Shortly after nine the following night, there is a soft tap at Enjolras' door.

He unlocks and opens it quickly. The room is well-lit and much cleaner than it was two days before; its inhabitant, by contrast, is well-groomed but looks as though he has contracted some sort of illness. In any case, he has not had the benefit of much sleep in the past several days, and although he smiles in greeting and attempts to make his salutation as normal as possible, there is something lacking. "Good evening."

"Good evening." Ferdinand pauses to close the door behind him; he is clad modestly to the point of drabness, and looks no better rested, if healthier, than his host. Without preamble, he asks, "What's the matter?"

Enjolras pales further. "I was worried that you would decide not to come, that I had offended you too greatly for that."

"But that's absurd..."

"Is it, your highness?" Enjolras locks the door and leaves the key in the lock. "I risked a great deal the other night."

Ferdinand colors; he has not the gift of blushing prettily. "Did you, monsieur? I'm sure I hadn't noticed."

Enjolras bites his lip. "Ariel. If it please you, m'sieur."

After a moment a small smile wins out. "If you'll humor me likewise."

"It would be my honor," a brief indrawn breath, "Ferdinand."

Ferdinand hesitates, then reaches out to rest a hand on his shoulder. "Thank you."

"It's nothing." Enjolras shivers. After a moment, he takes a step closer and kisses Ferdinand's cheek.

Ferdinand looks at the floor. "You are taking a great many chances," subdued.

"Fewer than you are, as I have less to lose." Enjolras backs away again.

"Why..." Ferdinand laughs shortly, looking up again. "I came here with sensible speeches all prepared, and they've quite gone. That is the only thing left in my head. Why, Ariel?"

Enjolras looks away from him. "You are charming, and you will be great someday. I feel better for knowing you because I can imagine a good and healthy future more clearly, and yet I know you are younger even than I, and I am not old." He turns back with an awkward smile and a shrug. "I would help you, if you accepted my help. I know things differently than you do, and I would love to speak with you until all hours of the night about everything in the world, you are that witty and you have such potential." He blushes. "And you are handsome, and so I want, however foolishly, to kiss you, but that is as nothing beside the rest."

"Ah, my friend--" Ferdinand blinks at him, and glances down. "You put me to shame."

"How do you mean?" Enjolras touches his shoulder.

Ferdinand reaches for his hand. "I think I expected you to say something-- facile."

"Oh." Enjolras shakes his head a little. "Not if I can help it."

"I should have known that," squeezing his fingers apologetically.

"It's all right."

Ferdinand gazes at him. "You are-- not like anyone."

Enjolras blushes. "Thank you."

"I am sorry," awkwardly, "for ... what happened."

"Why?" Enjolras squeezes his fingers.

Ferdinand gives him a brief, nearly skittish look. "It would have been better not."

Enjolras blinks. "Not what?"

"You know what I mean," pulling his hand free.

"I'm sorry." Enjolras blushes and turns away.

"Ariel." Unconsciously he lingers on the name, as though he has been waiting for the chance to say it.

Enjolras glances at him. "I'm sorry," again.

"Why?" pointedly.

"I never meant to discomfit you, and now you must think I am perverse." He looks at the floor.

"No."

"No?" Enjolras kisses him with every semblance of passion.

Ferdinand starts, and the sound he makes is faintly protesting, but he tangles a hand in Enjolras' hair, returning the kiss.

When the kiss breaks, Enjolras asks him breathlessly, "How can you tell me that I am not mad, if I would do such a thing when you don't want it?"

Ferdinand's hand tightens painfully on his shoulder. "I have seen no evidence that you would," in a faint echo of the dry formality of the gardens.

Enjolras blinks at him. "Oh."

"You tell me that I am charming?" kissing him again briefly, roughly. "When you yourself are-- far beyond that. Can you really have no idea--"

Enjolras laughs once, as though it pains him. "If you think so."

Ferdinand buries his face in Enjolras' shoulder. "I don't want to want this."

"Neither do I," hoarsely.

