A.N: I would just like to say before I am lynched that there is an alternate ending to this coming soon. With its own plot and more E/M! So keep an eye out for that. It'll called Falling.


Marius ran his lips over Enjolras's throat, not even bothering to muffle the moan that came as the blond's hands slid along the insides of his thighs. There was a creak of old bed springs as Marius shifted position, straddling the man beneath him as his hips thrust forward, driving against Enjolras's palms.

"Just let me..." He muttered. Enjolras hitched his legs around Marius's waist, one hand playing along his hip, tracing a swirling pattern onto his skin.

Enjolras wrapped his arms around his lover, gritting his teeth against a cry as Marius found his rhythm.

His face felt wet... somebody was dabbing at his forehead with a damp cloth. Why would they be doing that? He wondered. I'm not sick, am I?

Marius's head fell against Enjolras's chest. Rain was roaring on the roof of the dormitory, thunder rumbling in the distance.

"Are you... all right?" Enjolras breathed.

"Fine..."

"Essay... there's an essay I need to write..." Someone brushed his hand.

"I'm sorry?"

"Enjolras?" He seized hold of the other person's fingers.

"I'm sorry," They-she said. "Enjolras isn't here."

Another crack of lightning and Marius thrust in again, the flash of light illuminating their sweat-soaked forms. Marius gazed down at Enjolras, long after the light faded.

"How many times have I told you that you're beautiful?" He murmured.

"You... never did..."

"Haven't I? I thought I had, when you were tying your cravat... essay! I have an essay due at the end of the week!"

He squinted, there seemed to be some kind of haze everywhere, he could just make out the person's hair...

"Enjolras?"

"No." The person said gently. "Cosette."

Once again with the wet cloth.

"Where's Enjolras?"

"I don't know. You should rest. We need to get you better."

"Rest... better..." Marius nodded slowly, eyes closing again. They snapped open a moment later.

"En-Enjol..." He reached out, entire arm shaking. Enjolras sat next to him, gently pushing his arm back onto the coverlet.

"Shh." He kissed his forehead. "Just sleep. I'll be here when you wake up."

Marius caught his wrist.

"Are you sure?"

"Poor devil. Every friend he had died on that barricade."

Enjolras smiled.

"Of course I am." One hand caressed his cheek.

"I just don't want to lose you."

"Even his roommate didn't make it through. Eight bullets, they said. Eight bullets and hanging out the window of a wine shop."

"It's not true, what they're saying, is it?"

"You have a fever, Marius." Enjolras said. "You're probably just hearing things."

"I pity him. It sounds like they were close."

There was a creak, as Enjolras lay down next to him.

"When you wake up, I'll be right here, holding you." He smiled. "Just sleep."

Marius nodded blearily, leaning his head against Enjolras's shoulder, breathing in his scent- rain, with a edge of blood and gunpowder.

"They say the streets were running with blood..."

"...he could be the one surviving revolutionary in the whole of Paris..."


Five hours later-

His hand slid along the side of the bed and Marius opened his eyes, feeling a sob rise painfully in his throat.

"He lied..."


Can't God just give me some peace? Marius thought as he ascended the stairs to his dormitory for the last time. Do I honestly have to pack his things away too? That makes this real. I don't want it to be real.

The room was unchanged, down to the dried tears on Marius' pillow.

Schoolbooks first. That should be relatively painless.

Marius dragged his roommate's trunk out from under the bed, trying to swallow his mounting feeling of betrayal.

He's gone. He told himself. You're not trespassing on anything he wanted to hide. Just pack the trunk, and put it on the coach. His parents will get it. Wherever they are.

The schoolbooks landed at the bottom with a hollow thud. Like a heartbeat.

Clothes. This was a harder task. Clothes landed wherever in this dormitory, particularly after their relationship intensified.

Shirt, trousers, cravat, a pair of shoes... the red coat-what Marius had wanted to find-was nowhere to be seen. His smell was everywhere.

I don't even know where they left his body... was he even given a grave? Knowing him, he would have preferred a pauper's grave but... I just want a place that I can mourn properly at. With a headstone. He looked up at the ceiling of the room. Not in a university dormitory. Not in a place that will become the next student's. Will he know he's sleeping in a dead man's bed?

