Work Text:
„We need better schedules“, Enjolras announced, as he looked over the papers hanging on the bulletin board. „Definitely“, Combeferre replied and the rest of the room nodded.
Enjolras sighed as he studied his friends. They had agreed to sell merch at the Marche des Fiertés LGBT at the beginning of the year. Now they all mildly regretted it, when they realized that some of them would miss the march, as they would have to stay at the sales stand. The timetable he had designed was very full at the top and at the bottom, nobody had problems with selling stuff before and after the march. But the middle was suspiciously empty of signatures, nobody was willing to miss the marche.
“I think we should draw lots”, Courfeyrac said, resigned. He had looked forward to pride, he didn’t want to miss it at all.
“That’s not a bad idea”, Enjolras agreed.
“I think we should exclude Joly, Boss and ‘Chetta from the lots”, Jehan said, “they missed it last year.”
A chorus of agreement sounded. Joly had been having a bad pain day last pride and unable to get out of bed. Consequently he, Musichetta and Bossuet had missed the march, which Joly had felt terrible about. All of them had looked forwards to it, especially since it would have been Musichetta’s first pride.
So Courfeyrac wrote all of their names on different small pieces of paper and threw them into Grantaire’s beanie. He was interrupted by Éponine’s and Cosette’s arrival.
“What’s up, losers?”, Éponine asked as she shrugged out of her coat.
Combeferre quickly explained the situation, which caused Cosette to laugh hysterically.
“What’s so funny?”, Enjolras asked, a bit miffed.
“You are all idiots”, Cosette announced, “you do realize that you have some straight cis friends? I know, it seems far-fetched, but Marius, Éponine and I can sell the merch while you have fun.”
Before anyone could answer her, Enjolras’ phone started to ring loudly. He frowned, not sure who would call him, since nearly all the possible people were in the same room as him. He pulled it out of his pocket and stared shocked at the screen, which read ‘Julien-Marie Enjolras’. He was aware that he must have made a sound, as Combeferre tried to peer at the screen and gently called his name.
“Sorry, I got to take this”, Enjolras got out and stumbled out of the door.
He had never been this confused before (only in maths class maybe). Why on earth would his père call him? They hadn’t been in contact for five years now, since his père had thrown him out of his house for being gay. They hadn’t gotten along since Enjolras’ maman had died and his père’s views got more and more radical and right-wing over time. Therefore Enjolras had spend most of his childhood with his tante. She was more of a parent to him that he had ever been.
Belatedly Enjolras realized he should probably take the call, though he was hesitant. The last phone call he had received from the man had been his drunk père calling him to tell him how much of a disappointment he was. He still remembered being seventeen and sitting on the sofa sobbing his heart out in his tante’s arms. Courfeyrac had to physically restrain Combeferre so he wouldn’t go to Enjolras Sr. and punch him, though Courfeyrac had wished for nothing more than doing the same thing. After that he hadn’t talked with his père for half a decade. There had to be a reason he called now and Enjolras had a bad feeling about it.
“This is Julien speaking”, he said emotionlessly. It would probably be weird to call himself by their shared last name, which was the only thing he hated about it.
“I thought you would never pick up”, his père said, without a greeting, “it’s rude to let people, especially your père, wait that long.”
“I was busy”, Enjolras snapped back. There were so many other different things he wanted to say to him, but he bit his tongue to stop himself. If his père called with a purpose it wouldn’t help to piss him off. Also he was having a great day, he wouldn’t let his père ruin it. “What do you want?”
“Nobody else was available to tell you, apparently” his père replied, “so it falls to me. I would have it another way too.”
“Just tell me”, Enjolras bit out, leaning against the wall and running his hand through his hair. What would his père tell him that his tante couldn’t? There must be one hell of a reason.
“Anne had a stroke”, his père said.
It was like he had been punched in the stomach. Enjolras couldn’t quite suppress a gasp. “Is she alright?”
“Don’t interrupt me. Her colleagues found her in the house this morning when she didn’t come to work. Annette was already dead when the ambulance arrived.”
“Oh God”, Enjolras whispered, the phone falling from his hands. His breathing was speeding up and a feeling of dread spread all over his body. Thoughts were racing through his mind and he was unable to stop them from spiralling.
His tante, the person who had always been there for him when he had grown up, was supposed to be dead? He couldn’t imagine a life without her. Logically he knew that she would have had to die someday, but so soon? He wasn’t even 25 years old, he hadn’t graduated college, he didn’t have a job, he didn’t have other family now but his père and distant grandparents in Germany. He was alone. Fear like an iron fist squeezed at his heart and he clutched at his chest.
Fuck, Anne had only been in her early fifties, it wasn’t fair. Not fair at all. They had had so many plans for the future, things they wanted to do. Death seemed so far-fetched. He had just spoken with her yesterday, where they had planned the short vacation they wanted to do over the summer. She had been so full of life, looking forward to spending time at the coast. She had been telling him about her plans for the week, about her work. They had discussed her coming to Paris for the Marche, for God’s sake. Now she was supposed to be no more?
Yet he knew that his père wouldn’t bother to call him if it wasn’t the truth.
Pain was stabbing his chest and he realized he wasn’t breathing. He heaved in a deep breath, still pressed against the wall next to the door leading to their meeting room. He buried his face in his hands, nearly doubling over completely.
He couldn’t do this. He couldn’t face life without her by his side. He was barely an adult. He didn’t know how to do grown up shit.
Enjolras had never felt this numb, this overwhelmed before, but at the same time stuck in the moment.
‘Anne was already dead’ played over and over in his head. How was he to go on without her?
He balled his hands into fists, then shook himself and picked up his phone. The screen was slightly cracked, and the call was ended, apparently by his père. He put it in his pocket and tried to steady his still erratic and uneven breathing.
What now? He couldn’t just go home and bury himself under a blanket and hope he would wake from this nightmare. He had friends who relied on him to lead the meeting. He was supposed to be there. They were happy and looking forward to pride. He couldn’t break down in front of them, they deserved to have a carefree day. He was supposed to help them plan. He was supposed to do a lot of things. Enjolras didn’t know what else to do, so he took another deep breath and nonchalantly, as if his entire world hadn’t been broken just now, walked back into the basement room.
The meeting, it seemed, had gone on without him with Combeferre having taken charge when Enjolras hadn’t come back after a few minutes. His best friend threw him a confused and worried glance, which Enjolras answered with a slight shake of his head. Don’t cry, don’t break down. He walked up to the front and threw himself back into the discussion. For now he could pretend that nothing had happened. Don’t cry, don’t break down. Anne was already dead. Don’t cry, don’t break down.
Enjolras revelled in the normality of it all. It was like an anchor he clung to. He knew how to do this, how to plan stuff. Don’t cry, don’t break down. He kept mostly silent (Anne was already dead), only when asked for his opinion directly he gave it. Don’t cry, don’t break down. Deep breath.
Enjolras didn’t really notice what happened, like there was an invisible wall separating him from his friends. Don’t cry, don’t break down. Deep breath. Check, one less thing to do. It was indeed decided that Marius, Éponine and Cosette would woman (Éponine insisted on the female version of the word) the sales stand during the march, the rest of them taking shifts before or after. Don’t cry, don’t break down.
At the end of the meeting, when they had finally decided on which merch they wanted to sell and they had painstakingly ticked off the various items they wanted, Bahorel came over to the front with a few papers. Anne was already dead.
