Chapter Text
It was years before Enjolras braved himself to return home.
The Musain still stood; tall and proud, and the sign on the door that read ‘ welcome ’ in big, pastel colours hadn’t changed a bit. He wanted to see if the inside had been altered, if there was a new owner and if they’d bought more furniture or re-painted the peeling plaster on the walls.
He wanted to, but he did not.
But despite growing up there, despite so many memories held in this city, he couldn’t feel like he was home.
After Courfeyrac’s death, the abc had started to drift apart. And it wasn’t fine, not really, but they all blamed each other and acted like such children that they couldn’t keep themselves a group. And in his heart somewhere, Enjolras had always known that would happen. He knew that one day they would have to have gone their separate ways.
But now, five years after Courfeyrac died, Enjolras was back. He was back in Paris.
He wasn’t foolish enough to blame himself solely for what the end came to be, and although a part of him might always feel partly responsible, he was beginning to heal after so many years. A few weeks ago, before he’d even really planned on coming back, he’d reached out to the people he’d once called his family.
It was difficult at first, gathering the courage to make the first move, but he was meeting them later and for the first time in a while, he was glad.
Maybe it would go well, maybe it wouldn’t. Maybe they’d leave just as divided as grief had left them last time, but something told him that wouldn’t be the case. They weren’t children anymore- not that they really ever were, but they’d acted like it- and coping with the loss of Courfeyrac would have been so much easier if they’d been able to lean on each other.
It was what he would have wanted, and they all failed him.
But now they had once chance to make it right, and Enjolras was not going to waste it by holding grudges and selfish thoughts. They were all equally to blame for the neglect and pain that they caused Courfeyrac, and they couldn’t really fix it but they could certainly begin to heal.
That would have made him happy.
He reached the old cemetery in no time, kneeling beside his best friend once again. Not much had really changed; the lettering was still as perfect as it had been last time, the stone perhaps a little less shiny.
Moss gathered a little at the bottom but it still stood upright, a bunch of sunflowers resting below it. He wondered who had put them there.
Sunflowers had always been Courfeyrac’s favourite; they were bright and colourful and Enjolras had always thought they matched his personality so well. He only wished he’d seen through the mask Courfeyrac had worn much quicker, whilst there was still time.
“Courfeyrac,” he whispered, his voice not as strong as it once had been, hoarse and trembling. It felt sort of tired, like the flowers that wilted on some of the older gravestones either side. “We’re back.”