Chapter Text
Enjolras was at his twelfth birthday party when he decided he wanted to explore Paris.
His family’s spacious, lush green courtyard was filled with many of Paris’s aristocrats and a few of the neighborhood children whom his parents deemed decent enough to associate with him. Among the crowd gathered for the party were their family’s maid, Brigitte, and Enjolras’s babysitter, Hadley. Enjolras considered Hadley and Brigitte to be his best friends, mostly because they had practically raised him, and because they really were his only friends.
Enjolras was sitting in the garden, scowling at the partygoers. Even though it was his birthday, he was being ignored by basically everyone – including his parents, who were far too concerned with making a good impression on their fellow socialites, rather than paying attention to their son.
Enjolras was picking the petals off of a flower and putting them in his hair when Hadley approached, carrying a wrapped gift in his hand.
“Happy birthday, Enjolras,” he said, kneeling down in the garden.
Enjolras looked at the gift, blinking. Without moving to take it, he asked, “can we go to Paris?”
“We’re in Paris,” Hadley responded, used to Enjolras’s antics, since he’d been watching over him for years.
“I mean the real Paris. Jacques says there are buildings that reach to the sky, and giant fountains, and huge gardens—”
Hadley held up a hand to pause Enjolras before he became over-excited.
“Jacques is an idiot,” he said, simply. Jacques was Enjolras’s neighbor, obscenely rich, and prone to telling Enjolras ridiculous stories that the gullible child always believed.
“He says that there are people who live on the streets,” Enjolras said, with a curious tone. “Is that true?”
“Yes,” Hadley admitted, and looking to change the subject said, “why don’t you open your present?”
“I hope it’s a new sundress,” Enjolras said, taking the gift from Hadley and tearing off the paper.
It was, of course, not a new sundress. Even though Hadley sometimes entertained Enjolras’s love for cross-dressing, he knew he’d probably be fired if he began buying Enjolras dresses.
Instead, Enjolras held the next best thing: a silk scarf, bright red with lace trim.
“It’s beautiful,” Enjolras said, with wide eyes. He promptly wrapped it around his neck, flipping his long, curly blonde hair out from underneath it. “And no satin, you remembered.”
Hadley laughed. For whatever reason, Enjolras was prone to throwing tantrums whenever his parents purchased him anything made out of satin.
“Brigitte made me a coat for my birthday,” Enjolras said, going back to picking flowers from the garden. “It’s green. I don’t really like green, but I told her I liked it because I didn’t want her to be upset.”
“That was very nice of you,” Hadley said.
“It’s warm enough,” Enjolras went on, shrugging. “If Jacques can go into Paris, why can’t I?”
“Jacques has only seen Paris through his carriage window,” Hadley responded, his disdain for Jacques becoming increasingly evident.
Before Enjolras could argue further, Brigitte approached, looking less than thrilled about the proceedings of the party.
“Enjolras, we’re about to cut your cake,” she said, brushing from her face the brown hair that had fallen loose.
“Look at the scarf Hadley got me,” Enjolras said, standing up from the garden, appropriately muddy, and twirling around. “Isn’t it pretty?”
“Very pretty,” she said, smiling. Even though Enjolras could often be a spoiled brat, she was very protective over him and would do anything to reassure him that he was the most beautiful person in the world, especially when his parents would so often put him down, when they bothered to pay attention to him at all.
“Don’t you want cake?” she asked.
“I want to see Paris,” Enjolras said, looking up at Brigitte with big blue eyes, knowing full well that look could usually get him anything he wanted.
“You’ve seen Paris,” Brigitte responded, raising an eyebrow in confusion at Hadley, who simply shook his head. Enjolras was an enigma.
“Not the real Paris,” Enjolras explained, looking exasperated. “I’ll just ask Jacques to take me the next time he goes.”
“You’re not hanging out with Jacques,” Brigitte and Hadley said in unison, causing Enjolras to jump.
“Forget the city,” Brigitte said, pulling herself together. “It’s dangerous. Just eat your cake.”
