(no subject)

[vivelavenir]

CHARACTERS: Jehan & Courfeyrac {Open to any of Jehan's friends}
LOCATION: Jehan & Courfeyrac's room
WARNINGS: May be some TW about violence/death
SUMMARY: Jehan is back from a two week hiatus getting very, very lost on board the ship, and is returning home to a worried room mate, who will inform anyone else who was in the search party that he's back.
NOTES: Opening post is locked to Courfeyrac; I'll have a comment below it that's open to any friends!


The level of exhaustion he felt was beyond visceral; Jehan was almost sure, at the moment he finally found himself at his front door, that he felt tired down to his absolute core. Down past his soul, which had been weary for months now, and into the deeper stuff of a human. Layers of himself he didn't even know existed, much less could be so exhausted.

Two weeks ago, he had succumbed to being dejected. Over absolutely everything. It was a conflagration of melancholy that was usually a slow burn for him, but that had gotten out of hand as he pushed it off through busying himself, caring for his friends, attempting to be social beyond his usual scope-- pretending that this unnatural and sterile environment, that this scope of outdatedness and new knowledge, would all be fine. Because they were together; his friends who had died, himself who had died, they were here.

And then Marius was gone, shortly after those public executions, and his ability to rally himself deflated. With Courfeyrac out of the rooms for a week, he found excuses to wander out to the gardens. To anywhere. To skip meals, to stop checking his device, to cease in any and all company and visits, to lose himself in thinking, or writing, or reading, or simply sitting.

Then the Jump had come, and it had pushed him past his last limit. That tube down his throat, and the piercing fear of who wouldn't be there this time, or of what man would show up stumbling in his own blood stains and asking why, and how? He'd dressed quickly and left quickly. He hadn't taken the device. He was about midway to his rooms when he'd realized... he wasn't midway to his rooms. He was quite lost.

That had been a week ago now.

Putting his head to the door and taking a grateful breath, eyes closed for a moment, he then let himself in.

He doubted that anyone would be there. Selfish though it was, and eager for companionship though he now was, he was equally hungry, dirty and so, so tired... informing anyone that he was back might be an extra hour or two. He wanted to close his eyes and square himself for the lecture he felt sure was coming, and to face any annoyances he might have caused.

Comments

{Locked for Courfeyrac}

[vivelavenir]

[lecentre]

There were scraps of paper littering the room and a weary, ink stained dandy sitting at the desk that the poet generally occupied. Courfeyrac, after searching for Jehan with their friends for two weeks had become tired beyond means. The last two days were spent in their room with nothing but dry crackers and water to sustain him. And even then, he felt ill when trying to nibble on them. He refused to take up any more of their friend's time with his paranoia. With how scared to death he was that they'd lost Jehan.

On the paper were half written letters, sore attempts at poetry and scratches of incoherent gibberish because nothing he was writing was making any sense. How did writers manage this? He was going insane trying to get out at least a few thoughts, much less many of them.

He glanced up at the door as it opened, ready to put on a brave face and assure whichever friend had come to check on him this time that he was alright... That he'd manage to survive and they'd find Jehan soon, despite the circles under his eyes and how positively tired he looked. He had not slept much since the jump, which was saying a great deal for a man who so very much enjoyed his cat naps.

"Jehan?" he breathed, eyes widening when he realized it was not Combeferre come to lecture him to eat or Enjolras to offer that strange sort of sympathy only he could manage.

[vivelavenir]

Jehan... well, he blinked. Staying in the doorway, as if taking another step was just too much, a strange sort of self-consciousness overtook him.

Staring down across the room at Courfeyrac when he'd made that soft call, a little bit of surprise penetrated that thick film of exhaustion. Jehan honestly had not expected anyone to be there. Though it was their room, it hadn't been when he'd left, and moreover, Courfeyrac was so sociable... it had been an innate assumption, that he would not have returned.

Perhaps, on some level, it had also been an innate anxiety and fear.

Nonetheless, when he finally found his much-unused voice (and the fact that it had not been showed on the way it wavered and sounded unsure of its own pitch), he nodded and replied, "I'm here."

He did not know what else to do. He continued to merely stand there.

