Laertes's heart gives an urgent throb like the toll of a bell. He had hoped for that answer, but not permitted himself to entertain it--Enjolras had spoken not as though desire was a thing he had felt and put aside, but as though it were a thing alien to his needs. Laertes is conscious of the gift of trust he's been given, and promises himself that he will honor it. "Dear man," he says hand suspended in Enjolras's, feeling the warmth of breath on his knuckles.

Then, catching Enjolras by the cravat, Laertes drags him down into a devouring kiss.