Who: Enjolras and Grantaire What: Riding out the blackout together When: Tuesday night Where: Grantaire's apartment Warnings: Mentions of death, dying, PTSD, all kinds of fun things Status: Complete
Enjolras might not have known much about magical powers or the paranormal. He didn’t know anything about powered beings giving birth in an almost Apocalyptic manner. But he was smart enough to heed warnings when they were issued. There was no way he was going out with that sort of insanity happening. He might be a noble idiot at times, but he knew he was out of his element here.
The rolling blackouts weren’t that troublesome. He’d grown up long before electricity, after all. And where many of their fellow refugees were probably using lamps and flashlights, he was still old fashioned at heart and had stocked up on candles.
However, he knew his friend wasn’t always as practical as he was. And the smartest thing to do would be to check in. Grantaire deserved that much. Well. Probably.
He grabbed a few extra candles and felt his way down the hallway, counting down the number of doors until he reached the one that he was almost certain was Grantaire’s. He knocked lightly. More than that wasn’t necessary. He hadn’t realized how big of a difference the background noise of the running refrigerator and the air conditioning or heating made.
***
Despite any assumptions Enjolras might have made, he was prepared to ride out this nonsense indoors. Well. Maybe not prepared to the blond's standards. But to his own, at least.
Like his friend, chasing away the darkness by candlelight was something he was acquainted with, and he found he enjoyed the excuse for the reminder of home. Granted, the two he had lit might not last all that much longer, but they were enough light to see by for his purposes.
In the complete silence and stillness that was his current surrounds, the soft knock was impossible to miss. He didn't think he was expecting anyone, which meant there was really only one someone he hoped it would be.
Setting his book down beside his glass of wine on the side table, he managed to reach the door with only one misstep involving his toe and the leg of a chair.
“Apollo,” he greeted curiously, wondering at his welcome but unexpected visit. “You know, those work best if you light them. So I'm told, anyway.”
***
“Didn’t want to risk setting the whole place on fire if I tripped,” Enjolras admitted, grinning a little. He could see the slight candlelight coming from inside. Well, maybe Grantaire wasn’t completely inept at taking care of himself. That was good, he supposed.
“I thought I’d check on you. Make sure you had enough to get you through the night.” Enough what, he wasn’t entirely sure, and he did hope this labor only took the one night. He had heard stories of women taking days to deliver a child. If that were to happen… He didn’t much fancy the idea of being trapped indoors for days. It had never suited him well.
He hesitated, then, biting his lower lip. “I hope it’s alright I came by. I know you can handle yourself. I just…” Worried. He always worried. It was practically a personality trait. More so, it had gotten worse since… Well. Since. To be honest, maybe it was less that he was worried for Grantaire and more that he didn’t want to be alone. Darkness wasn’t quite the comfort it used to be.
***
“A wise choice.” He smiled in turn, amused and pleased that he had played along with what he'd said rather than get offended. It could be so tiresome when they misunderstood each other.
There were any number of options which sprang to mind of words to finish Enjolras’ sentence. Some more appealing than others. He wasn't quite at the point of deluding himself enough to think he was concerned. “It is a bit quiet,” he finished for him. “Odd as it is, I have become used to those everyday noises.”
He opened the door wider in invitation. “Thank you, though. I think I have enough of everything. At least for now. And you? Have you eaten anything besides cereal recently?”
***
Enjolras couldn’t help laughing at the reminder of his pathetic attempts at nutrition. “It’s gotten better since I’ve gotten a job. I can afford to eat out, now. And buy more of those deli meals.” The sandwiches were good, and he had discovered a love of fried chicken. “I’m afraid I’m going to gain a ton of weight, however. I might have to have you teach me to box at this rate.” He knew the things people did for fitness here weren’t always similar to back home. But he knew fighting was absolutely still a thing.
