Enjolras & Èponine - maybe some other pairings after some time.

Romance / Drama/ Angst/ Friendship/ Humor (just a bit because Les Mis is all about feelings, so I can't help but make everyone feel! :'D)

Rated: starting as T, but it'll probably be rating up for reasons of spicy scenes and maybe some grue the time coming. Not sure yet. So'll stick to the T. I'll warn you when I feel like rating up. :D

Notes: Hello you guys! Can I tell you I'm so very excited with this fic that I can't help but keep on writing it? Really! I'm looking forward to continue it, no matter what. Although I might just vanish some times, I'll be back to update somewhat and I just can't help it! I'm quite proud of myself to have such a nice piece of plot - this never happened to me! :P

Sorry if I'm a bit full of it. I'm just soo nervous and so excited! I just blabber about it and can't stop!

I'll stop! I already stopped! *holding still to other thoughts not to start talking again about how amazing me wants this to be!*

This is my first attempt at a fic about Les Misèrables and I did read the book, the schoolar version though, saw the movies and some of the musical/play. But I don't know if it's following well the characters because it's dark and it's very dramatic, but i just hope them to fit in. I've been reading many fanfictions about Les Amis and Les Mis for the matter and I based them around it, not very clear if they are, again, well written.

I only hope you guys like it, because I grew quite fond of it. I also hope you to show me your opinions about it, I don't even mind if you cryticize me! I'm quite good in listening, so I'll just stay out of your way and let you read it.

Please, review and show me your love if you feel anything while reading it. :D

Enjoy! :3

Loss

His dark blue orbs shot open suddenly and he sat quickly on the bed. There was sweat dripping from his face to the white sheets and he felt hard throbs paining the side of his head, behind his right ear.

He was about to touch the area when a pair of shaky hands grabbed his wrist, ever so slightly, pulling it away from there. A voice called a monsieur physician to come to him, but the lad couldn't make out where things were yet, nor could he say anything because his headache only turned more and more unbearable.

He saw a man in front of him, then, wearing a white cloak over his white bottom shirt, navy raincoat and black pants - all stained in blood and dust.

He heard the physician call a name, but he didn't know if the name was his because the throbbing deafened his senses. The man looked anguished at the person holding his wrist, not knowing what to do.

The blue irises crossed the large room full of candle lights and recovering beds until the figure of a very skinny and tiny mademoiselle, of dark brown locks and big chocolate eyes, was on his sight. She was the one with bony, caressing fingers holding him and she was crying out for the physician, desperately.

She caught his glimpse towards her and held his eyes for a moment long enough to see the tears and some mixture between relief and melancholia filling those big eyes of hers.

Although the merged emotions in her eyes, he felt comforted on them, even though he couldn't quite figure out why.

Another hard throb - he was out in the next, then.

•

He woke up less harshly this time. His eyes lazily opening, sharing the view of a well lit room of cream walls with many open windows and his dark blonde lashes in the way, blocking his eyes from everything else. His head still hurt badly, but not worse than the last time he was conscious.

He rubbed his eyes, feeling bandages around some of his fingers roughly against his Caucasian skin. He sat slowly in his bed, hearing the sheets complaining in his ears while he gazed the room with five other humble beds, all of them tidy and empty. The beds had the wooden, Christ's cross over each one of them, hanging on the walls. And by then he doesn't have to ask anyone where he was, because he knew, as a matter of fact, that room was inside a hospital and something had happened.

Something extreme and awful, he figured.

He managed to stand up and he felt the cold stone floor sending shivers through his warm body, but he wasn't much troubled about it. He just wanted to know what happened. He walked out of the room, then, on a light white robe, nothing else – he double checked the knot keeping him dressed because he knew he'd be very self-conscious if someone else saw him naked.

He also knew it wasn't clever walking out a hospital room in his state, but his head ached and he needed someone to attend him, anyway. Since no one was in the room, he wasn't the waiting type either; he went to get himself cared of.

