Everything was heightened and yet still in slow motion. The room was sharp and clear. every sense found something new, something special. What was the word for that? Grantaire couldn't remember. These could be his last moments. There wasn't time for long words.

Ruby red glistened everywhere around them; the walls were streaked, the battleground below, their friends, their brave, determined comrades, reduced to piles of skin and bones.

He couldn't let Enjolras die alone. The revolution had revolved around his fierce planning and determination. Determination radiated from every pore in his body as he spoke, his stature strong and defiant, ounce after ounce of hard work being poured into his work. When they planned, there was no going back. Each and every one of them had a purpose and they were going to fill it, and they were going to prove their country proud. That's all they'd ever wanted.

Everyone knows that a leader who was that determined had to die a noble death; this leader needed a friend.

It wasn't that Enjolras didn't have friends - on the contrary, he had plenty. But he had never had someone that would truly believe in him. That would willingly die by his side.

However, as Grantaire made himself visible, both to Enjolras and the soldiers, a look of complete horror shot across his lover's face, before a grim determination settled. And maybe a little hope.

As he advanced, all the small features stood out on the blonde's beautifully carved face. Careful wrinkles were lightly drawn on, thick blonde lashes were gently painted and his gentle fingers flexed, as though waiting for something.

By the time he reached him, it only took a split second for him to decide what to do.

It hadn't mattered what the others thought. He was pretty certain they knew, and sent him little sly looks every so often. But it hadn't mattered; it was about Enjolras. Of course, the blonde hadn't a clue, but Grantaire did not despair. Whilst everything else in his life had let him down, had been abandoned, Enjolras was the beacon that still shone. He was the light in the darkness.

But there wasn't time to say that now. There was no time for anything anymore.

But there was a pause. A pause waiting to be filled. But by what?

"Permets-tu?"

His voice was quiet, but it was firm. It sounded like it required an answer, even surprising Grantaire a little.

But, of course, Enjolras was oblivious to that. A small smile answered Grantaire instead, but that small smile that made his world light up. Every bit of him shone, and, suddenly, he felt so incredibly sober that he wondered why he hadn't been all his life. Being happy whilst sober was a hundred times better than whilst drunk.

They were spending their last moments together.

Grantaire reached out and let his rough fingers caress Enjolras'. A spark shot through him, causing his stomach to warm instantly. But they both knew that they were doomed to death. Deep down, Grantaire had known he was doomed from the start. But that hadn't mattered; he couldn't disappoint Enjolras. That was what he'd always feared.

With that thought settling on his brain, Grantaire grasped tight on his love's slender fingers, his thoughts left unsaid in his throat.

It was time to die a noble death; with someone who permitted it.