Chapter Text
“-and if you want this as much as any of us do, you’ll meet us in the city square next month. It’s time to do something.”
He finished his speech slightly light-headed from the lack of breathing he’d been doing whilst speaking. Enjolras stepped down of the table and took a deep breath, glancing up at the clock on the wall. It was late and he was exhausted.
Endless nights of restless sleep really weren’t doing him any favours.
He stifled a yawn, trying his best to dodge his friends as they called out to him. He felt bad, really he did, but he wanted more than anything else to get home and let his mind rest for a few hours at the least.
As he approached the table that Combeferre and Courfeyrac were stood at, handing out flyers and giving details to newcomers, they looked up and their faces split into wide grins.
However Ferre’s smile seemed to falter as he took in Enjolras’s exhausted state, immediately rushing to his side. Courfeyrac, meanwhile, had turned away a few seconds ago, directing a woman to the city square for future reference. As she left, he called over his shoulder,
“Hey Enj, are you coming back to mine and Ferre’s apartment?”
When he didn’t answer he turned around, his eyes growing wide with concern.
“Woah, you okay?”
Enjolras started to nod, not wanting to concern his friends who already did so much for him, but he couldn’t find it in himself to lie. So instead he shook his head a little, leaning heavier into Combeferre’s side.
“If it’s getting bad again-“ Courfeyrac began, his eyes sliding over to Combeferre’s for a second. Enjolras shook his head again, willing them both to be quiet.
“It’s not...no, it’s not like last time. I’m just not sure if the meds are working at the moment.”
“Enjolras, they should be. If they’re not then you really need to ring Dr Valjean again.”
“It’s fine, really. I shouldn’t have said anything I didn’t mean to worry you. I’m just so fucking tired, that’s all.”
Combeferre fixed him with one of those special doctor looks he so often used. Like he was staring straight through his soul, looking deep into his secrets.
“You’re still clean, right?” He said, voice dropping to barely more than a whisper.
No.
“Yes.” He answered too quickly, too abruptly and Combeferre frowned, Courfeyrac raising eyebrow.
“Enjolras-“
“Alright, fine! No. Happy now?”
His friends shared a look, one Enjolras knew to be of suspicion, and they started to say something but he cut them off quickly.
“I’m gonna go home. I’ll ring you tomorrow, alright?”
As he turned to leave he heard Combeferre call out again.
“Enjolras?”
“Yeah?”
“Just look after yourself, okay?”
He nodded, halfway to the door when he heard another voice cut through the light chatter that had begun to rise.
“Surely you’re not leaving us so soon? You know, with the revolution so close?”
Without having to look around he knew exactly who the speaker was.
“I never said a thing about a revolution. I’m tired, I’m going home.”
“Yeah,” Grantaire scoffed, “yeah, I’m really seeing the perseverance and passion coming through here. Don’t we have plans to make?”
“Grantaire, I’m not arguing with you now. If you’ve got a problem then message me tomorrow. Please just-“
“-a problem? Your delusional, fucking saviour self is the problem, Enjolras.”
He winced at that, screwing his eyes closed but still not looking over at him. He wasn’t sure if he’d be able to cope with the utter look of cynicism he’d see there.
“We’re trying, Grantaire. There’s a rally next month, you know this, and we’re going to show them that-“
“You don’t really believe that?”
Enjolras stopped, his stomach turning over.
He turned his head to see the other man who had rose from his seat in the corner. His messy dark curls were hanging loosely by his jaw, dark eyes full of sarcasm and disbelief. He held a half empty bottle of wine in his left hand and rested his right on the small wooden table, a grin of mockery stretching out on his face. Grantaire shrugged under Enjolras’ cold stare but didn’t make any attempt to back down.
“I’m sorry, what?”
“You heard me.”
“Yes. I know.” Enjolras replied dangerously, his voice low and quiet, “I’m giving you a chance to take it back.”
Grantaire merely opened his arms as if to confirm his statement and Enjolras felt a burning anger rising up inside of him, consuming him. He clenched his jaw and moved over towards where he was stood, glaring up at him. He was shorter than Grantaire, but quite possibly stronger, and although he was not a man of a violent nature, he was ready to fight if needed.