He passed through the high marble door, finding out some nursing nuns all in white canonicals, walking lightly not to disturb the patients, but only on the end of the lengthy hallway – no one of them looked at his way, though.

He was going either to groan in pain, loudly, either in peeve for the lack of attendance to him. And he found out he didn't like to be kept waiting or to be ignored.

His eyes wandered his left, the side of the corridor full of doors while the other was full of high glassy windows, until her saw two acquaintances of his eyes. There were the physician and the mademoiselle from the last time. Yet, the physician's clothes weren't dirty anymore, nor was he wearing his cloak. Instead, he wore dark clothes underneath the brown raincoat highlighting the auburn of his hair and his light green irises behind round glasses. Underneath the heavy layer of clothe, there was a red, white and blue flower.

He had seen it somewhere, those colors. He knew he appreciated much more the carmine layer of petals, the red prominent on the dark shades.

However, the mademoiselle wasn't much better than the momentarily invalid young monsieur. She wore a creamy camisole over her olive skin full of dry scars on the wrong places and some bandages stained in blood on her right hand and left shoulder. Her hair was pulled away from her left side, showing her neck and collar bone prominent, sharp edges showing. The physician was taking off the stained bandage on her shoulder to take a look at it.

He heard her make an uncomfortable noise when the monsieur pulled the last party of the rough clothe away, showing the black stitches troubling her moves. Her jaw clenched, but she didn't make any other face than the saddened one she wore since the last time they met. Her eyes low and filled of sorrow.

"One of them went loose." The physician sad, his voice tired. Then he sent the mademoiselle a wary look "Can you please rest after I stitch it again?"

The young lad didn't know he was moving until he paused in the doorway, his steps quiet as a shadow. The curious duo didn't notice his presence. Not yet, at least. They were too oblivious in their grieving, he figured leaning on his left shoulder against the door's garnish, feeling suddenly a sting in his collar bone. He paid more attention to the others than to him, this time.

The mademoiselle eyes rolled upwards until they met the physician's face. She had a very intolerant gaze on them while an eyebrow arched deepening the meaning of her annoyed face.

"I can't worry, I can't leave, I can't even move anymore!" her voice raspy and mourning. The tall monsieur was sat on a chair in front of her, pulling the loosen edge with forceps and bringing the entire thread with him. She didn't move nor winced "I need to get out of here, Monsieur…" She replied, turning her face towards the window in the end of the empty room.

"You need to get better first, Mademoiselle." He answered his voice low and almost in a melody. Very familiar for the spying lad "And the way you're," she turned to him again, waiting for him to finish his sentence "It's going to take awhile." She was about to throw herself in the bed, snoring about his orders, but the physician had a firm grip on her arm and steadied her, making her face his eyes again "You have to get better soon."

She huffed, standing still as the physician stitched her bruise again; taking his time "I wanted to be there." She faces downwards, her hair falling.

"I don't." she glanced at him, confused by his answer. He continued without facing her "I wanted to be with them, either way." The realization crossed her features and she was looking down again. They stopped talking while he continued his healing.

Who died? The blonde man on the door wanted to wonder out loud, but he was very distracted with the physician patching the mademoiselle. He even forgot he had a headache, because the left of his collar bone was bothering him now and the sting became an acute pain.

"All set up." The physician exclaimed after changing the bandages of her right hand.

"Merci, Monsieur." She replied, dryly.

"Now, I…"

The blonde didn't hear what the monsieur had to say, because that thing on his collar bone was very painful and he finally glanced at it. He had a bandage on it, and stained with blood right below the collar bone.

He groaned and the duo turned at him, startled, but they managed to get more shocked, with their eyes wide open and mouths gaping in his presence. The physician forgot about his brown, medical bag on the bench and stood up, trembling and bumping in his own big feet. Much taller than the blonde, bruised man was.

