Grantaire was slumped at a table, his head propped in one hand and his other curled around a bottle of wine. He couldn't say how long he had been there, he didn't particularly care. There was nowhere else he had to be, after all.
He gradually became aware of someone staring at him, and he turned his head to scowl in their direction. But he froze, because it was Enjolras. He closed his eyes briefly, bracing himself for what was to come. Enjolras had found him drunk again. He was right, he was useless. Completely useless.