So basically I spent all of last night worrying about next door's rabbit, because two of her nails got ripped off and the neighbours are in Tenerife and I've gotta look after it and there was a load of blood and I've got a graphic imagination, so… yeah. And I wrote this. It's based on Drink With Me, and I got the title from a song called Overjoyed, by Bastille. Honestly it's one of the best songs in the world. It's E/R if you squint, but it's really only meant to be friendship.

"I propose a toast," Feuilly smiled, holding up the bottle of wine and standing up from the barricade. Courfeyrac looked up as he collected his things to take the watch.

"To Poland?" he asked, smiling that crooked smile, as he always did when he was trying to lighten the mood. A couple of hums of laughter arose from the barricade.

"To the past," he replied, taking a sip and passing the bottle to Jehan. "To the songs and poems of our youth."

"To our girls back home," Jehan continued, taking a swig. "To the beauty of our mistresses."

"To the not-so-beautiful girls," Joly grinned as he received the drink. "To the smart ones who got us into bed." A few chuckles.

"Here's to them," Feuilly smiled.

"My friends," Grantaire began as he took the bottle and poured half the contents down his throat, "Come on. It's been fun, really, but… you're all terrified. You don't want to die but it's going to happen. Nothing you can do about that." He looked over at Joly and Jehan. "Those mistresses," he murmured, "Are they really going to remember you? Are they going to stand at your grave every day and declare their never-ending love for you? No."

"Grantaire, that's enough. Jus-" Combeferre began.

"Is it even going to do anything?" Grantaire continued as if he hadn't heard Combeferre. "Do you really believe you can free France? There's what... eleven of us? Against the government, against the king, and you really think we can win? It's a joke, and we all know it." And with one last glance at Enjolras, Grantaire handed the bottle to Combeferre and stumbled into the café.

"Grantaire!" Enjolras yelled as he followed him, catching up with him quickly. "Grantaire, wait!"

"Something to add, Apollo?"

"Why did you say all that? I can understand that you lean more towards despair than anything else, but you don't need to drag the rest of us down with you." Grantaire smiled sadly.

"My dear Apollo," he said softly, cautiously raising a hand to Enjolras' face. "I don't lean towards despair, Enjolras." He cast his eyes down. "I just don't lean into false hope."