by juxtaposition.

“A schedule for schoolwork and Les Amis. I’m terrible with most other things,” he corrected, his shoulders slumping slightly as Grantaire took the pastries. “I mean - I knew the date, I just forgot about the… implications…” Enjolras trailed off helplessly, knowing that his argument was weak - he had no excuse, he’d just fucked up. Truly. “–Not to hurt you,” he answered quickly. “And not to mock you - I just - I was being sincere, R. I actually - I really like you.” He was mumbling by the end, blushing a dark red.

“I don’t understand what you want from me,” Grantaire mumbled after a long silence, staring up at the blond with sad hopelessness in his eyes. “Tell me what you want me to say. Do you want me to reject you? I know you wouldn’t want to really be with me. Shit, I can’t stand to be with me and I have to. I can lie, tell you I don’t care? Maybe you’ll then get over me.”

Enjolras frowned and shook his head quickly, a bit relieved when Grantaire didn’t immediately scream at him or slam the door in his face. “No - I came to apologize. I didn’t know it was April first,” he said quietly, nervous and hating himself. Grantaire looked upset and it was all his fault. “I mean - I didn’t realize the date. I’m sorry. I know I hurt your feelings badly, but it wasn’t my intent. I, um…” He rocked on his heels a bit, realizing he didn’t know what else to say. “–I brought éclairs.”

Grantaire frowned, squinting dubiously at Enjolras. The man who lived by a perfect schedule, surely using at least three calendars, had lost track of the days? Unlikely. “You really expect me to believe you forgot the date? Enjolras, you live on a schedule,” he huffed, staring at him. “What was your intent?” he asked, taking the food from him though not letting him inside. Not yet at least.

happily married, so they say

“Yes, at my apartment, messy as it may be,” Grantaire snorted, crossing his arms. Sure, there were empty bottles of various alcohols everywhere as well as canvases and paints, but it was his home. And he wanted Enjolras in his home.

[text] Don’t be ridiculous, you can sleep in bed with me. You know I like cuddling.

[text] oh and then you’re going to complain how I hog the blankets

Anything You Can Do

“You don’t even know me. I s'pose you think all I do is sing and dance? I spend any time I’m not onstage making theatre more accessible.”

“At this point, I don’t want to know you, I think,” he snorted, shaking his head. “You just - you seem pretentious.”

Anything You Can Do

"If all the stars are like you, I don't want to go," he shrugged, pulling out his phone to send Courfeyrac a bunch of middle finger emojis.

Anything You Can Do

“You sound American,” he snorted, rolling his eyes and muttering something under his breath. “Wagner is not the only writer, you know. There are so many others. I’d name some, but I doubt you know them.” He smiled weakly. “Why do you not have a fully French accent? Is it because you have to sound as American as possible?” he hummed, crossing his arms.

“It’s because I’ve lived in New York for six years and can pick up a damn accent.” Granted, he did tend to have to sound American for the roles he liked. “Puccini? La Boheme and Madame Butterfly were both basis for modern musicals. They also involve little actual acting” He listed off a few others, finding faults with them as well.

"Assimilation is pathetic," he shrugged, sighing softly. "Mn, see, what I do is so good that what you do is based on it," Grantaire laughed, shaking his head, dark curls bouncing slightly. "I don't think you've ever been to an opera. You say these things about them, but you've never been. You've not seen the evolved versions, the personal twists everyone brings to the characters."

Anything You Can Do

"You sound American," he snorted, rolling his eyes and muttering something under his breath. "Wagner is not the only writer, you know. There are so many others. I'd name some, but I doubt you know them." He smiled weakly. "Why do you not have a fully French accent? Is it because you have to sound as American as possible?" he hummed, crossing his arms.

Anything You Can Do

Enjolras rolled his eyes and hummed a note in his upper register higher than most cis men could sing. “Just because I have a mic doesn’t mean I need one. Just because you don’t doesn’t mean you don’t need it.”

“I’m sorry, how long are your plays, again? How much of that is spent singing? Solo? Without even pit accompaniment?” Grantaire was quickly growing annoyed by this man. Opera was an absolutely gorgeous art form. Grantaire was an artist. “Trust me, I do not need a mic. Unlike you, I have a proper and strong diaphragm, I have room for air in my body.”

“I have plenty of room for air in my body.” he frowned. “Many a time. Often times though voices are drownt out by the music in opera.”

"Oh really? What opera have you heard where the singers were covered up? Never one I've been in. We work closely with the maestro and orchestra to ensure that the delicate balance is perfect. Oh, and how many foreigners are readily accepted into Broadway again? To star?" Grantaire scoffed. "The accent, by the way, is Greek."

Anything You Can Do

Enjolras rolled his eyes and hummed a note in his upper register higher than most cis men could sing. “Just because I have a mic doesn’t mean I need one. Just because you don’t doesn’t mean you don’t need it.”

“I’m sorry, how long are your plays, again? How much of that is spent singing? Solo? Without even pit accompaniment?” Grantaire was quickly growing annoyed by this man. Opera was an absolutely gorgeous art form. Grantaire was an artist. “Trust me, I do not need a mic. Unlike you, I have a proper and strong diaphragm, I have room for air in my body.”

Anything You Can Do

“Tenor is a term used in every circle, everyone knows what a fucking tenor is.” He rolled his eyes- how pretentious could one man be? “Have you done a tap number in the middle of one of your shows?”

“Mn, but a tenor who can sing into alto ranges?” he hummed, chuckling softly. Why had Courfeyrac done this? Betrayal, that was all Grantaire felt towards him. “I’m sorry, I can’t hear you. Maybe you need a mic.”

Anything You Can Do

“We perform while doing high energy dance routines in costumes that aren’t made for comfort.” he shot back. “And no one in New York understands singers at the Met. You sing ridiculous notes.”

“Oh come on, have you seen the outfits opera singers have to wear? I had to sing in armour once!” he scoffed, shaking his eyes. “I sing ridiculous notes, yes, it’s impressive really. I’m a tenor, specifically, not that I expect you to know what that means. We sing from the heart, though, and plenty of people understand.”