Hey, I wrote a story. Hope you like it.
Disclaimer: Last time I checked, I'm not Victor Hugo. None of the characters are mine. However, I would gladly adopt them if the option arose.
(I feel my soul on fire)
It's not that he means to notice her. In fact, if he hasn't dropped his iPod that one morning, he never would have known she was there.
He had started when he was in college, going for a jog every morning was the perfect way to wake him up and energise him for the day ahead. It just so helped that he lived next to the sea and had the ability to run across the shoreline every morning at sunrise. He likes the fact that something as healthy as running can help clear his mind and relieve stress, his friends deciding to take a more easy route, with alcohol and girls. He likes to listen to his music and watch the sun as it ascends across the horizon, reflecting off of the sea. It has a calming affect and helps him steady his breath on the rare days that he pushes himself too hard.
It was on one of those rare days when he first sees her. His breathing is staggered and ultimately affects his body, his legs becoming overly weak. It was his own fault, he guesses, he didn't get his moderate amount of sleep last night, preferring to study for his end of unit exam instead. So, as he stumbles a bit, his feet slumping into the sand, his arms inadvertently pull his earphones out of the iPod and send it crashing to the floor, the silver clashing with the sand. He takes a deep breath and stretches his legs before bending over to retrieve the device. It wasn't until he looked up that he finally saw her.
She's sat on one of the grassy hills overlooking the beach. She's wearing a black cardigan, which she clutches to her chest, despite the heat emitted from the arising sun, and a blue sundress. Her hair is a dark brown and is blowing softly in the wind, a few strands obstructing his view of her face. Her eyes match the deep colour of her hair and are glinting as she stares out into the sea, not acknowledging him there. Her face is delicate, and she looks deep in thought as she sits alone.
He finds himself staring at her, his iPod and morning run forgotten. He can feel himself wanting to talk to her, his fingers flexing as though to stop himself from brushing the hair away from her face and make her take notice of him. He wants to know what she's thinking, and most importantly, to know why he wants to talk to her. He's never really spoken to a girl before, his plans and work consuming him, women playing the part of an unwelcome distraction. Besides, he has his running to help him escape. Now, it seems, he can't even have this.
He comes back to his senses and shakes his head slightly, tearing his gaze away from her and plugging his iPod back in, resuming his music. He takes one more glance at her, seeing her in the same position, still gazing at the sea, before he starts his jog again.
He doesn't look back at her. He does, however, wonder why his heart seems to ache at the fact that she didn't return his gaze.
(My world if she's not there)
He looks for her every morning after that first day. She's always there, always staring at the sea and always unaware of his presence. He doesn't know how he didn't see her before. Because, although she just sits there, she astounds him. He finds himself thinking about her at the most inopportune times, thinking about what she herself is doing at that very moment. He doesn't know why he feels so drawn to her, he's seen women before and he's never wanted to go and start a conversation with any of them.
He likes his early morning runs more than anything, now. Every morning, he wakes up and prepares himself for his stress release. He likes the fact that she's there, as well. He doesn't stop again, though. Oh, no, he won't let himself have that. If he stops, it means that he's considering going to talk to her and he's much to afraid of what might happen after. So, he never stops. He does, however, slow down as soon as she comes into distinctive view. He likes to wonder what she's thinking about, why she's there. Maybe it's the same reason as him, maybe she likes to come and escape the pressure and demand of college life, she does look around his age.
He starts picking up on little things about her. The way she always, always has her hair down and never goes to move it when it blows in her face. He notices how she always wears a dress, no matter what the weather, yet is always clutching her cardigan to her petite body. He sees how she always has the smallest of smiles on her face, and he desperately wants to know what she looks like when she's grinning. He notes how she is always alone, and he really wants to know why that is.
He finds out new things about her every day. On Mondays, she sits with a bright red flask next to her, although she never takes a sip of it when he's there. On Tuesdays, she brings a book with her, holding onto it close to her chest, consequently holding her cardigan together. On Wednesdays, she never brings anything with her. On Thursdays, she has a large black and white overnight bag behind her, her back leaning on it slightly as she stares at the gentle waves. On Fridays, she has the smallest amount of make up on, her eyes more distinct and her lips brighter. On Saturdays, she is always looking really bright, as though she just drank ten coffees and the caffeine is just kicking in. On Sundays, she clutches her phone close to her and checks it every so often; her usually peaceful face marred with distress and trouble.