Stepping into the main room, he looked guiltily over at the book and the wine. “I’m sorry. You were busy.” He was rather ashamed of himself. But it wasn’t as if he could have messaged first. The boards were working sporadically and honestly, it wasn’t like Grantaire was going to stop his reading to check them.
And he was still learning the art of texting. Maybe soon enough.
***
“I have similar fears,” he admitted with his own small chuckle as he closed the door behind them. “I have developed a dangerous taste for pasta. If it is true that you are what you eat I am surely a dish of lasagne.” It wasn't the quickest thing to make, but he had discovered it was easy to make in large batches and freeze, which served him well on his darker days. Cooking did not happen then.
“If you call reading to pass the time busy. Don't apologise, your interruption was well timed. I prefer the company.” There was only so long to be spent in silence with your thoughts. Had he been at home, Joly and Bossuet would be with him, passing the time with laughter and drinks.
“Would you like anything to drink? I have wine and...a rather odd selection of bubbly drinks that have accompanied food I ordered.” The little cans had been entertaining to figure out, but he found most of the drinks too sweet for his tastes.
***
“You are far nicer looking than a pan of lasagne, don't be ridiculous.” Still, he smiled. He was rather grateful he wasn't going to turn into a chicken leg. And admittedly rather impressed with Grantaire's skill at cooking. But then, Joly had always said the artist was good at whatever he set his mind to.
Fortunately it was too dark in the small room for the dark haired man to see his cheeks flush. Perhaps he was not the only one who didn't want to be alone just then. Even if it was for different reasons. “A night of reading and wine sounds nice. I might not want to be interrupted.”
A part of him wanted to abstain from alcohol. He so rarely drink it, not enjoying even the slightest loss of his senses. But it was dark, and too quiet. “Perhaps just one glass,” he contemplated. “I do like the bubbly drinks, though. There are dozens of flavors. The fruit ones are my favorite.”
***
Being told you were nicer looking than a plate of pasta was hardly an award winning compliment, and yet he found himself inordinately pleased none the less. He really did have it badly. Worse still, knowing nothing would ever come of his silly feelings, he had no idea what to do about them. He never had.
“In that case, there are plenty of the fruit ones for you to choose from when you are done with your wine.” He pulled a second glass from one of the kitchen cabinets as he spoke, filling it with the ruby coloured liquid. “I am less a fan of those ones, so you are welcome to help yourself.”
Bringing the glass back from the kitchen, along with the bottle, he handed the first to Enjolras. “What was it you were doing, before deciding to check on me?” He took his seat on the couch, topping up his own glass.
***
“Why did you buy so many if you do not enjoy them?” he questioned as he settled in the spot on the couch opposite Grantaire. “I quite like the orange. And the ones flavored with cherry.” Grape a bit less. It was far too strong and tasted nothing like actual grapes. “Have you tried root beer? I've no idea why it's named as such, it tastes nothing like beer.” It was also far sweeter than any drink he had ever had. Much more a dessert than an accompaniment to a meal.
He accepted the glass, not even questioning the man returning with the entire bottle of wine. Certain things were to be expected when spending time in Grantaire's company. “Thank you,” he murmured. He really should start replacing some of these bottles Grantaire always so willingly shared.
He took a sip before answering. “Well, I...ate a bowl of cereal,” he admitted with a laugh. “And then I read over the networks for a bit until they went down.” And then he had sat in darkness. Alone. It wasn't exactly good for him. “I thought you might not have remembered to buy candles.”
***
“Some came as choices when I ordered food. Others I bought in groups of six. It seemed logical at the time, instead of getting just one. I do think the lemon ones taste okay.” Honestly though, when he wasn't drinking some form of alcohol, he was still largely happy to drink water.
“I knew it.” He replied, not hiding his amusement. He knew his friend well enough, after all. “Ah, well.” He sipped at his drink. “You were not entirely wrong in your thinking. I did forget to buy any. I was just fortunate enough to already have some on hand. They...remind me of home,” he attempted to explain with a small shrug, before changing the subject.
