Also me: Prouvaire died alone and shouting and possibly a little scared of what comes after death but didn’t fail to stay loyal to Les Amis, the rebellion and France and this is beautiful and heartbreaking.
Grantaire: Ow my head hurts so bad
Enjolras: Hungover again??
Grantaire: *thinks back to Jehan giving him a bubble wrap helmet and bahorel holding up a cricket bat*
Grantaire: Umm yeah sure that’s why
Enjolras was an only child. So was Jean Prouvaire.
Enjolras would hear his other friends talking about a baby brother or a little sister and he would feel a little bit lonely. Like he has always been while growing up. But then there’s sweet Jehan, an only child just like him.
Knowing how the leader would feel about this, at some point, the poet would take his hand and smile:
‘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.
¯_( ಠ_ಠ)_/¯ 