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Summary
The sun hasn’t even risen yet and an angel is bleeding on the floor of Grantaire’s bakery. He’s been gone for maybe thirty seconds to haul a rack of bread to the front of the shop and in that time Phoebus Apollo himself has broken in, just to cover Grantaire’s nice clean kitchen in blood as red as the scarf that doesn’t quite hide his blonde curls and lovely face – bronze skin and sharp blue eyes and the most exquisite cheekbones known to man. He’s even collapsed insultingly close to the mop bucket.
A dystopian AU where Grantaire isn't interested in the rebellion but finds himself joining anyway after an injured Enjolras stumbles into his bakery.