A/N I hope you guys enjoy this chapter. This is AU. I repeat. AU. This chapter is NOT linked to any of the other chapters and/or oneshots that I have written before. And it will not be connected unless I decide to be really evil and write another chapter like this to connect to it. Which is not going to happen in the foreseeable future. But, I guess you never know. It was pretty fun to write.

P.S.

You guys know the drill. I accept requests and all that fun stuff!

P.P.S.

Please don't kill me...

ANOTHER NOTE THAT YOU NEED TO READ; I am going to do the same amount of crunches as I get reviews, and follows, and favorites. So, if I get one favorite, that's equal to a hundred crunches. One follow, a hundred crunches. And so you get the picture.

Disclaimer; I don't own Les miserables. Still. Darn it.

The popping and creaking of Bahorel's old mustang's engine would have been a perfect drum roll for what Enjolras was about to say, had Bahorel not turned the car off the moment he pulled up to Enjolras' house.

"It's one room." The blonde said, avoiding eye contact with the brown haired man.

"One? One hotel room? You've got to be kidding me." Bahorel laughed dryly, then stopped when he saw the serious expression Enjolras was sporting.

"I'm serious, Bahorel. It's all we could afford on the group budget. And I'm not going to go back on my word and ask for more money than I said would be required."

Enjolras folded his arms, and gave Bahorel the look he gave Grantaire, when arguing over wether or not Grantaire would 'put the bottle down.'

"Let me pay for it then! That's going to be to much invasion of personal space for me."

Enjolras waited, expression annoyed, as Bahorel dug around in his pockets then rolled his eyes when the taller man groaned and said, "Dang it! I lost my money playing poker with Grantaire last night."

"That should teach you not to gamble." Enjolras mused, as he walked up to his and Grantaire's shared apartment, which Bahorel had been staying at recently, as he had been evicted from his last apartment. (Apparently giving the land lord a black eye was not the way to respond when told to 'pay up, or get out.')

"Yeah, yeah, yeah. This isn't about me. Or my gambling, occasionally."

Enjolras turned the key in the key hole, then began to wrestle with the old door that never seemed to want to open.

"You're right, Bahorel. This is about spending quality time with our friends."

"More like, quality time with Eponine." Bahorel said with a laugh, then shoved his smaller friend away from the door and gave it a good kick, causing the door to creak loudly and swing open.

"Shut up. And now look what you've done. I'm going to have to fix the door again."

"Fix the door again?! Enjolras, no one wants our stuff!" Bahorel said, nearly yelling now.

He swung his arms around as to gesture to their belongings then hit the back of his fist on accident onto a pistol that lay, unloaded on the mantle above their fire place (Which did not work.)

The pistol fell from the mantle, and onto the shelf below it, which hit a picture frame on the far left, which caused a ripple effect and knocked down every single picture frame that lay on the shelf. Until the last framed picture fell to the ground, and snapped in half.

Bahorel's breath caught in his chest and he watched as the blonde's slightly amused expression turned to panicked in an instant.

"Enjolras. Enjolras." His deep voice seemed to be lost in the blonde's ears. Not connecting, or clicking into any sort of realization. In that moment, Enjolras was in a world of his own.

Enjolras reached down, picked up the last shattered picture frame and held it close to his chest.

"You broke it." He mumbled, not allowing Bahorel to see over his shoulder or to look into his eyes. And in an instant, he was headed towards his bedroom.

It didn't take long for him to get there, and though Bahorel was taller, larger, and had longer legs, Enjolras could be speedy when he wanted to be.

"Don't come in." Enjolras said, with his voice cracking as he shut the door in Bahorel's face.

Bahorel sat there. Alone, for hours. There was no noise, on his side of the door. He simply sat, and stared at the ground, or at his bruised knuckles, or at the clock hands that were ticking seemingly slower than usual.

He wished the room on the other side of the door had of been just as quiet. Because that meant, that Enjolras was being Enjolras. He was dealing with his pain the way he always did. Silently. But This time, Bahorel could hear the strangled sobs coming from Enjolras' throat, he could hear the muttered apologies to the walls, and the muffled-screaming into a pillow or blanket that Enjolras had likely held up to his mouth in an attempt to stay quiet.

How could he have forgotten? Today was the day. Today it had been a year. A year since the wreck, a year since the hospital, a year since the doctors had told them there was nothing they could do for their friend. A year. A year since Combeferre had died, and left behind a very, very, broken Enjolras.

Bahorel remembered when the funeral had come around, and each of the men had taken their turn to speak.

Bossuet, had tripped on his way up to the platform and nearly knocked the coffin over. The coffin that held their dead friend. He hadn't been able to say anything once he got up there, but cry and apologize in the direction of the coffin that held their dead friend.

Jehan, had walked up to the stand, flower embroidered handkerchief in hand, and sniffled his nose, wiped his own tears and spoken of how the beauty of it all is, that Combeferre was always looking out for them. And he must have wanted to make sure their travel up to heaven would be safe, so he went ahead of them.

