granxaire:

He laughed at that, because okay, yeah,
Joly was merely unique while surrounded
by their little happy murder family. Okay
then. Grantaire shook his head. They all
had their issues, all had their own brands
of crazy. Lord knew Grantaire had no place
calling the kettle black.

“I don’t wreck cars,” he argued. "Not once
has one of our wrecks been my fault.” More
often it was the fault of the people with guns
they were avoiding or trying to kill. See why
Grantaire hates car chases? He gets blamed
for them.

Grantaire lowered the window a bit and made
himself comfortable. "And deprive you of my
glorious commentary? Not a chance,” he said
as he lit up a cigarette. Unlike Enjolras, some
of them had remembered to sleep last night.

:: { ℑ⋅ℇ } ─ ─ ─ ::

             ”Sure– blame everyone else.“
         He’s– teasing isn’t the right word. It
         denotes familiarity but what else is it
         between them if not the stone set of
         routines? There are cues, starts and
         stops that shape this partnership to
         be entirely theirs and after the– after
         that fight– Enjolras finds himself in a
         unique position to decide what holds
         and what gets thrown into the past.

                                                    (    this— teasing,  stays.   )

         His  feet gun  the accelerator  just a 
         little bit  as they overtake  the car in
         front of them and it’s smooth sailing
         no traffic in sight. It calms something
         in Enjolras, allows him to engage in
         conversation even if said conversation
         is him rolling his eyes, glancing over
         to see– and hear– Grantaire over the
         whoosh of the wind. ”Oh, how will I
         live,“ he deadpans, switching gears. 

                                       ”The sound of silence will be my only friend.“