[For Combeferre] The Talk

[abaisse_chef]

Enjolras had thought about Serena's advice, weighing the pros and cons for a few days before acting. There was no reason to rush into a rash act, after all. It had nothing to do with his own nervousness about Combeferre's reaction, he was a leader of men. One man's emotions was not nearly enough to make him quake with fear or anxiety. Or so he told

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[butcivilization]

When Enjolras first sat beside him on the sand, Combeferre only smiled briefly in greeting. He thought nothing of his friend's silence, for he was lost in his own meandering thoughts as it was, and companionable quiet between them was not unusual. Neither of them were naturally talkative.

But as the silence lengthened, deepened, he began to wonder. Finally he gave a little sigh and sent Enjolras a wry. "All right," he said. "What is it?"

[abaisse_chef]

Enjolras started as the silence was broken, as the moment was thrust upon him and all of his eloquence suddenly left him. He opened his mouth to speak, faltered, then made a low, helpless noise. God, how to even begin?

[butcivilization]

Combeferre's brow furrowed, Enjolras' behavior so uncharacteristic that for a moment he, too, was at a loss for words. This was not about island politics, not even, he thought, about the Paris they had left behind. Had something happened?

He watched him for a moment in silence. "Michel?"

[abaisse_chef]

Enjolras rubbed his hands over his face. "I have to ask--" But no, the asking shouldn't go first. "There is something I need to tell you," he said instead, glancing briefly at Combeferre before looking away. "But I am not entirely certain how or where to begin."