“There is plenty of food if you are hungry. Biscuits and things. And some leftover dinner in the fridge I should probably finish before it loses all its cold.”
***
The lemon drink was quite nice, actually. Really, he liked pretty much all of them except the cola ones. “At some of the parties I’ve been to, they mix the sodas with alcohol. It might be something to try.” Or probably not for someone as skilled and as comfortable with drinking alcohol as Grantaire was. He probably thought that was ridiculous.
“My initial dinner was going to be Pop-tarts,” he protested, but he was laughing. Perhaps he was a bit predictable. Or maybe, against his better judgment, Grantaire just knew him too well. That wasn’t something he’d ever expected to happen. But then, Madison Valley wasn’t exactly something he’d expected to happen, either.
Enjolras had been enjoying the comforts that home had never provided. That included electricity, and light he could simply turn on and off at will. But he did entirely understand where the man was coming from. And he also understood that he didn’t want to talk about home just then. He could relate. After the other day, he didn’t really want to think about home at all for a while. Instead he looked towards the kitchen. “It shouldn’t take too long for the power to return, and you should probably keep the door closed to trap the cool air as long as possible.”
***
“That could be okay,” he mused. “Depending on the alcohol. There are a wider variety of types now.” One of the more bitter ones he'd tasted, perhaps. Maybe as an alternative to sweetening absinthe with a sugar cube.
“No judgement here,” he chuckled, holding his hands up in mock surrender. “I do not mind pop tarts. Not all of them, but some.” That didn't change that he thought perhaps Enjolras would benefit from more than just the sugary pastry.
He nodded absently, glancing at the chilled cupboard. “That is a good point, thank you. Still, the offer is there if you get hungry.” He closed the book sitting on the side table and set it aside, picking up his glass. “How are you enjoying the new job?”
***
Of course Grantaire had tried multiple alcohols since arriving in this place. It was what he did, after all. Enjolras was still feeling his way around but mostly still preferred wine. Though he did find that white wines were much sweeter on his tongue than red. He wasn't very good at the drinking thing apparently.
“I like that they're convenient.” It made for a much faster breakfast than his preferred oatmeal when he was in a hurry to get to work. He did have to admit, though, that it wasn't very filling. “I suppose I should start eating better. It's hard to lecture kids about doing so when I don't myself.”
Which did help answer the question about the job. “I enjoy it. The people I work with are very nice and the children are amazing.” He'd been dabbling in the more official end of things, paperwork and filing and scanning. But his work with the residents was his favorite part. “We have a cat, now. On the property. Her name is Zillah and she likes to be scratched under her chin.”
***
“The quick meals are good in the morning. I do prefer the days when I start a little later. I am not a fan of the shrill sound of the alarm on my phone.” He was not ashamed to admit the modern world had not somehow transformed him into a morning person.
“I am glad you are enjoying it. It makes the time far more pleasant for it not to feel too much like a chore. I am finding my days largely filled with talking about art. Which is not a challenge.” He was particularly fond of customers who had different perspectives to him. He missed those kinds of debates from home.
The image of Enjolras scratching a cat under its chin was such a wonderful one he knew he would have to draw it the second he was alone and had light enough to see by. “I have thought about a pet. People seem to enjoy it. And it would fill the silence when I cannot stand any more of those silly shows on the television.”
***
Enjolras couldn't help grinning a bit at the idea of poor Grantaire waking up to an alarm. Mornings had never suited him. Enjolras, on the other hand, preferred his morning shifts. “I like starting my day earlier. It suits me better. Then again, I would work multiple shifts if I could.” Being busy was simply better for him.
“I'm afraid I'm not familiar enough with most art to stimulate you,” he admitted with a shrug before sipping at his wine. “I painted a sunset once. And by sunset I mean I used all the colors in a sunset and they sort of became a splash of color on canvas.” Which was when he had given up. Perfectionist problems.
