[ He pauses, giving the question a brief amount of thought before responding with a soft smile. ]
Perhaps.
[ It's a vague answer, but it's difficult for him to say what the truth is. He won't allow himself to believe in the idea of magic, but he had felt something on the night of the gala. He's always felt a pull to Enjolras, though. That's the trouble. What had made this any different, beyond the fact that he had actually acted upon it? ]
How can one say truly, with all this talk of magic and of wine?
As many things can often be. How can one distinguish the difference between love and admiration?
[ Listen—he literally has no idea. ]
Or even at times, the difference between terror and admiration. They can be one in the same. Perhaps this was two things at once as well. Is it ever truly as simple as we wish it to be?
[ If Grantaire could stay on topic, they would probably argue with one another all day, but that’s just the thing. Grantaire cannot stay on topic. He veers off so wildly sometimes, it’s impossible to trace the conversation back to its origins. ]
I only make things as simple as life itself makes them, Enjolras.
Any other is bound to be a more agreeable man than me.
[ He halfway wishes he could agree, but he can't bring himself to lie to Enjolras. For as much as Grantaire reveres him, he should be able to muster up more for him than he does, but he just can't figure out how.
Still, he pauses, unwilling to let the conversation go just yet. ]
Ask me again. Ask me again in a month.
[ A month won't turn him into a believer, but maybe something can spark something in him. ]
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
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[ He can admit to that. He's made it obvious enough in all the time they've known one another, after all. ]
I do believe in you.
[ Grantaire, this is not the time. ]
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Perhaps.
[ It's a vague answer, but it's difficult for him to say what the truth is. He won't allow himself to believe in the idea of magic, but he had felt something on the night of the gala. He's always felt a pull to Enjolras, though. That's the trouble. What had made this any different, beyond the fact that he had actually acted upon it? ]
How can one say truly, with all this talk of magic and of wine?
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It is simple. Either it was magic, and something you've not experience before or it wasn't. I'd not have thought that hard to distinguist.
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[ Listen—he literally has no idea. ]
Or even at times, the difference between terror and admiration. They can be one in the same. Perhaps this was two things at once as well. Is it ever truly as simple as we wish it to be?
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A sigh-] Not the way you talk about it.
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I only make things as simple as life itself makes them, Enjolras.
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I'll find someone else to ask.
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[ He halfway wishes he could agree, but he can't bring himself to lie to Enjolras. For as much as Grantaire reveres him, he should be able to muster up more for him than he does, but he just can't figure out how.
Still, he pauses, unwilling to let the conversation go just yet. ]
Ask me again. Ask me again in a month.
[ A month won't turn him into a believer, but maybe something can spark something in him. ]