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It’s softer against his rough palms and calloused fingers than he expected it to be. The cockade should shine with revolutionary fervor the same way its maker does, but on second thought that sounds ridiculous. Still, he expected stiff material with little give, and got a surprise with the delicacy of Jehan’s flower petals.
Grantaire can’t help but smile, without the usual sardonic tilt to his mouth, here around the corner, with lesser light, his back to the group, where no one sees his slip.
He tucks it away to his pocket as he overhears the conversation, Enjolras searching for his creation. Clearing his expression and picking up the bottle again, he returns, teasingly calling, “Perhaps it floated off to Liberty herself, hm?”
And even as Enjolras turns that hard glare to him, his heart is warm with the cockade secreted away to his pocket.