Combeferre wordlessly pushes a cup of steaming tea in Enjolras' hands. All the time that his best friend was missing, Combeferre could think of a million things he wanted to tell him. But now that Enjolras was back home, sitting on the couch and hugging his knees close to his chest, Combeferre couldn't think of a single thing. There was so much he wanted to ask, so much he wanted to tell. But Enjolras' distant, almost empty expression put Combeferre off guard. What was there to say? What was there to ask? Maybe silence was the best way to go for now. Indeed, Enjolras already told him that he didn't want Combeferre to ask what happened.

"Thanks," Enjolras mutters as he accepts the cup of tea. He offers Combeferre a small smile, but Combeferre knows him too well to know there's no real happiness behind it.

"You're welcome," Combeferre says just as softly, voice wavering a bit. He settles himself next to Enjolras on the couch and stares down at his own mug. Silence falls between the two friends and it's the first time in their lives that it doesn't feel comfortable. Combeferre feels disconnected from Enjolras, from the person he used to know through and through. The happiness he felt when he saw his friend standing in his door way makes place for painful desperation when he realizes Enjolras has gone through a terrible chapter in his life that Combeferre has missed and will never understand. It hurts, because Combeferre feels it's his job to make Enjolras feel safe and happy, but now he fears he will never be able to live up to that job.

He doesn't realize his hands are shaking until he loses his grip on the steaming cup of tea and sees it clatter to the ground. The sound is deafening, breaking the pressing silence. Combeferre feels Enjolras flinch next to him and that is all it takes to have him break down again. He hides his face in his hands and tries his best to suppress or at least muffle the sobs, but it is no use. And he feels terrible, because he is supposed to be strong. He is supposed to be strong for Enjolras.

It takes him a few moments to realize that the person next to him is trying to get his attention. When he looks up, Enjolras pulls him close and lets his hand rest on the back of Combeferre's head, drawing soft circles in his hair. Combeferre allows himself to melt into Enjolras' embrace and tries not to notice how profoundly his friend's collarbone is visible beneath his skin. Never in his life had Combeferre wished for his friend to stubbornly tell him he was fine when he obviously wasn't. But Enjolras doesn't say he's alright. He doesn't roll his eyes and he doesn't try to convince Combeferre that he is okay. Enjolras doesn't say anything for a while. When he does speak, the words send shivers down Combeferre's spine.

"Don't cry 'Ferre. Don't waste your tears on me. I do not deserve them."

And if anything, that makes Combeferre cry even harder because tears on Enjolras are never wasted and how can he not deserve them? Combeferre grips Enjolras' boney forearm and squeezes it tight.

"I'm alive," Enjolras whispers shakily more to himself than to his friend.

No, you're not, Combeferre can't help but think. Not really. Enjolras does not tell him to stop crying again. But he doesn't lose his hold on Combeferre either.

After ten minutes or so, Combeferre pulls back and rubs at his eyes, wiping the remaining tears away. Before he stands to clean up the mess he made, he places a quick kiss to Enjolras' forehead. He feels his friend's eyes watch his every move and when Combeferre walks into the tiny kitchen he doesn't miss the way Enjolras strains his neck a little to follow him. There was a time when it would have made him smile to know that Enjolras didn't want to be apart from him. Now it only broke his heart. He quickly drops the broken cup in the trash and hurries back towards the couch. Once again, he takes his place next to his friend, but this time he dares to take charge and he drapes an arm around Enjolras' small shoulders, pulling him against his side. Combeferre feels like he needs the contact himself, but if the way Enjolras' body relaxes against his is anything to go by, he is sure that his friend wants it just as much.

For a second everything feels normal again, but the following quietness is just as uncomfortable as it was before. This time, however, it is not Combeferre's mug that breaks the silence, but Enjolras' hesitant voice. Combeferre recognizes the tone of that voice. It is the tone of desperately wanting to know something, but at the same time being afraid of finding out. He has felt that way for eleven months.

"The others…?" It is all that Enjolras is capable of asking.

