granxaire:

Grantaire throws out his arms and
bows like a jester welcoming praise
for his latest joke, though arguably
the only joke here is Grantaire’s life.

                           “Why Apollo, I could never be happy
                                 in the face of your absence.”

            ( And isn’t that the truth )

His fingers are white against the green
of the bottle in his hands when he is still
denied what little peace he so desperately
sought. Whoever let Apollo dole out the
punishments of Hades was an enemy of
Grantaire’s tonight.

                      "Then run off to your love, surely
                        you can find peace with t h e m,
                        if you cannot find it here.”

:: { ℑ⋅ℇ } ─ ─ ─ ::

             He bares his teeth in an approximation
          of a grin– a poor facsimile from all angles.

                                      ”Never would I count you as a
                                        liar, Grantaire. You’ve made your
                                        dissatisfaction with me known
                                        well enough.“ Honestly, it paints
                                        a picture worth a thousand words
                                        on the slopes of his face. But–

               ”Tell me this: when my love was
             Patria, you tell me I am not human,
              when I find comfort in a warm body,
           I am no longer worthy. What is it to you?“

               Enjolras may have said too much,
             it dawns like a hole at the bottom of
             a sinking boat and he finds himself
             sick at the bitterness of his own words.
             It’s the same one he hears in Grantaire.

                                               ( He cannot stop himself. )