The first thought that presented itself in his head when he woke up was not the bright light pulsing through his eyelids or the sound of muffled sobbing somewhere close by or even the deep aching pain spreading its way throughout his body. No, Enjolras' first thought after waking up was that his hand was currently being held with both the delicacy and fierceness. And when this hand grasped Enjolras' even tighter, everything that had happened pushed to the front of his mind – the battle, watching all of his friends die, and finally Grantaire, those green eyes never leaving his blue ones as he walked past the soldiers to stand next to Enjolras, ready to die by his side.
He squeezed Grantaire's hand and turned over to face him. The joy that could be seen on Grantaire's face quickly spread to Enjolras and soon both of them were smiling, standing and holding each other, happy with the fact that they were together, whether or not they knew exactly where they were. And then a familiar cough interrupted them. Standing in the room with them were the rest of their friends – Joly with his head on Bossuet's shoulder, Jehan holding and comforting a crying Courfeyrac and everyone else standing awkwardly, almost not sure what to do with themselves – and Combeferre was in front of all of them, looking at Enjolras and Grantaire with a melancholy smile.
"We were hoping that of all of us, you would be the one to live and continue. But I can say that I am glad to see you again...and with good company." At this Grantaire's cheeks reddened but Enjolras pressed his hand one more time before stepping forward to embrace Combeferre.
"Where are we? Is this...?"
"Yes, mon ami, this is death. Even after we have passed, we still remain where our souls want to be most desperately. And that," he chuckled and gestured around him, "happens to be Le Musain, for all of us it seems." The rest of Les Amis nodded behind him. Enjolras felt his stomach tighten, finally realizing that the room they were in was their room in the back of the cafe, only quiet for once, without the noises of Paris floating in through the windows.
"Oh what have I done to all of you. Had it not been for me you would have still been alive, enjoying life and now see where my ideas have placed you!" Before he could keep going, Feuilly spoke from behind Combeferre.
"Stop. We knew what we were getting ourselves into and it's finished now, there is nothing to be done. And does this show you nothing if not that we still long to be here, with you, even after death?" Only one other time in his life had Enjolras felt this level of love for someone and he realized that this someone was still standing behind him, staring at the floor and not saying anything, very much out of character for him.
"Have you been outside yet? Are we the only ones here?" Enjolras went straight to doing what he did best, taking the lead. "Perhaps we'll go look now, see if there are any more peop – of us around and then reconvene to talk about what we should do." Slowly the rest of Les Amis got up and started heading downstairs. Enjolras whispered something in Combeferre's ear and grabbed Grantaire's arm before he could make it to the door. "Hi." At that Grantaire, who had been looking anywhere but at Enjolras' face, locked eyes with him.
"Hi. Um, would you like to go look at what it's like?"
"No, actually. I wanted to talk to you. About what happened before we...well before."
"I'm sorry. I know it wasn't how you would have wanted to go, especially with me there. But I figured that Orestes might want Pylades by his side." And there it was again; Enjolras was always in awe whenever Grantaire used his wit and knowledge instead of dulling it with absinthe and wine.
"Why would you be sorry? Having you there with me was the best thing I could have asked for. And to be honest, I was terrified. You gave me strength. I wasn't afraid when you were next to me." Grantaire's eyes go wide and Enjolras can see that he's not used to receiving praise. A thought in the back of his mind is telling him that he wants to see Grantaire smiling like this more often.
"Are you disappointed...with how things ended?" Enjolras' heart sank when Grantaire said this. He told himself that it was because of the reminder that he would no longer be able to fight for the people but swore that he could see Grantaire inching closer to him.
"I am not disappointed in my death, only that the people of Paris did not rise to the occasion sooner. They will, eventually, I am sure of it. I only regret that I will not be there to see it done." Grantaire laughed exasperatedly. "Do you still mock our cause, even after you died for it?"
"I mock nothing. I am only in awe that you still believe so greatly in a cause and a people that allowed you to die. And I did not die for the cause, I died for you." Grantaire brushed his hand along Enjolras' cheek as he said this and started to turn away before Enjolras grabbed his arm to turn him around once again, only this time their lips met and neither quite knew what they were doing but just as they had died together they melted together, into one other. And fingers were running through hair and down bodies and never before had either of them felt something quite like this – that all they wanted was right there and nothing, not alcohol nor talk of revolution, could take away the need they had for each other except a creak that came from the stairs. And there was Combeferre, whose face was as red as the mark that was blooming on Enjolras' neck.
"Er, I'll go now but we found some more people and thought you would want to...I'm sorry, I'm just going to leave." Enjolras started following him, tugging Grantaire by the hand, but not before Grantaire pecked his cheek one last time and grinned bigger than he ever had before, knowing that in this world they had all the time they could ever want for pecks and loving and learning about each others minds and bodies and never before had he felt so light.