“I think a cat might suit you. I can't really see you getting up early to walk a dog.” Seeing as he had just said he didn't do alarms well. “Though perhaps being pounced by something fluffy to give it its breakfast would be more pleasant than that shrill alarm you hate?”
***
“It is good to have things to do,” he agreed. Though perhaps not at the expense of his precious mornings. Particularly depending how he had fared the night before. Though that could be remedied easily enough. Still, he knew how Enjolras looked down on enjoying any aspect of life to ‘excess’, so he kept that to himself.
“Art is very subjective, Apollo. I expect you being you, you are also your harshest critic.” It was just how he seemed to be. Though his favourite pastime had always been criticising Grantaire. “The colours at sunset are wonderful for painting. Soft and bright at the same time.”
He shrugged, reaching for the wine to refill his glass and also gesturing it towards Enjolras’ glass in offer. “Mornings, no. But then I must admit I am rather drawn to those puppies I have seen. An impulsive sort of want really. A cat though...maybe.” The idea was actually rather appealing.
***
“I imagine you're right,” he agreed. “I'm not overly fond of not being good at things right away.” But then, as Joly had once pointed out and he had reluctantly agreed, Grantaire seemed to be naturally good at everything. Art, however, he seemed to focus on. To work his hardest to make whatever he painted beautiful. It was to be commended, if nothing else.
He offered his glass to Grantaire to refill. He had a slightly later shift the next day and he imagined it was going to be a long night, with things crashing around outside. Another drink wouldn't hurt. “I could maybe adopt a dog. But I don't know that I'm home enough to devote time to one.”
“There is a shelter here in town. A place to adopt homeless pets. Perhaps you should go look.” He wanted to offer to go with him, but was that too forward? They'd come a long way over the last couple of months, but did that mean they could go on outings together? As true friends might?
***
“It is not a bad thing,” he pointed out, concerned somehow that he had unintentionally criticised him. Intentionally was one thing. But that was always by design, and usually for the sake of debate. “A focus on self perfectionism is probably commendable to a point. Wanting to be your best, and so forth.”
At his silent acceptance, Grantaire topped his glass again, setting the bottle aside. “They do seem as though they would need a fair amount of attention. And possibly some kind of outdoor area to run around in.” Keeping them in a small space such as this could be unkind, depending on the type of dog it was.
“Is there? I did not realise. Would it be troublesome of me to ask you to come along, and help me make a choice?” The last thing he wanted to do was overstep when things seemed to be on an even keel between them, but he also had no idea where to start, and trusted Enjolras’ judgement on something of that nature.
***
On the contrary, Enjolras typically knew and accepted his faults. He certainly couldn't argue them with Grantaire, given his tendency to be argumentative as a general rule. “It doesn't allow much for learning and shaping new skills, admittedly.”
“I did some reading. You can absolutely have a dog in an apartment but they tend to require a great deal of exercise outdoors. I could take them for sufficient walks but I think I need to judge my time a bit longer.” It would only make sense that he settle into his job first.
His eyes widened in a bit of surprise before he took a long sip from his glass in an effort to hide it. “You wish me to come with you?” It sounded fun, honestly. The two of them enjoying an afternoon petting cats and visiting them. And he had been considering it. Perhaps it was meant to be. “Well. If you truly would like my company, I wouldn't mind at all.”
***
“That would be okay then. Once you have it figured out. I can see you with a dog more so than a cat. I cannot say why. Maybe it is a personality thing,” he added with a small but amused smile. Something about matching energy or enthusiasm more generally.
“I would. If it will not take up too much of your time. I fear I will be a terrible decision maker. I have no idea what I should be looking for. And these sorts of things are more enjoyable with company, anyway.” He sipped at his wine, trying to gauge Enjolras’ reaction. It seemed, at least, like he genuinely did want to accompany him. And that was a nice feeling. Foreign, but good.