He looks forward to their meetings- as one sided as they may be- and he is always more determined in the mornings, and is always in a happy mood afterwards, his friends noticing as well, thinking he's got some mistress that he's not telling anybody about. He dismisses their questions with a shake of the hand and an eye roll, choosing to keep the girl a secret.
It's a Thursday when it happens. He's jogging towards the familiar spot on the beach, getting ready to look up at the hill, slowing down just the slightest bit. He isn't prepared for what he sees.
Nothing.
She's not there.
He is firstly confused, he's here at the right time, just like every morning. He's at the right hill, he's gotten accustomed to the gentle slope of the sand and long grass that sits atop it. He looks around to see if she's moved somewhere else, searching the other smaller hills. Where was she?
Then, he gets worried. His feet unconsciously take him towards the hill, his earphones falling out of his ears and hanging haphazardly down his chest. He climbs the hill easily, still looking around. He gets to the top and finds nothing; she's not there and there is no signal to show that she was ever there.
He stands there for about five minutes, only staring at the ground where she should be. He leaves soon after though, walking down the hill and trudging home. He doesn't know what to do, this has never happened before. He first saw her about a month ago and he's seen her every day since. His heart feels empty and he doesn't understand why.
He's in a bad mood for the rest of the day.
(The colour of desire)
She's back the next day. He doesn't know why she wasn't there that day and he never asks. He's just glad that she's there again, happy to see that familiar face with chestnut hair and dark eyes. She's such a stark contrast of himself, he realises. When they meet- well, if, he supposes- there would be such a contrasts. Blue eyes clashing with brown, blond hair clashing with brown. He wonders what her voice sounds like, if it's as beautiful as her face. He imagines her to have an airy voice, quite scratchy in some places. Like an unpolished diamond, he thinks, just likes the rest of her exterior.
His friends are happy when his mood lightens again, glad that he's not demanding they do more work and glaring at anybody who dares ask what is wrong with him. Courfeyrac jokes that maybe he got some again last night, Grantaire laughing alongside him. Combeferre thinks that he was just stressed over their finals, but has finally mastered the whole subject and the stress has subsided. Jehan thinks he's in love.
Obviously, Enjolras laughs in his face. Jehan was always watching for signs of emotion from Enjolras. Of course he would think that as soon as Enjolras was the smallest bit happy, he'd diagnose it as love. Jehan gives him a small knowing smile and walks away, leaving Enjolras alone with his work again.
He thinks about it, though. Perhaps Jehan is right, maybe Enjolras does hold some type of feeling towards the girl. Not love, no, never love, but maybe something. Maybe he just feels a friendly connection towards her, yes, something similar to what he would feel towards Courfeyrac or Combeferre. But, then, he disregards himself. He has never found himself wondering what Courfeyrac looked like when he was falling to sleep, never thought about what Combeferre would look like when he was just waking up. Okay, maybe it wasn't just a friendly emotion, maybe it was more. Not love, though, definitely not.
She's there again, the next day. It's a Saturday, so her face is really bright and her eyes are excited. As he looks at her, he thinks that, yeah, maybe he does love her a tiny bit.
(The colour of despair)
Over the next couple of days he begins to work up the courage to talk to her. He plans to go on his usual jog, but when he would usually go straight ahead, he would take a slight turn when he gets to her hill. He will walk up to her and initiate conversation. According to his plan, they should laugh at funny things they say to each other, smile at each other when they think the other isn't looking and slowly she will fall for him.
He's going to do it, he decides. He sees her there, sitting alone, clutching her book to her chest. He starts to think over the plan, when suddenly he realises that it's too brief. What would he even say when he got up there? 'Hi, I like looking at you when I come for my jog ever morning, I'm Enjolras and I believe I might be a little bit in love with you'? No, she'd laugh at him and that wasn't supposed to happen until he said something funny to her. So, just before he should have turned and ran up the hill, he went straight forward and only stole a glance at her when he knew he was too far away to consider turning back and trying to talk to her.
Also, he's not even sure that she even knows he's alive. She surely hasn't given any indication that she's noticed him. Maybe his feelings are as one sided as he thinks. This makes his heart ache more than he cares to admit, so he swiftly brushes the idea from his mind and carries on with his task.
