A/N: Before you read this, make a note to go visit BellaSpirita's stories, i've read them, they're great. And also she was my beta reader for this story, and trust me, this was rubbish before she got to it! This isn't slash, not totally anyway, just a kiss etc...nothing radical! (Anything in /'s are the song lyrics, i can't get the italics to work...yet!)
Disclaimer: I own nothing. Hugo does. 'Nuff said. And the song ("Everybody's Fool") belongs to Evanescence-i changed a word or two nearer the end so it fitted better but! It's still theirs. Enjoy!
Everybody's Fool.
/Perfect by nature . . .
Icons of self-indulgence.
Just what we all need . . ./
Enjolras walked along the perimeter of the barricade. It was over. They had lost, just like Grantaire had told him, but he wouldn't believe it at the time. Now it was true.
/More lies about a world that . . .
Never was and never will be./
Grantaire had awoken. He gazed around him, and he saw the bodies of the revolutionaries. He saw Enjolras's body, still against the wall in the Corinth where he was shot; his eyes travelled down the marble statue of a man and saw his own body, crumpled at Enjolras's feet. He glanced outside. The smoke from their guns was still whirling on the ground. He saw a shadow of a man standing at the foot of the barricade, as he slowly approached. It was Enjolras.
/Have you no shame, don't you see?
You know you've got everybody fooled./
Fools. That's what he made his friends. Enjolras cast a long look at his friends. Courfeyrac was lying beside Joly. Joly's was slumped up against the wall of the barricade, his chin resting on his chest. His waistcoat had a large, dark crimson patch where he'd been shot, and he seemed peaceful, almost as if he was only asleep. Enjolras resisted the urge to shake him a little to wake him up. There's no point. You killed him . . . Enjolras shook his thoughts away and stared at the form next to Joly. Courfeyrac's whole body seemed to be leaning into Joly, the shell of the rifle was still in his grasp and his other arm was resting on his lap. Unlike Joly, his face was a ghastly sight. Enjolras noticed his eyes were open, a look of terror still frozen on his face. Unable to take anymore, Enjolras shook his head, and his eyes followed the trails of blood and smoke. Startled by a sudden noise behind him, Enjolras turned to see Grantaire.
"I had them fooled . . . so fooled."
/Look, here he comes now . . .
Bow down and stare in wonder.
Oh how we love you,
No flaws when you're pretending . . ./
Grantaire stepped closer to Enjolras and placed a hand on his shoulder. He had told him from the start the people were following him, not the 'cause'. But gods don't listen to cynics . . . why would this god be different?
"It's all over now . . . everyone's dead . . . my friends . . . God, even I'm dead."
Enjolras faced Grantaire. "Others will realise what you fought for. This new world will begin. Just not now."
Enjolras shook his head in disbelief. He dropped to his knees, his fell about his shoulders. "I killed them . . ."
/But now I know he . . .
Never was and never will be.
You don't know how you've betrayed me,
And somehow you've got everybody fooled./
"Apollo, you didn't kill them . . . they had their own minds, they made their own decisions."
Grantaire knelt quietly and looked at Enjolras. He knew he was lying. If they'd all listened, and tried harder to understand Enjolras's cause, this never would have happened. But even Grantaire couldn't bring himself to watch his god fall deeper into despair.
"Their own decisions . . . if that's true . . ." Enjolras looked at Grantaire, his eyes dimmed from the crystal blue they were, now greyer. "Why did you do it?"
Grantaire shook his head. "For the great Apollo."
"You got yourself killed for a god that couldn't even spare one of his friends?" Enjolras shook his head and added dryly, "Some god."
/Without the mask where will you hide?
Can't find yourself lost in your lie . . ./
"Nobody's perfect."
Enjolras looked up at the sky and said mockingly, "But I thought I was perfect. I had no flaws." His head shot round to Grantaire. "You said you loved me. What was that about?"
Grantaire simply shrugged. "I love you." He said, matter-of-factly.
Enjolras stood up and stared down at Grantaire. "How can you say that? You don't know the meaning of the word! How can you love someone who loathes you?"
Grantaire smiled and shook his head. "That's not true. For once, you've blown your cover. It's too late, Marcelin. I know the truth . . . you really should have had Absinthe more often. For exactly a week ago, you admitted you didn't loathe me, and that in fact you loved me too."