"It is not," striving to keep his voice level, "sensible, or natural, or prudent. It would be wisest not to see you again -- and yet I hate that thought."

Enjolras frowns. "I can forebear to touch you. There is nothing mad, unnatural, or thoughtless in friendship."

"Can you?" rhetorically. Ferdinand straightens, tense. "I am not sure I have so much restraint."

Enjolras backs up several steps. "It would bear investigation."

Ferdinand folds his arms tightly, not quite looking at him. "No doubt."

"Would you prefer to leave?" Enjolras' voice shakes a little.

Ferdinand is silent a moment. Then he sighs, glancing up. "Not at all. I... I should be very sorry if this were to stand between us." He hesitates, as though about to say more, but nothing comes.

Enjolras gives him a shallow bow. "We need not speak of it again."

Ferdinand inclines his head in agreement, silent, but he seems to relax a little.

This puts Enjolras at a loss for words. He looks at the floor. "In any case."

"In any case," gently, "it is good to see you."

"It's good to see you, too," mildly.

"Shall we sit?"

Enjolras pulls out a chair for him and seats himself, still looking at the floor.

"Please," softly. "I don't want to make you uncomfortable."

"It's all right." Enjolras smiles, but there is something brittle about it.

Ferdinand sinks into a seat. "Is it? You look as though you would rather be anywhere else."

Enjolras shrugs a little. "Did you want to go somewhere?"

"Not particularly." Ferdinand regards him calmly. "I'll go, if you'd prefer."

Enjolras bites his lip. "I don't know."

"Perhaps I'd better let you think about it," carefully. "I have not been very considerate, in this."

"Haven't you -- your highness?" as if that will put necessary distance between them. "You have done nothing to which any reasonable man could object. I approached you, I invited you here, I impinged on your goodwill and your tolerance. If anyone has done something wrong, it was I." Enjolras looks down. "I must apologize, again."

"Please don't," and Ferdinand hesitates a moment, "Ariel."

"I'm sorry."

Ferdinand chuckles. "And you do it again."

Enjolras blinks at him. "I don't entirely know what to say."

"You seemed to the other night." Under his calm friendliness there is a note of pleading. "Before you began apologizing so assiduously."

"I've lost my equilibrium," softly.

"Ah." Ferdinand glances down.

Enjolras falls silent.

"I had better go," standing smoothly, "and give you a chance to regain it. Forgive me, mon ami."

Enjolras pales and stands. "Must you?"

Ferdinand spreads his hands in a curiously helpless gesture. "It might be wisest. We are neither of us at our best, it seems."

Enjolras gives him a long look. "If you're sure."

Silence. Then, "Another day--"

"Yes, I suppose." Enjolras shivers.

Ferdinand puts a hand on his shoulder. "Are you all right?"

Enjolras embraces him, murmuring, "I'm sorry."

"Ah, don't be," returning the embrace. "Nothing is amiss that can't be righted. You haven't slept well, I can see that; no wonder you're not yourself. Come to me another day, when you've rested, when you're feeling steadier, and then we can talk. Tell me all the things you want to tell, and I will gladly listen."

"I don't know if you'll have time for me." Enjolras shivers and gives him a sad look. "I've ruined this before it began."

"No, no." Ferdinand squeezes his shoulders, meeting his eyes earnestly. "Nothing is ruined, unless we allow it to be. And I promise you, if I can get away at all, I will -- for you. Don't you think I would rather listen to you than -- any number of things?"

"I don't know." Enjolras frowns a little.

"Believe it."

Enjolras blushes. "May I -- just once, before you go?"

Ferdinand blinks. "What?"

Enjolras kisses his cheek.

Ferdinand swallows something, and returns the kiss gravely.

Enjolras sighs. "You ought to go," he says softly, though he still has his arms around Ferdinand.

"Yes." Softly, dryly, and equally without moving.

"Mm." Enjolras rests his head on Ferdinand's shoulder for a moment.

Ferdinand sighs, very quietly.

Enjolras kisses his cheek again.

Ferdinand shivers, and lets him go. "Good night."

