AN: This is my first fanfic, and I know that there are a bunch of these stories out there, however I loved the idea so much I just had to do it

Disclaimer: I own nothing other than the storyline; everything else belongs to the genius Victor Hugo.

The Light of His World

Grantaire woke up suddenly, taking gasps of air as he struggled to sit up. He blinked a couple times trying to clear the wine and absinthe from his mind. Something felt wrong it was too quiet. Grantaire couldn't hear the shots of muskets firing and the screams as bayonets pierced flesh that Grantaire had grown accustomed to as he tried to block out the sounds of his friends dying with wine. He couldn't do it. He couldn't go out there and watch the only people he cared about: Courfeyrac, Combeferre, Joly, Bahorel, Jehan, Feuilly, Bossuet, and of course… his Apollo. The only thing he believed in. Grantaire couldn't watch Enjolras die for a country that would never change. Therefore, he didn't. He stayed in the Musain, his heart full of regret, longing, and despair. Grantaire knew he was once again disappointing Enjolras. That's all he could ever do. Grantaire would live for those nights in the Musain when he drank too much and became too rowdy and obnoxious for Enjolras to ignore. His Apollo's scathing remarks concerning his drunkenness and inability to believe in anything stung, however they were the only times Enjolras ever acknowledged him. Grantaire would always take that over nothing.

As Grantaire stumbled to his feet, he finally noticed the destruction of his surroundings and the faint sound of marching growing more distant. The once cheerful and optimistic Musain was cracked and splintered, with blood spattered on the wall and on the floor were his comrades lying in a row. Grantaire sucked in a breath going through each of the blank faces. There was the ever pensive Combeferre, his chipped glasses still on the end of his nose, lying with his arm draped over Courfeyrac, the cheerful ladies man who would always laugh at Grantaire's jokes. Grantaire slowly walked down the line towards the stairs, his eyes drifting up to look around as he noticed someone was missing. Grantaire's heart started thumping loudly in his chest. Was his Apollo still fighting for his beloved Patria, flag still in hand? Grantaire walked up the creaky stairs, dread starting to fill his soul. When he reached the upstairs room, where the Les Amis de L'ABC spent many nights planning a revolution that was doomed to fail, Grantaire's eyes were immediately drawn to a figure slumped on the floor.

"Oh god no." Grantaire whispered, tears already welling up in his blue eyes.

In the far side of the room underneath the window was Grantaire's beloved Apollo, his only reason for living, and he was lying in a pool of his own blood. Grantaire no longer had control of his body as he threw himself down to clutch at Enjolras' chest. A heartbroken sob wracked out of Grantaire as Enjolras' blood covered his hands. He shook his Apollo frantically, the tears splashing onto Enjolras' pale, marble face. The same force that woke Grantaire from his drunken slumber must have caused Enjolras' eyes to flicker open, as he looked down to find Grantaire clutching his torso, sobbing into his waistcoat.

A painful gasp from Enjolras' mouth caused Grantaire to sit up suddenly, his eyes red and face blotchy, and yell out loudly as he saw the blue eyes of Enjolras staring into his own.

"Apollo you're alive," cried Grantaire, his voice cracking.

"Yes it would appear so," muttered Enjolras, his brow scrunched together in pain. "For how long, who knows"?

"Oh god, I-" Grantaire saw how much blood was on the floor and on his hands and realized that they didn't have long. "I thought you were dead. I- I thought you- I didn't" Grantaire stuttered then jumped slightly as Enjolras leaned his hand onto his cheek, wiping away his tears.

"Shh it's fine, we're both fine." Enjolras said to reassure both of them. He was already getting dizzy from the blood loss, not to mention the pain.

Hardly daring to hear the answer, he asked, "Grantaire is there anyone left?"

"No one" he answered, trying to force down the guilt "Except I don't think I saw Marius"

"Good," said Enjolras with an unreadable expression on his marble face. "Someone can carry on the revolution."

This brought on more guilt that Grantaire tried to ignore when he saw Enjolras struggling to breath, and he quickly grabbed his Apollo's hand.

"I'm so sorry Enjy, I'm sorry for always disappointing you and never believing in your revolution. I'm sorry for always messing up your meetings and being such a bother-"

"Stop that," Enjolras snapped. Even while dying, he still managed to be forceful. "Stop thinking of yourself like that, you are worth so much more than that, to everyone…to me."

Even though he was elated to hear these words coming from Enjolras' mouth, panic was starting to grip his every being when he came to the realization that Enjolras was going to die. His Apollo, the only thing that he ever believed in was going to die. Grantaire couldn't just not say it; he had to tell him even if it ruined everything.

"I love you," he blurted out quickly, waiting for Enjolras' rebuke. He closed his eyes tightly, trying to hold in his despair, when he felt the marble hand on his face once again.

"I know." Enjolras' eyes seemed clearer, however his marble façade was beginning to slip, revealing him a bit shocked. "I think I've always known," he whispered, causing Grantaire's heart to beat audibly. He couldn't hold it in any longer; he started to sob hysterically on Enjolras' shoulder, as his Apollo ran his fingers through his black curls.

"Please don't do anything stupid when I'm gone," Enjolras' voice growing weaker "I can't handle knowing that I killed you too."

"I won't," he said, knowing in his heart that he was lying

Enjolras managed a weak chuckle, "You're such a bad liar. Grantaire I-"

"Stop. Don't talk"

"No I need to say this," as always Grantaire's marble Apollo didn't listen "I always believed in you." These were his last words as the light in Enjolras' eyes, that Grantaire was in love with, went out.

"No, please no," Grantaire screamed his heart ripped in two "Please God take me instead!"

He sobbed into his Apollo's empty chest, and with shaky hands reached into his waistband and pulled out his gun.

"I'm sorry my Apollo, I'm sorry for always having to apologize, and for lying to you again. I'm sorry Enjolras but I can't continue my miserable life without you. You were my whole life, and I can't lose you so I will see you soon."

With his eyes fixed onto the face that he knew so well from all those nights of staring in complete admiration and love, a tear fell onto Enjolras' face one last time.

A violent bang echoed in the now quiet Parisian streets that were now filled with blood. Later they would find the remnants of the Les Amis de L'ABC in the Café Musain, and their leader lying hand in hand with a cynical, drunken, winecask, in a pool of their own blood. It would be remembered how each died with a smile on their faces knowing that they would see each other soon.