I CAN'T WRITE THIS! AAARRRRGH!

Ugh, you have no idea how much stress this one story has caused me! GOD, I swear, I tried my best. I CAN'T WRITE SADNESS! IT'S NOT WORKING! This is all I could do, sadly. I HAD NO IDEA WRITING ABOUT LOSS COULD BE SO HARD! GAAAAH! I really did try my best, but I CAN'T DO IT! I hope this isn't too terrible. I spent about three days just staring at the blank word document. I've got about five different drafts of this ONE CHAPTER.

This is the best I could do. I'M SO SORRY.

Combeferre sat by the window of Le Musian, staring through the new sky of day. The morning lashes of sunlight that rose into the blue canvas stung his tired eyes, though; he didn't care much for the pain. He simply stared…and watched as the beautiful light painted the sky with wonderful colours of orange and red. The air was set to a magnificent gold as the sun continued to paint through the canvas, spreading its colour like a bird does its wings. To Combeferre, a sunrise was just another everyday occurrence…but to Enjolras, it was much more. He saw it as a new day about to be born from the depths of the old world. He saw it as a fresh start…a new beginning. To him, it radiated so much beauty, that he himself were mesmerised…

…Now if only he was here to see it…

Les Amis had been searching all night, and yet, not a single trace of him was found. It was as though he'd disappeared of the face of the earth…and perhaps he had. After all, Enjolras had always been the adventurous type. Combeferre placed his hand on his forehead, taking a moment to breathe.

No one could deny it…the Musian did feel much barer without Enjolras standing upon its ground. They did not sing without him there. They did not laugh without him there. They did not drink without him there. It was just hollow and unbearable silence.

Courfeyrac stood at the other end of the room, his back pressed against the wall and his eyes closed. For the first time in his life, he found himself lost for words. Enjolras was by far the most courageous man he knew. He was a man of marble, stronger than any other with a heart of fire and words of freedom that lit passion into the eyes of man…is it possible for marble to just crack? It had struck him unexpectedly…until that moment, he'd always seen Enjolras as some invisible man of gold…but in fact, Enjolras was merely human. Perhaps he'd taken his courage a step too far. A man can only hold a weight for so long, before his bones begin to break.

He wouldn't care to admit it, but Courfeyrac had actually been having a constant pain within his chest. It struck him right in the heart, like a needle or a knife. He hadn't ever experienced anything like it. The feeling that he was missing something within his heart was truly overwhelming. It made him want to break down and just cry…but he still had the asset to contain himself…for now at least.

"I put it upon myself…" Combeferre virtually whispered, unable to tare his eyes away from the sky, afraid that the light might disappear. "I put it upon myself to watch him. I put it upon myself to make sure he stayed sane. I'm meant to be the one who pulls him from the ground, not let him fall-"

"You can't blame yourself for what he did." Courfeyrac interrupted. "He made his own decision…whether you like it or not, he's gone." Combeferre felt his blood turn cold as he thought through the past forty-eight hours. For a moment, Combeferre just sat in silence. "Perhaps you should go home. This is simply too much for one man alone to take Mon Ami. I'd care to walk you home if you'd—"

"He's an idiot!" Courfeyrac shot back as Combeferre stood and hit his fist against the clear glass of the window, causing a spiral of cracks to form in the top right corner of the glass. Courfeyrac stared in shock as Combeferre stared down at the floor, his breathing heavy and uneven. His body was shaking uncontrollably and he kept catching on his own breath. "He's a mindless imbecile!" he felt tears begin to brim his eyes, though, he couldn't care less for them anymore. "Enjolras is meant to be the one who never falters! I believed him to be strong…and then he just gives up! He expects me to just forget his existence! He's a coward who can't face the world, that's what he is! A downright disgrace! I hate the man! I hate him for putting false hope in my eyes! He belongs in hell!" Combeferre violently struck another hit to the window, causing the cracks in the glass to spread like a spider's web, about a few more hits away from collapsing. Before he could strike the window again, Courfeyrac ran to his side and restrained him by his wrists. Combeferre broke down into tears. Courfeyrac comforted him, and himself.

Enjolras woke to blinding light leaking in from the open windowsill. It took him a moment or two to focus his vision. His head was pounding as his heart rate beat at an abnormal pace. He found his mouth was dry as sandpaper and his lips were cracked from dehydration. He was lying upon an old maroon bed made from solid oak. The matrass felt stiff against his back and the sheets that lay above him were paper thin. He began to sit up slowly, minding the noisy bed springs as he heaved himself to a sitting position. The first thing he noticed was that he was no longer wearing his own clothes. His old shirt and black slacks had been replaced with a crisp white shirt, which was a few sizes too large, and a pair of baggy grey trousers.

The walls were layered with a strange floral coloured paper with hand painted red and white roses dancing upon the surface. Aside from the bed, there was only two pieces of furniture in the room. An old cabinet painted pure white, and the wooden bedside table that sat on the left side of his bed against the wall. On top of the bedside sat his rusted silver watch with a web of cracks springing from the right corner of the glass. Through complete and utter habit, he reached for his watch and began to fumble to strap it back onto his right wrist, using the golden streak of light from the window to help him fasten the strap.

As he was doing so, Enjolras heard faint footsteps nearing through the hallway. There was a light knock at the door, so quiet that if the room hadn't been so soundless, Enjolras would have never heard it. A few seconds later, the door was opened. The rusty hinges creaked open as the man from the night before paced through the doorway. "Ah, good. You're awake. I was beginning to fear you never would." The man dressed in similar clothes to the night before, aside from a change of shirt. He held a floral china mug of warm tea in his left hand. He cautiously handed the mug to Enjolras, who didn't hesitate to swig it down his throat, feeling grateful for the warmth it provided. "Forgive me for the accommodations. This is all I can offer you. It's not first rate, but it keeps a roof over my head."

Enjolras nodded, feeling a tinge of awkwardness as he sat in the bed. He placed the mug onto the bedside and looked up at the man. "Um…Monsieur…"

"Fauchelevent." He smiled.

"Monsieur Fauchelevent…I, uh, never thanked you…for saving my life." Enjolras' voice lacked its usual confidence, which was fairly out of character for a man such as him. "My mind was just…in the clouds...I'm sorry."

Fauchelevent couldn't help but pity the boy. So young, and so lost. He seemed to not know his place in the world…he wanted to know why a boy such as himself would wish to end his own life. "I wish to speak with you more…but I'm afraid I haven't the time. I'll leave you in the capable hands of my daughter. She's asleep at the moment, but I shouldn't be too long. Just…try to rest, my boy."

As Fauchelevent turned to exit the room, Enjolras spoke once more. "Monsieur…I really am…sorry."

He simply grinned. "You have nothing to be sorry for. I just do whatever a man should. Now, rest."

TBC