Do pardon my English, it is my second language.
There was time when Paris hadn't made drunk a group of young people with thoughts of Revolution. There was time, sunny days, lovely days before the storm. When Courfeyrac sang silly songs and flirted with girls, moments when Combeferre read his books and had time for sitting thoughtfully and thinking about philosophy. Jean Prouvaire – a well spoken romantic, was all of that romantic and lovely, like young girl during her first love or like a warm spring, slowly turning into a summer.
There was time when Grantaire didn't drink so much, wasn't that cynical (okay, this one is probably a lie), when he smiled a little more.
But there was never time for Enjolras to rest.
There are such people who attract troubles on their heads. Enjolras is a person who attracts work and responsibilities. He is capable of everything.
"No, you are not." Grantaire mutters quietly, looking over his glass of wine at the golden-haired man. "You don't know how to rest." He takes a sip. "And I am sure you've never been drunk."
"Grantaire, my pessimistic friend! " Courfeyrac collapses on the chair near the cynic and grabs a bottle of wine, splitting a good half of it on Grantaire's lap.
"Careful, I don't have money for another one."
"Sorry, R." he makes a big sip. "Why so gloomy?" Courfeyrac sits more comfortable at the small table at the corner of the café.
"Thinking." Grantaire answers, narrowing his eyes.
"About Enjolras."
"About Enjolras." Dark haired man admits.
Courfeyrac yawns and makes a grimace as he shifts himself on the chair. "About his handsome face, deep blue eyes, his red lips…"
"Of making him drunk."
Courfeyrac continues saying something by the inertia when the meaning of the statement hit him. The mischief's grin along with glitter in his eyes appears on his face. "Ô mon cher ami! You are a little devil! Drunk Enjolras? No way." He meets Grantaire's stubborn gaze and whistles. "I am in. Any ideas how to do that?"
Grantaire looks around. Almost all of Les Amis is in the café. He looks back at Coufeyrac. «For France. » he nods at the bottle. «People should unite.»
The other man chuckles, turnes his head and says loudly. «My friends ! Brothers ! »
Many heads turn at his direction, while Coufeyrac himself climbs on the chair. « Sing with me, the songs we knew! Sing with me as we are still young!" Some of the audience cheer enthusiastically, encouraging Coufeyrac . "Here's to pretty girls, who went to our heads !" Prouvaire smiles and raises a glass. "Here's to witty girls,who went to our beds!" Coufeyrac grabs a bottle from Grantaire's hands jerkily, inviting people, offering them wine.
Loud singings, cheerfull laugh and sounds of kisses fill the cafe when Coufeyracpours winein a glasseand pushes it to Grantaire, in whose hands has been already another one. He winks at the cynic and they both rushes to Enjolras, who sits by the window with a book in his hands.
How a human can read in such atmosphere will always remain a mistery for Grantaire. They appear in front of the student with serious faces.
« Monsieur Apollo.» Grantaire says pompeous. Enjolras looks tiredly at them. « Red - the blood of angry men!" he sings, his gaze never leaving Enjolras's.
"Black - the dark of ages past!" Coufeyrac sings together with Grantaire.
Enjolras sighs, hiding his smile, because of the sound of their voices. Beautiful voices.
«Will you give all you can give ? Will you join in our crusade? Who will be strong and stand with me? » Coufeyrac's mockingly-serious face together with Grantaire, acting like a noble knight. « Will you fight for liberty ?» They stand on their knees in front of Enjolras: Grantaire on his right and Coufeyrac on his left. «Then join in the fight, that will give you the right to be free!For France we fight ! » They bow and raises their glases as cafe bursts with aplous.
This time Enjolras shake his head in disbelief and decides to return to his book.
«This man. » Coufeyrac points at Enjolras with the face expression which can suit the well-known police Inspector of Paris. «Has shown the unrespect to France ! » People say the loud «Aah ! » as Enjolras watches him. « He think we are not worth his company to drink with us ! » More dissapointed « Aah » and «Hey ?! »
Enjolras closes the book again. «Stand up, both of you. » he says quietly. « You are like two Court jesters. I don't drink."
