A/N: Well, it seems like I can't write for any other pairing, nor can I write anything that isn't cliché. Oh well. So anyway, here's my first songfic!
DISCLAIMER: If I owned either Les Miserables or Over and Over, I would have a lot more money than I do now.
I feel it everyday it's all the same
It brings me down but I'm the one to blame
He had tried to quit, he really had—but something kept drawing him back. Back to the Musain, back to his beloved Green Faerie, back to everything he would rather leave behind. Back to Enjolras.
I've tried everything to get away
So here I go again
Chasing you down again
Why do I do this?
Everyday he asked himself why. It wasn't for the "friends" he had, their shallow smiles ill concealing their disgust. It wasn't even for the illusion that something might be right again, that somehow, dreams could still come true. It definitely wasn't for the republic.
Over and over, over and over
I fall for you
Over and over, over and over
I try not to
He supposed it was because of Enjolras. In every aspect, they were opposites—ugly and beautiful, strong and weak, smart and dull, sober and drunk—but it had not always been that way. Once, Grantaire had had dreams, too. He had had ideals, and aspirations, and love. Then he'd made one mistake and thrown it all away.
It feels like everyday stays the same
It's dragging me down and I can't pull away
It had ruined him, and he would never be the same. He could never move forward, never move back—just sit and watch. It was too late for him. He wouldn't let it be too late for Enjolras.
So here I go again
Chasing you down again
Why do I do this?
Enjolras gave him a reason to keep going. Grantaire would never hope for himself again, too afraid of failure, of inadequacy and disdain, to dream dreams for himself. But it wasn't in Enjolras' stars to fail as he had. Whether he died or not—and he would most assuredly die—his dreams weren't the sort to give up on him, and he wasn't the sort to give up on his dreams.
Over and over, over and over
I fall for you
Over and over, over and over
I try not to
On the days when he was too drunk to walk home, Grantaire cried himself to sleep in the back room of the Musain, the looks of disgust and abhorrence Enjolras threw his way haunting his mind and swimming behind his eyes until he finally drifted off. Even after he closed his eyes, though, that gaze still plagued his dreams. It would have been so much easier if love really were only something that existed in fairy tales.
Over and over, over and over
You make me fall for you
Over and over, over and over
You don't even try
It was never on purpose that Enjolras had captured his affections, even if Grantaire sometimes pretended that was what happened. No, Enjolras never needed to try, never needed to fight for Grantaire's love—not when he had it already. It was never on purpose that he broke his heart—but he did it anyway.
So many thoughts that I can't get out of my head
I try to live without you, every time I do I feel dead
I know what's best for me
But I want you instead
Grantaire couldn't remember how many times he had tried to quit. It had to have been hundreds, thousands, maybe. He assured himself that if he could just forget everything, drown himself in drink, that it would make it all better, that everything would finally go away. Every time it did, though, he just felt worse than before. There was a hole in his heart that only Enjolras could fill, even if he tore a new one every day. He was just as much a drug as the absinthe—he hurt Grantaire more all the time, but the momentary sensation of just seeing him, of hearing his voice, made the pain worthwhile, if only for a few moments.
I'll keep on wasting all my time
Hope was stupid; it was foolish, trifling, and childish. It crushed hearts, devoured souls, and tore dreams to the ground, selling them for two sous apiece. And as much as he preached against it, hope was all he had.
Over and over, over and over
I fall for you
Over and over, over and over
I try not to
And so, Grantaire came again and again, every day, every meeting. He watched as Apollo—his Apollo—spoke with fire in his eyes, dreamed with fire in his heart. Enjolras was a light in the dark, guiding even the blindest man and letting him to see. He was a god.
Over and over, over and over
You make me fall for you
Over and over, over and over
You don't even try to
Grantaire wasn't worthy of a god. He shouldn't fall in love with a god. He couldn't fall out of love with a god.
And he wouldn't have it any other way.