Enjolras opened his eyes, taking in the site. He was laying in a cot, curtains hung everywhere. This must be what Valjean meant by a hospital. He turned his head slightly, to see Grantaire. Or well, only his hand, on the floor, under the curtain. It was pale- a little too pale- and covered in scratches, scratches probably coming from pieces of shrapnel.
He must be asleep, Enjolras thought, slightly dismayed. He would've appreciated someone to talk to.
"R?" He whispered, coming to himself as a little kid who was afraid to sleep.
Grantaire didn't reply, leaving Enjolras slightly worried. Sure, Grantaire was way too attached to wine - Enjolras couldn't count all the times he had to hold the other man while he threw up-but that was beside the point. Grantaire supported Enjolras, and anyways, he had pulled Enjolras from the wall and saved him - in a way. He had even been willing to die alongside him.
But now, Enjolras felt different. Maybe it was the fact that Les Amis were all gone. Maybe it was the fact that the pain had numbed, webbing away. It was better than before, maybe even enough for him to get out of the cramped space and take a walk. Or maybe it was that he had changed. He had failed at a revolution. It was his fault his friends had died. It was his fault Gavroche had watched his sister die. It was his fault Grantaire had almost died.
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If We Had Survived... (Enjoltaire)
FanfictionGrantaire wasn't afraid of dying, and with the Leader in Red, holding his hand, nothing could be better. Or perhaps it could've been... The confusion was real on Enjolras' face when he woke in Grantaire's arms. He was...alive?
