And Courfeyrac flings himself down next to Enjolras, also to watch, and to allow the sheer relief to settle.

They are nearly whole. All of them, nearly whole.

He will get heartily drunk on Bahorel's bottles in just a few moments. But for now, he rests his head briefly on Enjolras' shoulder, and just grins at Combeferre, at Joly's enthusiasm and Bossuet's drunkenness. At all of them; nearly, nearly whole.