For a while, Laertes just lets himself get lost in the sheer joy of exertion: the wild laughter, the pounding of his own heart, the way Enjolras's face seems alight with something other than purpose. Right then, he burns to keep making Enjolras laugh.

In a meadow near the edge of the wood, though, where the grass is woven through with purple clover, Laertes slows just enough to let himself be caught--if Enjolras cares to catch him.