kernow | ➳ i am a ghost, just a mirage

[ Enjolras is uncharacteristically hanging back from the central speech heading off their grassroots meeting tonight-- that honor is reserved for Jehan, who, despite his trepidations about projecting his voice and passion on the topic, is outlining his foodbank drive neatly to a rapt room. Even if he had been the main orator of the night, there's too much else on his mind to give it his all.

The texts from earlier this week were slightly disconcerting, but at the time Combeferre talked him away from violating his beau's personal space and revealing a lack of trust in his words (and by extension in Remi himself). Enjolras had fought instinct against his better nature, relegating himself to occasional status checks that went largely unanswered.

He will never do that again.

Enjolras' bright blue eyes lock on to Remi as almost as soon as he enters the crowded hall, soaking in his beleaguered expression and darkened eyes with a sinking feeling settling into his stomach. He can't interrupt Jehan (it'd undermine him as a friend, plus Bahorel and Courferyac would kill him) but he keeps his stare on Remi, trying to will him into giving him some of sort of answer (facial cues? telekensis?) for his appearance. ]

[ Grantaire is focusing on a chair leg, trying to get his vision centered and be less of a drunken mess. It’s harder than you’d expect when you’re not making a spectacle of yourself; the additional distractions of banter and laughing make it easy to not focus on the effects of the alcohol that was pumped into your system. As it currently stands, R hasn't had a drink in over an hour and he swallows to try and keep himself in the moment.

He looks up at an awkward pause in the speech and sees his angel looking— desperately? at him. Rémi immediately looks away and rubs his face with his hands. ]

How are you going to do this? [ You’ll lose him. Again. The first time Rémi died rather than lose the light that made his life a little brighter. The idea of the light shining but not where he could see. He bored his palms into eye sockets, sighed and stood looking anywhere but Enjolras, walking toward the group and pretending to be interested in the food drive. ]

[Remi's off-focus gaze and his quick look away only hardens the worry pitted in Enjolras' stomach. He could still be ill; he could still be angry with Enjolras; worse still, he could be both.

He moves within the crowd gathering around Jehan as Remi makes himself a part of their numbers, gentling touching shoulders to part this sea. His bee-line to Remi is immediate; he grips his boyfriend's upper arm gently, half trying to brace him and reinstitute some steadiness to his bearing. The smell of stale alcohol hits Enjolras' nostrils, sharp and unpleasant; his brow furrows even further and a dull headache threatens another vision.]

Remi, you-- you're no-- may we talk in private? Now?

[ R feels like he’s been zapped in the arm with a cattle prod and he shrugs off Enjolras as he startles. He finally looks up at Alexandre with his bagged, bruised-looking eyes as long as a basset hound’s, squinting from the LED lights above Enjolras that halo him from above. ]

Ah. Private? Fuck. Yeah, I guess.

[ A flash of the only smile Enjolras had given him during the revolution was the last thing R saw before the sound of gunfire— R sways and grabs onto his likely soon-to-be ex boyfriend for support by the upper arm with an apology as he straightens. ]

Edited 2020-03-18 22:35 (UTC)

[ Whatever Enjolras is expecting, it isn't his boyfriend's rebuff at his touch, however kneejerk the movement. Remi looks even worse up close; Enjolras natural instinct is to curl his fingers against Remi's temple, brush curls out of the way until he can cradle his head and neck and pull him closer, but being so recently rejected he fails to move. His arm simply curls into dead space then returns to his side.

He recalls hot breath against his cheek, freshly wined soaked as The Man leans against his shoulder. He should be affronted at the physicality of it, this would-be antagonist in his midst, and isn't shy in pointing out the social violation; "Gra--"

He grips Remi back as he stumbles for balance, eyes unabashedly filled with worry.]

You going to be okay to make it outside?

I came from outside, yeah. I’m fine.

[ Grantaire misinterprets the worry for pity and squeezes Enjolras’ arm back before pulling back and standing on his own. ]

I gotta tell you something. I was gonna wait until after. That’s why I came— even though...

