Combeferre doesn't have to wake up to know who is tapping on his window.
"You're going to wake my mother up," he whispers with a smile as he offers Enjolras a hand.
"I never wake your mother up," Enjolras says, pulling himself over the sill. "Ambien has done good work for her."
Combeferre pads back across the floor and sits cross-legged on his bed; Enjolras joins him.
"I can't believe we're not going to be able to do this anymore," Enjolras says quietly.
"Sure we will," Combeferre offers, bumping Enjolras's shoulder with his own. "You'll be over so often my roommate will ask you to pay rent. I'll come visit you all the time. We'll be sick of each other."
"We're never sick of each other," Enjolras says. He doesn't meet Combeferre's eyes, and his voice is uncharacteristically tiny.
Combeferre lays a hand on his shoulder. "You're still my best friend. That doesn't change because you're moving away tomorrow."
Enjolras chews his lip. "But what if I need you and you're not there?"
Don't be silly, he's been telling himself all summer. Don't worry, other people have told him.
He can't help it. He is silly, and he is worried.
"I'll be there," Combeferre whispers. "I promise."
"It won't be the same," Enjolras mumbles.
"Hey," Combeferre croons.
Enjolras looks up.
"When have I ever let you down?"
Enjolras shakes his head, a small smile curling his lips. "Never."
"Exactly," Combeferre says. He pauses. It's an early morning, tomorrow, and they'll both be better off if Enjolras goes home to bed and gets a good night's rest. But Combeferre can't bring himself to send him away (can't quite handle the thought of being without him, just now). It's part selfish and part selfless, as all friendship ultimately is.
"Want to stay over one last time?" he asks. "We can watch movies on my computer. I can walk you home for a proper goodbye in the morning."
Enjolras ducks his head in a nod before following Combeferre to curl up under the covers.