granxaire:

The thing about Dionysus was
that he understood the balance
of his nature. He could be revelry
or chaos. All too often, Grantaire
fell straight into chaos.

                        Especially under the gaze of his Apollo.

            Where was the balance they were
            supposed to bring? Rational and
            irrational. Reason and chaos. They
            were supposed to compliment one
            another. And yet here they were, as
            impossible as ever.

His laugh is bitter, sweet wine turned
to vinegar. “They sent me to find you
on my way out,” he said.

                 ( You’re not the only one who could lie, Apollo. )

            "Go on then, Apollo.”

:: { ℑ⋅ℇ } ─ ─ ─ ::

                                                        ”That glad to be rid of me, eh?“

           He doesn’t falter. Gods, don’t falter
       but dear, darling, Enjolras, you are not
       a God anymore. Humanity resides like
       toxic in your stomach, like bitterness in
       your v e i n s  and you will finally realize
       being bested is UGLY. 

                                            Defeat sits like an anvil on his shoulder.

          But he carries it to the finishing line,
       stubborn like a mule, unwilling to give
       in, to let an inch when he has miles
       ahead of him. He turns his nose in the
       air. ”They can wait. It’s too loud inside.“

                                            It’s too loud in his head, thump goes
                                          the heat that speeds up in his ear, a
                                          bass drum where it rips out of his rib-
                                          cage but Enjolras   t u r n s   a w a y .