In his green eyes the startle became astonished and there was relief in his smile.

"You're awake…" he managed and the blonde nodded, slowly, quite worried about their reaction. He didn't remember him to be so close with the physician "Good Lord, you are awake!" the next thing the physician did was glare at his bruises "We need to change your bandages." He said, but was rather happy to see him "It's so good to see you, my friend."

The blonde didn't notice the mademoiselle walking towards them until he looked elsewhere than the tall monsieur in front of him, and met the crying brunette had the ghost of a smile in her features, the tears streaming down her dark skin and designing strange patterns through small scars. She was in deep grief, he figured.

But he caught a name from her lips when she approached him "Enjolras…" and he figured he was completely lost.

Enjolras was his name, alright, but what about the rest? What about everything? He didn't know. All he remembers is the last time he saw those two and nothing else before.

God in Heaven, what happened to him?

"Urgh…" Enjolras groaned again, almost touching the aching place with his palm as if it would stop it.

"Your painkillers are off. I see." The physician was worried, but not so much to carry him. He just led Enjolras back to his room and laid him on his bed again.

The mademoiselle was behind them both, moving very slightly as if she didn't want to be seen. She had so much suffering behind though hazel eyes of hers that between those quiet minutes having around her Enjolras thought best that she had her reasons to walk in the shadows like that.

If it was night in that hospital and the young monsieur didn't know the girl was very alive, he'd probably say she was a ghost from a deceased patient.

He was placed back in his bed, feeling the pain in his left side hardening while the physician took a sit next to him and started to undo the bandages to get a fine look at his bruise, although the blonde wasn't aware of the extent of the injury – he figured it should be something small quite similar to the brunette's bruises, even if he felt his body was moving without grace as he felt some other places at his torso, feeling the fabric of the bandages around him.

He got a quick look at the mademoiselle behind the other young lad and saw her concerned eyes at his face, not looking anywhere else. It felt a bit awkward at first, but as Enjolras stood there, holding her gaze, he started to see a whole new fractions of feelings filling her sorrow chocolate eyes – bitter, wonder, grief, joy, loathe even. And there was this expression of puzzle in those saddened eyes of hers, as if something was very wrong and it wasn't exactly with her.

"Ow." Enjolras finally managed to break the silence as the physician, a friend he didn't remember, pulled the string stained in blood and hurt the flesh beneath it. His eyes went to the bruise and saw it, finally, getting shocked at how big it was – very similar to the slash of a sword, crossing his collar bone from the front to his back, seeing the black stitches in between the blood and flesh not even starting to heal. It didn't smell bad, though, even if the sight was horrible and made his stomach grumble.

"Sorry about that." Replied the self-conscious physician, very ware of how brute he was "It looks good." Enjolras glared at the monsieur taking care of him, mentally throwing daggers at his face "I'm serious. It looks good and it's clean, so it'll start to heal as soon as you eat proper food and some vitamins to make your organism work." And there was a small smile in the physician face as he wrapped a clean bandage at the injury, looking away from his friend's face "I must say your codename as the marble man couldn't be more appropriate."

Marble man rang a bell, but Enjolras didn't remember how he got this or when. He remembered nothing before the last time he saw the duo. He had nothing in his mind, he was completely lost. And, even if he felt like he was stepping in dangerous ground there, he had to say something about his sudden lost of tracks.

Who was he? Who were the man and the woman in front of him? What happened? Why the grieving feeling in his chest wouldn't go away?

"You don't remember." The statement startled both men, forcing them to turn their heads to the girl behind the physician. She stared in widened eyes at Enjolras and the blonde gulped, wary of the deep tone in her voice. Something in it blamed him for so many things he couldn't even begin to explain how he knew, but he did and that was enough to start sending worry to his tired bones.

