Archive of Our Own ^beta

Enjolras sometimes really hated his body. Not in the way of "I hate the way I look" (he was aware that he was considered to be better looking than average, Grantaire spent a lot of time telling him that, thank you very much) but rather in "it never fucking works the way it is supposed to".

After all at twenty years old he already had way too many diagnoses for one person - ptsd, selective mutism, depression, ulcerative colitis, budd-chiari-syndrom, hypothyroidism, chronic migraines. Sometimes it felt like a wonder that he actually was alive.

He was glad to be, even if it hadn't always been so. Now he had a group of friends he so dearly loved, studies he adored and excelled in, a cause to fight for, volunteer work he took great pride in. Sure he had bad days, everybody had them, but he really hated those really, really bad days.

As so often, it was stress that caused everything to spiral. It was a few weeks before christmas, before his law exams and the next protest. He had so much to do for university, for the ABC Café, for his volunteer work that he at first didn't even notice. But as he was lying awake at night with bad stomach pains he realised he had probably fucked up. Grantaire was asleep next to him, snoring quietly, his exhales tickeling Enjolras' face. The social work student was lying on his side, facing his boyfriend and he had pulled up his knees to his chest to relieve some of the cramps. He longed for his heating pad, which he had left at home accidentally. He had to use it nightly for a few weeks now, to calm himself and to alleviate the slight pain he had felt.

With a jolt he realised he needed to use the bathroom and he hectically threw off the blankets and bolted from the bed. Grantaire luckily didn't wake.
He barely made it in time and hoped that neither Feuilly nor Jehan were awake to hear.

Fuck it. Staring at the toilet bowl once he was done he realised he could in no way deny what he had known for a few weeks now. The blood splattering the bowl was what gave it away. The next bout of ulcerative colitis. The fifth one since he was diagnosed with thirteen. He flushed the evidence down, washed his hands and stumbled out of the bathroom into the kitchen, where he grabbed a glass of water draining it in one go. With shaking hands he sat down heavily on the chair, burying his face in his hands.

He hated how his body betrayed him. It was a well-known fact by everybody who knew him that he valued control - a reason why he had never drank alcohol even before his liver decided to quit its job. Now he was at his bodies mercy. The stomach cramps had given way to bloody diarrhea, which would undoubtly disturb his day to day life from now on. He was well aware that he would be unable to sit through his lectures without leaving to the bathroom, unable to spent the meetings standing on a table for hours, unable to work and, if it got as bad as the last time, unable to take the train or the car or even walk distances longer than a kilometer (if even that much). He would practically be unable to leave his apartment. Which he shared with Combeferre and Courfeyrac, who would undoubtly notice.

Realistically he knew that they cared about him and that they would be worried, but he couldn't help but fear that they might be disgusted. Sure, Combeferre was a damn medical student, he dealt with this on a daily basis and Courfeyrac had been badly lactose intolerant as a child and teenager. But he couldn't help fear their disgust, when he was so disgusted with himself. It wasn't in his control, and he knew, he knew that. But he hated the loss of control.

And the rest of his friends, what would they think? They were well aware of his many illnesses, but they didn't know the details and he really, really wanted this to stay that way. After all they looked up at him - hell, Grantaire had often enough compared him to a marble stature, he wasn't supposed to crack. Not this way. Speaking of him - what would Grantaire think? This would be the first time he would be this kind of sick while they were boyfriends, while they knew each other actually. Would he stay, would he still love him? After all, Grantaire loved him for the way he was - controlled. Would he still love this broken version of him?

What would this illness do to his mental health? He really didn't want to slip into depression again, like he had when he was having a bout of UC in high school and subsequently had to go to the psychatric clinic because he was too scared to even leave the house in fear of having an accident in public. A fear which sadly wasn't unfounded.

Sudden footsteps startled him out of his reverie and he looked up, wiping at his teary eyes with his tremoring wrists. Somebody turned on the fairy lights decorating the undersides of the cabinets.

"Enjolras?", Feuilly asked worried when he took in the slumped figure in his kitchen. "What's wrong?"

"Uh, nothing." His trembling voice surely didn't help his cause.

"Yeah, sure", Feuilly said sarcastically and sat down next to him, putting one large hand on his back. "Do you want me to get R?"

Quickly Enjolras shook his head. "Really, I am fine."

Feuilly didn't look convinced. "Did you two fight?"

"What, no!" Enjolras recoiled physically. He and Grantaire hadn't fought for weeks, which he was immensely grateful for. Since they had started dating every fight they had had (well, the two of them) ended with him having a panic attack in Combeferre's or Courfeyrac's arms. Feuilly lifted his hands in a clearly apologetic way.

"Sorry, I didn't mean to offend. I just thought, you sitting here in the middle of the night, crying and refusing to have R help..."

"No, I get it. I just, uhm, you know what. I'll just get back to bed."

Feuilly nodded slowly. "Alright."

Leaning on the table, cursing his stomach, Enjolras got up and made to move out of the kitchen, when he turned around.

"Out of curiosity, when do you go out tomorrow?"

"I get up at five, leave at five thirty. Why?"

"No reason." So I can time waking up to get to the bathroom directly after I wake up, which I probably will have to and which will suck for everybody involved if somebody else is in there...

"Night, Feuilly."

"Good night."

Enjolras quietly slipped into the dark bedroom, into bed, curling close to Grantaire.
"You okay?", his boyfriend asked sleepily, clearly not at all awake.

"I am fine."

Enjolras was definitely not fine. He was everything but fine. He had managed to escape Grantaire's apartment without any embarassing incidents. The trip with the metro to his own apartment was spent with clenched teeth and hate for people who managed to get a seat unlike him. At least he didn't have classes today.

Entering his own apartment he found Combeferre and Courfeyrac making out on the couch, which ... awkward. He didn't have time to dwell on it as he had to rush to the bathroom, which luckily was relatively far away from the living room.

Exhausted he made his way into the kitchen to make tea, where he ran into a rather dishelleved Combeferre and a shirtless Courfeyrac, snogging. "Dudes", he groaned and pushed past them to the tea maker.

"Oh, oh, you're back", Combeferre stuttered out, blushing fiercly as he pulled away from his boyfriend. Courfeyrac, who probably had sold his shame as a teenager for a bottle of beer and eyeliner, was grinning.

"When did you come back?", Combeferre asked, cleaning his glasses so he didn't have to see Enjolras. The other waited for him to look up and put on his glasses again, then threw him the darkest glare he could muster. "I hate you two."

Courfeyrac just sniggered, while Combeferre stuttered out a half-hearted apology. Then he frowned.

"Why are you making tea?"
"Why do you think? To throw it away of course."
"No, I mean, you normally only drink tea when you're not feeling well."
"I'm fine. Just don't feel like coffee on an empty stomach."

Combeferre raised his eyebrow and nodded.

Enjolras went to his bedroom, where he stayed the rest of the day. His stomach still hurt and he had to go to the bathroom a few more times, but he didn't feel that bad. He hated going to his gastroentologist, so he just hoped the whole business was a false alarm and would clear up soon.

His hope of course (curse his luck) was futile. Over the next three weeks his symptoms got worse and worse till he realised during a meeting he couldn't go on. He had been already given up on standing on the table, it was too far away from the door back upstairs, where the bathrooms were. His stomach had been acting up all day, leaving him in pain and nauseous. He now always felt like he needed to go to the bathroom, even if he really didn't need to. It put a lot of stress on him and left him feeling anxious.

He was in the middle of a speech when another bad cramp tore through him. He faltered for a moment, bringing a hand to his stomach. He realized he needed to go now. And yet he couldn't leave. Before he knew what was happening his breathing sped up and his heart pounded in his chest. Sweat was gathering on his skin and he felt himself start to shake. To top it off the cramps in his stomach got worse, making him fear he would soil himself right then and there, infront of all his friends.

Grantaire and Combeferre approached him carefully, leaving their hands where he could see them through his tears. They were gently speaking to him, he knew that. He tried to focus on them but panic built up more and more at the prospect of embarassing himself. He would rather die than have that happen. He was vaguely aware of Combeferre telling him to breath, taking his hand and holding it to his own chest, so that he could felt Combeferre breathing, but it was no use. Everything went black.

He woke up to his head pounding and the cramping in his abdomen not letting up. At least he didn't feel like he would suffocate anymore. He wetted his dry lips with his tongue and tried to sit up. A strong arm stopped him, which nearly made him panic again. The person seemed to realize this and let go, but leaned down to whisper in his ear.

"It's alright, Apollo. You had a panic attack and passed out. Lay still for a moment and breath."
It was Grantaire who was speaking to him, he found and he was apparently laying on his lap. He looked around and locked eyes with Combeferre who was kneeling at his hip and then the rest of his friends, who were sitting a bit away but still watching him.

"'Ferre", Enjolras whispered, "I want to go home."

Combeferre nodded and smiled at him. It took a bit of manoveuring, but in the end Courfeyrac and Grantaire helped Enjolras walk up the stairs, while Combeferre brought the car around.

The drive home, curled into his boyfriends lap, was uneventful. At least his friends thought so. Enjolras still struggled to keep his bowels where they belonged.

After what felt like an eternity they were home and Enjolras had never been so glad to live on the ground floor before. Combeferre, Courfeyrac and Grantaire busied themselves in the kitchen, while Enjolras went to the bathroom to take a "shower". He locked the door, eventough he knew Combeferre would probably have a stroke if he found out he locked himself in when being so shakey. But he wasn't going to have anybody walk in unexpectedly, finding him in a compromising position. He hurriedly turned the water on to hide the sounds when he had to go to the toilet. But in the end he hadn't needed to worry. He hadn't actually had to go. This was the worst he found. The constant feeling of needing to use the bathroom, but not actually having to so, so that he couldn't tell if he was just imagining it. He sometimes felt like he was going mad. It also added the fear of having an accident.

With a sigh he stepped into the shower and made quick work of washing his hair. He hadn't brought clothes inside, as he had been preoccupied with other needs, so he carefully ventured outside with a towel wrapped around his privates. He quickly took some clothes and put them on, before going to the kitchen.

Combeferre, Courfeyrac and Grantaire were waiting for him, his boyfriend handing him tea and a cookie once he sat down at the isle.