The sensation was absurd and surreal both at once. Like looking at a phantom, and being stuck between overwhelming fondness and overbearing shyness. Like being caught stealing by someone who wouldn't blame you, or being seen sleeping during a lecture by someone who would let you. From lost to stuck.

[lecentre]

They were stuck, then, in that strange way of not knowing what to do next. Sure, he'd spoken... But how could Courfeyrac, at this moment, be so sure that it was not himself slipping into madness or delirium of some sort? He'd slept so scarcely and ate so little that it was more than possible.

If he pushed himself from the desk and crossed over to him, would he be greeted by him or just by a phantom figure? He wasn't so certain he could handle that, not with the loss of Pontmercy still weighing on his mind. "I've been--" Worried? Upset? Beside himself? All were more than true, but especially: "so scared."

That he was gone. But he won't let that leave his lips... That was something that was better let linger so as not to hurt or guilt him any further.

[vivelavenir]

'I've been' was actually almost comforting in a sense, before Courfeyrac finished the satement. That 'he'd been' calmed another innate fear of his, in a small measure, before the actual meaning struck him.

Ah. Of course.

It was a double-problem. On the one hand, he had spent the last week in a fit of guilt over the idea of having gone missing at so awful a time, to have not caught a single one of their eyes before passing on into total obscurity among the ship's passages. But at the same time, he'd also needled himself over being too haughty; gone a week already, who might not assume he was simply out on his own? Who might even notice a few extra days, at that? Absurd to think it would worry anyone, on the one hand; and absurd to think anyone would be free of worry, on the other.

Letting out a low breath and letting his eyes fall with it, he kept his hand on the frame of the door and flexed his fingers slightly, failing with words again. Perhaps he'd been so cruel in his disuse of them lately, that they'd chosen to snub him.

"...I'm sorry." Given, finally. It seemed like the right, if not only thing to say.

And truly, he was.

[lecentre]

Courfeyrac couldn't stand it anymore. He watched Jehan stand in the doorway for far too long without greeting him as he should. He chewed on his lip, brows furrowed, before finally pushing himself up from the desk. Perhaps he'd done so a bit too fast, as the lack of food and sleep caught up to him and he swayed in place for a moment. But then he was right there with Jehan so quickly it was a wonder that he'd managed to do so. Arms wrapped around him to assure him that he was really there and Courfeyrac held onto the poet as he feared to let him go.

"Your waistcoat was beside itself in your absence."

Well, no, okay... Maybe that was just him.

{Open to Friends}

[vivelavenir]

Jehan had Courfeyrac send the correspondance that he was returned, after their reunion. He had not felt up to the task himself, but knew that it ought to be done. He did not plan on leaving his room any time too soon now, and so would be easy to find now.

[unaccepted]

Grantaire heard from Courfeyrac that Jehan had, apparently, returned. From where, Grantaire did not know, and he had not been told when this trip had occurred. It was true that Grantaire did not see him at the jump, but he was not sure if they were meant to meet up every time. He was rather busy greeting Bahorel, anyway.

Even so, he decided he should give Jehan a welcome back from his trip, and found his room. He knocked at the door a couple of times and then called, "I come in the form of the herald, Hermes, to welcome!"

[vivelavenir]

Head poking up at the call from where he had it leaned against his hand (as if fretting that it might literally come unhinged if he did not offer it some help), Jehan couldn't rally the rest of his tired body out of its slumping pose, but could indeed entice his voice into a bit of movement.

He did recognize Grantaire's own manner of speech, the sardonic depth of it, even with a door softening its low tone and high melody.

The irony, to have the god of finding lost things be the first at their doorstep.

"Though I have no honey nor cakes to offer the sweet tooth of the messenger, if you will forgive me and forgo making yourself a cyclops for my displeasure, I inform you gratefully that the door is open."

He managed that weak bit of wit in return, ever enlivened by any even remote pass at an old myth, even though this came up weary, shaded and short. He was glad to hear him, but no amount of joy in the world could pull expclimations from his throat; much less animate him into opening the door himself.

[unaccepted]

As soon as the response ended, Grantaire stepped in quite casually for someone who had not been around it more than, perhaps, once. "Then," he started, with one foot in the door, "'I will go to Pytho to break into his great house, and will plunder therefrom splendid tripods, and cauldrons, and gold,' and... ah, I have come to the wrong temple. I enter, still."