***
Enjolras’ laugh was good natured. “Honestly, so can I. I like cats, though. Zillah is good company.” But as active as he could be, he could far easier see himself having a dog. A companion to go on long walks and explore the outskirts of the city together.
Just, perhaps, not a certain park. Not for a bit, at least.
He finished his glass, surprised with himself but also not really. Good company tended to make one forget they were drinking. And, to his own surprise, he was enjoying himself. “I would enjoy that, I think. It might be fun. We can visit with as many as we need for you to find your new friend.” They would also need to pick up supplies. “I have the late shift on Friday, if you're available that day. We could pick up the things you will need for kitten ownership first.”
***
He really loved that laugh. It sounded so carefree, and had been a rare sound from his friend back home. The Enjolras focused on revolution had had little time for laughter. He hoped he could be the cause of more of it.
Grantaire was honestly a little surprised to see Enjolras finish a second class of wine. He wasn't sure he'd ever seen him have more than even one glass. He wondered if there was something bothering him, and was unsure quite how to ask. “I am not working Friday, so that will be perfect,” he agreed happily.
“Would you like another glass of wine?” The first bottle was near to empty, since he had already had a glass before Enjolras’ arrival, but he had plenty more.
***
Did he want another? He should say no. It was ridiculous, dulling his senses that way. But what else did he have to do but sit inside in the dark? And honestly, it felt kind of nice.
“If you are,” he reasoned. After all, he was depleting his friend's supply. And he knew well enough that Grantaire valued every drop of wine. For once, he was beginning to understand why. Maybe not to that extreme. But it was a little bit nice to let his guard down.
“Most of the shelter pets have names,” he began thoughtfully. “But you could always rename them if you don't like what they've chosen.” It might be interesting to see what someone with a mind like Grantaire's named a cat. It could be anything from a famous painter to the finest of Greek gods.
***
He wordlessly refilled the blond's glass at the yes that wasn't quite a yes. He was, of course having another, and it didn't take him long to fetch another bottle and join Enjolras on the couch again. He also brought back some savoury biscuits he had in the cupboard because experience had taught him well enough someone not used to drinking, like Enjolras, should be eating.
“You are not troubled by the dark, are you?” He had no interest in embarrassing him but he also found this an unusual enough situation he was left feeling a bit off centre.
“Maybe if it is still very young? It would be fun to name a pet. But I think you would need to meet it first.” The more he thought about it the more the prospect excited him. Though he would only admit it to himself, he was lonely in this place. Really, he'd felt lonely often enough at home, too. Even when in a room of people.
***
He couldn't even bring himself to be humiliated or offended by the question. It wasn't as if Grantaire was being rude in asking, really. But Enjolras also knew the brunet had a habit of mocking him. So perhaps full disclosure wasn't necessary.
“Thank you,” he murmured, taking one of the offered biscuits. “It is not my favorite condition.” Did it trouble him? Well. Perhaps a bit. It wasn't fear so much as discomfort. Or sheer panic.
“Cats so rarely answer to their names, it probably won't matter. You could have an old lady cat named Whiskers and still call her...Claudette, I don't know.” Yes, it was ridiculous. But it was better than thinking on the question which he had been asked.
***
He didn't respond right away, pleased to see him eating and also wondering what he might even say. The honesty surprised him a little. But then he supposed with three glasses of wine in him, Enjolras would be a bit more forthcoming than usual.
“No?” He enquired evenly, casually. “It is the silence I am less fond of.” He didn't imagine Enjolras was any more likely to want to discuss his reasons than Grantaire was. Still, it felt wrong not to question it, now. “Of course, they often accompany each other.”
He smiled a bit at the name. “I could. That is true. Perhaps we will meet a Claudette on Friday and prove you right, mon ami.”
***
He knew he was being ridiculous. The whole situation was ridiculous. Normal people didn't still see their nightmares on waking. And that girl, the one with the cruel streak, certainly hadn't helped any. “I think I prefer the silence.” Fewer sounds to mistake for other sounds.