He decides that he needs to enlist in help, which obviously uses a lot of energy and self humiliation than he is prepared to give. However, he wants to talk to the girl. So, he decides to ask Jehan. Jehan knows how to talk to girls, knows what they like and what makes them swoon.
Jehan doesn't hear him at first. Rightfully so, seeing as Enjolras mutters it to himself, his head turned away from the ginger haired boy. Jehan asks him to repeat it and Enjolras says it louder and more resigned, tells him that he needs help and would be ever so grateful if Jehan would admit his services to the blond. Jehan nods and tells him that he will not stop until him and his mystery girl are united. Jehan does not keep this newfound information to himself for long. It's about half an hour since the initial conversation with Jehan that Courfeyrac comes up to him, places a hand on his shoulder and begins to tell him some not-so-subtle pick up lines.
He has it all planned out. Seriously, this time. It's a Friday, so she won't have anything with her, just a small glimmer of lipgloss and perhaps a brush of mascara. He's got his speech prepared. He's going to walk up to her, tell her his name and when she responds with her own, he will smile and ask if he can sit with her. He'll tell her that he's been noticing her every day for about two months now, explain that he's been wanting to talk to her ever since the first day he realised she was there. She'll smile at him and tell him that she's noticed him as well, and he'll return the smile graciously. They'll talk about why they like coming to the beach every morning, share stories about how it calms them down. They'll end up talking about their lives outside the beach, over time she'll tell him what she thinks about when she sits on her hill. Eventually, it will become their hill. He will jog up to the hill every morning and they will talk. One day, he'll have the courage to ask her on a date, she'll laugh at him and tell him that all their meetings were dates in the first place. They'll end up dating and he'll be happy as ever. He'll ask her to marry him on that very hill and then his future may include their own happily ever after.
So, he's jogging down the beach when he sees the hill. He mentally prepares himself for the initial introduction, focusing himself on the inevitable outcome. He heads up the hill and smiles to himself, he knows that this is it, this is exactly what he needs. He reaches the top and looks up.
For the second time in two months, she's not there.
He feels his heart break.
In her place is a small piece of paper, folded neatly and nestled in the grass where she should rightfully be sat.
He reaches for it and opens it gently.
'There is one spectacle grander than the sea,
That is the sky;
There is one spectacle grander than the sky,
That is the interior of the soul.
-Victor Hugo'
He looks up again and lets his gaze fall out into the sea. Of course, as soon as he realises his feelings, she's gone. Just a quote from a great author left behind. He is certain he's lost her forever. But then he sees a flash of brown hair and a red cardigan.
She's there. Waiting at the shoreline, in the exact place where he stood on that very first day. He can remember it so vividly, the way she had made him think of her when he didn't know anything about her. He realises he's just standing there, gaping at her, so he practically sprints down to her, paper still in hand.
He almost cries when he gets closer to her. She's clad in her usual attire, the style of clothing he's become too accustomed with. He's finally face to face with her, this girl who he barely know, this girl who has been plaguing his thoughts ever since he dropped his iPod all those months ago. She's smiling at him, and he manages to smile back, surprised at how every rational thought has promptly left his mind. Her eyes are glinting as the sun raises over the horizon and he cant believe this is happening. Her hair is, once again, blowing all around her face. He wants to say something, but he knows that all words have failed him. In the back of his mind, he can briefly remember Jehan talking to him about flowers and pretty words or something, but his girl is right here and he can't even remember his own name right now. So, instead of making a fool of himself by mumbling something incoherent, he reaches up and brushes a strand of hair behind her ear, his palm resting on her cheek afterwards.
He looks into her eyes deeply, deciding to just go for it. Because, come on, surely she must feel something to. She's here, she has to reciprocate his feelings. She must have seen his inner turmoil because she leans into his touch and he swears he sees her smile widen when he leans in to her face. He presses his lips gently onto hers and he almost drops his paper as he holds onto her wait with his other hand. It's the most perfect things he's ever felt and he doesn't want to pull back, but oxygen is becoming a necessity and he figures that, since she hasn't pulled back yet, she wouldn't mind if he did it again sometime, sometime when his brain is actually working.
Their lips part and he leans his forehead against hers. He feels her sigh lightly, her breath minty as it fans over his face, before she whispers to him.
"I noticed you."
He smiles.
A/N. Thanks for reading!