cinq: there's a pain goes on and on (open)

The cafe is generally empty, this early in the morning. Enjolras is grateful for that; he did not sleep well and is in no mood for company. He looks --not quite as tired as he had upon his arrival, but certainly rough, unshaven and bleary. It has been slightly over a month since their unexpected visitors, the two friends he had longed most for, and he still sees them in his dreams. Last night's were particularly vivid; he had been out with his musket before it had gotten dark, the lingering smell of gunpowder had done him no favors. There was Combeferre with three bayonets to the chest, still trying to help a guardsman despite it all; Courfeyrac standing at his side as the national guard advances upon them.

They are all covered in blood and gunpowder. Everything is, even him, though he was unwounded at the time. At the end, everything had gone silent. It was strange, to be surrounded by so much blood and gunfire and all the chaos that comes with a battle; and yet Enjolras had felt as though he was moving through a haze. He feels similarly now, sitting in a dark corner of the cafe with a mostly drunk cup of coffee nearby. He would rather be awake than chance more dreams. Perhaps someone will come along and distract him from this bout of melancholy.