“I got the contracts from the companies we will get the merch from”, the tall, dark man said and showed them to Enjolras and Combeferre. “I only need a signature here from you, chief.”
Enjolras nodded and grabbed the pen from Bahorel. Anne was already dead. He looked over the list, trying to remember what they had agreed on, but something seemed familiar. Then as he tried to sign the papers, the pen fell from his trembling fingers and ink smeared all over the table. Enjolras could only stare at the ruined contract. Anne was already dead.
“Jojo? Are you alright?”, Combeferre asked in concern, “your hands are shaking.”
Without realising what was about to happen, Enjolras’ mind decided that apparently now was the moment his defences would resolve and without warning he started sobbing into his hands. Anne was already dead.
“Hey, hey”, Combeferre shushed, confused, “it’s alright.” He moved a hand to Enjolras’ shaking shoulder, rubbing his thumb up and down. He glanced around for some sign that somebody else knew what was going on. Surely Enjolras wasn’t crying about the destroyed paper.
“Sure, chief, I can reprint the contracts no problem”, Bahorel added looking as puzzled as Combeferre felt.
Enjolras just shook his head wildly.
Soothing hands appeared on his shoulders, and he was pulled into a hug. “Hey, Apollo”, Grantaire’s soft voice whispered into his ear. “What’s going on with you, huh?”
“’Taire”, Enjolras whimpered into his boyfriend’s shirt, not caring that he was soaking it in tears and snot. “Love, what happened?”, Grantaire asked again, gently rocking both of them from side to side.
“My père called”, Enjolras managed to whisper and was rewarded with soft kisses on the head. Warm hands rubbed his back – Combeferre, his mind supplied. But when Enjolras tried to explain further, his voice cracked and he winced against the pain in his throat.
The med student stared helplessly at his best friend sobbing into his boyfriend’s chest. He had no idea why Monsieur Enjolras would call his son out of a sudden. Combeferre held a high distain for the man, there were only a few things he hated more than the man. He had watched how it had broken Enjolras to be rejected and rejected again. He remembered those three days when Enjolras had been sixteen, where he had been missing and his father hadn’t cared at all. He remembered Anne’s call when her nephew had been found by the police, sick from the cold outdoors and homeless due to a heartless, homophobic father. He remembered the broken look in Enjolras’ eyes when he insisted and insisted again that it was no abuse, he wasn’t hurt by his maker, while it had been so clear for everyone else that Monsieur Enjolras was an at least verbally-abusive père. He absently continued rubbing Enjolras’ back and turned to the rest of les amis with a frown.
All of them were staring at the display at the front of the room, except for Courfeyrac who was talking in rapid Spanish on his phone in a corner. Enjolras’ breakdown had come as a shock to all of them – after all had just been having fun and happily planning the event of the year and now their sort-of-leader was crying his heart out.
At Combeferre’s helpless glance Joly, Musichetta and Jehan, bless them, tried to get the others to focus on other tasks, to give Enjolras some idea of privacy, but even they looked back at them in worry.
“Oh, fuck, I think he already knows. I need to go”, suddenly came Courfeyrac’s shrill voice, having switched to his more natural mental setting of French. Combeferre could instantly pick up the fear and suppressed tears in his boyfriend’s voice, his mind racing to find out what could have made him react the way he did. It probably stood in close relation to what was going on with their best friend.
“’Fey, do you know what happened?”, Combeferre asked, looking up at Courfeyrac, who was wiping at his damp eyes, phone still in his hand and walking towards them. He came to a halt next to Combeferre who reached out a calming hand to lay on his arm.
A few beats of silence, then Courfeyrac whispered: “That was my mamá. She said that… she said … Anne had a stroke yesterday evening or sometime tonight. She ... she didn’t ... she ...”
“Oh, God”, Combeferre breathed out, completely taken by surprise. He had expected a lot that could have happened, but not this, never this. No wonder Enjolras was a wreck. Said man whimpered into Grantaire’s chest and Combeferre could see how tense his back muscles were, strained with sobs.
“Oh, love”, Grantaire whispered and held Enjolras even tighter, as the blond sobbed harder against his chest. Combeferre and him exchanged a glance above Enjolras’ head and Grantaire gave a half-nod to the door. Combeferre nodded grimly.
“Jojo?”, he asked gently and put his hand back on Enjolras’ shoulder. “Let’s get you home, okay?” Enjolras nodded and Grantaire tightened his hold.
Together they moved out of the Musain, leaving their stuff there as they knew the others would gladly take care of the clean-up. Combeferre and Grantaire held up Enjolras, who was unsteadily stumbling alongside them, vision blurred by relentless tears. Courfeyrac was walking beside Combeferre, feverishly texting back and forth with his mamá.
The rest of les Amis stayed behind, worried for their friend, but knowing he wouldn’t appreciate an audience right now.
Once home, Grantaire deposited Enjolras on the couch, letting him curl up against his chest. Courfeyrac vanished into the kitchen to get something to drink, while Combeferre got the weighted blanket from Enjolras’ bed. Together the four of them curled up on the couch, with Enjolras held in the middle, his legs thrown over Combeferre’s and Courfeyrac’s laps, still held in Grantaire’s arms. The artist ran his fingers through Enjolras’ hair and kissed his hair gently. Tears were continuing to leak out of Enjolras’ eyes, dripping down his cheeks, but the painful sobs had ceased. He was just staring blankly ahead; it was clear he wasn’t seeing anything.
“Drink something”, Courfeyrac finally broke the silence and leaned over the grab the glass of water from the table. He leaned over Combeferre to tip it against Enjolras’ lips, when said man made no move to grab it. Gradually Enjolras took a few sips. Satisfied that the danger of dehydration was fended off Courfeyrac placed the glass back on the table.
“I ... I was talking to my mamá. She said we’re all invited to stay at our house, if you want to drive down now”, Courfeyrac offered hesitantly, not sure if this was the right time.
Enjolras flickered his eyes towards him for a moment, but then returned to staring at the wall.
“I don’t know if I want to go”, he whispered finally. “I don’t... I can’t...”
“That’s fine”, Grantaire interjected and kissed Enjolras’ hair again. Combeferre nodded. “We’ll do whatever you feel like doing. And if it’s just sitting here all night, that’s fine.”
Courfeyrac nodded and grabbed Enjolras’ hand. “Anything for you, cariño.”
“Thanks”, Enjolras whispered hoarsely, but kept quiet after that. So they stayed cuddled together on the couch for some time, all lost in their thoughts.
Some time later, none of them knew how long, but the sun had set while they had stayed in silence, Courfeyrac’s phone started ringing – Crazy Rolling. With a small smile he extracted himself from the cuddle pile and walked to his room, so he could talk without disturbing the others.
“Hey”, he greeted Jehan.
“Hey, ‘Fey. Is this a bad time?”, they asked worriedly. Courfeyrac could picture them biting the inside of their cheek nervously, as they always did when overwhelmed and nervous.
“Depends on what you need”, Courfeyrac replied but knowing where the conversation was most likely headed. He was proven right of course.
“How’s Enjolras?”, Jehan asked after a few seconds.
Courfeyrac sighed and rubbed his temple. “He’s not doing well, still mostly unresponsive.”
“Oh, the poor guy”, Jehan mumbled.
