Enjolras had already let go of Combeferre's hand to gesture: this first, then that. Now he nods, rising, and collects both their cups. "Yes, let's do that."

A glance out the window on his way to the coffeepot, to assess the height of the sun. (He'd still rather a clock, but they seem to run temperamentally here, in this place where time runs strangely, and anyway Joly's pocketwatches don't really function as watches no matter how well they counterfeit it. He has a clock on a shelf, but he verifies it with the sun when he can.) "Some of them will be up, but we might as well wait a little while. Then we can use our watches to contact everyone together."

More coffee for both of them. He doesn't even bother to ask if Combeferre wants any; the answer is nearly always yes, and certainly first thing in the morning.