If We Had Survived... (Enjoltaire)

Chapter Four

Grantaire sighed deeply as Enjolras was heaved away by Monsieur Valjean. Enjolras looked so helpless, so weak. It terrified Grantaire because Enjolras always was strong and independent. Because Enjolras was the leader.

Grantaire looked down at his knees, his eyes growing wide at the mass of blood that had been poured over him. A mix of Enjolras' and Grantaire's blood. It was disgusting.

Grantaire's head throbbed like never before, and he had had a lot of hangovers from all the wine he drunk. And who knew what he told Joly and Courf when he was drunk? But he'd never get to laugh drunkenly with them again. They weren't coming back.

Dead people don't live.

But then again, Grantaire had been dead, and Enjolras had been dead in his arms.

"Another revolution failed, the King is still on the throne," Grantaire mumbled to himself. The king was strong, stronger than them, though this was something Grantaire could live with. He wasn't too bothered by the rule. Yes, he did want it to end, but he was mostly doing this for Enjolras.

And anyway, he was a useless drunkard, even Enjolras had said so, once to scold him, and once to cause him to sob in relief. What can a useless drunkard do? Drink?

"Grantaire, you still here?"

He recognized the voice as the one from the girl who Marius wouldn't shut up about. Like the time Enjolras had asked him what he put in the drink - which was nothing, by the way, nothing.

"Yeah," Grantaire replied. He honestly felt like he could sleep. Sleep away the pain, the tightness in his heart.

"Papa will be up in a moment," The girl called up, getting no reply.

Grantaire was already fast asleep, his arms wrapped around his wounds.