They talked about banal stuff for a few minutes, but then Combeferre and Courfeyrac had to go - they had declared every second tuesday night, if Combeferre didn't have a shift then, date night. They were reluctant to go, but Enjolras promised them he would be fine, so they did in the end leave. Grantaire and him went to his bedroom where he layed down on the bed curling around his heating pad. He used it mostly to comfort himself so Grantaire didn't question the use. He just layed down next to him.

"Don't you have evening class soon?", Enjolras asked after a few minutes. He still wasn't feeling well and eventough he loved Grantaire he wanted him gone. Well, he rather wanted his privacy but that meant his boyfriend had to leave.

"You just had a massive panic attack that made you pass out and you want me to go to class?", Grantaire asked in disbelief.

"I'm fine. I'm probably going to sleep anyways. Just go", Enjolras insisted.

"I don't want you to be alone if you have another one. I will go if you let me call somebody to stay with you."

"I don't need a babysitter."

"Of course you don't, love, but I am worried."

"Just go, 'Taire." Enjolras was exhausted and he really only felt like sleeping.

"Promise you will call if you need anything or if you feel the slightest bit of panic?", Grantaire asked.

Enjolras nodded and with a soft kiss to his lips Grantaire left him alone.

The social work student contemplated what to do. He really had no choice but to call his doctor, it couldn't go on like this. He didn't want to take cortisone or any other medication, but he couldn't not do so.

He sat up, still holding the heating pad to his stomach and set a reminder in his phone to call his internist. Done, he settled down to sleep, which did not come easily. He was glad he was alone so his friends didn't notice him getting up nearly every half hour to go to the bathroom and the heating pad practically glued to his abdomen.

The next morning found him able to sleep in - wednesday he only had had classes for the first half on semester and now at the end of it he was free. So he finally dialed the number for his internist and after spending a panicky 15 minutes on hold he described his symptoms to the friendly secretary he really liked and she gave him an appointmemt for the next day.

Thursday morning Enjolras got out of Combeferre's car at the university and walked towards the metro station. He had no intentions of going to class, he was ahead anyways and didn't have a test in this seminar, but he didn't want his two best friends to know he was going to the doctor, hence the metro. The nurse quickly drew some blood and he was invited in to talk to the doctor. He felt horribly exposed at these appointments, being frequently asked about his bowel movements just sucked. As expected he had to bring a stool sample to the office tomorrow. Oh, joy. Till then the doctor couldn't very well give him any medication.

Walking out of the office he contemplated what he should do next. He still technically had one lecture left, so he decided to go there. He was uncomfortable being sick in this way on campus, but he did have to go to some classes, even more so shortly before his exams next week. His fellow students, the few he really liked and spend some time with outside of class, asked him where he had been. Doctor's appointment was a good option, it was the truth (and he knew he was bad at keeping track of lies) and they normally didn't ask any specifics. He was in luck today. He counted it as a win that he only had to leave once during the hour and half.

The rest of the day he spent in trepidation and preparing for tomorrows meeting. Combeferre had a shift, Courfeyrac was shopping with Jehan, and Grantaire was boxing with Bahorel. He wasn't disturbed at all, which he counted as a win, eventough he felt like he didn't have contact to his friends for ages. Which was not true of course, but normally he interacted with at least one ami for more than one or two hours each day. With gritted teeth he collected the stool sample, nearly crying with how terribly he felt about it.

Friday sucked. He barely slept the night, frequently having to get up. He woke up early, already bolting to the bathroom, luckily before Combeferre or Courfeyrac were awake. Jesus, it was only five o'clock, why did his body hate him? He couldn't get back to sleep and when his phone alarm rang at seven o'clock he was ready throw it against the wall. He was quite queasy and already longing to go back to bed. Instead he stumbled into the kitchen, where Combeferre was reading the papers. The medical student looked up, his smile turning into a worried frown. "Are you alright? You look pale."

"Good morning to you too, 'Ferre. Yes, I'm fine. Didn't sleep well."

Combeferre nodded, buying the excuse. After all Enjolras tended to get pale and shakey when he was tired. Courfeyrac stumbled into the kitchen, snatching up the coffee. Combeferre smiled fondly and kissed him. Enjolras felt a bang in his chest. He longed for their ease, their rather untroubled lives. The way they could just go on with their daily live, not scared to go outside, always on the look out for the nearest bathroom. Combeferre turned his head and Enjolras caught sight of his blue hearing aid.

He mentally scolded himself. Of course, he had no right to complain. After all he wasn't practically deaf in one ear and nearly blind without his glasses, liable to just collapse from dizzyness and to start vomiting uncontrollably. Fair enough, Courfeyrac had it easy compared to him, but who was he to be jealous of his friends health? It made him sick to think like this, of course he was happy that Courfeyrac was as healthy as you could be.

Silently he made tea - his go to beverage now. Coffee was out of question, it always worsened his symptoms, leaving him stuck in a bathroom.

Combeferre dropped him off at university again and again he took the metro to the doctors office. He brought in the stool sample, went to their bathroom and then made his way home. No way could he sit through a lecture today, not when he felt like puking up his guts onto the metro floor.

At home he went to bed, curled up with his heating pad. He didn't get up except to use the bathroom, not even when he heared the keys jingeling in the lock, signalling Courfeyrac's arrival. He was so damn nauseous, that he knew there was an actual chance of him throwing up. He had never been nauseous before when he had a bout of UC, but after two minutes on google he learned that that was a thing.

He pretended to be asleep when Courfeyrac opened up the door to his room, hoping his friend would just go away. No luck, it seemed. The elementary school teacher student knelt down next to him and gave his shoulder a shake. Cursing Courfeyrac in his head, he pretended to wake up, faking a jawn and turned around to face him.

"Hey, what's wrong? Are you sick?" Courfeyrac's voice was so impossibly soft that Enjolras wanted to cry and crawl into his arms. He did neither. He desperately wanted to lie to Courfeyrac, say he just accidentally fell asleep, but he knew he was in no condition to pretend to be fine or even worse go to the meeting today, neither physically nor mentally.

"Not feeling so hot", he just said. Courfeyrac's hand wandered to his forehead and Enjolras melted against him.

"What's wrong?"

"Stomach isn't feeling good. Really nauseous?"

"Have you been sick?"

He shook his head.

"Think you might be?"

He contemplated his answer, then nodded. Actually, he was starting to feel really, really bad. He swallowed heavily.

"Let's get you to the bathroom, hm?" Courfeyrac helped him sit up and led him to the bathroom, sitting down on the tiles infront of the toilet next to him. He gently wrapped Enjolras into his arms and the social work student rested his head on his shoulder.

"Have you spoken with 'Ferre?", Courfeyrac asked, playing with Enjolras' curls. The blond shook his head.

"Do you want me to call him?"

Before Enjolras had a chance to answer, the nausea surged within him, a thick feeling choking his throat, saliva gathering in his mouth. Cold sweat was breaking out all over his body and he belched. Courfeyrac threw away his phone (which had an impressive spider-app anyways) and gathered Enjolras' hair in his hands. Not a second too late as Enjolras doubled over, his stomach contents crawling up his esophagus into his mouth. He coughed, spewing his breakfast into the water below. Hot tears gathered in his eyes, as he gasped for breath between heaves. Courfeyrac still held back his hair with one hand, the other rubbing his back in small, comforting cirles. Five exhausting minutes later Enjolras fell back against Courfeyrac, closing his eyes. Courfeyrac, bless his heart, just kissed his soaked curls and flushed the toilet.

"Stay here or back to bed with a bucket?"

Enjolras contemplated his answer. On one hand his stomach was gurgling, indicating its unhappiness in both bowels and stomach, which practically screamed for staying here. "Bed", he decided. Because on the other hand, was the only option he really had. It would be way less embarrassing to bolt to the bathroom and lock out Courfeyrac then beg him to leave the bathroom quickly. He struggled to his feet, Courfeyrac steadying him.

Still shaking Enjolras sunk down on the bed, letting Courfeyrac put the heating pad on his stomach and tuck him in. The black-haired man slipped out of the room for a moment, returning with an old towel which he spread on the ground next to the bed, placing a bucket on it. Then he sat down at the head end of the bed, carding the fingers of one hand through Enjolras' hair, till he fell asleep.

Courfeyrac opened telegram on his phone and quickly selected the Les Amis chat.

From Courfeyrac (15:28):
Meeting is cancelled!

From Dumbass (15:29):
What does E say to that?

From Courfeyrac (15:29):
Jojo just had an intense conversation with the inside of the toilet bowl. Doubt they'll be done in time.

From Boss (15:30):
Lovely image, thank you.
Hope he feels better soon!

From Hot Stuff (15:32):
I am finishing up my shift now. I'll be home soon

From R (15:34):
Should I come over?

Reply to "Hot Stuff" (15:35):
Great!

Reply to "R" (15:35):
We've got him, no worries

From R (15:36):
Give him my love <3

From Courfeyrac (15:36):
Will do

Courfeyrac closed the messenger app and opened subway surfers - no better way to spend the time waiting. True to his word Combeferre arrived half an hour later, quietly stepping into the room. He kissed Courfeyrac then turned to check over Enjolras, feeling for a fever. They sat in silence till Enjolras woke up, shooting into a sitting position.

"I'm going to be sick", he choked out and Combeferre barely managed to shove the bucket into his lap. Gently rubbing Enjolras back, he waited with him, while Courfeyrac got up to get a glass of water. After a few heaves, Enjolras was done, gasping for breath.

Before Combeferre could say anything, Enjolras gut gurgled and the young man, pressed his hands against his stomach. He paled significantly, which Combeferre was surprised he was able to do as he was already white as a sheet, and threw off his covers. He bolted from the bed, nearly colliding with Courfeyrac in the doorway. Courfeyrac quickly stepped to the side, spilling some of the water on himself.
"Don't follow me", Enjolras called weakly and slammed the bathroom door, locking it for good measure.

Combeferre grimaced, as a doctor it was painfully obvious to him what was wrong. Courfeyrac seemed to have realized as well, as he just placed the water on the nightstand and took the bucket to clean it out in the kitchen. When he returned they talked about their days while Enjolras was in the bathroom, both too uncomfortable and sensitive to Enjolras' privacy to discuss his illness.

Ten minutes later the social work student appeared in the doorway, taking trembling steps towards the bed. Combeferre gently guided him the last few meters, sitting down next to him, wrapping him in his arms. Enjolras was crying in pain and humiliation, but Combeferre just used his thumbs to wipe away the stray tears, shushing him. The younger man just rested his head on his friends shoulder, exhaustion clear as day.

