Disclaimer – I am not Victor Hugo. So I own none of these characters

One point to make before I begin, the first names in this are not their real names. Enjolras and Grantaire are never called their first names as far as I can tell so I came up with my own. Ricard Enjolras and Nicholas Grantaire. I got Grantaire's name from another fic I read and enjoyed the irony so much. If anyone is interested: Ricard means Strong leader and Nicholas means People's Victory (Ahh the irony).

Without My Apollo's Favour

Grantaire stumbled back into the flat he shared with Enjolras. Well, shared is an exaggeration, he was staying there until he found a place of his own. Alcohol remained lingering on his breath and the room swayed with an irregular rhythm. Tears streamed down his face while his heart shattered into millions of tiny fragments and pierced his insides. Enjolras had finally done it, pushed Grantaire over the edge into the abyss. Whispered comments, despaired sighs, pitiful looks; he could deal with all that but now it was too far. "You don't believe in anything" the comment that broke Grantaire's world. "I believe in you … I believe in you Enjolras," Grantaire wept huddling leaning on the door. He didn't want a revolution but it was an excuse to spend to time with Enjolras, to help make his one love happy. That is all. Oh how that backfired …

He was no one, he was no one to Enjolras. He wished with all his heart they could go back to when they were young. When they were just best friends dreaming of better times; how he missed those days. Clumsily he pulled out a picture, worn from over use, and stroked it's sheen. Feuilly had found them a camera when they were fourteen and starting the Amis de ABC for real and insisted they all have a picture to remind them of the cause. Cameras were a rare thing but they had all learnt not to question Feuilly's methods. Enjolras was in the middle smiling with his arm wrapped round Combeferre's shoulders. Combeferre was laughing at the camera with his arm resting on Jehan's shoulder. Grantaire was knelt behind Combeferre and peering through the gap between Enjolras' head and Combeferre's, with a beaming grin. A tear dripped onto the picture and trickled down. He hurriedly folded it back up as his heart wrenched at the memory but his fumbling fingers dropped the precious piece of paper. He hurried reached for it and searched the floor in the darkness for what felt like his life line. He found the paper and clutched it in his trembling hand.

A searing pain shot through his palm as an old piece of glass cut into him. A red bead dropped onto the floor and splashed on the wood. Grantaire knew subconsciously but he should stop the bleeding but yet the pain felt so good. He caught a droplet in his hands and watched as the perfect form dissipated and ran off onto the floor. He was strangely fascinated by how life relied on such a fragile substance. The pain on his hand dulled and was soon replaced by the aches of his shattered heart and shredded self-esteem. Grantaire looked at the glass that lay in his shaking palm and found himself seeking the momentary comfort the cut gave him. Slowly he slid the glass along his palm again and the pain over rode his heart ache again. But unfortunately, like the high from a drug, every time he cut the period of mental relief was shorter than the one before.

The heartache and emotional pain sliced through his drunken stupor like it had never done before. The alcohol was to dull his emotions primarily but it also gave him an excuse for his feelings when he was in front of the others. But during this moment, Grantaire realised, the drink was an excuse for his unexplained emotions inside his own mind as well as out. He could not hide from the reality of his fluttering thoughts anymore. If it was anyone but Enjolras the comment would have bounced off him like it was never intended for him in the first place … but the god like Apollo's comments hurt him more than any words should be able to.

Cut after cut tore through his skin as if they were fatal tally marks. His arm was now cut to shreds but he could not stop. Black invaded his vision as the quantity of blood on the floor began to outweigh what actually remained inside his body. Grantaire automatically reached for his nearest bottle of Green Fairy but touch of the cool glass brought Enjolras' face back into his mind. "You don't believe in anything winesack," his hallucination hissed and the bottle went flying into the wall. If he was going to die, as he had now determined he would, then he would die as he had never been in life. He would die sober. As the black spread and spread, as did the blood, Grantaire fell back against the door and pain ricocheted through his already damaged mind and blood began seeping into his knotted ebony hair. The room began spinning and the floor rolled like a troubled ocean. Grantaire carefully unfolded the picture again and stared at it with the tears teaming down his face. As it all began drifting into a never ending blackness, the room lit up and all Grantaire could see was his Apollo. His Apollo shining in the light, smiling to him. Then the world vanished.

"I'm sorry Ferre but he was driving me insane. I really like him, I really do … but the thing I don't like is the drink," Enjolras sighed walking back to his apartment with Combeferre.

"I know … I don't like the drink either but you broke him back there. I just want you to be ready for him to have left or be angry with you when we return," Combeferre muttered supportingly.

"Is it bad that I hope he has left? I must admit I do feel really bad for what happened back there but why does he come if he does not believe?" Enjolras asked in exasperation.

"He comes for you Ricard," Combeferre muttered. "When we were young, he said we would always be together. I know that R still holds himself to that," he sighed and looked at Enjolras' shocked expression.

"I … I forgot," Enjolras whispered. "Ferre, what if I have pushed him away?" Enjolras replied desperately.

"I am sure he will forgive," Combeferre comforted. They drifted into silence until they reached Enjolras' door. He fumbled with the key but when it slid into the lock, the door was still open. Enjolras frowned at Combeferre, even when drunk out of his mind Grantaire always locked the door.

Enjolras slowly knocked on the open door. "Taire, you there?" he asked softly. He pushed open the door and was met with a small amount of resistance. He pushed a little harder. Often Grantaire fell asleep leaning on the door in his drunken state … nothing unusual there. He peered in and the first thing he saw was the smashed Green Fairy bottle. Anger was defiantly looking like the more and more probable outcome. "Taire," Enjolras murmured as he stepped inside. His foot splashed against the wood; Enjolras looked down expecting alcohol or even sick but he definatly didn't expect what he saw. Blood, still wet blood coated the floor. "Grantaire!" Enjolras shouted with more urgency. "Nicholas!" he shouted, the panic causing him to use Grantaire's much hated christian name. Enjolras pushed the door open fully and the limp blood coated body fell in his path.

A/N: So what do you think? This my first shot at writing something like this so any feedback is incredibly welcome.

Also would you like me to carry on writing this … I have so many ideas but I really don't want to ruin it? Pretty please review!