Grantaire showing up for a meeting, getting drunk, and passing out in a corner was one thing. Grantaire promising to come to a meeting and then never showing up was quite another. Six hours after the appointed meeting time, and even Enjolras was starting to get concerned. Finally, Les Amis decided to go look for their missing companion.
Joly found him in a back alley a dozen blocks from the café. He was bruised, bloody, and only half conscious; still he managed to give his friend a half smile. "You always did want someone to practice your medicine on, didn't you?" he muttered around his swollen lips. Joly was stunned. "What the devil happened to you?" he asked. Grantaire groaned. "Three thugs in military uniforms happened to me. I missed Apollo's speech, didn't I?" Joly shook his head. "Even half-dead, you never give up, do you?" As Joly tried to help his friend to his feet, Grantaire cried out in pain. Joly gently eased Grantaire's weight fully onto himself. "Come on, let's take you someplace where you can get cleaned up and taken care of." Grantaire nodded faintly, and passed out.
When Grantaire came to, the first thing he was aware of was the incredible amount of pain shooting through his chest. He didn't even try to sit up, but he did open his eyes to a completely unfamiliar room. "Where am I?" he murmured aloud. He had visited all of Les Amis' flats before, he though. "You're in my room," came the reply. Grantaire turned his head slightly, disbelieving his own ears. Sitting in a chair a few feet away, watching him, was his own Apollo. Enjolras.
Enjolras raised an eyebrow at him. "Something the matter, Cristophe?" Grantaire turned away. "No," he said quietly, "I just wouldn't have expected-" "No, I suppose not," Enjolras cut him off. "My room here was closest to where Joly found you, and it didn't make any sense to be carting you around with a broken rib when he could just treat you here." Grantaire closed his eyes again. Even now he could hear the disapproval in his idol's voice. All he was was an inconvenience to those he adored and admired. They would all prefer him dead, out of their way.
He opened his eyes quickly when he felt a hand on his forehead. Enjolras looked as close to amused as he ever did. "Joly said I'm to make sure you don't develop a fever. Then you'll be stuck here even longer." "Stuck here?" Grantaire asked in confusion. Enjolras snorted. "I suppose I can't call it your ignorance, with the beating you took. You don't think I'm going to honestly drag you to your place with a broken rib, do you? Until Joly says you're sufficiently healed, you're staying here."
Grantaire bore the pain of his injuries remarkably well over the next four weeks. Enjolras had removed to sleeping on a mattress on the floor near the foot of the bed, and just knowing he was there somehow made it easier for Grantaire to sleep. During the day, his Apollo would meet the others at the café, but he always brought home a report to the invalid who had inadvertently invaded his room.
One evening, almost five weeks since the injury, Grantaire was having remarkable difficulty getting comfortable. It was a warm night, which made the bandages around his chest unbearable. His gentle but constant squirming finally caused Enjolras to throw his paper down on the floor. "You are absolutely insufferable, Cristophe!" Enjolras crossed the room and sat down on the bed. He carefully pushed Grantaire into a sitting position, supporting him against his own chest, and began unbuttoning his shirt. Grantaire was both thrilled at the nearness of his Apollo, and ashamed at the chastisement. Enjolras pulled the shirt off with an irritated sigh. "Joly is going to kill me for this," he muttered, and began unwrapping the bandages. Grantaire let him.
When the bandages were off, the two young men sat there for a moment before Enjolras broke the silence. "I assume that is better?" Grantaire nodded. "'M sorry," he mnuttered. He was startled when Enjolras took his chin in hand. When his head had been turned, and Grantaire was meeting his Apollo's gaze, he could see that Enjolras had a different look in his eyes than what he most often saw.
"Sorry for what?" asked Enjolras. "You may be an utter imbecile, and a drunkard, but I rather doubt you wanted to get beaten and left practically on my doorstep. And I may not approve of your habits, but I'm not one to turn away a friend in need." Grantaire stared at him, then whispered, "You…you consider me a friend?" Enjolras gave him his usual grave look. "Yes, I do."
Two weeks later, Grantaire was back in his own room, and back to his usual drinking and general bad habits. But Joly observed that he seemed to be far better behaved, and even more attentive when Enjolras was speaking. Enjolras ignored him, as usual, except to occasionally reprimand his behavior. So Joly shrugged it off, and life went on.