"I can't believe you!"

Grantaire winced. Oh no. He knew that voice. He turned around in his seat and saw that yes, that was indeed Enjolras. He was with Bahorel, which at least explained how he'd managed to find the one bar Grantaire had been at all evening.

"You could at least have told me instead of going awol! If this is some kind of prank or joke or… or..."

Grantaire got off his bar stool and walked - a bit unsure, but admirably steadily considering the drink he'd just downed, if he did say so himself - towards Enjolras and Bahorel.

"There he is," Grantaire said and made a sweeping gesture, addressing the people who'd already turned to look at the commotion. "The Robespierre of the modern day - or perhaps the Saint-Just? - the French Lenin, a man who could lead the people as surely as Liberty, if the people were inclined to follow anyone… They aren't of course; we are not built to care, Steppenwolves that we are…"

Bahorel was saying something to him, but Grantaire didn't pay attention. His eyes were fixed on Enjolras; Enjolras, for his part, did nothing but stare at him in indignation.

"Why are you so angry, Enjolras? Nothing means anything. The world has never been good. It'll… it never will be; why spend time on that? Why not enjoy yourself instead?"

Grantaire wasn't even sure why he was saying any of this. He usually wasn't, not in this mood. It just came flooding out, as if the alcohol forced words out the way it might bile.

Bahorel grabbed one of his arms and attempted to guide him a bit away from the center of the room.

"Bahorel! Bahorel, let go of me, will you? I'm talking to Enjolras. Enjolras, who does not like me, who would much rather have anyone else help him. I understand. What use am I? Oh well, I can at least offer him a drink, now that he's here; you too, Bahorel, don't you worry, you too."

It was too dark to tell, but if Bahorel looked worried, it probably wasn't about missing out on a drink.

"Will you drink with me, then, Enjolras? Or are you just here to yell at me?"

"R, please," Bahorel mumbled. "Let's get out of here."

To even his own surprise, Grantaire relented. The cold winter air that met him as they stepped outside seemed to chase away the worst of the intoxication, and Grantaire slowly began to realise what this was about even before Enjolras began to talk.

"I walked through part of the area you were meant to cover," Enjolras said in what someone who didn't know him might think was a calm voice. "Why would you even agree to do it, if you weren't going to?!"

"I was going to, I just…"

His voice was small; gone was the rowdiness.

"I thought you would do it right then, as I did, as we discussed," Enjolras said. "Christ, R, it's been days."

"Enjolras…"

"I really thought this time, you know?" He looked almost sad. "That this time you'd come through, but it's all a big joke to you, isn't it?! Annoying Enjolras and his silly crusade!"

"That's not… I thought this time, too…"

"What happend?" Enjolras asked icily.

Grantaire sighed. Bahorel had let go of him and he felt a bit unsteady - quite overstimulated as well, though that was neither here nor there - so he sat down with his back against the wall to the bar. He took several moments to try and gather his thoughts through the fog of drunkenness and sleep deprivation, but to no avail.

"I… you…"

He didn't know how to explain. He knew what had happened. He'd split on Enjolras. Again. But no way he was explaining that to Enjolras; he wouldn't, he couldn't. If he did, Enjolras would know just how awful Grantaire was and he'd surely cast him aside and he'd tell the others and they would do the same, and Grantaire… Grantaire would be all alone...

The thought of Enjolras knowing made his breath come fast and he buried his head in his lap, arms hugging his knees as he tried desperately not to be completely pathetic in front of Enjolras and Bahorel. The only people he'd feel okay about being around for this - if it went further, which please, please, let it not, please - would be Joly or Bossuet, and they were far from Paris at present.

"Can I touch you?" Enjolras asked calmly.

Grantaire was surprised; surprised that it was Enjolras who would approach him and surprised to hear him speak so softly. The tone of voice was in and of itself surprising, but directed at Grantaire? After how he'd behaved?

Grantaire nodded, hoping that the movement of his hair would be enough for Enjolras to tell that he had done so. It must have been, for he felt Enjolras' hand on his shoulder. Carefully at first, clearly afraid to spook him, but soon he began stroking Grantaire's back. He didn't say anything, not till Grantaire heard footsteps.

"R?" Enjolras said. "Do you want to walk back home with us?"

Grantaire slowly stood up, keeping his eyes averted. He wasn't hyperventilating anymore - Enjolras had managed to calm him down enough to avoid an attack - but he still felt ashamed and humiliated. He didn't want either of them to have seen that. Tough Bahorel, who faced harassment frequently but simply met it with a smart comment or a rock-hard fist, if needed be. And Enjolras, vibrant Enjolras, who really was a brave leader. Not fearless, because fearless meant careless, but courageous enough to seem it at times. To think those two had seen Grantaire so weak… actually, he'd rather not think about it.

As it turned out, Bahorel had only seen the start of it. She'd gone back in to get Grantaire's coat. Grantaire wondered how: Had Bahorel merely charmed the cloakroom worker or had he somehow gotten the number from Grantaire? Perhaps it had fallen out of his pocket, and Bahorel had picked it up? Grantaire didn't feel like asking, so he didn't, but keeping his mind occupied with such triviality kept him from wondering about other things.

