Lams And Enjoltaire Oneshots

After 8 To The Chest - Enjoltaire

All I remembered was the firing squad in front of me, the never-ending abyss down the barrels. I remembered Grantaire's warm hand in mine. His small smile didn't falter when the shots rang out.

Everything went black. It was dark. Not like at night with the lights out dark. This was a cold, eerie dark. It was hot, and yet I was freezing cold. For the first time, I felt truly terrified.

I knew I was dead. I had to be. I had no other explanation. I was just in my revolution and got shot. I'd find it rather surprising if this dark, cold black void after that wasn't some version of the afterlife.

I could have been there for years and years. I could have been there for a second. Time didn't seem to move. Everything stood still and yet ran faster than I could process.

I tried to think of Grantaire, his small smile I had just seen. Or the smile I had seen years ago, who was to say? But no thought would stick in my mind for long, everything was too fast.

I started to fall, wind rushing in my ears. I fell, tearing through various images of my life. Millions of memories all hit me at once, punching me into the ground over and over again.

...I saw my parents. I saw myself as a child. I ran around, frolicked even. My father ran behind me, laughing and congratulating me for no apparent reason. I saw myself reading with my mother, learning piano and knitting. Her gentle smile never faltered, even when the chord sounded more like a dying cat than music.

I saw myself as a teenager. I knew this was when it got worse. Politics became harder to ignore as my parents dragged me over starving people in the streets. They sided with the monarchy, I sided with the people. I saw countless family meals end in fights, storm outs and tears. My father's kind words were twisted and shouted now, my mother's gentle gaze intensified and glared at me with such ferocity I felt I was going to crack under the pressure.

I forcibly watched the continuing memories. I watched myself climb out of my second-story window, bickering with myself that this was stupid as I climbed down. I watched as I sprinted down the street, scared of being seen by my father's fist despite being blocks away. I observed as a younger me shoved a door open to the first cafe I saw.

I remember this moment.

Eyes were glued to me as my breaths slowed. An awkward smile and a wave to the room were more than enough for a tall, thin man to come over and introduce himself to me. I saw us talk for hours, passionately talking about politics, our opinions regarding the ruling of France and how its people were treated.

We picked up a few more people every night I snuck out. Combferre introduced me to a few people he knew. Our little group grew, people coming and going, all under my parents' noses. I saw the moment that raven-haired angel first floated into the cafe with Joly. More stumbled actually.

He immediately tripped into me, slipping a flirtatious line out of his smirk instead of an apology. It made my heart flutter and beat out of my chest, so naturally, I had to hate him, as I had with any male I was attracted to. I was still terrified of that part of myself, so why not ignore it?

I witnessed the moment I made the biggest mistake of my life. I was too careless that one night. I either made too much noise or wasn't fast enough when I made my way to the cafe. Because when I climbed back up to my window, my parents were glaring at the air I filled. I didn't leave the cafe for a week, partly because I was recovering from my injuries from my father's beating and partly because I had nowhere else to live.

After I moved in with Ferre, I felt the happiest I had ever felt. I was making a difference within France, I had amazing friends and an amazing man around me at all times. That last one wasn't ideal but that was enough for me.