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Enjolras was discussing who they might send to the Barriere du Maine when he felt Grantaire staring at him intently, burning holes into his back.
‘What do you want Grantaire?"
“You.”
Enjolras sighed. This was Grantaire’s usual sort of response, and he hadn’t yet given rise to it. There were more important things. Grantaire would scoff at that. Love and liberty were all he preached. Yet it so happened that while Enjolras tended to focus on the later Grantaire was far more driven by the former. ‘For what good is liberty without love’, he would say. This was all very well, but Enjolras advocated the motto ‘without liberty how can we love truly’. ‘You and I especially’, were the words left unspoken. All he said now in response to Grantaire’s outburst, was,
“How can you expect me to believe that?”
“You’ll see", he said. Then, whispering low into his ear, “Let me show you”.
“You’re drunk ‘taire”.
“Not too drunk”.
“Be serious”.
“I am wild. And I will show you. Just give me the afternoon. I’ll find you supporters in Barriere du Maine. And then maybe you’ll believe me”.
As it happened, he probably was too drunk, as he seemed to have forgotten his mission in it’s entirety when Enjolras next set eyes on him, despite his intentions to woo him with devotion to the revolution. The absinthe didn’t seem to have diminished his prowess for dominos however.
The next time Grantaire reached out to him he was more vulnerable. The loss of one of their own was palpable. It hung in the air oppressively, and pushed Grantaire into Enjolras’ space again, seeking comfort, and a last chance. And this time, Enjolras had nothing to lose. Not anymore. Gone was the hope that if they could only find more people to fight that they might have a chance for survival. Now they really were fighting to the death. So when Grantaire found found him in the corner of the Musian, and pressed him into a table top with a fierce kiss, Enjolras didn’t stop him. And with every press of Grantaire’s lips to his, every bite of his teeth, every button he undid and every bruise he left he made Enjolras feel a little more whole again, and made the battle feel a little more worth fighting. If this was what they were fighting for, Grantaire thought, he would willingly die for it.
It was only when he awoke the next morning that he realised that Enjolras must have extracted himself from his arms sometime during the night or early hours, and that the fighting must have continued. He looked around at a sea of dead bodies and felt deafened by the sound of gunfire. And somehow, his feet, or his heart knew where to go. Always and only towards Enjolras. And pushing his way through the guards, he found him. Proud and defiant as a Greek god, bloody and beaten as Christ on the cross, and as small and scared as a schoolboy. And when Grantaire made his way over to him, he held out his hand.
“Believe me now?” Grantaire asked. Because in this moment, surely Enjolras couldn’t deny how much Grantaire wanted him. Needed him. How he couldn’t live in this world without him. Enjolras just smiled. The shots rang out and the last two upholders of the Revolution were silenced. Hand in hand.