He didn't stop as the door slammed shut behind him. Damn that drunkard. Damn him. The time was close, so close and he had to do this now. Of all the people to do this to him, it would be Grantaire; the scruffy drunken cynic who tried his best to always undermine the cause. Did he not realise that he could ruin everything? Upon reaching his rooms, he slammed the door shut behind him, leaning against it to calm his breathing. It didn't help. He hadn't thought it would, not really, not when his emotions were in such turmoil.
Enjolras hadn't known how Grantaire felt, at least, not consciously. Hell, he didn't even know how he felt toward the drunkard. He supposed there had been something; a sort of ongoing battle of wills between them. Enjolras had his revolution, Grantaire opposed with his cynicism and disbelief. An unwilling signature: R. That alone, may simply have been a sign of their friendship if it hadn't been for other moments, other things that had only just begun to make sense. There were the looks. Stares that seemed to penetrate his very soul, seemed to search for something they knew may not even be there. After all, it was clear that Grantaire had never truly expected his feelings to be reciprocated. That much was clear in his face as Enjolras had pulled away. It was that look in particular which captured his thoughts at the moment, confusion at the contact and loss of it, underneath that though… God, had there been a darkness there, a fire, a heat that sent a jolt through him also.
Had he been wrong to leave? No. It was the right thing to do. If he'd have stayed things might have escalated and that could be catastrophic with revolution so near. What would the others do if he was not clear headed to organise them, too distracted by thought of rough lips, hot tongue, medicinal with the taste of liquor; of lightly scratching stubble which he had liked the feel of far more so than he would ever admit. They might die. They might die because of him. That was precisely why he had left. He could not give himself over to whatever pleasures he wished. He had a duty to do. Had he not told Marius something similar mere hours ago?
He slept little that night and what sleep he did get was not entirely restful. However, it had afforded him the chance to think, or perhaps dwell. It was decided. He would find out what this all meant to Grantaire. He would explain and then take his leave. His duty was to France; regardless of those things he might want now more than he had ever even dreamt of in the past. If only the damned fool had kept his kisses to himself, had kept his distance. Perhaps then, perhaps then he wouldn't have to hurt him. The ridiculous part was, that though Enjolras knew he should, he didn't want to.
After splashing a little cold water on his face and running a hand through his hair, he dressed and left for Grantaire's rooms. Knowing him, drunken sleep would still be upon him as he curled in the chair closest to the door; perhaps even the floor, depending on the previous nights consumption. His bed, it seemed, was rarely used for sleep. Enjolras didn't knock. He had long ago learned that such a thing would not rouse his friend and that it was simpler just to let himself in. He had had a key for a long time now. Come to think of it, he had always thought it odd that Grantaire would trust him to have it. To think that he would assume Enjolras might ever need it. Now, though, it was all becoming painfully clear.
He moved through the small living room quickly, not seeing Grantaire where he had expected him to be, and made his way to the bedroom. Contrary to his earlier assumptions, Grantaire was indeed in his bed; sprawled, dishevelled and fast asleep. Enjolras tried not to think of how easy it would have been for him to give in last night; for him to be there too, with those arms wrapped around him rather than a bottle. With a small shake of his head, an internal chastisement, he plucked the bottle from Grantaire and put it on the table with a little more force than necessary. He woke with a start at that, wide eyed, blinking sleepily up at Enjolras.
"I think perhaps I ought to explain myself." His voice was a little rougher than he'd expected it to be; reluctant, and more than a little awkward. This was the type of situation Enjolras simply didn't get himself into. His words weren't coming as easily as they should. It might have helped if Grantaire had the decency to look a little ashamed, given that it had been him who initiated it, but no. That was something he wouldn't truly expect from the cynic anyway.
His thoughts, having been lost in trying to remember what he had decided to say, were dragged back to reality as a hand pulled him forward by his wrist and a familiar face was once again close to his. Still drunk. He must be, or else he wouldn't be so disrespectful as to not let Enjolras speak first.
"Do go on, Apollo. I find myself ever interested in your words, though a lack of them might be more pleasing." With a rough shove, Enjolras sent Grantaire backwards onto the bed. Trying his hardest to regain his composure.
"That is exactly what I must explain and you well know it. Last night is not something that can be repeated. For the sake of France, it cannot." His words were forceful. He had a duty.
"Ah, France. Patria! That's all my Apollo cares for, is it not? He couldn't spare a moment for the feelings of a drunk, surely not. Only, if a not-so-foggy memory serves me correctly, it would seem that he could; at least, for a short time. So tell me, Enjolras. Tell me how this cannot be. Tell me how you would deny yourself of some small pleasure even as you know you will die, as you know we will all die, in just a few days time! I beg of you, explain."
The passion in those words had Enjolras stumped for some small moment in time. Grantaire stayed put, eyes blazing in what would seem to be outrage.
"What I chose to do in these coming days is none of your concern. You sign your name for us, R. You attend our meetings, but you do not even care for what becomes of France, do you? You do not care that the poor die in ever increasing numbers each day, that children starve as mothers sell themselves to care for them. You do not care that this country is slowly but surely falling."
"And why should I? Why should I care? Because you do? No, you have me all wrong Enjolras. You know very well I only attended those meetings because I believed in you, still do believe in you and you believe in all that. You are my cause. Forgive me if I am bold, it is simply that you do not seem to understand. Apollo! What fine marble! With your ideas and your revolution and your passion. It is that which I crave, but cannot hold myself. No, I will stick with my wine and you with your ideals. Only, I do not think that need be all you can have. You are a fine leader, but you are untouched; perfection that denies itself the touch of a human hand. I always thought that perhaps you did not crave it, only you changed that. Did you not? Those were not the actions of a man who would be kept from what he wants."
"You say I do not understand, but I do! I understand more than you seem to, my friend. We are but tiny creatures who can only aspire to spark a change in something so huge but we must try. We must fight for the people because they will not fight without someone to lead. They must be spurred into action for all of our sakes. You think that personal want is so important, but that will change nothing. Were I to give in to your foolish demands, what would that do? Leave us unprepared in the coming days. We must plan. We must fight!" His breathing was ragged, cheeks flushed. He hadn't come expecting a heated debate. Nor had he expected such fire from his biggest cynic.
Grantaire rose back to his knees and Enjolras found himself being pulled by the lapels into a kiss more heated than that of the night before. Then there had been uncertainty. This time, there was intent, need.