Chapter Text
The bright white lights of Heaven were flickering behind his closed eyelids like a dying fire. He felt hot and cold at the same time; somehow stiff in his joints until a rush of electrifying energy jerked through his body, leaving a prickling feeling underneath his skin. His entire body felt numb for only a brief second; struck by an invisible lightning. Immediately after that, everything came crashing down on him all at once. He felt it. He felt everything around him. The hard wooden ground underneath him, sharp pieces of a broken window edging into his skin, cold rain dripping from the window sill; wetting his clothes, the floor and the large red flag crumpled up around him. But there was another liquid, not quite dried up yet. It was covering his ripped clothes; sticky and moist. A faint warmth was still radiating from the lifeless body; so painfully close to his; arms and legs still accidentally intertwined from the fall they had taken after being shot less than an hour ago. Or so it was assumed, judging by the state of the body next to him.
Not that Grantaire had dared to actually take a look. Not that he needed to. After all, he could feel it. After all, his fingers were still clutched around his leader’s hand, the way he had permitted it with his very last words.
Of course, there was also the memory; so vivid and alive before his still closed eyes. A hollow pain shot through his chest in the exact same place the bullets had pierced through his skin and bones. He could still see it. Right here, right now; his mind forcing him to relive the entire moment; frame by frame; slowed down to the point where every second felt like an eternity; a slide show of blood and violence.
Enjolras; fearless and proud; his mind set on the cause and the bigger picture but never on the worthless value of his own life. They had been cornered by the soldiers; sweaty palms and faces everywhere. The salty fluid had been rinsing down dust, dirt and blood from their skins. Faceless soldiers had been clinging to their rifles; shaky and out of breath. It had been a silent stare down; a moment of pondering; a moment of hesitation and doubt because all of the young men that had died from their own hands today had never been older than themselves, roughly somewhere in their 20s. This one was not different. He was too young to die. Even for a supposedly good cause.
Grantaire, however, had no recollection of any of those soldiers. They might as well had been wearing masks. There was only one thing he remembered his eyes seeing ever so clearly the moment he had staggered up the stairs. The setting sunlight breaking through the open window had illuminated Enjolras’ silhouette like a halo and Grantaire was convinced that it had been his pure and golden hair that had blinded him in that very moment. Enjolras had lifted his head, slowly and steady, upon Grantaire’s arrival. His body had frozen momentarily; still ignoring the soldiers and their weapons that should have long shot the two boys dead. But they had not. Not just yet. There had been something of remembrance in that moment that had prevented the soldiers from doing their duty; a solemn silence in the atmosphere that would last a life time.
The two boys’ eyes had met; a gentle peaceful smile weakly lifting the corners of Enjolras’ beautifully curved lips as Grantaire had said the words.
Do you permit it?
Grantaire had felt entirely out of control as his body had staggered further towards his leader; mindlessly pushing the soldiers aside; until he had finally found himself right by Enjolras’ side. The way it should have always been.
He had not thought twice as he had taken Enjolras’ hand; clasping it tightly. He had been completely and utterly terrified of what had been about to come but at the same time had felt an eternal peacefulness washing over his drunken mind and body as if he had been sobering up completely for the first time in his adult life.
Then there had been pain.
So much pain and blood.
It would not stop.
Until it did.
Now Grantaire was still here. The numbness had disappeared completely. There was blood still on his clothes; some of it belonged to him. But there was no pain, no open wounds. His body had somehow remained unharmed. Only the faint memory of sharp bullets entering his skin and his own dry blood covering his clothes served as proof that he was not supposed to be alive.
And maybe he was not. Maybe this was what being dead felt like. Maybe he was a ghost; doomed to haunt the Café his friends used to occupy so many days and nights of their short, unjust lives.
Then why was his body not here, but Enjolras’ was?
Grantaire finally felt strong enough to sit up; untangling himself from Enjolras’ body but unable to let go of him entirely. There was no doubt that he was dead. For good. Grantaire could not bring himself to look into his leader’s dead eyes. He quickly shut them close with his fingers. Then he started weeping with Enjolras’ head gently resting on his lap; his soft locks of blonde hair spreading underneath like a crown. Grantaire could not help it anymore.
He was crying for his friend and leader; for his death that had eventually been for nothing; for the injustice of life that he got to keep on living his own worthless life while Enjolras had been forced to end his; for the years to come that he would have to live aimlessly without his leader’s fierce lights to guide him; to make him see in the darkness of his own life.
Maybe he was still wrong. Maybe he was dead. Any maybe this was what hell felt like for a drunk demon like himself.