The atmosphere in the room hit him belatedly once he closed the door, as did his friend's posture once in sight. It was unfortunate that he did not know how to be grave when others called for the mood; he should have brought a bottle with him.

"I was informed you had returned, although I must say, I was sent no letter to inform me of your vacation." His voice was no longer quite so loud, rather it was now searching and curious.

[vivelavenir]

Jehan's mind dragged over the references with unusual sluggishness. Ah, Pytho, the Krisa of the center of Earth. Ah, the trickery of he who led the mortals through Hades. Things he recognized, but from a dream and not from books, it felt to him. He was not quick enough now to latch onto any of it in time to make a proper, lyrical response.

Instead, it was all he could do to simply look up at Grantaire with brief consideration before returning his eyes to his desk. Whether the man seemed genuinely bewildered, or was simply prodding the situation with a stick-- such would be the guise of Hermes, truly-- Jehan wasn't sure and hadn't the fortitude to riddle out.

Surely, someone had recalled to inform him. Otherwise, his calm and doleful pity might be transferred, to the Hermes snubbed by Mnemosyne.

"I regret," He began, with a weary lilt biting at the words, "that I had not the time to write. Though I should have made it, I know, and wish that such foresight had been with me at the moment of departure." A writer who forgets to write; quite the sorry state of affairs.

[unaccepted]

Grantaire stepped further into the room with some mindfulness. Certainly Prouvaire's melancholy was known well throughout their group, but that did not mean it was to be unseen.

"It is no matter," he dismissed, tone frivolous as if it had not changed before. "Such things always end in smudges and blots and formalities; it is unlikely that I would have read anything of the sort, and I would be chiding you now for doing so."

He took the chance to glance at the desk which Prouvaire seemed fixated upon, and then added, "What weighs so heavy on your mind that you leave your desk cold without the paper of poetry to warm it?"

[daringwaistcoats]

A full week of familiarizing himself with his new surroundings and its mysterious quirks had been challenging in its own right, ignoring all the time and willpower spent planning and strategizing with Combeferre, scouring each 'room' of the massive ship with Courfeyrac -- thrice, cheerily convincing everyone that of course Jehan was still on board, of course they would find him sooner rather than later -- in fact, perhaps he was in the kitchen making himself something to eat right now!

But Bahorel was never the cheerleader; it simply was not his role to fill. Courfeyrac was their verve, and Bahorel their laughter; one fed the flames of the other and all would huddle gleefully in the resulting bonfire's presence. Yet when one faltered, then the other, too, lost a little of its friendly glimmer; when one became petulantly frantic, the other turned to snapping irritability. The search team, though still united in a single goal, slowly lost its enthusiastic fervour and soon their centre had fallen through. It was all Bahorel could do to keep his own stubborn resolve, but he was certainly not ready to give up yet. His fire would not be doused so easily.

They had not heard from Courfeyrac in a day or two, so when Bahorel received a beeping notice from him, he did not bother to read the message and instead took off immediately for the other's room.

It was a bit anticlimactic not being able to kick the sliding door in, though he supposed all the better, as the rooms were so small that enough force would probably have inflicted severe damage upon whomever happened to be standing within its trajectory. So he impatiently jabbed his thumb repeatedly into what passed as a 'doorknob' of sorts and waited for it to slide open.

If it was locked, to hell with potential damage -- he was going to kick that bloody door in.

[vivelavenir]

Jehan was still situated at his desk, the short nap he'd willed himself to take upon Courfeyrac's blessing somehow only having worked a magic of feebleness over his limbs and mind equally; he felt certain that, should he be cut open in some small way, what would work itself out of his veins would not be warm blood, but curdled lethargy. He fancied that soured ooze to be coloured blue, and to have been formulated by the fermentation of dreams un-had, and quite cross not to have been born into the world and lifted away to Hypnos' jolly embrace, instead doomed to walk an early line to his rueful brother, that Thánatos.

He thought of all this, in bursts, and nothing at all, in general. His mind felt a slate, heavy and quite worn, and his arms and legs told him that if his mind was a slate it had borrowed the lead from in his bones.

