(Hi guys! Thanks for the support on this story! Here's another update. I think there'll be one chapter after this one. Hope you like it!)

Grantaire buried his free hand deeper inside his pocket and ducked further away in his scarf. It was freezing cold outside, frozen dew glistening in the watery sun. He trudged on with his head down and glared at his feet, chastising them for turning into ice cubes despite the three layer socks he wore. "Don't forget your gloves, R,"Joly had told him a million times, but did he listen? No, of course not. Grantaire knew 'better'... He sighed at his own stupidity and kicked a beer can away. The clear blue sky above him was only a minor comfort. At least it didn't rain.

Combeferre used to love this weather. Where most people looked forward to spring or summer, Combeferre always flourished when wintertime was coming again. He loved the cold, the snow, the lights and all the little red noses of people passing by. A winter's day such as this one, with the sky so blue and the sun shining, would've been enough to have him smiling all day. "Stop your moping and come outside with me," Combeferre had often said to him when he was in a bad mood, "you can whine all you want as long as you'll come. I promise you'll feel better." And he always did. But not because he had gone for a walk outside, but because he could talk to Combeferre about anything and the man always had a solution. He always found a way to unburden Grantaire's heart.

Grantaire's arm tightened around the large canvas he was holding. He had it well wrapped, so the cold weather wouldn't do any damage, but he still felt very protective of it. It was part of the last thing Combeferre had asked of him. One final request that Grantaire had been desperate to fulfill. It took him two weeks to finish it. That brought it on a total of three weeks after Combeferre's death. The first week Grantaire had been too depressed to do anything more than drink and cry and drink some more.

He knew he wasn't the only one who had been struggling to cope. Every single one of their friends had hard time accepting that Combeferre was never coming back. It didn't matter that they had had weeks to prepare for that awful moment. It didn't matter that they'd spoken to Combeferre about it. It didn't matter that they had each other to get through. In the end, they all had to do it alone and they all felt like they were failing. Some handled it differently than others. Like Grantaire, Bahorel and Bossuet too chose to drink their sorrow away. Joly and Feuilly buried themselves in their work, Jehan in his poetry. Courfeyrac suffered from severe mood swings, going from devastated to furious and back to devastated again.

And then there was Enjolras, who had known Combeferre the best and the longest. Who had been with his friend every single second of that last night. Who had held his hand when his best friend blew out his last breath.

Combeferre had warned all of them; he made them swear they would look out for their leader in any way they could. He made Courfeyrac promise to take care of Enjolras no matter how hard he'd fight. And they had all tried. They all did their best, despite how incredibly hard it was to do when they were drowning in grief themselves. Especially when at first, Enjolras even refused to open up his door. It took them a week until Courfeyrac decided to break down the door. The brunette then moved in with Enjolras, but slept on the couch, so that Combeferre's bedroom remained intact and unchanged. Jehan wrote him short stories every week that featured him and Combeferre. Joly forced their leader to eat and sleep regularly. And Bahorel agreed to act as punching bag when everything finally got too much and Enjolras needed to lash out physically.

Grantaire had seen Enjolras only three times in the past three weeks. Once at the funeral, once when they all gathered at Enjolras' apartment for dinner and one other time at the Musain when Courfeyrac dragged his friend there against his will. It hadn't gone well, of course. It was too soon.

And each time Grantaire saw Enjolras, his heart broke a little more. His friend looked terrible. He had lost all his fire and he'd gotten incredibly skinny despite Joly's numerous attempts to get Enjolras back to a normal eating schedule. Not long ago, Grantaire overheard a conversation between Bossuet and Joly that Enjolras had started to throw up most of what he ate due to stress and anxiety attacks. Joly had said that if it went on like that for much longer, Enjolras was risking hospital admission. Grantaire shivered at the thought of it. Three weeks after Combeferre died and Enjolras would be in the hospital? That couldn't happen. It wasn't fair.

As he walked along the slippery stones, Grantaire tightened his hold on the canvas. He hoped Combeferre was right and this would help Enjolras move on, but after seeing how his friend was spiralling he doubted something painted by him was going to do anything for the other man. Fixing Enjolras was a job for Courfeyrac or Jehan, maybe even Combeferre's parents, but not for Grantaire. He was a wreck himself so how could anything he did or offered be of any help to Enjolras?

"I want you to include this in the painting, Grantaire, the real thing, not a copy." Combeferre had said a couple of weeks ago during one of his final days in the hospital. He'd handed Grantaire a handwritten letter, two photographs and a piece of blue fabric. "They are things of great value to Enjolras. And if I trust anyone to make something beautiful out of them, it's you."

Grantaire had frowned at him, had asked him if he was sure about this. Certainly there was someone more suitable for an important job as this one. But Combeferre was persistent and he wanted Grantaire, no one else. In the end, how could Grantaire refuse? After everything that Combeferre had done for him, this was the least he could do. And on top of that, he would've had to have a heart of stone to deny Combeferre his last request.

But now that the time was here and he had finished it, the nerves were trying to get the best of him. Sure, Combeferre would have been proud, but it wasn't Combeferre who he'd give the painting to. It was Enjolras and Enjolras was hardly in a state to be proud of someone. The man had so much other things on his mind, he probably wasn't even in the mood to receive the picture. Maybe he'd even get angry because Grantaire used objects that belonged to Combeferre. What if he'd see it as a dishonor to his friend's memory? What if he'd throw it out the window or smash it to pieces on his table? What if he'd yell and scream and cry until he passed out like he had done in the Musain a week ago?

