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Enjolras wakes up to nine texts from Jehan, and one from Combeferre.
Hey Enjolras, Courf is really sick? I’m getting worried. Do you think I should take him to the doctor?
E are you there? I need some help I’m starting to freak out a little.
He’s coughing a LOT and he’s making jokes about it but I think he’s having trouble breathing??
I should take him to the doctor, right? Right now? Or should I wait until morning?
Your phone must be off but idk who else to ask please turn your phone on please please
I’m not getting answers from R either are you two fucking because this is not the time
Shit, he’s getting worse???
He can’t breathe. We’re going to the ER. TEXT ME WHEN YOU GET THIS PLEASE
I’m really scared.
Enjolras has already scrambled out of bed and is halfway through yanking on a pair of jeans when he looks at Combeferre’s text (which is really long, and he’s forced to stop tripping over his pant leg to read it).
You probably have already turned off your phone, but I’m assuming Jehan at least texted you he was taking Courf to the hospital, so I wanted to let you know I just talked to Jehan, and Courfeyrac is okay. He has pneumonia and they’ve got him on IV antibiotics. Jehan was a goddamn rock for Courf and only broke down when he was on the phone with me after C fell asleep. I think he’s probably spending the night at the hospital so when you wake up you should go see him and please give him a really big hug for me and tell him how brave he is because I don’t think even I could have handled that as well as he did. Certainly you wouldn’t. Have a good morning and call me after you see him.
Enjolras doesn’t bother to respond to Combeferre yet and sends Jehan a quick, I’m on my way, without preamble. Grantaire is making groany sounds as he rolls over and pats the part of the bed Enjolras was occupying a minute ago.
“C’me back to bed,” he mumbles, half asleep still.
“Courfeyrac is in the hospital,” Enjolras shoots back, throwing a sweater over his head, and that gets Grantaire to sit up and take notice.
It only takes Grantaire the time Enjolras needs to brush his teeth to be awake and dressed and yanking a beanie over his unruly curls and then they’re both out the door.
When they get to the hospital, Enjolras is fully prepared to go on some sort of tirade to find out where his friend is, but halfway to opening his mouth to start demanding things of the ER nurses, he hears a soft voice behind him say his name as Grantaire tugs on his sleeve.
Spinning around, Enjolras catches sight of Jehan. His hair is frizzy and almost entirely falling out of a semblance of a braid, there are dark circles under his eyes like bruises, and he’s practically sinking inside his giant sweater (one of Courfeyrac’s, actually).
His voice is tiny and exhausted when he says, “Hi, guys. You came.”
Enjolras says nothing, he just strides up to where Jehan is crumbling and wraps him in the biggest hug he can possibly manage. Jehan tucks into him with a grateful little tattered sigh and Enjolras whispers fervently in his ear, “You are so good. You are so good.”
When Enjolras steps away, Grantaire is there, pulling Jehan into another hug. He doesn’t say anything. Jehan shudders against him.
“Thank you both for coming,” the little thing sighs as he steps out of Grantaire’s arms. He sounds so meek and tired that all Enjolras wants to do is put him to bed and stroke his hair and mother him and tell him everything will be all right, and Enjolras doesn’t have a maternal instinct in his body.
Except, it seems, when it comes to Jehan.
Instead of a bed, Grantaire leads Jehan over to the chairs in the emergency room and makes him sit down. Jehan is tugging at the ends of his hair and his breathing is jagged.
“What happened?” Grantaire asks, taking the seat at an angle to Jehan’s. Enjolras sits in the one next to the poet.
Jehan takes a breath. “He was sick,” he begins softly, “but we thought he just had a cold or something. And then last night we were just talking and then he was coughing really badly and then he couldn’t —” Jehan’s face crumples and he takes a few more gasping breaths. Grantaire actually leans forward to place both hands of Jehan’s knees. This seems to stabliize him a little and Enjolras is struck by Grantaire’s empathy. Jehan finally continues, “He couldn’t breathe. So I got him in my car and I kept my hand on his chest so I could feel if he stopped breathing and it was really shallow and he was wheezing and —”
This time, when Jehan breaks off with a sob, Grantaire reaches all the way out and pulls him into his arms again, letting Jehan cry into the curve of his shoulder.
Jehan’s sob of “He couldn’t breathe,” is muffled by Grantaire’s shirt, but Grantaire just strokes his long, frizzy curls out of his face and makes soothing, shh sounds.
