#exrweek2016

He looks away from the soldiers quickly, focuses on Enjolras, on his Apollo. The light of the sun, shining even in the face of death.

“Do you permit it?” Grantaire asks, terrified of the answer from a man who has done nothing but reject him in the past.

Instead, he receives a smile. It’s small, gentle, and the first time Grantaire has seen Enjolras as what he is. A frightened schoolboy doing everything that he can for his country.

But the soldiers are really, and they’re not playing pretend.

Grantaire doesn’t look away from Enjolras as he takes his hand. He clutches it, holding onto Enjolras like his life depends on it. As if this will save him.

As a child, one of his friends’ father had been quite smart, and had fashioned him a gun that would pop out a cork when you squeezed the make-shift trigger.

Pop.

Grantaire wakes drenched in sweat. Tears are coursing from his eyes, and he’s got a death-grip on Enjolras’s hand.

The squeezing of his hand had awoken Enjolras, and he flicked on the light as he cradled Grantaire, wiping away his tears.

“R, are you okay?” he asks, and his voice is quiet and scared.