“But they do often go together. It may be a bit too quiet now.” Other than the occasional crash outside their windows. The young woman hadn't been lying about just how dramatic her birthing time would be. “I had gotten quite used to the background noises. Perhaps a pet would assist you with that as well. The purring or the meowing to be fed.”
Little Claudette or Luc or whatever name Grantaire chose would certainly provide some company. And Enjolras found himself feeling a bit jealous. “Perhaps I'll do as others here have done and begin saving up to purchase a house.”
***
He watched his friend, were they friends now? With some semblance of concern. They had spoken of trust. That extended to worry too. “Apollo…” He began a little hesitantly. Should he touch him? Were it Joly or Bahorel he would not hesitate to place a comforting hand on their shoulder. But with Enjolras he did not know if it would be welcome.
“What is troubling you?” It was surely more than just the dark. He looked almost lost. For something to do with his hands he topped their glasses.
“I think that will help. Just some quiet noise.” Nothing too much. The statement was unexpected, but then maybe that would mean Enjolras could have his dog. “That would surely be something to work towards.”
***
He hadn't asked about the refill this time, but Enjolras found he didn't much care. In the worst sort of way, he was beginning to understand why his friend did this so often. Hiding in a bottle of wine. No, he wasn't drunk. Not on a couple of glasses of just wine. But he was feeling that pleasant numbing sensation, where he was beginning to no longer care about the smell of gunsmoke that he swore still tinged his nose at times. Or the sounds… God, would he ever forget the sounds?
“I could ask you much the same,” he replied quietly, looking down into his glass. In the almost entirely dark room, the liquid was nearly the color of blood. Which was basically the last comparison he needed to be making at that moment.
“I am fine, mon ami,” he protested a moment later. “Or, I will be. Just a bit melancholy at the moment, is all.” That moment and many others. But Grantaire didn't discuss his problems so why should Enjolras burden him with his?
***
He could not quite hide the sigh, though it was quieter than it otherwise might have been. “You are right. You could. And I could speak at great length about all the many things troubling me. But you did not ask. I did.”
Even the way he looked down at his drink was sad. It was no small thing eating away at him. But he could not force him to talk. Not if he didn't want to. “I am sorry you are so. I hope that it will pass soon.” He knew all too well the burden of melancholia.
A particularly loud bang came from somewhere outside, making him jump, and he shook his head at himself with a small laugh.
***
Where Grantaire was able to laugh at himself, Enjolras couldn't quite bring himself to do so. He did not jump, but froze still. His grip on his glass was so tight he feared he might break it and his eyes clenched shut. Most of the time he was able to talk himself through these spells. A slow count. Un, deaux, trois…
His heartbeat slowed to a more manageable pace and he glanced back up at the artist. He was being ridiculous. And stupid. Mostly stupid. They knew what the sounds were. Lorna had issued ample warning.
“There's a woman here… She can create illusions. Whatever she wants you to see, you will.” He didn't know why he was babbling, not now. But...well, he felt maybe Grantaire deserved an explanation, of sorts.
***
Grantaire frowned, dismissing the idea of avoiding touching the man at seeing his reaction. Reaching over he took hold of the top of his glass to take it from him as he placed his other hand briefly on his shoulder. “Neither your hand nor the glass need to suffer that fate, Apollo.” There was no judgement in his tone. He knew that look all too well.
“Illusions?” Grantaire felt a sick feeling growing in his stomach. He did not fully understand, but whatever it was it was not good. “Enjolras. You said we needed to trust each other, oui? Trust me. Talk to me, mon ami. Please.”
***
No one they'd ever met would expect Grantaire to be the practical one. The logical one. Or, and most notably, the one taking care of him. He was quiet as he considered his next words. Already he missed his glass just because he had something to do with his hand.
