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“Jehan?”
“What is it, little frog?”
Grantaire smiles shyly up at him. “Do you wanna see what I drawed?”
“Drew,” Jehan corrects absent-mindedly. “And I’d love to.”
Grantaire holds up a sheet of paper, showing him. “I drawed- I mean, I drew everybody. C’n you see?”
Jehan examines the drawing. It’s clearly the interior of the Musain, as indicated by the two long brown rectangles that are obviously supposed to be the two tables they usually push together and sit around. “That’s Enjolras,” he says, gesturing at the figure at the head of the table, the answer obvious from the red jacket and mane of gold hair the tallest of the stick figures Grantaire has drawn has.
“Yes. Tried to make him pretty like ‘Jowas.”
“You did a good job,” Jehan assures him, and Grantaire beams. “Let’s see. This is me, right?” he asks, indicating the other blonde male figure in the picture. “And this is Cosette,” because this blonde is wearing a skirt and has her hair in two ponytails instead of the single braid Jehan usually wears.
“Yes. Did I draw you good?”
“You sure did.” He points at the figure with glasses. “Combeferre, right? And next to him Courfeyrac.”
“Yes. They’s holding hands ‘cause they love each others.”
“And so that must be Marius next to Cosette.”
“Yes. I couldn’t get his nose right.”
“I think it looks great,” Jehan assures him.
Joly looks up from his textbook. “Am I in this picture?”
“Here. That’s you with your cane. Musichetta next to you- you can tell, ‘Aire did a great job drawing her hair, and then Bossuet.”
“He hasn’t got any hair,” Grantaire points out. “So I just drew his head.”
“That’s good,” Joly laughs. “And this is Éponine, right? She looks pretty.”
Jehan points out Feuilly and Bahorel, and Grantaire smiles in delight at the success of his drawing.
“This reminds me of the painting Gr- I mean, Art Man did for Enjolras’ birthday last year. Do you want to see?” Jehan asks.
Grantaire nods. “Art Man!” he exclaims, thrilled.
Jehan leads him into the study, where Enjolras keeps the painting on display, though he’d never admit that. He holds up Grantaire’s drawing.
The composition is almost identical. Enjolras is standing at the front, talking. He’s beautiful, lit from behind through an open window, his golden hair almost a halo. Like in the drawing, Combeferre and Courfeyrac are next to him, supporting him but also sparing a fond smile for each other.
Feuilly and Bahorel are off to one side, chatting with each other. Bahorel is raising his drink in a toast and Feuilly is in the middle of nodding at whatever he’s saying. Joly, Bossuet, and Musichetta are in their trio, holding hands. Éponine is standing to the side, by herself, half-paying attention. Marius and Cosette have eyes only for each other.
Grantaire, himself, is visible only as a shadow in the corner, the back of his head and his dark jacket and nothing else.
It’s only looking at this that Joly realizes little Grantaire isn’t in the picture he’d drawn either.
“Where are you, ‘Aire?” he asks, gently, and Grantaire points at a dark splotch in the corner.
“That’s me.”
“Why did you put yourself off to the side like that?” Jehan asks, so, so carefully.
Grantaire shrugs. “I didn’ want to ruin the picture.”
“What do you mean, ruin the picture?”
“It- it looks pretty, right?” Grantaire asks, clearly nervous. He’s stammering, and his lisp is back so “pretty” sounds like “pitty”.
“It’s beautiful.”
“It wouldn’t look pretty if I was in it. I didn’ want to ruin it.”
Jehan kneels next to the little boy. “Why wouldn’t it be pretty if you were in it?”
“’Cause I’m ugly,” Grantaire says, matter-of-factly.
“No, you aren’-“ Jehan starts to say. He starts, and then he looks back up at Grantaire’s painting. He thinks about how adult Grantaire still paints himself out, still tries to exclude himself, wonders if that’s largely because of his looks. He looks down at little Grantaire and sees his big nose and mess of hair and mismatched eyes, and realizes that though Grantaire is undoubtedly cute, no one would call him good-looking, even at this age. “It wouldn’t matter even if you were,” he says instead. “It’s what’s on the inside that counts, and on the inside I know you are very beautiful.”
Grantaire shakes his head. “No, but in the movies the good guys is always bootiful like you and ‘Jowas and the bad guys is always ugly like me. Sometimes that’s why they’re sad and mean and they try to ruin things for the people who is beautiful. I didn’t want to ruin things for you, I want things to be pretty and nice for you. So I figured it was better for me to go away in the picture. Are you mad at me?”
“No, baby,” Jehan assures him. “No, no, I promise, we aren’t mad.”
“You promise?”
“I promise, tadpole. Next time, do you think you can try drawing a picture of you? I know we’d love to see it.”
“You would?”
Joly nods. “We all would.”
Grantaire pops his thumb in his mouth, thinking about it for a long moment, then nods.
Joly grins and ruffles his hair.
“Do you want to try now?” Jehan asks. “I can help.”
“’Kay,” Grantaire says softly, and it’s not perfect, but it’s a start.