The physician broke the silence that took a few seconds in their small group "Do you think Enjolras would stay silent if he did not recognized something or someone, Éponine?" the voice in the friend was rather crude and unhappy at that, almost insulted. Yet, Enjolras was more concerned at the name the monsieur called the mademoiselle.

Éponine.

He knew that name, he did. He didn't remember much, but seeing her face and her eyes, and how expectant she looked at him, waiting anxiously for his words, remembered him of the sting in his head, how inappropriate it was at the very moment things were making sense he felt the ache again.

His right hand went to the side of his head, feeling a lump beneath thick bandages and some stitches in that. That's were it hurt and touching it just made the pain a little more unbearable.

"Just look at him." Her raspy voice said again, a disbelief and bitterness underneath the cry in her throat. The eyes fell over Enjolras and he felt self-conscious for a fraction of time, still feeling the thud in the lump behind his ear "Monsieur Joly, he's completely out of it!" the physician, Joly, Enjolras assumed, glanced his green eyes at the invalid monsieur, seeing as his concern became more and more tangible. Joly was somewhere between bewildered and drained, as if Enjolras lack of memory was the cherry top in his pile of troubles.

His bright eyes were down, then, showing how mournful he was before he had seen his obviously friend, even if Enjolras didn't remember him, his large arms falling limp next to his body forcing his posture to crook in the backless bench, suddenly seeing what Éponine saw in his friend.

"Enjolras." Joly said, as if to confirm his thought and the blonde turned his deep blue orbs to his green ones, sharing a very painful expression between them "Do you remember what happened?" Enjolras was confused by his question. What happened when? "Enjolras, please, say something. I need you to say something!" he was desperate, his eyes dying in hope and the girl almost snorted behind him.

"I do not know." he replied, feeling his headache aggravating. His voice was deep and he saw the expression through the duo faces, as they had just been stabbed in their back – at least Éponine had it, her hazel eyes completely distraught "I do not remember." He said slowly, then, listening to his own voice through thuds in his ear.

The girl stormed out of the room, holding a sob. Joly didn't move, too shocked to even think of that. He had his breathing unsteady and his hands were shaking badly, just as the rest of his body. It seemed he had been through that many nervous reactions before, but Enjolras couldn't stop worrying about his pale face and the deep purple circles around his tired eyes.

He looked completely destroyed, then, as if nothing could ever go back to normal. And Joly couldn't even get on his feet to storm of and cry like Éponine just did. He felt useless, in the end, and he didn't even think of leaving the hospital anymore.

"I would not mind if anyone would tell me want happened." Enjolras made through the silence that fell in his room, managing to make Joly look at him again. His green eyes went back to the concern before he knew Enjolras had lost his memories and there was the physician again, trying to hold still behind a façade as if nothing had just happened.

Joly gave Enjolras a faint smile in his lips, grabbing something in the cabinet beside the invalid monsieur's bed and taking the glass of water also there. It was a small pill, a medicine, and he stretched his trembling hand to the bruised friend, placing the white pill in his grip, sighing after it. The smile fade away and Enjolras saw a deadly serious gaze coming from the gentle physician "Take it and have some rest. We'll talk later." He didn't seem like his friend anymore "Just get better."

And before Enjolras could even reply something to his attempt at shutting down his curiosity, the friend, Joly, was out of his room, almost running, although he had dragged his right leg, almost if it was limp.

The blonde man decided to take the medicine, anyway, and felt the bitter taste in his mouth after taking a long time to drink it. And it didn't take long to have an effect in his aching body, forcing the man to fall back in his sleep, dreaming of a foggy and dusty pile of broke furniture, in the dawn of a cloudy day and there were few people behind that very barricade, trapped between it and the dead-end street.

Even if there were few, the people were agitated and singing, excited about something Enjolras saw him talking about. Something involving freedom and equality and fraternity, making everyone raise their muskets in the air, cheering and drinking. He saw two familiar faces between the crowd, the very Monsieur Joly, standing by the entrance of a shop, leaning in the doorway and looking scared, but excited, smiling awkwardly at his friends.

