Je suis farouche @nicolasgrantaire - Tumblr Blog

☤ – MISFORTUNE – Your muse has a terrible accident and barely survives.

Grantaire was reading when the screeching of tyres in the street outside his apartment drew his attention. A low curse was muttered as he got to his feet and headed over to the window, peering into the grey and drizzly sky for a brief moment before turning his gaze to the scene below.

A car. A mangled bike. Grantaire felt himself wince. Even from his top floor window, he could see that there was a lot of blood. And, as if the scene wasn’t horrific enough, the car only hesitated for a moment before speeding off down the street.

Just as well Grantaire had a photographic memory and was able to note down the license plate.

Cradling his phone between his ear and his shoulder as he rattled off the details to an emergency services operator, insisting on the need for an ambulance and a police response, he thundered his way down the six flights of stairs as quickly as he could manage. He needed to get as much information as possible so that he could relay it to the operator and…

“Shit…!”

It came out in a soft breath, sucked from his lungs as the impact of shock hit his chest.

“Combeferre…?”

He dropped to his knees by the mangled, bloodied body of his friend.

“Ferre? Combeferre, can you hear me?!”

antoinecombeferre

Combeferre had been late all day. Late to wake up, late to get to class and now, late to his internship at the museum. It wouldn’t be too late, just a few minutes, but he hated being late at all. they aren’t even paying you he reminded himself, but still his word was his word and he’d said he’d be there at three. Well, he was scheduled to be there at three but by taking the internship he’d as good as given his word that he would be there when they scheduled him.

He didn’t hear the car coming.

trash bins left in the bike lanes were one thing, cars parked in the bike lane were another and pot holes, well those were common enough as well. Combeferre was use to those, he could see a trash bin coming, he didn’t have to listen for a parked car, or worry about a pot hole coming up behind him. He kept to the bike lane as best he could, venturing out into the street when the sidewalks were crowded and he had to get around something. This was not one of those times. The bike lane was clear for three blocks ahead of him, it was a miracle.

or so he thought.

His first thought, when he hit the pavement was to be worried bout his bike, he had no idea where it was. Then the pain hit, his arm, his legs, his head, his head. he squeezed his eyes shut against the light, but it was a bright day. he tried moving his arm to cover his eyes but the pain in his arm only got sharper when he tried to move it, his other arm-

under his bike, perfect, now he knew where his bike was.

It was then he realizes someone was talking to him, he knew that voice. Slowly he cracked open an eye. yes, yes he did know that voice.

“R?” he closed his eye again, the sunlight hurt his head more than trying to move his arm had hurt. “can you call-” talking didn’t feel so great either. He took a deep breath, as much as he could, it didn’t seem fair that even breathing hurt, and thought that he’d defiantly be late for the rest of the day. He’d have to tell the museum later.