Looking back, Grantaire couldn't be sure what he had hoped to accomplish.
It took quite a bit of convincing to get Enjolras to take a break from the revolution for a drink. Never having been much of a drinker, he had a low tolerance, and after a glass of strong wine that left Grantaire merely lightheaded, Enjolras felt stuffy and sick. He groaned.
"What have you done to me? I feel like I've been poisoned. You've poisoned me."
"Don't be silly, Enjy, I'm your friend. That sick feeling goes away after a few drinks."
Enjolras knew he shouldn't have any more – he shuddered at the thought of going off in a Grantaire-esque monologue – but he figured another sip or two wouldn't hurt. With the intention of only spilling a few drops on his tongue, he "accidently" gulped down the entire glass. "What... p-proof is this?"
"I wouldn't know; I didn't make it. More?" Without waiting for an answer Grantaire refilled his glass.
Enjolras swallowed it down with a grimace. "Mon dieu. It burns like Hell. And to think you drink this for fun." Nevertheless he poured himself another glass, spilling bloody droplets on the table cloth. "Good thing the place is empty today. God, I'm a wreck. I should" – he took a swig – "stop. Before I make an ass out of myself."
"It's not a problem if you do make an ass out of yourself. It'd be our little secret."
"Sure, just don't tell my conscience." Enjolras tried to pour another glass, but Grantaire took the bottle gently from his hands and set it out of reach. "Aw, see? When the drunkard takes the bottle away, that's when you know you've had too much."
Grantaire frowned. "This was a bad idea."
"No, I'm fine. Drunk, but fine. This experience has given me new insight on... on... things. And stuff. I've got all these great ideas now, like... like when we do have a revolution, we should do it singing."
Grantaire laughed. "That's a horrible idea."
Enjolras laughed. "This is fun! I haven't had so much fun in ages! Whatever sober-me thinks tomorrow, I'll try and remember how happy I am now!"
"Tomorrow..." Grantaire's smile faded. The thought of what Enjolras would think of him the next day loomed ahead of him, as dark an ominous a thought as the thought of the revolution itself.
Enjolras faltered slightly. "I won't be angry tomorrow, if that's what you're worried about. Here, you look like you could use more wine." He nudged Grantaire's mostly full glass towards him.
"Are you trying to get me drunk?"
"What? No! I'd never," said Enjolras, his offended surprise clearly exaggerated. "It's just that you haven't had anything to drink all day. I'm merely concerned for your health."
"I never knew you were a liar, Enjolras. You must be drunker than I thought. Here's to intoxication!" The clinked glasses and drank.
"And I never realized how much we'll be dead," said Enjolras once he had emptied his fourth glass. "It's gotta suck to be dead."
"It's still several weeks off."
"I'm not talking about the Revolution. I'm talking about the entire human race. One day everyone will have killed everyone else. What if the 20th century doesn't come after all? And we'll never know because we'd all be dead by then." He began to sob drunkenly. Spilling both drinks, he reached across the table and wrapped his arms around Grantaire. "It's all so pointless 'cause we'll all be dead."
Grantaire was shocked enough by Enjolras' pessimism, but the embrace caught him completely off guard. He began to cry, too, and for the longest time they just held each other.
Later he couldn't remember how they had ended up in the bedroom. What he remembered was the hot feel of Enjolras inside him, Enjolras' shouts of "Vive la Revolution" as he came, the long spooning session they had afterwards, him planting gentle kisses along Enjolras' spine while the slowly fell asleep, and the fulfillment he felt, reliving it all again in his dreams. It didn't matter what would happen in the morning. They had this moment, perhaps the only one they'd ever have.