Ira had missed the first teardrop as it fell, but immediately noticed Staas’ grimace and angry reaction. If it was unsettling to see Staas -- normally smiling and energetic and cheerful – upset, it was utterly wrong to see the guy cry.
And his next words were like a punch in Ira’s stomach. Shit, did Staas think that was his fault? But before Ira could say anything the dam broke, and it was intolerable to watch his friend like that, obviously hurting damn so much.
He didn’t hesitate. Staas was sitting right next to him on the couch, so it wasn’t very far to go for the first thing Ira’s instinct and compassion told him to do. He gently took hold of Staas’ opposite shoulder and slowly tugged him in for a big hug. He didn’t say anything, just fit the slight man into the crook of his lanky arms and thin chest and sat and was patient. Apart from a couple of calming pats on Staas’ shuddering back, Ira didn’t do much, just let Staas lean into him and hug him back, giving a squeeze in response to any that he got.
Ira couldn’t see Staas’ face from where it was buried against his collarbone, of course, but muffled gasps and hitching breaths told him that Staas was trying as hard as he could to stop crying. The dampness soaking into Ira’s sweatshirt spoke to a certain lack of success, but even though it made Ira’s heart want to break for him, it was okay. He didn’t encourage Staas, though, didn’t shush him -- just murmured a calm reminder to breathe every now and again between his friend’s painful, stifled sobs.