[ He doesn’t finish the explanation, pushing a hand into his unkempt hair with another wave of nausea and two brands of heartache. As is, he starts walking toward the door as the meeting quiets behind them at the realization of what was happening besides the weekly discussion. ]

Tell me...? Tell me what?

[ Uncharacterically, Enjolras follows his lead towards the door, his mind rerunning through all possible conclusions: a chronic illness; an addiction? He's been so distant since the Louvre that he has to assume his distance is driven by anger or disappointment, but he looks so ill...

As he hears the dialogue subsides, he looks back to the primary crowd of members. Jehan, peeking out between two newer attendees, gives him a questioning and concerned look; for Courfeyrac, his expression is closer to alarm. As the latter moves to make his own way through the crowd, Enjolras shakes his head, a wordless warning not to follow.

The side hallway down from the classroom they use is hardly privacy, but given Remi's shallow breathing and swaying stance, he doesn't want to be too far from those who could help them.]

Please, tell me what's wrong. Seeing you like...this, is hell.

Edited 2020-03-19 16:31 (UTC)

[ R laughs and holds his head with a sigh, trying to collect himself and swallowing a limp in his throat. ]

I know. I didn’t want you to worry. But it’s easier to tell you what’s right at this moment, Enjolras. There’s... a damn long list of what’s wrong. I don’t know how to start.

[ Trembling, R looks at his lover and holds his hand to the other man palm-up. Silent clacking of readying guns makes his ears ring and hair stand on end. ]

Edited 2020-03-19 17:01 (UTC)

[ The relief that comes with Remi's outstretched hand is immeasurable. Smiling wistfully down at his outstretched fingers, he takes it in his own, fingers weaving them together.

Remi's concerns may still be unclear, but at very least he hasn't hurt him. ]

Whatever it is, we'll figure it out. You know I'm here for you.

[ Grantaire’s knuckles whiten as they grip his beau’s. Far harder than he was permitted to do before he was thrown from his feet and into unconsciousness. God, he wanted the world for him and here he was, again, a second chance, and R has to fuck it up by not telling him what he should have been told from the start.

Be serious. The ghost of words give him the strength. He kisses Enjolras’ hand before he speaks deliberately. ]

Enjolras. Combeferre. Bahorel. Jean Prouvaire. Courfeyrac— These aren’t nicknames. I know this, as well as you do.

[ The names hit Enjolras like a slap; they sound foreign, wrong on Remi's tongue. As anachronous as if he had come up with him clad in a cravat, waistcoat, and wool trousers, musket in hand. He retracts his hand thoughtlessly and tries to rack his brain, figure out where he could have overheard-- ]

Where did you hea--Of course they are. What else would they be?

[ Grantaire smiles at his empty hand sadly, shaking his head numbly. ]

I don’t have an answer for how. I’m not exactly faithful. But you have... memories of past lives? Vivid ones.

[ He risks a look up to Enjolras, looking a lot more sober now, and in fact his eyes squint with the headache that’s coming. ]

And I do, too.

[ He's mocking him. Has to be. There's simply no way someone independent of their group and time would have experienced the same supernatural phenomenon. He doesn't even know how they managed it, the violation of nature that it is.

Enjolras can feel himself step back but it all feels...muffled somehow, an out of body experience undercut by a dull ringing in his ears. Enjolras thinks back to finally finding Combeferre and Courfeyrac, to finding them all, tears shed for the life they'd all lost too soon; in the same breath, he recalls his mother's cold stare as his father had threatened him to cease voicing his delusions, of what sort of caged life awaited those insisting to voice madness. He can feel that tell-tale headache coming on again as he tries to make sense of what's been claimed. ]

...Remi, this isn't funny. I don't know what you're playing at, but whatever you've been drinking it's no excuse--

[ It's a low blow, and he knows it even before the words pass his lips. ]

[ R winces and laughs a moment later, sounding half deranged as he shakes his head. ]

I knew it. There’s the Enjolras I knew, fearless leader you are; you can take someone objecting to you, and you can’t accept what you don’t understand. Alexandre.