Combeferre rubs soothing circles across his friend's shoulders and presses another kiss to the side of his head. "They are alive," he says quietly. "Bahorel lost his left arm in a fight and Feuilly has trouble with his hearing after an explosion some months ago, but they are alive…"

Enjolras nods slowly and suddenly his eyes tear up. "Grantaire and Eponine?" he chokes out softly, and it breaks Combeferre's heart to hear his friend's voice so weak, so unsure. Grantaire and Eponine are the only ones in their group of Jewish decent and Combeferre has heard enough to know why Enjolras suddenly has trouble breathing. He moves his hand from his friend's shoulder to the nape of his neck and lets it rest there. "Safe, alive and as fierce as ever," he answers slowly, pulling Enjolras even closer to him when he hears his friend's breath hitch.

Enjolras nods again and Combeferre sees how he bites his lip in an obvious attempt to refrain from crying. When one tear in the end does find its escape from Enjolras' eyes, the blonde quickly wipes it away and clenches his jaw. Combeferre feels the body next to him grow tense and it scares him.

"It's okay to cry, Enjolras," he says quietly, hoping to offer his friend some comfort, but that's when everything spins out of control.

Enjolras pulls himself away from Combeferre, shaking his head furiously and stands up so quickly that he has to take hold of the couch in order not to fall down. "No, no, no, no, no, it is not okay. It is not okay, Combeferre. Don't tell me that. You don't know! It is not okay to cry for me. You don't understand. You don't understand!" His voice is raising in volume and tears are readily streaming down his cheeks now which only makes Enjolras angrier. He presses his fists against his eyes in a futile attempt to stop the tears from falling. When it doesn't work, Enjolras turns on his heels, hurries towards his bedroom and slams the door close behind him, all the while muttering 'it's not okay, it's not okay'. He leaves a shocked, shaking Combeferre behind.

Combeferre returns to the couch with a heavy heart a deep sigh. After Enjolras' episode, the bespectacled man spent hours going back and forth trying to convince his friend to unlock the door and let him in. But Enjolras hadn't answered him a single time. Evening had fallen and it was already dark outside. For a brief moment, Combeferre wondered if he should contact Courfeyrac or one of the other Amis, but it was late and he feared that having more people over without Enjolras' consent would only worsen the situation now. He would contact them the next morning.

Combeferre sinks back in the cushions and tries to read in his book, but his eyes keep drifting towards the locked bedroom door. He knows that he made a mistake by telling his friend it was okay to cry, but he doesn't know why it was a mistake. He couldn't figure out the reason that made Enjolras flip out the way that he did. So perhaps Enjolras was right. He didn't understand. He didn't know. And he never would.

He just wishes that Enjolras would open up the door so that he can apologize and make it okay again. After half an hour of pretending to read, Combeferre slams his book shut again and walks back towards the bedroom door. He pleads with his friend to open up. He apologizes over and over again. But Enjolras still doesn't answer him and Combeferre sinks towards the ground with his back against the door. He has no idea how long he sits there and he can't remember falling asleep. He wakes up to the door suddenly opening and he tumbles inside Enjolras' room. Combeferre opens his eyes and looks up to see his friend watching him, eyes once again distant and hollow. In his hands he has a large box filled to the brink.

"Please throw this away for me," Enjolras mumbles quietly, placing the box next to Combeferre on the floor. "I apologize for getting angry. It was not your fault."

Combeferre pushes himself up from the floor and looks past Enjolras into his room. What he sees takes his breath away. Everything that made Enjolras the person that he was, was gone. Combeferre had taken good care to keep his friend's room in good state. He hadn't thrown out anything, not even the numerous notes and papers that had been scattered around the room. But Enjolras had scooped it all up. The notes, the papers, the maps, the lists of Resistance, the flag, the certificates, the letters and most importantly the photos. The only things that were still there were the painting Grantaire gave him and one picture of their group of friends taken before the war started.

"Enjolras," Combeferre breaths quietly, shaking his head at the box, "Don't do this… this is your life, this is you, don't throw it out…"

But Enjolras turns away and walks back into his room. "That is not my life. Not anymore." He shuts the door behind him, but doesn't lock it. Combeferre stares after him for a couple of seconds, picks up the box and stuffs it away in his own bedroom. He will not throw it out. He will keep it safe. He will keep it there just in case Enjolras decides he wants it back.

(I am still very doubtful of this story. Please share your thoughts with me and review? Thanks in advance)