Getting Drunk So I Understand

PROLOGUE

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Grantaire sat in the corner of the café, nursing his fourth bottle of wine. He listened intently to Enjolras as he lectured about the republic. What the exact meaning of his lecture was, Grantaire couldn't say. It was lost in the wine. What he did here, was Enjolras' voice. That was all he needed. Listening to Enjolras speak made him feel like he could finally accomplish something.

Yet, he never did. He always drank too much. He always managed to mess it up. But somewhere deep down, Grantaire knew. Even if it didn't make much sense to him. All the lectures, protests and plans, he did know what was happening. It was Enjolras' pure optimism that confused him the most, but then again, opposites attract.

Almost as if Grantaire was afraid the others would find out about his secret understanding, the cycle kept repeating itself because there was one thing Grantaire could not stand: the look of disappointment on Enjolras' face. It killed him. So he drank. The cycle continued, day after drunken day. Grantaire often found himself being led home by one of the Amis, too drunk to walk on his own. He hated himself for it, especially the nights that Enjolras had the unfortunate task of hauling him home. He hated the look of loathing Enjolras gave him as he deposited him on the couch.