Gavroche ducked into one of Paris's many dark alleyways, the street flooded with filth and swarming with people. He was on the run from an officer, and he was starving. He had just swiped an apple from one of the carts on the side of the road, and he had been very sneaky about it, if he allowed himself the credit. But in the haze of his hunger (he hadn't been quite sure when he had last eaten anything proper) he hadn't been careful enough, and when he'd crashed into one of the officers patrolling nearby, his anxious eyes had given him away. And so Gavroche had taken off running, and although he was exceptionally good at escaping trouble, he knew he couldn't run forever. So, he'd tried to hide, hoping to at least secure one delicious bite of the apple before it would be forced away from him.
Gavroche leaned against the wall, panting, when he caught sight of a man, looking deep in thought and very serious. With his expensive red jacket and neatly tied back blond hair, his social status was immediately obvious, and Gavroche cursed himself for having the misfortune of choosing this particular alley, whose exit was blocked by this man who would surely hand him over to the police.
Gavroche ripped into the apple, savoring what he knew would be his only bites and hoping desperately that the man would leave him alone. He looked up, hearing footsteps crunching towards him, and saw the blond man approaching him, striding in his direction with purpose. Gavroche cursed again. What terrible, terrible, luck.
The man reached him quickly, and looked him over. Gavroche held the man's gaze, staring confidently into his eyes, even though there was something about the man that gave off an immediate impression of importance and strength that should have scared off any child of Gavroche's age. But then again, Gavroche had always prided himself on not being just any child, and so he took it upon himself to face this man with courage.
"You look tired," the man said mildly. "You've been running. Is something the matter?"
Gavroche was decidedly surprised by this. He shook his head, scowling. "Only that you're about to turn me in," he muttered, slowly backing away. He had learned, through years of experience, that the rich didn't much give people like him the benefit of the doubt. If he was in possession of food that look to be above what befitted a person of his standing, it was assumed to have been stolen.
"I wouldn't be so sure," the man said calmly. "I don't particularly consider stealing an apple as a hungry young boy is such an unforgivable crime, do you?"
As Gavroche took a moment to marvel at this, he heard crashing footsteps coming from the other end of the alleyway. He knew he had to make a choice. He took a hesitant step towards the young man, as the officer thundered after him.
"Come, take my hand," the man said, extending his arm towards Gavroche.
Weighing the risks, Gavroche made the best decision he could in the moment. Grabbing the man's hand, Gavroche allowed himself to be pulled along by the older man, keeping a firm grip on the apple all the while.
After they lost the officer, the man pulled Gavroche behind a café,
"There," he said, smiling slightly. "And now you may feast in peace."
Gavroche frowned. "What did you do that for?" he asked suspiciously. "What's it to you if I eat or not?"
Sighing the man put a hand on Gavroche's shoulder. Gavroche immediately tensed. He did not like people touching him under any circumstances. But the man kept talking.
"Well, in a better world, a world for which I happen to be fighting for right now, we would operate under a system called a moral economy, where the government would help the people to get the things they needed, like supplying you with food. So, it seems to me that if you are taking it upon yourself to further my agenda of one day having such a system, it is only right that I aid you in your quest. Fair enough?"
Gavroche pondered. He didn't understand everything, to be sure, but the man, surprisingly, seemed to think along the same lines as Gavroche himself did. He'd never thought it fair that the poor people had to work so much harder for so much less. Gavroche decided he was satisfied with this man. He nodded.
"Excellent. And, what is your name, may I ask?"
"I'm called Gavroche," he said boldly. "And you, Monsieur?"
"Enjolras," the man said, equally as bold, with a slight smirk.
"Maybe we will become friends, Monsieur Enjolras," Gavroche said, between aggressive bites of apple. "Thank you for the help, and for the lesson on the moral economy. I will remember all of it."
Enjolras nodded at him as Gavroche headed away. And then he called him back. Gavroche turned, curious.
"Gavroche! Wait here a moment, please." As the young boy obeyed, Enjolras disappeared into the café, emerging seconds later with some bread and a piece of meat.
"Take this, as well," he said, smiling widely now and handing the food over to Gavroche. "We must do all we can to make up for the many areas in which our government is failing, oui? Enjoy."
And Gavroche smiled, the biggest he'd smiled in weeks—maybe months. "Merci, Monsieur!" he said happily. "Merci!"