“It’s bullshit, Apollo.” Grantaire hissed.
“Don’t call me that.”
The stupid nickname was irritating as it was, he didn’t need it now. He was struggling with enough at the moment and it wasn’t going to take much to push him over the edge.
“Why not, oh Fearless Leader?”
“Because i’m not a fucking God! Alright?”
Enjolras almost shouted, tired of being compared to some long ago God that was nothing to do with him. He wasn’t perfect - and he shouldn’t have to be - but being referred to as the God-like figure required him to be strong, incapable of cracking.
And in reality, he wasn’t. He was barely holding onto the edge, ready to fall, and he was afraid that it was all going to become too much too soon and it would all come crashing down.
“Well, you act like it!” Grantaire shouted back, his voice dripping with anger.
“You come in here, strutting around like you’re the main character in whatever fucking
film
you think your life is. Well guess what,
Apollo?
You’re not! You’re just another bastard that I used to think could make a change to this hell of a world we live in. You can’t! The world doesn’t want to be changed! Look at history; it’s a cycle of pain and suffering and people, oh they try to do something about it, but they never try enough.
And you know why that is? Because it’s futile! It’s stupid! You talk complete bullshit and you must be absolutely fucking delusional if you think any of us here actually believe what you’re saying. We’re here because at first we thought you knew what you were doing, but you don’t! And we can’t leave because we’re tied to you and your fucking Cause that nobody gives a shit about anymore. When are you going to realise it’s all pretend? You’re no better than any of us.”
And in less than a minute, Enjolras felt his entire world shatter to pieces in front of his very eyes; saw everything that he had ever believed in turn to dust. He knew, he knew , that his friends cared. He knew Ferre, Courf, Jehan...he knew that they wanted to make a change just as well as him. But at the same time there was that nagging feeling in the back of his mind. The one that whispered things in his mind late at night, told him he wasn’t worth resisting.
Give up, it said, stop burdening your friends.
If nobody in the room had faith in him, had trust in him, then everything he worked for was useless. Worthless.
He was worthless.
All he wanted to do was make a change. And if he couldn’t do that, what was his purpose? He was out of the room in a flash, so quickly that he didn’t have time to hear the bomb that exploded as he disappeared.
~~~~~
Grantaire swallowed hard, tugging on the ends of his hair with his fingers.
He hadn’t meant to be so harsh.
Fuck, harsh was an understatement. He had just ruined Enjolras’s entire day, his ideas. He’d argued with him so many times, they’d both spat vicious truths at each other across tables and under their breaths so many times. But this...this was different.
He’d never seen that look in Enjolras’s eyes. That defeat and uncertainty.
The look of absolute despair.
And because of his own lies, and just because he was too afraid to see the world - however unjust it was - he knew change. His friends, who he knew believed in what Enjolras said, dropped their anger and shame upon him like a bomb, hurtful comments that tore him apart with guilt, but he knew he deserved them.
But he knew that he needed to find Enjolras right now.
How could he have done this? How could he have been so wrapped up in his own hatred that he let it destroy the man he loved the most? He didn’t deserve Enjolras, no one did. He was too passionate and selfless for this cruel world, too naive.
“You fucking idiot!” Courfeyrac growled, his dark eyes narrowed. He had crossed the room without Grantaire even noticing, stood glaring up at him with this hatred in his eyes that he’d never seen there. He barely had time to even register that before Courfeyrac’s fist connected with the side of his face. He stumbled backwards, his back smashing into a table. “Are you aware of how fucking unstable Enjolras is? Fuck, Ferre, we need to find him.” He turned to Combeferre, who was already collecting his and Courf’s coats, half headed out the door.
“What?” He blabbed, tears blurring just vision. “But he’s Enjolras. He’s-“
“-depressed? Fucking bipolar?” Courfeyrac hissed, his face within inches of his own, “Suicidal?”
And then he stalked off after Combeferre, the door slamming shut after him.
“I didn’t-“ he stammered, his head spinning.
Enjolras? Suicidal?
