It wasn't entirely unexpected of the winecask to sleep through an entire meeting of the ABC, for it was rare that the man was not thoroughly intoxicated. So when Grantaire awoke an hour after the group had been dismissed he himself was not surprised in the least.
"Well it certainly took you long enough."
He certainly hadn't missed the irritated edge in the revolutionary leader's voice that gave way to a blow in Grantaire's already weak self-esteem. What caught him off guard was that said leader happened to be sitting right across from him, pushing away an empty bottle and giving the drunk a disapproving look.
"I know," he mumbled, slumping further into the chair. "I know. I'm sorry."
"This happens nearly every time, winecask." Grantaire flinched at the derogatory name.
"I'm aware."
Enjolras ran a hand over his face, a passive tone to his voice. "It's gone too far. The drinking. Why you continually show up here despite it all is beyond me."
Grantaire pursed his lips, wanting badly to respond, but his fear- and to a point, foreknowledge- of Apollo's rejection held him back. He knew exactly how he would respond; it was whether or not he should that he didn't know, nor did he have the courage to find out.
But Enjolras wasn't their leader for nothing. "Something's on your mind."
The drunk visibly hesitated. "Don't bother yourself with my thoughts, it's not all that worth it."
"It is." Baffled, Grantaire looked up.
Enjolras continued. "I haven't kicked you out of the society, have I? And you might think it's because I'm afraid you'd tell the government our plans, but that's not it. I know you wouldn't, being cynical doesn't constitute traitorous actions."
The winecask nearly blanched from shock. "Then why do you let me show up?"
He watched Apollo hesitate, as if thinking through his answer before saying it out loud. Grantaire sat up, leaning over the table. "Now something's on your mind."
Enjolras leaned in, locking gazes with the winecask and holding them with an intense concentration the latter couldn't understand. The initial gaze, however, pried at Grantaire, as his did to Enjolras. No matter how much he wished he could look away, neither could.
"Why do you stay?"
"It's always been you."
Perhaps it was just the heat of the moment. Perhaps it was merely an accident. Perhaps it meant something. Perhaps he'd dreamt the entire instance and was going to wake up any minute.
Enjolras moved a little closer, pressing his lips to Grantaire's.
For a moment neither moved. Grantaire was frozen where he was, taken completely by surprise. It wasn't until Enjolras pressed his lips a little harder against his that he finally realized what had transpired.
From there it was a frenzy of what ifs and why not's. What if the kiss went out of hand; why shouldn't it? What if he loves me; what if I love him?
Enjolras barely moved, and when he did only in little actions, coaxing Grantaire into some sort of response. Eventually he returned the kiss, moving his lips against Apollo's slowly, keeping himself restrained. It was the small, barely audible moan of pleasure that was his undoing.
It was all he could do not to fly forward and kiss Enjolras for all he was worth, and the tension within the growing kiss didn't go unnoticed. To his surprise, Grantaire was not the only one holding himself back. It reminded him of the lone gaze which had brought them here, a moment that now seemed to have taken place ages ago.
Neither of them was entirely certain of what to do, how far to go, where they would end up, or for that matter, of anything. It was Grantaire this time around who initiated more, and reached across the table to touch him, running his hand from his jaw to the base of his neck, unintentionally drawing Enjolras closer in the process.
Enjolras finally broke his lips from the drunkard's, and the flash of regret in his eyes was enough to render Grantaire terrified. What had he done? What had they done? What would become of him?
The situation as a whole had been completely unexpected on both of their behalves, but even so, regret was unspeakably horrifying for Grantaire to witness. However much he hadn't anticipated the moment, it had happened, and regardless of being incapable to savor the moment out of sheer confusion, he would never forget it. The kiss was seared into his mind as a wild hysteria of many questions and very little answers, of his fanaticism for Enjolras expanding beyond his capability of bearing such.
The godlike man's expression softened at the winecask's fearful one, into a look of near pity. Slowly he placed his hand over Grantaire's on his neck, prying it away and setting it on the table. He stood without a word nor glance for the drunk, and strode out of the café as if nothing had happened. Yet his unspoken command remained; "Stay."