Claude's never been good at giving comfort, but he tries, for Peter's sake. As soon as Claude sees him, hurt and grief-stricken, all the spark gone from his eyes, he has to try. He feels so awkward, with his arms wrapped tightly around the boy's shaking body, Peter's head buried in his shoulder, his fists clenching in the front of Claude's shirt. It's like they don't quite fit together the way they should. Then Peter begins to sob and Claude forgets about the placement of elbows and hands and heads and bodies and holds Peter closer, murmuring soothing nonsense into his hair.
And maybe he isn't good at it, but he tries, and –for Peter, at least– that's enough.