“I don't think she was targeting me, specifically. I don't think her power is that great. Where she would read my thoughts.” It had still felt so real. “She created bodies. Human bodies, I could feel them. They were bleeding to death. There was gunfire. A cannon…”
It sounded like a nightmare. Yet he had lived it not just once but twice. And most every night of his life.
***
It was as foreign a feeling to him, too. At least, when he was directing it at Enjolras. He liked to think he had always been a source of support for his closest friends. He set the blond's glass on the low table in front of them so he could pick it up again, perhaps with less of a death grip this time.
The words filled him with horror. He could smell it too, if he ever let himself. The gunpowder. Could hear the shots, the shouting. But to be made to relive it so vividly…
“I am so sorry, Enjolras.” He squeezed the shoulder beneath his hand in what he hoped was felt as a show of comfort and support. “No one deserves that. Least of all someone like you.”
***
“Someone like me?” he scoffed, glancing up at the man before averting his eyes. “And what, exactly, is that? Someone who leads his friends to their deaths? You're dead because of me. All of them are.” They were dead and nothing would ever change that it was his fault.
He closed his eyes again. Honestly, he wasn't really used to being touched. He didn't mind it, exactly. It was nice. Comforting. It didn't make the hurting go away, but he did know he wasn't alone.
Reaching up, he lightly touched the hand on his shoulder. A gesture, he hoped, to show his appreciation. “Thank you. You didn't need to hear all that.”
***
“Yes,” he answered, tone no less concerned but equally firm. “Someone like you. Who cares more about everyone around him than himself. Who holds more belief that this wretched world can be good in his little finger than I do in my whole body.”
It was his turn to scoff then. “Do not dishonour them that way. They all chose to be there. As did I. They were smart and brave and believed the same as you. You did not cause their deaths.” He would argue that until he was blue in the face.
When Enjolras placed a hand on his, albeit briefly, it filled him with warmth just to know his gesture had been accepted for what it was. He did not want to make him uncomfortable though, and let his hand drop. “We are friends. And you needed to say it. That is what matters.”
***
He bit his lip to the point of pain, trying to let the other man's words soothe him. He was trying to offer comfort, and it wasn't lost on Enjolras. That didn't make it any easier. He wanted to believe him. To believe that even under another leader, those men would have been fighting.
But he couldn't. It had been his words that drove them there. They were supporting and backing his leadership and his beliefs. He had failed to get the city to stand with them, he had failed to protect their ammunition, and in the end, he had failed them.
With Grantaire withdrawing his hand, Enjolras reached again for the glass of wine. “I owe you a new bottle,” he said, trying to keep his tone playful. Which wasn't terribly difficult, with the effects of said wine seeping in.
***
He knew he didn't actually believe a word he was saying. It hardly took a genius to figure that out. But he wasn't outright arguing with him either. So he wouldn't push the point.
When he picked up his glass and spoke again, Grantaire smiled, allowing him the change in subject he was obviously grasping at. “You owe me nothing. I will come by and eat some of your pop tarts and we will call it even. Or maybe you can paint me a sunset?”
Unlikely. But he did like hearing that less maudlin tone.
***
Enjolras laughed, nodding. “I will paint you the most beautiful sunset you've ever seen. Full of every color in your collection.” Oops. It was possible the wine was hitting a bit faster than he'd intended. Or maybe he was just truly enjoying the change in topic.
He did consider his previous words and gave him his most sincere expression. “You're welcome to whatever of my poptarts you'd like. I recommend the strawberry ones. They are not as good as wine, but they do taste good. Like strawberry sweets.” The chocolate ones were good, too, but they weren't his favorites. He didn't like how his mouth was covered in chocolate pastry after. That didn't seem to happen with the fruit flavors. “Chocolate is messy. But if you do want chocolate there are ones called s'mores. You might enjoy them.”
***
Grantaire laughed, in equal parts both delighted and concerned to see his friend in this state. “I will hold you to that, mon ami.” He would not actually, but it was fun to say.
