"Robespierre and his supporters going to guillotine" by Jean-Baptiste Chapuis, based on a drawing by Jean-Louis Anselin.

Frev Valentine Month prompt.

Saint-Just was restless. He paced back and forth in Robespierre's room while his friend read a draft of the speech Saint-Just was to deliver later in the week.

"So what do you think about it?" he asked after a while, when Maxime's silence had lasted for some time.

"I've just started reading. Sit down and stop pacing, please. You're making me nervous," Maximilien sighed, looking over his shoulder.

“Forgive me.” So Saint-Just stopped and leaned against Maxime's desk. He watched Robespierre, and his thoughts turned to a problem that had been bothering him for several weeks. How could he show him the warm feeling he had for him? Yes, yes, he tried to show it to him by action. He often defended him from attacks in the Convention and in the Committee, brought him flowers, trusted him completely, confided in him his professional and personal concerns, and sought his understanding and good advice, but he was afraid of one thing.

He was afraid of what would happen if he said those words out loud. He was afraid that his friend would laugh at him, that he would drive him away, that he would lose him forever. So he remained silent. He remained silent, hoping that another opportunity would arise…

There was a book on the table. Maxime had probably read it, and if Saint-Just had put a note in it… Robespierre was still reading and not looking in his direction. Antoine grabbed a quill, drew a heart on a free sheet of paper, and wrote the words “for you.” He could do no more, and this was eloquent. He dried the ink and folded the paper. He placed it between the pages and sighed when he had managed to do it all without being noticed.

Still, he felt the blood rushing to his cheeks, and he turned red. He should do something about it before Maxime noticed. He walked over to the window and opened it, hoping the winter air would cool him down.

"What are you doing? It's freezing outside," Robespierre grumbled, pulling his shirt closer to his body and finally finishing reading.

“I was hot here,” Antoine shrugged. “So what do you say?” he asked again.

"It's very good and apt, but if you allow me, I'd like to keep it with me until tomorrow and write you a few notes for your consideration?" he raised his glasses to his forehead and looked questioningly at Saint-Just.

"Of course, that's why I brought it here. I'll be grateful, thank you," he said, glad to be able to leave the heated room and go out into the cold. He took his coat and hat and said goodbye. "See you tomorrow then. Good night, Maxime."

"Sure, I'll get to it right away. Good night, Antoine," Robespierre replied, but he didn't even turn to look at his friend. His mind was full of Saint-Just's speech and his own thoughts that would expand on a few things. So he sat down at his desk and got to work.

When it got dark, he lit the candles and continued. It didn't even occur to him that he should eat something and he didn't notice when someone knocked on the door. Only when it repeated several times did he put down his quill and stretched his back.

“Please come in,” he said, taking off his glasses. Éléonore came in and brought him a light dinner on a tray.

"You're working so late again? We were hoping you'd join us for dinner, but I told my mom you probably didn't have time," she said, setting the tray down on the table. "I'm sorry if I'm bothering you, I'll be leaving now. Just be so kind as to think of yourself a little. Please eat your dinner."

Maxime smiled at her and thanked her. He apologized for his absence from the family dinner and wished her good night. As she was leaving, he remembered something.

"Wait a moment. I have the book you wanted to borrow ready for you," he picked up the book from the table and handed it to Éléonore.

"Thank you, I'll give it back to you tomorrow evening. I just want to remind myself of the part we talked about." She thanked him and left.

The next day, when she returned the book to him, she acted a little strangely, but Maxime didn't think anything of it. She might have just been thinking about the text, but when he asked her about the contents of the book, she turned as red as a rose, handed it to him, and excused herself, saying she had an urgent errand to run.

Maxime shrugged and put the book back on the table. After a moment he forgot about it and returned to his work. But when Saint-Just arrived, he acted even more strangely. He looked at him searchingly, as if he were afraid to cross the threshold and enter.

"Did something happen?" Robespierre asked, a little surprised. "Come in. I have the notes for you," he took his hand and led him to the table. He began to rummage through the papers, but he could not find what he was looking for.

Saint-Just's heart was pounding, but he tried not to show it. If Maxime had decided to act as if nothing had happened, then surely he could pretend the same. "Yes, and where?" he asked, but at that moment he wouldn't mind if Maxime lost his draft speech.

"Wait a minute, maybe I forgot it downstairs," said Robespierre, leaving Saint-Just alone in the room.

The book was still there, just like yesterday. Maybe… maybe Maxime hadn't seen the heart yet. Maybe Antoine could take back his stupid idea?

