Remember That You Are Loved

19 May

Combeferre tries to console Courfeyrac after Gavroche’s death on the barricades. Les Miserables 2012 film/Victor Hugo novel based

I had to save you somehow. I should have warned you. I should have warned you that children never survive war. They fall or they emerge victorious and dead eyed. That’s it. That’s it. That’s it, Courfeyrac. Please stop fighting… You can’t do anything now. I’m sorry.


I’m so sorry.


I don’t think I’ve ever felt your heart beat as strongly as this before, rumbling against my arms, folded against your ribcage.


I had to save you somehow.


I had to lunge at you and drag you back because I couldn’t let you go. I couldn’t let you go even though every particle of my body, every inch of yours which I thought I knew so well was screaming, crying, yelling that name over and over again until it burnt itself against my brain in a blaze of fiery heat.


I had to save you somehow.


I couldn’t let you go, I didn’t want to let you go but you were too strong and you fought me, fought my hands, my chest, my heart as we struggled; feet slipping, sliding, catching on shards of broken glass; tiny pyramids of broken, splintered wood, hands jagging over splinters and yet feeling nothing but hollow emptiness as the tears came.


They were hot, they burnt and they scalded with a fire so deep, so utterly unquenchable that I thought we might combust. Your hair would catch aflame and glow, the flames licking at your cheekbones, caressing the contours of your chin, your nose, your eyes and the spectacles would melt and life would be over. We would roll back down the barricades in a tangle of sobbing limbs and bodies to be swallowed by the very Earth herself and life would be forgotten. All our lives would be forgotten. Lives like Jehan, like Bahorel, like the gamine girl who had clung to the Bonapartist who had saved us all and yet doing so condemned himself to a Fate that only the foolhardy would welcome with open arms.


It would be so simple and yet so… So pointless, don’t you think? So utterly, completely pointless because we know all what our purpose is now. I know it as I watch you from the corner of my eye, crouched over a carbine, yelling abuse at an offending sergeant who can’t be older than any of us. I know it because we are here and we are here to die.


I’m sorry. I shouldn’t think such things and now you are looking at me in that heart breaking way with the fire that usually blazes from your eyes dampened by either the rain or realisation, I cannot tell. You look to me and then look to Enjolras knelt beside me, whole body tense with expectancy, silver words of glory, liberty, life and freedom just ready to be dancing off his tongue.


A small smile tugs at your lips, crinkling for the briefest of moments through those fiery eyes and I remember a hand clapping my shoulder, a drink being pushed into my hand, a fierce embrace, a soft kiss sweeping down skin blanched grey with exhaustion.


I will always remember those times Mon Ami. You know I will. We all will, all of us and you fill our little group with such radiance, such light, such life that I cannot bear to imagine what the back room in our beloved Musain, now more akin to a siege house than a place of dark eyed, fire-kissed laughter than anything else, would be like if you had not thought to grace us with your presence on that late summer evening; the final dregs of August heat still clinging from your ridiculous velvet waistcoat. Green velvet! In that weather, the hottest weather I could remember in Paris? But then again, who am I to talk? It is hardly as if Paris is my hometown and you were a city boy oozing cosmopolitan glamour and blazing with optimism for the coming insurrections; so who could blame me if I was drawn to you?

You were and always are the joker, an unquenchable flame in a world drowned in darkness; drawing our smaller flames to you by the sheer force of your love for life, for liberty, for liberation from the darkness that holds us in a headlock and refuses to let us go. I suppose that’s what drew Enjolras to you, on that first late summer night where our very cravats seemed to drip with heat until they could be rung out and left out to bask in the next blast of Helios’ unstoppable energy.


I had to save you somehow. I couldn’t let the living, loving, laughing life I had first met whilst packing up my things and making for the door that led downstairs and into the sweltering, late August heat be extinguished so suddenly. You know I couldn’t. Please believe me. You will see each other again, of that I am certain but for now my love, be still. Be calm my love. Be brave and remember that I, we will love you always.


You are so very loved Courfeyrac. So very, very loved. Please don’t forget that. Don’t ever forget that. But still the doubts are there, still the tears well up behind your eyes and it is all I can do not to drop my carbine and rush at you, enfold you in my arms and shield you from all the hurts that this society, this world will enforce upon you, upon us, upon our beloved, broken Patria and her people. I want to smell the fire that clings to your skin one last time, drink up the smattering of freckles on your nose, the scar caressing the skin by your left ear. A bayonet point or the frozen relic of some childhood escapade? I know not, though I sincerely hope the latter.


Remember that you are loved my glorious, dark haired, fiery eyed Phoenix.


I had to save you somehow. I needed to save you from the darkness because if I didn’t, then who would? You should always be ablaze with light Courfeyrac; light that no darkness will ever be able to diminish or quench, however hard it tries.


Remember that you are loved Mon Amour.


Remember that you are loved.


Originally posted here:


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