Grantaire was sat at the bar in the Musain drinking himself into oblivion with Bahorel and Feuilly, when suddenly he hears a distinctly female voice squeal 'Grantaire!' as someone barrels into him and wraps their arms around his neck, squeezing the life out of him like a boa constrictor.
The copious amounts of absinthe in his system meant that his reaction was severely delayed, so he didn't actually know what the fuck was going on until the girl is pulling away and beaming up at him.
She is marginally pretty. A bit on the large side, with bright red hair and a gap in her front teeth. Her face stirs some sort of feeling of deja vu in him, but for the life of him he can't place her name or where he knows her from…
"Grantaire? It's Marie! Don't tell me you've forgotten me?!" She says, her excitement rapidly turning to dismay.
Of course, it was Marie! …Who the fuck is Marie?
"Of course I remember you! How could I forget?" He tells her with gusto, slapping a not-entirely genuine grin onto his face.
"You don't seem very sure!" She laughs nervously, seeming to only just realise that engaging Grantaire in conversation was an awful idea only to be tried by the mentally deranged and incredibly stupid.
"Of course I'm sure, would you like a drink?" He asks, trying to swiftly change the subject. She accepts hesitantly and perches on a barstool next to Grantaire as he calls the barmaid over and orders their drinks without asking Marie what she'd like first.
They chat lightly for several very uncomfortable minutes, and it is only while Marie is delightedly informing him of her belly button piercing that went septic (oh how Joly would squirm) that things begin to get interesting.
Enjolras pulls open the door of the Musain and walks in; actually, struts in would be a better description - given that the blonde seems to think the entire world was his runway. Grantaire's attention is captured by his simple yet breathtaking entrance and the two lock eyes over Marie's head.
Enjolras raises his eyebrows in a brusque greeting before his gaze flickers to Marie and a frown tugs at his mouth, his brow furrowing.
Grantaire has to look away quickly and stare at the varnished wood of the bar so it doesn't look like he's been shamelessly ogling Enjolras, even though he totally has. Come on, how could he not? The fearless leader of their little student debate club was all kinds of sexy.
"Grantaire?" Comes Enjolras' voice from behind him, making Grantaire jump ten feet into the air because jesus, personal space? The drunkard could feel Enjolras' breath on the back of his neck.
Not that it was unpleasant.
Grantaire looks up and flashes an apologetic smile at Marie - who seems to be just as captivated by Enjolras as he is - before addressing him, "Yes m'dear?"
"Can I talk to you for a second?" Enjolras seems deeply troubled by something, and given the way that he can barely make eye contact with Grantaire, it had to be serious. Generally, Enjolras' stare could cut through steel with all the precision of a laser.
"Who is that?" Enjolras demands when they're out of earshot of Marie - who is still sat at the bar, morosely stirring her drink with her head in her hand.
He sounded like a paranoid girlfriend, and the way his gaze kept flickering back to Marie in utter contempt put a very real, very genuine grin on Grantaire's face.
"Are you jealous?" He goaded, widening his eyes in mock-astoundment, "Why ever would you be jealous?"
"I'm not jealous," Enjolras spat, beginning to look incredibly uncomfortable, "I'm just-"
"You are though, aren't you?"
"I'm not," the blonde insists again, crossing his arms over his chest in a way that flexes his muscles and really distracts Grantaire, "I'm just… suspicious. Not jealous."
"Suspicious? Of her?" Grantaire gestures back to Marie, who is hurriedly gathering her belongings to leave (and probably never return), her face as red as her hair.
"I-yes. I am."
"Don't worry, you've got nothing to be jealous about," Grantaire tells him with a sparkle in his eye, "I haven't got a fucking clue who she is."