Grantaire knocked an empty bottle of brandy over. The thick liquor had refreshed his drunken stupor. He laughed; the drink had also saved him from nightmarish sobriety.
Enjolras looked up from his philosophical papers. He inhaled nosily and glared at the drunken student. Grantaire's dark eyes were bright even in the cloudy light that filtered in through the café windows. He was situated on the opposite side of the table; they were the only revolutionaries in the empty room.
"Grantaire, don't let the ale go to your head."
"You're years too late for that advice, my friend," he slurred. Enjolras responded with a tense frown.
Grantaire's world was blurred by liquor. However, Enjolras' appearance was untouched by the distortion. He was certainly beautiful; Grantaire revered his leader. Enjolras' golden locks could've rendered the sun jealous.
"Well keep the noise down. I'm trying to work."
"Of course, all you do is work."
"Work must be done."
"I must also be done, but I'm not complaining."
Enjolras' pen clambered to the ground— the revolutionary leader was taken off-guard. Grantaire leaned back and regarded the other man's startled expression. Seldom did Enjolras flush. He suited the colour; Enjolras wore red like a glove. However, he was also accustomed to Grantaire's comments, and recovered quickly.
"Gavroche acts with more maturity than you."
Grantaire laughed.
"I refute your accusation! You'll see that's not the case," he declared with drunken stupor. "I'll strip off my pants and prove you wrong,"
Enjolras grimaced at his fellow man's intoxicated state.
"For the love of France, keep them on."
"Are you quite sure?"
"Yes, yes, now hush up. This is important— these plans affect the people, our freedom. These pamphlets are to be sent out in the morning, unless you'd like to volunteer?"
Grantaire laughed at Enjolras' thinly veiled threat. It was a poor bluff.
"No. That line of work is not for me. I'm going to sleep."
Enjolras relaxed and nodded. He needed peace in order to concentrate. The morning approached with disastrous speed.
"Fine. Sleep then."
Grantaire gripped the table and pulled himself to his feet. He quivered with ample dizziness and sucked in a deep breath. The world coiled around his unstable heels.
"It is as late as it is early," he slurred, nauseated. "We need you at your best for tomorrow's speeches."
Enjolras' brow creased. He was frustrated and agitated, and newly saddened by Grantaire's selfless concern.
"To where will you go?"
"Home. Where else would I go?"
"You're not walking back in that state," Enjolras stated. Grantaire scoffed cynically. He was a grown man and could take care of himself.
"Then what would you have me do?"
"Stay in one of the rooms downstairs. I'll pay your expenses. I need you to stay out of trouble."
The unexpected offering took Grantaire by surprise; he gawked at his leader with shock and admiration. Grantaire would have rejected the deal under different circumstances. He staggered forward.
"I'm no charity case-"
"I don't see you as such. Collect yourself and head down the stairs. Let Eponine know of our deal; I'll pay for your expenses in the morning. Go and sleep your liquor off."
"Enjolras-"
"Don't. You're a brother to me, and I shall see you safe. Now shut up. You're giving me a headache."
Grantaire smirked. Liquor and adoration brightened his tired eyes. . 'A brother,' he thought, 'how I'd long to be more.' Enjolras had a way of conflicting Grantaire's interests
"Fine. Fine. I'll repay you soon enough."
Enjolras smiled, and Grantaire's heart burst with light. Red fluttered behind his eyelids.
"Good. I shall speak to you tomorrow."
Grantaire nodded and swayed backwards.
"Goodnight, Apollo."
"It will not be a good night if you call me by that name."