A/N: This is my first legitimate attempt to write a Les Miserables fanfic, so be patient; I'll get the characterization right eventually. Jehan will probably be a little OOC at first, but this story is supposed to be about what made him the way he was.
More to the point, I feel like I should explain something that could very possibly confuse everyone and blow up the site or something: Whenever I use the term 'Montparnasse' in this story, I'm referring to the Bohemian district of Paris, not the character Montparnasse.
Oh yeah, one other thing. I'm not Victor Hugo and I don't own these characters. I hope you enjoy the story anyway!
Perhaps, Jehan thought as the light-eyed girl cleaned his cuts, he'd taken one too many drinks before wandering into Montparnasse that night. After all, he couldn't have counted on being mugged. It was his first night in the city, and just like any other naïve and stupid boy, he had wanted to explore. Now, because of that, he was sitting on a stranger's kitchen table while she washed the cuts he'd received in a foolishly-picked fight.
"Pardon my asking," said the girl quietly, "but what's a pretty young boy like you got to do in French Bohemia?"
"French Bohemia?" Jehan inquired drowsily.
"Montparnasse," she clarified.
"Oh," he mumbled drunkenly. "I just moved here and I wanted to see the sights."
"Wait until my brothers find you here," she laughed, flipping her short-cut hair out of her eyes. "You're a stupid boy, do you know that?"
Jehan only scowled, as he was still too drunk to offer any other response. This girl couldn't have been more than sixteen, seventeen tops, and here he was already nineteen and living on his own. Who was she to boss him around? His drunken thoughts were interrupted by approaching footsteps, and he heard the girl mutter, "Speak of the devils," before three boys burst into the kitchen.
"There you are, Luca," one of the boys, the oldest, said. Noticing Jehan, he said, "Who's you're friend?"
"You would find the only male prostitute in Paris, you sly dog, you," another said.
"He's not a prostitute," the girl said. "He's my new pet, and I won't let any of you touch him."
Jehan, who was slipping further and further into a drunken haze, thought that maybe he ought to be mildly offended by Luca calling him her pet. The oldest brother looked at him closely, and after a few minutes, he turned to his brothers to give them instructions.
"Move him to the couch; he's obviously too drunk to move himself."
The two younger boys moved to follow these orders, but Luca stepped in front of them.
"He was badly bruised in a fight," she told them. "Cut up a little, too. Let me move him. I think he's still conscious."
"Come on, pretty boy," she said, turning to Jehan and putting his arm around her little shoulders. "Let's move you over this way."
Jehan woke up a little bit, enough to help Luca move him to the couch. When she laid him down, he gave her a sleepy smile. Her returning eye-roll was the last thing he saw before falling into an absinthe-induced sleep.
Jehan woke the next morning bathed in sunlight and unable to recall the events of the night before. His head was pounding like hell; he had never been this hung over before.
"Finally, you're awake," said a female voice beside him. Jehan jumped and nearly fell off the bed at the sudden noise.
"What the—," he began, turning to face the girl, but her face stirred a memory that made him close his mouth.
"Yeah, I can imagine that hangover's rough. What were you drinking?"
"Absinthe," Jehan groaned, trying to smooth out his hair. "How long have I been sleeping?"
"Three weeks," the girl said lightly.
"Three weeks? That must've one hell of a green fairy."
Luca laughed at him and handed him a clear liquid. "Drink it," she ordered.
"What? No. I'm not drinking anything you're giving me. I've barely met you."
The girl laughed again. "I'm not going to poison you. If I was going to poison you, I would've done it in the three weeks during which you were asleep."
"Was I really asleep for three weeks?" Jehan asked. The girl bit her lip to keep from laughing again.
"Yes, yes you were."
"Hey, Luca," a male voice asked, its owner entering the room just then. "How's that boy you brought in last night?"
Luca glanced down at the floor, her face twisting up into a guilty smirk. Jehan glared at her.
"He's fine, Alexandre. He's awake now, too. Come and say hello to him, won't you?"
Alexandre approached them with a little bit of caution; he still had trouble believing that his sister had brought home a strange man the night before. Regardless, he only stopped walking when he stood beside where Luca sat on the floor.
"Bonjour," he said stiffly. "I'm Alexandre Feuilly. It seems my sister has brought you to our house; I hope you had a comfortable sleep."
"Bonjour," Jehan returned, offering his hand, which Feuilly shook. "My name is Jean Prouvaire, but most people just call me Jehan. Your sister told me that I've been asleep for three weeks."
"Did she now?" Feuilly asked, smirking and glancing at the girl. "Well, she does like to tease."
"And you've ruined my sport," Luca cut in. "Now I may actually have to meet Monsieur Morrel on time this morning out of sheer boredom."
"It's a good thing, too," her brother told her. "You give that man too hard of a time for how much help he's been to you."
"Monsieur Morrel?" Jehan asked. "Does Mademoiselle have a tutor?"
"Sort of," Luca said. "He teaches me to paint and I help him with things around his studio."
"He only teaches painting? What about the rest of your education?"
Luca laughed once again; Jehan was beginning to discover that this was something she did often.
"You don't know where you are, do you Monsieur Prouvaire?" she asked.
"Montparnasse, right? You called it…French Bohemia last night."
"Impressive," Luca said. "I would have thought you wouldn't remember anything about last night. And yes, French Bohemia is what we call this part of Montparnasse, because it's where the writers and the artists live."
"The women are allowed to take up work here, too?" Jehan asked.
Luca rolled her eyes and scowled. "Contrary to bourgeois belief, Monsieur, we don't all have limp wrists," she snapped. "I'm leaving. Are you coming or what, Monsieur Prouvaire?"
"Coming? Coming where?"
"With me, of course. I'll show you around, since you're so eager to explore."
"I should get back to my flat…"
"I'm sure your landlord won't repossess it if you're gone just one day."
"Fine," Jehan said at last. "I'll go with you."
"Excellent," Luca said with a grin. "Your coat is in the kitchen. I'll be down on the street when you're ready." And with that, she slipped out the door.
What am I getting myself into? Wondered Jehan.
So…like it? Hate it? Don't be shy!