[ Rémi let’s the name shift sit for a moment. He takes a step toward Enjolras and stands breast to breast. ]

You’re missing one. There is one person who died with the rest the day your barricade fell— and I deserve your mockery, sure. But damn if I’ll tell you about him when you can’t accept what I’m telling you. Ask Courfeyrac about a man named Grantaire and maybe you’ll believe him, hm?

[ Enjolras looks stricken at the use of that name, his real name, and the knowing snipe that comes with it. There's something horrifyingly hollow about Remi's laughter as it hits his ears, and Enjolras can feel his chest ache, though either from his heart or the long-gone bullet wounds he couldn't say. ]

Stop it. He would have told me something like that, I would remem-- [ He catches himself, heart tensing with the realization of what he's just owned to, how it must sound. The hallway feels too open, too exposed... ] Why are you saying all of this?

Edited (fecking formatting) 2020-03-19 23:28 (UTC)

[ Grantaire steps back looking genuinely confused, and he embellishes it with a hand-throwing shrug and a look around. A scoff gets his next tirade going. ]

Why live, Enjolras, if we’re going to be born again in the same place with the same friends? Why argue about society, knowing it’s going to just go on no matter what and humanity is fucked? Why do I even breathe knowing that you can’t or won’t listen— actually, openly listen— to what I’m saying, that it doesn’t matter? I’ve argued with you enough to probably deserve that. It’s only fair that now you wonder why I even bother. It’s all for naught. Why anything, really?

[ He gestures to Enjolras, mostly upward given his height, and looks at him breathing raggedly. A step toward Alexandre and R ceases shouting, his tone both pleading and disappointed. ]

I’m telling you this because I think it’s important that you know. Take what you will of that, I guess. I just thought someone whom I was in a relationship with might listen and believe in what I have to say. I believe in you, you know. I just hoped it might be reciprocal at this point. You don’t remember who I was. Fine. That’s probably for the best, honestly. But you know who I am now, and thought maybe it was different now. [ He smiles and his voice drops lower again. ]

This time, I was wrong.

Because that's all that should matter! I can't claim to know why or how I am here, to know the past stranger you say you are, but good god, why shouldn't another chance like this be capitalized upon?!

[ He hears himself claim it openly again, this secret he had sworn to himself not to voice outside their group for fear of all the consequences it entails; but didn't Combeferre and Courfeyrac warn him, the danger in keeping this unsaid forever...? And what of Remi's claims, of this Grantaire and Courfeyrac's knowledge of a man absent from his own memories? He's said enough now to see he is earnest, but Enjolras cannot find any comfort in this; instead, overwhelming anxiety crashes over him. ]

I don't mean to hurt you, but I can't force myself to reclaim memories that are not there. Please, regardless of what you claim, I don't want to dwell on those ghosts. I want this life now, with you, because I lov--

[ His voice feels strained, broken as he says it again more softly: ]

...I love you.

[ Grantaire’s rebuttal doesn’t make it to his larynx, struck down by the admittance. As his face itches and he swallows, other words echo: You are incapable of believing, of thinking, of willing, of living, and of dying.

Wit dies in favor of self depreciation. R shakes his head and otherwise stays frozen where he stands. ]

My very existence pisses you off too much for that.

How can you say that?!

[ Where Enjolras was shrinking back from Remi before, he surges forward, all too close. He can feel his head spinning with everything processing at once, a dull pounding keeping time with his heart. ]

All I want to do is see you, talk to you, even when you make me mad. I like it when you text me random crap out of the blue, or when you show me these hole in the wall places I wouldn't have ever found on my own, even when you push me to think through my argument with your snarky quips. God, I...I just want to be with you.

