The day, composed of two classes of two hours each, seemed much longer, coupled with the fact that Enjolras was paying absolutely no attention to anything. His professors, while exasperated, knew him well enough to realize that something major was going on, and leave him alone. He managed to terrify Combeferre by walking right into him in the hall, without so much as a glance in return. All he could think about was Grantaire, and how much he hated both himself and the drunk for this obsession.
He stumbled home, completely unaware. Mostly, he just wanted to toss the winecask out into the street, for the birds to eat, or the police to arrest, or any number of fates that wouldn't relate to him. But he was stuck, and he knew it. With one last sigh, he climbed his stairs, fitted his invisible key into the lock, and almost stumbled inside. He actually locked the door behind him, noting that his keys were already inside with some confusion, quickly ignored. He gathered himself, listening as he approached his bedroom. He didn't hear anything, so he poked his head in, unbelievably relieved. Grantaire was asleep. Enjolras approached, cautiously, as he would a sleeping bear. The man looked so peaceful, almost beautiful, the way the sunlight illuminated his hair, bringing out the subtle shades of red and—no! This was just stupid. He, Enjolras, was no simpering teenager, to fall over a bit of beauty, an interesting trick of the light. This had to stop.
"This has to stop!" He said, out loud and rather loudly.
Grantaire stirred, gave a little moaning stretch, and peered up at him. He was no longer drunk, didn't appear hung over… at first glance, he was simply like any other man waking up and seeing his lover—the man he loved. Without return. Enjolras forced control over his thoughts, mentally squeezing so hard it hurt.
A flurry of emotion crossed Grantaire's face: joy, pleasure, desire, then confusion, terror and remorse.
In a burst of inhuman strength, Enjolras strode to the bed, delicately depositing himself beside the drunk, leaning down slightly, a haughty look on his long face. "We need to talk."
Grantaire, knowing that this phrase usually led to…bad things…like departure, tried to speed the process by standing. Enjolras shoved him back, using the part of Grantaire within easiest reach. Unfortunately, this was his neck. Grantaire half-collapsed, gasping with fear. Enjolras sighed, releasing his grip, massaging the back of his neck.
He tried again, more gently. "I-Gods damn it! I'm worried about you, and you don't know why, you stupid drunk, you're trying to get yourself killed!" And collapsed into noisy sobs, folded in on himself.
Grantaire, rather shell-shocked, could only stare as his god, lover and long-time oppressor collapsed inward. Slowly, hardly seeming to move unless you looked away and than back, he moved around beside Enjolras, placed a hand on his shoulder. When this appeared to be accepted, he wrapped the whole arm around his Apollo's neck, drawing him close in an embrace, simply holding him. At long last, Enjolras' sobbing stopped, his breathing slowed, and he was asleep. Grantaire simply kept holding him, until at last he, too, fell asleep, thinking about what Enjolras had said with disbelief.
Enjolras awoke first, slightly cramped from laying across Grantaire's lap all night, but feeling strangely whole, like he hadn't for a long time. He shivered slightly. Why had he fallen for Grantaire? He gazed up at the other man, still asleep, sitting up, leaning against the wall behind the bed. The drunk stirred, blinking, then stared down at Enjolras. Enjolras stared back, blue eyes locked in a silent dance of wills. Enjolras' won.
Grantaire, stammering, half murmured, "I…Gods, gods, I'm sorry. I didn't mean…I'll just…" and he rose, sobbing quietly.
Enjolras, a much gentler expression on his face than nearly anyone who wasn't Jehan saw, stopped him with a soft gesture, a shake of his head, unruly hair falling forward over his eyes.
Grantaire froze, watching him with every part of his body, attuned to every tiny movement of the other, down to his breathing.
They stared at each other, and cried.