Chapter Text
"Who are you talking to, Enjolras?"
What explanation could he give? That he since his childhood had been followed by a shadow? That Death himself spoke to him, that it was with him Enjolras went to bed with at night?
"Myself." He answered.
It was not a lie, really.
--
A cold hand against his forehead, a finger on his wrist. He could hear his mother ask "What is it?", her voice worried and soft, softer than ever before. Another voice, one much closer to his ear responding "An infection. Pneumonia. Has he been coughing blood?"
The voice was low, clinical and cold. And yet, there was something with it that made him calmer, sleepy even. He thought of a time when his father and him gazed at the stars from the balcony. He had felt a longing when staring into the abyss, a pull when he looked upon the moon. He wanted nothing more than to leave earth in that moment, and gravitate towards the greatness that was the sky, leaving everything behind. It was a similar feeling, hearing that man's voice.
"No, he has not", his mother responded. "Will...Will he live?"
Enjolras opened his eyes, wincing as the light hit him, adjusting to having been in the darkness so long. He glanced at the person sitting at his bedside. They made eye contact and the man smiled at him. Enjolras, being polite, smiled back before breaking out in a fit of coughs.
"I will need to examine him more first", the man responded. "You may leave us alone."
His mother hesitated at first, but left the room, closing the door behind her.
He worked in silence, listening to Enjolras' heartbeat and then his lungs. It was a strange feeling, watching the man work. It felt like a charade, as if the man was just playing doctor rather than being one. At last he put his stethoscope away.
"Will I live?" Enjolras asked.
"Yes."
The man made an attempt to stand up but Enjolras was hit with an impulse. His fingers grasped the man's coat. "Stay", the 'please' left hanging in the air.
The smile returned on the man's face. "I'll stay", he said. "I will always be near."
And so Enjolras met Death for the first time.
-----------
Enjolras was a lonely child. He had no siblings as his mother became barren after his birth, he was told. She was distant, his father as well. Their marr iage was not sprung from love and neither their heir. It was duty all of it. His mother would fuss over him when he was sick and would hug him when he cried while his father would scoff but later, when no one was watching, offer him some sweets in an attempt to make him feel better. It always made him happy, being sick. He could during those days pretend as if he was wanted. He could pretend that he was the son the always wanted, that he was more than a burden.
Most days they were distant though.There was some cruelty in it, to love him some days and ignore him the rest.
His first years of life he mostly spent in his room or at the l ibrary where he was schooled.
His first professor, Monsieur Emond was an middle-aged man with wrinkles around his eyes and graying hair. Enjolras disliked him. Emond complimented him too much, his hands lingering too long on his shoulders and his eyes too long on his face."Beautiful, your mother up in the day", he would say, and brush away the blond curls of hair from Enjolras face.
He would later be removed from his position after a servant caught him lingering around Enjolras room too late in the evening, far away from the room he hired during the days he worked. His mother asked him all sort of strange questions after that. He asked her, in return, if he could go to the school in town. She promised him that she would let him when he got older.
He got another teacher when he was twelve. Paulin was his name. A man who pushed his limits and tolerated no failure. His face was covered in harsh lines, he looked much older than he was. Without his cane he limped. Enjolras wondered sometimes about what life Paulin had had before he became a teacher. He liked to imagine that the man was a knight, similar to those he read about in his books. Even better; perhaps he was a hero of the people? Take from the rich, give to those who needed it! He knew Paulin liked to help the poor in the town. A french Robin Hood? Was there a Mademoiselle Marion somewhere? Had he fought someone? Did he kill a dragon who mauled his leg as a last revenge?
(When Enjolras later found out that neither Paulin nor Robin Hood fought dragons he was very disappointed.)
Paulin was a nice man. A better teacher than Emond, friendlier than his parents, more loving than his nurse. Paulin gave him gifts sometimes, mostly books. He was given "Discourse on Inequality" by Rousseau on his thirteenth birthday. He only got to keep in if he swore to keep it a secret and never speak of it to his father. He did not realize until he was older why Paulin was so secretive about the gifts or why he never wanted Enjolras to speak of their conversations about the monarchy outside the doors of the study, or why he sometimes lied to Enjolras father about what Enjolras was being taught during their meetings. Perhaps it was an overstatement to say that he lied. Paulin withheld parts of the truth. He only told Enjolras' father what he wanted to hear.
Sometimes he would pretend that Paulin was his father but it always left him with an ache in his chest and a lump in his throat.
No pretending was ever enough to ease his melancholia. He felt as if something was missing inside of him, he never felt whole. It got worse when he got older. He would push these feelings away by studying, burying his nose in whatever book he could find. He woke up early in the morning and went to bed late into the night.
