Why? What in the world good will that do you?
No one's stopping you from going out and getting one.
[Which is probably the right time to just. turn off his phone but. here he is typing again.]
Why do you only text me when you're drunk?
[Which is probably the right time to just. turn off his phone but. here he is typing again.]
Why do you only text me when you're drunk?
[Okay but so.]
Text someone else to come over, then.
Why do you only text me when you're drunk, R?
Text someone else to come over, then.
Why do you only text me when you're drunk, R?
Do you not even believe in sex enough to take control of your life?
[The wine has run out, the pizza is cold, and his mood has soured. Just because you're the embodiment of passion made real doesn't mean you get to pick apart his life whenever you want to without giving anything in return.]
"believe in sex enough" are you fucking high
Sex doesn't fucking change people.
"believe in sex enough" are you fucking high
Sex doesn't fucking change people.
It might. Anything might change a person. If inspiration to betterment had a formula, we'd be well farther along than we are.
About inspiration?
[--or, more logically:]
Or about sex?
[--or, more logically:]
Or about sex?
[Okay, so, it's gonna sound like Enjolras is calling.
Because Enjolras is calling.
Pick up and don't be a dick, R.]
Because Enjolras is calling.
Pick up and don't be a dick, R.]
[So that's something. Not much, but something.]
What do you actually want, hm?
What do you actually want, hm?
[He feels wretched, because while he'd like nothing more than for Enjolras to fuck off and drop whatever it is he wants to talk about, the fact is that Enjolras is paying attention to him and interested and that's better than nothing.]
Another bottle of wine would be nice.
Another bottle of wine would be nice.
Anoth--
[Everything crackles for a moment with the sharp rush of an exhale, the obvious shifting of weight on Enjolras's end. Grantaire can probably imagine the unhappy beginnings of an impulse to pace fretting through him.]
What does this-- do for you, exactly? All of this?
[Everything crackles for a moment with the sharp rush of an exhale, the obvious shifting of weight on Enjolras's end. Grantaire can probably imagine the unhappy beginnings of an impulse to pace fretting through him.]
What does this-- do for you, exactly? All of this?

Page 5 of 19