He couldn’t make sense of it. He was the leader; strong, brilliant...perfect. He couldn’t fathom how somebody like Enjolras could be so unhappy, so full of self-hatred that he wanted to end everything.
And then he realised that people like himself were the reason he felt that way. Constantly spitting on his ideals, breaking holes into everything he worked for. Everything he believed in.
And the sad thing was, even when people like himself kept hurting him, Enjolras would still fight for them. He would still fight for Grantaire. Even if he shouted, screamed and yelled at him. He wouldn’t back down.
“Save it, Grantaire.” Jehan said darkly, his fists clenched so hard that his knuckles were white. “I’d tell you to go find him but you’re probably the last person he’d want to see.”
“No. No I need to find him. I need to make sure he’s okay.” He stumbled from the Musain, his heart so full of dread that he couldn’t even focus on where he was going.
~~~~~~~
The cold wind blew viciously over the bridge, and the small silhouette of a man could be seen standing right at the edge. His golden curls were being blown across his tear-stained cheeks, and his blue eyes were filled with despair, his shoulders shaking and slumped.
Defeated.
Enjolras knew he could go no further now. With nothing left to believe in, there was no reason for him to attempt to battle his way through the hardships life threw at him, no reason for him to try.
He let out another cry of pain and sorrow before gripping hold of the cold metal railings of the bridge, an empty hole where all his passion had once burned. It was cruel, he thought, how one comment could turn a life upside down, make someone question their very existence and place in the world.
The fact that nobody had even disagreed with Grantaire made it all seem so much worse. How he deserved nothing because he couldn’t even get his fucking friends to listen to what he was saying.
His dark thoughts were interrupted by a strangled cry behind him.
“Enjolras, please! Don’t do this - please! It wasn’t real, I promise, non of the others believe that!”
“But do you?”
Enjolras’s voice was small and broken amongst the sound of the city streets. It was the voice of a man who had lost all control of everything he stood for. It wasn’t the strong, crowd-turning voice that belonged to him. His voice should be loud and full of the glory that made him stand out, made people listen to him. Not like this.
“Enjolras-“
“-Do you?”
Silence.
Other than the howl of the winds and the noise of the traffic, no one spoke. No one moved.
“I don’t know.” Came Grantaire’s broken response. Enjolras went numb. Grantaire wasn’t lying then, he had crushed everything Enjolras knew - whether he intended to or not - and there was a price to pay for it.
He stepped backwards, away from the railing, and wrapped the darker haired man in a tight embrace, his damaged heart shattering into a thousand pieces.
“Why would you ever think about doing this?” Grantaire whispered softly, a hand wrapping itself in Enjolras’s golden curls. Enjolras wiped a tear and spoke back, “You have so much to live for, I promise.”
“Because I loved you. And if you, of all people have no faith in me or anything I believe in, then there is nothing left for me. I love you, Grantaire.” He paused. “Or, I thought I did.”
The first thing Grantaire noticed was the complete absence of anything but utter sadness in his eyes. No fire. No passion. No defiance. Just one whirlpool of despair. He can see every emotion the other man is feeling swirling around in his eyes, tormenting him, he breaking him. His eyes don’t burn so brightly that people can almost see the world he longs for in them. Instead the blue is not the blue of icy flames, but the blue that is desolate sadness, glassy from the tears. He realises what is about to happen a second too late.
His grip on Enjolras’s arm had slackened, and in that time, Enjolras had already broken free, headed back towards the bridge.
He screamed at him ,
“ENJOLRAS, NO!”
But it was too late.
He was gone.
Just like that
A flash of red and gold before all of the colour is drained from his world.
Enjolras jumped in front of the traffic.
Enjolras ended everything because of him.
He had loved him. Despite Grantaire mocking his ideals and his cynicism, the fiery leader had always loved him.
And now it was too late.
“Grantaire?” Someone shouted. It sounded like Combeferre. A car door slammed.
“Grantaire, where’s Enjolras?”
“Who just fucking jumped?”
“Grantaire, what have you done ?”
Grantaire doesn’t look over the bridge.
He just waits as his world turns black.