Grantaire climbed the stairs slowly, peering through the railing to see the soldiers aiming their guns at Enjolras. Enjolras, to his credit, looked only slightly worried. Grantaire ran through a thousand possibilities in his mind as he took the last few steps up the stairs.

A few of the soldiers glanced back at Grantaire as he stood behind them, but they kept their guns trained on the chief of Les Amis. Grantaire stepped through the soldiers, heedless of his own safety.

"Vive la République!" he exclaimed, "I belong to it."

The soldiers stood by as Grantaire crossed the floor to stand beside his idol, repeating: "Vive la République!"

"Two at one shot."

"Will you permit it?" Grantaire asked softly, looking into Enjolras's piercing blue eyes.

Enjolras's lips lifted into a half smile and he nodded. Enjolras reached for Grantaire's hand, but as Grantaire stared towards the soldiers he felt a sudden twinge of despair. Whether or not he lived, Grantaire wasn't concerned. But a world without Enjolras was unthinkable.

Just before the guns went off, Grantaire pushed Enjolras aside, jumping in front of him as a shield. Grantaire was struck by the bullets meant for Enjolras and he fell to the floor with a heavy thud. Enjolras stared in horror as Grantaire gasped in pain and struggled to move.

"No!" Enjolras shouted. Though he had just been prepared to die beside this man, to have Grantaire die for him was a completely different thing.

"Why?" Enjolras demanded, pulling Grantaire's head onto his lap.

The soldiers stared in shock as the fearless leader of the French Revolution shed tears over his fatally-wounded comrade.

"I- You-," Grantaire sputtered, lifting his shaky hand towards Enjolras's face. Enjolras grasped the hand to steady it and pressed it against his own cheek. Grantaire smiled weakly.

"You're a fool," Enjolras said sternly, his words softened by the sad smile on his lips.

"A fool for you," Grantaire whispered, his eyes shining with tears as he shook violently, blood escaping from his many wounds.

Enjolras let out a broken sob and a brief, miserable laugh.

"I- I lo-ove y-you-u." Grantaire convulsed in Enjolras's arms, coughing and spitting blood onto the other man's shirt.

"I love you, too, you ridiculous man," Enjolras whispered. He shifted Grantaire so that he could lean down and press their lips together softly. Grantaire pushed back against Enjolras's lips with all of his little-remaining strength, reveling in the feel and taste of the lips he had so often imagined kissing. He let out one final, contented sigh and leaned into Enjolras's embrace. Enjolras looked down at his love in despair as the life left Grantaire's eyes, a smile still playing on his lips.

"Aim." The captain's almost reluctant voice brought Enjolras back to his senses. He looked up at the soldiers, breathing heavily and glaring at them with hate in his eyes.

"Fire."

Enjolras was struck, but he kept his grip on the man lying dead in his lap. He hit the wall behind him, pinned up as if the balls had nailed him there. His head bowed down so that when his final breath left him he was staring into Grantaire's eyes, thinking only of him and the taste of their tear-soaked kiss and the days that they might have shared if they'd admitted their love for each other sooner.


Thanks for reading! I would really appreciate some feedback! Please and thank you!
Vive La France!