A/C: This loveliness was requested by u/2806257/Riddelly which was incredibly enjoyable and helped let off a lot of feels. I'll soon be posting a non-death fic which will be a nice break from the cannon. This is built off of a series of headcannons that Riddelly and I came up with, that could easily fit into the cannon.
Rated T for death, landuage and drinking
Warning: As I mentioned twice above, this fic has death that reflects the cannon, so beware.
Point of view is Grantaire
When everything's made to be broken
I just want you to know who I am
~Made to be Broken
There might not be the dawning of another day, nor the sound of my friends' voices again. The final battle would take place at any passing hour, any passing second. And I probably wouldn't spend it fighting to my last breath; it would most likely consist of me passed out in the corner somewhere—which was fitting really, I didn't deserve a hero's death. I wasn't a hero. Hopefully the man who deserved the hero's death would keep living, keep raising his red flag, and making the courageous speeches he was so good at. Doubtful, but that was my hope. He didn't deserve to die at all.
Before he did die—before both of us died, he needed to know. He needed to know the reason I spent every goddamn hour attending the rebels that I knew wouldn't lead to glory. He needed to know the truth. And now, as the night grew shorter, and our hostage got taken out back to be dealt with, I knew this had to be my chance.
"Enjolras?" I asked idly, standing from my perch at the roots of the barricade. "Can I have a word?"
"Of course, Grantaire," he nodded, sighing deeply.
"Could we..." I started, glancing around at the lot of them. "Could I tell you in privacy?"
"What's wrong?" Enjolras asked, his blue eyes narrowing as he walked with me to the shadow of another building, out of earshot of the others.
"Wrong? No, nothings wrong," I muttered nervously, gesturing wildly with my bottle of wine in hand.
"Grantaire, are you drunk?" Enjolras flustered, exasperated. "Why do I even ask that anymore?"
"Well yes, of course I'm drunk," I nodded appreciatively, smiling slightly with the words and taking another swig of wine. "We are standing in our graves at this barricade. Perfect time to waste myself. But that's not what I wanted to talk about."
"What, then?"
No this was all wrong, I was doing it all wrong and the entire conversation was fucked because of it. But before I could try to process clearer thoughts, the words I had intended to say with more grace spewed out. "I want you to know that I love you—before everything goes to hell—I want you to know before it was too late."
"Dear lord, Grantaire, sober up," Enjolras scoffed.
"What?" I blinked, nearly lurching back from his response.
"Look at yourself," Enjolras muttered, shaking his head. "You can't really mean that, it's just the drink talking."
"That's not true," I responded quietly, leaning back onto the wall that threw the situation into such shadow. "I'm not that drunk."
Enjolras didn't say another word disgracing my love, but what he did do was far worse. He turned from me, shaking his head and going back to the rest of the group. He didn't believe me, he was still so incredibly blind. It must be because he didn't want to believe me, because he didn't want to love me back.
"Courfeyrac, you take the watch," Enjolras instructed, before going on his merry way to stand by himself.
I forced myself to leave the shadowed building, not letting myself get too entangled with any antics that had formed in my mind from Enjolras's reaction. Because really, this is what I had expected. I took another swig of wine.