There are different types of tiredness. As well as differences in darkness. Like there is darkness, so deep and black, which reminds us death. But there is also darkness which comes after a bright day, taking us gently to a place where our tired minds can sleep.
Enjolras collapses on the chair as soon as the last member of the friends of ABC has left(it was Courfeyrac, who was singing one of their song about Revolution…)
Ah, Revolution! Modern people after us (and I think it is for the best) won't understand the effect of that word. What do we know about it? Hundreds of years later after Enjolras an encyclopedia probably will say :"Revolution is a fundamental change in power or organizational structures that takes place in a relatively short period of time".
It doesn't tell us about the changes inside the souls of those who are involved in it. Poor Enjolras! His soul was stolen by the Revolution. Maybe deep inside, under his desires to change the world lays a naïve wish, just like children have. To live happily. But reality turns this young man, into a warrior, into a leader, into Enjolras as his friends know him.
The café soon has become empty, because truth to be said it has never been really popular, so when the Les Amis go away in their business it remains empty. Almost empty.
Dim lights can play with the imagination. Enjolras has fair hair, but as long as warm light from the candle, which is standing on the table, gently touches him, his hair's become golden. Sharp, intelligent gaze's been hidden by the tiredness, which this light has reviled.
I like to see him like this. But do I have a right to see that? To see him human?
The leader rubs his eyes and takes a shit of paper. Even when the meeting is over Enjolras writes something. Probably the plan of the next day.
Will you join the fight which will give you the right to be free?
Enjolras's hand trembles as he writes something.
Yes, they will.
He thoughtfully touches his lips by the left hand, unconsciously, I think.
There is a life about to start, when tomorrow comes. But will it come?
He squeezes the piece of paper, red ink has marked his hand, but I think he hasn't noticed.
What if I am wrong? About everything.
No, you cannot be. Look what you've already done? People're uniting, they believe that there is a better world, they will fight for it.
They? Not we?
I look away, trying not to think about that aspect.
You know why I am here, Enjolras.
You don't believe in Revolution. I…I can't understand why don't you? Do you like the life we are living now?
I nod, but he doesn't see that, does he?
The leader jerkily grabs a glass, an empty glass. Just to have something at hands to hide the tremor.
Enjolras? You fear to die? Will the world remember you when you fall? Could it be your death Means nothing at all? Is your life just one more lie?
He closes his eyes. No, I cannot see this. I am not allowed. I see doubts, fears, tears.
I will remember, I promise. No, I promise you will live!
The Revolutionary stands up so suddenly that I instinctively make a step back, letting shadows hide me.
"Who am I? How have I ever allowed myself to think that I can lead people, my friends to their death?" his voice sounds ever more hoarse then a minute ago.
"Not to death. Well, they don't think about that. They believe."
Enjolras freezes. His gracious figure suddenly turns into a statue of Renaissance artist. Bernini's for example.
The silence has been broken by the sound of the glass falling on the floor and smashing into thousands of tiny pieces. Like a man's hope of living long and happy.
"Grantaire?" he whispers my name, which gives me shivers down my spine. "W-what..Why are you here?"
Okay, that hurts actually. "You've been talking with me, Apollo."
"Don't call me that." The automatic reply comes out.
Enjolras remains still for a moment, realizing that his right hand is colored in red, down his cheek is running a single, bitter tear. I, beyond everyone see him in such state. I hate myself for that.
"Enjolras, I am sorry, but you've started talking and I_"
He closes his eyes and takes a deep breath. "I thought I was thinking."
I smile. "And your head answers you? Using my voice?'
He sighs and looks at me. I make another step, because being under such gaze, it's like…Showing your soul at the exhibition in Louvre.
"When I have doubts_" he says sadly. "in my head they have your voice, Grantaire." He sits back on his chair, looking nowhere, seeing nothing and seeing everything. "Cynical, sarcastic. Like the truth must be after all."
After a moment of hesitation I've decided to come closer. "May I?"
He nods and glances at me again.
"You will live. You can go away, why are you here, Grantaire?"
I shook my head, trying not to listen to him.
Enjolras hugs himself, maybe to make himself warm, or maybe trying to protect of his own thoughts. But a second later his hands fall on his knees, his head rests on his chest.
"We won't survive. I am leading us to the angry grip of the Death."
His voice sounds so powerful. Like an order to execution.
"Please, pardon me, I didn't want anyone to see this. But now I realize. Tomorrow I will say everyone to go away. They will live."
Enjolras stand up again and starts going away, when I grab his sleeve. "I won't go."
He looks at me, upside down, his glance unreadable for me at this moment. He is so beautiful: like a steel blade, hiding inside the flower.
"I don't have where to go. And I don't want. My place is here." Enjolras reminds silent. "Not by your side_" I grab his sleeve tighter. "But at least together with all of them."
The golden-haired Enjolras meets my eyes. Question inside them, question on his lips. I know that he wants to ask "why".
"I believe in France. And for me, France can be contained in one person." I can't hold his gaze. "In you. Let me be with you."
A warm touch of his hand. How strange. You really are a human, Enjolras.
"I was sure you were going to mock me, Grantaire. You've seen my weakness." He says quietly. "Instead…" he sits near me, still holding my hand. "Thank you." His head rests on my shoulder, heave sigh escapes his lips.
I want to kiss him so much at this moment. Instead I only sighs and pats his shoulder. All in all, I am already happier than I've ever imagined.
Two young men sit in the dark café. Who are they? Brothers? Friends?
They are Enjolras and Grantaire.