Enjolras gives him a most heartbroken look and changes his expression to neutrality a moment later. "Good night."

Ferdinand bites his lip, looking very young for a moment, and hugs him again. "Until later."

"Until later," Enjolras agrees, letting him go.

He hesitates another moment, then goes out.

Enjolras watches the door close, then fetches his overcoat and hat and goes out, locking the door behind him. He pauses in the hallway for several minutes, then starts down the stairs and heads for the Cafe Musain. He goes in the front door for once and fetches himself dinner, then goes through the passageway to the back room and knocks on the door.

"What?" in several voices, from within.

"Get the door?" Enjolras calls. "My hands are full."

There is the scrape of a chair, and after a moment Courfeyrac lets him in. "Evening.'

Enjolras gives him a small smile. "Just the man I was looking for."

Prouvaire calls, "Good evening, Enjolras," then goes back to poking his finger at the book he is discussing and debating with Bahorel. Bahorel nods toward Enjolras before beginning again.

"Really? That's convenient." Courfeyrac sidesteps, and shuts the door behind him.

Enjolras goes to sit at the table farthest from Prouvaire and Bahorel, ignoring Grantaire, who appears to be having a post-prandial snooze in the corner.

He begins to eat, paying little attention to anyone else in the room even when Bahorel stands up and says, "I've had more than enough of this book, Jehan. Come and meet Edouard, he'll set you straight," whereupon they both say their goodnights to Courfeyrac and depart.

When the door shuts behind them, Courfeyrac looks back at Enjolras curiously.

"I'm rather hungry," Enjolras says apologetically. "Give me a few moments?"

"Of course, mon ami." Courfeyrac smiles briefly, then pushes back his chair and stands, crossing the room to busy himself with the papers and empty glasses left by the evening's gathering.

When Enjolras' plate is mostly empty, he says, "I'm sorry," and continues poking at the last morsels.

Courfeyrac glances back at him. "Why?"

"I distracted you when I first came in."

"It's all right, I wasn't terribly involved in the discussion." He comes back over to sit down. "What's on your mind?"

"Apparently I oughtn't to have kissed him," Enjolras says and sighs.

Courfeyrac blinks. "Oh."

"It's all right, he won't throw me in jail, but it didn't earn me anything."

Courfeyrac is quiet a moment. "I see."

Enjolras bites his lip, then forces a small smile. "You overestimated my charm."

"What happened?"

Enjolras shrugs a little. "He came over to talk, and I had expected him to -- to want something more, but he didn't, and I didn't have anything to say." He looks at his plate again. "It's hard enough to frame things in just the right way when I'm prepared, when I haven't been distracted by worrying about something else."

"I'm sorry." Courfeyrac rests his chin in his hands. "It doesn't sound that bad."

"I'm not sure. I felt terribly foolish." Enjolras sighs. "I ought to have had something to say."

"Well, you were caught off guard, I expect."

"I should have been prepared," he insists.

Courfeyrac shakes his head. "You did the best you could, I don't doubt. Was he -- I don't know, annoyed?"

Enjolras looks at the wall. 'He may have been. I'm not sure."

Courfeyrac sighs. "Well. No need to borrow trouble."

Enjolras sighs, too. "I -- I think I could have gone through with it, if it would have worked. I --" he blushes. "It wasn't as bad in practice as in theory."

"Ah." Courfeyrac blinks. "That's something, anyway."

"I'm sorry." Enjolras covers his face with his hands. "I don't suppose it's relevant."

Courfeyrac glances down. "I expect it will be all right."

"I don't seem to have accomplished anything, even with your support." He sighs. "I'm sorry to waste your time."

"Don't worry about it."

"Yes, but still --"

"Hm?"

Enjolras looks at him for a moment. "I've wasted everyone's time with this."

"What on earth do you mean?"

"His, yours, mine -- " he waves a hand. "Never send a man to do a woman's job, n'est-ce pas?"

"I suppose so." Courfeyrac shakes his head again. "I'm sorry."

Enjolras bites his lip and looks at the table. "I've been so stupid."

