I do not own Grantaire. I do not own Enjolras. Curse it all, I want Jean Valjean!! Unfortunately, all three belong to Victor Hugo. Unlucky me. But I support Grantaire/Enjolras!! *waves little "Grantaire/Enjolras" flag* This fic based off the book
Tears of the Revolution
"Enjolras..." Grantaire whispered quietly
"Eh? Grantaire?" Courfeyrac asked.
"Nothing. I didn't say anything. You're hearing things, Courfeyrac. Too much wine," he teased.
"Huh," Courfeyrac snorted. "That's fine coming from you."
Grantaire ignored him as he closed his eyes. He could picture Enjolras easily. But Enjolras, he was quite entirely sure, had never tried to picture him. It was awful, to love someone who would never love you. A tear escaped and slid down his cheek.
He opened his gentle brown eyes. Sighing, he stared out the window.
//They all think of me as the drunk of the group, I know it. I should try harder. Maybe Enjolras wouldn't be in contempt of me if I could just break the habit. All right. I'm really going to try! I really want to do it! Well, to start...//
He stood, and slowly left the tavern. In his mind he marked it as one of the places he must never go to again. He wasn't going back.
Almost distractedly he began to walk the streets of Paris. He stared around himself as if he were walking there for the first time.
//I know these places, don't I? But everything is so unfamiliar... I know these streets...right?//
He started to shake. He honestly couldn't remember where he was. "Enjolras?" he whispered again, almost desperately. "Enjolras, I'm lost..."
"Grantaire? What on earth are you doing?"
Grantaire spun around. The voice brought him back to earth, and he suddenly knew where he was. He sighed in relief. He actually hadn't gone too far; he was still in the Rue de la Chanvrerie.
"Thank God."
Then he realized who the speaker was.
"Enjolras!"
"Grantaire. What's wrong?"
Grantaire stared at the ground dejectedly. He must have made a pretty pitiful picture moments before: standing in a familiar street and shaking like a rabbit. Enjolras probably thought he was suffering from withdrawal. Another reason for the rebel student to despise him.
"Nothing," he muttered. "I was feeling ill."
"Come on back to the tavern with the others."
"No!" Grantaire started violently.
"Grantaire?"
"I'm not going back!" he yelled, then looked down again. A right fool he was acting.
"Whyever not?" Enjolras asked softly.
Grantaire looked up at the tone in the other student's voice. "Enjolras..."
"Why not?" Enjolras asked again.
"I...I'm..." he took a deep breath. "I'm trying to stop drinking."
Enjolras' expression was hard to fathom. Finally he said, with friendliness, "Good for you."
Grantaire looked, amazed, at him, completely stunned at the warmth in Enjolras' voice as he spoke those words. He had expected nothing but contempt from the student who generally never had any emotion but a strange love for the rebellion he planned to lead.
He became aware of himself staring open-mouthed at Enjolras. He blushed slightly and closed his mouth. "It's a difficult effort," he muttered. "I was driven to it."
"Why?" came the inquiry
"Why was I driven to drinking, or why driven to stop?" he said, a bit harshly.
"Tell me both, if you'd like."
"You!" Grantaire exclaimed. "It was you!"
"What?" Enjolras looked taken aback.
"You don't think I'm worth anything! You don't believe I have a cause! But I do! My cause is your cause, and your barricade will be my barricade as well!"
"Grantaire... You're not worth nothing. No one in this revolution is worth nothing."
"The revolution, always the revolution!" he burst out forcefully. "I'm starting to hate the damned revolution!"
He shuddered fiercely while again staring at his feet.
Suddenly he felt an arm around his shoulders. He looked up to find Enjolras hugging him.
"Enjolras...I'm sorry..." he mumbled.
"It's all right. You're part of our revolution - our cause - too. How can we ever leave you out?" Enjolras said gently.
Grantaire ran his fingers through his hair. "It's a good revolution. Not a damnable one. It's a good one," he sighed distractedly.
"Come on back to the tavern with me?" the revolutionary suggested.
Grantaire nodded wordlessly, and with a small delicate smile on his pale countenance, he walked side-by-side with the person he loved...back to their revolution.
~~~
The blazing light of the battle, of which he had seen nothing and in which he had taken no part, shone in his eyes. He repeated, "Long live the Republic!" and walking steadily across the room took his stand by Enjolras, confronting the muskets.
"Might as well kill two birds with one stone," he said; and then, turning to Enjolras, he added gently: "If you don't mind."
Enjolras clasped his hand and smiled.
The smile had not left his face when the volley rang out. Enjolras, pierced by eight shots, stayed leaning against the wall as though the bullets had nailed him there; only his head hung down.
Grantaire collapsed at his feet.
The revolution was over.