Enjolras stepped back, shaking his head. "No . . ." Looking off into the Corinth, he remembered. "Damn you Grantaire. May you burn in Hell."
--;--
The café was empty -save Grantaire who was unsurprisingly finishing off another bottle- when Enjolras finally looked up from his essay. Even with all the work he had to do for his cause and his classes, he was only human, and humans need breaks.
"Move over."
Grantaire raised his eyes and found Enjolras glaring down at him. "Pardon?"
"Move over. For pity's sake, are you deaf too?"
Grantaire moved over on the couch and gazed at the bottle in his hands. "No, not deaf. Just curious."
Enjolras sighed and sat down next to him, he rubbed his forehead in frustration and glanced over at Grantaire. "Curious?"
"Yes. Curious, you know, inquisitive, enquiring, interested, cu-"
"Ok, I get your point."
Grantaire rolled his eyes and faced Enjolras. "But you still haven't satisfied my curiosity. Why are you sitting anywhere near me, if you loathe me so much."
It was Enjolras's turn to roll his eyes as he glanced back at the bottle in Grantaire's hand. "I'm stressed. Happy? My friends are soon to fight for a cause you're convinced we won't win."
"Of course."
Enjolras pointed to the bottle. "Finished?"
"No."
"There's a first."
"Har har." Grantaire placed the bottle on the table, only to have it swiped back up by Enjolras. "Wh-"
Grantaire stared in bewilderment as Enjolras finished off the bottle quicker than he'd seen. He looked on slightly amused when Enjolras put the bottle back on the table and scrunched up his face.
"That's disgusting."
"Well. That was . . . unexpected."
Enjolras leant his head back against the wall and let out a long breath of, what Grantaire assumed was, relief. He reached out his hand and dropped it down on Grantaire's shoulder, when Grantaire looked up, he saw Enjolras staring down at him.
"What've I done?"
"You don't hate me do you?"
Grantaire let out a chuckle and under his breath he mumbled. "You have no idea."
Enjolras closed his eyes and shook his head, causing some of his blonde curls to dance around his cheeks.
"No, Marcelin I don't hate you. I . . . love you. But you know that already. So, why ask?"
Enjolras's gaze fell to the floor and he seemed to suddenly become interested in his shoes. "Yes, I suppose. I just needed to be reminded. Mon Dieu, I sound pathetic."
"No, I don't think so. Everyone needs to know that they're loved once in a while. Even if it is unrequited."
"Unrequited . . ." Enjolras repeated, then looked up, he slowly stood and reached for his coat. When he managed to shrug it on, he turned to Grantaire, "who said it was unrequited?"
He bowed his head slightly and turned to leave.
"What are you saying?"
"You know what I'm saying. You're love isn't unrequited, in fact, I love you too. At least, I think so."
With that, Enjolras wandered out the café, leaving Grantaire behind to replay his words over and over in his mind.
--;--
/I know the truth now . . .I know who you are,
And I don't love you anymore . . ./
Grantaire watched Enjolras and sighed heavily, now or never. He took a step closer to Enjolras and stood in front of him. He contemplated what he was going to do and then laughed under his breath, what was the point? They both were dead, Grantaire had one chance.
Enjolras gazed at Grantaire, his eyes dimming ever so lightly. "Grantaire?"
Grantaire leaned up and caught Enjolras' soft lips against his own rough ones. He intertwined his fingers in Enjolras' hair and grinned lightly as Enjolras didn't pull away. As quickly as the kiss started, it finished, Grantaire pulled away. His fingers slipped away and sighed lightly.
Enjolras stood still, slightly disoriented by what he'd just done, he mumbled, "Grantaire, it never was unrequited."
"It's too late, I don't love you anymore." He patted Enjolras's shoulder, almost mockingly and stepped away. "See you in Hell, Apollo."
Enjolras watched Grantaire walk away, bewildered; he opened his mouth to speak but couldn't make any sound. He started forward and then stopped.
"Oh," Grantaire spun around, "not everyone died . . ." Enjolras's eyes went wide and he stared at Grantaire.
"Who . . . ?"
"Marius."
"Marius . . ."
Grantaire bowed lightly and disappeared into the night.
/It never was and never will be.
You're not real and you can't save me,
Somehow now you're everybody's fool . . ./