After a few minutes he layed down again. Combeferre made him drink some water, which he tried to keep down. Enjolras let his friends talk, not really paying attention and not contributing to the conversation. He was close to passing out again, when his stomach gave a warning twinge. He shot up, already pulling off his covers, bolting to the bathroom.

He locked the door again, for his peace of mind, which turned out to be a mistake. Crying he pulled off his soiled trousers and underwear and once he was done he quickly washed out the worst of it in the sink, then threw them into the washer, turning it on. With tears still leaking from his eyes he turned on the shower, stepping inside. He turned the water to hot, so hot it nearly scaled his skin and curled to a ball on the shower floor. He hated his body, as his bowels still gurgled unhappy and the heat made him nauseous and dizzy.

After some time he pulled himself to his feet, using the safety rails they had installed, when Combeferre had gotten the Ménières diagnosis. Turning off the shower he towelled himself dry and then he stood there, stuck naked in their bathroom. With fresh tears in his eyes he weakly called out for Combeferre.

The medical students heart nearly skipped out of his chest when he heared Enjolras, who had been in the bathroom for well over half an hour now (and only Courfeyrac's hand on his shoulder had prevented him from demanding Enjolras opened up the door) cry out for him. He ran towards the bathroom, his boyfriend close on his heels.

"What's wrong, Jojo? Can you open the door for us?"

He heard what sounded like a sob and his heart nearly broke.

"Can you get me my pajamas?" Enjolras voice was shaking.

"Of course", he said and motioned for Courfeyrac to do as asked.

When the elementary school teacher student came back, Combeferre took the clothes from him and gently knocked on the door.

"I've got it here, Jojo."

After a few moments he heard a click and the door opened a crack, Enjolras hand sticking out. He handed the clothing articles over and the door shut and was locked again. A few minutes passed, longer than it would take to put on clothes, then the door cautiously opened fully.

Enjolras stepped out, hair dripping wet, eyes red from obvious crying. Combeferre didn't hesistate, just pulled Enjolras into his arms. The younger man at first was stiff, then melted against him.

With a sigh he pulled away. "I'm tired", he mumbled, eyes downcast. Courfeyrac, who had until just now watched, squeezed his shoulder. "Let's get you laying down."

Around midnight the vomiting finally stopped, the diarrhea obviously not. It didn't get more frequent and when he was asleep Enjolras managed to get about three to four hours without needing to go to the bathroom.

The rest of the weekend he spent mostly with his heating pad in bed, having no energy to care about his work. Grantaire called a few times, asking to come over, but he vehemently protested, no matter how much Grantaire begged and told him he loved him. He didn't dare face his boyfriend, not when his body was liable to humiliate him.

Combeferre and Courfeyrac obviously were worried and by monday morning Combeferre told him in a voice that left no room for argument, that he would take Enjolras to the ER with him. For once, Enjolras actually had a good reason not to go with him.

Combeferre had the afternoon shift, so hours before they would have to leave, Enjolras doctor called.

"We tested the blood and the stool sample", the nurse at the phone told him. "You have high inflammatory values, so Doctor Laurent has prescriped you cortisone. We have readied the prescription, you can get it today."

In the end he had no other choice but ask Combeferre to get the prescription and the drug for him. The disappointed glance, that Combeferre threw him when he admitted that he already went to the doctor without telling him made Enjolras feel like he had kicked a puppy (a giant one, but anyways). Good friend that Combeferre was, he made his way to the doctor's office in record time and brought back the hated medication.

It wasn't the first time, Enjolras had to take cortisone to deal with his inflammed bowels. He despised the medication from the depth of his heart, the side effects were horrible. No matter how much he tried to resist, the endless hunger always won. He always felt disgusting, still hungry after eating double or triple portions of what he normally ate and it never ended. The resulting weight gain, the water retention in his extremeties and face painfully obvious. The acne and the thinness of his skin. The mood swings that had him arguing even with Combeferre and his tante - the two people he (practically) never ever argued with.

But when Combeferre arrived at the apartment and handed him the medication, he frowned. It wasn't the normal cortisone he had called Prednisolon, but another drug called Entocort. He asked Combeferre who thought a few minutes, googled and tried to find an explanation.

"My guess is, you normally take Prednisolon, because it is more potent. But it has a high risk of thrombosis, which you cannot risk again due to your liver. So they gave you another form of cortisone. Hey, at least it says in the description that the side effects are very rare."

Enjolras nodded and tried to smile. From Combeferre's glance he didn't suceed.

The medical student sat down next to him on the kitchen chair, cleaning his glasses, then looking up with a sigh.

"Why didn't you tell me?", he asked, sounding heart-broken.

Enjolras averted his gaze, staring intensely at the drugs infront of him, biting his tongue.

"Jojo?", Combeferre asked when he didn't answer. He laid one hand on Enjolras' folded hands, squeezing.

"Why do you think?", Enjolras whispered, fighting against tears. "It's humiliating. Why don't you go around and tell people you have bloody diarrhea you can't control, which sometimes... well, doesn't end that well?"

The medical student stayed silent for a moment. Enjolras glanced up at him.

"Normally I would tell my patients, that they don't have to be embarassed. It's an autoimmune-disease, it's not your fault. I guess, Anne told you that a lot before and I doubt it helps. But maybe think about it like that: We are your friends, your best friends. We don't care about your illness, we care about you. You are more than this illness. And we'll be with you every step of the way."

Enjolras bit his lower lip, thinking about it. His tante had said the same things, as Combeferre had. But still, he couldn't get over the embarrassment.
"Don't tell anybody but 'Fey?", he asked in a small voice.

"What about Grantaire?", Combeferre asked gently, yet sternly. "He should know."

"He can't, please, 'Ferre, he can't! He can't know!" Enjolras was nearly frantic. What if Grantaire was disgusted with him? He didn't think he could survive that.

"What would be the worst thing that could happen, if he knew?" Combeferre was trying to reason.

"What do you think?", Enjolras yelled. His apathy and fear of the last days vanished and were replaced by huge amounts of anger. At himself and at the whole situation. He pushed himself up from the kitchen chair with so much force that the chair fell over, crashing loudly to the floor. Combeferre looked up at him in shock, clearly not having expected such a violent reaction. Enjolras just turned on his heel and fled to the safety of his own room, slamming the door shut.

Inside he fell onto the bed, sobbing harshly. He felt like his whole world was crashing down. Fights with Combeferre were so rare and he hadn't seen Grantaire in over a week now, not since he had basically thrown him out. He missed his boyfriend terribly. But he knew, he couldn't call him now, eventough they always called each other when something was going on. But Grantaire would storm over here, trying to rip Combeferre into pieces without knowing what was going on and comfort him. He didn't deserve the comfort however and he doubted he could push through a long visit by his boyfriend.

He kept laying on his bed, till he heard Combeferre knock on his door and quietly inform him he was leaving for the hospital. He didn't react and he heard Combeferre sigh and leave.

Some time later, he couldn't say how long it had been, the doorbell rang. He slowly got up and shuffled to the door. Knowing Courfeyrac he had ordered some thing or another online (never amazon, Enjolras made sure of that) and forgot to inform them. But when he opened the door, however, a familiar figure stood on the other side fidgeting with the sleeves of his jacket.

Enjolras took a step back and pinched the bridge of his nose. "What are you doing here?", he asked, voice trembling.

"I wanted to see you, Apollo", Grantaire said quietly. "We ... we haven't seen each other in like a week. I want to know what is going on."

Enjolras had expected this answer from the moment he had opened the door and seen his boyfriend. That didn't make the situation any better. But what could he do? He didn't want to hurt Grantaire's feelings or make him think it was his fault. Grantaire's self-esteem was low enough as it was. So he stepped back, ignoring he hadn't showered in days or brushed his hair and was in his pajamas, and let the other man in.

They sat down on the couch in silence, both not looking at each other. Neither of them spoke for a moment.

"What did I do?", Grantaire asked then, voice barely more than a whisper. He sounded so broken and defeated it nearly broke Enjolras' heart.

"It's not your fault, R", Enjolras answered.

"Why did you let Combeferre and Courfeyrac help you then, when you were sick and not me? Were you even sick? Or did you just not want to see me? You basically threw me out last week after your panic attack..." Grantaire was not meeting his eyes. Not that Enjolras would have been able to say what he knew he had to say.

Enjolras swallowed heavily. He was so scared of Grantaire's reaction if he knew what was going on with him. Maybe it would be best if he just agreed to Grantaire's fears. Maybe it would hurt less if he was the one at fault. Maybe it would hurt Grantaire less than having to put up with him and eventually falling out of love.

"I ... I. 'Taire. I don't know. Maybe, maybe this is not working out with us. I ... we're too different. You deserve better."

Grantaire looked at him for the first time, eyes brimming with tears. He tried to reach for Enjolras' hand, but the other pulled away.

"I'm sorry. I'm so sorry, 'Taire", Enjolras choked out.

"I don't think there is anything better than being with you, Enjolras", Grantaire said, between sobs. "Please, don't do this."

"I'm sorry, 'Taire, I really am. But I am breaking up with you. I love you, but it's not enough."

"Don't, don't say that, Enjolras", Grantaire was begging.

"Goodbye, Grantaire", Enjolras whispered over his own tears and got up to go to his room. He didn't wait to see if Grantaire actually left, but a few minutes later he heard the front door open and then close. That was when the real crying set in and he started to sob out his heart. He laid down on his bed on his side and hugged his pillow to his chest.

He must have fallen asleep, because he woke up to the bang of his door hitting the wall. Courfeyrac ran inside, hair standing up in every direction and his eyeliner smudged. There weren't many instances where he had looked less put together.

"What the fuck, Enjolras?", he shouted. Blarely the blond sat up and stared in confusion at his best friend. Then the memories came back and his eyes filled with tears.

"What the fuck?", Courfeyrac repeated. "I nearly had a heart-attack when Bossuet called me because Grantaire was sobbing so hard he could only get your name out. After a long time R only managed to say you broke things off?" Courfeyrac was panting and shaking, anger and confusion clear in his stance.

Enjolras only nodded. Courfeyrac paled. "Are you telling me you broke up with R?", he said in a dangerously low voice. "That Bossuet didn't misunderstand R?"

