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The night before his execution, Louis Antoine St. Just dreams. The dream calms him before his final descent into nothingness.
In the dream, Robespierre has pushed St. Just down onto a tavern bed. The simple moss-green jacket that suits Robespierre so well lies crumpled on the dirty wooden floor. His white shirt is unbuttoned, revealing a pale chest underneath the tie around his neck. St. Just’s heartbeat is loud— loud enough that he hears the steady rhythm in the back of his brain, a badump-badump-badump that drowns out his thoughts.
Focusing on the beat speeds it up further, so Antoine settles on admiring Robespierre’s delicate features— the shadow of his long eyelashes falling on deep, melancholy eyes, the way his messy hair frames his face, lips forming an absent o-shape. A beautiful face that reflects beautiful ideals. Antoine sighs at the sight.
Although Robespierre smiles back at him in response, his eyes seem to reflect nothing. St. Just’s blood runs cold as realization dawns on him.
“It’s a dream isn’t it?”
Robespierre doesn’t answer.
“I wish this wasn’t a dream.” He announces loudly. Pathetic. He tries to kiss the other man, but he finds he doesn't allow himself to, even in his thoughts. It’s for the better, St. Just lets himself think. His love for Maxim isn’t the type of love that should end with a wet dream.
End.
He thinks about the word, about how soon it’ll come for both of them. He’d never thought about how his-- no, their reign would end. Mainly because it had all happened so quickly. Because he still remembered the first time Robespierre looked at him with that unbridled fear in his eyes, yelling incoherently about terror and guillotines as if it was yesterday. Robespierre had truly needed him, someone to justify everything he said. Antoine was surprised at how easily he got used to the blood on his hands, how far he’d gone for Robespierre in the four years he’d loved him.
“Maxim? Maxim. Maxim.” St. Just musters out. His voice feels dry. Hoarse. Dream Maxim cocks his head a little, confused. St. Just averts his eyes, even though he knows it’s all in his mind.
“Maxim, I… I longed you from the day I first saw you.”
He winces as he senses Maxim nod in the corner of his eyes. He feels… He feels like a fool, confessing to his idol in his dreams, like some love-crazed teenager— but he is still 26, after all. He can’t help indulging sometimes.
“You were beautiful, as you addressed the civilians in the streets, confidence radiating from you. I was saved by you. You gave me a purpose. You drew me in. You changed me with your words.” Words spill out of St. Just’s mouth, like water streaming out of a pierced seal-- trickling until it’s not, until it’s an unstoppable force. Like the revolution itself, gaining traction until it had a will of its own.
“I was aimlessly wandering through the streets of Paris, and your eyes met mine. You smiled at me, and it was all it took. That’s what ruined me.”
He turns to face Robespierre once more. The man gives St. Just a concerned look, a look of pity that St. Just knows all too well.
“But you were cruel. You really are as heartless as they say, Maxim. Your kindness– it’s for everyone. No one is special in your eyes.”
“And still, when you die, I'd die with you. I’d give my last breath to you." St. Just's voice falters as the gravity of his words catches up to him.
"...I’ll be with you in life, and in nothingness.”
St. Just takes Maxim’s hands and wraps them around his neck. He traps Maxim’s hands with his, so that they don’t move. So that Maxim can’t move so that they're stuck together like a twisted statue. He gasps as Maxim’s fingers press into his skin, and the hypothetical pressure builds up.
“...Why?” He hears Maxim say as everything goes dark. Why? St. Just wonders too, why he’s dedicated his entire life for a man he knows could replace him easily, someone who’d sigh in relief if he disappeared.
Antoine feels himself falling, spiraling into darkness as the thought engulfs him.
.- .-.. .-..
..-. --- .-.
.-.. --- ...- .
“Citoyen St. Just— it’s time for your execution. ”
It’s because you gave me purpose , he thinks before the sunlight streaming into the cell washes his dream away.