“I know,” he mumbles comfortingly. “And no one could fault you for being scared, kid, that was terrifying. But you did good. Courf is gonna be fine.”
Feeling proudly that Grantaire has things well in hand here, Enjolras stands. “I’ll get us some coffee,” he says to Grantaire, leaving him to take care of his roommate.
On the way down the hall (Enjolras has no idea where he’s going, he kind of just figures he’ll find a coffee machine or a cafeteria or something if he turns enough corners), Enjolras pulls his phone out of his pocket and calls Combeferre.
“How is he?” is the groggy-sounding greeting he’s met with a ring and a half later.
“Jehan or Courfeyrac?” Enjolras asks, glancing around a corner at more unhelpful-looking doors.
“Both,” Combeferre answers. It sounds like he just woke up to his phone going off and Enjolras realizes (again) that it’s earlier for him than it is here.
“Jehan is okay,” Enjolras says. “He was really scared, he’s unloading with Grantaire right now.”
“Good,” Combeferre says approvingly. “He needs to be able to cry, he can’t be strong all the time. And Grantaire is good, the two of them are very close, he’ll know what Jehan needs. And Courf?”
“I haven’t seen him yet,” Enjolras sighs. “I think he might be asleep? Jehan came down to meet us in the lobby so I’m assuming he’s all right.”
“I’m sure he is,” Combeferre says. “Jehan was amazing, I’m so proud of him. Will you call again after you see Courf?”
“Of course.”
“Good,” Combeferre says again. Then, “What about you? How are you feeling about all of this?”
And Enjolras smiles because even miles away, Combeferre is still Combeferre.
Back in the waiting room, Jehan has stopped crying, but is still shaking. Grantaire kind of wants to keep holding him until he’s fine, but Jehan has pulled away and is swiping at his eyes and sniffing.
“What if he’d died?” he asks suddenly in a whisper, like he’s afraid if he says it too loudly it will come true.
“He didn’t,” Grantaire responds immediately. “You got him here, and now he’s fine.”
Jehan sniffs again and frowns. “But he could have,” he breathes. “He could have stopped breathing and died, what the hell would I do then? I can’t lose him, R, I can’t, I love him too much!”
“You’re not losing him,” Grantaire insists, though something in the desperation in Jehan’s voice hits him hard. Because how would he feel if it had been Enjolras? “We should go see him, yeah?” he suggests.
Jehan sighs, but it looks like he very much wants to. “He’s sleeping,” he said reluctantly.
“Did you sleep at all?” Grantaire asks him.
Jehan shrugs. “A little,” he says. “Not much. Every time his breath hitched I woke up again. I kept having nightmares he was drowning and I couldn’t get to him.”
“But you did get to him. You got him here. You did good.” Jehan still looks frightened and Grantaire sighs. “Let’s go see him,” he says again. “Lazy ass, he’s slept enough.”
He looks around for Enjolras and then, not seeing him anywhere, sends him a text instead.
Jehan needs to see him. I’ll text you the room number when we get there.
Courfeyrac looks pale and small in his hospital bed. Grantaire really can’t blame Jehan for being so worked up, he wants to panic seeing the usually obnoxiously vibrant Courfeyrac lying there like that hooked up to his IV.
Jehan slips around the bed as soon as they get inside the room, taking Courf’s hand in both of his and kissing it while Grantaire texts Enjolras again.
Courfeyrac stirs as Jehan presses lips to his hand, his eyes fluttering open and almost immediately locking on Jehan. He smiles faintly.
“My hero,” is the first thing that slips out of his mouth.
Jehan closes his eyes.
“Morning, prima donna,” Grantaire pipes up and Courfeyrac turns to him, surprised to see him there. “You just had to get a hospital visit in right before midterms, didn’t you?”
Courfeyrac smirks. “You know me,” he answers as his fingers brush over Jehan’s face in a way that would seem absent except that his eyes keep flicking back to him to check if he’s okay. “Always a flair for the dramatic.”
Grantaire grins. “How you holding up, then, wheezy?” he asks as the door opens behind him and Enjolras slips in.
“Wow, who else came to say good morning to little old me?” Courfeyrac grins. “I should get sick more often.” His thumb brushes over Jehan’s knuckles.
“Are you all right?” Enjolras asks him.
“Yeah, I’m good,” Courfeyrac answers. “Thanks to my white knight, here.”
