Jehan started the whole thing – the gentle tug on his arm, the quiet but firm voice that insisted that Grantaire is upset and that you need to talk to him. Enjolras shrugged him off, scathingly and perhaps a little cruelly instructing the slight man to just pass the drunkard another drink.
Jehan frowned terribly at that and said something disapproving about how he shouldn’t talk like that because Grantaire was a more sensitive soul than anyone realised and Enjolras heaved a long-suffering sigh because dammit he had a whole revolution to run he didn’t have time to tend to the finer emotional issues of a young man who was a fringe member of their group at best and, at worst, its most eloquent critic – but if upsetting Courfeyrac was like kicking a puppy, upsetting Jean Prouvaire was like rounding up and systematically abusing half the puppies in Paris. The sadness shining in those bright green eyes was just too much, even for him, so he climbed to his feet with another sigh. Jehan nodded in approval and studied him intently, lips pursed, as Enjolras made his way across the café to where Grantaire was slumped.
He had no idea what to say. He was not a natural comforter – righteous fury was what gave him his eloquence and charisma, but it wasn’t something that tended to cheer other people up. He cleared his throat and gingerly toed the other man’s boots, but Grantaire did not react further than a vague sort of grunt.
Thinking about it later, Enjolras could not remember half of what he’d said. He’d crouched down and offered an awkward jumble of polite sentences which had merged into a lecture on the damaging effects of alcohol that was probably a little too harsh, and at some point Grantaire had looked up to give him a blank but intense stare that unnerved him somewhat, and he’d just rounded up by explaining how he only said these things because he didn’t want to lose a friend and then all of a sudden he had a face-full of dark curls and two warm arms clinging to his neck.
He wasn’t a person that actively sought out hugs, but certain Amis enjoyed demonstrating their friendly affection in a physical way, so he had become accustomed to and generally comfortable with them. Grantaire, however -unless he was incredibly drunk – always stayed physically distant, so the somewhat desperate embrace startled Enjolras for a good few seconds before he remembered to return it.
“Thank you.” Grantaire mumbled against his shoulder. Enjolras smiled, relieved that he seemed to have either said or done the right thing.He had no doubts that they would return to their usual routine of debating and bickering, but for that moment, it was…nice.
Inspired by the Thaxton version E/R hug
so this has been making the rounds again but about three years ago some asshat deleted the caption so HERE’S THE FULL VERSION FOLKS
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