The other familiar face was Éponine's, but she didn't look like a girl and he didn't know she was there. He thought she was someone else, a boy between the others, dressed in baggy, brown clothes with a cap hiding her brown hair, her eyes divided her attention in three spots around that trap Enjolras said in his dream was a safe place – she glanced between his angry speech about freedom, equality and fraternity; she gazed at a freckled brunette, of bubbly face and bright green eyes, who happened to stand close to him on the top of the barricade; and she stared at a little boy, with blonde and messed locks, carried in someone's shoulders, who laughed a crook smile at everyone and had this devilish blue eyes burning for a better future to everyone.

Suddenly it all went black and Enjolras found himself in despair, running and yelling to the others to go from there, to hide and to survive. He hard deafening shots, the loud thud in his head aching him and making him sweat. He didn't saw Joly or Éponine or the little boy, anymore. All he could see was a stair inside the house and some other boys were climbing it, being followed close by the blonde and distraught young man.

And when he hit the top of the stairs the dream skip a peace again, showing Enjolras holding a red flag in his bloody hand and glaring at a bunch of guards pointing muskets at him, ready to shoot him. He had a window behind him, but he didn't know what happened next.

He shot his eyes open in between unsteady breathes and tears spilling out his eyes. His head was throbbing but it was dark again, and he was alone in his room much like he was standing alone in front of all those guards.

He sat in his bed, glancing around, seeing he was alone still and he didn't know what to make of it. He was in complete pain and he needed someone to tell him it was only a nightmare, he had to believe it was only a nightmare.

It felt so real… he wondered sitting and pulling his legs out of the bed, the bare feet feeling the cold from the floor rushing chills up his body. He stood up, a bit groggy about the medicine and he remembered Joly leaving the room and Éponine going away before he could even say anything.

He stood alone in the darkness and he could feel nothing more than despair, his head going back to the messed up dream, nightmare, which was so real he could feel it in his bones.

"Will you ever stop screaming while you sleep?" he heard a raspy voice and his eyes glanced up, seeing the silhouette of the brunette from before.

She was leaning in the wall across his bed, almost a ghost, in the shadow of the dark room. Even though, he could see her sad eyes and the bewilderment underneath her scarred olive skin.

She was near him when he could possibly think in replying her, standing in front of him and sitting in the bed next to him "I didn't intend in disturbing you." A roughness in his throat he didn't notice before. He reached for the glass of water in his cabinet and drank all of it, feeling it wasn't enough "I can't control myself while unconscious. Not yet, at least." Even in his physical state, he could be a little crude to the snarky woman invading his quarters.

She didn't look like she cared about how he spoke to her. She still held this deep and cynical voice in her. She had a short and ironic laughter "Even losing your mind, you can still manage a smart answer. That is you." She pretended to be stoic towards him, but he felt she couldn't.

"You know quite something about my personality, I assume." Although formal, he didn't feel very out of him. He was comfortable speaking like that, he liked to speak formally and the woman in front of him knew this.

"You don't need to. I'm nothing to you." He felt the bitterness spitting out of her, the deception rising between them. She was blunt and she didn't care if she was hurting him. Enjolras knew by the way Éponine was talking; she was in her right to feel the way she felt, she was in her right to feel this way towards him, even though Enjolras hadn't made out yet the reason "Nor were those people you forgot." She reminded him about his loss and his eyes stared daggers at her.

"I did not choose to forget anyone." His brows furrowing deeper and his eyes catching every movement she made across from him, she was crooked near him, forcing her deep and guilty gaze to reach him "I would never do such a thing out of will."

"You think you wouldn't because you do not remember!" she replied snarky. Her eyes were shield against his aggressive ones, or they were already used to suffering. It didn't matter his reasons, she would not hear to him because she was grieving deeply, sank in a river without hope.

