It had been a horribly long night. It helped that he was alive again, that he was home with Eponine and that Gavroche, though still his impish self, was safe and hadn't been hurt. He'd seen nearly everyone from Neverland check back in and he felt immeasurably better for that. But one thing was missing. He'd checked Grantaire's new apartment and even, with stupid wishful thinking, his room at the Inn. Still no sign of him. It did help that he wasn't the only one still missing. Except it dragged on into the morning and then early afternoon. And despite what he'd said to Jenny, he was starting to lose hope.
He needed some air. While he likely should have been getting back to work, he didn't have it in him. He instead decided to walk the city as a whole. Maybe he could do some good while he worried himself sick.
Grantaire had died. But so had he and he was fine now. A bit less trusting of young men working with eternally youthful and strange young men, but alive. So where was his friend?
What he hadn't expected was to nearly trip over the Frenchman on his way out the door. Enjolras was typically a graceful man, but there was nothing graceful about the way his foot caught and he nearly went flying, barely righting himself before stopping and looking down at what he'd stepped on.
When he saw what, or rather who, it was, he froze. Now he was hallucinating. It couldn't be. Could it? "Grantaire?" he whispered, near panic filling his voice. Neverland had haunted him with plenty of images but never Lawrence. The hauntings of Lawrence were never quite so obvious. Except the one time. With Gavroche. Oh God, that couldn't be what this was.