granxaire:

               It’s not pretty
                              and it’s not good
                                             and it makes it hard for Grantaire to breathe
                                                  for entirely different reasons than usual.

( He wants to hate him and he still can’t.

                              Even when the sharp edges of his smile
                                      make broken glass seem kind. )

His smile is tight when he raises the glass
again before he downs it. He barely tastes
the liquor, but fancy that it was his.
                              At least that’s one thing that
                                  went as planned tonight. 

:: { ℑ⋅ℇ } ─ ─ ─ ::

           Enjolras tips back the rest of his
        drink, responding to the challenge
        without missing a beat, feeling the
        toxic burn in his throat down to his
        stomach and he wipes his lips.

          Something akin to GUILT crashes
        over him like a wave– a trainwreck
        of regret running over him. Enjolras
        has to avert his gaze, look away.        

                                            “Excuse me." 

          ( he needs to throw up. )