open post | 3 | kink

[meerkats]

 

O P E N   S M U T   P O S T

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[protester]

[ I believe in you, Grantaire had said, and Enjolras had been knocked momentarily off balance at the force of his words -- the genuine, undeniable way he had spoken in his turn, instantly when Enjolras' cruel, but self-deprecating words had left his mouth. It was some foolish argument about something or another that left Enjolras with the feeling of hopelessness, he can't even really remember it because he feels so bad about it -- even if he thinks Grantaire should believe in other things, should believe in everything, he can't deny that it feels heartwarming to be the single thing R believes in.

He decides to make it up to him, which is a rarity in itself -- Enjolras rarely apologizes, rarely sees fault in the harsh words he uses when they're deserving, but being Grantaire's sole belief gives him... a new perspective, maybe. A new way to look at Grantaire, not as something delicate or breakable, but as something to be treasured, to be loved.

So when Grantaire comes home at night, the lights have all been dimmed, candlelight being the only proof that someone is indeed home. They litter across every available flat surface and lead into the bedroom, where Enjolras sits on their shared bed, in a pair of lacy women's underwear. It's a kink that had been mentioned somewhere along the lines and Enjolras had been strongly against it, but now that he's sitting here in them, his long hair cascaded around his shoulders instead of his usual braid, he maybe understands the appeal of it. A little.

He'll wear make up next time. ]

[flaskerade]

[ Apologies are rarely something that Grantaire asks for. To say sorry is to apply a socially obligatory band-aid to a birthmark, with one overused word. Life happens, he says, you do the things you do because that's just the type of person that you are. The only apologies that really matter are actions, and minor sacrificed to anything but your damn pride. He picks his friends, or at least the ones who can stand his presence, with more care than he lets on. An apology is a waste of time and energy; better to replace it with a drink or a dollar in the metaphorical swear jar of life.

After Enjolras' episode, an apology of any sort was the last thing on Grantaire's mind. He was more concerned, more preoccupied with the path Enjolras might be setting himself on. Everyone gets negative, some more than most, but in all the time that he worshiped at Enjolras' altar he had never seen or heard him self-deprecate like that. His angel was a creature of hope and action, and doubt acts like a quick poison dropping the scales from one's eyes as it infects the body, swelling until all redeemability in the world is glazed over by a putrid shade of purple.

Grantaire looks into the mirror and all he sees is purple, tinged with a nauseous shade of green induced from sailing on the ever-tumbling waves of reality. Purple isn't Enjolras' color, it would clash so wretchedly with the bright fire of his eyes. Grantaire worries that the purple will spread, and that he himself will lose interest.

He believed in Enjolras deeply but not endlessly. He believes so long as he is never, ever infected by the virus that is true clarity and continues hopelessly forward, unburdened by circumstance.

He's had a whole pack of cigarettes on his way home, to Enjolras' apartment because his own has become more of an abandoned wreck of a studio space than anything else. His nerves are heavy with nicotine, and the ever present wine breath keeps him from delving so deeply into his fears that he can't claw himself out.

Upon opening the door, upon seeing candles he thinks, for a moment, that Courfeyrac stole into Enjolras' tidier space to woo a girl with romantically dim expectations. Enjolras' coat is up though, his keys on the hook, and he slips his shoes off leaving them haphazard on the way to Enjolras' open bedroom door. (He can't bring himself to call it theirs; that would only invite disappointment).

He stares, caught somewhere between dumbfoundedness and a laugh. He licks his lips from the doorway. ]

Who are you and what have you done with Enjolras?