“Hey, Jehan, let me?” Courfeyrac could hear Cosette ask, and the phone was passed along.
“Hello, ‘Sette”, he said.
“’Fey, hi. I don’t know if this is a good idea, but, uhm, we’re all really worried about Enjolras and we want to help him. Do you think we might be able to come over with some food? Maybe just watch a movie together or something? Enjolras doesn’t need to do anything, we just want to keep him company, if he is up to it. If not, it’s fine of course.”
“Uh, I’ll ask him, give me a moment”, Courfeyrac replied and walked back to the living room. Honestly, he wasn’t sure if this was a good idea. On one hand, Enjolras was an incredibly private person, but on the other he loved his friends dearly and liked spending time with them above anything else.
“Jojo?”, he asked and rounded the couch to kneel down in front of his best friend. “Do you feel up to some company by the others? No pressure, just food and maybe a movie? If not, that’s fine.”
Enjolras bit his lip, clearly overwhelmed with the choice. He looked terrible, now that Courfeyrac could see him fully – he was incredibly pale, his face splotchy with dried tears and his lip shredded by repeated biting. The most unnerving was the blank look on that always so expressive face though. He had long learned how to read his best friend like a book but right now it was like he was seeing a stranger wearing the familiar face.
Courfeyrac looked helplessly at the other two, when Enjolras kept silent. Grantaire was wearing an extremely worried and sad expression, he had liked Anne a lot and been close with her in shared worry and fondness of the blond social work student. Combeferre, just looked dreadfully tired and his eyes were bloodshot but if it was from suppressed tears, exhaustion or both Courfeyrac could only guess. His boyfriend had seen Anne as a second mother and if it hadn’t hit now grief would overcome him too soon enough. For now Combeferre gently squeezed Enjolras’ hand and whispered: “They won’t be offended if you say no. Just do what feels right.”
Enjolras looked up at him – a hint of determination and finally a hint of Enjolras - and then he reluctantly nodded. Courfeyrac smiled encouragingly and got up from his position on the ground.
“It’s fine, ‘Sette, see you soon.”
He ended the call.
“Are you okay like this?”, he asked, “If so, I’ll get some stuff ready.”
Combeferre and Grantaire nodded. When Enjolras didn’t react, Courfeyrac took it as a yes and went to Enjolras’ room, where they stored the air mattresses and the spare pillows. He quickly inflated the mattresses and brought them and the pillows to the living room, where the others had pulled out the couch. Quickly Courfeyrac brought out their bed covers and other blankets, so they could create a nest in the living room.
Lastly he went to the bathroom and got a damp towel. He handed it to Grantaire, who gently wiped Enjolras’ face, which must be feeling itchy and uncomfortable from the residual salt from his dried tears.
Then the doorbell rang, and their friends spilled into the apartment. The atmosphere was more subdued than Courfeyrac had ever witnessed it, but still Enjolras gave a tiny smile. It was enough.
Within a few minutes they all had settled down, with Enjolras still sandwiched between Grantaire and Combeferre, but with Jehan sitting next to Combeferre and Bahorel next to Grantaire. Joly sat on the armchair, with Musichetta and Bossuet curled up on the mattress below him. Cosette and Marius were cuddling on the other, Éponine staying close to them. Feuilly was still handing out slices of pizza to them and for once Combeferre didn’t protest the danger of grease dripping everywhere.
“Hey, Jojo, we got you that weird vegan spaghetti pizza you like”, Feuilly offered and tried to hand it to Enjolras, who shook his head, looking close to tears again. “I’m not hungry”, he mumbled and swallowed. Combeferre, who normally would have protested that he needed to eat, gave him a tight smile. “That’s okay. If you feel up to it later, just say something”, he added. Enjolras nodded.
“Chief?”, Bahorel then asked tentatively, obviously uncomfortable with the situation. “Do you have a movie you would like to watch?”
Enjolras shook his head. “I don’t care.”
Grantaire leaned forward to look at him. “Do you want something familiar? Hamilton, maybe?”
Enjolras shook his head. “I don’t think I could stand ‘It’s quiet uptown’ right now and I don’t want to build a negative connection with …” He bit his lip again, unwilling to finish his sentence. The others nodded in understanding and after a short brainstorm they put on “The Lord of the Rings: The Return of the King”, because a little bit of hope and light wouldn’t hurt.
Courfeyrac sat down where Enjolras’ legs would have been, if they weren’t still in Combeferre’s lap. He let his head rest against Enjolras’ thigh, trying his best to be a comforting pressure.
Enjolras felt incredibly numb. It was like a blanket had been thrown over his head, blocking him from the rest of the world. His mind seemed disconnected from his body, technically he knew where he was, that his friends were there, there was a movie playing, Courfeyrac’s head was resting on his leg, Combeferre was holding his hand, his back was leaning against Grantaire who was playing with his hair and his elbow was digging uncomfortably into his side. But he couldn’t make sense of any of it. He was surrounded by friends, but he had never felt so alone.
Anne had been his lighthouse ever since his maman had … died. She had been there for him when his father wasn’t able to. It had been her, holding him in her arms each night when he woke up screaming from nightmares bathed in blood. She had been the one to understand that he couldn’t talk and helped him learn to sign, even paying some of the fees for Courfeyrac’s and Combeferre’s LSF classes. When his father had disowned him she had welcomed him with open arms, letting him cry into her shoulder when he had felt so abandoned and betrayed. Now she was supposed to be no more. Dead, having died alone in her house nearly 400 kilometres away.
He swallowed hard against the lump in his throat, that was threatening to choke him. Just as the Rohirrim charged into battle at Pelennor Fields, Enjolras gasped out: “Bathroom”, and stumbled there before anybody could react. He locked the door behind himself, not able to deal with anybody right now. Tears were gathering in his eyes again and he could feel breathing getting difficult, like he was having an anxiety attack. He sunk down against the shower wall, pressing his head against his knees and tried not to suffocate.
“Jojo?”, the worried voice of Combeferre came through the door. “Are you alright? Can you let me in?” Enjolras shook his head wildly, though he knew it was useless unless Combeferre had suddenly gained the ability to look through shut doors. “I need to be alone”, he wheezed out, hoping it was loud enough for Combeferre to hear and that his best friend could take a hint.
“Enjolras?”, Combeferre called again and knocked against the door. Obviously Enjolras hadn’t been loud enough. He shuddered and tried to take a deep breath in. Then, with a body that felt like lead, he crawled towards the door and leaned his back against it. “Leave me alone. Leave me alone. Leave me alone”, he whispered, unable to make his voice louder. “Enjolras? Please open the door!”
Footsteps sounded outside of the door and Enjolras was aware that there was a conversation happening.
“Apollo?”, Grantaire tried, “will you let us in? We’re very worried.” “Please, leave me alone”, Enjolras called out, using the last of his strength. A loud sigh was heard and then maybe the sound of somebody leaning against the door on the other side?
“If you’re sure?”, Grantaire said, voice wavering, “call or … you’ve got your phone, right? … text us if you need something.” Enjolras didn’t reply. After a short moment, their footsteps retreated.
Enjolras curled into himself and tried to breathe. Unbidden memories flashed through his mind.
