Lucien Enjolras

"Thou art a man, my sweet," says Laertes, and he strokes back Lucien's hair as soothingly as though he's taming a nightmare. "What is it thou fearest? That he will love only the idol of thee that he's crafted, and not the man who bakes bread and lids his eyes like a cat's and laughs because his friend has been distracted by dominoes?"