Hope Springs Eternal in the Human Breast
There were times when he wanted to believe, when, for the briefest of moments, a warm wave of hope would flood his being and make him believe the words he so often scoffed at. It was in those precious moments when he would shakily stand up and attempt to inform his friends that he had converted, that he was a believer, that he would fight along their side to the very end!
He only ever got as far as opening his mouth. The alcohol that was so often present in his system would make the world lurch violently and he would quite suddenly find himself on the floor, the dull throbbing in his head informing him that he had had a few too many drinks.
As the effect of the alcohol dwindled, so did his hope. Wearily, he would pull himself to his feet and frantically search the room for the man he admired so deeply.
Enjolras.
Even when those rare moments of optimism faded away, his faith in Enjolras would remain. It was, after all, impossible not to believe in him; a man so devout in his faith in the republic, so eloquent and convincing, so devastatingly handsome that he could rally any number of people to his side. Even cynical drunkards who believed in nothing at all.
Said drunkard finally spotted the mass of bright hair and ambled unsteadily to him. Enjolras did not look up for a long time. When he finally did, his eyes were steady and betrayed no emotion.
"Is there something you need?" he asked, his tone carefully patient. Grantaire looked around, unsure of what he wanted to say. His head still throbbed from where he had hit himself and his stomach was threatening to rid itself of the poison he had consumed.
"I - I just wanted," he broke off and awkwardly sat down on a rickety wooden chair.
"If you have something to say, say it quickly. I have a great deal of work to do," said Enjolras briskly with a wave of his hand, indicating the substantial pile of books on the table.
Grantaire took a deep breath to steady his swirling mind and instantly regretted it. Fearing that he was about to be sick in front of the man he likened to a god, he quickly reached up and grasped Enjolras' shoulder. "I believe in you," he said, his words slightly slurred.
Grantaire waited in anticipation, unsure if Enjolras would choose to scold or ignore him.
Enjolras' face remained impassive. After all, it wasn't the first time the drunken man had expressed the sentiment. Why would this time be any different?
"Go home, Grantaire. Get some rest," he finally said, his tone detached. Grantaire nodded and stumbled his way out of the café, feelings happier than he'd felt in a long time. Enjolras had addressed him by his name, not 'drunkard' or 'wincask,' but Grantaire. It was a momentous occasion!
The young man stopped suddenly in the middle of the street and looked back towards the café. His faith in the republic might leave much to be desired but the hope he felt when he heard Enjolras speak could never be extinguished. It didn't matter that he never expressed it to anyone nor did it matter that he constantly hid his uncertainty with cynicism, he would always, always have faith in Enjolras. Besides, even cynics feel hope sometimes.