Hey there! I know it's been forever since I updated. I've been wasting all my creativity on my stupid Hunchback stuff. (No offence to Victor Hugo. I just wrote a drabble for every chapter and it took forever.)
On to the actual characters now! Enjoy…
He is not sleeping. "Apollo," he mumbles, the sound so garbled, it barely qualifies as a word. I give a soft grunt of acknowledgement, urging him to continue. "I feel sick."
"You're drunk," I reply. "What do you expect?" Realizing that this is not very compassionate, I ask "Do you have to vomit again?"
He nods, and I can see his face flush as he turns his head away from me. Saying nothing, I pull him into a more upright position and wrap one arm around his waist for support. With my other hand, I pull his tangled hair away from his mouth and hold it in place.
He belches loudly, bringing wine up with the sound. I try not to look, for the shame visible on his face is heartbreaking. When he is finished, he begins to weep again.
I pull him close and stroke his hair, gently untangling each knot I come across. "Hush, Grantaire. It's alright. You'll feel better in the morning. Now just try to relax."
"That's all you can say?" he asks between shaky breaths. "I thought you'd be taking advantage of this wonderful opportunity to call me a pathetic, useless drunkard; a wastrel. Instead you're…God, Apollo."
"Shut up, Winecask." The words I have uttered so often in anger now take on a gentle, soothing quality. "Let's get you home."
I lift Grantaire form the floor and guide him to a chair. He sits there, sniffing quietly, as I mop up the floor and gather my books. Then I return to his side and wrap his coat round his shoulders. He leans heavily against me as we slowly make our way to the door.
Once outside, I hail a cab and help Grantaire in before giving the driver my companion's address and climbing in myself.
We ride in silence for several minutes before he says quietly, "Where are we going?"
"Your flat," I reply, suddenly apprehensive.
"How do you know where I live?"
I take a deep breath and silently pray that I sound convincing when I answer, "I make it a point to know where all my men live."
"Oh." He sounds disappointed. Was he expecting a different answer? I could surely give it to him, but… No. I have already revealed too much weakness tonight.
The journey continues and neither of us speaks. I cannot tell whether Grantaire is awake or not, but it doesn't really matter. This is right, finally. I am here with him while his body protests against the torture he inflicts upon it. He knows I am here and it eases his suffering. If only I'd had the courage to take my place with him years ago! The pain I could have saved us both!
But I must not think that way. What I did was for the best. What does our pain matter, if our happiness were to inhibit my plans for France's future? My country and her people must always come first. This truce with Grantaire cannot extend into our daily existence. I have no time for foolish men. What I do tonight is a single act of sympathy, and my past care of him was merely my duty to him as a fellow man.
It is Grantaire who notices that we have arrived at his flat. "Gods, Apollo, and I am the one incapacitated!" We extricate ourselves from the cab; Grantaire requires a bit of assistance. I then pay the driver, ignoring my drunken companion as he tries to force money on me.
When we enter Grantaire's small, malodorous flat, he kicks several of the many papers littering the floor under the bed, so as to conceal them from me. I pretend I do not see; let him feel that he is hiding them from me.
There have been nights when Grantaire's drunkenness had reached such an extent that I did not feel comfortable leaving him alone. The long hours of those nights led me to explore the dingy room in which the man resided and the paper carpeting his floor. They are rough copies and notes of my speeches that I have discarded after perfecting the words. I don't know how or why he has taken the time to collect them, but he has.
The room is furnished with nothing more than a cot and two overturned crates that serve as a chair and table, I assume. I sit cautiously on one of the crates; it does not seem stable enough to support a man's weight. Grantaire flops unceremoniously onto the cot and lies facing me, his glassy eyes making my heart twist uncomfortably.
"Thank you, Apollo," he slurs, what I can only assume to be a smile twisting his lips. "You needn't remain here in such low company any longer."
He thinks he is sparing me by sending me away; I can see in his eyes how he wants me to stay. And I cannot bear to leave now. We have come so far tonight! But he would be suspicious if I remained.
I stare at the floor, for I know the hurt that will be visible on his face when I answer softly, "Yes. I suppose it is late. And I've still got work to do for several classes, as well as the speech for tomorrow night's gathering." My hand is on the doorknob when I realize that it will not hurt to show a bit more kindness. I turn toward Grantaire, who is watching me from his cot with large, doleful eyes. "Goodnight," I whisper.
He smiles so faintly and knowingly, as if he knows what it costs me to say it. "'Night, Apollo. And don't worry, I won't tell them about your human side." Although the words are delivered in a deliberately nonchalant manner, I know that he means it. He understands how I must remain strong in their eyes and will make sure that my image is maintained. I nod, then turn quickly and leave. I have never felt more grateful in my life.
Should I just leave it there? Unrequited and unfulfilled? Or should I give them a chance at happiness?