AN: Enjolras and Grantaire survive the 1832 barricades and into the 1848 revolution.

Guest - I can't tell if you're a troll or if you're being serious. Just in case you're being serious, I promise you that the next E/R fic or drabble I write that contains any form of sex will have Grantaire as the 'seme' if we're to use anime terms. And you can be certain that he'll enjoy putting more of Enjolras' footprints on the ceiling.

They shouldn't have been there. The scars on Enjolras' chest spoke of that.

They shouldn't have failed so long ago on the '32 barricades. The lack of their friends spoke of that.

Still, Enjolras could hear the sound of Combeferre's voice on the wind as the barricades rose again. The old familiar adages of his friend seemed to rumble out of every voice. And yet, when the booming noise got to its highest pitch and the cannons were brought out, Enjolras couldn't help but turn to the others and mocked the instrument of such devastation because the one who would do it instead wasn't present.

The wounded were tended to and the science of the revolution was shown in the fewer lives that were lost.

They should not have won in '48, but the people spoke out against that.

Grantaire brought him a loaded rifle with a grim smile.

"Don't get yourself shot this time," he whispered.

They were the last of their friends, both polar extremes of one another. Each one was the other's savior, one in spirit and the other in flesh.

When the day was won, they joined hands once more.

Due to their views, they shouldn't have been together. But their love conquered that.