[ grantaire succeeds in spooking enjolras, but he hardly looks the part- only turning his head to meet him, lips set in a firm line. ]
[ it takes two second before he remembers. ]
[ remembers the reason why those blood stains are in grantaire's and his shirts- remembers do you permit it? as they clasped hands and the bullets shot through them, eight, enjolras distinctly remembers feeling eight different pierces that ache at the memory, but they aren't in pain. he feels nothing, honestly, but that's also completely untrue. because he's filled with one hundred different emotions he can't properly distinguish- one hundred different things he has to say, and yet nothing comes to mind. ]
[ grantaire. the little grantaire who begged for a chance and then gambled it away. ]
[ the little grantaire who died for what he believed in, beside what he believe in. ]
[ he's never hidden his disdain for the man before, but there's nothing if not a fond look on his face- either admiring grantaire or respecting, either filled with pride or adoration. either way, it's an attention he's not used to giving the older man, and it's certainly foreign, but it would feel misplaced to fake hate towards him. ]
[ how do you hate the man who held your hand as you died? really- enjolras would love to know how that could possibly be expected of him. ]
Grantaire. [ he nods. a smaller boy comes to plop down in enjolras' lap, and he wraps his arms around him, half a distraction to not reach out and try to hold grantaire's hand. ]
The braids are not staying.
[ the girl lets out a loud whine and tugs at his hair. enjolras feels ashamed for upsetting an angel. ]
no subject
[ it takes two second before he remembers. ]
[ remembers the reason why those blood stains are in grantaire's and his shirts- remembers do you permit it? as they clasped hands and the bullets shot through them, eight, enjolras distinctly remembers feeling eight different pierces that ache at the memory, but they aren't in pain. he feels nothing, honestly, but that's also completely untrue. because he's filled with one hundred different emotions he can't properly distinguish- one hundred different things he has to say, and yet nothing comes to mind. ]
[ grantaire. the little grantaire who begged for a chance and then gambled it away. ]
[ the little grantaire who died for what he believed in, beside what he believe in. ]
[ he's never hidden his disdain for the man before, but there's nothing if not a fond look on his face- either admiring grantaire or respecting, either filled with pride or adoration. either way, it's an attention he's not used to giving the older man, and it's certainly foreign, but it would feel misplaced to fake hate towards him. ]
[ how do you hate the man who held your hand as you died? really- enjolras would love to know how that could possibly be expected of him. ]
Grantaire. [ he nods. a smaller boy comes to plop down in enjolras' lap, and he wraps his arms around him, half a distraction to not reach out and try to hold grantaire's hand. ]
The braids are not staying.
[ the girl lets out a loud whine and tugs at his hair. enjolras feels ashamed for upsetting an angel. ]