[He's more than happy to let Lefou cry into his sweater; this sweater has seen its share of blood and tears in the past two months. He gives the younger man a squeeze, hand rubbing comforting circles between his shoulder blades.]
That's right. [His voice is quieter, hoarser, than it's usually confident booming tone.] I've got you. And I know you've got me.
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That's right. [His voice is quieter, hoarser, than it's usually confident booming tone.] I've got you. And I know you've got me.