He was very tired, in every way that a man could be.

And yet, sitting his own vigil (as it felt), he did lift his eyes as the tell of the door gave way to a third person, and wet his lips in preparation for using his voice, either to apologize to Albert as sweetly as he could manage, or to greet Enolras with a sighing hello, or to say Combeferre's name with a sheepish bravery. Whichever came first, as he was minutely prepared for all three.

But not this. Not who was there, and who had come.

Eyes widening, and lips pursing slightly as they fell open lopsidedly, Jehan's thoughts jerked, and the sigh was stolen as a moment unbreathing and his fingers; curled beneath his chin; seemed to him to twitch, as if signaling there was a bit of electric left in him to keep running, if he needed it. As if it had been stored in reserve, for months, just for this.

"Bahorel."

What more could he say? It seemed to summarize all, that one vital, bursting word.

BECAUSE IT'S ONLY APPROPRIATE YOU GET THESE KEYWORDS

[daringwaistcoats]

Courfeyrac had not been seen in several days now, having imprisoned himself in their missing friend's room in case the other were to suddenly return. Neither sight nor sound of his existence had been grasped since then, so at his sudden message, Bahorel had been prepared for either the best or the worst. As the door slid open, he braced himself for the latter, mind racing as he tried to recall how one might call upon those little creatures that cleaned their halls, and briefly pondered whether clearing up blood was among their set of tasks.

Courfeyrac lay in one of the beds, still as the grave-- until a deep, sighing breath of contentedness lifted his shoulders and showed him settling deeper into the nape of an invisible lover with a relaxed smile. Good, then. All seemed well enough, if the man was getting enough sleep at last.

But it was the solid figure lit upon the chair at the desk on the far side of the room and bright, widened eyes that finally settled Bahorel's fighting stance.

The crackling of his own name induced him into a tempest unleashed, and there was no time to think before the shocking spectre was lifted from his seat and pulled into a tight, if tender, embrace.

"Jehan," came the clap of thunder that always follows a flash of lightning, a glorious rumble in the back of Bahorel's throat. There was a puff of a laugh, a broad smile like that of the sun finally piercing through the storm clouds. Finally, he pulled away to survey the other's countenance.

"Nil ego contulerim iucundo sanus amico; it is so good to see that our dearest friend Long has returned from that perilous voyage after all."

THAT'S COOL, YOU CAN HAVE MY HAPPIEST ICON BACK, SPIDERMAN.

[vivelavenir]

"Oh--"

The word was cut off, or faltered, by lack of air. His ginger surprise at being literally lifted from his chair by Bahorel's enthusiasm faltered too, only by the thawing effect it had on his heart. For really, in such strength of spirits and warmth of embrace, it must really be him. No figment of his was so heady and bold, and nothing comparable to this.

Jehan breathed a smile, when he could breathe, and his arms rose halfway; unable, in such an embrace, to return it, but able instead to lightly touch one of his elbows and give the shadow of a tired laugh, illuminated from his very soul upwards to be in proximity of so great a friend again. Alive.

Tottering back to gravity when he pulled away, Jehan glanced up with a lukewarm expression and an affectionate stare; weary, but glad.

"Alors; o bone-! Ogygia is still a difficult place to make an escape of. Forgive me; I have been gone too long. And I will forgive you, who--" It was difficult to keep the emotion from his voice, which flickered as his smile crumpled, just so. "--has been gone longer."

Enter The Eyebrow

[but_civilization]

Combeferre had made his way to Courfeyrac and Jehan's room as soon as he had gotten out of yet another disastrous hands on experience in Why We Shouldn't Let Combeferre Play With Machinery, Especially Not Integral To The Ship and hadn't even bothered to change, or worry about the fact he seemed to have finally ruined his shirt for good. He was even a bit out of breath when he arrived because he'd rushed on his way there.

Combeferre couldn't help it though, not where Jehan was concerned. Instead he was knocking, then trying the handle as if he owned the place himself. Surely they'd have put out some sort of a warning if they intended to ...reunite...in privacy and what did it matter if he happened to walk in on the two of them kissing anyway? It was hardly like the time with the medieval lords or whatever they were, besides. And instead he was barging in, eyebrow already raised, but more quizzically than anything at first.

