e/r 11 o/
11. “I almost lost you” kiss
…I guess we’re doing July 1830 minific!
Someone is knocking on Enjolras’ door. No, not knocking,
pounding on it with growing ferocity. Enjolras braces himself and pulled
himself out of the chair where he had collapsed the night before. If it is the
police, better to be taken standing like a man than cowering like a dog. But
when he opens the door he finds only Grantaire, fist raised to bang on the
door again.Grantaire looks at Enjolras with wild, desperate eyes. “You’re
alive.” He takes in a shuddering breath and sinks down to his knees. “You’re
alive. I thought – I feared – I saw a body in the street and was too much a
coward to look closer. It is all have seen in my mind since. My memory gave it
your build, added every detail of dress and color to make it you. If it had
been – but no. It was some other fellow who has lost his Enjolras, some other
mother who has lost her son and child who has lost his brother. They must
grieve so I do not.”Enjolras tentatively puts out his hand, not knowing what to
do. Grantaire grasps at it like a drowning man reaching for a tether.“I am alive,” Enjolras repeats back to him. As rough and
hard as Grantaire seems, his heart is as gentle as Combeferre’s – and without the
steel of Combeferre’s convictions. He is suddenly glad Grantaire was not with
them for the last night’s action. He has no place in the business of killing
and dying for tomorrow; he lacks the faith that would turn the terrible into
the sublime. What Enjolras can endure would break Grantaire.Grantaire brings Enjolras hand to his mouth and tenderly
kisses it, like a pilgrim kneeling before a saint. “I will never leave you to
fight without me again. I cannot bear it. Whatever happens I will be by your
side. I swear it.”“No,” says Enjolras. It comes out sharper than he intends; a
rejection of Grantaire himself rather than an act of compassion.Grantaire keeps hold of Enjolras hand and looks into his
eyes, steady and calm at last. “You will see.”
I love this