A slow smile spread across Enjolras' face, his interest piqued just as much by the fact Grantaire had decided he had to tell him something as with what he had to say. He'd expected Grantaire to pace him, he'd expected some kind of suggestion like this but he hadn't thought Grantaire would present it with such conviction (his brand of it, at least) or eloquence. He sank towards him, his shoulder sliding into the other man's side, beneath his arm. "I wouldn't consider that work at all. Unpaid or otherwise, Grantaire."
He felt, above all, a very keen sense of belonging whenever he was close to Grantaire. It wasn't a new feeling, nothing unique to this future-New York or the clarity of living after death, but he did feel as though he recognised it for what it was better than he'd ever managed before. Grantaire was, even at his best, seemingly built to be infuriating and his frustration often outweighed his strong sense of attraction -- of being drawn in, right beside him -- in a way that wasn't involuntary, but wasn't entirely understood either.
Dinner momentarily neglected, Enjolras turned his attentions to Grantaire's face, inspecting him from this unfamiliar angle. His friend's distinct appearance had never been something he's paid an ounce of attention to. He'd heard it remarked upon, insulted, but that had never really registered with him as something to pay attention to. Even now, when he finally had the focus to spare on more than an impending uprising, he couldn’t quite understand ugly or unappealing as he thought if that were the case, he wouldn’t like looking at him quite so much.
“I think you’re right.” Enjolras conceded. “I believe it’s incredibly important not to neglect what a city has to offer you, especially if you want to give something back to her, especially if you want to help. It would be rude of me to decide I knew how best to assist without knowing her accomplishments; her beauty. It would be insulting.”
He looked away from his friend, reaching forward for his wine on the table and then settling in again. Something twisted in his stomach, a little thrill, as though the idea of agreeing with Grantaire had aligned something in him, somehow. “I had the great advantage of knowing Paris for a lifetime. but that isn’t a privilege I’ve had with New York, but I do feel, at least, I have another advantage. I have you.”
In Enjolras’ estimation, Grantaire was a bit like a sow seeking truffles in the mud. He would find, probably without effort, the very best that this city had to offer. Not just what hung on the walls in the red-carpeted halls, but the true, respectable treasures that he himself might overlook. “And I know you won’t let me go without enjoying myself here.”