"Alex!" Élie waves, his ever-present grin visible across the street. He starts to make his way through the crowd, towing someone along in his wake. A boy: small, slim, ragged, entirely unremarkable.
Élie beams with such honest goodwill that Alexandre forgives him the use of the nickname, as always. "Meet my cousin, Jean-Marie Bonnaire. Jeannot, my dear friend Alexandre Michaud."
The boy looks up. Alexandre's breath catches: his eyes are cornflower blue, pure and lovely and achingly sad, and for one dizzy moment Alexandre wants nothing more than to gather the boy into his arms and kiss that sorrow away.
It's been forever since I've written a real drabble. Ack.