Not much was said as they walked, though Grantaire was sure Enjolras wasn't done with him. Oh how cruel it was, that he should start idealising him again now, so soon after acting on devaluation...

Bahorel got a call and she walked a bit away from them as she talked, but a string of swears were distinctly discernible.

"I have to go," he said when he got off the phone. "Combeferre got arrested."

"...no i chuj," Grantaire swore to himself.

Enjolras stared at Bahorel in shock, and shuffled to get his phone out, probably wondering if he'd be met with a string of missed calls.

"What happened?" Enjolras asked.

Bahorel shook her head.

"Some sort of bullshit that boils down to 'you're black so you look suspicious.'"

Grantaire spit on the ground.

"Fucking cops."

Enjolras voiced his agreement. He was swearing and pacing and quickly clenching and unclenching his fingers in upset stims. Grantaire felt similarly, though he was too deprived of energy to show it outwardly.

"He hasn't been able to get ahold of Feuilly yet, so…"

"Okay. Okay." Enjolras said. "You go, hurry; I'll come as soon as I can. Fuck. Okay."

Grantaire wanted to protest that it was fine, that Enjolras should go now, but before he knew it Bahorel had nodded and was about to leave, before looking back at the two of them.

"Will you two be okay?"

Bahorel was significantly taller than either of them, and more built than the both of them together. Bahorel was the kind of person most anyone would think twice about attacking, and she knew it. Grantaire and Enjolras, on the other hand… Enjolras was slim and weak-looking and maybe he didn't quiieeete pass yet. Meanwhile Grantaire, while he didn't look like much - in more ways than one - did know some mixed martial arts, and though not built, was reasonably strong. He was also, however, incredibly drunk. It was reasonable, Grantaire supposed, for Bahorel to think they would be less safe without him. Not less safe than Combeferre, though.

"We'll be fine," Enjolras said. "Go."

Bahorel nodded, and wasted no time in turning around, running towards the first and the best cab she saw and trying to get its attention. Dzięki Bogu they were somewhere central when Bahorel got that call, Grantaire thought.

For Enjolras, the rest of the walk home was spent fretting and worrying and itching to hurry Grantaire. Enjolras wanted to be with Combeferre and he wanted to be there now . He wanted to be sure nothing happened, he wanted to get him out of there right now, he wanted to be sure Combeferre was safe . He told himself that Bahorel was quite capable; which he was! In fact, Bahorel knew the law very well, though she'd dropped out, so Combeferre was probably safer in her hands than in Enjolras'. Still, Enjolras couldn't help but feel deeply worried and on-edge.

Enjolras lived closer to the center - a privilege afforded him by the apartment originally being a gift from his parents, just before Enjolras... just before they cut off contact - so that was where they were headed. If they were to walk to Grantaire's it would have taken much longer, and Enjolras wanted to hurry.

This had been the plan from the beginning, though; or at least giving Grantaire the choice of sleeping at Enjolras' had been. Grantaire was clearly not well, and not simply because he was drunk. Enjolras was still angry with him, and they would be having a conversation when… when everything was sorted out with Combeferre, and when Grantaire seemed like he could actually have that conversation. But right now he couldn't, and walking that far, or being on public transport, which Enjolras knew could be sensory hell, would not be good. Better that he sleep at Enjolras'.

"You can take the bed," Enjolras said after they'd entered the apartment.

Grantaire looked about to protest, but Enjolras shook his head.

"Look, you do what you want, I have to go. Just… if you have to vomit, please try to do so in the bathroom?"

Grantaire looked ready to say something about that, too, but he simply nodded, as he took off his coat. Enjolras clenched his shoulder quickly, before turning on the spot and leaving his apartment behind, taking the stairs in two steps at a time while he typed the number of a taxi company.

Enjolras bit his nails both while he waited and after getting in the taxi. He wished he'd remembered to grab one of his stim toys before leaving his apartment, but he'd been too stressed to remember much at all. He even feared for a moment he might have forgotten his wallet, but it turned out to just be in another pocket than he used to keep it in.

He was bouncing his legs impatiently as well until they arrived. After paying the driver, he didn't wait around for the change, instead he just hurried along.

When he finally reached Combeferre, the first thing he noticed was the stims Combeferre was using. On top of his thighs, his hands moved in continuous motions that could, to someone who didn't know better, just look like he was clenching his fists, but Enjolras knew that Combeferre was digging his nails into the palms of his hands. He only did that when he was very upset, Enjolras hadn't seen him do it in years. This was so… how could they just…

Combeferre spotted him and for a moment, his face lit up. But just for a moment.

This is a couple of days after the last chapter

Bahorel is genderfluid and uses alternating pronouns

Dzięki Bogu: Thank God

No i chuj: And a dick (said when something goes from bad to worse)

Thanks to mariuszpontmercy on tumblr for helping me with the Polish in this fic

When I write R I mean that they're saying "aire" (as in the French pronunciation of the letter - it's the Danish pronunciation too, so it seems intuitive to me though ofc I get if it isn't for other people, hence this note)

This will update every two weeks (next chapter around 31/08)