Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
. . . . .
( june 1832 )
THE FIRST THING HE noticed upon awakening was the feeling of something soft and warm wrapped around his hand.
The pain is what came next. It shot through the entirety of his abdomen, reminiscent of the bullets that had torn through his flesh yet amplified with the pulsing ache of countless bruises. The afterlife was much more painful than he expected, and he momentarily wondered if he was being forced to relive the agony of his final moments in life for eternity.
But slowly, as the haziness that clouded his mind continued to clear, he began to hear the faint sound of his heartbeat in his ears. He felt the warmth that encompassed his hand shift, tightening its hold ever-so-slightly— and for just a moment, he was able to forget about the pain.
He opened his eyes, and the first thing he saw was her.
The sun shined through the window behind her, casting an almost ethereal glow around her slumped figure. Her auburn hair somehow appeared more fiery in the light, falling over her eyes in a way that made his fingers itch with the temptation to brush it away. He tried to move his hand but found it impossible to do so. It was then that he realized that it was her hands that were wrapped around his own. She clutched him so tightly that it almost hurt, but in that moment, he hardly noticed.
"Corinne?"
He hadn't even realize he'd spoken her name until she lifted her head to look at him. Their eyes met, and hers widened. She fell back into her chair as if someone had forcibly pushed her, dropping his hand in the process; Enjolras had to stop himself from chasing after it, desperate for the warmth of her touch while his mind was still clouded with confusion.
"Oh, my God," the words fell from her lips in the form of a strained whisper. She was looking at him as though he was a ghost. "Is this real?"
Enjolras didn't know how to respond, for right now, he wasn't entirely convinced that he himself wasn't dreaming. The last thing he remembered was staring down the barrels of nearly a dozen guns, and the agony that followed when they were fired. He remembered laying on the floor of the Musain with Grantaire at his feet, feeling the life slipping from his body until finally darkness claimed him.
Had it all been a dream? He knew deep down that it wasn't, but that only left him with more questions than answers. How was he alive, and how did he get here?
He realized that Corinne was staring at him. He glanced up at her, and he was taken aback by the unfamiliar emotion that was shining in her gaze. She began to reach for his hand before stopping, ultimately deciding against it. Her fingers twitched nervously as she lowered her hands to rest in her lap.