"Yes", Enjolras ground out, teeth clenched.

"Why?", Courfeyrac demanded. Enjolras seldomly saw Courfeyrac this worked up and angry. He could understand the reason: Grantaire's mental health was fragile at best and he was scared that this would make everything worse.

Courfeyrac normally was so laid back, it was a wonder he even could get angry, but on behalf of his friends he was a force to reckoned with. Unlike Combeferre who was calm and gentle, Courfeyrac was just a relaxed personality.

Enjolras tried to tell himself that it would be better than Grantaire realizing he wasn't happy with him anymore and he being disgusted by him. Deep down he knew he wanted Grantaire to keep him as a godly marble stature in mind, not some sickly man controlled by things out of his control.

"That doesn't concern you, does it?", Enjolras bit out. He desperately wished for Courfeyrac to just leave him alone in his misery. He felt bad enough as it was, he didn't need Courfeyrac's anger directed at him on top of everything.

"Of course it does, Jojo. You're both my friends and a huge part of our friend group. How do you think this will affect everything?"

"I ... I don't know, 'Fey. I don't know. I just, please, I can't right now..." He was starting to sob again, hot tears spilling onto his cheeks.

In an instant Courfeyrac's anger was gone and he swept up Enjolras into an embrace.

"What is going on, Jojo? What happened?", Courfeyrac asked as he rubbed Enjolras back to calm him down. He already felt wet patches form on his chest from Enjolras' tears.

Enjolras just shook his head and sobbed harder.

"I can't ... 'Fey. I can't... please, don't ask me to explain."

"Did he do something?", Courfeyrac asked, concern clear and eyes sparkling dangerously.

Enjolras shook his head and rested his head against Courfeyrac's shoulder.

They sat in silence till Combeferre came home from his shift. Much like Courfeyrac had done earlier he slammed the door open full force and looked at them. He was panting, like he had been running.

"I came as soon as I could. What happened? Joly got a call from Bossuet that you broke up with Grantaire?", he asked, out of breath. Enjolras whimpered and hid his face in Courfeyrac's shirt. The black-haired student just nodded as a response to the question.

"What happened, Jojo?", Combeferre asked as he sat down next to them, one hand resting against Enjolras neck. The social work student just shook his head, then he mumbled: "Let me up, please." Courfeyrac let go of him and Enjolras jumped out of bed and ran to the bathroom.

Combeferre and Courfeyrac exchanged a glance.
"Do you think it had to do with this?", Courfeyrac asked, voice small. He was scared for Enjolras, as he always was when their youngest wasn't feeling well. He had watched Enjolras go through all of his illnesses and treatments of cortisone and he knew how it affected Enjolras' mental health more than the blond wanted to admit.

"It probably does", Combeferre agreed.

"What do we do?"
"We wait. Enjolras doesn't want us to do anything, he is scared of the others rejection. We can encourage him, but much more is impossible."

Courfeyrac sighed. He knew that to be true.

When Enjolras came back, embarrassment written across his features, he just sunk down on the bed.

"Why don't you tell R?", Combeferre asked, for the second time. "He loves you, Jojo, he won't care about it. He cares about you and about your health. You aren't happy with this, you know that."

Enjolras shook his head. "Please, I'm tired. I don't want to talk about it."

With a sad smile Combeferre nodded and squeezed his shoulder, beckoning Courfeyrac to leave Enjolras alone. Together they left the room. With a heavy heart Combeferre threw back one last glance before he closed the door. How had things gotten this bad so fast?

It was the middle of that night, that everything escalated. The stress from the day's events had upset Enjolras' stomach so badly he was barely able to leave the bathroom, suffering from diarrhea and vomitting in increasingly closer intervalls. Combeferre spend the night sitting on the floor in the hallway, leaning against the wall next to the bathroom. Occasionally he checked in on Enjolras, holding back his hair while he was being sick and trying to get him to drink the fluids he was losing. Otherwise he tried to get through his book on assisted suicide, that his professor had assigned to read, but he couldn't help but be distracted by worry and the wretched sounds coming from behind him.

By midnight it was clear they were fighting a losing battle, when Enjolras was expelling fluids from both ends at the same time. He was incredibly pale and soaked in cold sweat. His whole body was trembling from exhaustion. The blood loss the social work student was experiencing got the medical student more worried with each minute.

Around two o'clock Enjolras got himself sufficiently cleaned up for what felt like the hundredth time, he sank down to kneel down the ground on the bathroom. Embarassment hadn't been on his mind for quite some time now, with Combeferre having seen him in various compromising states. Black spots were dancing infront of his eyes, vision tunneling in and out and tilting dangerously.

Fearing to pass out he weakly called out for Combeferre. The medical student had insisted he didn't lock the door, promising not to enter without Enjolras' consent, so the older man burst into the bathroom the second he heared his name being called.

"Hey, what's wrong? How are you feeling?", he asked, worry clear in his voice. He was kneeling infront of Enjolras, one hand running over the other to check for a non-existant fever, the other steadying him at his shoulder.

Enjolras didn't answer, he just lifted his head weakly and whispered: "I don't feel well."

Then his eyes rolled back into his head and he fell into a dead faint into Combeferre's arms. The medical student cursed and lowered Enjolras down onto the ground into the stable lateral position, checking his vitals. Pinching Enjolras hand and realising that the skin didn't smooth out again, he sighed. He had feared this, the violent dehydration from hours of vomiting and diarrhea.

He gently shook Enjolras' shoulder trying to wake him up, but it was no use. The young man was firmly unconscious. Combeferre closed his eyes for a moment, gathering himself, then he yelled for Courfeyrac. Combeferre had insisted his boyfriend go to bed despite his protests of worry, as he had to be at the new internship at 06:30 o'clock in the morning.

Stumbling blarely out of Combeferre's bedroom, sporting an impressing bed-head and in his pajamas Courfeyrac appeared in the doorway. He woke up fully with a jolt, when he saw Combeferre frowning over an unconscious Enjolras, whose blond locks spilled across Combeferre's lap creating an eery halo contrasting with the pale face and cracked lips.

"Call an ambulance, he is severly dehydrated", Combeferre ordered, voice hard but unmistakingly worried.

Without hesitation Courfeyrac ran back into the bedroom to his phone and with shaking hands dialed 112.

An hour later Combeferre and Courfeyrac sat in the hospital waiting room, Combeferre resting his head against Courfeyrac's. He had been fired up on adrenaline, but the crash now was leaving him exhausted and jittery. Nurses and doctors were bustling around, barely sparing them a glance. The surely made quite the picture: Courfeyrac in a huge, faded "Jesus Christ Superstar" shirt and yellow pajama bottoms, Combeferre in a purple "Hawkeye" hoodie and jeans, hearing aid quite visible against his ruffled blond hair.

They didn't let them see Enjolras yet, the nurse only told them that he was still unconscious receiving an IV.

"Do we call Grantaire?", Courfeyrac asked after they both had been silent for too long. He never had been one for quietness. "Do we call Anne? Both?"

Combeferre thought for a moment. "Both", he decided, "they need to know what is going on. Will you call R while I call Anne?"

Courfeyrac nodded reluctantely, not looking forward to the call, and they both dialed their phones. Before Combeferre could press the call button, Courfeyrac spoke up again.

"Maybe I should call Joly?"
"That might make more sense. Probably also raises the chance of someone answering the call."

Combeferre hit the call button.

"'Ferre?", Enjolras' tante asked sleepily after she picked up the phone on the eight ring, "what's going on?"
"Hello Anne. Sorry for disturbing you in the middle of the night", Combeferre apologized and then after a second of hesitation. "Jojo is in hospital. He is having a bout of ulcerative colitis and passed out from dehydration and blood loss."
That woke her up pretty fast. Combeferre could practically feel her worry through the phone. He vividly remembered how she had always done her best to take care of her nephew after his father refused to and how she had spent each day at the hospital with him the last times when he still had been at home with her. Her next words didn't come as a surprise.
"I'm on my way. I'll be there in five hours, maybe a bit less."
"Thank you." He breathed a sigh of relief. Maybe Anne could get through to Enjolras and he didn't mind having an adult check on him from now on. Combeferre might be twenty-one years old, but whenever things got bad he wished for someone else to take over. Especially because his friends always looked to him to sort out their messes.
"Thank you for calling, 'Ferre."

Across the room Courfeyrac dialled Joly's number, hoping he didn't wake anyone up.
"Courfeyrac? It's like three o'clock in the morning", Musichetta's voice finally greeted him.
"Yeah, hey. Sorry? Uhm, I was hoping to speak with Joly."
"He's with Grantaire right now." Courfeyrac couldn't quite place Musichetta's voice. She was good friends with both Grantaire and Enjolras, but unlike her boyfriends she was a little bit closer to their leader.
"That's why I need to talk to him."
"Is Enjolras alright?", Musichetta asked.
"He will be. Right now he's in hospital."
"Ya Allah! Let me get Joly." With that he heard her shout for her boyfriend and after a few seconds Joly's voice came through the phone.
"Courfeyrac? 'Chetta said Enjolras is in hospital?"
"Yes. He passed out from dehydration and blood loss. Will you tell 'Taire?"
Joly sighed. Courfeyrac knew he probably was worrying at his lip, as he was wont to do when nervous.
"I will tell him. I don't know what he'll do with the information. Don't expect us to show up ... we might or we might not."
"Yes, of course", Courfeyrac said. Then: "How is he doing?"
Joly sighed again. "He's calmed down and has stopped crying. Bit of a headache, but physically fine. He hasn't said much, so we've just been watching trash tv for the past hours. I doubt he'll sleep tonight."
"I don't really know what to say", Courfeyrac admitted. "I don't know what happened, but Enjolras ... I've never seen him this bad."
"Let me talk to Grantaire", Joly finally said, after remaining silent for some time. "Maybe tomorrow will bring some answers."
"Thank you, Joly."
"Bye."

Combeferre had wandered over, having finished his conversation and slipped his hand in Courfeyrac's. Together they continued to wait.

Half an hour later a dishelleved, but wide awake Grantaire entered the ER, Joly hot on his heels with his crutches for once instead of his cane.

"What exactly happened?", Joly asked, out of breath. Both of them were in comfortable clothes but looking rough, evidence of the past few hours. Grantaire's red-rimmed eyes were the obvious reason for their bedraggled appearance. They obviously hadn't slept a wink.