He remembered how shocked she was when he stated that he didn't remember indeed, and she ran away from him, her hopes apart from everything she dreamed of after whatever happened.

"How could you?" and Enjolras was about to reply her, but she reformulated, rising to her small and bare feet in a rage, approaching him and looking him down "How dare you?!" Enjolras thought for a brief and would say something, but she continued not caring for his explanations "Your beautiful words and speeches full of liberté, egalité, fraternité were all lies! You lied and you didn't stick to the fraternité! You forgot all of them! You forgot your friends!" now it was disturbing.

"I would never lie." He stated clearly answering every word she told him. She snorted, but Enjolras continued to speak because she wouldn't let him say anything after her outburst and the man didn't like to be interrupted "How can you say I forgot all of them? You do not know what happened to me." He replied bluntly, out of despise and as a guess, and she gaped for a second, making him curious about that.

For a bit of a moment he made her speechless.

"You don't know either." She replied, anger in her narrowed hazel eyes. Enjolras stood up, ignoring the throbbing in his head. It was bearable for now, at least. He noticed he was taller than her and also noticed she didn't like having to glare at him upwardly "You do not remember!" she insisted, hurting him, as if it would giver her something out of it.

"Then, enlighten me!" he felt his voice rising, his throat a bit rough again after his possibly yell at the young woman in front of him, younger than him at least, but with a mind as suffered and experienced as someone's close to General Lamarque's age.

General Lamarque? He thought to himself. That name. He remembered him, he remembered this man and he had something to do with the loss of memory that Enjolras was dealing with currently. However, everything went blurry and he couldn't place nothing either. He only new the man was old and was gone now, dead, in his coffin.

Éponine's deep gaze could dig a hole through his skull, he figured, seeing every feeling spilling out of her. She was quiet for sometime now, her eyes watering as she gaped, about to say something, and closed her mouth gulping her words back to her inner.

She did think before speaking, in the end.

"All clever things you say or whatever point I have in blaming you for everything won't bring them back." A tear running down her face alerted him and she looked downwards, her acute voice cracking "Nothing we do will ever bring them back." She had her shoulders shaking, her words hurting her. She didn't stop there, though, and Enjolras was shocked at how fragile she could be after being so stoic about everything "You're here, Joly's here, I'm here. Everyone is gone and you can't even grieve for them because you don't remember who they are or what they were to you." She turned around to leave.

"I'm sorry if I'm not able to grieve for them, if it's what is troubling you. I'm sorry I lost my memory and I'm sorry if this gives you the worst time of your life." She turned around, almost hatred could describe her expression beyond the unhappily one. She couldn't believe her very ears, or her eyes. Enjolras didn't let her begin to speak "I'm sorry about every pain you feel and I'm sorry I can't make up for whatever happened before. I do not know if my knowledge of what happened would give a chance to do something about it, but I would rather do something than feel this useless towards your disappointment."

She shook her head, disapprovingly, showing him how utterly wrong he was "It was never so easy to lie, wasn't it?" she rubbed her eyes furiously, clenching her jaw and gritting her teeth "Even if you had a chance to do something, you would do it again! You would start a revolution again and you would manipulate everyone out there to fight with you the revolution that led to nothing and won't lead to naught!" she spit the words, tears never stopping streaming down her face, the words sinking in Enjolras deep thoughts.

Revolution. He remembered a revolution. He remembered something, but the rest was a blur. Éponine continued to speak though, and every word she said was a dagger in him, opening bruises scarred by his loss of memory. However, he couldn't place everything yet. He didn't know what to make out of this.

He was completely lost at everything she kept throwing at him and he couldn't manage to reply her attack.

