There's a light in Enjolras's gaze too, and a small smile just touching his mouth. Grantaire was his friend only in a complicated way; a gulf stood between them, composed of mockery and incomprehension and other things Enjolras prefers not to name, bridged by mutual friends and by hope and by habit; to a large extent, that remains true even now. And yet there's another bridge as well. This is the pride of stubborn hope vindicated, and of another's courage acknowledged.
His face softens, a moment later, as he looks at Combeferre. The man is very nearly swaying on his feet; he's as comprehensively fatigued as Enjolras has ever seen him. "I should have gotten you a nightshirt instead."
Well, it won't be the first time one of them has had cause to borrow a nightshirt along with a bed. He touches Combeferre's shoulder again, lightly. "The others' rooms are nearby. I can send them a message to come, if you'd like. But I think perhaps you should sleep first. They'll all understand."
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There's a light in Enjolras's gaze too, and a small smile just touching his mouth. Grantaire was his friend only in a complicated way; a gulf stood between them, composed of mockery and incomprehension and other things Enjolras prefers not to name, bridged by mutual friends and by hope and by habit; to a large extent, that remains true even now. And yet there's another bridge as well. This is the pride of stubborn hope vindicated, and of another's courage acknowledged.
His face softens, a moment later, as he looks at Combeferre. The man is very nearly swaying on his feet; he's as comprehensively fatigued as Enjolras has ever seen him. "I should have gotten you a nightshirt instead."
Well, it won't be the first time one of them has had cause to borrow a nightshirt along with a bed. He touches Combeferre's shoulder again, lightly. "The others' rooms are nearby. I can send them a message to come, if you'd like. But I think perhaps you should sleep first. They'll all understand."