Musichetta sighed and smiled down at her boys, asleep together on the couch. Bossuet was stretched out and smiling whereas Joly was curled into a tight ball beside him, frowning and muttering in his sleep. She watched as Bossuet shifted against him and brought a large hand down to rest on Joly's hip. Her boys. Sometimes, when she saw them together like that, she felt bad; they had to share each other with her. It felt selfish to have them both – but if asked, she couldn't possibly choose between them. They were her two rocks, her constants. She needed them and she really, really hoped they needed her, at least a little.
Bossuet was so happy: it was remarkable how just looking at his smile could completely change her mood around. He would trail soft kisses down her back when she was in a bad mood and then she would have to turn to him and kiss him till they both needed air. He would make her grilled cheese and ham sandwiches whenever she asked. He would tell bad jokes until her mouth finally curved up into a smile.
Joly was so clever: he always knew what to say. He would make her endless cups of tea when she was sick and stroke her hair, murmuring what he was going to do with her when she was better. He would wake her up by peppering her face, her collarbone, her stomach with kisses. He would recite poetry he'd learnt from Jehan in her ear as she was falling asleep.
All she could do in return was love them with all her heart. And she did. She really, truly did. If anything, anyone, hurt them... Well: no one was allowed to hurt her boys and get away with it. She would always protect them. She would always be there to watch over them. They were her world. She hoped that she would never have to say goodbye to them. The day she lost them would be the day her heart stopped. She couldn't live without them. She wouldn't want to. She failed to remember a time when she hadn't been able to kiss one – or both – of them.
Grantaire had alcohol as a drug, a release, an escape. She had her boys. They were her one addiction. And everyone knows that you can't just take a drug away from an addict. It breaks them. 'Chetta didn't want to break.