Enjolras didn't mind Grantaire.

He was disappointed in his drinking habits, yes, and his lack of belief in seemingly anything at all, let alone the republic and the liberation of France. But Grantaire, his presence among the ABC, didn't faze him.

Or perhaps it did. Perhaps that crease in his brow when Grantaire made a snide comment about the rebellion, or the headache he got when he took a drink from that damned bottle of his, was out of concern, not disgust. It was plausible. He cared for the people, and Grantaire was among them.

He'd stayed at the Musain, cup of coffee to the side of the table he'd seated himself at, beside Robespierre and his Latin textbook, currently open in front of him. He often stayed after meetings to do his schoolwork in the back room of the café; he was, after all, still studying at La Sorbonne, and exams were fast approaching. Occasionally he glanced up from his Latin work and across the room at Grantaire, who was sound asleep, slouched against a table, empty bottle in hand. The sight earned a sigh from Enjolras, a bitterly disappointed one, and he continued with his work.

He heard the scraping of wood and a sharp breath. This time his head snapped up, his gaze locked on the drunkard.

"S'quiet," Grantaire mumbled. He looked vaguely disoriented, as if surprised to awake here, in the café- despite how often he had done so- and looked around the room for a moment before finally staring at Enjolras. "What're you still doing here?"

He averted his gaze to his Latin book with a frown. "Studying. You ought to get home, Grantaire."

For a moment the room was silent aside from Enjolras' few page turns. He didn't look up, but he could hear Grantaire rise from his chair and push it under the table. Of course he was leaving, or getting more to drink. Most likely both.

What he didn't exactly expect was for Grantaire to, as he glanced up, waltz right over and seat himself beside Enjolras. His arms folded over the table behind the coffee and beside his Robespierre, his chin leaning on his arms, and he fixed his gaze up at Enjolras. He rather distinctly had the look about him of a loyal pup, and to his surprise, that did faze him.

At least, it did for a moment. "Can I help you?"

He didn't mean to be harsh, truly. He was a man of the people. He wished to serve the people. But he could easily be caught up in the intensity of that wish. His gaze would turn wild, raw with passion, and he had long been blissfully unaware that it could be terrifying to men. That terrible stare was often taken as something aloof, something cold and harsh. It couldn't be more opposite of what Enjolras intended.

Grantaire dropped his gaze to Robespierre. "Just keeping you company."

It was an innocent enough gesture on Grantaire's behalf, and it touched Enjolras. "It's late. You ought to go home."

A grin spread across Grantaire's face triumphantly. "As you should."

That silenced Enjolras, not without the slightest twitch at the corner of his lips into a wry smile, and he returned to his Latin. They continued on like this for quite a while, Grantaire keeping watch on the intense, yet to his eye, rather weary, Enjolras, and Enjolras affirmed that he had a solid enough grasp for his Latin exams.

An hour passed more quickly than Enjolras thought it would. His gaze lifted to look at Grantaire- who was fast asleep, face turned toward him on his arms. Enjolras shut his Latin book carefully, stacking his Robespierre on it and pushing them out of the way.

He looked surprisingly peaceful this way, the hints of a smile on his lips, his torso moving ever so slightly with each breath. Enjolras reached a hand out to stroke his disheveled hair, an action that surprised him with his lack of hesitation. Grantaire's hair was soft, his curls easy for his fingers to weave through. His touch was delicate, careful, for he didn't want to wake him. He wasn't quite sure what had inspired him to stroke his hair, but it felt nice. Everything felt nice.

Moments passed, and with a glance at the clock- eleven at night- Enjolras shook his shoulder gently. "Grantaire, wake up. It's late."

Grantaire stirred within a few seconds, eyes blinking open and drifting up to meet Enjolras' gaze. Enjolras pulled his hand from his hair, standing from the table and collecting his books. Grantaire watched blearily for a moment, but scrambled to do the same, watching Enjolras with a wide eyed fascination.

He realized a little late that perhaps stroking Grantaire's hair had unlocked that unspoken part of him that wasn't completely dissatisfied with the drunkard's way of life, that part of him that cared more than he was willing to admit about him. Not just to Grantaire's devoted eyes, but to his own self.

Shifting his books under one arm, he slid an arm around Grantaire's shoulders. "Let's get you home, shall we?"

Enjolras would never mention it, but his heart distinctly fluttered when Grantaire pressed a kiss to his cheek and consented with a feeble, "Yes."

A/N: Possibly expect more? I'm incredibly inspired tonight.