I spoke with Combeferre on the phone yesterday, and Courf the day before. [Severe is a tone he can still manage, and he avoids guilt because he doesn't do guilt. (He knows, though, that both his friends would be horrified to see the state of his apartment, his fridge... probably him.)
But it can't have been two weeks since R was throwing up at the other end of his phone.
His forehead furrows, he stares into the middle distance as he thinks through the days. He'd had the report due, got that done as well as the work Combeferre was supposed to do but couldn't because he was sick. Then he'd picked up some research to do for his professor, which he was getting done now alongside his own studies and all the usual work for the student paper and reports to write for the student advocacy group. And maybe it has been two weeks after all.
But it's all so important.] Look, it's just for a few weeks. Professor Lamarque asked me to to help him. [He'd mentioned it, but Enjolras had fought to be the one picked.]
[ In a way, this feels oddly familiar. Perhaps too familiar, despite how different they are from one another. Grantaire has never been an ambitious man. He’s certainly never been as ambitious as Enjolras, who is currently so ambitious that everything else has fallen by the wayside in favor of his studies. Grantaire has, however, been in a place where everything has fallen by the wayside, and nothing has been important. He’s been there many times. It isn’t a good place to be, and to him, this is bordering dangerously close. He doesn’t want Enjolras to be anywhere near to that point.
One last time (for now, at least), he lets his gaze linger on Enjolras, on the dark shadows and the sallow skin. He shakes his head, then pushes back from the table to stand. For a moment, it seems as though he might be headed for the door, but instead, he stops near the sprawling mess of books and papers. ]
Which books are you finished with? Point them out to me. Just the ones on the bed. And tell me where you’d like them moved to.
[ Before he even glances over his shoulder, he’s certain he already knows which expression will greet him: another attempt at a scowl, probably mixed with some confusion. ]
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I spoke with Combeferre on the phone yesterday, and Courf the day before. [Severe is a tone he can still manage, and he avoids guilt because he doesn't do guilt. (He knows, though, that both his friends would be horrified to see the state of his apartment, his fridge... probably him.)
But it can't have been two weeks since R was throwing up at the other end of his phone.
His forehead furrows, he stares into the middle distance as he thinks through the days. He'd had the report due, got that done as well as the work Combeferre was supposed to do but couldn't because he was sick. Then he'd picked up some research to do for his professor, which he was getting done now alongside his own studies and all the usual work for the student paper and reports to write for the student advocacy group. And maybe it has been two weeks after all.
But it's all so important.] Look, it's just for a few weeks. Professor Lamarque asked me to to help him. [He'd mentioned it, but Enjolras had fought to be the one picked.]
no subject
One last time (for now, at least), he lets his gaze linger on Enjolras, on the dark shadows and the sallow skin. He shakes his head, then pushes back from the table to stand. For a moment, it seems as though he might be headed for the door, but instead, he stops near the sprawling mess of books and papers. ]
Which books are you finished with? Point them out to me. Just the ones on the bed. And tell me where you’d like them moved to.
[ Before he even glances over his shoulder, he’s certain he already knows which expression will greet him: another attempt at a scowl, probably mixed with some confusion. ]
Please don’t argue. It isn’t anything strange.