When he slept he was plagued by nightmares. He dreamed of being out alone at the sea in a storm before swallowed by a whale. He dreamed of drowning. But most of the time he dreamed of a cage. It looked awful much like his room
--
It was a regular night, going to sleep late and waking up with the feeling of dread in his stomach. Only this night he didn't wake up alone. Instead, he opened his eyes and met an other pair. He never thought himself to be superstitious, and yet as soon as he laid his eyes upon the man he knew exactly who, or what it was. Any other day with any other figure he would have cried out in surprise, alarming the household. Now he just gazed into the abyss that was Death's eyes and felt himself again wanting to lose himself to it, to disappear, to put an end to the feelings inside of him.
Instead he closed his eyes and discovered that with Death's hand on his chest it was easier to breath.
- --
Time went faster the nights when Death visited him. Enjolras grew to love the other man's company. It was only in his company Enjolras felt happy. How strange it was, to be glad in the arms of the reaper.
---
"I think Paulin loves me ", Enjolras said to Death. It was dark outside. A few candles were seated on his bureau but they were only enough to fill his side of the room with light. He was engrossed in his studies, currently trying to learn the German words he was supposed to know until the afternoon the next day. Death sat on Enjolras bed, watching him work.
"He loves his dead son", Death replied harshly. "Not you."
"Would you be jealous if he did?" Enjolras asked, closing his book. He received no answer to this.
"Go to sleep", Death said instead.
He went over to the bed, the floorboards creaked underneath him. It was cold In his room. He was glad that he still was in his everyday clothes, the nightgown would been far to cold. The blanket was too thin for him, and the body next to him cold as ice. Would it burn to touch Death? Would it blacken and bite his skin? He had seen men who had been outside in the winter too long and seen how the cold had turned their fingers and noses to coal.
Enjolras pushed these thoughts away. He had touched Death before, he would not be hurt by it. He longed for the comfort that was Death's embrace, no matter how much he would shiver in his arms.
"Will you keep me company throughout the night?", Enjolras asked, pressing his face against the crook of Death's neck.
"I will stay at your side for as long as you like", Death answered.
Enjolras fell asleep quickly. The nightmares still plagued his sleep, even more intensely than before.
-----
"You should follow me", Death whispered one night, his lips far too close to Enjolras' own. "You would be happy with me. Don't you wish to leave?"
Enjolras wanted nothing more than to follow, to taste the lips of his friend. The kiss of Death, would that be his first and last act of love? He longed for his end. At the same time he feared it. Who knew what afterlife would give him? He wanted freedom, he wanted peace but what if death was another cage? An eternity of suffering?
He could sense that Death was getting annoyed with him. Death didn't like being ignored.
"I can be happy in this life", Enjolras said. "I don't need to follow you to be happy."
Death just laughed.
---
Enjolras could hear the rain outside. It was still fall.
He came to think about the cat he had seen from his window the day before. He wondered if it had found shelter.
He thought of the beggar he had met on his way to the market a few days before. Cats, men, dogs, women. They all had the same basic needs and yet only human suffering was spat upon. Who would spit at a cat eating the moldy bread it could find behind an alley ? Who would yell at a dog hiding from the rain under a tree? And yet, some sneered at starving citizens, refused them help and passed by them with their heads high in the air, refusing to look at them. The rich only greeted those in better clothing, only loved those with money and a title. Their friend in a waistcoat and hat would they call rat when in rags. Why was sympathy only for those who deserved it the least?
"Monsieur Duval told me you haven't been eating."
Enjolras, previously deep in thoughts, almost fell out of his bed in surprise as he heard his fathers voice. He did not answer, and his father continued. "Monsieur Paulin has said that you have been more quiet than usual during your sessions. Is there something wrong?"
"I have been tired", Enjolras said. It was not an outright lie. He had been tired, a drowsiness that couldn't be cured with sleep even if he wanted to. A tiredness from within.
He expected his father to leave but the older man stood in silence in the door-frame. He appeared uncertain, nervous even. The cheekbones in his face stood out more than before. The hair on his head was lighter, almost white. Enjolras found himself wondering if his father always looked so old.
Slowly, his father came further into the room.
"I have not been a very good father, I know", his father finally said. "But never doubt I love you, never doubt how important you are to me. If it is so that you are hurting, you must know that you can speak to me about it."
"I know", Enjolras said. "I love you too. I assure you, nothing is wrong with me."
His father didn't look convinced. Enjolras could see that he wanted to say something more, he could almost feel the other man thinking. He left the room in silence, leaving Enjolras by himself.
"My father loves me", Enjolras whispered to himself. "He loves me." He felt the corner of his lips twitching. Was he smiling?
-
"He doesn't really love you", Death said to him later that night. He was in a foul mood, Death. Enjolras suspected he was jealous.
---
A few days later he was sent away to a boarding school miles away. His father had decided that he needed to leave home for a while and that it was growing up without friends that made him the way he was. He did not have the time to say goodbye to Paulin. The preparations had been done without him.
In his carriage, riding across the landscape, he thought of his home. He would be home for Christmas his parents promised. "You won't miss this house at all", his mother had promised. "You will make friends at school. You'll never want to leave."
Enjolras hoped she was right.