"Jehan. Are you all right? I would have come sooner but my lessons..."

Those were the most important points at least.

He's So Sorry, Put It Away

[vivelavenir]

...In the last two weeks, something very curious had happened, in his absence. Doors had become very difficult indeed, nearly overnight, if his visitors had anything to say about it. The way there was fuzzing and fiddling before every new entry gave Jehan pause and made his own brows knit a little from his seat, always announcing someone new almost by their sheer frustration.

It was quite open, and as far as he was aware, the doors worked as doors always had. But, well...

"Combeferre." Greeted, back, voice coming in at a low and quiet register; a deal more sheepish with this arrival than with others, though some of the absurdity of his appearance tamed that. "I-- yes. Fine. Are... are you, however?" The concern came very naturally, regardless of whether or not the tables ought to be turned.

I Don't Think So. You Deserve This.

[but_civilization]

"I am perfectly fine." Combeferre insisted making his way over to Jehan to check him over quickly before he accidentally hurt him with a hug or anything of the sort. "The generator is a little worse for wear but was repairable." By someone very much not him. He may be thrown out of the class at this rate, but really, he deserved it. And he was too happy to see Jehan to care very much.

"Are you certain?" he asked, to be sure. "No wounds, bruises, or anything I have to be especially careful of? Then whose ass are we sending Bahorel to get medieval on?" Because SOMEONE had obviously done this, and the expression, as he'd come to understand it, felt right here.

Though he was satisfied with his friend's condition enough for the moment that Jehan got swept into a hug. "When we did not see you at the jump..."

...No One Deserves THAT.

[vivelavenir]

"O-oh?" Jehan tripped over his words as he fought to really embrace all that Combeferre was saying. A generator of... what? And... going Medieval on a donkey? Mystified to new levels, he nonetheless near-mechanically raised his arms (and indeed, raised off the chair a little bit) to meet his hug, mastering his face against the serious smell of oil and singed cotton that came flying off of his friend severely.

"Tired beyond reason, and thinner than usual surely, but otherwise whole." He assured, still speaking softly. Whatever scrapes or strains he did have were minimal, and he certainly wouldn't have mind to complain about them. He was sore, at worst. "...I am not certain Bahorel is up to the task of being medieval, does he not strike you as more Bohemian?" Asked, sincerely, because... well, he really had no idea what Combeferre was talking about, no matter which of his faculties he addressed the problem to.

Mostly to avoid having to say what he now said, quieter than even before.

"...I know. I ran from it. I am sorry."

action spam, deal with it

[assumedposition]

[Albert had knocked on Jehan's door every day since he had been made aware of his friend's disappearance. Today was no exception. Albert was nothing if not stubborn... but he did it so dejectedly today. It was getting harder and harder to come here, wondering if today would be the day that Jehan would return.

He hadn't checked his comms device in several hours, instead being busy with this, that and the other, so he had missed the message from Courfeyrac entirely.]

[vivelavenir]

[Really, Jehan would never be able to understand quite the trouble with his friends and doors today. At least, it seemed, this was an issue of politeness rather than frustration.

Having been already wrung through the gamut of visits in quick succession, and having set himself up with another bit of bread and juice which he was steadily working on, he felt only a passing guilt at staying seated, in favour of calling out;]

It is open; come in.

1/2

[assumedposition]

Ah...

[Hearing that voice, he pushes the door open. A heart full of hope!!!]

[assumedposition]

[And his face simply lights up when he sees that it is, indeed, Jehan.]

Jehan! It is you!

[Without a thought or a care for his friend's emotional state, he rushes to Jehan's side to cover him in a quick and manly embrace. Very manly.]

[vivelavenir]

[His own smile is quick and ready. It would be difficult for it not to be, to see this one again, much less looking so well and in good spirits himself.]

It is, I have been assured.

[He agreed, returning that-- ...manly?-- embrace, despite the grumpy way that his limbs protested. Their argument was sustained.]

And it is you. How good to see you, Albert. Have you been well?

[This felt less heavy than the other reunions, and he was very much curious as to the state of his young friend.]