Enjolras doesn’t make empty promises; he uses his words with a precision that is as deliberate and generous as everything else he does. Enjolras honestly and truly means every single one of his offers, of his reassurances, of his compliments and his promises. And he remembers them, too. With Enjolras, an offer is an offer, and it still stands, even months and years later.
Feuilly appreciates that of him; he’s never compiled a list of every aspect of Enjolras’ personality he adores – he doesn’t really have the generous amont of free time the task would require – but he’s sure this would be one of them. It’s a refreshing change from all the different people who’ve walked in a out of Feuilly’s life without a second thought, maybe, though Feuilly doesn’t like dwelling on his past to explain his current feelings – still, he can’t help but be glad that Enjolras is in his life now. The thought makes him smile, and well. That’s worth something.
Feuilly knows, intellectually, that Enjolras’ offer of a place to stay, if you ever need it, whenever you need it still stands, even months after it was first vocalized.
This doesn’t stop his heart from racing alarmingly as he stands before Enjolras’ apartment door; he’s exhausted, Feuilly tells himself. He’s had a long day – a long week, more like – he doesn’t have to be nervous. But he is. It’s half past midnight. Even if Enjolras isn’t in bed yet, it’s not a time to bother people (especially not a friend who’s a little more than friend but not quite anything yet, it’s a fragile situation, Feuilly’s not quite sure how to handle it, he’s never had to handle anything like this before – no, damn it. This isn’t helpful, not right now)
A helpful thought: Enjolras would never forgive him if he spent the night outside, not when Enjolras remembers his own promises better than Feuilly.
It’s the thought that makes Feuilly raise his heavy, tired arm to knock at Enjolras’ door.