. Enjolras's usually perfect and handsome face looked strained and weary; the flush on his cheeks a stark contrast to the unearthly paleness of his skin. His ice-blue eyes were unnaturally distant. His black cravat was lying strewn on the seat beside him, and his shirt was open and loose at the neck. He looked exhausted.

"It went…it went pleasantly," was the obviously false reply, as Enjolras made a visible attempt to pull himself together. "Though I must admit I was glad it was over. I find I cannot concentrate adequately today."

"I am not surprised!" said Combeferre in concern, coming to sit next to his friend. "You look terrible!"

"Thank you, Etienne, I am glad to see you too!" Enjolras replied wryly, his weariness not robbing him of his dry sense of humour.

"You know what I mean!" said Combeferre, a slight frown creasing his brow. "Are you sure you are feeling all right?" He reached out to feel Enjolras's forehead, but his friend jerked away in alarm, blond hair falling into his eyes.

"There is nothing wrong with me, Etienne! You're as bad as Joly!" Enjolras protested weakly, irritably pushing his hair back. "Please don't keep fussing about me, mon ami. I am nineteen, for goodness sake! I can take care of myself!"

"I know, Julien," Combeferre replied softly, refusing to be ruffled. "But you are also the most stubborn human being I know; that's why I wanted to check if you are as fine as you claim to be. You're my best friend. I do not 'fuss' to annoy you; it's just because I care."

Tears began to sting at Enjolras's eyes, much to his anger - he usually had much more control over his emotions. He began to blink them back furiously, but it was not enough to hide them from the ever observant Combeferre, who smiled to himself and got to his feet, stretching his long limbs with a languid ease. "Do you want a cup of tea?" he asked airily, swiftly changing the subject. "Or would you rather go down to the Café Voltaire and get something to eat?"

The thought of food made Enjolras's stomach lurch, but he knew better than to reveal that to his friend. That would be all reason Combeferre would need to be taking his temperature and listening to his heart through that new stethoscope he was so pleased with. "I'm not that hungry, Etienne," he said, in what he hoped was a convincing tone, nervously trying to swallow a cough. "I think I shall just have that cup of tea and then get down to my essay."

"For goodness sake Julien!" scolded Combeferre sternly. "You look dead on your feet. Forget the damned essay and go to bed! Do you want me to drag you off that seat and force you through the door? If need be, I'll take your textbooks and sit on them!"

Enjolras looked up and saw a grin spread over Combeferre's face as he prepared them both a cup of tea. He couldn't help but grin back – it was absolutely impossible for him to be angry at Combeferre. There was no use arguing, he knew that! And anyway, the rest would be good for him. Because that was all that was wrong with him! He was tired….nothing more.

"All right, Etienne. I won't argue," he smiled in resignation as they drank their tea. "I suppose I could use the rest. I am tired." He drained his cup and got clumsily to his feet - why was his co-ordination so poor today? He began to push his chair in at the table when he suddenly stopped and laid his hand on Combeferre's shoulder. "I'm sorry I was so snappy, Etienne," he said softly, reverting for a moment back to his normal eloquence. "Please attribute it to tiredness. You're concern is appreciated, my friend, I promise. Your friendship means a lot to me too."

Combeferre gave his trademark gentle smile and understanding shone in his eyes. "Goodnight, Julien," he said. "Get some sleep. You're going to need the energy for tomorrow night." Enjolras smiled and wearily made his way to the room they shared.

Combeferre watched him disappear through the door with a fond exasperation etched all over his face. You better hope you don't as much as groan in your sleep, Julien! he thought to himself. Because if you do, no amount of glares, or lies about being tired, will keep me from finding out what the matter is! I will not let you suffer anymore!