It was a warm summer day. One that makes you itch with tension if you are not outside enjoying it. A breeze, soft as silk, was rustling the leaves. Lazy clouds floated low in the sky.
Sitting under a large oak Saint-Just admired the fine day. A petty thing to think of but one that couldn’t be helped. A bowl of cherries sat next to him. Dark purple almost black orbs in a glass bowl. Pits with bits of flesh still clinging to them littered the grass near by. Saint-Just's tongue darted out, licking the red smear from his lower lip.
Another breeze washed over him. Loosening his cravat he leaned against the tree, content for the moment to survey the milling couples along the riverbank. Twitters of frivolous conversations could be heard accompanied by occasional bouts of laughter and gay smiles.
A crunch of leaves alerted the young man to another's presence. "I didn't think you would come Citoyen Robespierre." He said without looking back. The silence told him more than any words, and Robespierre's resigned sigh let him know that the lawyer had debated this meeting on his way over. Most likely hemming and hawing internally about virtues and other vices that often occupied his mind.
"I'm here, would do you want?" Robespierre sat down gingerly next to his young friend.
"Nothing really. Cherry?" A passing hand negated the offer and Saint-Just popped the sweet treasure into his mouth. No not sweet this time, sour. Sucking on the pit trying to drag as much of the cherry off as possible he heard some rustling next to him. Robespierre had drawn out two oranges from his sack and set about peeling them, his thumb nails already yellow from previous peelings that day.
"Nice day isn't it?" He asked. The question was out of necessity, the silence had been oppressive.
"Hmm, yes…" Another cherry bitten in half, Saint-Just's lips were stained red. "Maxime?"
"Yes?" He bit into his orange spilling juice down his chin, which he quickly tried to wipe away.
"Do you love me?" Asked innocently as if a cherub had whispered it. But the question was stark, bare, scary, and staring Robespierre in the face. It was out of place for his usually cold and distant friend.
"Love you?" The lawyer was sure his voice was cracking. "As a friend?" No answer so he decided to plunge on, not entirely sure what he was getting himself into. "Yes…"
"Oh." Saint-Just wore disappointment on his face though he wasn't aware he was doing so.
"Why? Do you mean it in some other way?" There was a flicker, more of a shadow, of hope on Saint-Just's face for a second then it was gone. Getting no answer from the moody revolutionary Robespierre leaned back against the tree and decided to wait it out. He felt his eyes closing, the heat of the afternoon was making him tired.
Staring forward at a blade of grass, green, almost the color of jade, Saint-Just was mentally kicking himself. Such a stupid question, such a stupid question, such a stupid question…the mantra thrummed in his head. Looking over towards Robespierre Saint-Just half expected him to be looking at him with an expression akin to pity. Something a person wore when they knew that their friend was suffering and they couldn't help. But Saint-Just didn't want Robespierre's pity, and, judging by the constant rise and fall of the apparently sleeping Robespierre's chest, he wasn't going to be getting it. Leaning forward Saint-Just's pressed his sticky, red lips against Robespierre's. The older man eyes flew open at contact, his body frozen. Saint-Just drew back quickly and turned away. Gathering his things with great speed he walked away with out a word.
Dazed, Robespierre licked his lips, and decided that he licked the taste of cherries.