"Grantaire had heard him play Schubert, Chopin, Beethoven, Schumann, Liszt, Tchaikovsky and Brahms. Enjolras undoubtedly had a soft spot for the Romantics, their manner, music and expression. It seemed to fit him, the whole idea of romantic forlornness and desperation seemed to bleed into his music, offering his emotions without a spoken word. Played by a near angelic figure, Grantaire had almost started to believe in the power of music. Listening to Enjolras had shown him what it meant to catch an emotion through music, an insight that came to him through the nightly listening more than years of playing multiple instruments and listening to his mother had allowed him to realise. On the contrary, she had been the one to point out that music, the popular classics that was, ensured he had food to eat and clothes to wear. Music had been a means to earn money, not something played for fun late at night to calm a lonely soul in need of company. He thought about how Marius had founded multiple chamber music groups that practised and played for fun, how he had agreed to practise with Enjolras. He still was not sure whether he would enjoy their duets, sometimes it seemed like a waste of time and, in Enjolras’ case, waste of talent. There was nothing Grantaire could offer him when they played, he doubted they were good enough to perform and Enjolras was better advised to play with other music students, people on his own level of skill, rather than him, the washed up remains of a promising inheritance. He was wasting his time with a halfbaked hobby-musician like Grantaire. Even, if they played together, the difference between them was obvious. Every time he looked at Enjolras, he saw everything he hated about himself so much clearer. The brilliancy and grace with which Enjolras held himself seemed too bright, too perfect for anyone to compete with. Almost like the sun, Enjolras shone with radiating heat and whoever got close enough could either feel the warmth he granted them or burn. Combeferre and Courfeyrac, both stars in their own right, were able to coexist in close proximity to him but everybody else was in danger to end like the unfortunate Icarus, tumbling to their demise. Grantaire was sure that his wings had started to melt when he had first heard Enjolras play. Now, that he knew what a kind, passionate human being was hidden behind the musician, combined with how composed he seemed, he was more intimidated by Enjolras than when he had only known his piano play. Something about him demanded respect and compelled anybody looking at him to follow his words. A dangerous gift, Grantaire thought, as his mind seemingly raced. Enjolras would be able to raise an army just by standing at its front and speaking of the world to come. He was sure that Enjolras knew it as well, the way he moved, spoke and argued made it seem likely. It probably was the only thing Grantaire would not gladly accept about him, too much could potentially go wrong if Enjolras ever used this gift in a way other than the idealistic, future-making way he used it for at the moment, judging by what Jehan, Bahorel, Joly and Bousset had told him about the debate society." <--- Holy shit!!! Sorry for me taking the entire, huge paragraph, but this is art!!!!!! THIS! IS! ART!!!
I love this with my entire heart and soul!!! Thank you so much!!
Thank you for this extensive comment, I'll just respond to both in one, if you don't mind. Thank you so much, I do love your reactions dearly. It seems like I struck a chord there with you...
Comment on Nocturnal Acquaintances
charonean on Chapter 11 Mon 31 Dec 2018 05:10PM UTC
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edgy_fluffball on Chapter 11 Mon 31 Dec 2018 06:54PM UTC
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