“Julien? Darling?”, Anne called and knocked lightly on the door to his room. Julien jerked at the sound of his given name. He hated it. He knew his maman hadn’t wanted that name for him, but his father had insisted on having a Julien-Marie Enjolras Jr. But now the sound of that name filled him with dread. He couldn’t help but associate it with the hateful tone his father had adopted when speaking to him. ‘Julien, you’re a disappointment’. ‘Julien, you bring shame to the family name.’ ‘Julien, I didn’t raise a faggot.’ ‘Julien, if only you hadn’t been born, then my wife would still be alive.’
“Darling?”, Anne called again, “I just have some food for you and some medicine. You don’t have to let me in, but I want to help you.”
Julien hesitated. He hadn’t eaten for days, not since his père had beaten him and thrown him out of the house. His head throbbed as did his wrist. He hadn’t really spoken to another person since then, staying hidden behind some dumpsters in some alley, ignoring everything around him. Well, till he had been found by some friendly police officers, who had gently but forcefully brought him to the station and then after long questioning released him into his tante’s care.
Reluctantly he shuffled across the room and opened his door to see not only his tante, but Étienne and Réne as well, both of whom gasped when they saw him.
“Don’t call me like him”, he whispered brokenly, “find another name or call me Enjolras, at least I share this name with maman too.”
“Alright, Enjolras”, Anne said with a smile, “are you hungry?”
Enjolras barely managed to get to his feet so he could throw up into one of the sinks instead of on the floor. He retched and gagged until his stomach felt as empty as his heart. After taking a few moments to gather himself he started to run the water to wash away the sick and then splashed some of the cold water on his face. He dried his face with a towel and with trembling hands opened the door to walk back to the living room. Suddenly being alone felt like the scariest thing in the world.
When he came through the doorway all heads nearly simultaneously turned to stare at him. He looked down to his feet so he didn’t accidentally catch anybody’s eye.
A pair of feet entered his line of vision and then Grantaire gently tilted his head up, so he was looking into his boyfriend’s worried eyes. “Are you alright?”
“I, uh, I threw up”, Enjolras mumbled, not sure why he was sharing that piece of information. If he wasn’t so tired, he would probably feel embarrassed.
“That’s alright, love. Do you feel better now?”, Grantaire asked and cupped his cheek. Enjolras shook his head.
“Come, sit down then.” Grantaire took his hand and lead him to the couch, where Combeferre opened his arms. Enjolras fell into his embrace, curled up on Combeferre’s lap and buried his face in his shoulder, holding onto Grantaire’s hand.
“Do you still feel nauseous?”, Combeferre asked. Enjolras stiffened for a moment, but then took stock of his body. He didn’t feel sick per se, but there was a heavy weight in his stomach, like a stone had taken residence up there. So he shook his head but regretted the action as soon as Combeferre answered: “You need to eat something then, you should take your medication anyways.” Enjolras shook his head again. He didn’t think he could get anything down.
“Later”, Combeferre allowed. They all sat quietly, huddled in pairs of two or threes, taking comfort in their friendship.
Finally the heavy silence was broken when Marius yawned. Éponine elbowed him in the ribs, but Cosette got up and said softly: “We should probably head home, unless you want us to stay the night, Enjolras?”
“No, it’s fine. Please, go. All of you”, Enjolras whispered, “I’ll be fine.”
The lethargy that had settled over the group gave way to a hectic buzz as everybody tried to find their belongings and take the pizza cartoons downstairs to the dumpster. Slowly, one after another, the friends hugged each other goodbye, all of them holding Enjolras closely and whispering comforting words into his ear. Then the four of them were alone (because there was no way in hell Grantaire would leave Enjolras now to go home).
“Come on, let’s get you fed and then ready for bed. ‘Ferre, you’ll get everything ready?”, Courfeyrac said and took Enjolras’ hand to lead him to the kitchen before Combeferre had a chance to answer. Grantaire sat down on the kitchen isle and spread his legs, so that Enjolras could lean against him. Courfeyrac turned to the fridge and pulled it open.
“We’ve got … uh, let’s see. Over there we have some bananas. I could also get you some cereal? Oh, wait, no. I found your favourite chocolate pudding.” Triumphantly he held it out to show it to them.
“Anne, I don’t want to eat”, ten year old Julien whined and clutched at his aching tummy, “I still feel sick.”
“I know, sweetie, but you’ve been throwing up all night and you need to eat something to get your tummy working again, okay?”, she soothed. He had woken her rather unceremoniously hours before, telling her he had vomited onto his bed. Ever since she had stayed with him in her room, holding the bucket when he got sick and wiping away his tears. Now they were in the kitchen after he had broken the once every half-hour pattern by over an hour.
“My tummy is working fine, just in the wrong direction”, Julien pouted and Anne gave a surprised laugh at the statement.
“Please, I don’t wanna throw up anymore”, he whimpered then and blinked up at her through teary eyes. She gave him a sad smile and leaned down to kiss his forehead.
“We can try some chocolate pudding, hm?”, she coaxed and reluctantly he nodded. His tante got a cup of the pudding and a spoon, and then lifted him onto her lap. “Try it, you’ll feel better.”
Enjolras stared at the familiar packaging and suddenly he was sobbing again. He was vaguely aware that Courfeyrac was cursing, but he could only concentrate on how much he wanted his tante to make everything better.
Hours later, Enjolras went to sleep on an air mattress in the living room, curled up between Grantaire and Combeferre, with Courfeyrac half on top of his boyfriend to rest a hand on Enjolras’ side. None of his friends found the strength to force him to eat after his breakdown.
Enjolras woke to the sun shining in his face and he groaned. Then he tried to turn to block of the light but found himself pinned between two bodies. This didn’t feel right. Doing just the opposite of what his tired mind wanted he blinked open his eyes.
He was staring directly into Combeferre’s face, who was still fast asleep and, gross, drooling a bit. This really didn’t feel right. He carefully turned and found himself staring into Grantaire’s eyes. His boyfriend looked tired, the bags under his eyes nearly looking like he had been punched and his eyes were bloodshot.
“What happened to you?”, Enjolras asked dumbly.
Grantaire frowned at him. “Morning, Jojo, how do you feel?”
“I, uh, why are we asleep on the … living room floor?”, Enjolras answered the question Grantaire had answered with a question with another question.
“What do you remember?”, Grantaire answered the question with … this was too confusing for early morning Enjolras’ brain.
“We … uh. There was a movie night …?”, Enjolras started, but his memory came back so quickly that it felt like whiplash. Anne was dead. “Oh, God”, he whispered.
“I’m sorry, Jojo”, Grantaire whispered back and kissed Enjolras’ nose.
Enjolras swallowed and tried to lean closer to his boyfriend, but kicking Courfeyrac’s shin accidentally. Who in turn accidentally kneed Combeferre into a very unfortunate place. With a muffled yelp, both woke up. Combeferre curled into himself in pain, causing Courfeyrac to fall off of him.
“Shit, sorry”, Courfeyrac squeaked when he had gathered himself, “you okay?”
“Yeah”, Combeferre moaned, clutching the hurting body part with both hands.
Enjolras couldn’t help it and he truly didn’t feel like laughing, but laugh he did. Grantaire snorted and began to laugh as well, Courfeyrac following suit.
“I think I’ve never seen a funnier wake up ever and I’ve literally dumped a bucket of ice on Bossuet once”, Grantaire giggled.
“Yes, sure, make fun of my pain”, Combeferre replied in half-mocking betrayal. But then he joined into their laughter.