Grantaire shook his head and opened the door to Enjolras' apartment block. He had to get himself together. He did this for Combeferre, not for himself and maybe not even for Enjolras. Besides, all their friends knew what he had been working on and they all seemed to think it was a good idea. It was Courfeyrac who invited him over today. So maybe he should stop dwelling in his own insecurity and just get it over with. Give Enjolras the painting, say hello and get out again.

"This letter I wrote to him years ago when I went to college and he had to stay behind. He was devastated that I had to move away, but I told him that no matter what, I'd always be close. I only recently found out he kept the letter. I added a new paragraph last week…" Grantaire had tried not to read it. He didn't think it was his place to read something so private. Combeferre only gave it to him so that he could process it in a painting. But he couldn't help catching a few sentences nonetheless. "You've always been my best friend, my soulmate. You and I will always find each other. My heart will always be beating right next to yours. I am so proud to have known you. Kisses forever." The last one comes back a couple of times in the letter. Kisses forever. For some reason, it brings tears to Grantaire's eyes every time he reads it. Kisses forever.

He hoped he did the letter justice, putting it behind Enjolras' head on the wall in the painting. Maybe it was a little bit out of perspective, but the most important thing was that you could read what it said and that it popped out without being too prominently present. The painting itself was something Grantaire was actually quite proud of. It was based on one of the two pictures Combeferre had given him. His friend had asked him to turn one of them – the one where he and Enjolras stood with their arms around each other's shoulders grinning like idiots – into a painting. The other two objects – another picture and a piece of blue fabric – where nicely worked into the painting as well. Combeferre had the picture in his hand, showing it to the viewer with proud eyes. The piece of fabric was neatly placed on Enjolras' red shirt, right on top of his heart, where Combeferre said he wanted it. Grantaire didn't know what it meant, but it was obviously very important to the two best friends.

All in all, the painting had turned into some sort of 3D artwork and Grantaire was a little impressed with himself. He just wished it didn't have such an incredibly sad motivation behind it. And he prayed that Combeferre was right and that Enjolras would appreciate it.

Realizing he had reached the top of the stairs, Grantaire took a moment to prepare himself. His heart was beating like it tried to rip itself out of its chest and a small drop of sweat trickled down the back of his neck. Blowing out a deep breath, he took of his knitted hat and knocked on the door. Moment later he was greeted by Courfeyrac.

"Hey, 'Taire," Courfeyrac said softly, he smiled at Grantaire, but to the artist it was clear that today had been a bad day. The younger man looked tired and his smile held anything but joy. "Come on in."

Grantaire hesitated and tried to look past Courfeyrac into the apartment. "Is everything alright? I could come back another time if that's better…"

Courfeyrac shook his head and took Grantaire by the shoulder. After closing the door behind them he led Grantaire into the living room and motioned for him to sit down on the couch. He took the canvas from his hands and carefully placed it next to him. "Now's as good a time as ever, R," Courfeyrac said softly. "It's just been a long day… and a bad night. He's in Combeferre's room, I'll go and get him."

"No, wait Courf… If it's been a bad day, I'd rather come back another time. I don't want to put any pressure on you guys and if he's resting, then maybe it's best to just give him his space.."

He was silenced by gentle squeeze of his shoulder. "Nonsense, R, you've worked hard on this and you've created something amazing. You deserve to give it to him and he deserves to see it. He'll want to see it, I promise you. It's a piece of Combeferre you're giving him, we've talked about this. Stop doubting yourself, man… 'Ferre asked you to this for a reason. And you've done an amazing job. He'd be so proud."

Feeling overwhelmed, Grantaire huffed out a little breath and ducked his head to hide the sudden sting of tears. He appreciated his friend for trying to sooth his feelings, something only Courfeyrac could do. At the mention of Combeferre, Grantaire's heart twisted painfully but swelled at the same time. Would his friend really be proud of him? If that was indeed
the case, then that was enough for him.

He watched Courfeyrac walk towards the other side of the room, knock silently on Combeferre's bedroom door and then disappear inside. The words spoken behind those walls were too soft for Grantaire to hear, but even if they weren't, he wouldn't try to listen in.

Little more than 10 minutes passed by before the door opened again to reveal both Courfeyrac and Enjolras. When Grantaire's eyes locked on his leader's form, he had to bite his lip to keep from gasping. The man looked horrible, a mere shell of what he used to be. The dark smudges under his eyes were a stark contrast with his pale skin and he moved very slowly as if any sudden movements would bring him out of balance. Joly hadn't been exaggerating when describing Enjolras' physical state. The poor man looked like he could collapse at any moment.

Courfeyrac gently guided his friend towards the couch and pushed him down to sit next to Grantaire. He kept a firm hold on Enjolras' shoulder and even when the blonde was safely seated, he still wouldn't lose his hold.

"Hi," Grantaire breathed quietly. "I, uh… I'm sorry if this is a bad time… I just… I just came to drop something off. Something I've been working on for a while now and… well, uh… Combeferre wanted me to give it to you."

Enjolras watched him with tired eyes, looking almost disinterested. Yet at the mention of Combeferre's name, his eyes focused on the artist and he briefly glanced at the canvas between them.

"What is it?" he whispered in a strangled voice.

"Uh.. It's a painting… Well, sort of a painting, I guess…" Grantaire shrugged and looked away, suddenly feeling very vulnerable under Enjolras' scrutinizing look. He took the wrapped package and handed it to his blonde friend. When he realized how badly his hands were shaking, he hid them away under his legs.

Enjolras stared at the package for a long time, seemingly lost at what to do. He only start unwrapping it when Courfeyrac leaned forward to whisper something in his ear.

The sharp gasp that escaped Enjolras' throat when the painting was finally revealed send shivers down Grantaire's spine. He squeezed his eyes shut, too afraid to watch his friend's reaction.

TBC.

(Thanks for reading, hope you liked it! Please review :)