"With all respect…" Grantaire starts and Coufeyrac continues. «You've offended us, people, who belief in freedom. Us, brothers to you ! And people(the loud «yeah ! Liberty for France!) togeter with freedom is what France is! » they stand up, looking right at Enjolras's face. «You've offended France. »
Dramatic atmosphere which they've created suddenly turns into a heavy silence.
«Drink with us. » Coufeyrac whispers. Enjolras's eyes widen. «Drink with us ! » He says loudly, giving him a glass. «Drink with the people of France ! » Enjolras almost desperatly looks at Grantaire.
Oh, God. The thought crosses Grantaire's mind. Enjolras hasn't been drunk. No, impossible. Or possibly. What are we doing ? Making our leader drunk in front of all of them ?
« Drink with us ! Drink for France ! » cries the whole cafe.
Grantaire pulls his own glass in the golden-haired man's hand, watching him. When their gazes meet he nods.
Enjolras hesitates for a second, but then drinks the liqued with two big sips as the crowd happily cheer.
As Enjolras finishes drinking he tries to make an eye contac with the cynic again, but the second one has already left him in the middle of the crowd.
Twenty minutes later Grantaire stands up and skips the cafe, feeling himself lonely. Even more lonely then before Coufeyrac had sit near him.
He starts walking down the street silently, thinking about nothing.
«Grantaire ! » the timbre of that voice and its sound makes him stop. He slowly turns around to see Enjolras approaching him. «You've left your jacket. » he says.
The cynic nods, taking it from the hands of the leader. «Thanks, Apollo. »
They walk together, a silence between them.
«Thank you. » Enjolras says with a sigh.
« You've never drunk. » Grantaire doesn't ask, but states that. «And you should not apologising. That was my idea tomake you drink some wine. » He glances at the man near him.
«But in your glass was water. » Enjolras answers quietly.
A nod.
«Why ? »
« I realized that I didn't want them to see you in the drunk state. You are like a god for me. And you've never drink. That would be disgraceful. » Grantaire replies simply. He hasn't noticed red color of Enjolras's cheeks.
«I am only human. »
Grantaire shrugs. But then stops so suddenly, that Enjolras runs into him. «I can smell an alchohol. » In disbelief he stares at the man near him. «From you. »
Enjolras looks away, embarrassed. «Yes, I drank. Because of a realization that I thought so bad about you came to you. And I was wrong_ Among all of them, you showed mercy to me. And I always shout at you and offend you_ Jesus, my head is aching, I am feeling sick and...»
Grantaire pats his shoulder. « Come on, Apollo, my home is near. Try not to speak, because it can cause_ » Enjolras makes a step from him, the alcohohol taking over him. « Easy, easy, Apollo. » Grantaire carefully brushes away hair from Enjolras's face as he continues to produce an already used wine. « You are going to feel better now, I promise. » Enjolras coughs and breathes heavily. «Here, lean over me. » Grantaire leads the other man, taking his hand, realizing how cold it is. «We are almost there. »
«Forgive me, Grantaire. » Enjolras whispers as Grantaire rolls his eyes, saying something like «talk about this in the morning »
They enter a small, dark apartment. Enjolras's drunk mind works so slowly, trusting fully the ink-haired man. When his gaze falls on the canvas, standing near the tall window it has taking some time to Enjolras to understand that it was his portrait. On the floor leis another one. A beautiful one. The images look like they are breathing.
Enjolras trails Grantaire as he walks, lightening the candle and searching for something. « Grantair'_ »
« In the morning, okay ? » he appears from the dark, handing Enjolras one of his shirts. « Come on, I'll help you_Oh. » He catches Enjolras's body, as he falls forward.
Grantaire thinks for a second and drags him to the bed, putting him down carefully and covering him with a blanket. When he finishes that, he sits near. Uncertain, he touches Enjolras cheek by his fingertips, feeling his breath on them.
A sincere smile brightens his face as he watches his Apollo.
In the morning, Enjolras opens his eyes, feeling his head aching badly and notices a room with a great mass in it: bottles, canvas, pencils, books, cigarettes. But he notices all of those after the realization that he has been sleeping, holding Granatire's hand and being held in return. The thought gives Enjolras a warm bubble inside his chest.