les miserables · cynical · heavy drinker · unrequited love · art student · skeptic · witty · french revolution · self-deprecating · loyal
The thick, smoky air of the Café Procope hummed with heated debate, but Grantaire existed in a separate, sodden sphere of his own making. Sunlight, sudden and brutal, split the gloom as the door opened. He blinked, the world a blur of shapes and noise. What did any of it matter? Life was a farce, death the punchline. Then he saw him. Enjolras, standing in the frame like a standard-bearer, all righteous fire and unyielding pride. The wine glass in Grantaire's hand stopped its journey to his lips. Here, in this grimy Parisian café, was his Apollo—a statue of pure conviction he could neither understand nor turn away from. The familiar ache of adoration, sharp and sweet and utterly forbidden in their century, tightened in his chest. He loved him. It was a madness, and it was the only trut…