A/N: Sooo, this is it. I've finally got around to this. Yaaay. I have to say I'm quite proud of myself. Please review? Maybe?

Oh, soundslikepeanuts -this is for you, for being awesome and nice and inspiring and talented and shit. (Guys, go read her fic. I swear it's the most amazing thing ever!) ONWARD!

He stood on the railing of the bridge, the smell of earth and sewage prominent in his nose. Even to Jehan, who could find the beauty in everything, it was pretty foul. But the smell wasn't what he came here for, fortunately. He came for the faces. He'd taken to walking the streets of Paris early in the morning and late into the night, just observing. Contrary to his friends' beliefs, Jehan was not made up entirely of rainbows and happy thoughts-granted, those sentiments had a special place in his heart-but what he loved the most about his city was the people-the melancholy silence in the dead of night, the sunken faces, the hollow eyes. He'd always believed that despair was an entirely different type of beauty in itself.

As he jumped off of the railing, humming quietly to himself, the frail shadow of a person caught his eye. She-for this person was much too small to be a he, certainly-was playing a little game with herself, hopping from stone to broken stone, counting out loud. He watched on, intrigued. She hopped past him, not even noticing his presence. He had to talk to her, ask her something, dammit. He reached out, catching onto her jacket sleeve.

Instinctively, she whirled around, punching him in the face. He fell to the ground, clutching his nose. Ouch. She shook her hand, cursing.

"What the hell, you fucking asshole? What do you-" she yelled, but cut herself off when she saw his clothes and polite demeanor.

"I'm so sorry for startling you, I-" he stuttered, noticing the way her hair caught the moonlight. "I just wanted to get your attention."

Her eyes softened. "Hey, I'm sorry for punching you in the face. Really, I am. Is there anything I can do to make it up to you?" There was no way she needed another blemish on her already scarred record, so she was just going to have to talk herself out of this one.

His face broke into a smile, and he winced. Definitely broken. "As a matter of fact, there is."

She sighed, resigning to whatever he could ask her to do. "Let me draw you."

"Huh?" Now, she wasn't expecting that.

"You're really, very beautiful, if you don't mind me saying." He said, blushing. "And it would mean a lot to me if I could draw you. Not tonight, obviously, I mean I don't have my supplies or anything, but… would that be okay?"

She raised her eyebrows, chuckling a little bit at his innocence. She shrugged. What the hell, right? "Sure."

"Yes?"

"Okay. When?"

"Woohoo!" he cried, jumping, before moaning and holding his nose again. "Okay-meet me here tomorrow night. And, um, could you give me your shoe?"

"My shoe?" she asked, incredulous.

"Um, you know, sort of as hostage." He laughed awkwardly. "That came out wrong. You know, like Cinderella, sort of."

She laughed with him, a raspy, natural sound that he could not get out of his head for days afterward. "Here." She handed him her ratty old converse, more grey than black. "It's not the best smelling, but…"

He took it gracefully, bowing. "Then, mademoiselle, I shall take my leave."

She shrugged again. How amusing. As she began making her way down the street, he called after her. "I have your shoe!" When she was sure he was out of earshot, she chuckled to herself. He was a very intriguing character, much different than the perverts that frequented her father's inn, and she might just have to take him up on his offer. He did have her shoe.

That night, Jehan went back to the Musain, waving a dirty converse proudly in the air, telling his friends all about His Cinderella and how her hair looked in the moonlight and how her eyes sparkled and-was he bleeding?-he hadn't noticed. Had he already told them about how she was going to meet him tomorrow? Well, you see...

Eponine went home to her shift at the inn, humming happily. Azelma didn't stop bugging her all night about what the hell had happened, but she was too dazed to care. Even when some drunk had made her trip and spill two glasses of beer down her shirt, she had just shrugged. What was another bruise on her body? She was Cinderella, after all. Bibbidi bobbidi boo...