Courfeyrac touches his arm. "It'll be all right."

"Will it?" in all the concentrated naivete he's been suppressing to pull this off.

"I'm sure it will," meeting his eyes.

Enjolras takes a deep breath. "He probably thinks I'm mad."

"Maybe. If so, we haven't lost anything."

"I suppose not." He frowns and looks away again.

Courfeyrac sighs. "Don't fret, mon ami."

"I'm being ridiculous. By God, what's wrong with me?" entirely rhetorically.

Courfeyrac is silent, watching him.

Enjolras bites his lip. "How awful. I feel I've lost a friend when he was never my friend at all."

"I'm sorry."

Enjolras sighs. "I almost wish he'd been more, ah, enthusiastic." He laughs dryly. "I suppose if I'm idiot enough to wish such things, I nearly deserve them." After a moment, he seems to realize that he's speaking aloud to a friend who has no desire to hear anything like this, and blushes. "I ought to leave you alone."

"It's all right. I just don't know what to tell you." Courfeyrac shrugs. "It will work out."

"Mmn," noncommittally.

"It will," squeezing his hand. Then, suddenly, "Oh /hell/."

Enjolras blinks. "What?"

"I told Angeline--" Courfeyrac pushes back his chair, then hesitates. "Are you going to be all right?"

"Oh." Enjolras shakes his head a little. "Yes, I'll be all right. Good night. And thank you."

"Of course, mon ami." Courfeyrac gives his shoulder a comforting thump, retrieves coat and hat and rushes out.

Enjolras sighs, pushes his plate away, and leans his chin in his hands.

After a few minutes the silence is broken by a heavy sigh, as of someone waking from a doze, and Grantaire sits up a bit, his eyes half-lidded still.

Enjolras blinks at him. "Good morning," he says mildly.

"You going to be all right?" directly, and without a trace of a sleepy slur.

Enjolras blinks again and sits up straight. "There is no reason why I would not be," coldly.

"Isn't there? Your plot's hit a snag, and all. I know." Grantaire smiles, not at all appealingly, but kindly.

"That's none of your business."

"I know it isn't," humbly. "But I'm not deaf, you know."

Enjolras looks away, his cheeks bright red. "If you've any sense, you won't speak of it."

"Of course I won't. Of course." Grantaire sits up a bit more, all awkward goodwill. "I wouldn't give you away. I just--"

"'Give me away'?" Enjolras repeats, turning to look at him again. "To whom, m'sieur, do you think you could do such a thing?"

"Well, I-- figure of speech. Don't be angry."

"I'm angry at myself as much as anything," truthfully. "If you are foolish, however, I will be furious with you."

Grantaire gets clumsily to his feet. "I don't know as I can help that. But I -- I won't interfere with you."

"Thank you," softly. "I shouldn't have snapped at you. I'm sorry." And then, curiously, "How long were you listening?"

"Just now?" He shrugs. "Not so very long."

"How long is that?" Enjolras asks, a little more sharply.

Grantaire flinches, and looks at his hands. "The first I knew -- the first I heard properly, you understand -- I -- you were saying you shouldn't have. Um."

Enjolras puts his head in his hands. "You are the most inconvenient --"

"I'm sorry," in distress.

Enjolras mumbles something.

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean--" Grantaire comes over to lay a hand timidly on his shoulder.

Enjolras shivers and puts his head down on the table. "Don't damned well pity me."

"I-- I don't. I didn't mean that."

"What did you mean?" He sits up.

Grantaire bites his lip, fumbling for words. Tries, "I'm sorry it didn't work out."

Enjolras laughs incredulously. "Do you think I was doing such a thing for my own enjoyment?"

"N-no."

"It doesn't matter that it didn't work." He pushes his chair back. "It doesn't matter whether he ever, in fact, speaks to me again, and you're not to speak of it in any case." Enjolras stands, the better to give Grantaire an intimidating look that is only a little marred by his exhaustion.

Grantaire drops his eyes, abashed.

"None of it matters." Enjolras turns away, his hand trembling a little.

