Northern_Lass
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It was safe to say the scotch was not sitting well in Grantaire's stomach, but that could have been for a multitude of reasons. The fact that Eponine’s father was dead. The fact that she was sitting in a jail cell. The fact that Enjolras was sitting, dripping wet, in Grantaire’s client chair. The writing was on the wall: this would be crossing the line between professional and personal. He would be ruining the boundaries he had carefully set up between he and Eponine. He would be bulldozing the wall he had spent years constructing between him and Enjolras. It would be messy.
Correction: it would be a complete fucking mess.
“I’ll start tomorrow,” he said.
Bookmarked by Northern_Lass
08 Feb 2021