fixaidea:

‘I hate it when people call themselves ‘old souls’‘ Jehan said, frowning up at the ceiling. He wandered into Enjolras’ flat after a night out with Bahorel and now had his head on the man’s lap. Enjolras seemed unfazed, if slightly concerned.

‘Old souls is what they say’ Jehan went on ‘But what they mean is ‘I read a book once and that makes me better than you’. But you know… When I look at you, it makes sense. You talk about the French Revolution and it feels like you were there. When I look at you… you feel like you were there at Troy, imploring a supposedly great man to put his duty before his pride. Like you were reborn, time and time again, each time coming away with more scars.’

Enjolras smiled and ran his hand through the little poet’s hair. Jehan didn’t Remember, but it felt like he was constantly on the brink of it. All Enjolras could do was to hope and wait.

Jehan would Remember. Some day.