Bonjour! So this is just a quick one-shot of Enjolras because I felt as if there had to be a reason he was so cold and did not have interest in women. Then, a story fell into place. I know that everyone makes thier own Mary-Sue and pairs her with Enjolras because he is so awesome, but the character that Victor Hugo wrote wasn't interested in women and so I tried to give him a little background and stay as in character as I could. Anyway, enough of this rambling and please read on and give this a shot!
Enjolras walked home alone well after dark. Like always, he was the last one to leave the café and was always the first to arrive. The other men took the revolution seriously and knew deep in their hearts this was worth fighting for, but none of them lived for this like Enjolras did. Everything he did was for the revolution, to make France a better place for all. Patria was his mistress and all he cared about. The others went off chasing girls, being with their families, and drinking. Enjolras didn't care for women, had no family left, and did not allow himself to become too intoxicated. At least, not anymore did those things apply to him.
Now, he was on his own and he was a leader, the others looked up to him and respected what he had to say. He always needed to be one step ahead of them. They did not call him the marble statue for nothing. This was his life now and it was safe to say he was content with his life, happy almost. He had trained himself to not want anything more than to free his love, France. If he was this marble statue that everyone called him, he did hardly have any cracks. He had spent much time putting himself together as so he would not be broken ever again. Like every statue though, even the most perfect ones, there were tiny cracks and chips here and there.
On that particular night, the boys had been especially rowdy and gleeful. They all had discovered this prostitute whom they all agreed on was the best lover they'd met. It had started with Bahroel who had picked her up on a drunken night and the others eventually followed his advice and met her as well. Multiple times each, in fact it was all in fun to them and it was not like they spent their lives having sex with women so the fact they did this was more of an annoyance than a concern of Enjolras. At the end of the day, he had complete trust that they would do anything for him and the cause.
That night, they got into an argument over which of them she enjoyed the best. It was all ridiculous according to Enjolras and he hardly allowed them to talk about it in front of him although he did know a little about her through conversations he had interrupted. It wasn't the fact that they had their prostitute they all went to that bothered him, it was the fact of who that prostitute was. Sure, the only thing that he had learned about her was her name and the fact that she was blonde and had an odd nose piercing, but that was enough for him. He was pretty certain he knew who they were seeing, but he didn't want to think it true or even attempt to find out. He simply forbade them to speak of her in front of him.
They thought he was simply being prude, but no man is born so hardened and cold, after certain events in life they eventually become that way.
Lynette crouched in the shadows of the dark night. This street was practically empty at this time of night, while the one she just came from was quite busy. It was a Saturday night after all. She'd seen enough men for the day and needed just one moment to herself. Slightly out of breath, she tried to control her heavy breathing so she would not be heard and spotted. She gingery touched her eye that had been bruised a few nights ago with a rough man. She prayed the bruise would go away soon and she did her best to cover it up with the pasty white make up the girls used. Tonight, she had gotten a split bloody lip and she winced in pain as she wiped her tongue along her bottom lip to wash away the blood. That wasn't too major and would be gone within a day or so.
She wasn't sitting there for herself, though. Or maybe she was. On the occasional night like this, she was here to torture herself. It brought her both pain and happiness, and yet she couldn't stop herself. It was like a drug. He was like a drug. The boys often spoke of him and her heart would ache as she kept up her kinky, confident attitude, brushing him off with a laugh and calling him gay, spending all his time in a café surrounded by men.
She pushed herself up against a wall, farther back in the shadows as he approached, wearing his signature red vest. His curly blonde hair stood out in the dark night under the dim street lamps. Her hands tingled painfully at the thought of being able to run them through that hair once again. In his hands he carried a few books and she watched those hands as her whole body hurt from heart ache. She craved to be touched by him again in the way nobody else could. He was always so gentle and graceful yet so strong and fiery with her and by God, she missed it so. Everything about him was so perfect, but it had been years since she was able to call him hers.
She wondered if the boys spoke of her to him as they spoke of him to her, completely unaware of the deep love they both shared, much before either of them had known those boys. He would be surprised to hear what she had become. She was not cut out for the life of a wealthy scholar although she was very bright and her weakness and bad decisions had brought her to where she was now, a lowly prostitute. She suppressed a laugh at the fact she had first laid eyes on him as a freshman in college in advanced composition and here she was now, lying in the street with a black eye and a bloody lip. Sure, she was always a little different, more of a free spirit and had trouble following the rules, but she was genuinely happier back then. Now, she walked around with fake smiles plastered on her face and had sex with disgusting idiots for a living. She actually adored the ABC boys, but there were no others like them.
She sighed, watching him walk past her obliviously. She wondered if he ever thought about her like she thought about him. What did he think when he heard her name? She knew how she felt about him and it was as if she had been broken by what happened, but then put herself back together in a wrong, twisted way.
Well I hope that was decent! Also, if you liked it and want to read more of a story about them, please review and let me know! I have two stories planned in my head. The first is of them actually meeting and falling in and out of love in college and the second is after the revolution, Enjolras survives and they cross paths. That one would feature a Marius/Eponine pairing as well. And well, if you didn't like it please let me know why so I can make a better story in the future. Merci tout le monde!
-Charlie