Enjolras stumbled through the door of his garret, and when he turned to close it again; his head reeled and he had to stop for a moment. God; he couldn't remember the last time he'd drank that much! He'd never been particularly fond of alcohol; only drinking when his friends promised that they wouldn't stop pestering him until he did. But this had actually been quite solacing… for a while. Chassé, Gorneau, and Beaupré were entertaining to spend time with while intoxicated; and he found it even funnier that they still retained some of their most prominent qualities even while the liquor they'd drank pulsed through them. Gorneau remained the court jester of the group; his only interest a good time. The brandy he'd downed like a sailor seemed to do nothing but strengthen this trait, in fact. And the vociferous, brusque, carefree attitude of the animated man reminded Enjolras so much of Grantaire that it hurt some points in the night.
'And—he suddenly realized; his mind-thought processing disgustingly slow after his night out—'during those painful moments, I did not think of her.'
Exchanging one grief for the other; would the world ever be fair?
He shook his head, trying to push the thought to the back of his mind by redirecting his contemplations back to his new friends.
Beaupré had stayed more or less the same as well; though his poet's tongue had been tainted and tied by the— as he'd giddily called it— "devil's nectar". When he wasn't scolding Gorneau for saying something insensitive (which occupied him for most of the night), he'd been attempting to get an intelligible word of consolation out—but Enjolras had more or less just pretended to know what he was trying to say; as his speech was extremely slurred, and thinking about it too hard made Enjolras's head pound.
And Chassé… Chassé had been the true shock of the trio. After finishing off several mugs, he began rambling about the past tragedies of his own love life; giving Enjolras garbled, nearly incoherent advice based off his surprisingly countless stories. Enjolras could hardly believe just how many experiences he'd had; Chassé did not at all seem the type to have casanova tendencies. But he didn't question the older man; for it was by now evident that drinking had the power to bring out the raw truth in a man.
And then the man who was usually such a calm, no-nonsense leader became the leader of the drinking songs before getting a bit too excited and promptly passing out cold. It took both Gorneau and Beaupré to hoist him up off the ground and out the door; and though the remaining conscious pair had hoped to walk Enjolras home to be sure he made it safely and happily, there was no other way of getting Chassé back to his flat. He thought the conversation had gone something like this; but the throbbing headache and muddled senses made it quite difficult to remember exactly.
"You sure that you'll… be alrigh', 'Jolras?"
"No, but at least I remember how t' get home."
"Aw; lover boy's gonna be looonely—"
"Gorneau!"
"Sorry, Mum."
"You know, you c'd always come wit' us."
"No, I'll b'fine. You two just get Chassé home in one piece."
"No promises!"
"Well' one 'f us does, 'nyway. Have a good res' of the night, 'Jolras."
"Same t' you two."
"Don' think 'bout her too much!"
"Gorneau!"
"Wha; you gonna put me inna time-out?"
He chuckled quietly to himself as he though of their childish bickering; then fumbled for his key for a moment until he finally managed to get it into the keyhole. But then he stopped, staring at it for a moment. He'd realized that if he locked the door, he was locking her out. And what if she came back tonight while he was asleep? He surely wouldn't be able to hear her knocking in his drunken slumber. And then she'd think he was purposely ignoring her. And then she'd get angry with him again. And then she'd never come back.
He eyed the key thoughtfully. 'Maybe I'll just leave the door open tonight…' he abruptly considered, beginning to pull the key back out of the lock. But common sense slammed back into him like a bludgeon, and he snapped out of his trance-like state for a moment. 'No! What are you thinking? That's an invitation to thieves!'
'And she'd find her own way in… she knows where the spare key is…'
'Damn it, Enjolras! Stop this right now!'
But that tiny string of thought led to countless others; and before long she'd completely taken over his thoughts once more. Part of him always tried to fight it, but his efforts met no avail. He couldn't keep going on like this. He was drunk… but not drunk enough. That would just have to change tomorrow.
Then abruptly, he snorted. He was turning into Grantaire.
~o~0~o~
…I'll leave the door on the latch
If you ever come back, if you ever come back
There'll be a light in the hall and a key under the mat
If you ever come back
There'll be a smile on my face and the kettle on
And it will be just like you were never gone
There'll be a light in the hall and a key under the mat
If you ever come back, if you ever come back now…
…And by leaving my door open
I'm risking everything I own
There's nothing I can lose in the break in that you haven't taken…
A/N: Ok, let me just get this out of the way right away. As forlorn as this chapter was—I ADORE writing Gorneau, Beaupre, and Chasse. Especially when they're drunk. It puts a smile on my face. X) And there's more of them to come; don't you worry! (unless you don't like having them around… in which case you could always shoot me a review stating your displeasure… ;)
And all that aside; well, there ya go. Maybe you thought he wasn't going to go through with it, but he did. The unassailable Enjolras is drunk. Things are getting bad, my pretties… :(
R&R! Je t'aime, faithful readers! Song is 'If You Ever Come Back'. ~DonJuana
