A/N: Hey guys! So anyway, this is my first ever fanfic, so try not to be too mean. (Though constructive criticism is appreciated.) I hope you like it!
DISCLAIMER: Yeah, I totally own Les Miserables… You know, that huge book on the shelf over there that says "Victor Hugo" on the front? Yep, that's mine.
-sigh- Oh, if only that were true.
When he spoke, his words were filled with passion and fire. When his gaze fell upon you, you felt yourself aflame. He lived for no man but his country, for no woman but France and the glory of the republic. Grantaire hated him.
And yet, he loved him.
Enjolras was everything Grantaire was not and everything he wanted to be. He was beautiful while Grantaire was ugly, strong while he was weak, brave while he was a coward- Nothing but a coward who hid deep in the depths of his bottle. His world was lightless, lifeless. Enjolras was his fire, his Apollo. But fire burns. It rages and destroys, ravages all around it until it finally sputters out and dies.
Enjolras would die. He would die for his people, his republic, his Patria. Grantaire would die for nothing. He would spend the rest of his days in the gutter, in the bottle, senseless and careless of the world around him. Enjolras would go to heaven, while Grantaire would go to hell, wherever that was. Life was hell without Enjolras.
This republic, this revolution would take his Enjolras- his light, his life- away. Grantaire did not merely care little for the revolution; he hated it. It would rob him, had already robbed him, of his Apollo, would take from him the only thing he had ever cared for. No, Grantaire would never die for the revolution.
But he would die for Enjolras.