For months, Edrian has been having dreams — no, nightmares — of the same thing, over and over. Each time, he sees himself, but he’s not really himself. There are people running, screaming, dying… shots ring and bullets fly everywhere. The men are yelling at him, crying for help; they call him a strange name. Enjolras, is it? He always sees a girl. She’s dressed in boy’s clothing, though her sharp but delicate facial features give her away. To his horror, the girl always dies; a gunshot right to her torso. It’s so vivid that it takes a few minutes for his heart to slow down to its normal pace when he wakes up in a cold sweat. All he had done was watch — he never stopped her. Never saved her. The man cradling her in his arms had called her name. It was just as, if not more strange, than his. Who was she? And why was she always there?
One night, he goes out. Maybe a stroll and a quick trip to the lounge bar around the corner will help ease his night terrors. Upon his arrival, he bumps into a woman — literally. As he looks up to apologize, he feels his entire body go rigid. He could swear that she’s the girl that haunts his dreams. He sputters out an apology and can’t help the next words that come out of his mouth.
“I feel like I know you from somewhere.”
She gives him an odd, amused look and thinks he’s hitting on her. But he really just wants an explanation, a sign of recognition from her. His hopes are dashed when she informs him that her name is Emilie and that she works at the bar; she just moved to the city and doesn’t know anyone. But, her face…
Next thing he knows, she’s gone.
There had to be a reason that she just showed up out of nowhere. A reason why he bumped into her of all people in the midst of his endless nightmares. He feels somehow responsible for this girl… He couldn’t save her then, but maybe now…
He goes to the lounge bar a every other night after that, arguing with himself each time. Should he attempt to talk to her again? No. He’s crazy, he knows he is. And he’s sure she thinks he is, too. Then what’s the harm in bringing it up one more time? He has to know if all of it means anything, or if the universe just thought it amusing to mess with his head.
So the next time he sees her a week later — not at the bar but on her way home… he wasn’t following her (not really) — he doesn’t waste any time. She, on the other hand, seems exasperated with his presence. She’s going on about something or other and starts walking away. She’s pushing past him and he’s not listening when he interrupts her.
“Eponine.” He doesn’t even know if she heard him.
He watches as she freezes in her tracks, turning back around slowly with wide eyes.
“…How do you know that name?”