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"I loathe you with every ounce of my being," Antoine complained, head pounding, arm thrown over his eyes as he lay prone on the bed, limbs sprawled and heavy.
"This is as much your fault as it is mine," the boy had the nerve to counter, from the opposite end of the room at the mirror. It was less out of vanity and more out of surprise.
Perhaps throwing the strange youth from the studio earlier in the week hadn’t been the kindest thing Antoine had done, but gamin were dirty and prone to theft, no matter how hard Grantaire rolled his eyes at him when he’d explained that. Of course, wishing aloud for the return of his youth, and R’s increased experience, probably had something to do with it as well.
They were now occupying each other’s bodies. Antoine didn’t like it.
"How do you survive like this?" He asked his student morosely. "Why do you drink yourself into this kind of pain?"
Grantaire finally returned to his side. Antoine didn’t know his body could move that way. It was both disturbing and arousing. “It is not that I drank too much last evening, it’s that you’ve yet to drink enough. My hands are shaking, see?” Lifting his wrist, Antoine could see he was right.
"That can’t be healthy," he muttered, changing the grip Grantaire had on him to pull the other man down. "Am I really that small?"
"And I’m really that large, yes. Strange, isn’t it, how-" Antoine kissed him to shut him up. When Grantaire ranted, at least his voice was pleasant enough to enjoy without paying attention to the words, but he found his own voice irritating for some reason now.
"I loathe you still."
"And I you."