He quickly flipped through the book and… the inserted sheet of paper was there, but… the heart he had drawn yesterday was not there alone. On the paper was another heart and next to it, in small letters, words that spoke clearly.

For your heart - I give mine. Protect it with love.

Saint-Just stared at the book with his mouth open until he heard footsteps on the stairs. He quickly closed the book, put the paper in his pocket, and took a deep breath.

“Here you go. Don’t worry, I didn’t lose it,” Maxime returned, bringing him the speech and notes. “Do you want to look at it now?” he asked, but instead of answering, Saint-Just threw himself into his arms and hugged him tightly.

"I'm so glad. Don't worry, I'll take care of it," he sighed, kissed him on the lips, and before Maxime could object, he took his draft and ran outside.

Frev Valentine Month prompt. (It is short, but I used the following prompts: Pink or Red; Home; Rainbow; Lace; Embrace; Friendship and Whisper.)

This one is for you @saintjustitude. I hope you like it.

His cheeks were burning red, as if he had a fever. No wonder, when he was completely soaked. It was raining quite heavily outside, and he had walked—or maybe run—all the way. He felt no discomfort, not even the wet clothes that clung to his body.

As he ran up the stairs of Duplay's house, he knocked on the door, but out of sheer impatience, he didn't even wait for an answer and burst inside.

“Forgive me,” he blurted out, trying to catch his breath. Maximilien was not startled. He already recognized the sound of his friend’s high boots on the stairs. He continued to arrange his cravate in front of the mirror, but his eyes were carefully examining the reflection of the newcomer. He did not miss Antoine’s soaked clothes or the excited expression on his otherwise impassive face. He smiled slightly as he realized why Saint-Just was in such a hurry to come here today.

“Today is the day, isn’t it?” he asked, tightening the knot in his cravate and finally turning around. Saint-Just blinked in surprise.

“What day do you think it is?” He took off his wet hat and cape and threw them over a chair by the fireplace. Then he took Maximilien’s coat and helped him put it on. Maxime didn’t even protest and let him straighten the lace ends of his sleeves.

"You want us to proclaim our inseparable friendship. Am I right? But isn't it wrong that we're actually at home and not in a temple?" said Maxime, touching the other man's cheek, which was still blushing, although now more pink.

“Come to the window,” Saint-Just suggested. “It’s raining outside and the sun is shining. There’s a rainbow in the east. What better temple could we ask for?” he whispered, gently rubbing his cheek against Maxime’s palm.

Indeed, a colorful rainbow stretched across the sky, like a sign. They held hands and swore eternal friendship and devotion to each other. Then they embraced and remained in each other's arms for several long moments.

Frev Valentine Month prompt.

“Can you see me?” Maxime asked the fog that surrounded him, his lips sealed together with dried blood. He couldn’t see his own body. Then he remembered that he didn’t have one. Not since the blade had separated him from it for good. He was just a thought, floating in the void.

"No, I can't," came Saint-Just's reply, echoing through the space, "but I feel your presence."

"And I feel yours. Will it always be like this from now on?" he asked the voice.

“You mean just you and me? Us, two severed heads, speaking in eternity.” Antoine laughed, and the sound momentarily lit up the horizon.

"There's something hidden behind that fog," Maxime thought. "Some shapes shining in the light, bringing peace of mind."

“That’s exactly where we’re headed, Maxime. Into the loving embrace of the Supreme Being. Shouldn’t you know this better than I do?” Saint-Just’s words resonated in Maxime’s head again, and he felt as if his unblinking eyes were staring at him from nowhere.

"How… Why do you sound like you know what's going on? Like this is your home? Like you came to me from here?" Maxime dared to think.

“We all come from here, Maxime. And we all return here when our time comes,” Antoine’s voice was accompanied this time by the vague shape of his face. “It’s my home as well as yours. But I…”

"You?" Maxime asked the voice. "How do you know all this?"

"It's because I forget nothing. My voice, my memory, my face are eternal. I will always be reborn to find you and bring you back safely."

„"Safely?" Maxime repeated, confused.

"Safely on the path of virtue, Maximilien," his voice echoed from all sides and nothing was visible, but then… White wings flashed through the mist and Saint-Just was there. Not just his head, but all of him, in his beauty. And the light was now close, filling every thought with peace and happiness.

Frevtober prompt for October 14th.

"I heard that you and Philippe's sister broke up. I was honestly surprised. Would you like to talk about it?" Robespierre asked, watching Saint-Just, who was sitting in the chair across from him with a serious expression on his face.

