Enjolras was behaving strangely. He was withdrawn, not speaking unless spoken to. He was lost in thoughts most of the meeting, at times not even seeming to hearing what the others had to say. To say that Combeferre was worried would be an understatement. This behaviour was something he never before had seen in Enjolras in all years knowing him. He seemed to have changed overnight. Combeferre's train of thoughts was interrupted by Feuilly's voice.

"Enjolras, where did you get that bruise?" he had asked, silencing the ongoing debate between Courfeyrac and Bahorel.

Combeferre suddenly noticed it as well, it being painfully obvious now. That he had missed it before was almost embarrassing. It was on the area around his jaw down towards his neck, large and colourful. It would have made him laugh, the blue and red tones almost forming the French flag, if it was not for the fact that his friend had been hurt by someone.

"I was mugged," Enjolras said. "It is nothing worth fussing over."

"Are you sure? I can have a look at it," Joly offered.

Enjolras was beginning to look annoyed. "There is no need for that."

"Have you told the police?", another voice was heard. "What did they take from you?"

"Only such things that do not matter for me to have lost ", he answered, his voice now completely devoid of any emotion, and yet the sentence was said in such manner that it made other wonder if there was something more to that phrase than what was said out loud. Combeferre frowned, but decided to leave it be. It was typical for Enjolras to shrug a thing like that off. What he would condemn others for doing against his friends, he would be indifferent to when committed against himself.

"I am glad that you are well at least," he said, putting a hand on his friends shoulder meant for comfort and closure.

All but one oblivious of the way Enjolras flinched as Combeferre touched him, or how he, during the whole conversation, never broke eye contact with Bonhomme.

"Can we go on now?" Enjolras said,"We have more important matters to discuss."

And so they proceeded with their planning, the previous events not completely forgotten but ignored for the moment.

Grantaire, having been silent during the whole evening, frowned, an uneasy feeling washing over him. There was something in Enjolras eyes...

Accusation.

Grantaire did not like the implication of that.

Weeks passed. The bruises on Enjolras had faded, but his behavior had not changed since that night. If something, he was even more withdrawn than ever, only to speak when it was for his cause or when being spoken to. His passion had not disappeared along with his happy mood. Instead, seemed to be stronger, more of a leader than ever before, radiating with the wrath of the gods when speaking of injustice and the monarchy and his promises of a better future for the working class seemed to entice the ones being spoken to even more.

It is to be said again that this only was when it served his cause. When not speaking of the rights of man, he was quiet, almost seeming to be sad. His friends were worried, but choose to let it pass, figuring that if it was something bothering him, he would tell them. It could very well be something as simple as stress, which was something they all experienced once in a while, most of them being students.

Another thing they noted, besides his gloomy mood, was that he and Bonhomme no longer seemed to that close of friends as before. Enjolras seemed to try to avoid him, as he did with the rest of them. They still left together, Bonhomme never staying longer than Enjolras, always offering to accompany Enjolras on his way home, to Enjolras dismay. It was always the same scenario, same phrases being used.

"It is time for me to leave."

"I will go with you."

"There is no need."

"I want to."

"If you insist."

If it had been any other person than Bonhomme, Grantaire would have overlooked it. He would have disregarded it as a person being worried about another. Paris was a dangerous place at night, and it was common sense to have company on your way home at the evening. With any other person, it would have been a nice gesture.

But Grantaire did not trust him and therefore mistrusted all of his actions. He knew that the distrust was illogical because Bonhomme had done nothing wrong. He was a nice person and Grantaire could at times, against his own will, find himself to enjoy his company once in a while, at times forgetting the memory of Enjolras flinching, the accusing look in Enjolras eyes after the mugging so many weeks ago when he looked at Bonhomme and the sickening way in which Bonhomme looked at Enjolras in return But the memories always surfaced in the end, forcing him to be on his guard once more.

He hoped that his suspicions would prove to be incorrect.