Courfeyrac was waiting for them, Combeferre had been allowed in with Enjolras a few minutes earlier.

"He passed out from dehydration and blood loss. He's been very ill all night. They haven't said much more, but they will probably admit him."

"Blood loss? The hell happened?", Joly asked, worry obvious, but anger and confusion as well.

"He... he will hate me for telling you this, but ... uh, as you know he has been diagnosed with ulcerative colitis. Uhm... the worst symptom is bloody diarrhea, but he has been throwing up a lot too. Today he was basically stuck in the bathroom, after ... He couldn't keep down anything so he got dehydrated. 'Ferre believes he also may have experienced at least moderate blood loss by ... oh well."

"Jesus", Joly said, frowing unhappily. Unlike most of his friends he of course knew what the chronic illness entailed and he wasn't pleased with what he heared. It wasn't the worst but most cases were better with less severe symptoms.

Grantaire was silent. Courfeyrac sighed and rubbed his aching temples. He just wanted this night to end. Grantaire and him had hit off the moment they had met and had been good friends, so it was strange seeing him on the "other side". He didn't dare look Grantaire in the eyes.

"'Ferre is with him now, he will keep us updated", Courfeyrac concluded. Joly nodded thoughtfully, his lip bloody as predicted. It was times like this his hypochondria came back with a vengance.

"Well, I am not going to stay here", Grantaire said finally, "I don't even know why I came."

Courfeyrac and Joly raised their eyebrows at the last sentence.
Grantaire clenched his teeth and turned on his heel, walking outside. Joly just shook his head, but followed him. It was clear cut who got who in the divorce and it didn't come as a surprise. It still hurt.

Combeferre came out of the ER Room, seeing Joly's retreating frame.

"Grantaire is still pissed, he doesn't want to stay", Courfeyrac explained, wringing his hands.

"Can't say I blame him too much" Combeferre sighed, rubbing at his eyes. "Jojo was awake for a few minutes and the infusion is working. They are putting him into a normal room soon. We cannot stay, so we should just go home and you need to sleep."

"I don't like this idea", Courfeyrac protested.

"I don't either, but there is no other option, let's go." With those words Combeferre pulled Courfeyrac out of the hospital.

Once Enjolras woke in the morning he immediately panicked. It was plain obvious where he was, a hospital. Before he knew it was going to happen he threw up all over himself, struggeling to breath. He vaguely noticed the blanket being removed and then somebody wrapped him in their arms. After several minutes of hyperventilating he recognized a female voice shushing him.

"Anne?", he asked in a small voice.

"Yeah, it me, Jojo", his tante replied gently, "'Ferre called me, I drove the whole night to get here."

"Oh." He didn't know what to say. He was grateful to be held in her arms. The feeling of safety one had when held by their guardians never truly went away. Yet he didn't want her to know, didn't want her to worry.

"How are you feeling?", she asked, smoothing back a loose curl from his face.

"Stomach hurts", he mumbled, closing his eyes and resting his head against her shoulder. He didn't know what had happened to land him in hospital, only that he felt terrible and her arms were as comforting as they had been fifteen years before when she had held him day and night to fight against his nightmares. Yet, he felt like he had missed something important. "What happened?"

"You passed out from dehydration and blood loss last night. Luckily 'Ferre was with you and 'Fey called an ambulance."

"Oh." How he hated worrying his tante. She had no children herself, so he was basically like a son to her. He had grown up with her since his mother's death. His father had been unable to care for a traumatised child, so she had taken in her dead sister's child. Enjolras' memories of his childhood were far and few, but all of them contained his tante. She had been the mother he needed, the parent his father first had been unable and then unwilling to be (once he had come out at sixteen).

He fidgeted with the edge of the fresh blanket on his lap. He didn't know what to say to her. His embarrassment grew as his stomach rumbled and she softly smiled at him and steadied him, till he was able to stand holding onto the portable IV stand. He made his shuffling way into the bathroom, luckily inside the hospital room and not on the floor somewhere.

When he returned his tante wasn't alone anymore, but instead Combeferre and a doctor he didn't know had joined her. He blushed deeply, aware of the thin walls, and sank down onto the bed, thanking every deity he ever heard of that he was still wearing his clothes from yesterday and not a hospital gown. Combeferre leaned against the footrest of the bed, facing him, while Anne sat down on the bed and let him rest against her, eventhough he was nearly half a head taller than her.

The unfamiliar doctor looked up from his tablet at him and introduced himself. "Good morning, Monsieur Enjolras. My name is Doctor Chen-Schmidt and I am a gastroentologist here. You already have your diagnosis, so an endoscopy isn't necessary. We will just make sure that you are hydrated well before you go home. You take Cortisone?"

Enjolras stared at the doctor for a moment before trying to find his voice. He had encountered many rude doctors before, but that was a lot of questions and brushing him away. Doctor Chen-Schmidt tapped his foot impatiently.

"Okay, uh... yes. I got prescribed Entocort by my internist yesterday, but I didn't get around to take it yet."

"See that you do. The nurses will be by with discharge papers." Then he swept out of the room.

For a moment they all stared after his retreating figure, then Combeferre mumbled: "What an ass..."

Anne nodded in surprise. "I sure hope that not all your collegues are like that?"

She had watched the whole triumvirate grow up since they were toddlers and was still very invested in their personal lifes and professional careers.
After all she had been there for them whenever they needed her and they never had hesitated to come to her with their problems. The time Courfeyrac had been fighting with his parents and had run away she had let him stay, no questions asked. The time Combeferre's grandfather had had a stroke and required full time care by his dad and his mom had been working to support the family, she had held him in her arms when he cried in fear. The time Courfeyrac had accidentally gotten black-out drunk at a party at seventeen and Enjolras had called her, knowing that his parents would be angry, she had driven them home and spend the night in the bathroom with him. The time Combeferre nearly had a nervous breakdown when studying for his BAC, because he desperately wanted to follow his mother's footsteps and become a doctor, but he hadn't been able to understand this one chemical reaction, so she had comforted him and tried to understand the reaction herself to help him. When Combeferre had been at the psychatric clinic she even had come to visit him a few times.

Combeferre laughed at her question and shook his head. "No, most of them are actually really nice people."

"Good."

Three hours later Enjolras and Anne sat in the living room of the apartment he shared with Combeferre and Courfeyrac. He had barely been able to choke down the lunch she had made and now he was laying on the couch, his head resting in her lap and her hands running through his hair. The heating pad rested on his stomach.

"Why didn't you call?", she finally asked softly, her hand stilling the caressing. "You know you can always come to me when you need help. I can understand that you didn't feel comfortable telling your friends. Did I do something to make you feel like you couldn't tell me?"

Enjolras sighed. They normally talked at least every few days and made sure to have skype calls at least once a month and they had done so regularily. He never had mentioned anything, but had kept the calls necessarily short.

"No. No, it's just... at first I didn't really wanted to accept it. And then I thought I could push through alone. I am so sick of this."

"What do you mean?"

"I have an exam on thursday. It's only tuesday and I am already worried if I can actually sit through it or if I will embarrass myself. I know I have disadvantage compensation and have more time to write, so I can easily take breaks, but I don't want to publically use it."

He swallowed and wet his lips. Her hands began untangling his hair from anew.

"And I barely feel comfortable leaving the apartment, I practically have to force myself to leave. I don't know what my friends think, but I am so scared of their reaction. I still don't have a real choice, it's like I am trapped. I could ignore everything and carry on, but it's not sustainable and not healthy. Or I could take the cortisone, but you know how I react to it. How I'll look and act and ... I am so tired off it all."

Tears threatend to fall and his aunt gently helped him sit up and turned him, so that he was crying into her shoulder. She held him close and rubbed his back till he calmed down.

"When is your last exam?", she asked.

"I write family and children law on thursday, that's it."

She nodded thoughtful.

"How about this?", she suggested, "you don't take the cortisone till thursday. Then we'll go home for christmas, just you and me. Your semester only starts in march, maybe till then you are better and the effects of the cortisone have lessened. If not, we'll see later what we can do?"

Enjolras stilled at the suggestion, thoughtful. It could work, it seemed like the best option he had. Sure, he would miss his friends, not seeing them for over two months, but it seemed like a small sacrifice. That was if they even wanted to see him. He knew he would get Combeferre and Courfeyrac, even if they only felt like they had to, but the rest surely were on Grantaire's side. He couldn't blame them and Grantaire deserved them more than he did anyways. He shook his head to clear his thoughts of his friends, lest he start crying again. So he focussed on his aunt.
Only one flaw presented itself to him within the plan.

"Anne, we'll drive nearly five hours to Mâcon? I can't be in a car so long!" He felt panicked at even the thought of it. So much could go wrong, starting from just driving to a massive traffic jam.

"We'll see when we get to that, alright?" Her optimism felt misplaced, but he nevertheless knew she would be with him every step.

Defeated, he nodded.

At that moment, the lock of the front door turned and voices filtered into the room.

"Oh, hey, Anne", Courfeyrac called and the woman extracted herself from Enjolras to wrap Courfeyrac into her arms. "Hello, 'Fey, it's good to see you again."

"Hello, Ma'am", Jehan said smiling tensely from where they were leaning against the wall. "You must be the famous tante Enjolras?"

It wasn't easy to miss, as Enjolras looked a lot like his mother and she and her sister always looked alike. From the curly blond hair to their stature they could be (and have been) mistaken for mother and son.

Anne laughed loudly at that. "Yeah, I guess I am. Let me guess, you are ... Jehan?" It wasn't easily to deduce after all. Enjolras had often envied Jehan's confidence in dressing choices and had told his tante much about their eccentrics. The person had their long brown hair braided back, heavy eyemake up on and their purple-pink christmas sweater didn't fit their light green pants at all.

The poet nodded. "I've heard much about you", Anne pointed out.

"Only good, I hope?" Jehan refused to look at Enjolras. He tried not to feel hurt. Jehan was Grantaire's friend first after all. They had every right to hate Enjolras. Quickly he tried to ban all thought of his boy ... ex-boyfriend from his mind.

"More than good." She laughed again. Right, he hadn't told her about the ... situation.

Jehan forced a smile.

"Excuse me", Enjolras mumbled and fled from the room to the safety of his own.

For a glorious ten minutes nobody followed him, but as he started to relax against his pillows a knock sounded at his door. Without looking he knew it was Anne who wanted to talk to him. He refused to look at her, hiding from the world against his pillow.