Then Enjolras turned serious again. He couldn’t believe he was laughing and joking with his friends, when his tante never would have the opportunity to hear the story of their shenanigans again. He felt disgusted with himself.
“Okay?”, Courfeyrac asked. Enjolras shrugged. Then he remembered the proposition Courfeyrac had made yesterday.
“’Fey?”, he said, “you said yesterday we can stay at your house when we drive down?”
Courfeyrac nodded. “I texted with mamá and she said we can come whenever we wish, though we probably should do that sooner than later. We’ve got enough room for as many people as you wish, you if you want all of les amis to come, we can house them for a few days.”
Enjolras opened his mouth, then shut it again. He didn’t know what to reply. Did he really want everybody to come? Would they even get off work if they wanted to? Would they want to come?
As always, Combeferre was the voice of reason. “How about us four drive down today and if you want the others to come to the funeral, they can come then, alright?”
Julien hated the scratchy fabric of the suit he had been forced into. It was hot outside, the last warm day of September, and he was sweating standing in the cene … ceneterry, he thought the place was called. Some old woman had drowned on and on about his maman, but Julien hated it. She said how sad it was and what a good maman she had been. Julien didn’t think so. Good mamans didn’t hurt themselves till blood was everywhere. They didn’t leave to go to the hospital for weeks on end, leaving their son at home. They didn’t stop laughing and playing to just lay in bed all day and stare at the wall, no matter how much he begged and screamed for her to play with him.
He glanced over to where Étienne and Réne stood with their families. Étienne looked back at him through his new orange glasses and poked Courfeyrac. The other boy’s hair was messy, and he was scratching at his shirt, looking as uncomfortable as Julien felt. At Étienne’s poke he turned to Julien, gave a small wave and smiled. Julien didn’t smile or wave back. He was jealous of them. Their mamans were good and they played with them when they wanted. Their papas were nice too, they didn’t smell weird, and they didn’t yell. Réne even had a big sister with who he often fought but loved a lot. She was crying into her mamá’s shoulder now.
“Are you okay?”, a voice asked and two hands came to rest on Julien’s shoulders. He looked up to see the face of his maman look down at him, but he knew it was his maman’s sister. He liked her well enough, he had stayed with her a lot in the past weeks, whenever papa had gone to the hospital. He nodded.
His tante knelt down next to him, not caring that her black dress was getting dirty from the grass. “They are going to throw some dirt and flowers into … maman’s grave. Do you want to give your maman flowers so she can enjoy them in heaven?”
Julien shook his head. His maman left. He didn’t want to give her a gift. “That’s okay. Is it okay if I go?”, she asked. He shrugged, then nodded. His maman had liked her sister very much. She probably wanted a gift from her.
“You can stay with Étienne and Réne if you want. Or do you want to come with me?”, Anne asked. Julien bit his lip, then shyly held out his hand to her. She gave him a sad smile and then even picked him up in her arms. His maman hadn’t done that for ages. He had missed that. He rested his head on her shoulder and sucked on his fingers, though his papa had said he was too old to do so. He needed the comfort.
Curiously he watched all the people who had come to give his maman a flower. Some were crying, he noticed, but they all gave him a small wave.
When they reached a big hole in the ground, Anne placed him back onto his feet, but he clutched her hand again. Together they walked over hole and curiously Julien stared down. There was some sort of wood on the bottom. Anne grabbed some dirt that was placed in a bowl and threw it onto the wood. Then she took a few flowers that were placed in a bucket of water and threw them inside too. “Goodbye, Geneviève, I love you so much”, Anne whispered.
Julien felt his lip tremble for a moment, then without thinking about it, he snatched some of the flowers and let them fall down. “I love you, maman”, he thought. She was an angel now, surely she knew.
“Enjolras?”, Combeferre asked worriedly and Enjolras shook himself from the memory. “Yeah”, he choked out, “that sounds good.”
“I’ll call Doctor Martin to let her know I won’t be able to come in. Why don’t you start packing?”, Combeferre suggested.
It barely took half an hour, then they were on the road, Combeferre driving, Courfeyrac sitting shotgun and Enjolras and Grantaire cuddled together in the backseat. Finally they arrived at the Courfeyrac’s house. The drive through Mâcon had been hard, ending with Enjolras burying his face in Grantaire’s chest, because everything reminded him of her. The swimming pool they had gone to, the places where there was a market on Saturdays where they had bought fresh vegetables and fruits, the riverside where they had taken walks together.
Inés and Matthieu were waiting at the door for them and Enjolras was quickly swept into an embrace by Courfeyrac’s mama. “I’m so sorry, chiquito”, she whispered and he let himself be held tightly. Matthieu placed a warm hand on his shoulder and then wrapped his arms around him too.
“Why don’t you all go upstairs and unpack your stuff? You can take the mattress of Maya’s bed and use it to your heart’s content if you all want to share a room”, he suggested then. “Inés baked some banana bread, we can eat when you’re done.”
They carried up their bags like suggested and carried Maya’s big mattress down the hall as a group effort. Courfeyrac’s room wasn’t small by any means and they still had plenty of space, especially since Courfeyrac had bunk bed (on which Combeferre hit his head only two times that day, which was a new low). They didn’t speak much, but focussed on unpacking as fast as possible.
Then they went downstairs where the table was already set for six people. Inés had used the Saturday morning well, next to banana bread there was onion soup, baguette and a pot full of couscous. They sat down and shovelled food on their plates – all of them except for Enjolras.
“You should eat something”, Combeferre admonished gently, “you already didn’t eat yesterday evening and what you had in your stomach, you threw up. And I know you were shredding the croissant with your fingers instead of eating it on the drive here.”
Enjolras sighed. “I’m really not hungry, ‘Ferre”, he mumbled and rested his aching head in one hand, his elbow coming to rest on the table. For once Inés, who was meticulous about table manners, didn’t say anything.
“Try something at least”, Grantaire coaxed, “what about the banana bread, hm? You always say that Inés makes the best banana bread there is.”
Unenthusiastically Enjolras took a small piece and placed it onto his plate. Under his friends’ watchful eyes he took a tentative bite. It tasted like ash in his mouth and he barely managed t swallow it down.
“What happened?”, he asked instead and turned to his best friends parents.
“Well, I saw the ambulance arrive when I was on my way to the grocery store”, Inés started, “when I walked there, I saw it was parked in front of your house, as was a police car, so I asked the bystanders, who turned out to be Anne’s colleagues, what had happened. They said Anne had a hearing scheduled that afternoon and when she didn’t come to work, they went out to check on her, since she didn’t answer any calls and as a judge she has always been reliable. Her car was there, as was her bike and some light was even burning, so they realised she was at home, though she didn’t answer the doorbell. So they called an ambulance and the police. We waited together till they came back out to tell us. I went home and called Réne.”
Enjolras supressed a new onslaught of tears. He wished he had been there, but then again…
“How did you know?”, Inés then asked.
“My père called”, Enjolras replied and wiped a hand across his burning eyes.
“They must have notified him as next of kin”, Matthieu mused, “after all she technically still was his sister-in-law.”
“You’re not his mère”, his père shouted at Anne. Julien, now seven years old peeked out at them from behind the staircase rails. He was perched on the landing, having stayed with his tante for nearly a year now.
