kernow | ➳ i am a ghost, just a mirage

[ R scoffs in reply, draining half the flute of champagne with a rather refined manner and sucking his teeth. ]

I would never use the word “slumming it,” but you looked genuinely amazed I could pop open a bottle without letting it fly into someone’s head.

[ He laughs sourly, remembering that it... did happen at one point. That was a good first week. ]

You’re not an “everyday” person. Don’t take it as an insult, either, and let me finish before you counter me. Yes I know you want to. I also know I don’t deserve you for even— Oh. Hey, Mel. Been a while.

[ The previously ready-to-dig in brunette clears his throat and smiles, ordering an appetizer for them to split after making sure it’s okay with E and the sever walks back the way she came, ponytail bobbing. ]

[Enjolras waits until Remi’s coworker departs to respond in kind, scoffing with indignation.]

I wasn’t trying to comment on your job, not that there’s anything even lesser about being in the service industry; I was just surprised that—[He cuts short, taking a moment to clear his throat in embarrassment.] ...that you could do that with such easy precision. It was very attractive.

[ Grantaire’s continuation of his explanation of why E should probably go back to his money world dies when he realized where Enjolras was going with that. The flush in his cheeks isn’t from the champagne, but he looks past Enjolras out the window as he finishes the glass quickly. ]

Oh. Even a broken clock is right once or twice a day, I guess.

[ He pours himself more champagne with a sigh. The necked bottle in his hand makes him flinch as he gets déjà vu from the deprecation and imagery. Maybe reincarnation did him fuck all good, if he’s still the same degenerate who can’t appreciate what he’s been given. ]

I see why you wondered why I was uncharacteristically charming before, huh?

[Enjolras takes a sip of his champagne, waiting for the other shoe to drop. He doesn't ever seem to know what to do when Remi is like this, flitting between argumentative and self-deprecating.]

I'm just not used to you...catering to people's self-image like that? You always seem ready to challenge convention, not cater to other's idealism of what the world is like. [And yes, he does recognize the irony of what he's saying.] But I understand the economic realities of it.

Thats a nice way of admitting you don’t know everything about me.

[ R smiles wryly and drinks more champagne, his lips drawn into a line as he looks back at Enjolras. He clears his throat and tries to turn it back into a date with what he hopes comes off with less bite. ]

Which Rémi do you prefer, then?

[Normally Enjolras would rise to the barbs, snap at him and his frankly shit attitude on this candle-lit dinner. But he really, really wants this to work, so much so it surprises him; so he breathes slowly, thinks through his response:]

No, you're right, I don't; we've only known each other, what, a couple of months? But that's what I'm trying to work through. So why don't you tell me instead of sulking in your drink? I don't "prefer" anything-- I just want to understand what's you and what's just you putting on what you think people want to see.

[ Grantaire winces, almost visibly but mostly into the flute he’s holding close for another drink. He waits so long to come up with an appropriate response that a plate appears from Mel topped with beautiful and delicate looking savory tarts.

His mind wanders back to far before the last few months— to weeks of talk and planning and research and demonstrations to crowds trying desperately to rally the people before they took their final stand that June. R remembers the men- boys. The young, fearlessly hopeful men who allowed the drunken cynic to sit in. They allowed him to gaze at the leader, listen to his words, wait for that unwavering faith and surety that Enjolras vehemently pushed onto his followers to impress into the man who’d been stripped of all but the faintest and most basic of desires.

Rémi blinks and looks back at the young man, faking a deep breath. ]

I’m not much of anything. I honestly... don’t know what you would define as “me.”

[Enjolras huffs at yet another non-answer, running his fingers through his wavy locks in frustration. He then braces his chin on his palm, fingers forming cage bars over his lips as he considers Remi for several moments (the food, typical for Enjolras, is ignored in favor of this latest object of fixation).]

That's clearly not true, I wouldn't be here if it was. I...I think you're funny. An ass about it at points, but definitely funny. Ridiculously intelligent...witty? Intelligent and witty. Oh and artistic, with the way you...you know, how you see things.