“I tell you what,” he bargained, possibly unwisely topping up both their glasses. “Before we go cat shopping, we will share a brunch of strawberry poptarts. How about it?” Enjolras was smiling again. He would do about anything to keep seeing that. Even if he was drunk.
***
Cat shopping sounded endlessly amusing. “Is cat shopping shopping for cats or cats going shopping?” he questioned, the corners of his lips turned up. “Little coats and hats, wandering the city to find new clothing or food. Feeding cats is easier now than in our time. There is premade food for them. But they also have no rats to catch. Sometimes it might be hard to be a cat.”
Shit. Now he knew he was babbling and sounding ridiculous. And he didn't exactly know how to stop it when he'd let himself get this way. This was why he so rarely drank. “God, listen to me. Why would you even put up with this?” Well. Grantaire was laughing. And, he was fairly sure, it wasn't at him for a change.
***
“I sincerely hope it is the second. I want to see a cat wearing a hat and coat going shopping for new shoes.” This was good. This was better. Much better. Lighthearted and a little bit silly. “I do not know. Being a cat might not be so bad. Sleeping and eating and being selfish.”
He smiled, the look undeniably affectionate. “You are easy enough to put up with, Apollo. Believe me.” He rather liked hearing him this way. A bit of babbling. A bit of silliness. A bit more like Grantaire himself.
***
Well. The brunet found him amusing in this state, at least. He supposed it wasn't all bad. Though he imagined he wouldn't appreciate it quite so much in the morning. “Would they walk on all fours or on their hind legs?” These were very important questions, after all. “Yes, now it is easy to be a cat. Not catching rodents for dinner or running from angry shop owners.” In their time, it had been considerably easier to be a dog.
This was far better than discussing the past. Or the very recent past, as his encounter with the pink haired girl had proven to be. “You say that because you don't have to put up with in the morning Apollo.” His nose wrinkled. “Apollo is a weird word. Why do you even call me that?”
***
“Though I do not consider myself an expert on such things, in my mind they wandered about on their hind legs. One wore a monocle. The other clutched a purse. Perhaps I will paint such an image for you.” That could be something else to make him laugh, maybe.
“Having not met in the morning post wine Apollo, and knowing I have as yet not found any single Apollo to be disagreeable, I am prepared to take that chance.” He paused at his question long enough to refill his glass. Enjolras’ progress was a little more slow going.
“I do not know what you know of Greek mythology,” he began carefully. If he was honest, at this point he could not even imagine concocting a believable lie. “Apollo is the god of truth and light.” He swallowed a large mouthful of wine, suddenly feeling uncomfortably warm. “It seemed fitting, I guess.”
***
“You could draw it. If you do not feel up to a full painting. You draw well, too.” That one he knew more from experience. He could see the man sketching away in the back of the room while he led meetings. He had more than once walked by to steal peeks at whatever was being drawn. The man had endless talent. It was a bit frustrating.
Enjolras smiled slowly. “I am disagreeable a lot of the time. You can say it. I'm well aware.”
He listened, though, to the explanation behind the foolish nickname. It apparently wasn't so foolish after all. He sipped at the liquid in his glass but didn't give it much thought anymore. “He is also the sun god. I thought you were making horrible comparisons to a certain sun king.” Which was practically the greatest insult he could imagine. But no. Instead it was a lovely compliment.
***
“They are just scribbles really. I...did not know you had noticed.” He had hardly made a spectacle of the sketching he did. Though Joly frequently pestered him to see the drawings.
That made him smile. “You enjoy a healthy debate. Which is not the same as disagreeable. Not like I can be.” On that point, Enjolras could hardly argue.
“No,” he laughed. “I may enjoy arguing with you on many a topic, but I am aware enough of your aversion to the monarchy not to try something so foolhardy. I do not like to live quite so dangerously.” Though he was well aware it was largely the wine talking, Grantaire would treasure this night forever. An Enjolras who joked and laughed with him. Complimented him freely. The memory would keep him warm on many a dark day.