With his brow furrowed in concentration, Enjolras poured over his notes. Well, he tried to, at least. Line after line of improvements that could be made to France's penal and education systems danced across the page like a parade of confused ants. It wasn't like he'd chosen to forego sleep last night. Or the night before. It was just that he was busy.
He had a list full of priorities that ran through his brain 24/7 and sleep wasn't on it.
Nor was eating.
Breathing wasn't on it either but he couldn't help France if he forgot to breath.
Grantaire watched his bleary silhouette with an uncharacteristic frown perched on his face. The paleness of Enjolras' face bothered him. As did the ten minutes that had passed without him once turning the pages of his notes.
If Enjolras wasn't feeling well, then it probably meant he hadn't been taking care of himself.
Once he'd downed the residual wine clinging to the bottom of his glass, the almost entirely sober Grantaire made a rather large show of pushing himself away from the table with too much force and knocking over his chair.
Coufeyrac heard the commotion, eyed him stumbling to his feet with exaggerated movements, and excused himself from Joly and Combeferre so he could run to help him.
Before he reached him, Grantaire gestured for him to stop and go back. He jerked his head towards Enjolras, the ABC's resident zombie, and then mimed drinking and sleeping.
Coufeyrac didn't know what to make of that but he decided trusting Grantaire every now and again wasn't as bad as letting Enjolras continue staring at his notes like they were triggering flashbacks to the dreaded Final Exams of 1830.
Many good men were lost that semester.
Coufeyrac shuddered to think of it.
He rejoined the conversation with Joly, only to notice Combeferre smiling softly in the general direction of the ABC's favorite pessimist.
Moving on, Grantaire took a shaky step towards their blond haired leader and then pitched forward, burying Enjolras's face in wild brown curls.
Some of the other men in the cafe quieted when they saw this. Others prayed that Enjolras would be merciful and kill Grantaire quickly.
"What" Enjolras spat, "are you doing, Grantaire?"
If Grantaire had walked into the cave of a sleeping bear and kicked it, he might have felt safer and quite a bit smarter than he did in that moment, but he smothered those feelings with a quick grin and replied, "Nice to see you awake, Sleeping Beauty."
Red creeped up Enjolras' neck.
"I wasn't sleeping."
"Of course not. You were meditating."
"No."
"Ruminating?"
"No."
Seeing the other man begin to fade even as the spoke, Grantaire decided to check his wakefulness.
" Oh, of course!" He said enthusiastically. "Our fearless and tireless leader wouldn't be sleeping, meditating, or ruminating. You must have been sleeping."
"Y- No!" Frustrated, he snapped, "I already said no, Grantaire. Is that word even in your dictionary?"
As though on cue, he promptly pulled out an imaginary dictionary, licking his lips when he reached a particularly tricky imaginary page.
Enjolras groaned, pulled out a chair, sat back down at his table, and buried his head in his hands. If Grantaire could somehow manage to singlehandedly cause his revolution to implode, he had no doubt he would.
Finally, Grantaire cried out in delight, "I've found the word 'No'!"
Marius also clapped happily, earning him an odd look from Combeferre.
"It doesn't have its own definition. In fact, I found it in the definition of 'Yes'."
"And?" Enjolras uttered lifelessly, his words muffled by his hands.
"It reads, 'The definitions of Yes is what Enjolras really means when he says No."
And with that, Grantaire wrapped his arms around Enjolras' arms and legs and carried him into the back.
Even the pink tinge that swallowed the pale whiteness of Enjolras' skin didn't satisfy Grantaire, and his protests went ignored as he was carried into the back room, the one with the couch.
"Combeferre!" Enjolras shouted in a last ditch attempt. "Are you going to let him manhandle me like this"
"It was either this or have Joly drug you, my dear." Enjolras shot him such a betrayed look that he softened, saying, "France isn't going anywhere, Enjolras. We can go over your notes together when you wake up."
Hearing that lessened the blow of his second-in-command's mutiny, so Enjolras quieted a bit, though the look of a rather irritated cat never truly left his features.
After Grantaire dumped him on the couch, he settled in the nearby armchair. It was gnatty and smelled of spilt wine, but his bed at home smelled almost the same, so it made no difference to him.
"Aren't you going to leave?"
"Nope."
Enjolras laid his head back against the couch, his eyes on the ceiling. Its softness was already lulling him back to sleep when he replied, "I can sleep on my own. I don't need you to watch me."
"Who says I'm watching you? I was tired, anyway."
Within seconds, he heard the rhythmic flow of their leader's breathing. He didn't know whether he should feel flattered that Enjolras trusted him enough to fall asleep in his company or insulted that he'd barely finished his sentence before Sleeping Beauty left the land of the waking.
Now that he was asleep, Grantaire could leave, go get a few more drinks, maybe convince Joly that Marius' ditzy moments were actually symptoms of a very rare and contagious disease.
That could be fun.
In his sleep, Enjolras huffed a little and turned on his side. Then his brow smoothed, his breathing resumed its even back and forth, and his lip quirked, ever so minutely.
Maybe it was the light, or lack of, in this case, but Grantaire swore it almost looked like he was smiling.
So he stood up, shut the door to make sure no one disturbed their fearless leader's rest, and sat back down.
He was asleep in five minutes.
And everyone said that the pictures Combeferre posted on the cafe's bulletin board - before they somehow mysteriously ended up in the fireplace - were adorable.