granxaire:

                                Yeah, thirty was probably asking
                                for a few more deals with god than
                                Grantaire was willing to make, but still.
                                He wasn’t going to ring death’s doorbell.
                                                Well, no more than he already did.

                Enjolras’s silent approval isn’t overlooked.
                He smirks and takes a sip of his coffee, as
                black as Enjolras’s is sweet. Of course he
                follows. He argues for the sake of it, because
                he doesn’t agree with the whys and the passion,
                but he always follows.

“You want me to believe you haven’t already
contacted them about this?” If the news had
come while they were travelling, sure, maybe
he’d believe it. But there wasn’t a chance in          ( He had that look in his eye. 
hell Enjolras hadn’t already contacted, at the                 Grantaire was no stranger
very least, Combeferre.                                                          to the many looks of
                                                                                                     a scheming Enjolras. )

                                On the way to Paris. How very convenient.
                                A mark coming to them. "It’s something all
                                right,” Grantaire says, ever skeptical. "Going
                                to go out on a limb and say you’ve already
                                memorized his schedule from the moment
                                he gets in.”

:: { ℑ⋅ℇ } ─ ─ ─ ::

            Maybe that’s why it’s so infuriating.
         To know that Grantaire is always close
         at his heels– to have him just one and
         a half steps behind without knowing
         why. Why devote yourself if you believe
         in nothing? Why give yourself away?

                                                           ( Maybe he already knows.
                                              Maybe he just can’t admit he does. )

             There’s a warm flush to his cheeks
           but it’s not easy to see, light coffee
           skin hiding the spreading pink. He’s
           caught out– but. ”They haven’t got
           back to me yet. It’s EARLY still,“ he’s
           quick to reply. You don’t say, Enjolras. 
           Combeferre’s at Toulouse with Feuilly.
           Courfeyrac’s at Geneva. They have
           their leads but if this one pans out, if
           they get the Senator here, everyone
           will converge and their headquarters
           won’t feel as  e m p t y  anymore. 

                                                    ( It’s this thought that thickens
                                              his skin, turns him unapologetic as 
                                           he matches Grantaire, gaze for gaze. )

             ”Why let him walk through the front
           door?“ It’s the best chance they have.
           He’ll be tired from the travel, his security
           will be minimal– "Unless you have a
           better idea.” With a wave of the hand, he
           offers Grantaire to look through the file
           Courfeyrac had sent him with intel Bahorel
           collected. It’s the next tab, just in case
           you missed it.