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"Drink with me..."
His voice broke the silence in the room. All eyes were on him now. God knows how much time they've got left. Maybe two days, an hour, or fifteen minutes. He pushed that tought aside and smiled.
"To days gone by."
They all knew this song. They sang it sometimes, mostly before getting drunk so much they barely kept their eyes open. Well, not everyone. Some drank less, and some didn't drink at all.
Just like him.
His blond curls tied with a ribbon, his piercing blue eyes, that gazed straight into your soul. Those hands, that held a gun or a flag, those fingers, that showed them battle plans or a way. Anywhere, really. And that voice... So strong and fierce, and yet so delicate and caring, when needed.
"Sing with me the songs we knew."
Just all of him.
No wonder why he calls him 'Apollo'.
"Here's to pretty girls who went to our heads,"
One of them joined him. He smiled again. They got to sing together one last time. He searched for one man, who once went into his head and couldn't find a way out. Didn't seem like neither of them wanted to. He has now build a house there — that shows how long he was there.
"Here's to witty girls who went to our beds."
He didn't go to bed with him. Or rather, not when any of them were concious enough, and not in that meaning. Him, in drunken slumber, and the blonde — by sickness, or exhaustion. He really needed to care about himself more.
"Here's to them, and here's to you."
Oh how he's going to miss their singing. Maybe it wasn't always perfect, but it still was important to them. To him. How they sat together and just sang, sometimes all evenings and nights, letting their emotions and worries out, helping themselves relax. That's why he tried to capture all those voices in his memory. And he still couldn't hear that one voice he longed for. Oh, to hear him one last time...
"Drink with me, to days gone by..."
That's right. Their days were gone. They were gone. Looking death right in the eyes. Even if they didn't know where it'll strike, it was hovering above them like a cloud. Waiting for a perfect moment to swipe them from this hell.
Red, the blood of angry men...
"Can it be you fear to die?"
Yes. He feared it so much. He didn't want to die yet. No matter how much shit he have had gone through, or how much he'd have to go through, he wanted to stay. Stay by his side. But that wasn't possible. Their days hours were already counted. All he, no, they could do was wait.
"Will the world remember you and your fall —"
Oh, what a great timing. The blonde that he fell for was right there, beside him, gripping his shoulder, his eyes filled with something he couldn't name. Was it worry? Curiosity? Fear..?
He'd be very wrong to say nobody fears anything. Of course they do, they just don't show it.
Apollo shows it too, even when he's not aware of this. The way he squeezes his fists, how his brow furrows even more, how his eyes slightly squeeze at the outer corners. Some might say he's angry or very determined to do something, but he could easily tell it was fear.
But of what? That his friends will get hurt and killed? That he couldn't manage to lead them? That the revolution won't change anything?
It won't, but it will, at the same time.
It won't change the government, but more people would have the courage to stand up and fight for what belongs to them. They'll show them a way they can follow, so future generations will have a chance to live in a better world.
Black, the dark of ages past.
"Can it be your death means nothing at all?"
He doesn't want to believe it. He doesn't believe it. Of course their deaths will mean something — a spark of light in all the darkness. The new hope of change. Of a better world to win. Of a better world to create. Oh to be a part of it...
Red, a world about to dawn...
"Is your life..."
He didn't want to finish that sentence. He didn't want to even think of it that way. And yet he knew, that they won't do much. And they will, so much... You always have to sacrifice something in order to achieve something. The more it hurts, the more it's either worth it, or something to deeply regret.
His vision became blurry. Tears rolled down his cheeks and his throat clenched, when he said the next words. Or more like choked them out, as if he had a big bite of bread in his throat that refused to either come down to his stomach, or up to his mouth.
"... just one more lie..?"
He felt strong arms wrap around him, pulling him close, giving him warmth. That was when he broke down completely, the sound of singing disappearing in his panic and sorrow.
"I don't want to lose any of you, Enjolras. I don't want to lose you." He managed to choke out into the other man's shoulder. "Enjolras... I... really, really am afraid of dying. Of any of you getting hurt."
Enjolras. How beautiful the name sounded in his ears.
"I can't stand the sight of any of you hurt, not even speaking about death. I can't even imagine it, that you might be gone any second now..."
"Grantaire, look at me, please." They tore away, Enjolras grabbing his shoulders and gently squeezing.
"Even if we're going to die, it's for the greater good. It will change everything — the thinking of other people. They will tell and listen to the stories of a group of students-revolutionists standing up and rebelling against the government, dying side by side, fighting for the citizens. For the future generations. For all the people, so they don't have to live trough the same hell as us."
Black, the night that ends at last.
Grantaire sniffled, his eyes watery again. Just the thought that he's not going to see those eyes again, feel those hands on his shoulders, hear this voice saying his name — it felt so strange, and yet so real.
"I promise that we'll sing again. Once all of this is over. Alright? Just us. Our group, or you and me."
Nevertheless, he smiled. How the man managed to change his feelings in mere seconds was still a misery to him. Enjolras could just hold him and look into his eyes to make him feel better.
He suddenly felt the warmth disappear and saw him walk away. Grantaire stood there, confused. Did he say something wrong? Did he do something wrong? Maybe he shouldn't be saying that much...
"At the shrine of friendship never say die."
He saw the blonde again, holding two glasses of wine, and offering him one. Grantaire took it with a smirk and slightly held it up, silently cheering.
"Let the wine of friendship..."
Enjolras also held it up. Silent cheers. Their last cheers here.
"... never run dry."
They both held the glasses to theirs lips and tilted it, basically drinking all the contents at once. What made him smile is seeing that Enjolras winced; no wonder why, he doesn't like drinking. He always was the sober one, taking care of his dumb, drunk friends. Well, almost always. There were times when he also drank, fed up with them so much.
"Here's to you..."
They put the glasses down, replacing them with bottles.
"I can't believe you're drinking. You, of all people..."
Enjolras' smile was so beautiful. And yet he maybe sees it for the last time...
"If I'm to die, I at least want to live those last moments to it's fullness."
They started drinking the wine, straight from the bottle. It all seemed like they were just spending another evening together. Not thinking about anything in this particular moment. Not even a slight glimpse of thought about dying.
And here they were...
"And here's..."
Death.
Destruction.
Bodies.
Blood.
They were all dying, one by one, side by side. Almost all. He still hoped that when he finally woke up from his slumber, they were still alive. Yet what his senses told him, there barely was anyone.
Following the noises upstairs, his eyes widened, and the sudden realization hit.
They were dead.
All of them.
Almost all of them. Enjolras was still standing in front of the soldiers, them pointing their guns at the blonde.
Grantaire came up to him. If they were to die, they'd die together.
They held hands. Looked into yeach other's eyes for the last time.
Enjolras smiled slightly. Grantaire did the same. For the last time.
The blonde held the flag up.
"Vive la révolution! Vive la France!"
Those were his last words, just mere seconds before bullets torn theid bodies.
Their hands got separated.
He landed half-sittng, propping against the wall, and Enjolras hung from the window upside-down, still holding the flag, his leg stuck inside.
Grantaire coughed, and then smiled slightly.
Wait for me, friends. Just a little bit more. I'm coming.
"To me..."