|Enjolras (barricadeboy) wrote in spinningcompass,|
@ 2019-10-25 23:12:00
|Entry tags:||enjolras, neville longbottom|
Who? Enjolras & Open (or narrative)
Where? The food court
When? Late afternoon
What? Bad dreams
Warnings? Memories of battle / wounds / death etc.
It had been over a week now. The butterfly stitches had fallen off on their own a couple of days ago, and now the only physical evidence that Enjolras had endured any sort of battle was a small scar on his temple that couldn't be seen without moving his curls out of the way first.
The emotional scars were a different story. He hadn't had a full night's sleep yet, and in truth he was avoiding it. Every attempt so far had led to a graphic replay of events in his dreams, and eventually jolting awake sweating and screaming, or crying, or retching like he was going to be sick. As a result, he kept eventually nodding off where he sat through sheer exhaustion, just for a hour, maybe two.
That must've been what had happened. One moment, he was sitting in the food court with a hot coffee and a bagel in front of him, and the next he was home. Cafe Musain, all the usual friends gathered around, except any time he reached for one of them, or tried to talk to them, they would turn to face him and he'd see their wounds. Jehan with a bullet through his head. Eponine clutching at her stomach as her fingers turned blood red and her face drained. Courfeyrac's scream of pain. Grantaire... in his memory he was beautiful. Smiling, teasing, drinking straight from the bottle and giving him a conspiratorial wink from across the room.
"R... Qu'est-ce que j'ai fait?" he asked him desperately, but received nothing in response. He was just a memory playing on a loop. Smile, tease, drink, wink, smile, tease, drink...
Enjolras gasped, sat up with a start and grabbed onto the edge of the table to ground himself again. His heart was racing, his hands trembled, and his throat felt tight and dry. He shakily took a mouthful of the coffee, and pulled a face of disgust even as he swallowed it. Freezing cold. He'd been out for a while, apparently.