“No, but I’m still his tante. His maman’s sister. Your sister-in-law. He’s my nephew and he has been staying with me since Gen died. I don’t blame you for needing time to cope with her death, but you’ve neglected him ever since. Right now, I’m his parent, his temporary guardian. And I won’t allow you taking him home now, stinking of whiskey”, Anne replied calmly.
“He’s my son!”
“He’s a little boy who lost both of his parents last year. Do you know how many times I stayed up with him all night, so I could wake him before his nightmares got too bad? Do you know how often I held him, reassuring him he wasn’t alone? That he was loved? Do you want to know, how long he didn’t talk? Do you know that we learned LSF, so we could communicate, because he has PTSD and selective mutism?”
“Julien needs to man up. If he hadn’t been born then my wife would still be alive!”, his père shouted. Julien whimpered at the words and both adults looked up at him, for the first time noticing him there.
“Get out, Julien-Marie, come back when you’re sober”, his tante snarled and closed he door in his face. Angry pounds sounded at the door while Anne hurried up the stairs to gather him into her arms.
“Did you hear everything, sweetie”, she asked softly. Julien nodded and she sighed. “I’m so sorry, Julien. I’ve got you.”
“Is it really my fault that maman is dead?”, Julien whispered shakily.
“No, of course not. Your papa doesn’t know what he is saying. Your maman loved you very much and she would want to be with you, but she was very sick. None of this is your fault.”
Julien only wished he could believe her.
Enjolras sighed. “What do I have to do now?”, he asked. “I already went to the town hall to have everything registered”, Matthieu supplied, “all the official documents are in the office room here. Her colleagues obviously already told her employer. For now, you would only have to organise the funeral. If you don’t want that, we can do it for you or at least help you.”
Pushing the piece of banana bread back and forth on his plate, Enjolras nodded slowly. “Was there a will or something?”
“Yes, there is”, Inés said, “you can read it whenever you feel ready.”
“I think I want to do it now”, Enjolras replied, feeling unsure yet determined at the same time.
Combeferre looked like he might protest, but he shut his mouth.
“Do you want us to come with you?”, Courfeyrac asked.
“Please”, Enjolras breathed and the six of them went upstairs, the food abandoned on the table.
Matthieu sorted through the different papers placed on the table in the office and handed a small envelope to Enjolras. He took it with shaking hands and let Grantaire lead him to Courfeyrac’s room, where they all curled up on the mattress together, Enjolras leaning back against Courfeyrac, with Combeferre and Grantaire on each side.
He trembled badly and didn’t manage to open the envelope. “Are you sure you want to do this?”, Grantaire murmured, but opened the letter himself when Enjolras gave his consent.
Enjolras unfolded the piece of paper, causing an even smaller envelope to fall out. He ignored it for now and focused on the text written in French and German.
Dear Jojo,
if you read this I am dead. I am sorry for causing you pain. Remember that I love you! In this letter I will state all my wishes and requests, but the other letter you might have already found is only for you, sweetie. Read it when you feel ready.
This is the will of Annette Kathrin Reisinger.
I name my parents, Hildegard and Reinhard Reisinger, as the executors of my will. I trust them to follow my wishes.
If my nephew, Julien-Marie Enjolras Jr., of whom I have legal guardianship, is still a minor at this point in life, I appoint Inés and Matthieu Courfeyrac as his guardians.
I request to be buried next to my sister Geneviève Enjolras. If that is not possible, I wish to at least be buried in the same graveyard as her.
My house and all its inventory go to Julien-Marie Enjolras Jr. If he wishes to sell it, right of first refusal goes to my parents.
My jewellery goes to my mother.
Two thirds of my monetary assets go to Julien-Marie Enjolras Jr, half of that on an account he cannot access till he is twenty years old. The other third goes in equal measures to S.O.S. Amitié and to the pôles de psychiatrie at the centre hospitalier Le Vinatier.
Anything not specifically stated will be decided about by my executors. Julien-Marie Enjolras Sr. will not receive anything.
Signed,
Annette Kathrin Reisinger
Enjolras didn’t notice he was crying again until Combeferre gently wiped his eyes with sleeve of his sweater.
“It feels so real now”, Enjolras whispered brokenly. “I’m so sorry”, Grantaire mumbled and kissed his temple. “But remember, we’re here for you.”
It was later that night that Enjolras remembered the unopened envelope he had put aside in favour of reading the will. Combeferre and Courfeyrac were asleep next to him, Courfeyrac nearly half on top of Combeferre. Grantaire, on his other side, was on his phone. Enjolras sat up, causing Grantaire to turn to him.
“I thought you were finally asleep”, he whispered. Enjolras shook his head. “Wish I was. Uh, I remembered the letter that fell out of her will. I want to read it.”
Grantaire put his phone down. “Are you sure you want to do this right now?”
“I don’t think I can sleep without knowing.” Grantaire nodded and threw back his blanket. Enjolras put a hand on his shoulder. “I think I want do this alone.”
Grantaire studied him, his worry obvious in even the half-dark, then nodded. “Well, I am here, if you need me.”
Thankful, Enjolras pressed his hand, then got up, carefully so not to wake his friends. He shivered when he entered the hall, his bare feet slowly numbing on the cold laminate floor. Slowly he opened the creaky door to the office and stepped inside, turning on the harsh light. He blinked. The envelope was there where he had left it, hazardously on the edge of the desk. He sunk down on the swivel chair and pulled his knees up to his chest.
Carefully he opened the envelope, not wanting to destroy the beautiful handwriting of his own name. Then he unfolded the letter and began to read.
Dearest Jojo,
I am so very sorry for leaving you. I wish it wasn’t so. Ever since the first time I held you in my arms at the hospital, the day of your birth, I promised myself I would do everything for you. I hope I have succeeded. You have been the greatest thing that has ever happened to me and I am forever grateful that I had the honour to be your guardian.
Jojo, sweetie, you know you can be everything that you ever dreamed of being. All your hopes and wishes will be achieved, in time and maybe not in the way you expected them to.
You are the kindest and most caring person I know. Use that to your advantage.
Going on with life as normal will be hard, but all I ask of you is that you accept the help of your friends. Go on, and do great things, like I know you will.
And remember: We will live again in freedom in the garden of the Lord. I am reunited with my sister and we’re watching over you, always.
I am so proud of the great man you have become!
I love you more than you will ever know,
your Anne
The next few days Enjolras valiantly tried to keep it together while planning the funeral with the help of the Courfeyrac’s. He didn’t know there was so much to plan and decide. The worst however was the waiting, as it was the weekend, there was nothing he could do to keep him occupied. His friends didn’t leave his side, for which he was forever grateful.
Finally, on Tuesday, his grandparents, his tante’s and maman’s parents arrived. Enjolras barely knew them, as they had moved back to Germany, their home country, when their daughters were adults. The last time he had seen them were in the summer holidays after he did his bac and even before he had only met them a handful of times.
Now Matthieu was driving them to the airport in Lyon and Enjolras couldn’t help but fidget. His nerves were frayed and he didn’t want to deal with everything anymore. He hoped his grandparents would be there to support him, but to be honest he didn’t know what to expect.
The flight from Frankfurt had arrived half an hour ago and groups of people trickled through the exit.
“Julien?”, an older woman asked as she and a man walked towards them.
“Yeah, it’s me”, Enjolras answered awkwardly, “hello mamie, hello papie.”