"It matters to you," quietly. "You look like hell, oh, God, Enjolras, I may be a fool but I'm not stupid. It matters."

Enjolras' hand clenches into a fist. "It doesn't matter," firmly, as though he can make it true by saying it again. "I look like hell, m'sieur? Perhaps. Perhaps that explains more than I want to have explained."

"I didn't-- oh, I didn't mean that. God." Grantaire leans on the table. "Please. I-- Can I help at all?"

"What do you know of such things?" It ought to be derisive; instead it is only tired.

"I know I admire you," softly. "I know if anyone fails to be charmed by you, it's none of your doing."

Enjolras covers his face with one hand. "Thank you," dryly, "but I doubt it."

Again the tentative touch on his shoulder. "It's true."

"Under the circumstances, that isn't terribly reassuring."

"What can I do?"

Enjolras turns to face him. "I don't know. What can you do?"

Grantaire shrugs. "What would help?"

Enjolras bites his lip. "I have no idea."

Grantaire looks intently at the floor for a minute, then holds out his arms mutely.

Enjolras stares at him. "What --"

A wry smile. "It always works on my sister. I-- I'm sorry. I should let you be."

Enjolras wavers a moment, then hugs him.

Grantaire blinks, then hugs him back tightly, patting his shoulder.

"I --" Enjolras sighs.

"Hm?"

"I don't understand what's wrong."

"How d'you mean?"

"I don't know what I did wrong, or what was the right way to do any of it." Enjolras lets him go, blushing again.

Grantaire shrugs. "It takes practice."

"Ah, then that's the problem."

Grantaire watches him silently.

"I've never particularly wanted to, to practice." Enjolras looks at the floor.

Grantaire nods.

"Why in God's name am I confiding in you?" Enjolras throws up his hands and walks away.

A sharply indrawn breath. "...I'm sorry."

Enjolras paces. "It isn't as though you can help me."

"I would," earnestly. "I'd do anything you like."

"I don't want anything of you but your silence, and that you will forget this horrible overheard conversation as quickly as Courfeyrac did." He sighs.

Grantaire knots his hands together. "If you like."

"There's nothing else you can do."

"Isn't there?" And then Grantaire clears his throat, glancing away.

Enjolras gives him a sharp look. "I highly doubt it."

Grantaire bites his lip. "Even if--"

"What, Grantaire?"

Grantaire gives him a curiously clear, intent look. "If you needed practice."

Enjolras backs away a few steps. "I --"

"I'm sorry," at once. "That was-- I'm sorry."

"I don't even know what you're offering." Enjolras looks at the floor.

Grantaire touches his arm lightly. "I wouldn't do anything to hurt you, not tell your secrets or laugh at your worries-- and I-- I can't bear to see you look like that, as though you're tearing at yourself-- please. I--" He falters, then leans forward to kiss Enjolras' cheek.

Enjolras' hands clench into fists so tight that his fingernails must dig into his palms. Other than that, he does not move.

Grantaire lets him go, and turns away blindly, knocking into the chair. "Sorry. Sorry. I--"

"What do you want from me?" in the soft voice of one who almost wishes to be left to his nightmare, but could be persuaded to wake with kind words.

"Oh, God," brokenly. "Everything. Nothing. Let me help you, let me be kind to you, anything."

Enjolras closes his eyes. "You're mad."

"Maybe," looking at the floor.

Enjolras shudders. "Where do you live?"

Grantaire looks back at him, startled and uncertain. "Down the street a bit."

"Go." Enjolras turns away.

Grantaire stares, half lifting a hand as though to plead with him, then lets it fall, and turns to shuffle out.

Enjolras follows him some ten yards behind and catches up as he unlocks the street door. "I hope you know what you're doing."

Grantaire whirls, and has to catch himself on the doorframe. "I--"

"Did you mean it?" Enjolras, to all appearances, has no blood running to his face just now.

For a moment Grantaire can only stare at him. "Yes," faintly.

Enjolras waves a hand at the door. "So."

Grantaire turns away, trembling, and swings it open, standing aside.