She sighed and sat down at his hip. "Do you really think Grantaire cares about your illnesses? He has stood by you all the time." She had insisted on meeting Grantaire and had been very much enamored with him since she first laid eyes on him. The time Enjolras had contracted meninigitis they had kept each other company while he had slept and she had been able to see how much he loved her nephew.

He shrugged. "Anne, it's so damn embarassing. He deserves better than this, a partner who can take him out on dates and on long walks in his favorite park. A partner who stays with him all the time and listens to him ramble about art in the new art museum. I can't give him that." That wasn't the whole truth, but he didn't want to lay open his heart, his fear of rejection and disgust.

"He loves you though. And it's not about deserving somebody, it's about love." He just shook his head and refused to acknowledge her further. After a few minutes she sighed and left.

After what felt like hours he got himself up and made to work on his law studies. Why he needed this complicated knowledge as a social worker, he really didn't know, but he gratefully took the distraction.

He spend the following days mostly shut in in his room. Anne was staying in Courfeyrac's room, as the elementary school teacher student even normally slept most nights in Combeferre's room. Enjolras took great lengths to avoid his friends and her, going so far as skipping lunch and dinner, so he didn't run into them. Someone always left him food in the kitchen, which he sometimes ate. Combeferre and Courfeyrac tried to talk to him, as did Anne, but he brushed them off with the excuse of studying. Nobody believed the lie.

None of the other amis made an effort to contact him. He pretended it didn't hurt, though he cried himself to sleep each night. They of course were on Grantaire's side, in their minds he had broken up with him completely unreasonably. He knew Jehan and Éponine (it was Éponine, there was no doubt about her feelings) were furious with him, Bossuet and Bahorel probably were too. With Feuilly and Musichetta he wasn't too sure, as with Marius and Cosette, but then again, they didn't reach out to him. Joly sort of knew what was going on, but even with his hypochondriac tendencies he never checked in. Buried in his studies he didn't have to think about it, so he didn't.

The day of the test, Anne drove him to campus, Combeferre and Courfeyrac having already left earlier. She gently hugged and kissed him, promising to get everything ready so they could go home this afternoon.
He walked into the building, shakey and nauseous. His stomach was hurting and the constant pressure in his stomach was unnerving him greatly. When he had signed up for the exam he had already told his professor about his disadvantage compensation, but he walked to the front and told her again. She took one look at him and suggested he rather go home instead. He refused, just wanting to get this over with.

The exam went terribly, he knew that from the beginning. His thoughts kept drifting off and he was struggeling with so much stomach pain that he just gave up twenty minutes before the time was up. He stood and handed in his two papers, where he normally would have written at least six or seven. He wasn't even sure he had answered every question. Then he fled the hall and spend the rest of the exam time in the bathroom.

When Anne asked how the exam had went when she picked him up, he blatentaly lied. He was sure she knew he wasn't telling the truth, but frankly he didn't care. They reached the apartment and quickly loaded his stuff into the trunk and backseat. Going to the bathroom one last time, just to calm his nerves, he slipped into the passenger seat.

He had already said his goodbyes to Combeferre and Courfeyrac the evening before, the first time revealing the plans to them and asking them to tell the others if they asked. They had begged him to stay, but in the end they knew he couldn't bear to. Not with what was to come. They both promised to come by at least over the christmas days. He hoped they were sincere and not just polite.

"Here", his tante said, pulling him out of his mind, and handed him a small white tablet.

"What's that?", he asked confused.

"Imodium", she explained, "it helps with diarrhea." Thankful he nodded and sucked at the tablet, wincing at the chalky taste.

Five hours of driving were torture, even with the medication. He burst into frantic tears about three times, the pressure in his stomach too much. His tante kept up reassuring liturgies and drove just a little bit faster than allowed. Yet, even as the familiar city of Mâcon come into view he wasn't able to relax. She opened the door to her house quickly and he booked it to the bathroom - an unnecessary trip he found and for the 1000st time that day cursed his body.

The next morning he took the Entocort for the first time, hoping Combeferre was right and there would be no side-effects.

For the first few days everything was fine and he relaxed, till he woke up the morning of the 23rd of december feeling like he was starving. Anne was making toast and he who normally only ate one piece, two if he was really hungry, couldn't stop himself and ate four. So it had begun. Anne just held him in her arms as realisation dawned on them.

Christmas Combeferre and Courfeyrac arrived, both staying with their respective families. The fest had always been a huge affair with all their families getting together at Christmas eve after Combeferre and his family came back from church.
Enjolras refused to go for the first time ever.

Instead Combeferre and Courfeyrac came over in the afternoon to exchange gifts.

Combeferre took one look at him and just pulled him close, whispering in his ear that everything was going to be okay. Of course Enjolras knew why, he had seen himself in the mirror this morning for a few seconds before he had been unable to stomach seeing his reflection any longer. The promised small side-effects of the Entocort were a lie, he was suffering from the same grade of effects as always. His normally oval face with the high and pronounced cheek bones was sort of blown up - like a balloon or the moon. Not as much as it would be in a few days, but enough to notice it. Already water was filling his arms and legs and stomach, making them appear fat on the first glance. Pimples had started to appear on his face, especially his cheeks. He wasn't the same man he had been before, the great to look at marble stature. As if he was reading his thoughts, Courfeyrac just smiled and kissed his cheeks, no matter their state, then pulled him to sit on his bed.

Yet somehow the atmosphere was stilted and more uptight than it had ever been ever before and Enjolras couldn't help but feel like it was his fault. After all, if he hadn't gotten sick, if he hadn't fleed from Paris they would have spent the last week together, baking Christmas cookies or going on the christmas market together. Their friend group would not be ... well, were they split? It was him against the others, wasn't it? Him against Grantaire? He hoped the others didn't suffer so much under it as he did.

He swallowed and looked around, trying to find some comfort in the familarity of the room he had grown up in. It was the same as it had been through his teenage days - one wall painted red, one completely plastered with social justice posters and quotes. The bed still had his beige cover with the writing of "Liberté, Égalité and Fraternité" in a old, black font. Pictures from their childhood and teenage years littered another wall.

So they sat there, Courfeyrac and Enjolras on the bed, Combeferre on the gymnastic ball, that he had Courfeyrac forbidden to sit on as the hyperactive man had fallen off it far too often.

Smiling in excitment Courfeyrac handed over a poorly wrapped present and to appease him Enjolras quickly opened it to find ... a stuffed sheep inside. "Look", Courfeyrac said gleefully and turned it around, "here, you can change it between a stuffed animal and pillow."

Enjolras smiled, thanked Courfeyrac and pulled it to his chest. He had always been comforted by stuffed animals, no matter how old he was. God knew he needed comfort now.

Combeferre handed him a a flat present, a book, if he had to guess. The other man seemed shy and reluctant go give it, so Enjolras gave him an encouraging smile and carefully opened it. It was indeed a book, a photo album to be exact. Enjolras opened it to find various pictures of Les Amis together, group pictures and selfies and everywhere written details about the day it was taken. Pictures with just him and Grantaire thankfully weren't present, but there were placed were another picture was obviously glued on top of another.
It was obvious how much time Combeferre had invested in making it and how well he knew Enjolras, as he normally loved this kind of sentimental present. Now however tears filled his eyes as he leafed through it. After all, would he ever get this kind of friendship with them again? Yet memories of these days were everything he had now to hold onto, even if he couldn't look at them in joy for now.

He shakely thanked Combeferre, who still looked fearful and quickly gave them his presents - matching bracelets, a mug for Combeferre (who loved to collect them) and a shirt for Courfeyrac. He hadn't really been creative this year, but then again he had had other problems. Still he felt ashamed. He had neglected his friends quite a bit in the past months and they didn't deserve it.

"How is everyone?", Enjolras asked, voice thin, after a few moments of silence.

Combeferre sighed and rubbed his temples. Courfeyrac smiled sadly and squeezed his hand.

"It's been ... chaotic", Combeferre finally said. "We haven't really met as a group, but Joly says it getting better. We all miss you a lot. It's not the same."

Enjolras bit his lip. It was the answer he had expected, but not the one he wanted to hear. "How is Grantaire?", he mumbled staring at his toes.

"We haven't seen him", Courfeyrac answered. "Feuilly, Bossuet, Joly and Jehan are taking care of him, don't worry."

Enjolras nodded thoughtfully. After a few tense minutes their conversation thankfully turned to different topics, holiday plans and university, till the two had to leave.

The rest of the day Enjolras spent buried under his covers, only getting up to eat.
At least his bowels were better now, though it was a high cost to be paid. Like every Cortisone the dosage of Entocort had to be reduced slowly over several weeks. He was still taking the highest dose and was supposed to take it till he was a 100% better, which he was not. If he wanted to stop taking the medication by march he soon would have to reduce it gradually.
He barely slept that night, the medication making him tired but restless.

Christmas morning he woke to a splitting headache and his stomach growling. He made himself stay in bed for a moment and checked his phone. A few messages were displayed on his screen.

From Fey (00:01):
Merry Christmas! xoxo

From Ferre (07:43):
I wish you a merry christmas! Keep your head up, love you

He scrolled and saw more messages to his surprise.

From Cosette (08:05):
Merry Christmas, hon. We look forward to seeing you soon <3

From Joly (08:36):
Merry Christmas! Get better soon, we miss you.

From Musichetta (08:48):
Merry x-mas

He swallowed, trying to keep tears from falling. It wasn't unexpected, really. Of course his two best friends texted him. Joly knew what was going on, so he likely wasn't as mad as the others. Cosette was a literal angel, no wonder she was nice to him, even if she was mad. Musichetta and him had a strong friendship and eventhough she didn't know what was going on she thought of him. Or maybe it was just a generalized message she sent everyone. He didn't know what to think and he ignored the fact that he didn't receive seven other messages.

Sighing, he got up and went to make himself breakfast. He didn't need to have bothered. Anne was standing in the kitchen, cooking pancakes. When she heard him enter, she turned around and smiled.

"Merry Christmas, honey", she said and wrapped him in her arms for a moment. He sat down and tried to ignore who many pancakes he could eat and still not feel full. He swallowed his pills with annoyance, then followed her into the living room, where they had decorated a christmas tree two days ago.
They exchanged gifts as always and spent the day playing board games together.