He studied them. Both of them looked haggard and older than he remembered them. Enjolras supposed it was a terrible thing to outlive all of your children. Still they seemed familiar in the way a recurring dream did – not quite the same but unmistakeably similar. He looked like any elderly man in his seventies and Enjolras couldn’t detect any resemblance to him. His grand-mère, however, looked exactly like an older version of her daughters, how Anne might have looked if she wasn’t…
“It’s lovely to see you again”, he said and after some more awkward fumbling he had sort of hugged both of them.
The way back was uncomfortably silent to say the least. At least Enjolras’ grandparents were to stay at Anne’s house – his house he supposed – which he hadn’t been able to enter.
“Oh Julien, you look just like your maman”, his grand-mère cooed, “and Annette, of course.”
Julien winced. He didn’t really like to be reminded of that – even though it was better than looking like his père he supposed. But he hadn’t seen his grandparents since his maman’s funeral. He pressed himself closer to his tante’s side and she place a soft hand on his hair.
“Hello maman, hello papa”, she greeted, “it’s good to see you again. Julien and I have been driving for close to fourteen hours now. Do you mind if we take a nap before dinner?”
“No, of course not”, his grand-père said. They were ushered to the guest room, where they found a single bed and - a clearly for this occasion placed there - small cot. The grandparents left them alone, with a quick showing of the adjutant bathroom. Quickly Anne helped him put on his Star Wars Pyjamas and they settled onto the two beds.
Immediately Julien decided he hated the bed – the mattress was too hard, the covers were too light, the room was too dark and it was too cold. He tried to snuggle up, but in the process his stuffed dog fell from the bed. He scrambled down to find it, but in the unfamiliar room he hit his toes on the bed post and he cried out in pain.
“Julien, is everything alright?”, his tante asked. Julien shook his head, in his distress not realising that she of course couldn’t see him in the dark. After a few seconds of silence she switched on the light and Julien cuddled the toy to his chest.
“Do you want to sleep in my bed with me?”, she asked with sympathy in her voice. He nodded and before she could change her mind he jumped under her blankets and cuddled close. She wrapped her arms around him and he soaked in her warmth.
“Are you okay?” He shook his head against her shoulder. She sighed and pressed a kiss to his temple. “I miss home”, he whispered, “it’s strange here. Everything looks so different here and they speak a weird language and I can’t understand them and I don’t know anybody and mamie and papie expect me to know them and I want to go home.” Tears were dripping down his face.
“Oh, sweetie”, she mumbled, “I know it’s very different in Germany than in France. If you want I can teach you some German? And we’re only staying for five days, you’ll see the time will be going by faster than you think. I know you don’t really know mamie and papie and they shouldn’t expect that of you. You don’t have to let them touch you if you don’t want that. How about I talk with them about it and I promise I won’t leave your side, okay?”
Sleepily he nodded and blinked open his eyes to look up at her for a moment. Then he closed them again and fell asleep.
“Are you doing okay?”, Courfeyrac asked and Combeferre jerked up from where he had been curled up in a blanket cocoon, staring at the same page of his book for the better part of the last ten minutes, on the mattress in Courfeyrac’s room.
“Hm, yeah. I’m fine”, Combeferre replied absently.
Courfeyrac shook his head and sat down next to his boyfriend. It was the first time the two of them were alone since they had arrived home, as Enjolras was at the airport and Grantaire was taking a walk. Sure, Combeferre had gone to visit his parents and his sister once, but most of the time the four of them were inseparable. Also not counting the time yesterday where Enjolras had to talk to the mortician. He had come home a wreck and hadn’t stopped sobbing for hours in the other three arms, at one point making himself so sick he threw up the bit of food he had managed to eat.
“You’re allowed to grieve too, you know”, Courfeyrac said gently and laid his head against Combeferre’s shoulder. “I know you loved her dearly.” Courfeyrac knew him too well.
Combeferre had pretended to be fine for Enjolras’ sake, but truly he was devastated at the loss. Anne had always been there for him when he had needed her, whenever he had fought with his maman she had welcomed him with open arms. He still remembered those nights where he had stayed over and Enjolras had fallen asleep without intending too. She had stayed awaked with him, holding him when he couldn’t sleep and questioned his own self-worth. Anne had done a lot of motherly things for Enjolras, yes, but also for him. And now she was gone.
“It … it’s okay, we should focus on Jojo”, Combeferre replied and leaned his weight into his boyfriend.
“Jojo isn’t here right now”, Courfeyrac pointed out, causing Combeferre to sigh. “I don’t know if I can keep it together if I break down now”, he replied, “and I cannot do that to Jojo.” Unwanted tears pooled in his eyes and he took off his glasses to wipe away the dampness. Courfeyrac carefully turned both of them so that Combeferre’s head was resting on his chest.
“You cannot keep everything in, love”, Courfeyrac retorted and kissed his head, “it’s not healthy and Jojo wouldn’t want that. I promise it’s okay.”
So Combeferre let himself cry.
When he had cried himself out and looked up, he realised Courfeyrac’s cheeks were wet too.
On Wednesday, Maya and Valeria, Courfeyrac’s sister and her wife, had come as well, using up the space in Maya’s room (though on another air mattress).
On Thursday, all of the amis had driven down to Mâcon to support Enjolras – all except Éponine who couldn’t leave Gavroche and Azelma alone, and Feuilly and Bahorel who hadn’t been able to get time off work. They had seamlessly settled into the Courfeyrac’s home, content to sleep spread across mattresses and the sofa in the living room. It had been a subdued affair that evening, but they all had been glad to see each other. Jehan and Bossuet had gone to their apartment and gotten some of the stuff the four of them had forgotten and Grantaire had been quite happy when he had been presented with his own clothes (the spare ones he had kept in Enjolras’ room long used up and it had been weird to wear too big Combeferre’s stuff, though better than Enjolras’ or Courfeyrac’s too small ones). Cosette and Marius had baked cookies, which they all shared cuddled up on the sofa together, Enjolras in the middle of it all. It was the only food he had really been able to keep down. Musichetta had brought cards and flowers from many of the people Enjolras knew in Paris and it helped, knowing that he wasn’t alone. Nobody pressured him into talking, they just sat in silence, taking turns cuddling him. None of them minded the tears and snot that ended up on their clothes and finally, long after midnight, Enjolras fell asleep on Joly’s shoulder. Combeferre himself was too tired to carry him upstairs, so they all stayed downstairs for the night.
At last the dreaded day of the funeral came.
Even though it was April, it was bitterly cold and all of them were shivering outside the small chapel inside the graveyard. Over the past days Enjolras had learnt that there was a difference between a graveyard and a cemetery – apparently a graveyard is inherently connected to a church. Though Enjolras didn’t believe in a God, he had wanted to honour Anne’s wish to be buried next to her sister. So the graveyard it was. Not that he would have it any other way.
Grantaire’s hand was warm in his and he clutched it tightly as more and more people arrived. Colleagues, friends, people who had read the obituary in the newspaper with which Inés and Combeferre had helped him. Even some of her clients wanted to say goodbye - apparently she had left behind the impression of an amazing and fair judge. Even with Grantaire on his left, Combeferre and Courfeyrac at his right and the rest of the amis behind him, it felt like a daunting task. Everyone and their mother wanted to shake his hand and give him their condolences. He hated the attention. At least his grandparents were swarmed nearly as much as he was.
