Fyrir Hadegi
Etienne came early in the morning. The air was cold, and his breath made little white clouds when he tried to catch it--he really had never been much of a walker, and half-running along the streets when the day was hardly dawn dragged on his throat. But Enjolras had asked him to come early, and as he was really rather tentative about whether Enjolras wanted to keep him, he was hurrying.
He pushed open the door to Enjolras' little apartment room carefully. Once, Etienne remembered, he had commented on the size, because Enjolras was rather obviously rich, and Enjolras had replied with something long and senseless about why should he live in luxury while the people he wanted to help shivered in the streets. This was something that had sounded grander and more sensible, perhaps, when it was originally said, and not jumbled in Etienne's head. Most things were like that.
But he pushed open the door carefully, and paused in bemusement. Enjolras was standing on the bed, speaking in a low, furious voice to an imaginary audience.
He was bent over a little because otherwise his head would have smacked against the ceiling, and he was wearing only his shirt and trousers, without a waistcoat or anything else of that nature. He wore no stockings, either, and Etienne smirked at his bare feet and long, bony toes. His hair was down over his shoulders, and all in all, he was not the most impressive of spectacles.
Etienne was quite pleased.
Enjolras really did not have any idea how much he was adored. In fact, Enjolras likely saw him as a temporary release from the stress and strain and havoc of organising to raze Paris to the ground, Etienne thought cheerfully. That was an excellent way to have things, as then there would be no trouble if Enjolras decided he would rather have someone cleaner; Combeferre, for example.
Etienne knocked gently on the wall. "Salut et bonjour, Enjolras. God, how can you look so active at an hour like this?"
"How can you look so tired? I've been awake several hours now."
"Ah, you're mad."
"Unfortunate." Enjolras thoughtfully sat down and drummed his fingers on the bedside table. "Were you listening to me when you came in? Did you hear what I was saying?"
"I confess I did."
"And what did you think of it? Would you have believed it?"
"That's an absurd question. I don't believe in anything, and I'm certain you know it."
Enjolras gave Etienne half a glare and reached out his hand. "But if you believe in nothing, and--come here--and you would have believed what I said, then it would have been an excellent speech. You're the best person to ask because you believe in nothing."
"I suppose there's logic to that." Obediently, Etienne came and sat on the bed, letting Enjolras finger his coatsleeve absently.
"Well, then, what did you think of it?"
"I wasn't listening to the words. I was listening to your pretty voice, mon cher."
Enjolras frowned reproachfully without saying anything.
"Well, that's true. It is dulcet tones, not fiery words, that capture the audience, etcetera, etcetera."
"I hope I've an audience more interested in the words. But I shouldn't expect it from you, should I?"
"Likely not."
"If I were to say it all over again, would you listen to me?"
"Do you think I would?"
"No."
"Then I shan't. I dislike exceeding expectations."
"You're utterly impossible."
"That's most uncharitable of you." Etienne wriggled away from Enjolras. "To defy it, I shall listen to your words. Speak again."
To his pleasure, Enjolras looked astonished and gratified. Really, it was not often someone astonished Enjolras, particularly not in a positive manner. (Etienne recalled that, in fact, the last time Enjolras had looked so surprised, it had been furious surprise when Courfeyrac had brought his girl into the back room and refused to have her sent away.) At any rate, it was a rare occurrence, and Etienne was delighted.
"All right." Enjolras got up on his knees, and tossed his head to get his hair out of his face before he began. Etienne tilted his head back to watch.
So, he reflected, the early morning running, the burning of his throat, had been, ultimately, worth something, because he had come. Agreeing to do a simple thing was making Enjolras look at him more favourably, and now they were content, if in different ways.
Well, then, he was pleased. Enjolras' place was warm, and he felt comfortable, and content.
At that moment he realised that Enjolras had finished speaking, and was looking at him expectantly, and he hadn't listened to a word.
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