➳ i am a ghost, just a mirage

[seditiously]

( who chases traces of you )

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behold, i wrote too much

[seditiously]

Of the many things Enjolras is (a student, a reborn martyr, a hypocritical ass about a third of the way through a bottle of scotch his uncle had given him two birthdays ago--) a drinker is not one of them.

So, it goes without saying that when he calls Combeferre (and, inevitably, gets Courfyerac in the background of that call) he's pretty well sloshed. Although his slurred, mournful speech is basically unintelligible, Combeferre and Courfeyrac come to visit all the same: he's made to drink water until he feels he's about to be sick, plied with homecooked pasta he consumes without really tasting, and put to bed on his side, the world spinning off-kilter as he closes his eyes.

His head, despite his friends' best efforts, is splitting upon waking. He gingerly pads out to the living room to see Combeferre sitting on his couch, reading quietly, and Courfeyrac nowhere to be found.

"Hey, how are you feeling? There's some paracetamol on the counter you should still probably take. You slept a good amount; if you'd made it to 3:00 it would have been a full twelve hours." He places his bookmark and turns over the seatback to look at Enjolras, the blonde's curls still disheveled and eyes bleary. "Courfeyrac went out to grab a spare set of clothes for us back at the flat. He left about an hour ago now, should be back fairly soon. You should think about investing in a new pull-out, incidentally; there's very little back support in what you have right now."

Enjolras just stares Combeferre, his calmness strangely grounding. "All right. As good as I could have. Thank you both for coming, I...it's all a mess, 'Ferre. God, I messed up so badly." He runs his hands through his hair, fingers catching in the waves. "He told me he's the same as us, that he was there in June and that I had known him, and I...I just freaked out."

Combeferre's eyes aren't fully visible, the glint from the window reflecting on his glasses and obscuring them. "Why do you think you 'freaked out'? Do you not believe what he's telling you?"

"No!" The reaction is knee-jerk, and Enjolras immediately feels guilty for it. "...God, I don't know, maybe. How can I? I have all those memories of the barricade. I got them back years ago and there's no man who died there that I don't remember. Unless 'Grantaire' was some old man..."

"Ah, so he told you his name." Combeferre is noncommittal as he gets up to move to the fridge, pulling out a sparkling water bottle and pressing it into Enjolras' hands along with two pills.

"...He told me to ask you and Courf. Used your real names. So, do you? Remember him, know him." Enjolras isn't sure what answer he's hoping to hear from Combeferre. He unscrews the lid of the water and takes the pills, swallowing hard.

There are a few beats before Combeferre finally answers. "...We did, and do. He was hurt when he found out that you were...what was missing, but he wanted it to come out at its own pace, so we agreed to what he wanted." He pulls a second water out of the fridge, screwing off the cap and taking a small sip. "...Neither of us wanted to keep any secrets from you, I hope you know that. It just about killed Courfeyrac, you know how he gets."

Enjolras looks stricken; he's not only pained Rem--Grantaire, (his name is Grantaire, remember, remember) but his closest friends as well. "No, I...I know." The conversation dies off as both men quietly take sips of their drinks, unable to think of what to say. Seemingly summoned by this awkward silence, Courfeyrac enters with a series of bags draped on his arms.

"I'm baaaaaac--Oh. You're awake! Hey, both of you stop looking at the floor like you broke a window or something and catch me up on what you've been talking about." He sets several of the bags on the couch then joins them in the kitchen, placing some vegetables on the cutting board purposely left out to make lunch, Enjolras now realizes.

"Combeferre said you both remember R--Grantaire, knew him when we were all at the barricade. Which doesn't make sense, how can one person be missing from just my memories?" Enjolras huffs, running his hand through his hair again.

"You told him? Without me?" Courfeyrac looks mock-affronted at Combeferre, but it doesn't last in the face of Enjolras' obvious misery. Courfeyrac reaches over the counter to clean off a few carrots in the sink, smiling sadly but sympathetically. "Well, who says he's completely missing? There's no one from before the barricade you can think of, who's shown up in your memories? Someone besides the core group?"

"No, there's noone I--" And like that, it clicks into place. Enjolras' memories of The Man come back into focus, playing like a movie reel, but now with so much more clarity: the green-vested man, with his barbs and wine and stubble, now has those tell-tale hazel eyes; his voice, slightly scratchy but still charming in its own way, still asks Enjolras what he can do to be useful, even asks to 'shine his boots'; when he fails in his mission, Enjolras can remember turning him away from the barricade and their fight, watching those hazel eyes darken as he accuses him of being 'incapable of believing, of thinking, of willing, of living, and of dying'; and of course those last moments, of Grantaire, who he'd turned away so flippantly the night before, yelling out his allegiance and condemning himself in one breath, those hazel eyes still so uncertain as he reached out his hand and asked if he'd permit him to--

Fuck.

"Oh my god. He was--I was--We--I'm such a fucking idiot." Enjolras says this as he springs up from his seat, cheeks heating.

"Yeah, sometimes, but we love you all the same." Courfeyrac says with a smile as he shuts off the faucet, placing the carrots back on the cutting board.

"I--I need to go. I need to find him and--god, what do I even say? 'Thanks for dying with me, sorry I didn't realize the guy I kept comparing you to was you'? Jesus, where are my shoes...??" Enjolras is now frantically rushing about the apartment, slinging his jacket over his shoulders.

"Well, maybe you should put on pants first." Combeferre points down at what Enjolras just now registers are, yes, just his boxer-briefs. "But it's a start. You have time, I'm sure you two will work it out. Now go grab some pants, I'll get your shoes."