After christmas Anne had to go to work again, so Enjolras was home alone a lot. Combeferre and Courfeyrac came by shortly before New Years to say goodbye - they were going back to Paris for the annual ABC-Café New Year Party. Apparently Bahorel and Jehan were in charge of planning. He didn't receive an invitation. Combeferre and Courfeyrac tried to get him to come with, but he refused vehemently. He couldn't face his friends looking like this and with what he had done. Also, he still wasn't sure if he could drive so long in a car. Besides, Grantaire deserved to be happy at the party and that wouldn't happen if he was there.

The new year came and went and the only people Enjolras really had contact with were his aunt and occasionally Combeferre and Courfeyrac. Most days he just laid in bed, trying to ignore he had a body. He hadn't taken a shower in days, his hair was knotted to hell and his face and body was swollen up with retained water. He feared he actually had to go to the hospital again, to get it sucked out, but he was too scared to ask. After a week his tante had enough and she made him at least change his clothes.

However once he had pulled his sweater over his head, no matter how hard he had tried, he caught sight of his arms and froze in shock. His skin had always turned thin when taking Prednisolon, but now angry red marks, some as wide as a centimeter, ran down his arms from shoulder to forearm. With morbid fascination he ran his fingers over the broken skin, feeling how it dented inside. It sort of looked like strikes of lightening.

With a jolt he shook out of the trance and inspected the rest of his body. His distended abdomen showed similiar marks, though even bigger, yet less red. Even his thighs had small bluish lines running down to his knees, highlighting his veins.

He pulled on his new clothes on as fast as he could and laid down in bed again. He didn't have the strength to take a shower. His tante knocked on his door and when he didn't answer she stuck her head inside, switching on the light. Seeing him in bed, Anne walked over to him and sat down at his side.

"It can't go on like this, Julien", she said in a firm, but kind voice. "If your depression is getting this bad again, you should really consider going to theraphy again."

Enjolras knew she was right, but he didn't care. So he just shrugged. He didn't really feel like seeing anybody right now, not after the discovery. But then again, he worried her enough as it was and truth to be told, he was scared.

"I need to show you something", he mumbled and pushed himself into a sitting position. He hurriedly pulled off his shirt, leaving his upper body bare. She gasped when she saw the the red marks.

"What's that?", she asked. "I don't know", he answered honestly, "I just discovered this."

After a moment of consideration, she ran her fingers over the marks. He tried not to flinch. "Cortisone makes the skin thinner. Maybe this is a result of it. Let me call Amalie, see what she has to say?"

Reluctantely Enjolras nodded. He didn't fancy new doctors checking him over, but the internist he had gone to when he was in Mâcon had been a child specialist, so he had to find a new one when he turned 18. Since they then had moved to Paris he had looked for a doctor there. Combeferre's maman would have to do.

Anne drove him to her office, after confirming with her that she had an open spot. Once there they luckily didn't have to wait too long and were soon enough sitting across the desk from Amalie's empty chair. After a few minutes the doctor entered and pulled Enjolras and Anne in her arms. She didn't flinch at seeing him, she knew he was taking the medication and it wasn't the first time she saw him like this.

"What is going on, Jojo?", she asked gently, looking at him over her glasses in a very combeferrian way.

He shakily told his story, Anne eventually taking over when his voice became to choked by humiliation and fear. Amalie listened carefully and then asked him to take of his shirt, so she could see the marks.

"Hm, yes, Entocort is known for not having many side-effects. Yet clearly with the combination of your illnesses the side-effects are actually pretty bad. Let me call your normal internist and then maybe I can prescribe you a different cortisone."

After a long phone-call she did just that, he was to take Prednisolon again. It was the most effective cortisone against UC after all. However the side-effects, while bad, wouldn't be as horrible as these. He hoped.

Late January brought snow and Enjolras spend each day inside, still refusing to take care of himself mostly. He couldn't stand seeing himself in the mirror and he couldn't stand himself. Contact with his friends was now mostly non-existant. Combeferre and Courfeyrac tried, they truly did, but Enjolras didn't want to see them. Their daily texts had gotten infrequent after he had barely answered. He hoped they were as relieved as he was, not forced to interact with him by politness and habit. If he cuddled with the sheep pillow Courfeyrac gave him for christmas each night to fall asleep nobody needed to know. Combeferre's book still stood unopened in his bookcase.

He had thought long about his relationship with them both and had come to a conclusion at last.
They were happy with each other and he was a problem. Ever since they were in diapers they had been closer than any group of friends they had met, but since Combeferre and Courfeyrac had started dating, Enjolras had slowly felt like the third wheel. He was throwing their relationship off and if his friendship with them was risking their relationship, he would give them up no matter how much it hurt. They didn't need to worry about him, they should focus on themselves. And on their other friends. The Les Amis group chat had been inactive since before Christmas and he hated how he broke everything. He hoped there was a chat that didn't contain him, that they were still happy and close with each other. He told himself it didn't hurt.
So he focused on studying, writing speeches he would never hold and trying to convince his tante he was fine.

He was writing on a speech against ableism, when a knock sounded at his door. "Come in", he said distractedly. He didn't want to be interrupted. Cortisone always fucked up his concentration, but currently he was actually on a roll for once and he wanted it to stay that way.

"There is somebody here to see you, Jojo", Anne said.

Confused he turned around to face her. He had no idea who would want to speak with him. Combeferre or Courfeyrac seemed the most likely option, but they would have told him if they were coming. He supposed Amalie was an option as well. "Who?", he asked.

"Come on", she just responded and with a sigh he got up. He hoped it wasn't anybody important. He was aware how he looked, after not taking care of himself and the side-effects. He trudged into the living room and when he lifted his head he gasped in shock.

The most unlikely person stood infront of him. His hair was a bit longer and very ruffled, like he had run his hands through it in nervousness and he was pale and ... afraid? Yet it was Grantaire, standing in the living room.

When he saw Enjolras he gasped and actually took a step back. Of course he was shocked at what he saw. He wasn't the Apollo he had dated, he was barely even human like this.

Enjolras had no idea why Grantaire was here, but he couldn't bear his boy ... ex-boyfriend to see him like this. So he just turned on his heel and ran to his room, letting the door fall shut loudly.

Tears were already falling down his cheeks and his breath was coming in gasps. His whole body was shaking and ... oh god, Grantaire had seen him like this. How he could ever look him in the eye again ... not that he was sure that Grantaire would have wanted to see him anyways. His spiralling thoughts and hyperventilation were interrupted by a knock at his door.

"Go away", he called. No doubt Anne wanted to see him. There was no way Grantaire would. The door opened despite his protest, but he kept his face buried in his hands as he sat at the edge of the bed.

Anne sat down next to him, but the tenative hand on his shoulder was too big to be hers. He risked a glance up and it was indeed Grantaire sitting next to him.

"Jojo, what happened?", he breathed.
"Go away please", Enjolras pleaded. This couldn't be happening. Surely Grantaire was here comforting him just out of pity, not real concern. Why would he care about him, he had destroyed everything after all?

"I came all the way here. I'm not going anywhere", came the response.
"Why?" If Grantaire wasn't going to go, Enjolras did have some questions.
"Why what?"
"Why did you come in the first place?" He didn't dare look up, he just pressed his hands into his eye sockets harder than before. His whole body was trembling.

A moment of silence, before Grantaire spoke up again. "Your tante asked me to. She was quite worried. I can see why."

"But why did you come?" He had to know why Grantaire came all the way. Grantaire didn't have to. By all rights he should hate him and you didn't just drive five hours to visit your hated ex-boyfriend.

"I ... I don't know. I guess I wanted to know why you ... why everything happend. You ... it happend so suddenly. Like one day everything is well and the next you break up with me and are 400 kilometers away, Combeferre is so stressed he broke down at work again, Courfeyrac nearly gets suspended and nobody knows what the hell is going on."

Enjolras flinched violently at the explanation. It was true that everything had happened very fast. Then the words sunk in and he turned around to actually look at Grantaire.

"'Ferre and 'Fey, they what? They never said!"

"Of course not, they were too busy worrying over you. Fuck, I can see why. What the hell happened to you?" Grantaire actually sounded worried. That was strange.

He laughed at that. It was a raw and hurting sound, like the one he heard Grantaire use way back when he was still struggeling with his addiction and they didn't even like each other. Grantaire seemed to notice too, as he gasped at him.

"Do you even care?" He bit out, hoping to distract Grantaire. The other man narrowed his eyes at the question and swallowed.

"Of course I care. I haven't stopped loving you. You hurt me very much, yes, but I haven't stopped loving you. I tried, I really did, but what can I do?"

"Why would you still love me?" Enjolras asked, voice thick. He had seen the hurt on Grantaire's face, but also the honesty that came with the admission. He hadn't expected that.

"You broke my heart that day", Grantaire started hesistantly, "but I could see that something else was wrong. Something had been going on the weeks before that, I just didn't realize till then. And I was worried when I came to check on you. I love you and something was happening... is happening. You obviously are going through something, Apollo, I just can't understand why you chose to run away."

Enjolras laughed again, which turned into broken sobs. He abruptly stood up infront of Grantaire, forcing him to look up and stread out his arms.

"Look at me, Grantaire", he said bitterly, "am I not a sight to behold? Surely I am not Apollo anymore. Not that I've ever been. Gods can't get sick, can they?"

"I've seen you sick before, what made you think I wouldn't stand with you now?", Grantaire asked, hurt evident in his voice.

"You do have eyes?", Enjolras asked angrily. "I am barely myself. I gained like 20 kilos since we last saw each other, my face looks like a damn balloon. I have acne everywhere. My skin is breaking and thinning. You can see each vein. I am hardly desirable now nor would I be if I didn't take the medication."

Grantaire's eyes turned wide.
"Medication caused this?"

Enjolras nodded defeated and sunk down on the floor infront of Grantaire. The few steps towards the bed with his heavy body didn't seem possible.

"Cortisone, yes. Not that the alternative would be any better."

Grantaire took a deep breath.
"What is the alternative?"

Enjolras put his head in his hands. Now was the hour of honesty. He just hoped that Grantaire didn't tell the others, it was enough that he would be utterly disgusted by him.

"I told you, I have ulcerative colitis."

Grantaire nodded. "Joly and Courfeyrac said it is an autoimmune-disease? That it caused stomach pain, vomiting and bloody diarrhea?"

