"Christ, Edgar, will you shut up?"

It was cruel, and I immediately regretted it, stumbling to feet and sucking in a sharp, pained gasp as I knocked my knee on the edge of the coffee table. Edgar was playing it off like it was nothing, just a party and an excuse for presents. In my mind, the few times I'd allowed myself to think about this, I was right there with him. We'd all shrug-- sure, it was a good idea. We'd go to City Hall, maybe, and that'd be that. An excuse for cake and a new microwave. No big deal.

But instead, it stretched out ahead of me, huge and looming, not because I didn't want it, but because I fucking did. With a humiliating twist in my gut, it hit me that I didn't want it to be a fucking joke. I didn't want it to be just a party and cake.

I stood there, red-faced and my hands hanging helplessly at my sides, looking to Grantaire for... something. For proof, maybe. For him to make it real beyond just a flippant suggestion spoken over the shitty Christmas movie playing with the volume turned low.

"You're serious," I murmured flatly, like a fucking idiot.