[He's bad at this, always has been; where he's provided the fire and the drive to their causes, he's always felt disconnected from the community he's tried to engage with once he isn't speaking to the issues he cares so deeply about. He's always envied Courfeyrac in that sense; where Enjolras has always been able to engage a crowd, Courfeyrac has always outdone him in interpersonal communication, offering a level of compassion and emotional intelligence Enjolras could only hope to emulate one on one.]

You're also definitely pessimistic...unjustly self-deprecating...cynical. God, so cynical. But then...you can be so kind, when you don't let that sink into you. It's like some moments you fight it, and others it just takes you over. I don't get it...

[ Grantaire feels the stubble on his face while he looks back at Enjolras piteously. With a swallow, R hears the sound of trampling feet on wooden stairs in his would-be memories; he wakes from a daze— and responds to the man in front of him with another drink from his glass. ]

How does my “artistry” and “wit” compare with someone who thinks he can change the world with sheer force of passion and optimism? [ He cocks his head, pouring a se— a third glass of champagne not liking that the bottle is now half empty. Half full? No. Half empty. ]

I cannot be enough for you. I’ve tried to reconcile it. I've tried to put on what I wish I could be like [ gesturing at the atmosphere around him with a sad, forced smile— ] for you. You are more than I could ever be. You are a reason to believe there’s good in the world. Where does that leave being funny and smart? I—

[ He swallows again, his Adam’s apple jerking in his throat. R extends his hand across the table past the aperitif. His mind’s eye conjures a sweaty and trembling hand with a pale, gun powder covered, but steady hand grasping it. Rémi’s hand shakes and he starts to pull it back, feeling small. ]You can say that but believing it is harder for me. All the same, I just—

[ R looks down at the tarts, trying not to be an idiot and get glassy eyes while his eardrums vibrate. ] I need to be something to you. So- [ So I can be something to me. ] So thank you.

Edited (let’s tone that down a bit. ) 2020-02-09 23:34 (UTC)

[Enjolras reaches out to that hand and grasps it before Remi can get away, riding out the inevitable memories he knows now comes with that specific form of contact-- (The Man and him alone in the Corinthe, the former just reaching out to trace the outline of his lapel before retreating; Joly and Bousset's boisterous laughter as The Man grabs the matron's shawl, acting out a rendition of Enjolras as a vestal virgin, tending the fire of liberty; "You don't believe in anything", "I believe in you") He stares him down, pure fire in his eyes, trying to will Remi into believing his own convictions.]

You are "enough" because I say you are. Don't deprecate yourself or my decision to want you. It's not going to change, so...deal with it.

“Deal with it?”

[ He rotates and grabs to squeeze the hand that caught his, a smirk playing at the melancholic expression as though fighting to make itself known. ]

I applaud you for eloquence and passion and that’s the best you’ve got for me?

[Whatever willpower Enjolras was hoping to impart, it seems to have backfired on him; he turns slightly pink in the ears, but doesn’t let go of Remi’s hand.]

Shut up, I mean it. I’ve been honest with you as soon as I figured out I wanted to kiss you instead of punch you. [ The second part still very much exists but it doesn’t really add to ENJOLRAS’ pint right now.] And I get you have some...baggage or something, and you’re working through that. If you want to tell me at some point, great. But I’m not going anywhere, so you’re just going to have to believe I want to hold your hand, fuck you into that wall behind us, grab coffee with you, all of it, whether you like it or not.

[ It was R’s turn to get rosy skin- in his ears and beneath the fine stubble below his cheekbones. He mouths a response and thanks god for small, dainty tables— then pushes the chair back quietly, stands and leans over, freeing his hand from Enjolras’ just to grab his tie and encourage the damned idiot to meet him a few inches and kiss him square.

R lingers for a moment but loosens his hold and then pulls back. With a smile, a genuine one, he grabs a tart and cuts into it with the same bemused expression. Motioning with his fork, he speaks before he takes a bite. ]

They’re excellent, by the way.

➳ i am a ghost, just a mirage

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject