You slip into my arms, and you quickly correct yourself…

Enjolras is tired. Or perhaps tipsy is a better word, but he would never admit that he really drank the whole two bottles of WKD, come on Courfeyrac, he tipped it down the sink. And so what if he decided to have a teensy bit of alcohol every once in a while? He was allowed to enjoy himself just as much as everyone else, and at least he didn't go mad, like someone I could mention *cough*Grantaire*cough*.

But maybe, just maybe, he was feeling a little more cuddly than normal. And maybe, just maybe, Grantaire's the one to stay and babysit Drunkjolras, because he always looks after you when you're wasted, maybe you should repay him? Grantaire grudgingly obeys Combeferre's nagging suggestion that wasn't a suggestion, Grantaire and sits with one arm on the back of the sofa behind Enjolras. And maybe he's just sober enough to feel the tingly, warm sensation up his spine when Enjolras snuggles (yes folks, Enjolras is capable of snuggling) into him.

"You okay there, Freddie?" he asks, grinning slightly to himself when Enjolras nuzzles his chest.

"Don't call me that, Grantaar…"

"Why not? You'll hate me even more?"

"Don't hate you, Tairey," he mumbles, shuffling closer to Grantaire. "Love you really."

"Yeah, right you love me really."

"Do too, Granta." And with that he falls asleep.

When Enjolras wakes about four hours later, Grantaire is running his fingers through his hair, and Enjolras can't help but lean into the touch. When he realises how close he is to Grantaire, he sits up with a crimson blush covering his cheeks. He corrects himself into a more Enjolras-ish position and doesn't look Grantaire in the eye. He's not completely sure if he loves or hates his mind for remembering last night's short conversation.

"Um, Grantaar… Grantaire, I er…" he stops when he sees Grantaire's almost hurt expression. He knew he'd confessed himself to Grantaire, but Grantaire hadn't believed him… right?" "You didn't believe it, did you?" he asks warily. "Because… I was drunk, and… well, I didn't really know what I was saying, and… well…"

"Yes." Grantaire looks at his feet. "I believed you." Enjolras feels like he's been punched in the stomach. He wearily lets himself slip back into Grantaire, correcting his position until it feels perfect.

"Good," Enjolras murmurs. "Because… I was drunk, and… well, I didn't really know what I was saying, and… well… I love you Grantaire."

"Good," Grantaire replies, "Because I'm sober, and… well, I know exactly what I'm saying, and… well… I love you too, Enjolras."

So what if he was just a little bit tipsy? So what, Courfeyrac? Enjolras' life just got a whole lot better. Maybe he should get drunk more often.

Wait, what?