When finally he had a small reprieve, Jehan draped himself over his back and placed their chin on his shoulder. “Are you doing okay, sweetie?”, they asked.
Sweetie. They said the nickname in exactly the same tone of fondness and love his tante always did. Instantly all the defences and walls Enjolras had built up were destroyed and he angled into Combeferre’s side, hiding his face in his suit jacket. Combeferre, bless him, immediately wrapped his arms around him and held on, while Enjolras tried to get himself together.
So he didn’t see what was happening, when Courfeyrac uttered a muffled: “What the fuck is he doing here?”
“He, as you so eloquently put, Réne, is here for the funeral of his sister-in-law”, Enjolras Sr. said harshly. Enjolras freed himself from Combeferre’s embrace, not for lack of trying to keep him there on Combeferre’s part and whirled around to see him. Yet any words that had built up on his tongue, died when he saw the man for the first time in five years.
“Who are those people, Julien?”, his père asked, eyebrows risen in discontent. Enjolras was intimately familiar with that expression.
“These are our friends”, Enjolras replied icily. He wasn’t going to let the man talk badly of his friends even if it killed him. A look of disgust was what he received in answer.
Before anybody could stop him, Enjolras grabbed Grantaire’s hand in his and added: “And this is my lovely and wonderful boyfriend who helped me deal with the grieve of losing my remaining parent.”
“Shit”, Courfeyrac muttered as Enjolras Sr. went red in the face with anger, looking like he was about to hit Enjolras. He didn’t flinch, looking him straight in the eye. Grantaire was pulling at Enjolras’ hand, trying to get him to back down. The rest of the amis looked ready to defend their pseudo-leader.
“Ahem”, a fake cough interrupted them before anything else could happen. All of them turned to Enjolras’s grand-mère, who was leaning on her cane, but looked more than ready to smash it into her son-in-law’s face. “Julien-Marie, as always, a displeasure to see you”, she said sweetly.
“Hildegard”, he spat, barely able to pronounce her German first name.
“Julien-Marie, your son doesn’t want you here. Neither do I. So kindly leave the premises now”, she threatened, “I am not above calling the police and that wouldn’t look to good on your profile, I am sure of that.” She already held a phone in her hand, ready to dial.
With gritted teeth he pressed out: “I just came to pay my respects. I don’t know what is wrong with that.” Then Enjolras Sr. turned on his heel and stalked off.
When he was out of earshot Enjolras turned to his grand-mère and with an amazed gaze he stuttered: “Mamie, you are amazing!”
She smiled and pressed her hand against his cheek. “He turned into a disgusting persona when your maman died. I’ll never forgive him for abandoning you. I’m so sorry that papie and I never were really close to you, but this is the very least I can do.”
“Thank you”, he mumbled and in a burst of affection wrapped his arms around her. When he pulled away, she reached out a hand to Grantaire. “I don’t really understand why everybody is making a fuss out of all this gay stuff. Gay literally means happy in English, after all. So tell me, do you plan on making our Julien happy?” “Very much, madame”, Grantaire promised.
“Good, good”, she said, “now excuse me, I have to give Inés her phone back, as if I know how to use this modern stuff.”
Stunned all of the amis stared at her retreating back.
“Enjolras, you never said your grand-mère was badass”, Bossuet muttered dumbly.
“Neither did I.”
With Enjolras’ père gone and a kind bishop waiting inside of the chapel, the amis followed the other attenders inside. In an instant the atmosphere turned sombre and Enjolras bit his lip hard when he saw the coffin at the front. Grantaire wrapped an arm around his waist and together with Combeferre and Courfeyrac they walked to the first row where his grandparents were already waiting. The others scattered at the back, not having been very close with Anne.
Sat between Grantaire and Combeferre Enjolras stared blankly ahead. He hated the scratchy feeling of the suit and how the air was almost so thick he could hardly breathe. Bishop Myriel walked over towards them and shook their hands, then the service started. It was almost like he was in a trance, he stood up when required, folded his hands in prayer when necessary and ignored the songs that were sung. When they had planned the funeral Bishop Myriel had asked if Enjolras wanted to hold a speech and stupidly he had agreed. The paper he had written his notes on was heavy in his pocket.
Ultimately the time came and with shaking legs Enjolras walked to the microphone. With hands that were shaking even more, he unfolded the piece of paper and laid it on the ambo. He looked up at the parish and swallowed hard when he saw the tear filled yet expectant faces. His heart was beating like crazy in his chest and he felt vaguely nauseous. He cleared his throat, swallowed again.
“Anne has always … had always been my lifeline”, he started and swallowed down a sob. “All my life .. she’s been there when I needed her. I can’t …”
He stopped speaking, not quite able to catch his breath, and wiped at his eyes. “I … I can’t do this”, he got out and nearly tripped over his feet when he ran out of the chapel, past worried onlookers and gazed filled with sympathy. He only stopped running when he reached a small tree at side of the chapel, where he collapsed to his knees, sobbing.
He startled violently when a small hand was placed on his shoulder and jerked up to see who was there. Blonde hair was the only thing he could see with his blurry sight and he choked on a sob. “Breathe, honey”, Cosette whispered and something heavy, but deliciously warm was draped over his quaking shoulders. Then he cried into her beautiful black dress till his body lost all of its strength and he collapsed into her arms. All the time she had stroked his hair and whispered comforting words into his ear.
“That’s it, Enjolras, breathe”, she muttered and then out of somewhere produced a bottle of water from which he greedily drank. Slowly his senses came back. For the first time he noticed the hard stone ground under his knees and how the cold was practically seeping into his bones. The fabric of the pants was slightly ribbed at his right knee. A breeze was icy on his wet face. He shivered and then when he looked up he realised Cosette had place Marius’s dark green winter coat on his shoulders. For a while they just sat together on the ground, close so the cold couldn’t get to them.
“Come on, let’s get up”, Cosette finally said, after having sat in silence with him, “I don’t want to return you to Combeferre with an UTI. I have more self-preservation than that.” She stood up and held out her hands out to him. With her help he got to his feet and as if sensing that he wasn’t ready to go back inside, she steered him towards the cars.
Yet before they reached the parking space, the chapel bells rang and they turned around. First the bishop walked out, then the rest of the attendants. Enjolras spotted Inés and Matthieu carrying the coffin, with Grantaire in the place Enjolras originally would have been. Combeferre and Courfeyrac followed behind the procession and even from this far away Enjolras could see that they both were crying. But then the two of them spotted him and Cosette and they quickly made their way over. Enjolras just managed to catch a glimpse of Grantaire, who looked like he wanted to be free to do the same, then his best friends hugged him.
“Are you going to be okay?”, Courfeyrac gently asked and held Enjolras’ wrist in his hand. He jerkily nodded. “We should probably follow them.”
“If you don’t want to, I can drive you home”, Combeferre offered, but Enjolras shook his head.
He clasped both their hands and together they followed the procession, Cosette linking her arm with Courfeyrac.
Bishop Myriel had seen them coming and so waited for them. Enjolras, still a bit wobbly, but supported by his friends at his side, nodded at him. The coffin was slowly lowered into the ground. “We will live again in freedom in the garden of the Lord.”
With a small smile, Enjolras dropped the flowers into the grave. “I miss you, Anne, I love you so much”, he whispered.
“I love you, too, Jojo”, Anne said and wrapped him in her arms before he left for Paris again.