It was so warm, and so bright, but in a comfortable way. Like a spring day, or a fire in winter, or the Musain on a stormy night… or Enjolras' arms.
Grantaire looked around, dazed, not sure where he was. Then it all came into focus. The afternoon sun shone brightly on the barricade, covered in gunpowder but still standing. All around him men raised their guns triumphantly. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw a flash of red. The flag of the Amis was lifted as high as it could go, catching the breeze.
As the people that had abandoned them came back outside, he whirled around searching for another flash of red. A hand touched his should and he started. He glanced at the hand and the red jacket cuff that covered its wrist.
"Enjolras," It was more a sigh than a name. The blonde smiled, a beautiful sight Grantaire hadn't seen in a while. Enjolras didn't say anything, eyes sparkling with happiness. Feeling truly, completely happy for the first time in forever, Grantaire pulled the blonde into a tight embrace.
Then he woke up.
The Musain was silent, dead bodies lying everywhere. Grantaire stumbled up the stairs, shouting when he saw the soldiers with their guns pointed at Enjolras.
He took his place next to him and held onto his hand for dear life.
It was so cold, and so dark, but in a comfortable way. Like going to sleep after a long day, or a peaceful winter's night, or the moment before the rain starts… Or his hand clasped in Enjolras' as they died together.