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Rain pittered softly against the window.
The sound might be easing to certain people. It was known that some preferred the gray skies, soft rumbling thunder, and sweet-smelling water droplets that washed in cooler air. He had heard it called peaceful more times than he could count.
Marius despised it, though.
It always served as a painful reminder of that night, that dawn- when blood tinged the air, when shouts of pain pierced through frantic calls and clanging metal, when the best humans he had ever known fell.
The drops of rain only made it all feel worse. Especially today.
Cosette was out with her father. She had invited Marius along, but he declined, making an excuse about aching more than usual. At that, she had every intention to stay by his side, but he had insisted she go. He wouldn't want to burden her or curse her to a dull, lonely life just because he couldn't seem to rid himself of the clouded sorrow that plagued him. She had lived through her very own nightmares, and she didn't deserve to be put through his, too. It shattered his heart to know she had been through what she had. He wished for her life to be peaceful above all else. She didn't deserve the memories of her childhood swarming her and draining her as his memories did him. She deserved nothing less than the sweetest and gentlest of dreams. He hoped nothing poisonous would ever touch her mind again, that she could live each passing day in joyful serenity. He wanted to do all he could to ensure that, of course.
That's all that was left for his life now.
Yet it was becoming increasingly more difficult to allow himself to share in that happiness, to provide it. A swirling storm with darkened clouds of recollections of the barricade and sharp winds of shame and guilt made it nearly impossible. It made him want to escape it all, hide away from everything. He couldn't bare to look onto a world that they weren't in.
So the bedroom became his fortress, the silkened sheets his shield.
A new kind of barricade.
He held the soft pillow to his chest, stroking his fingers against it as if it were a lover, as if it would replace the warmth stolen and ripped from his core. He imagined any of their strong arms embracing him in return. Just one of them. That's all he asked.
But it was apparently too great of a request.
He hummed to himself, instead- a rallying tune that had been on the lips of so many of his friends once. When their eyes burned fervently with endless conviction and passion, and their drinks held high in the air. It was a wobbly sound in his throat now, paling in comparison to the strength they once shouted it with. If he focused, he could still see Enjolras standing tall, leading them along, Grantaire watching him with equal parts fondness and amazement. They had died together, he had heard. Hand in hand.
The thought of it made the thing growing in Marius' chest crumble, leaving him gasping for air. He missed them. God, he missed them so much it hurt. It was all-consuming. It was the only thing he could feel, the only thing he could ever think. It gripped his soul, squeezing painfully in an iced chill at every spare moment. It was inescapable. He hugged the pillow tighter to himself, his head dipping just in time for the sob that escaped to be muffled by its fabric. Tears leaked out of the corners of his clenched eyes, burning hot down his cheeks. The pillow made it even hotter, and made it hard to breathe through his quickly congesting nose, but how could he care about such frivolous things such as breathing when he knew his friends would never be able to take another breath again?
His eyelids, his lashes fluttered as he chased after the phantoms that danced around in his mind, confined only there for the rest of eternity. He wondered when the vivid images of them would fade. He wondered how long it would be until he tried to think upon them and couldn't remember the shade of Enjolras' blue eyes or the twist of Courfeyrac's smile.
Please come back, he begged wordlessly. His eyes stung, and his sinuses burned as he pushed his face further into the suffocating softness of his pillow- a softness that reminded him of Éponine's auburn hair, of Courfeyrac's touch when he would pull him close, of Jehan's voice when he recited his favorite pieces, of everyone's laughter when things were beginning to die down for the night at the Café Musain, and everyone was tired or drunken. It wasn't right for the world to spin on without any of that. It wasn't right for life to continue when such good, such light was snuffed out so quickly.
"Marius."
He could hear them hiss his name. He could hear them calling out to him from beyond, demanding justification for his survival.
What was he doing with the life he hadn't done anything to earn?
He was wasting it, he knew they would think, they would say. He was wasting it by sating his lonely soul. He should be out there, using every waking moment he had to push their cause and honor their memories. He could be doing more. He could have done so much more. He could have done more for them.
"Marius."
"Forgive me," he whimpered, squeezing his eyes tighter as he folded in on himself, attempting to protect himself from the freezing guilt. "Forgive me. Forgive me. Please forgive me -"
"Marius!"
His voice was called again. Only this time, it wasn't growled or rasped in an irate, accusing, dying breath. It was soft, yet desperate and scared. It was the voice that was his only anchor left in this world, the only thing tying him there. He pried his eyes open, his sights filling with her.
Her- with eyes that were as warm as a spring day and that crinkled beautifully when she smiled. Her- with a laugh that was so melodic, poets could write forever about it alone. Her- who was everything good in the world, wrapped into one beautiful being.
She was the true shining of his soul now. She was what made him inhale every breath, bare every beat of a broken heart.
Without her, there would be nothing.
He was only now noticing her gripping touch as she tried so helplessly to pull him out of his memories. She looked close to tears, her eyes brimming dangerously, and he felt his own heart shatter even more at the sight. It was an expression he never wanted to have to see on her face.
He sat up quickly as he opened his mouth to speak her name- the psalm that was Cosette- but the only thing that slipped out was a wet sob. He tried to suck in a gust of air, but a high-pitched warbled sound came out in response. That was all it took for him to dissolve into loud, heaving cries that made his stomach ache. He dropped his head into his hands as his shoulders shook, his loud lamentations reverberating off the walls in horrid echoes.
