Love Is Blind - An E/R Les Misérables Fanfiction

A Ray of Light

Four weeks later...

Grantaire stared into the space ahead of him, seeing nothing, his fingers tightly gripping the bottle that he was holding. The noise of the tavern around him did not enter his mind, as his grieving thoughts consumed him. With a slow motion, he put the bottle to his lips, finishing it. Without thinking about it, he took a coin out of his pocket and slammed it on the table.

Knowing her cue, one of the serving-girls brought another over, taking the money. They were forbidden to remark on how many drinks the customers had, so she kept quiet, handing the man his fourth. Grantaire hardly took notice of her. Then again, over the last three weeks, he hadn't taken notice of anything.

He had awoken, two mornings after the barricade, in his parents' house, in his old room. Years previously, his father had called him a fool and drunkard, and had ordered his son never to come near him again. And yet, when Grantaire had awoken, his father had shed tears of joy, saying that he'd thought he'd lost him.

Grantaire had been shocked to discover that not only had he survived getting shot several times, but none of the bullets had caused any damage! The only reason he'd slept for two days was because his body had been in shock. When he'd asked his father how he'd gotten home, his father said, "A couple boys knocked around noon; they had your body, and said that you'd almost died. Then after the servants carried you in, they left before I could even thank them." Though Grantaire was glad that the bad blood between his father and him seemed to be gone, it did not help calm the horror and despair that was flooding his mind.

The despair over Enjolras' death. Enjolras, the man whom Grantaire had loved, despite the fact that Enjolras had never shown him kindness, except for that smile he'd given him, at what Grantaire had thought would be his final breath.

And here he was, three weeks later, drinking to try and lessen the hurt. But every time he closed his eyes, he saw Enjolras' face, his sharp eyes, his golden hair. He heard Enjolras' commanding voice, and could feel his gaze upon him.

It was too hard to bear. Only once had he allowed himself to think, to hope, that perhaps Enjolras had survived as well. But then he had scoffed, knowing that all of that was fantasy. Never again would he truly see Enjolras, or receive one of his powerful and amusing glares. Grantaire was in deep misery.

Without having thought to do so, he stood up, and walked out of the tavern, gripping his bottle tightly. He knew not where he was going, but he did not care. In his head, he was reliving that terrible dream-like memory. Of Enjolras' cold words to him before the fight had begun, and then, of how it all had ended. Enjolras' smile before everything had gone black. Before everything should have ended.

He blinked, and realized he was standing on a bridge, against the wall overlooking the River Seine. The water below was peaceful and alluring. In it, he could almost see his friends' faces. The river was the same color as Enjolras' eyes; it was like he was meeting his gaze again. Tears sprang to his eyes, and he leaned forward a little, to rest his elbow on the top of the wall—

"Monsieur, don't!" a voice cried. The words took a few moments to have meaning, as he turned, his fingers still clutching his bottle, and saw a young woman beside him. Her eyes were full of fear.

"Do not fear, Mademoiselle," he said, somewhat coldly. "If I had it in mind to jump, I would have done so a while ago." Out of habit, he went to put the bottle to his lips.

Before he knew what was happening, the girl had stepped forward and wrenched it out of his hands. "I think that's enough, Monsieur; I saw how many you had in there!"

Due to how drunk he was, it took him a few moments to react. Then he said, "But there is never enough wine!" He went to grab the bottle, but before he could, the girl tossed it over the bridge, and it fell into the river.

As he stood in shock over what had just happened, she said, "Do you think Monsieur Enjolras would be pleased by this?"

Enjolras' name cleared his brain immediately. "Where did you hear that name?" he breathed.

The girl rolled her eyes. "That's my own business." There was something strange about her, not counting how short her hair was, but Grantaire did not care at the moment; all he had on his mind was Enjolras.

With his heart pounding loudly in his ears, he stepped up to her, and though she was a head shorter, she did not cower. He wasn't sure what he wanted from her. This mysterious girl, who not only had thrown his wine in the river, but also seemed to know about Enjolras.

"Don't mention his name." he said; he could hear the deep emotion in his own voice, and, wanting it hide from it, turned his back to her.

"Even if I want to tell you that he's alive?"

Slowly, he turned to face her again. "What?" he said, thinking he must have misheard her.

"Enjolras survived the barricade as well. I thought you'd want to know, Grantaire," she smiled.

"How do you know—Enjolras is...alive?" he whispered, staring at her in wonder and shock.

The girl nodded. "And he has been, ever since the barricade. It's been almost four weeks now; I'd hoped..." She trailed off.

"Where is he?" he asked desperately. He had to know if this girl was telling the truth. Inexpressible hope was rising inside him, and he feared that this might be some sort of terrible joke.

"Where he always is at this time of day, Grantaire," she said. "At the Café. He sits in that back room for half an hour, just staring out the window or at maps or nothing at all. And then, he leaves right on the dot. Every day." She looked him in the eye, and frowned. "Why are you still here? What are you waiting for?!"

Without another word,Grantaire ran.