His eyebrows dip as he contemplates Enjolras’ meaning. It’s true that Grantaire is hardly ever sober, and his claim of a clear mind is clearly an overstatement. He isn’t at his worst, but there’s certainly enough wine in his system to make him slow on the uptake. It takes a moment, but after a brief moment, understanding dawns on his face, and he lifts his gaze once more.
"Ah," he says, and briefly it seems as though, for the first time in his life, he may actually be at a loss for words. He had genuinely not expected Enjolras to follow him. Truth be told, he hadn’t expected that evening to transpire in the manner it had at all, but it’s long since passed and it can’t be undone now.
Perhaps it was the wine, or the friendly conversation, but something switched in Grantaire that night. He's never truly believed in his friends’ ideals, but for one sudden, brief and glowing moment, he felt as though he could accomplish as much as any other man in that room. He felt as though he could prove himself and earn Enjolras’ favor. That fire faded as quickly as it had sparked, flickering out just as soon as he stepped through the door.
"I owe Lesgle my sincerest apologies, then, for assuming that his poor luck must make him the unlucky man to stumble upon me at my lowest,” he continues, finding his tongue once more. "It was you, then, and I fear that is far worse than Lesgle."
He would beg for forgiveness on hands and knees if he thought he had any chance at earning it, but Grantaire has been here long enough to know better. He was granted one opportunity, one expectation, and he failed spectacularly.
"Will you not offer me a second chance, then?,” he asks, knowing that it’s folly to even dare to suggest such a thing. He’ll undoubtedly let Enjolras down once more, and they’ll run this gambit once more. "Or some other chance at forgiveness. Do you not hold the belief that every man should be offered redemption, Enjolras? Allow me to make it up to you. There must be some way."
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"Ah," he says, and briefly it seems as though, for the first time in his life, he may actually be at a loss for words. He had genuinely not expected Enjolras to follow him. Truth be told, he hadn’t expected that evening to transpire in the manner it had at all, but it’s long since passed and it can’t be undone now.
Perhaps it was the wine, or the friendly conversation, but something switched in Grantaire that night. He's never truly believed in his friends’ ideals, but for one sudden, brief and glowing moment, he felt as though he could accomplish as much as any other man in that room. He felt as though he could prove himself and earn Enjolras’ favor. That fire faded as quickly as it had sparked, flickering out just as soon as he stepped through the door.
"I owe Lesgle my sincerest apologies, then, for assuming that his poor luck must make him the unlucky man to stumble upon me at my lowest,” he continues, finding his tongue once more. "It was you, then, and I fear that is far worse than Lesgle."
He would beg for forgiveness on hands and knees if he thought he had any chance at earning it, but Grantaire has been here long enough to know better. He was granted one opportunity, one expectation, and he failed spectacularly.
"Will you not offer me a second chance, then?,” he asks, knowing that it’s folly to even dare to suggest such a thing. He’ll undoubtedly let Enjolras down once more, and they’ll run this gambit once more. "Or some other chance at forgiveness. Do you not hold the belief that every man should be offered redemption, Enjolras? Allow me to make it up to you. There must be some way."