"Enjolras, drink with me!" Grantaire swayed, the bottle in his hand sloshing unsteadily in response.
"I think you've had quite enough. You talking like a fool and you can barely - "
"Please, I am the very person-ication of grace!"
"Personification."
"That's what I said!" Grantaire chuckled to himself as he threw himself onto the nearest chair. Placing his bottle not-so-carefully on the table, he allowed himself a single glance at Enjolras, who happened to be glaring down at him in return. Grantaire returned his gaze, almost allowing himself to believe that something other than disappointment and loathing was held within those damned blue eyes. "Go on. Say what you're thinking. Heaven forbid that pretty little head of yours implode under the weight of all that genius."
Enjolras took the seat opposite Grantaire, a single golden curl framing his eyes. He frowned as he looked down at the weathered wooden table of the bar, almost as if its very existence had somehow offended him. Grantaire momentarily pitied the table until he remembered that it wasn't in fact alive. Maybe he really did need to stop drinking? His thoughts were interrupted by the voice he had grown to know so well.
"What are you doing here, Grantaire?" Enjolras now met his gaze, challenging him. It might have been stupid, but Grantaire almost smiled at the way his name sounded on Enjolras' lips. Actually, scratch that – it was stupid. There was no doubt about it.
"Well I was under the impression that I was having a good time, but I suppose you're here to tell me otherwise?" Grataire folded his arms, leaning back in his chair. He willed himself to say something serious – something that would make Enjolras see him. But he just stared, the ghost of a smile on his lips as he mentally scolded himself for saying something so insanely stupid.
"Just stop all of this." He used his hands to gesture to Grataire before placing them on the table in front of him. "You're a mess. You've been drinking for hours and we both know how this is going to end. Let me just refresh your memory – you sprawled across the pavement clutching another empty bottle while Coufeyrac tries to keep you from choking on your own vomit. It's not fair on him and it's not fair on you. I'm – we're – worried about you."
"I'm fine. Everything is fine, great actually!" Grantaire smiled, although he was certain it didn't reach his eyes. He silently hoped it was enough to pacify his friend. It wasn't easy being the only child of an pushy, wealthy father whose only goal in life was to be the best – for his child to be the best. It had taken him years to 'not care'. It had taken him years to realise that the disappointment of his father was something inevitable. Nothing he did would ever be good enough, and so he stopped trying. It was easier that way. Better to live with no hope than false hope – that was Grantaire's motto.
"You might be able to lie to them, but you can't lie to me." Enjolras gently laid a hand on Grantaire's shoulder and for a moment, Grantaire forgot to breathe. 'Gentle' was never a word he'd associate with Enjolras. Enjolras was ambitious, passionate, angry and downright infuriating at times, but this was the first time he'd ever been gentle. This caring version of Enjolras was as endearing as he was surprising.
"Grantaire! Enjolras! What're you doing sat here all alone, come join the party!" Couferyrac interrupted their conversation with the kind of confidence only presented when talking to friends. Grantaire could finally breathe again.