Disclaimer: These characters do not belong to me, and I am not making any money by using them.
By the time Enjolras has finished his last thought and put it to paper, the room has grown quiet and dark. The few flickering candles that are left barely give off enough light for him to see his work. He reads over his essay and nods, content with his work for the night. He lays down his pen and stands to stretch, jumping slightly when he sees that he is not alone.
"Do you have nowhere else to be?" He asks of the figure sitting calmly at the end of the table.
"Don't you?" Grantaire doesn't wait for an answer. "Your food is cold."
Sitting down again to gather his things, Enjolras shrugs. "I'm not hungry."
Grantaire snorts. "What good is a young revolutionary if he has no strength?"
Enjolras pauses his movements and glances at Grantaire with a disbelieving look. "What are you, my mother?"
"If I was, you wouldn't be here."
Enjolras doesn't respond, but he pulls the plate closer and examines the food that is indeed quite cold. He sighs and tucks in, actually more hungry than he was going to admit. After the initial burst of hunger is quelled, he picks up his glass and takes a sip, only then noticing something rather odd about Grantaire. "Why aren't you drinking?"
Grantaire spreads his arms. "They stop serving you if you can't pay them." Enjolras looks at him again, appraising him, then gulps down the rest of his wine.
"You should go home."
"Why? I don't have anywhere to be tomorrow. You're the one who will sleep through his lecture and forget to turn in that essay you've been working so hard on."
Once again, Enjolras doesn't respond. He finishes the rest of his meal and picks up his papers. He considers blowing out the candles, but he doesn't know if Grantaire will be following him out, and he may not like the man, but he doesn't deserve to sit in the dark. He opens the door and looks back at Grantaire before he steps outside. "Good night."