Thank God I'm leaving.

Now for the desk. Marius limped towards it, rummaging through the ridiculously cluttered space, sorting through papers, maps, drafts for pamphlets-something smooth and hard fell into his hands. A book. No. A journal.

Just put it in the trunk. Marius told himself. Don't even look at it, just put it in- hating himself for it, Marius turned the first page.

It's unbelievably dull here. I might as well just write that Latin translation, I have so much time on my hands.

Marius flipped to a later date.

He's so trusting, so sure I won't betray him. I can't describe how he looks to me, lying there with his arms around me, hair soaked in sweat-I can't believe I'm leading that into battle. I can't believe I'm killing him. I should never have taken him to the cafe.

Marius turned the page, shocked into silence.

Tomorrow we throw our lives away. And I only wish I could bring myself to kiss him goodbye. Maybe tomorrow morning. While he's asleep.

He'll probably think it's Her.

I want my things (books, clothes, etc.) to go to my parents, for all that they'll care. All my love to Marius.

I want this book burned. No one ever remembers that soldiers have lives outside the battlefield, anyway.

Marius shut the journal with a snap. He'd known he was going to be killed. He'd written his will out in his diary.

And he'd been right. He was always right. No one survived the revolution.

"Because this is real. And they can't erase that. This is my rebellion."

Marius closed his eyes.

Maybe all rebellions are like that. Only one person ever lives. And it's up to them to pick up the pieces and rebuild.

He opened them again, staring around the room, now devoid of most of their belongings.

He sat on the bed, wrapping his arms around his legs, feeling the first sob rip through him.

"I'm sorry, Enjolras." His voice cracked. "I'm sorry." The sobs were gasps now, tears streaming down his blotched cheeks. "I didn't mean to live. I didn't want to. I don't." He sighed. "Life without you... means nothing."


Rain struck the window in small, blade-like drops. Marius traced his finger along one tear drop that slid down the glass.

Funny. He thought. I thought Enjolras and I would go on forever. Stupid of me. But how was I to know that I'd lose him. Eight bullets, hanging out of a window...

"Marius?"

He smiled weakly, turning to look at Cosette. She smiled back.

"Are you all right? You seem a little vacant..."

"It's nothing." He said. "Just shocked. I never thought... he died the day we married."

She nodded.

"I know. It was very brave of him, saving you like that."

He smiled, swallowing back his sorrow.

Cosette came forward, kissing him gently. A tear trickled down his cheek as he undid the laces of her overgown.

"I love you." He murmured.

Cosette nodded, her mouth moving to his jaw.

"I love you too."

Please, don't.

He sat on their bed, pulling her into his lap.

Undoing the buttons of his shirt, her corset, letting her blonde hair tumble into his face...

Please, no!

How ironic. The one time he was allowed to cry out, he couldn't bring himself to.

He'd loved it, that beautiful agony-stay silent, stay quiet-gone.

Enjolras... Enjolras... no! Cosette... oh god, he was beautiful...

Her lips grazed his chest. Another tear down his cheek.

I shouldn't think of him. Not now. Not here. Why did I think I could be happy like this?

A couple strands of yellow tickled his chin.

Why did they hate us for loving each other, but condone misery like this?

Marius left Cosette sleeping, pulling a blanket over her as he went to the window.

"I loved him." He whispered, cracking on the last word. "I loved him so much." His head hit the pane of the window.

All my love to Marius.

He turned back to look at Cosette, lying in bed, asleep, blissfully unaware.

He was there, and then gone. How was he supposed to die? They always tell you true love triumphs... but then, those were always men and women. Fairy tales.

And fairy tales don't involve rivers of blood!

I want him back. So much.

Marius turned, back braced against the glass, shoulders shaking with silent sobs.

We lived to rebel, he and I. On a barricade. In a bed. But what did we do? Enjolras dreamed of reformation. Glory. France prospering. I just wanted him. And we lost all that in the same blow.

Marius didn't know if he was speaking aloud or not. He didn't know anything anymore.

We were happy. And they ripped that away from us.

No wonder people fight. No wonder people bite that hand that feeds. No wonder the barricades were built.

And people ask why mankind rebells.