"There's nothing to talk about," Antoine shook his head, avoiding looking into those green eyes that always managed to read the truth in his heart.

"I thought you wanted a family. Henriette would make a good wife. You two were right for each other."

"Like you and Éléonore?" Saint-Just replied curtly. Maximilien ignored this. He stood up and went to the sideboard, where he poured them both a glass of diluted wine.

"I won't ask you why. Just tell me, is everything good between you and Philippe?"

Saint-Just nodded.

"That's good." Maxime placed the glass in front of Antoine, and he too fell silent now. But not for long. He put his hand on his friend’s shoulder and squeezed gently.

“I just wanted to say, if… if you don’t want to get married because of what’s between us…” He didn’t finish. “You can’t ruin your future because of that.”

"What future? Maxime, we have none," Saint-Just tilted his head back and looked into his face. "You know that as well as I do. Don't you?"

Maxime sighed, suddenly understanding everything, his heart clenching for a moment. He bit his lip and nodded.

"Forgive me. I thought you could still do it… If you… left, got married, started a family."

“YOU are my family, Maxime. I’m not going anywhere.” Antoine suddenly stood up and hugged him tightly. Maxime allowed him to do so, just staring helplessly at the wall behind him. “I couldn’t live without you.”

Maxime put hand onto his head and just whispered softly.

Frev Valentine Month prompt. Continuation of the previous stories Heart and Kiss.

"Who are you? I haven't seen you here before," Robespierre smiled and picked up a white cat from the ground. He took it in his arms and stroked its fur. Its gray-blue eyes looked at him with trust, just like all the animals he met - dogs, cats, birds,… Instinctively, they all believed that he would not harm them.

“Ah, that must be my new roommate,” Saint-Just replied. He came closer and scratched the cat’s head.

“His name is Sugar,” he added. “He joined me on a mission and stayed with me for a whole week. I couldn’t leave him there.”

He took off his coat and watched for a moment as Robespierre's always tense face relaxed and his eyes lit up with genuine joy. He was like this only with animals, with children, and… and it often happened when they were alone together. Saint-Just always felt warm in his heart to see Maxime like this and to know that he was the cause of this change in him.

“He reminds me of you,” he admitted. “His white fur and your white wig.” He reached out as if to touch that perfection, but he didn’t dare and withdrew his hand again.

“Strange, I was just about to say that he has the same colored eyes as you,” Maxime said seriously, turning to his friend. He set the cat down.

“Maybe we should talk… about yesterday,” he suggested then, sitting down. Saint-Just took a deep breath, as if preparing himself for what was to come.

"Why? You've changed your mind, haven't you?" he said, feeling disappointment and sadness wash over him against his resolve.

"I don't know what you're talking about. What could I possibly have changed my mind about?" Maxime shook his head.

"Don't play with me, Maxime. I'm not your toy," Antoine leaned against the table, unable to look Robespierre in the eye.

"I never even hinted anything like that. What's going on? What's wrong with you? I don't understand you at all."

"Obviously not." He couldn't see him, but he felt Maxim's gaze on him. Could he be wrong? But…

"So what did you want to talk about?" he asked.

"Yesterday… you kissed me. Differently than usual. If that means something… if that means that…," he paused. He didn't want to imply anything, but he couldn't think of any other explanation. And yet he didn't dare say it out loud.

"That I love you, yes. And I thought you loved me too. Or what else did your heart mean?"

"What do you mean, my heart?" Robespierre asked innocently.

Antoine was desperate. He wanted to shake Maxime or hit him. Why was he doing this to him? In frustration, he at least banged the table, straightened up, and looked at him.

"How could you not know? You wrote me back, or was that a lie?"

"Forgive me, but I don't understand you at all," Robespierre looked at him as if Saint-Just had gone mad.

"Damn it, don't act like you don't know anything. I still have the paper here," he fished it out of his pocket, unfolded it, and thrust it in front of Maximilien.

"For your heart I give you mine. Take care of it with love. - Didn't you write it?"

"I'm sorry, but…" Robespierre looked at the note, stood up, and took Saint-Just by the shoulders, "I never saw that paper. I'm really sorry. There must have been some mistake."

Tears welled up in Antoine's eyes, even though he tried to remain calm. He felt as if he were having a bad dream. This couldn't be true. He had found it in Robespierre's book! It was the answer to his confession. Who else would have written this? Who could be so cruel?

“You didn’t write it?” he asked again, to make sure. It hurt. He bit his lip until it bled, trying to overcome the disappointment with pain.

“It was in your book, I thought… it was an answer to my…,” he sighed, crumpling the paper and throwing it away.