Enjolras janked his head up so fast that he nearly got whiplash.

"You know?", he asked breathlessly. That was so unexpected he had to resist the temptation to pinch himself.

"Of course. When we first got together I basically pestered Joly to tell me everything about your diagnosises so I could be there for you when you needed me."

Enjolras swallowed hard.

"Why did you stay with me then?", he whispered.

"What?"

"The whole thing is so disgusting. I mean, aren't you disgusted?"

"No, should I be?" Grantaire sounded genuily confused.

"I literally cannot control my bowels. I've had accidents before. This surely isn't a desirable trait for a boyfriend. I thought ... I thought you would be disgusted. So I wanted to spare you having to say so."

When he didn't get an answer from Grantaire he looked up at him, tears swimming in his eyes.

"You broke up with me because you thought I would be disgusted by that?" Grantaire asked with a hard voice.

Enjolras sunk into himself and nodded. He rested his head on his knees.

For a long moment it was silent, the only sound in the room their heavy breathing. Then tenative fingers touched Enjolras' chin and lifted his head to look into Grantaire's eyes, the man kneeling infront of him.

"You stupid, stupid, stupid man", Grantaire whispered. "I am not disgusted by you, Apollo. I love you. Even with this illness, alright? I don't care about that. I want you to be well and I would never be disgusted by you."

Enjolras' throat felt tight. He hadn't been this close to another person who wasn't his aunt in so long. He had missed the evenings strechted across the couch, Courfeyrac's head in either his or Combeferre's lap, the days in the Musain when Jehan just hugged everyone because they felt like it, the casual touches on his shoulder by Feuilly and the warm hugs by Musichetta. But most of all he had missed touching Grantaire, the feel of his skin on his own. With difficulty he pulled away.

"Look at me, Grantaire", he said, begging as if he wanted his ex-boyfriend to reconsider, "I am ... ugly like this. I'm not somebody anyone would like to be seen with. People always stare at me whenever I am outside. Do you really want to be seen with me?"

"Yes", Grantaire replied, "yes, I do. It's not your fault, baby, that you have to go through this. I admit, at first I was attracted to your body, but there is so much more to you than good looks, hm? You are the most loving person I know, you care so much about your friends. You care about everything, about the children in foster homes, to the animals in shelters, to the refugees and every human on earth. Except politicans, naturally. And billionars. You believe in a better world and you have the courage to change it, eventhough you have to work harder than most people would endure to do so. You don't give up when challenges come. And I love your little quirks, how you don't function without coffee in the morning, how you always have that little smile on your face when you watch our friends, how you can cling to Combeferre when you are tired and basically look like a dwarf compared to him, how you sometimes have to wear your reading glasses and how annoyed you are when they slide down your nose. But I think the thing I love most about you, is in the morning when you are bleary-eyed in bed, with your hair tangled in knots, wearing my clothes and demand cuddles because you are cold and don't want to get up."

The tears were now falling down Enjolras' cheeks freely and without really realizing what he was doing, he tipped forwards into Grantaire's waiting arms. Sobs were breaking from his chest and tears and snot quickly stained Grantaire's hoodie.

For a moment Grantaire just rocked him in his arms, but then he pulled a bit away and cupped Enjolras cheek, wiping away a stray tear.

"May I?", he whispered. Enjolras nodded.

With a bright smile Grantaire leaned forward and kissed him deeply.

They sat tangled together on the floor for a long time, neither of them able to tell how long it was. They were so lost in each other that it truly didn't matter.

"How can I face the others?", Enjolras finally asked. He had his eyes closed and rested his head on Grantaire's chest, comforting himself in hearing his boyfriends heartbeat. Grantaire was leaning against Enjolras' bed.

"We'll figure everything out tomorrow, okay?", Grantaire whispered and carded his hand through Enjolras' hair.

"Together?"
"Together, I promise."

With that Enjolras fell asleep, completely exhausted by the days events. When Anne went to check in on them shortly before dinner, both of them were asleep. She smiled and closed the door, leaving them in peace.

The next morning saw them with various pains from sleeping on the floor, but they couldn't have been happier.

"I think we should tell Combeferre and Courfeyrac", Grantaire said, during breakfast. Enjolras who had been preoccupied with trying not to eat as much as he felt like he could, snapped his head up to look at him.
"I guess so", he agreed.
"You don't sound sure?", Grantaire asked gently.
"No, I just... they have their own problems. I feel like I put all of my problems on them and that's just not fair."
"We'll they are your friends. You know they want to help you and be there for you when you need them. Besides, don't you think they'll be happy?"
"Oh, they will be."

So after clearing the table they sat down on the couch and Enjolras dialed Courfeyrac's number. He knew the other man was on semester break as well, but he wasn't sure if Combeferre was working. So it would be easier to call Courfeyrac.
Then other man answered the phone after the first ring.

"Hey, Jojo! Long time not heard." Damn, if that didn't hurt.
"Hey, 'Fey", Enjolras started slowly. "Is 'Ferre at home too?"
"Yeah, hold on." He called Combeferre's name loudly, causing Enjolras to nearly drop the phone due to the increased volume.
"You're on speaker", Courfeyrac said the moment Combeferre greeted him.
"Hey 'Ferre", Enjolras said weakly.
"What's up? Everything alright?", Combeferre questioned.
Enjolras hesitated for a moment, not knowing how to say what he wanted to say. Grantaire elbowed him in the side.
"Ow, R, really?", Enjolras exclaimed, rubbing his aching ribs.
"Wait? Did you just say Grantaire is with you?", Courfeyrac asked exitedly.
"Hey guys", Grantaire greeted smugly.
"Are you back together again?", Combeferre asked, sounding happy.
"Yes, we are", Enjolras confirmed, finally finding his voice.
Combeferre and Courfeyrac cheered loudly over the phone.

"Are you coming back to Paris then?", Combeferre asked a few minutes later.
Grantaire looked expectantly at Enjolras who shrunk a bit under the gaze.
"To the beginning of the semester, I think" Enjolras finally said, "I don't really feel comfortable being seen like this."
Grantaire gently kissed his cheeks. "It doesn't matter. We'll be with you every step of the way." When Combeferre and Courfeyrac agreed enthusiastically, Enjolras felt like he could breath for the first time in a long while.

That night Enjolras reluctantly stepped into the shower, hesitant to look into the full-body mirror in the bathroom. The lock to the door had been broken since Enjolras was born, so he had just closed it. Shortly before he went to step into the shower a knock sounded on the door.
"Apollo? May I come in?" Enjolras smiled at the nickname. Grantaire hadn't called him anything else since their talk last night and it did feel good. Then the words registered and he called out a panicked "No!".
"Sweetheart, there isn't anything I haven't seen yet", Grantaire reasoned. Enjolras swallowed. There definitely was now. All day he had worn long clothing, it was winter after all, so Grantaire hadn't been able to see the stretch marks on his body.
The door cracked open a bit and Grantaire slipped inside before he could say anything.
For a moment they stared at each other, till Enjolras turned away ashamed.
"Is that another side-effect?", Grantaire asked gently and from a lot closer than before. Enjolras bit his lip and nodded.
Calloused fingers touched his arm and ran down the pattern, causing Enjolras breath to shutter.
"It looks beautiful", Grantaire said mesmerized.
"What?", Enjolras asked breathlessly.
"It's like tiger strips, isn't it? Or like lightening."
"Do you really think so?"
"I do." Grantaire smiled and gently trailed kisses down Enjolras' arm, making sure to press his lips against each line.
Enjolras stared open-mouthed at him. When he was done with that side, Grantaire looked up at him.
"I can go on all day. But maybe we should shower first." With that he quickly stripped off his own clothes and threw them on a pile on the floor.

Grantaire stayed with him for a week, but he had to get back since he had some paintings he still had to finish for his voluntary art classes. Enjolras went to see Amalie again and was prescribed diuretics and some dietary supplements, which he gladly took. The diuretic finally sucked some of the water out of his body, which improved his self-esteem quite a lot, though now he had muscle cramps a lot, which the magnesium was to help. The first weeks were hard, but he was finally in a mentally stable place to be able to take care of his body again.

Grantaire came to visit a lot, as did Combeferre and Courfeyrac. Still Enjolras didn't feel like being seen by the others, eventhough they begged to visit him. Grantaire had explained to them what happened and their anger mostly dissipated. Bahorel, Éponine and Jehan, who had taken the brunt of checking in on Grantaire after the break-up took a bit longer than the rest, but one evening Jehan called Enjolras telling him about their new poem and apologized for their harsh treatment, while Bahorel told him about the homophobe he had beaten up. Éponine never talked with him, but sent him a picture Gavroche had drawn for him when they told him he was sick. It was much more than Enjolras had ever expected from them and he was grateful.
The next day Grantaire posted a meme in their groupchat and with that it was active again.

Before their first skype call Enjolras nearly had a panic attack, but with Grantaire on one side and Courfeyrac on the other he was able to face the rest of them, knowing Combeferre would be with the others to reign them in if need be. He never had needed to worry. Joly's, Bossuet's and Musichettas's TV had apparently been converted into a screen for the call, while Joly's and Bossuet's laptops were used as cameras, one of them on mute to stop feedback. The first few ten minutes were awkward but they soon fell into their normal rythm again, laughing loudly and talking about everything. Nobody made a comment about his body, expect for Joly who asked about his medication. Enjolras found he didn't mind, he even had to bite back a grin as Bossuet elbowed Joly harshly and fell of the couch when he tried to escape Joly's revenge.
From then on weekly skype calls were implemented each day that they normally had a meeting on.

Shortly before the classes for the next semester were to be chosen Enjolras received the notification that he had failed the law exam in december. With a shrug (Combeferre would be awfully proud when he told him) he just signed up to take it the next semester again. After all he had three tries and this one would work. There was no reason for it not to.

He knew there was a lot he still had to work on with his therapist, whom he had started talking to again soon after Grantaire had visited the first time: his relationship to Combeferre's and Courfeyrac's relationship, his hesitation to tell anyone when he was unwell, his self-esteem in the face of illness. Yet there was time for these things.

End of February Enjolras wasn't completely fine. He still took quite a bit of cortisone and the effects were still visible (the stretch marks were probably never going to go away but that was a problem for summer). Despite everything he chose to go back to Paris to continue with his degree, knowing he had twelve friends who would be by his side.