[Les Misérables] The Five Stages of Death, Dying, and Love
Title: The Five Stages of Death, Dying, and Love
Author: bearit
Rating: PG
Genre: Romance
Characters: Enjolras/Grantaire
Word Count: ~500
Summary: Falling in love is not unlike dying. At least, that's Enjolras's best estimate of it.
Disclaimer: Les Misérables belongs to Victor Hugo. I have no rights to the novel, musical, anime, or any of the movies. This piece of fanwork is unofficial and not making a profit.
I. Denial
He was not alone in his bed.
Warmth encompassed him from behind. Strong arms pulled him in close. The faint stench of lingering wine breathed into his ear.
He smiled, rested his hands upon those that held him, and closed his eyes.
Then Enjolras woke up.
He was alone now. The only thing that kept him warm against the chill of winter were the four walls of his apartment and the blanket draped over his body. The air was so familiar that it was nothing remarkable.
Enjolras knew that he should have been relieved.
After a moment of convincing himself of this, he drifted back to restless sleep.
II. Anger
When Enjolras entered the Cafe Musain the next morning, his gaze immediately fell on him.
It would not have been so terrible had their eyes not locked in the next instant.
Something in Grantaire's eyes and in his smile made Enjolras's stomach twist. Enjolras's lips curled, and he turned his nose away.
III. Bargaining
"Be serious."
"I'm fierce."
And so Enjolras considered him. He considered the lingering thoughts since winter. He considered the unfamiliar internal twists of each glance. And he considered the glance he cast upon Grantaire now.
Enjolras wondered.
Nothing happens without reason nor without cause. Perhaps the little thought Enjolras had given upon this had always been too much. Perhaps, if he just took the offer in stride, a sense of normalcy would return, and idle interruptions would no longer disturb him.
Just this once. One more time.
"Grantaire, I agree to try you. You'll go to the Barriere du Maine."
IV. Depression
As they looked into the cellar and discovered the fifteen bottles of wine, Enjolras realized that there was little point in ignoring it anymore: he wished that Grantaire was awake.
Enjolras could not place his finger on why, precisely. He doubted Grantaire would be of any use in the battle to come. His presence would only serve to annoy and to distract. And even if Grantaire heeded the ban on drink, and even if he did participate, Enjolras doubted his effectiveness and his willingness.
Bossuet was right: it was lucky that Grantaire was asleep. He would drink, and he would be useless, and he would distract.
So why did Enjolras wish for otherwise?
The answers that swam in his head resounded incorrectly and served the same purpose as Grantaire himself would in consciousness. More reasonably, perhaps Enjolras wanted Grantaire to see for himself what surrounded him and what risks everyone took. It was a dangerous curiosity, but far less fatal than any other Enjolras could conjure.
Should he not have wished instead that Grantaire had chosen to sleep anywhere else in all of Paris but here?
V. Acceptance
Enjolras once accused of Grantaire: "You're incapable of belief, of thought, of will, of life, and of death."
Now, standing side by side, Enjolras recalled a dream from many months ago. Hand in hand, he recalled the warmth of that night. Eye to eye in this moment of death, he saw Grantaire's belief, his thought, his will, and his life.
And Enjolras smiled.
Author: bearit
Rating: PG
Genre: Romance
Characters: Enjolras/Grantaire
Word Count: ~500
Summary: Falling in love is not unlike dying. At least, that's Enjolras's best estimate of it.
Disclaimer: Les Misérables belongs to Victor Hugo. I have no rights to the novel, musical, anime, or any of the movies. This piece of fanwork is unofficial and not making a profit.
I. Denial
He was not alone in his bed.
Warmth encompassed him from behind. Strong arms pulled him in close. The faint stench of lingering wine breathed into his ear.
He smiled, rested his hands upon those that held him, and closed his eyes.
Then Enjolras woke up.
He was alone now. The only thing that kept him warm against the chill of winter were the four walls of his apartment and the blanket draped over his body. The air was so familiar that it was nothing remarkable.
Enjolras knew that he should have been relieved.
After a moment of convincing himself of this, he drifted back to restless sleep.
II. Anger
When Enjolras entered the Cafe Musain the next morning, his gaze immediately fell on him.
It would not have been so terrible had their eyes not locked in the next instant.
Something in Grantaire's eyes and in his smile made Enjolras's stomach twist. Enjolras's lips curled, and he turned his nose away.
III. Bargaining
"Be serious."
"I'm fierce."
And so Enjolras considered him. He considered the lingering thoughts since winter. He considered the unfamiliar internal twists of each glance. And he considered the glance he cast upon Grantaire now.
Enjolras wondered.
Nothing happens without reason nor without cause. Perhaps the little thought Enjolras had given upon this had always been too much. Perhaps, if he just took the offer in stride, a sense of normalcy would return, and idle interruptions would no longer disturb him.
Just this once. One more time.
"Grantaire, I agree to try you. You'll go to the Barriere du Maine."
IV. Depression
As they looked into the cellar and discovered the fifteen bottles of wine, Enjolras realized that there was little point in ignoring it anymore: he wished that Grantaire was awake.
Enjolras could not place his finger on why, precisely. He doubted Grantaire would be of any use in the battle to come. His presence would only serve to annoy and to distract. And even if Grantaire heeded the ban on drink, and even if he did participate, Enjolras doubted his effectiveness and his willingness.
Bossuet was right: it was lucky that Grantaire was asleep. He would drink, and he would be useless, and he would distract.
So why did Enjolras wish for otherwise?
The answers that swam in his head resounded incorrectly and served the same purpose as Grantaire himself would in consciousness. More reasonably, perhaps Enjolras wanted Grantaire to see for himself what surrounded him and what risks everyone took. It was a dangerous curiosity, but far less fatal than any other Enjolras could conjure.
Should he not have wished instead that Grantaire had chosen to sleep anywhere else in all of Paris but here?
V. Acceptance
Enjolras once accused of Grantaire: "You're incapable of belief, of thought, of will, of life, and of death."
Now, standing side by side, Enjolras recalled a dream from many months ago. Hand in hand, he recalled the warmth of that night. Eye to eye in this moment of death, he saw Grantaire's belief, his thought, his will, and his life.
And Enjolras smiled.