"You said it yourself! Students can replace the others, it doesn't matter which one is fighting as long as he fights until the earth is free!" she was screaming louder now and there was a bit of a murmur outside his room, the nuns probably coming closer, but Éponine didn't stop her fury there "In the end of the day, Enjolras," she said his name with so much loathe he felt the urge to look away from her sorrowful face and hide himself. But he didn't. He couldn't after all. She was too near to ignore her "Les Amis de L'Abaissé can be replaced and there can be another revolution, and lies will keep on spilling out of your mouth until half Paris is dead because of your manipulative words!"

Enjolras couldn't answer that. He didn't know what she was saying, although it did hurt his soul. Éponine didn't stop it.

"The Marble Man cannot be cracked, can he? He still has to lie and he has to make his revolution happen, no matter what, no matter the price." Now she said it, her hazel eyes clearly disappointed – was it at him or at herself, Enjolras couldn't say. He couldn't say much after all, he couldn't remember many things to defend himself, he was completely at a loss of words and he couldn't help sinking in deeply in a guilt that was dragging him to the bottom of hell, even if he hadn't known exactly why.

The nuns burst through the door, six of them, showing their faces and chastising Éponine for getting out of her room and sneaking into a man's room, in the middle of the night, screaming and disturbing everyone around. It was a hospital, in the end, and the women didn't seem to be very fond of the girl either.

Enjolras felt the need to say something because the women were grabbing Éponine's arms and pulling her to the door, reprimanding her and telling her she should've been grateful for being let to stay here. The nuns threatened her, telling she'd be expelled if she did that again, but Éponine's eyes didn't flinch from their direction.

They were still locked with Enjolras'.

"Monsieur, we're terribly sorry for the gamine!" one of the couple of nuns that stayed in his room to give him some medicine said, bowing her head slightly and the other one did the same, both of them very regretful "We should've kept an eye on that little one! She has been a troublemaker to-"

"I appreciate your worries, sisters, but there was no need to drag her like that." Enjolras said, feeling his inner ache as the sisters seemed a bit scared at his stare towards them "She's just as bruised as I am and she isn't to blame." The women before him were speechless "She's been through so much pain and you still say she's a troublemaker."

"Monsieur-" Enjolras sat on his bed, feeling his headache becoming stronger.

"My head hurts." He stated clearly, his eyes shooting daggers at the older nun who started to talk to him. He clearly didn't want to talk about that now and the nun said nothing, because she was there to take care of him and make him better.

"Here." The other, thought, grabbed the medicine and gave to Enjolras to drink, sipping on his water after ingesting the white and big pill "You'll have this and you'll be able to sleep a little more, and your pain will go away."

"Merci." He said appreciative and the nun did a little curtsy to him, bowing her head after "Can you tell me what happened to my head?" he had to know soon or later, anyway.

The older nun glared at the younger one who was about to say, but she kept quiet. The nun that treated badly Éponine, though, started her explanation for the blonde, handsome young man; bruised in his bed like any other patient "You were shot in many places." Enjolras frowned at this. He was shot! Something like that didn't happen out of the blue "The bullet brushed past behind your ear, but the impact caused a severe damage at your skull. You look well, though, reacting and speaking and walking and feeling, but it seems to have caused you some lack of…" she had a loss of word, as if she searched for something missing on him.

"Maybe, lack of memory?" the woman nodded then, a bit saddened at that. Enjolras nodded, understanding the meaning of it.

"I'm sorry, Monsieur." The older one said, bowing her head.

"No need to be." He replied after a yawn, feeling the medicine taking effect on him again.

"But you might have it back." The young one said and Enjolras listened to her, carefully, feeling dizzy "When you get the majority of your bruises healed, you can do things you did before. You must have a friend out there, they'll help you. A family, even. I'm sure you'll be able to get your memory back." Although her gleefulness was sure to keep him awake and faithful, Enjolras turned around to lie on his bed.

"Merci, sisters." He said to them, feeling someone pulling a cover over him.

Although very delightful to have his memories back, Enjolras couldn't let himself to forget Éponine's words.

Enjolras wasn't sure if he wanted to remember.