"Oh, Marius," she breathed as she leaned forward, wrapping her arms around him. "I'm here. It's okay. I'm here."
His arms flew to hold her in return as he buried his face in her shoulder instead. She carded her hand through his hair, cradling him there as she whispered soothing words against his ear. He could only hear bits and pieces of what she was saying over the intensity of his cries, but he was able to make out apologies of her own and comforts that he didn't truly believe. It wouldn't be okay. How could it possibly be okay when everyone he ever loved besides Cosette was in the ground, their bullet-ridden corpses rotting and returning to dust while he lived and breathed the lavish air of his privilege?
They were better than him. They were better than him by far. They were stronger, more intelligent, more deserving. They should be the ones here, not him. They should be happy, alive, and free. They should be the one's with their hearts full of love and a life full of happiness ahead of them. How was it fair that he was the one who got it?
They deserved better than what they got. They deserved more.
It wasn't fair.
It wasn't fair that they had held so much life only for it to dissipate so quickly. It wasn't fair that they met such painful ends. It wasn't fair that they had left.
Metallic iron and dusty, sharp gunpowder filled his senses, but it was also combining with Cosette's flowered perfume and her sweetened breath, making his head spin and ache with bewilderment. A rabbit's pace thundered in his chest as he tried to blink himself back to the present through his ever-cascading tears, but it only made it worse. The sounds of wood splintering and gunshots were ringing in his ears, nearly making him leap up so he could push Cosette to safety. He couldn't bare to lose her as well. Instead, he only stayed frozen on the bed, his sobbing breaths catching sharply in his throat, his fingers numbing around Cosette as they scrambled for purchase over the lace on the back of her dress.
He kept gasping out pleas, their names tumbling from his lips, apologies that would never make it to the people who truly deserved them as Cosette rocked him, trying everything in her power to calm him down. Soon the fog seemed to clear a bit. All he could see over Cosette's shoulder was his bedroom now, not flashes of metal or blond and red hair. His breath was still stuttering and his chest still ached, but it felt like his throat was starting to clear.
He pulled back, wincing in embarrassment when he noticed the wet spot on her silk dress where his face had been. He tried to mumble an apology, but she hushed him. Her hand rose to his cheek as she wiped away the tears that still fell. He wasn't sure they would ever stop. He couldn't imagine a world where his heart wasn't cracking and shattering at the mere thought of them. He couldn't imagine not feeling this empty, barren agony in his chest and stomach. He couldn't imagine the bitter taste of his tears would ever dissipate. He grabbed onto the sheets, just needing something to ground him to this room.
He tried to regain his composure for his lover's sake. She didn't need a weakened, mewling future husband. He sniffled, shaking his head. His face felt impossibly hot and raw, his throat drying and sore.
"You've returned so soon," Marius' voice was thick as he reached out his free hand, taking hers in his numbed, pale one.
"I was gone for nearly the whole day." She caressed her other hand down his cheek still, eyes deepening and shining with concern. "My heart, how long have you been like this?"
Marius couldn't provide an answer. He looked down to the sheets still clenched tightly between his fingers. He had traded their ragged, torn flags for fine linens. It was disgusting. He clenched his jaw as he felt his lips curl at himself.
"Speak to me," Cosette pled, prompting his face back to her gently. "You never allow me to lose myself in my own head. I will do the same for you. Tell me what troubles you."
"They're gone, Cosette."
It was all she needed to hear to understand. The rebellion hadn't been something he talked about often, but she knew what had happened. She knew that he had lost everyone in the span of one day.
"And one day I will be gone, too," Marius sniffled. "Thus with their memories. I'm all that is left of them. And I'm doing a- a horrid job at keeping them alive. I mean- What have I done that is worthwhile? What have I done to deserve the time I have been granted?"
Cosette's face became desperate, "Marius, you don't have to do anything to deserve to be alive. You don't have to earn anything."
"Then why aren't they here," Marius whimpered. "Why am I here and they aren't?"
"Marius, none of that is your fault," she soothed. "Here. Come."
She shifted until she was by his side, wrapping her arms around his waist now. She pulled him close, and some of the cold feeling ebbed away at her warmth. She pressed a kiss over his heart before she lay on his chest. Her fingers danced across his side in a soothing motion.
"Tell me of them," she encouraged softly.
"What?" Marius felt his face crease in confusion. The clouds made it hard to think sometimes.
"We'll carry their memories together," Cosette told him. "And so will our children when they come. Then their children. We won't let them be forgotten."
Marius sniffled as he felt his face scrunch again. This time it wasn't just with his sadness and his loss. It was with gratitude and adoration. "Cosette, I love you."
She looked up at him, her own eyes still wet, as she tipped forward to touch her velvety, petal pink lips to his. She pulled away, giving him a sad smile. "And I, you."
So he told her. He told her of the times when Courfeyrac and he had shared a home, of all the laughs they shared together, of all their tales. He told her how Grantaire and Enjorlas were foils of each other, yet everyone around could see that they completed each other. He told her about each and every one of them, what they looked like, what they were like. At some points, he even managed to laugh through his tears at some of the memories, feeling like they could be in the room as he repeated their words. She would smile with him, stroking her thumb against his chest as she clung to every word that fell from his lips.
Cosette would hold him until the storm passed, until the spring sun shone on them again. She would hold him and keep him, even when he woke up with screams ripping his throat or when tears bit at his glazed eyes for no particular reason on any given day. She would hold him.
He would do the same for her.
As long as she lived, his soul would, too.
His broken, lonely soul.