Owari ~ End
Les Mis rocks! This is my first LM fic, actually. (Except for the Miserably Happy People, which was humor.) I copied most of the last bit out of the book, the book which I also do not profess to own. Well...I own it. But I don't own it. You know? I didn't write the darn thing but I own my copy!!!!! *rant* Anyway, please R+R
~Korin
Tears of the Revolution
"Enjolras..." Grantaire whispered quietly
"Eh? Grantaire?" Courfeyrac asked.
"Nothing. I didn't say anything. You're hearing things, Courfeyrac. Too much wine," he teased.
"Huh," Courfeyrac snorted. "That's fine coming from you."
Grantaire ignored him as he closed his eyes. He could picture Enjolras easily. But Enjolras, he was quite entirely sure, had never tried to picture him. It was awful, to love someone who would never love you. A tear escaped and slid down his cheek.
He opened his gentle brown eyes. Sighing, he stared out the window.
//They all think of me as the drunk of the group, I know it. I should try harder. Maybe Enjolras wouldn't be in contempt of me if I could just break the habit. All right. I'm really going to try! I really want to do it! Well, to start...//
He stood, and slowly left the tavern. In his mind he marked it as one of the places he must never go to again. He wasn't going back.
Almost distractedly he began to walk the streets of Paris. He stared around himself as if he were walking there for the first time.
//I know these places, don't I? But everything is so unfamiliar... I know these streets...right?//
He started to shake. He honestly couldn't remember where he was. "Enjolras?" he whispered again, almost desperately. "Enjolras, I'm lost..."
"Grantaire? What on earth are you doing?"
Grantaire spun around. The voice brought him back to earth, and he suddenly knew where he was. He sighed in relief. He actually hadn't gone too far; he was still in the Rue de la Chanvrerie.
"Thank God."
Then he realized who the speaker was.
"Enjolras!"
"Grantaire. What's wrong?"
Grantaire stared at the ground dejectedly. He must have made a pretty pitiful picture moments before: standing in a familiar street and shaking like a rabbit. Enjolras probably thought he was suffering from withdrawal. Another reason for the rebel student to despise him.
"Nothing," he muttered. "I was feeling ill."
"Come on back to the tavern with the others."
"No!" Grantaire started violently.
"Grantaire?"
"I'm not going back!" he yelled, then looked down again. A right fool he was acting.
"Whyever not?" Enjolras asked softly.
Grantaire looked up at the tone in the other student's voice. "Enjolras..."
"Why not?" Enjolras asked again.
"I...I'm..." he took a deep breath. "I'm trying to stop drinking."
Enjolras' expression was hard to fathom. Finally he said, with friendliness, "Good for you."
Grantaire looked, amazed, at him, completely stunned at the warmth in Enjolras' voice as he spoke those words. He had expected nothing but contempt from the student who generally never had any emotion but a strange love for the rebellion he planned to lead.
He became aware of himself staring open-mouthed at Enjolras. He blushed slightly and closed his mouth. "It's a difficult effort," he muttered. "I was driven to it."
"Why?" came the inquiry
"Why was I driven to drinking, or why driven to stop?" he said, a bit harshly.
"Tell me both, if you'd like."
"You!" Grantaire exclaimed. "It was you!"
"What?" Enjolras looked taken aback.
"You don't think I'm worth anything! You don't believe I have a cause! But I do! My cause is your cause, and your barricade will be my barricade as well!"
"Grantaire... You're not worth nothing. No one in this revolution is worth nothing."
"The revolution, always the revolution!" he burst out forcefully. "I'm starting to hate the damned revolution!"
He shuddered fiercely while again staring at his feet.
Suddenly he felt an arm around his shoulders. He looked up to find Enjolras hugging him.
"Enjolras...I'm sorry..." he mumbled.
"It's all right. You're part of our revolution - our cause - too. How can we ever leave you out?" Enjolras said gently.
Grantaire ran his fingers through his hair. "It's a good revolution. Not a damnable one. It's a good one," he sighed distractedly.
"Come on back to the tavern with me?" the revolutionary suggested.
Grantaire nodded wordlessly, and with a small delicate smile on his pale countenance, he walked side-by-side with the person he loved...back to their revolution.
~~~
The blazing light of the battle, of which he had seen nothing and in which he had taken no part, shone in his eyes. He repeated, "Long live the Republic!" and walking steadily across the room took his stand by Enjolras, confronting the muskets.
"Might as well kill two birds with one stone," he said; and then, turning to Enjolras, he added gently: "If you don't mind."
Enjolras clasped his hand and smiled.
The smile had not left his face when the volley rang out. Enjolras, pierced by eight shots, stayed leaning against the wall as though the bullets had nailed him there; only his head hung down.
Grantaire collapsed at his feet.
The revolution was over.
Owari ~ End
Les Mis rocks! This is my first LM fic, actually. (Except for the Miserably Happy People, which was humor.) I copied most of the last bit out of the book, the book which I also do not profess to own. Well...I own it. But I don't own it. You know? I didn't write the darn thing but I own my copy!!!!! *rant* Anyway, please R+R
~Korin