Enjolras spends a tense and morose week. If he is inclined to avoid Grantaire, he has no need to make the effort, for Grantaire stays well out of his way. On Friday morning a note arrives for him.

If you will not come to me, I must come to you -- if only to hear you say, in your inimitable fashion, that you would rather I stayed away. Tonight I shall be at your door; if you do not wish to see me you need only arrange to be out, though I shall be sorry if that is the case. F.

Enjolras is in all afternoon for fear it should be evening. By sunset he has given up on pretending to write an essay and alternately paces and reads disconnected lines from a book, murmuring to himself.

Some time after eight comes a step in the hall and a knock on the door.

"Who is it?" Enjolras calls, his hand on the knob.

"A passing lunatic," says Ferdinand wryly. "Let me in?"

Enjolras opens the door immediately and bows shallowly. "It is good to see you."

His face lights up, transformed by relief. "And you, mon ami."

"I hope you've been well?" getting out of his way so that he can go in.

Ferdinand steps inside. He looks slightly windblown, as if he has come in haste. "Well enough. Yes. And you?"

"I've been worse," mildly. Enjolras stands a little too close to him for a moment before he realizes the gaffe and takes another step back. "Has anything terribly interesting happened since I saw you last?"

"Nothing at all," perhaps more fervently than he intended, for he laughs a moment later. "I'm afraid you've spoiled me."

Enjolras blinks at him. "How do you mean?"

"After I've spoken with you, nothing else is quite so interesting." Ferdinand shakes his head.

Enjolras blushes. "That could be quite a liability." He smiles a little weakly. "Such a burden it is, to be interesting as that all the time when I don't feel interesting at all, only a little nervous and a little confused. You see, I don't know how to talk of nothing, only of things of great importance. Is that intriguing? Only by sheer luck, if it is at all."

Ferdinand rests a hand on his shoulder, smiling. "You have no idea. It's better to talk of something than of nothing, isn't it? and for such eloquence, a few awkward silences are little enough price to pay."

Enjolras shivers a little. "You are too kind, mon ami, by half. I speak of grand things -- politics, social mores, the importance of everything to everything else -- because I cannot speak of anything else in anything like a coherent manner."

Ferdinand shakes his head. "That's hardly a fault."

"I suppose it depends on one's social circles," lightly. "Many of my relatives would see it as a sign of too much time spent concentrating on erudition and not enough on practical subjects." He covers Ferdinand's hand with his own for a moment.

Ferdinand grins. "Such as the weather, and which of your acquaintances is recently married."

"Those are far more practical than, ah, freedom of the presses." Enjolras smiles back.

Ferdinand chuckles. "Perhaps."

Enjolras puts a hand on his shoulder. "The trouble is, of course, that if no one pays attention to the theoretical level and freedoms disappear, it doesn't matter who marries whom or whether it snows for a month without stopping. But I expect you know that."

"Certainly." Ferdinand leans on the back of a chair, grave and attentive.

Enjolras smiles a little. "Good. Some monarchs seem to forget such things."

"Generally to their eventual detriment." Possibly a little more attentive than the conversation warrants; his eyes are intent on Enjolras' face.

"If there is any justice at all," mildly.

"Well, yes."

Enjolras blinks at him. "If we agree, why are we discussing it?" lightly.

Ferdinand reddens a little. "I don't know. To make sure that we do, in fact, agree?" He is stiffly dignified again.

Enjolras grins. "Quite possibly."

"Must you play games with me?" wavering.

Enjolras sobers. "I didn't think I was."

Ferdinand runs a hand through his hair. "You are so sure of yourself! As if everything you have to say could go without saying."

"No, not at all." Enjolras looks at the floor, backing away from him a little.

"I can't keep up with you," ruefully.

"What do you mean?" blinking at him.

"You change directions so quickly." Ferdinand touches his arm. "Have I said something wrong?"

"No, you haven't." He smiles a little. "I suppose I assume that you understand as well as I do."

"That's flattering," lightly, "though not necessarily wise."

Enjolras tilts his head a little. "All right. I'll try not to assume that in uncertain conditions."

Ferdinand smiles at him. "Fair enough."

"It does make it easier, sometimes," mildly, "if one assumes a common understanding."

"Certainly. I only hope you won't expect too much."

Enjolras chuckles. "I am learning what to expect very slowly. Don't worry."

Ferdinand grins. "I will try not to."

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