Chapter Text
I'm Julien Enjolras, and I have stage IV lung cancer. How lucky am I? Don't take that as sarcasm. I am very aware of how lucky I am. When I was maybe 13, I was going to be the junior high student body president; I was going to be the captain of the debate team; I was going to have a successful life. That's when all hell broke loose.
I was at Youth Legislatire, ranting on the podium about my bill—a bill on equality for homosexuals. Halfway through the speech, my chest tightened. I was about to have another cough spell. Recently I had gotten this bad cough, probably just strep throat. The coughs broke through, and I couldn't stop. My hands clutched onto the podium. When I was done coughing, I was handed some water. Then I choked on it and coughed it up. The water was no longer clear. It was scarlet.
Immediately I was rushed to the emergency room, where I passed out. I woke up to the news that I had stage IV lung cancer. I was apparently lucky because I shouldn't have lived through what I did. No chemotherapy or medicines. I lived—a warrior is what the nurses called me. My blond hair which I always wore in a long ponytail had to be shaved off. It pained me to do so, but I did it anyway. Now that I'm 16, my hair has grown back to reach my neck. Almost there.
My youth group for church (even though I'm usually too weak to attend) constantly prays for me: Grantaire, Feuilly, Jehan, Joly, Bossuet, Bahorel, Musichetta, Eponine, Marius, Cosette. And my closest friend, Courfeyrac. We weren't really 'close' close friends, but we weren't acquaintances. We were friends. They pray for me every week. I'm not sure whether or not it's a joke. It's hard to understand.
Courfeyrac is my friend because he's also a cancer kid. It's in his eyes. I believe it's called retinoblastoma. He's got one glass eye and one real one. He's about to go completely blond though. Thankfully that gets attention off me at youth group. I appreciate the prayers, but I'm on my journey Home, whether I like it or not. Stage IV cancer doesn't mean it won't get worse. It means I'm basically on my death bed.
x~x~x~x~x
"Julien, are you awake?" Mom called to me from the kitchen.
I subconsciously nodded before replying, "Yeah," in my raspy voice.
It was always a struggle to put clothes on. Not pants, but shirts. I had to take off my cannula—my Life Line as I prefer to call it—, put on a shirt without getting dizzy or hurting myself, and reconnect with my Life Line before I fell down. My lungs were basically a pile of trash inside my chest. Good-for-nothing organs that failed me every day.
I changed into my red hoodie and jeans before dragging my Buddy (a portable BiPap machine for breathing) behind me as I entered the kitchen. There was my mother, already placing a plate of eggs and bacon in front of me.
"Thank you, Mom." I said.
"How are you feeling today?" She questioned, just like every other five hours.
"I'm okay." I replied, biting on a piece of bacon.
"Nathaniel called today...he says that the youth group is meeting up at the ice cream parlor downtown. I'll take you there since your father had to run into the office late at night." She explained.
Yay...more things to keep me social. "Okay." I replied before continuing to eat my breakfast.
That afternoon my mother drove me to the ice cream parlor. I was the only one who had not driven themselves. Even one-eyed Courfeyrac drove himself. Mom didn't trust my lungs while driving, and, frankly, neither did I.
I dragged my Buddy behind me as I walked inside the cold ice cream parlor. The youth group sat at a round booth, eating their own frozen treats. They waved me over and I slowly walked towards them. As I approached, I noticed an unfamiliar face. A rather handsome one...no, I wouldn't look at him again. I slid into the booth next to Courfeyrac. His girlfriend, Jessica, sat on his other side.
"Hey, what's up, Julien?" Grantaire said as I made sure Buddy wouldn't tip over on the uneven floor.
"The sky I guess." I breathed.
Courfeyrac laughed slightly. He nudged my arm with his elbow. "Julien, I want you to meet my friend over here. His name is Paul Vegas. Met him in the ER a few years ago and we've been friends ever since." He said.
I looked up to meet the soft brown eyes of the boy. He was probably a good year older than me, and probably a foot taller. There was something about his grin that was exciting to me. Perfect teeth, but his lips wouldn't exactly fit it. That made him even more attractive than before—a flaw on a perfect being.
"Hello, Julien." The boy said.
I didn't make another acknowledgement other than a slight smile to show I understood his greeting. How was I supposed to breathe properly with my heart pounding in my chest. My god, he was so handsome. Probably Iranian based off his olive skin and black hair. Maybe something else—his voice had a tangy accent that I couldn't exactly detect. Scottish? British? I wasn't sure. But he was going to be the reason that the paramedics would have to take me away because usually my heart doesn't beat so fast.