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Grantaire isn’t sure he likes New York all that much. There’s something closed off about the city, something about the tall buildings that makes the bustle seem almost crushing, like the skyscrapers are doing their best to smother him by cutting off his connection to the light shining from above.
Then he looks at the man beside him, sees Enjolras’ golden hair shining even in the reduced sunlight, and thinks that maybe he doesn’t need to see the real sun after all.