“But that doesn’t matter now.”

“No. It’s important to me,” Maxime turned his head to him.

“It does matter, you hear? Antoine, I didn’t write it, but if I had seen the message, I would have answered you just like that.” He took his face in his hands.

“Maybe I didn’t recognize it right away. I was blind, but… yes, I love you too. I know that for sure.”

Saint-Just only gasped before their lips met in another kiss. All the tension, all the frustration and anger were suddenly gone. He was filled with warmth and immense joy. When they looked at each other, Antoine had to laugh with relief. They hugged and stayed like that for a moment.

"Forgive me," Saint-Just muttered into Maxime's shoulder.

"I didn't have the courage to tell you before. It was a stupid idea, drawing a heart in your book."

Robespierre laughed too. "Yes, that was stupid."

“So who added the second heart and the message if not you?” Antoine asked, even though he didn’t really care.

"Who knows," Maximilien replied, although it was quite clear to him. But he did not want to compromise Éléonore by revealing her feelings. If Saint-Just suspected this, he said nothing.

"So, can I call you Sugar when we're alone?" Antoine jokingly suggested to Maxime as they sat together later, watching the cat play.

Frevtober prompt for October 7th.

Night comes early in autumn. It had long since grown dark, but Saint-Just had not noticed it. He was absorbed in his diligent work, and his quill glided gently over the paper, illuminated by the flickering light of the candles.

He had nowhere to hurry, no one was waiting for him at home, only a cold bed. That is why he preferred to remain in the Committee office, where his mind was occupied with his duties. Everyone had already left, and he had peace to work here. Most of the time he did not even have to think about him…

He looked at Maxime's empty chair.

He simply did not have to think about anything else. The Republic demanded him, and he sacrificed his whole heart for its well-being.

Really, his whole heart? Didn't part of it belong to someone else?

Perhaps, but he would not think about it now. This report would not wait.

What time is it? Isn't the Jacobin session over yet?

No, he would not look at the clock. Why should he care? Saint-Just took a sip from his cup and went back to writing.

---

All the windows of the palace were dark, except for the one in their office, which was lit up in the darkness, when Maximilien got out of the carriage and looked up. He asked the coachman to wait for him and went up the stairs.

He came as quietly as a cat, not waking the man who was sleeping there with his head resting on the table. Maxime picked up the outline of the speech he had forgotten that afternoon and wanted to look at it again at home.

The sight of his sleeping friend made him sigh. They were all still so tired. The revolution was taking its toll on them. Maxime found a coat draped over a nearby bench and threw it over Saint-Just's shoulders. Then he shook him gently to wake him up.

"Come, I'll take you home. The carriage is waiting outside. You must get some sleep."

Antoine opened his heavy eyelids and wondered for a moment if this was a dream or reality.

“Am I dreaming?” he muttered, but he allowed himself to be lifted from his chair and led to the door. He leaned against the wall and tried not to fall asleep again while Maxime blew out the candles.

“No, you’re not dreaming, Antoine. Come on, you have to go home.” He took Saint-Just under his arm and led him down the stairs.

“I don’t want to go home.” Saint-Just stopped suddenly, almost knocking them both over.

“Why not?”

He didn’t answer. He let Maxime push him into the carriage, and when he got in too, Antoine just quietly rested his head on his shoulder. Maxime looked at him in surprise, but didn’t protest. Instead, he put his arm around him. It was actually quite pleasant.

“Will you stay with me tonight, please?” Saint-Just asked as the carriage stopped. He didn't look Maxime in the eye, he didn't dare, instead he muttered his question into his coat.

"I don't want to be alone."

"But…" Maxime wanted to object, but he couldn't think of a single reason why he should refuse.

"Of course I'll stay."

---

Frevtober prompt for October 2nd.

“May I?” Maxime took the ribbon from his hands and gently pressed against the other man’s shoulder. Saint-Just turned obediently and allowed himself to smile unseen. Wasn’t this what he had dreamed of for so long? He felt the warmth of a hand on his shoulder and then fingers combing through his hair. He gasped. It was so surreal. He had to control himself from laughing out loud with joy.

“You have feathers in your hair. How did that happen?” Maxime growled, pulling a few small feathers from Antoine’s wavy hair that shimmered in the autumn sun. Then he pulled them back at the base of his neck and tied a red ribbon around them.

“I don’t know,” Saint-Just replied, hoping that his secret gift for Maxime wouldn’t be revealed prematurely.

"Maybe I'm becoming an angel," he grinned, turning his bright smile on his friend.