Enjolras goes in, not looking at him.

Grantaire follows quietly, scarcely daring to look at him.

Enjolras pauses in the hall. "Where?"

Grantaire gestures weakly at a door, and edges around him to open that, too.

Enjolras goes in, trembling a little.

Once they are both inside, Grantaire shuts the door and sinks into a chair, running a hand through his hair. "I..."

"What are you doing?" as if every movement is significant.

Grantaire looks up at him, wide-eyed. "Nothing."

Enjolras frowns. "Then why am I here?"

Grantaire blinks at him, then carefully extends a hand.

Enjolras glances around and pulls up a chair. "What?"

"You-- I-- anything you like. Anything you need." Grantaire gazes at him earnestly.

Enjolras stands again, shaking a little. "I don't know what I need."

"Please--" Grantaire catches at his hand, rising. "Please, don't -- I won't do anything you don't want, I won't-- don't look like that."

Enjolras covers his face with one hand. "I don't know what I want. I don't know why I'm here, why I'm letting you babble at me, I don't understand..."

Grantaire falters, then embraces him.

Enjolras puts an arm around him stiffly.

"Shh." Grantaire strokes his back. "I wouldn't hurt you for the world. You don't have to-- anything."

"Damn you!" Enjolras takes hold of his shoulders and shakes him a little. "I don't want any of this, I never did, and now I don't even know what I want. Don't reassure me, don't be gentle, don't cosset me and be false with me. If this is hideous, show me that, if it is filthy, don't make it seem sweet. Don't lie. Don't make it any less horrible than it truly is, and perhaps I will understand the reality of it and stop wanting it."

Grantaire stares at him, unresisting under his hands. After a moment of shocked silence, he manages a gasping breath. "No. No, I-- I didn't mean to--"

"I don't know what you meant." Enjolras glares at him in the darkness. "Stop talking or I'll leave."

Grantaire falls silent, dismayed. After a moment he leans in to kiss Enjolras timidly.

Enjolras allows this but barely responds to it.

Grantaire desists, stroking his hair with gentle fingers.

Enjolras puts an arm around his waist and pulls him close. "You needn't court me," and his voice has softened, perhaps, but only the barest fraction. He kisses Grantaire with stubborn ignorance, as though he has forgotten things he knew earlier in the evening.

Grantaire embraces him with a small, sobbing sound, and kisses him back.

Enjolras relaxes into the embrace a little, sighing.

Grantaire runs a tremulous hand down his back.

Enjolras puts a hand on his shoulder lightly.

Presently Grantaire leaves off, breathless, and hugs him more tightly for a moment.

"Are you all right?" Enjolras gradually loses some of the tension in his shoulders.

"'course," softly, fingers kneading at his back. "You?"

"I don't know."

Grantaire pulls back a little, studying him anxiously in the half-light, then kisses him again with more confidence.

"Oh." With a sigh, Enjolras leans against him.

Grantaire shivers a little, stroking his hair.

Enjolras rubs his back, half-consciously imitating him.

Grantaire pulls him closer with a sigh.

Enjolras breaks the kiss to blink at him. "I -- all right."

Grantaire blinks back. "All right?"

"Perhaps this will work."

A careful breath. "All right." He slides a finger under Enjolras' collar, tentatively.

Enjolras closes his eyes.

Almost at once Grantaire desists, and kisses him again thoroughly, tangling a hand in his hair.

Enjolras catches his breath after a moment.

Grantaire clings to him. "You all right?"

"Possibly."

"Ah," more a sigh than a word. After a moment he glances toward the bed, mutely questioning.

Enjolras shrugs a little. "It's up to you."

Grantaire bites his lip. "More comfortable."

"All right."

Grantaire nods, and nudges him gently in that direction.

Enjolras sits on the edge of the bed and looks at him curiously.

Grantaire settles beside him and puts an arm around his shoulders.

Enjolras leans on his shoulder. "I have no idea what you want."

Grantaire looks at the floor, his cheeks flushed. "Neither do I," he says at last, huskily, and kisses Enjolras again.