[ He takes a long breath, staring at Remi as if to will him into belief. Looking at him, he see wisps of The Man that past life, curling around Remi's figure like smoke and creating a mixture of cravat and t-shirt, linen sleeves and hoodie. Enjolras pushes it away with a shake of his head, forces himself to focus on Remi's face.]

I'm...I'm sorry I never told you about my past, and that I can't remember yours. But isn't this enough...?

[ R looked at him cautiously, trying his best to not shrink back again when he came toward him. It works, in that he actually can feel Enjolras’ breath on his hair as he looks up to try and reconcile what he’s saying with their unknown-to-Enjolras past life and what Alexandre is telling Rémi. ]

You... you don’t have to apologize. Not for that, anyway. [ He snickers and his chest aches hollowly. He can’t look at Enjolras and takes a small step back unconsciously. ]

You’re not breaking up with me?

[ Enjolras takes in Remi’s avoidant gaze, his shrinking posture, and swallows hard. ]

...Is that what you want?

[ R shakes his head, taking another step back as he holds his head. ]

No.

[ His head aches, and he looks up and sees the modern Alexandre donned in the red waistcoat, bayonet at his side, haughty and glaring at the drunken man who had stumbled onto a half built barricade at Rue Saint-Denis. Go home, Grantaire. You refuse to sober up and be useful so leave us. ]

But you don’t know who I am, Alexandre. I want this now. I want you and I. I’ve loved you for a long time. [ Rémi’s voice cracks but he swallows the lump and slumps against the wall closest to them. ]

I’m not angry. I’m not blaming you- but I feel that you resent me for remembering and are angry and confused about having your memories buried. I can’t bear to be there for that and be a constant reminder of it.

Edited (take one down pass it around ) 2020-03-20 19:03 (UTC)

Then it shouldn't matter who we were.

[ His insistence is biting, desperate; it's not to say he thinks Remi's prior life, this Grantaire, and is meaningless. (with every thought it, every mention, the name brings with it a dull ache, like memories of the bullet wounds that had once riddled his body; but these last memories won't come, why won't they come--) But god, a part of his mind wishes no one had remembered anything at all. What good is a second life if the unshared traumas of the first form yet another barrier to their happiness?

Enjolras fists grip tightly then flexes it a few times, looking as if he wants to punch a wall and cry all at once.]

I don't resent you. [ No one in the empty hallway is convinced by this statement. ] I just don't...why can't you just let it be?

[ R presses his lips, squinting and looking at Enjolras for a long moment. There are subtle mouth movements and his head cocks to the side so slightly as he considers that and tries to answer him succinctly. He inhaled through his nose, chest heaving, before he replies to the question.

There’s no sarcasm or laughter in his eyes. R looks bedraggled, exhausted, and ill, as though he would lie down and sleep against the wall if he could. His chin lifts to avoid looking too piteously at Apollo’s anger-tinted despair. ]

I don’t deserve honesty after keeping this from you. Before you point that out. But I ask you to consider this, if you can. Would you ‘let it be’ if the situation was reversed?

[ Enjolras' jaw clicks back and forth as he lets the question settle, anger and frustration and sadness all clearly warring on his features.

It's a fair question, and one he more than knows the answer to; however, the hypocrisy of that answer is completely unpalatable, and Enjolras can already feel himself pushing the logical inconsistency out of his mind--

Isn't this exactly what he accused you of being? So willfully blind to what you don't want to know? Tearing your way through to your own desired conclusion, the means to that end be damned?

His whole body is tense, shaking slightly as he finally answers, in a clipped tone: ]

I--I need some space. To think. I'm sorry.

[ He doesn't even wait for Remi--Grantaire's reaction before he leaves. His chest heaves as his walking pace quickens out of the hall, and the weight of it all feels unbearable. ]

➳ i am a ghost, just a mirage

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this boy is soft rn

this is so soft. for now.

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oh boy enjolras hold his beer it gets better

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yes i'm using the same icon, some of us don't have one account to pour their premium money into