He looks back at Jehan with a kind of inexpressible tenderness and Jehan practically falls forward, tucking his face into Courfeyrac’s neck and clinging to him. He mutters something, but Enjolras and Grantaire can’t hear what, and when Courfeyrac responds in a whisper in his ear, neither of them feel like they need to hear that either. Grantaire’s hand reaches for Enjolras’, and Enjolras’ finds his. Courfeyrac presses a kiss to Jehan’s face and Jehan shudders against him and he’s fine.
Everything is fine.
“I promise,” Courfeyrac is insisting into the phone, “I am fine.”
For some reason, Combeferre didn’t think it was enough that Enjolras call him and tell him that Courfeyrac seemed okay, he needs to hear it from the patient himself and his doctors. And Courf thinks that handing one of his doctors the phone so his pre-med friend in another state can hear that Courfeyrac is not going to suddenly drop dead for almost no reason is a little excessive, so he’s trying to convince Combeferre to just trust him.
“Are you sure?” Combeferre asks for the fourth time.
“Pinky swear,” Courfeyrac replies, only a little sarcastically. “It’s super sweet you’re so concerned, love, but I’m afraid I’m not dying.”
Jehan nuzzles into his neck and he purrs. The poet has slithered into bed with him again and is now pressed up against his side, one leg looped around him.
“And you’ll call me if you start?” Combeferre asks, the dry tone in his voice barely decipherable.
Courfeyrac laughs out loud, and then coughs. Jehan winces.
“Yes, Combeferre,” he says when he can speak again, “I promise I will.”
Combeferre sighs. “All right,” he relents. “Hand the phone to Jehan, please. And feel better.”
“I will,” Courfeyrac says. “Bye, Combeferre.”
He gives the phone to Jehan, who looks quizzically at him for a moment before taking it. After saying hello, he just sits there for about three minutes, listening. Finally, meekly, he says, “Okay.” And then, “Thanks, ‘Ferre.”
Then he says goodbye, hangs up, hands the phone back to Enjolras, and turns his face into Courfeyrac’s chest.
Enjolras and Grantaire don’t leave pretty much all day. Enjolras talks about things that are distracting enough to forget about the tubes stuck into Courfeyrac; Grantaire sits behind Jehan and combs his fingers through frizzy curls, braiding it as best he can. At one point, Grantaire forcibly takes Jehan out of the building to get some food for lunch just because they all agree that Jehan needs a change of scenery and Enjolras is perfectly capable of making sure Courfeyrac stays alive for half an hour so Jehan can eat a sandwich.
When they get back, Grantaire makes some lame excuse and pulls Enjolras out of the room to give Jehan and Courfeyrac a few minutes alone.
There’s a beat where Jehan just stands by the door and they look at each other and breathe. Then Courfeyrac smiles and opens his arms, and Jehan launches himself into them, burying his face in Courfeyrac’s neck and shaking as Courfeyrac holds him and kisses his face and brushes fingers over his back.
“You,” Courfeyrac whispers as Jehan inhales him, “are actually my hero. I always knew you were my white knight, but god damn it, Jehan, you pretty much saved me last night.” He laughs breathily. “Come to think of it, you save me all the time. In every way.”
“Are you quoting Titanic at me?” Jehan asks, his voice muffled by the skin of Courfeyrac’s neck, and Courfeyrac laughs again.
“Not intentionally,” he says. “I just want you to know how important you are to me, and if quoting Titanic is the way to do that, so be it. I know I tell you I love you all the time, but it’s because I really do love you, more than I can possibly express. I don’t know enough words or enough languages to tell you how much I desperately love you, Jehan. You’re everything to me.”
Jehan sniffs and huddles closer. “I love you, too,” he whispers. “More than I can say, too.”
Courfeyrac presses another kiss to his hair. “Thanks for saving my life last night,” he whispers.
“Thanks for not leaving me here all alone,” Jehan answers, and it was supposed to sound lighthearted, but it comes out as a sob.
Courfeyrac’s arms tighten around him. “Never,” he breathes. “I’ll never leave you alone, not ever. I promise.”
Jehan pulls away just enough to look Courfeyrac dead in the eye. “Do you really promise?” he asks like this is the most important thing anyone will ever say.
Courfeyrac levels his gaze. “I do,” he says, with as much gravity as his weak voice can manage. “I do.”
And when Jehan kisses him, Courfeyrac thinks maybe they don’t needs words to say this, not really. Maybe what they need is kisses and touches and looks and sighs and hopes and dreams and all the things they give each other every minute of every day.
Maybe they just need this.