Grantaire could not sleep that night. It was of two reasons, one being that he was not drunk, which always made it harder for him to fall asleep. The other reason was that his mind refused him the rest he so sorely needed, being occupied by more important matters. Enjolras.
For him, Enjolras was one of the few good things that had happened to him in his life. His passion, for a cause Grantaire himself could not find himself to care about, had at first made him envious as he never had anything to believe in. Enjolras saw every man as his brother and ever woman as his sister, mankind itself being his family. He trusted every person from the start, almost in a childlike manner. Trust was something he gave away freely until someone was proven untrustworthy. He believed all to be his equals, even the people who were enemies to his cause. It was not in his nature to hate, although he was capable of it.
Enjolras was a good man to the core. In Grantaire's eyes, no one could be greater.
After meeting Enjolras he began to experience an emotion he hardly ever had felt before. Hope. It was then, when he once again had the privilege to experience such a pure emotion he found himself believing in something. He did not believe in their cause, he did not believe in the future. He only believed in Enjolras, simple as that.
Before Enjolras, he had been quite content with being a useless drunk. After being introduced to the man, he had wished to become something more than he already was, desperately seeking any chance to prove himself worthy and capable to Enjolras. He would do anything for the man without caring about the consequences. He would gladly die for the man if that meant that Enjolras would find him useful.
Meeting Enjolras had changed little in him, as he still was cynical, addicted to the taste of wine, making fun of everything he could find, refusing to believe in a world that did not believe In him. And yet, he had changed much. Did that even make sense, that a man could change much but yet so little?
He often found himself thinking of Enjolras before going to sleep, the thought of the man comforted him like a prayer to a god could comfort a believer, or like a mother's soft voice could bring her children to sleep.
Only now, the thought of him was not comforting at all. He was worried instead, wondering if it had been a bad decision of his to leave earlier. When he thought it through, he could not help but to think that he perhaps had overestimated the danger in the situation he had been in before. He could, come to think of it, have wrestled the knife out of Bonhomme's hand without bringing to much damage to himself. He could have knocked the man unconscious before he even had the chance wrap his hand around it's handle, bringing it forth to defend himself.
But then again, he did not know what that would lead to in the end. He doubted that the other man would let a thing such as that pass, and he might have not only endangered his own life, and Enjolras' as well if Bonhomme saw it fit. He could have put all of his friends in a dangerous position.
No wonder he could not fall asleep, with this conflict in his mind. He did not know whether to regret his decision or not, to feel as if he had abandoned his God or had done him a favor by leaving. He knew he had to reach out to the man, before it was to late. He could not imagine what he would do if the only light in his life faded away.
'Tomorrow', he thought. 'Tomorrow, I will know what is causing him grief.' And tomorrow, or the day after that, he would avenge him. He lulled himself to sleep with these promises on his lips.
