✗  thoughtsfromacynic

The smell of absinthe assailed him as the drunk slouched next to him; his face pinched in worry as he watched Grantaire slump over his cups. Seeing him in a drunken stupor really was not a surprise to anyone but it still caused a small shock of worry. “Grantaire?” He asked in a shaky voice, reaching out to brush calloused fingers against the shoulder of his dirt covered shirt. Eyebrows pinched together at the sight of ruby colored wine; bleary eyes trained on the dark bottle in front of him. Really Joly wondered how Enjolras didn’t notice Grantaire’s behavior; if he did he made no mentions of it. “Are you even awake?” The med student asked in a hushed voice, worry lacing the tone.