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Summary
“Penny for your thoughts?” Enjolras says, and it sounds more like a greeting than a demand, as natural and expected as breathing. Grantaire tries to act frustrated, but he is tired and it is late and there’s just too much fuzz around his vision to think clearly.
“Tired,” he mumbles, and Enjolras nods, and it’s enough for now.It's a game to him- pulling Grantaire's heartstrings taught and letting him teeter on the edge. Grantaire can't say he doesn't enjoy it.