headcanon that enjolras doesn’t get drunk because when he gets drunk he always starts aggressively complimenting people. and not just his friends, but everyone, and not about normal things like clothes, but like. he’ll go up to strangers and tell them that they have nice cheekbones. even when he’s only with his friends, it’s so bad.
last time he was anywhere past tipsy, when courfeyrac nagged him into taking a few shots at his birthday party, he distinctly remembers:
telling combeferre, “i think a lot of bad things about people but i never think anything bad about you because you’re the best. did you know that, combeferre? you are the best. never leave me, because you are the best. the bestest.”
telling courfeyrac that he wishes they could friend-marry each other because really, friend marriage should be a thing, and courfeyrac is the best friend ever.
telling jehan, “you write so well. so, so well. your poems are so pretty? i don’t understand them but i can tell they’re pretty. but kind of sad? don’t be sad, jehan, you’re amazing. don’t let anyone tell you otherwise, they’re lying liars.”
and he remembers telling grantaire, in a moment of drunken eloquence, that he wanted to do a scientific study of how perfectly curly his hair was and running his fingers through it, and how pretty grantaire’s hands were, covered in colorful paint, and really, why did he have to be so sad at himself all the time? he’s so great. grantaire is so great. he’s just so great. he should like himself more, but until he can, enjolras can like him enough for the both of them. through his ramble, grantaire was just staring at him and smirking. every time he thinks about it now he’s absolutely mortified.
every time grantaire thinks about it he just smiles.