"Jean Prouvaire!"
Daniel burst in through the door, cheeks tinged pink with exertion. "Prouvaire, do you have--" Suddenly he stopped. Glanced around. Almost slipped back out through the door, but, hesitating, lingered for just a moment.
Jehan was sprawled on his bed, one leg bent at the knee, foot hovering, the other leg straight. A pen was gripped in his hand but his head was cradled in the nook of his other arm, the posture of resignation, hair drooping out of its burgundy ribbon. Daniel would have thought him asleep, had he not -- with a sudden, convulsive movement -- jotted down a word, only to hastily cross it out a moment later.
As silently as he could, Daniel withdrew, hearing the door click shut behind him. His question could wait; what he had seen was a poet chasing after his rampant muse.
Daniel burst in through the door, cheeks tinged pink with exertion. "Prouvaire, do you have--" Suddenly he stopped. Glanced around. Almost slipped back out through the door, but, hesitating, lingered for just a moment.
Jehan was sprawled on his bed, one leg bent at the knee, foot hovering, the other leg straight. A pen was gripped in his hand but his head was cradled in the nook of his other arm, the posture of resignation, hair drooping out of its burgundy ribbon. Daniel would have thought him asleep, had he not -- with a sudden, convulsive movement -- jotted down a word, only to hastily cross it out a moment later.
As silently as he could, Daniel withdrew, hearing the door click shut behind him. His question could wait; what he had seen was a poet chasing after his rampant muse.