I Will Never Say Goodbye

It all happened so fast. Too fast for Enjolras to really understand how it could have happened at all. One minute, they were peacefully handing out flyers while Enjolras spoke to the crowd that had gathered around him. Everything went well; people were cheering, the Amis were smiling and Enjolras was completely in his element. But then the next minute, out of nowhere, there was a disturbance. It started somewhere in the middle of the crowd and soon enough, everyone was running and shouting in panic.

The Amis did what they could to restore the peace and try to find out what had happened, but the whole square had turned to chaos. In the end it was Bahorel who came running towards them, along with a limping Combeferre, to tell them the riot was started by a few men with knives who had come to attack Enjolras. Combeferre had been the one who tried to stop them before all hell broke loose. Together they made their way back to the Café so that they could regroup and talk about what had to happen now. No more than five minutes after they got to the Musain, Enjolras' whole world came crashing down on him.

Because Combeferre had collapsed.

Combeferre collapsed and Joly checked him over only to find a large gash across his stomach. And there was nothing he could do. There was nothing he could do. And Enjolras didn't understand, because how could this happen? This couldn't be true, he didn't believe it. Combeferre had asked for him; asked Joly to get him so that he could say goodbye. Apparently Combeferre really wanted to say goodbye to him. And Enjolras didn't understand, because Combeferre wasn't going anywhere. He wasn't allowed to; there was too much to be done and he needed his best friend; his first lieutenant by his side.

Enjolras had entered the backroom with buckling knees and shaking hands. He had walked over to his friend and he had sat with him. He had held him close; squeezed their hands together; kissed his forehead. He didn't cry. He couldn't cry, because if he cried, he would admit that Combeferre was going to die. He didn't say goodbye. Because if he said goodbye he would allow Combeferre to leave him. To leave him forever and his best friend wasn't allowed to go. Not yet. Not now. Not without him. If they had to die, they were supposed to go together…

But Combeferre did say goodbye. He had squeezed Enjolras' hand with his last strength. He had smiled up at him and told him that everything was going to be okay. He had asked him to keep on fighting; to never give up. He had told him how proud he was; how lucky he felt to have known him; to have loved him as more than a friend; as a brother. And then Combeferre had whispered his goodbye and Enjolras had gotten angry. He got so angry that he yelled at Combeferre. Because how could he do this? How could he leave just like that? He wasn't allowed to go. But Combeferre no longer answered and Enjolras started shaking and he couldn't figure out if it was anger that made him tremble so or something else.

He let go of his friend and ignored Joly's attempts to comfort him. He walked back into the Café in some sort of trance to announce that Combeferre was no longer with them. His friends spoke to him; they cried together and supported each other. But Enjolras didn't want to be any part of that, because it wasn't true. It did not happen. Combeferre would never leave him like that. He wouldn never do that to him. That wasn't their agreement. And then he left without another word or another look. He left without saying goodbye.

When he arrived at his and Combeferre's apartment he went straight to his desk and started to work. He worked until early morning and a little longer after that. He worked until he collapsed on his desk only to sleep for a few miserable hours and then he started all over again. His friends visited him; talked to him and tried to comfort him, but Enjolras did not need any comfort nor did he need anyone to console him. He would not grieve.

The funeral was beautiful and many people came. Combeferre was loved by many people and all wanted to pay their last respect. Enjolras was there too, but he did not speak. He did not cry and he did not say goodbye. Because Combeferre wasn't gone; his friend wouldn't leave him like this. It wasn't fair; Combeferre had broken their promise; had left without him and so he wouldn't say goodbye. He refused to.

For weeks after the funeral, he went on the same like he always had. He studied; he worked and he went to the Café to give his speeches and plan their revolt. He was still inspiring and passionate. And anyone who did not know Enjolras to his core would think the blond was perfectly fine; was handling things well and had moved on. But to those few who knew him well, it was obvious that something vital was missing and would be gone forever. The light that had been in his eyes was no longer there. He never smiled; he never relaxed. There was only one goal; one mission in Enjolras' life and all the Amis knew that he was now determined to lay down his life for it. Enjolras was still standing strong and tall, but the so called marble had turned into actual cold hard stone.

And it went on and on like that until Enjolras fell ill. He had worn himself down; had barely eaten anything; had barely allowed himself any rest and he was running on nothing but adrenaline and coffee. For the first time since Combeferre had passed away, Enjolras was now doomed to rest. His body couldn't go on any more and needed time to recuperate. And for the first time since Combeferre had passed away, the nightmares came. And they didn't stop after that. And there was no one there to make him feel better. Joly tried; Courfeyrac tried, but Enjolras did not let them in. He suffered alone and in silence until the illness passed and he could once more go without sleep and rest until the whole process started over again.

Christmas came soon after that and most of his friends went home for the holidays. Enjolras did not go home. He never did. Christmas was always spent with Combeferre. It had been that way ever since he was fourteen years old. But when he woke up on Christmas morning, Combeferre wasn't there. There was no smell of coffee and fresh baked bread. There was no one softly humming Christmas carols; nor did anyone wake him up with a gentle kiss and a cheerful hug. There were no small presents waiting for him on the kitchen table. There was no one to curl up with on the couch. There was no one to walk with him through the Jardins du Luxembourg.

Without really knowing how he got there, Enjolras found himself walking along the gravestones in a snowy cemetery. For the first time in four months, he had felt the need to visit his friend. As if he was drawn to it. Like a moth to a flame. Like Combeferre was always drawn to Enjolras. And Enjolras to Combeferre. He fell down on his knees in front of the grey stony rock that decorated his soulmate's grave. He stared in silence and couldn't think of anything to say. He couldn't think of anything, and yet there was so much he had wanted to discuss. So much he had never been able to tell Combeferre. And suddenly all his walls broke down. He had spent months building his own barricades around his heart. He hadn't allowed himself to grieve, not once. But now his lip started to quiver and his shoulders shook uncontrollably. His breath hitched and tears flowed from his eyes freely. And he wanted nothing more than to scream at Combeferre. Tell him how angry he was. How lost he felt. How hurt and how alone. But there was only one thing leaving his lips. It wasn't a goodbye. Because Enjolras could never say goodbye to Combeferre.

"I'll see you soon"

And after only a few more months and a failed attempt at changing the future, he was welcomed in his friend's arms again.

The end

(I don't even know what this was or why I wrote it…I have made myself sad.)