Feuilly, had walked up to the stand, glanced at the coffin, and swallowed harshly to hold back tears. He had spoken strongly, of what a good friend was, and how everything would be okay. But the row of friends that sat ahead of even Combeferre's own blood family, had seen that he was dying on the inside. Falling apart silently.

Bahorel, had stumbled up to the stand, and mumbled a few things about how he would miss Combeferre, then stood in silence for a long while. Silence he had never given Combeferre while he was alive, and so he felt he owed it to him now.

Joly, had walked up to the stand, and set his jaw, folded his hands and explained to the people sitting before him the cause of death and how even if Combeferre had of survived the car crash, he would not have been well enough to actually live. And so none of them should blame themselves. There was nothing they could have done. He seemed to have been in one piece, until on his way down the stairs, the tears he had held in so bravely poured over and streamed down his pale cheeks.

Grantaire, had walked up to the stand, mumbling inaudibly to himself. He looked in the direction of Combeferre's coffin, smiled slightly and said with a pained laugh, "I think he had just had enough of us. In all honesty. That's what happened." Then, after his smile faded, he nodded his head once, walked down from the stand and whispered, "I'm sorry, Combeferre. Love you, man."

Courfeyrac had been next to take the stand, his usually joy-filled eyes looked terrified and he kept glancing back at Gavroche who sat on the front row, as if for support. "Combeferre. I'm sorry." He had choked out, and then wiped his palm against his sweaty forehead. "I'm sorry." He repeated, and continued to repeat for a few minutes before he walked down from the stand, looking defeated and upset.

Gavroche, had taken the stand bravely. forcing himself to take the stairs one step at a time even though it would have been smart to take them two steps at a time, given his size. He had sniffled and wrung his hands together, glancing nervously at the ground. He was the only child present that day. He looked up from the ground and simply said, "Um. Combeferre's with the angels now. And with God. So, we all shouldn't be so sad. He's probably just wishing he could tell us all a good bed time story, or tickle us so we'd stop crying. That's what he always did for me.." He had stopped there, and climbed back down the stairs, holding his chin high, and shoving his hands in his pockets.

The last to take the stand on that day, was Enjolras. As he made his way up the stairs, it seemed as though the entire room held it's breath.

He glanced nervously around the room, eyes filled with confusion. His hair was a mess, and dark circles laid beneath his blue eyes. He fidgeted with his jacket, and then ran a shaky hand through his blonde hair. Before saying, "Combeferre is my best friend."

The room had remained silent. And a long pause was held, before he continued and said, "He likes being my big brother. And he likes it when he gets to see me give my speeches."

Grantaire had been the first to rise from his chair. Reading the situation correctly, Bahorel follow suit.

Enjolras began to glance franticly around the room, and then his breathing had become labored, and unsteady. "Combeferre-doesn't.. He doesn't like tight places. And he always said not for us to hid in a box when we're going to play hide and seek. because you could get trapped."

Something had snapped, and Enjolras had ran towards the coffin, caught only just in time for Bahorel and Grantaire to hold onto him and bring him out of the room, but not before the sobs had started, the sobs and the screaming. The confusion, and the yelling, "Combeferre's trapped! Guys! He's trapped! He's scared! We have to get him out! COMBEFERRE!"

The entire group of friends had followed him out of the service that day.

They all moved into Enjolras and Combeferre's apartment.

They had each taken turns staying up at night with Enjolras, because he didn't sleep anymore.

They had each taken turns making sure he ate something.

And they had each taken turns explaining to Enjolras that Combeferre was gone. And he wasn't coming back.

He had made progress, eventually. And everyone moved out once he convinced them he was alright. Everyone but Grantaire, who had taken up a permanent residency in Enjolras' apartment and never left his side.

Almost everything had gone back to normal. Until today.

Bahorel knocked on the door, but got no response aside from the sobs that continued in the other room.

So, he invited himself, opened the door, and walked to where Enjolras sat, knees curled up to his chest, eyes wide, cheeks stained with tears, and blood on his hands from clutching the shattered picture so tightly.

Bahorel didn't say anything, but picked Enjolras up, held him close to his chest and walked to the blonde's bed. He sat at the edge and cradled Enjolras. He hummed and stroked the younger man's hair and then, when the sobs had finally stopped, and now only silent tears fell down Enjolras' face, Bahorel leaned slightly over, and glanced at the picture Enjolras so desperately clung to.

The picture had been taken a while back, it was of Enjolras and Combeferre. Both were grinning and looked as proud as a man would look if his first born child had just arrived. But the reason they were grinning so widely, was because of the turn out of one of their many protests. Combeferre's arm was flung around Enjolras' shoulder thoughtlessly, and Enjolras' red cheeks were nearly as bright as his jacket. Combeferre, was looking straight at the camera, and had a bit of a red nose from the cold. As soon as the photo had been taken, he had remarked that he looked like rudolph and Enjolras, a skinny version of santa.

Bahorel swallowed the lump in his throat and didn't take his eyes off of the picture. "You miss him."

It was more of a statement, than a question, because he knew the answer, but still, the blonde nodded.

And Bahorel muttered, "Me too.

A/N Don't kill me. I love you guys and so there was a little bit of heart breaking-ness. Please review, Favorite, and Follow! God Bless!