Red and Black~~Les Miserables One-Shots

Colors

A/N: I saw this on Instagram and wanted to do it so yeah. It says au but I DON'T CARE IT SHALL BE SAME UNIVERSE

The Final Battle coincidentally (and ironically) plays just as I finish writing.

Enjoy!

########

"It truly is impressive, Enjolras, how you manage to constantly wear the same color. You are still blind to the wonderful spectrum of color which I can see, and for that, I pity you. Yet, although your world is colored only with ink, you always manage to wear the color red. Do you really love that particular shade of gray?" Combeferre prattled on in a light-hearted manner as he and Enjolras walked down the street to the Cafe Musain.

"Be quiet, Combeferre," said Enjolras in irritation, "Today is not the day for matters which I care little for anyway. Today is the funeral of General Lamarque, as you seem to have forgotten, and we should be in mourning."

"In mourning," Combeferre repeated, "And yet you wear red."

Enjolras' lips curled into a slight smile, "Ah, I cannot be blamed for that. As you have said, I am blind to color, and cannot be held responsible for being unable to tell if I am wearing the proper color for mourning. Now go, bother Courfeyrac with your colorful nonsense."

He watched as Combeferre scampered down the hall to the back room like an excited puppy, and sighed. Though he always acted as though it didn't bother him that many of his friends were happily enjoying the world in vivid color, it did nag at something in him. Of course, Enjolras was happy so long as his friends were, but he wished that he too could see more than black and white. He didn't really care for the soulmate bit, which he considered ridiculous, but accepted that it would have to come with fully seeing the world how it should be.

All his talk about Red and Black was infuriating because he only knew the color red from what his friends had attempted to describe. They'd done the best they could, but how is one expected to describe a color to someone who cannot possibly comprehend it?

Enjolras dreaded the inevitable occurrence of his mistaking some other color for red. It was going to happen eventually, he was sure, and had already braced himself for the humiliation it would bring.

The rebellion was planned to begin that very day. Perhaps there was not enough time left in his life for such a mistake to happen.

Perhaps he would go to his death never having experienced the luxury of color.

~~~~~

Enjolras raced down the streets of Paris, flag (which he had been assured was indeed red) clutched in hand. Close behind were the rest of Les Amis. Pontmercy had somehow acquired a horse, which he kept in the back of the group to prevent soldiers from getting too close.

Once Les Amis reached the Cafe Musain, they began the frantic building of the barricade. Furniture was shoved out windows and doors, and added to the growing pile. People rushed everywhere, throwing whatever could be found onto the barricade, fetching the limited artillery and gunpowder.

Enjolras saw Marius jump off his horse and let it run in a panic through the advancing ranks of army soldiers, causing disarray which bought the revolutionaries time. It was likely the most beneficial thing Marius had ever done for them.

Another thing which caught the revolutionary leader's attention was Grantaire the drunkard, the skeptic, the cynic. Mildly surprised that the man was even at the barricade, Enjolras yelled at him to do something to assist.

It was at this point that Rnjolras perceived in his vision something unfamiliar. It had a tint of some unknown quality which he was unused to.

He did not know why, but he thought it might be the color red.

The barricade was at last deemed sufficient and all Les Amis had taken their place behind it. And not a moment too soon, for the very second the students' guns were loaded and aimed, all those in the opposing front row fired.

There was no turning back now.

~~~~~

There was no one left. Only Enjolras, standing at the window of the Cafe Musain, facing a dozen army soldiers.

So this is it. This is the end of the rebellion, the end of my life.

Though it was stupid, Enjolras felt bitterness at never having the experience of color to take to his grave.

He raised his head to face his death with dignity and in doing so spotted the figure at the other end of the room.

It was Grantaire, and he was walking towards Enjolras like he wasn't walking straight into his death. Enjolras wanted to scream at the man to leave, leave now, get out and save yourself, he could not get the words out of his throat.

It was pointless now, anyway. If Grantaire were to try to run, he would be shot down, and Enjolras could tell that Grantaire would pay no heed if told to leave.

Instead, Enjolras heard quiet words, "Do you permit it?"

Grantaire had said something else directed at the armed men, but Enjolras heard none of it.

He grasped Grantaire's hand tightly In response to the man's question, and the world exploded in that foreign quality that Enjolras had thought he felt the day preceding.

Everything looked brighter, even the dark things. Grantaire suddenly appeared the image of beauty in Enjolras' eyes when washed in whatever it was that affected the world suddenly.

Color. This unfamiliar thing was color.

Grantaire--

Bright red flashes consumed his vision, then everything disappeared.