Hi! I know I haven't updated in a while and I'm very sorry. Consider this as a little gift to apologize. It's short but I had it stuck in my head since my trip to Taizé. There was this cute guy who was writing on a red notebook and he made me think of Enjolras. Must have something to do with his hair.
Anyway, enjoy and let me know what you think! (This isn't beta'd so I apologize for any mistake you might find).
I don't own Les Misérables.
The first time she met him, she was so bored she was about to make one of the uni library's heavy bookshelves fall on herself only to escape boredom. He appeared out of nowhere. One moment the table in front of her was unoccupied and the next minute, here he was, furiously writing on a bright red notebook. His hands were stained with ink and his hair was a total met, yet somehow he was the most elegant man she ever laid eyes on. Maybe it was the way his pen moved on paper or something. She didn't know but that guy… That guy exuded something elegant, something refined. Totally out of her league§. Not that she panned on getting involved with him or anything… but still.
The next time, she was on the train on her way back to Paris after visiting her little brother in Perpignan. Gavroche was in foster care adn the family he was currently living with was lovely and kinder than the Thénardiers would ever been. She was truly happy for him but kind of sad too at the same time since she couldn't see him every time she wanted. Train tickets to Perpignan from Paris weren't exactly cheap so she couldn't afford to buy one every week. To say that wasn't exactly paying attention to the people around her was an understatement but she saw him. Actually, she heard him lecturing an SNCF employee and she took a quick look, blushing and turning back to the window when their gazes met. A few minutes and a passionate rant about justice and train tickets prices later, he sat in front of her. "The nerve of some people" he mumbled right before dozing off, not even acknowleding her. What a jerk.
The third time their paths crossed, she was working and he was drinking. At least, she thought he was until he absentmindedly ordered an orange juice. The expression on her face must have been priceless because one of his friends, the braid-haired one, said: "it's better if he doesn't drink, trust me" and another one, one she was used to see here at the Musain, added: "give him a shot of tequila and he'll be twerking in no time!" The image made her laugh, which made him blush. "I would love to see that" she teased before running back to the bar. She only had the time to see his cheeks reddened even more. Red suited him.