R (vagueambition) wrote in wariscoming, @ 2014-08-16 12:24:00 |
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Entry tags: | enjolras, grantaire |
Who: Grantaire and Enjolras
What: Contrary feels
Where: The inn
When: The day following their argument
Rating: Low, maybe some swears in French
The trouble, Grantaire knew, was that where Enjolras was concerned he could never completely walk away. He meant too much to him, despite how much he could infuriate him. And maybe it was in his ability to do that better than anyone else that the depths of his caring was evident. For a long time now, for years, Enjolras had been the only constant in his life. If one discounted the drinking. Which was not a constant a person should consider something to rely on. Anyone else would have tired of him long ago. Hell, Grantaire was tired of himself. He just didn't have the luxury of being able to walk away. Enjolras did, and yet he hadn't. And even through his anger and his stupid drunken decisions and his inability to actually deal with anything, he saw that for what it was. Somehow. All it came down to was that he loved him too much to just pretend he could go without him in his life. He had already lost too many people he cared about to bear it again.
And though it had been a night when his mind was screaming and it was only the warm embrace of his green fairy that could dull it, he had woken far too sober and far too aware of how badly he had acted. That realisation did nothing for the pounding in his head. It was early afternoon before he felt he could do much of anything, but despite the growing nausea and the ferocity with which the headache persisted, he did not drink. They had to talk, and history spoke of that not going well when he'd been drinking (if it ever had).
It wasn't, despite what his friend might think, that he did not want to listen to him. That he did not want to be what his friend thought he could be. It was that he did not truly think he could. There were some changes too great, some hurts that ran too deep to be mended. But foolish and stubborn as he was, Enjolras refused to believe that. And the worst part of that was that it was a quality Grantaire had always admired in his friend, because he could not feel it himself.
Sobriety had not suited him in a long time, and with the way he was feeling and the impossible to ignore tremor in his fingers, he probably looked even more pathetic than that feeling suggested. But Grantaire had long since given up doing anything with his own well being or dignity much in mind, and he was not going to start now. So he quashed the rising sense of panic that only a strong glass of something would truly remove, and walked inside to face his friend.