"Hurt you?" Enjolras might as well still have been perched on the edge of his desk, but his hands were kept very much to himself, the whole time. Lest the confused girl's pleas become more desperate. And he scoffed, forced himself to unclench every muscle in his body that had tensed, recoiled when she fell upon him. Even if she did mean him harm, she would not be able to put up much of a fight. Supposing the absolute worst.

Which he was trying not to.

As hesitant as he was, though, to give her anything to latch onto (and, no specific offense to the child, he often had a - slightly less violent, albeit - reaction when Grantaire did the same to him), Enjolras offered her his hand. "Please. You do not need to prostrate yourself. I have no intention of hurting you."