Enjolras pulls away, standing up. "Then what on earth am I doing here?"

Grantaire shudders. "Don't-- don't go, I--" He catches at Enjolras' sleeve.

"What do you want?" Enjolras looks at the door. "I don't have the patience for nonsense."

"I didn't mean--" tugging at his arm. "Sit down. Please."

"What didn't you mean?" sharply. "If you don't know what you're doing, I'm going home to be ignorant by myself."

Grantaire draws a harsh breath, then stands and kisses him again roughly, knotting a hand in his jacket.

Enjolras embraces him as much for balance as anything else and returns the kiss in kind.

* * *

After several minutes of recovery, Enjolras sits up and begins to button his shirt, shivering.

Grantaire sighs softly, and watches him in damp-eyed silence.

"Thank you," gravely.

Grantaire blinks, and looks down. "You're welcome," half-audible.

"It wasn't that bad," quietly, as though this is a compliment.

A faint, wry smile. "That's something."

"I --" Enjolras crosses his arms.

Grantaire raises his head. "Hmm?"

Enjolras bites his lip. "Nothing."

After a moment Grantaire's hand brushes his arm. "I-- stay?"

Enjolras blinks at him. "Whatever for?"

Grantaire looks away, silent.

"I don't care for you," as gently as he can manage to say it.

"I know," quietly.

"Why would you want me to stay, then?"

Grantaire traces an aimless pattern on the sheet with one finger. "It'd be warmer," not bothering to sound serious.

"I suppose." Enjolras unfastens the ribbon in his hair and begins to gather it again in an attempt to look somewhat less debauched.

Grantaire sits up, and gently takes the ribbon from his hand. "Let me," not quite a question.

Enjolras blinks at him. "If you like."

Grantaire half-smiles, and quietly sets to work unpicking the tangles.

"Ouch," Enjolras says several times, but never vehemently.

"There," after a minute, retying the ribbon deftly. "That's better. Never saw the sense in that particular fashion." And he ventures to press a kiss to the back of Enjolras' neck, before pulling away.

Enjolras sighs. "Which fashion?"

"Never mind," softly. "Lie down, would you, before you fall asleep sitting there."

"But --" Enjolras yawns, interrupting himself. "Oh." He lies down and seems to fall asleep immediately, as if the feel of a pillowcase against his cheek were a trigger to put him unconscious.

Grantaire gazes at him a moment, silent; then stretches out beside him quietly, and settles an arm around his waist.

Enjolras murmurs something nonsensical but does not wake.

* * *

When Enjolras wakes in the morning, he is on the very edge of the bed, as though he had been fleeing something in his sleep. He gets up slowly, as if this will cause as little disturbance as possible, and finds his pants in a rather wrinkled heap. He gets dressed, making irritated faces.

Grantaire yawns, and sits up a little. "...Oh."

Enjolras ignores this and puts on his waistcoat.

"Morning," Grantaire says hesitantly.

"Good morning," buttoning the last button and bending to fetch his cravat.

"Sleep all right?"

"Well enough."

"Want anything?" Grantaire sits up a little more.

Enjolras glances at him. "You've done too much already."

Grantaire flinches, looking away.

Enjolras pulls his shoes from under the bed and puts them on without sitting down.

"I'm sorry," Grantaire says quietly.

"You did nothing I did not ask you to do," curtly, as he pulls his jacket on.

Grantaire subsides, picking at the blanket.

Once he is fully dressed, Enjolras sits beside Grantare on the edge of the bed. "Thank you."

Grantaire looks up at him wistfully. "You're welcome, I'm sure."

Enjolras gives him a thorough kiss, as if it were a final examination.

Grantaire shivers, and embraces him, returning the kiss wholeheartedly; apparently, he passes.

Enjolras runs a hand down his back, then pulls away. "You'll say nothing of this?"

Grantaire swallows. "No. Not a word."

Enjolras nods. "Thank you," again, and he stands, crossing to the door. "Until later."

"Good morning."

"Good morning." Enjolras leaves.

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