+granxaire

:: { ℑ⋅ℇ } ─ ─ ─ ::

                  He’s AWAKE early,
          ( or maybe he hasn’t slept yet–)
          but  you  find  him,  brushing  off
          unusually stubborn glitter from
          the couch with a frown upon his
          lips, eyebrows furrowed. a familiar
          sight  yet  in the  most  unfamiliar
          way. If he notices a secondary
          presence, he doesn’t show it.

                                        ( The laptop’s on the coffee table,
                                        displaying pages of financial records.
                                        Searching for discrepancies isn’t his
                                        job but he’s determined– and when
                                        Enjolras gets it in his head to do something,
                                        there’s not much anyone can say about it. )

               "We’re gonna be finding glitter
           for weeks,“ he says in that tone that
           makes people jump up and do their
           jobs, any job, for fear of his ire. Those
           icy blues bear into Grantaire like it’s
           his fault even if it isn’t. Enjolras, for
           all his rough edges, is too soft on his
           friends. Goddamn Courfeyrac.