Hope in the Darkest of Hours
A/N: Hey everyone! (Everyone being the few people who actually read my dumb stories) So I´ve written another one of these EnjolrasxGrantaire things again, and I´m officially obsessed. Obsessed. Oh God, I REALLY need to start writing something else, but I´m totally braindead when it comes to Homestuck. Oh well. Anyway, I hope you like this one. R&R please!
Disclaimer: Book: examined. Witty disclaimer: not found. Book ownership: denied.
With the sounds of gunshots and screams echoing in his ears, the smell of black powder in his nose, Grantaire could do nothing but smile. Facing scores of soldiers and their muskets, he could see nothing but the blue eyes of Apollo, feel nothing but the pressure of a god´s hand over his own. He was about to die.
But he was finally living.
The intoxicating presence of the absinthe was all but gone from his head, and yet Grantaire felt giddier than ever before. It was as if his heart had suddenly sprouted wings, fluttering irregularly not with fear, but with… something else.
Hope.
How ironic that it should appear now, in the face of certain death. Years of searching, and finally he should find it here, amongst the screams of the dying and wounded, amongst the trampled ruins of a tri-colored republic. But is it not always this way amongst men? That a light should appear for them just as soon as darkness finally, or should finally, eclipses it? Grantaire knew not exactly what it was he hoped for, nor could he provide a reason for its sudden appearance, but whatever it was, it didn´t matter. He had Enjolras- he didn´t need a reason.
"My friend," he began. Friend. The very word put a smile on his face. "I- well, whatever happens, just know…"
"Yes, winecask?" Apollo replied, but there was no reprimand or cynicism in his voice. It was a term of endearment.
"I…" unable to finish, Grantaire said simply, "Vive le république."
"Vive le république," Enjolras responded, planting a gentle kiss on his friends roughened cheek.
Grantaire´s response, whatever it was, was drowned out by the loud cracking of musket fire.
He died with a smile on his face.