Short oneshot I created really late at night. I don't own anything.
Jean Prouvaire. Jehan, to his friends. The sweet little poet and artist, always ready with a soft smile and gentle display of affection.
One of his hobbies was drawing intricate designs on his friends. He had beautiful coloured pens, and oftentimes at meetings could be seen doodling on the arm of one person or the face of another. From gentle branches, to birds, to flowers, wings, cracked glass, any sort of pattern could be seen on any of the Amis at any time.
There was only one person who was never seen with the drawings on their skin. For once, it wasn't even the bold leader. No, Enjolras hadn't been able to resist that face either, and had actually gotten things ranging from flags to swords on multiple occasions. There was even an instance involving dance and Robespierre that somehow ended up drawn down his entire back (which is another story entirely.)
No, the person without marks was the artist himself. It wasn't as if he couldn't, he always had the ability to. He could draw on either arm, since he was ambidextrous, but even if he wasn't he would still have his legs and stomach. But no, remaining in long pants, boots, and oversized sweaters never revealed any sort of design.
That was because Jehan hid a secret, a secret not even his closest friends knew. The gentle, innocent boy didn't have a life as sweet as he was. In fact, his life was not what anyone deserved or should have to live through. He was hurt at home, badly and repeatedly. From wearing flowery pants to weaving petals into his long flowing hair, he was the exact opposite of what he was expected to be.
But no one ever did question why Jehan was the only one who never displayed those delicate designs on his skin. So they kept on living, just as they were.