Jehan sat in the dark gloomy corner of the cafe as a heated debate between two men whose hearts and minds matches their coats. One was crimson and the other a sickly worn green.
The two men drew closer and closer together as their passion and anger grew and Jehan was struck with the image of the two intertwined with a different passion between them. He could see them so clearly as lovers. Grantaire was already nearly there with his deep obsession and admiration - perhaps better described as worship - for Enjolras.
Yes, he would be a loyal and devout lover, eager to please and difficult to dismiss, asking for nothing and offering much in return for the chance of approval and reciprocation.
Then Jehan turned his attention to Enjolras. No, Enjolras' mistress was his country, but perhaps he would allow the drunkard to bestow small favours upon him and perhaps Patria would not mind too much.
If this were the case, Enjolras and Grantaire would be in a romantic limbo - not together, but not apart - and somehow this idea was morbidly delightful to the poet.
Jehan knew his thoughts were wrong. He knew to be a Sodomite was sinful, but he couldn't help but desire his thoughts to come to life before his eyes. He blushed the colour of Enjolras' coat and drew his masterpiece with words.
As the last cry of Jean Prouvaire was heard behind the barricade, a man caught sight of a crumpled paper on the ground near him. It struck him as odd that it had appeared where it has not been moments ago, but since he was trapped as the battle raged on, he picked it up and opened it.
There inside was written a poem of sinful unrequited love that caused so much pain and longing to come upon the man that he folded the paper and put it in the pocket, vowing to include the imagine in a future tale in memory of both the boy who wrote it and his match.