A/N: This takes place just after chapter 2 of Compatibility, about two months after Enjolras left.

Gasping as he woke, Grantaire pushed himself up and reached over to feel the empty space next to him, missing the man who used to lay there more than anything. He barely noticed the tears these days, instead reaching for the phone resting on the bedside table. The pictures on there broke his heart even more, but they, along with memories and dreams, were all he had left, and he wasn't willing to lose it all.

Typing in the number which had been deleted a couple of months before, he stared at it for a moment before throwing the phone at the wall.

"He isn't coming back, he isn't going to pick up, so just stop fucking trying," he growled at himself, the urge for a drink growing more than ever. Fighting it down, he wiped his eyes quickly and headed into the lounge, grabbing his paints as he went. Painting sometimes managed to calm him down, and tonight he needed it more than anything.

The sound of breathing had settled into a calm rhythm but still Enjolras couldn't sleep, instead staring up at the dark ceiling above him silently. He reached over with one hand and lightly touched the straight red hair splayed out around his partner, unable to stop himself from comparing it to the soft curls he'd grown used to.

"Fuck," he sighed, rolling out of bed and staring into the mirror, familiar tired blue eyes staring back at him. Searching this his jacket he eventually found his wallet, flipping it open to stare at a face he knew even better than his own. Enjolras glanced over at Charlie before slipped the picture out, studying it quietly. Grantaire was grinning up at him, one arm flung round Enjolras's shoulders as the blonde laughed at something being said off camera - something Courfeyrac was shouting if Enjolras remembered correctly.

He wasn't sure how the phone ended up in his hand, but he was dialling voicemail before he stopped to think about what he was doing.

"You have twenty-three new messages," the voice told him, and Enjolras almost lost his nerve. "I should have just deleted them," he muttered, but he still listened.

"Please, just come home. I love you. I miss you. Fuck, I'm sorry, just please come home. No more drinking, I promise."

"I am literally begging you here. I love you, how many times do I have to tell you this? I'm sorry, okay? Please."

"I fucking hate you, you know that? Don't do this to us. Just come home."

"Have you any idea what you are doing to me? This is killing me. I love you, I don't know how to live without you any more. I can't do this without you. Come back to me baby."

The voicemails continued, all either angry, apologetic, pleading or a mixture of all, and by the end Enjolras was having to take in deep breaths to stop himself from crying and heading straight back home.

"Just as well I didn't listen to them when they were first left," he mumbled, knowing he would have just gone straight back home. Looking back at the picture, he sighed. "Oh what the hell am I doing? Move on, you idiot. I can't go back. Not now." Enjolras only hesitated for a moment before ripping it up, letting the pieces slip through his fingers and flutter down to the floor.

"Enjolras?"

Glancing over at the bed, Enjolras saw Charlie push herself up onto her elbows and peer blearily over at him.

"It's too early to be up. Come back to bed."

Letting go of the last few pieces of his past, he stood and slowly headed back to the bed and Charlie, letting her pull him closer and snuggle against his chest.

Enjolras eventually managed to doze off, face pressed into Charlie's hair as he did his best to forget the voicemails he knew now he should never have listened to.

Combeferre grabbed the paper as he passed through the hall with his coffee, kicking the lounge door open as he read the headlines. The painting caught his attention the second he glanced up, the black heart standing out even more with the sillouette's of the two people kissing painted on top of it. Sighing, he dropped his paper onto the sofa and went searching for his friend.

"As I tell you every day, you being in here isn't healthy," he said from the doorway of Enjolras's old room, still practically unchanged from when the other student had left.

"It helps me think," Grantaire shrugged. "Being around him was always good for that."

"I'm clearing the room out next week."

Grantaire sat up, staring at Combeferre with blazing eyes. "You can't."

"Relax, I'm not getting rid of it completely. Feuilly's having trouble with his apartment though, so we said he could move in here. Enjolras's stuff can go in the attic." He studied Grantaire for a moment. "Nice picture."

"Thanks."

"Want to talk?"

Grantaire shook his head quickly. "There's nothing to talk about. I'm fine."

"Yeah right." Sitting next to Grantaire on the bed, Combeferre offered the second cup of coffee he'd thought to pick up. "The man you love has left and you just quit drinking completely. How are you managing?"

"I'm coping fine," Grantaire snapped. "I haven't had a drink in two months, and I'm doing fine."

"Like hell you are, or you wouldn't have spent the night painting."

"What the fuck do you know about how I am-"

"I know you, Grantaire," Combeferre interrupted. "I've known you for two years, Courfeyrac's known you for fifteen, and we're both worried. Don't just draw into yourself, tell us what is wrong."

"It gets so lonely," Grantaire admitted finally, eyes showing the pain. "When I wake up at night and he's not there. I've been alone for over two months and I still miss the warmth of him beside me."

"Did you stop calling him?" When Grantaire ignored him, Combeferre tried again. "Did you stop leaving messages?"

"Yes. A while back now. It wasn't doing anything."

"Except you called him yesterday. Courfeyrac saw you."

"His voicemail... I just needed to hear his voice 'Ferre!"

"You need to forget him. You'll find someone else."

Combeferre's mobile interrupted him and he pulled it out, pressing end when he saw the name.

"You should have answered it," Grantaire told him.

"I'll call her back after. Rachael will understand."

"How long have you been with her now?"

"Just under a year," Combeferre replied.

"Do you love her?"

The question took Combeferre by surprise, and he blinked before replying.

"I think so."

"Take some advice - give up now, before you get too hurt. Love ends in disaster, 'Ferre."

"Maybe you've had some bad experiences 'Taire, but that doesn't mean things will go that way for me. Not all of us are cynics, some of us like to believe in others."

"Mark my words, it will go wrong."

"You know what, I give up," Combeferre decided, climbing to his feet and finishing his coffee. "You're impossible to talk to today, and I need to get to my lecture. I'll see you later 'Taire. If you will take any of my advice then take this - stop phoning him. Hearing his voice won't help you move on, it'll only kill you faster."

Leaving the room, Combeferre quickly phoned his girlfriend.

"Hey, sorry about before. I was talking to 'Taire. I'll pick you up in five, okay?"