Work Text:
wake up
Enjolras blinks in the morning sunlight. It is not a morning that he expected that he would ever see.
It is June 7th, 1832.
say good morning to the sleepy person lying next to you
Enjolras feels movement in the bed next to him, and turns. Lying next to him, shifting in his sleep, is Grantaire. Enjolras stares at him, taking in every crease, every hair, every feature he can. As if unconsciously sensing his eyes, Grantaire shifts again. Enjolras continues to watch, noting Grantaire's chest rising and falling, and while he watches, he thinks.
He had been prepared, he'd thought. To die for the cause, to not see 30. He hadn't planned anything past this revolution, not thinking it was a luxury he could afford. It was not that he had wanted to die, of course, but it seemed an inevitability. He had talked as though success was guaranteed. Enjolras was a brilliant talker. He could command a room with eloquence and confidence, unshakeable. He rallied his friends with his words of revolution. But it was one thing to speak, and another to do. When their rebellion was an abstract concept, the light ablaze in their eyes, it seemed easy. But building a real barricade, planning weapons and strategy- it all became so real. Terrifyingly so. He had never acted on his words like this before. Enjolras would die a martyr, and he coated his fear in beautiful words about the new dawn that would come.
Now that the new dawn was here, he found himself curiously... adrift.
but at least the war is over
Before the battle, in the agonizing wait between the funeral and the troops advancing on their barricade, he had taken Grantaire aside. Grantaire had been the only one to ever see through him. Obstinate and disruptive, Grantaire would tear down his arguments and force them to be rebuilt stronger. He would tease Enjolras, all the while belief shining in his red-rimmed eyes. Enjolras was unsure when the feelings of irritation shifted to fondness, when arguing turned into debate, and when uneasy friendship had transformed into something much more. All he knew was that he wanted to act on one more thing. He pulled Grantaire into the back room of the Musain, hands insistent.
"What are you doing Enjolras?" Grantaire asked, wine on his breath but voice empty of its characteristic mirth.
"What I should have long ago," Enjolras breathed, attempting to press a kiss to Grantaire's mouth but finding his way blocked.
"Why?" Grantaire sighed. Enjolras stopped, drawing a shuddering breath in.
"I'm scared." He finally said. He hadn't admitted it to himself before now. "I'm scared and I think it's my last chance so I must-" Another fear gripped him, stomach dropping. "Have I misread?"
"No," Grantaire admitted. "No you have not misread. But I don't want it to be like this. Not staring down the barrel of a gun."
"What choice do we have?" Enjolras hated the pleading sound of his own voice. He had never sounded like this before. Grantaire raised a hand to Enjolras's face, palm softer than he would have expected.
"I will see you on the other side of this. When we stare down the rest of our lives."
Grantaire turned on his heel, grabbing a bottle of wine from the table and heading for the door. Then the force of Grantaire's words hit Enjolras in the gut.
"When?" Enjolras echoed. Grantaire stilled in the doorway for a moment, nodded, and went to join the others.
and if you lost it all, and you lost it, well we'll still be there when your war is over
There was a call of surrender, and a white flag being waved through the clearing gunsmoke. They climbed off the barricade in silence at first, not daring to believe it could be over. But it was, for now, and suddenly there was a chorus of jubilant voices. Hugs, hard enough to hurt. Some tears. Enjolras appraised injuries and helped the wounded in a daze. This revolution had been his meaning for so long. The hard part, that of policies and change, was just beginning, but his part here was over. He stayed past when everyone had wandered away to heal, to rest, or to celebrate. And when he turned around, he was not entirely surprised to see that Grantaire was there.
He held out his hand, and Enjolras took it.
here it comes, here comes the first day
Enjolras starts as he realizes that Grantaire's eyes are now open, and staring into his own.
"Good morning." He murmurs.
"Good morning." Grantaire responds, turning onto his side and closing the gap between them. His body is warm, the arm slung across Enjolras's shoulders seeming to anchor him into the moment. The sun streams through the window, and somewhere outside a bird sings.
"What now?" Enjolras asks. He doesn't elaborate. Grantaire grins sleepily, and something twinges in Enjolras's chest in a way that isn't unpleasant.
"We get to find out." Grantaire replies. "What a privilege."
the war is over, and we are beginning