Enjolras rolled his eyes and dusted himself off from the dirt he’d collected in the garden, grabbing both Hadley and Brigitte’s hands before making his way to the crowd that had gathered at the long banquet table set up to host the posh partygoers.
“Ah, Enjolras has finally decided to join us,” Enjolras’s mother commented, giving Brigitte an impatient look.
“Take the flowers out of your hair, son,” his father commented, sighing heavily.
Enjolras attempted to look defiant, but began blushing furiously as all the attention was brought to him. He frantically brushed the flower petals from his hair, unable to lift his eyes.
“Should we sing?” Hadley suggested, hoping to ease the awkwardness and alleviate some of Enjolras’s embarrassment.
As the crowd began a half-assed attempt at singing to Enjolras, who was still bright red and staring at the fallen flower petals around his feet, Brigitte reached over and put an arm around him, pulling him close. Enjolras looked up at her and smiled, just as they were finishing. Blowing out the candles that had been placed in his cake, he couldn’t help but feel important as everyone around him clapped.
The cake was strawberry, Enjolras’s favorite, and he took his slice into a secluded corner where he could watch the people around him talk and put on airs. It wasn’t long before he was approached by his neighbor, Jacques, who carried a slice of cake in his hand and looked smug for whatever reason.
“Jacques,” Enjolras greeted, pink icing on his nose.
“Enjolras,” Jacques said, nose in the air. “I’m going into Paris again tonight. I’m hanging out with some of my friends that live downtown. We’re probably going to a party. It’s going to be cool.”
Jacques was only two years older than Enjolras but always liked to brag about his older friends who were so interesting and liked to party and get into trouble.
“Take me,” Enjolras pleaded.
“I don’t know,” Jacques said, looking skeptical. “It’s a tough crowd. Everyone is going to think you’re a girl.”
“Why?” Enjolras asked, looking up at Jacques with blue eyes, wild curls, and icing on his nose.
“Because you look like one,” Jacques explained. “Anyway, I’ll introduce you if you want, but we need to think of a plan.”
“Okay,” Enjolras said, in a hushed voice.
Jacques sat down beside him and spoke in a hurried, whispered tone as though they were plotting treason and not being ignored by the entire party either way.
“I need you to escape from your house and meet me at the corner of Rue Cujas and Rue Saint-Jacques. We’ll meet in two hours. Can you do that?”
“Rue Cujas and Rue Saint-Jacques,” Enjolras repeated. “Like your name. I can do that.”
“Good,” Jacques said, although he still looked unsure whether or not Enjolras was capable of doing anything even remotely bad ass. “I’ll see you then.”
Jacques wandered off, leaving Enjolras alone with his thoughts.
He was instantly anxious about sneaking out. The most daring thing he’d ever done was continue to have secret ballet lessons after his father threatened to disown him if he continued. He at least had Hadley on his side for that one, but he knew he couldn’t tell anyone about his plan to sneak out. Hadley and Brigitte both seemed to think going into Paris was a bad idea. But Enjolras knew he wouldn’t rest until he experienced the full extent of the city he lived in.
“You look happy.” Enjolras looked up from his thoughts to see Hadley standing over him, an amused expression on his face.
“It’s a nice party,” Enjolras said, stuttering. “Nice cake.”
“I’m heading out now,” Hadley said, “I’ll see you tomorrow for your lessons.”
Enjolras’s parents had decided from the beginning that Enjolras was apparently too good for public school and had him home-schooled with a series of tutors. Enjolras and Hadley jokingly called it Bourgeois School since the only thing he really learned was how to behave in “respectable” society. Enjolras found the whole thing incredibly tedious.
Waving goodbye to Hadley, Enjolras quickly hurried into the mansion that he called home, closing the door to his bedroom behind him. He wondered what would be acceptable to wear out on the streets of Paris. He wanted to look cool, and not overly girly. He decided to wear the red scarf that Hadley had bought for him, some black pants, and his fluffiest shirt. He pulled the green coat that Brigitte had gotten for him over his attire. It was nearly dusk, and Enjolras decided to make his move.
Thankfully, both of Enjolras’s parents had retired for the evening, apparently exhausted from a long day of socializing, and the servants were all too busy cleaning up to pay any attention to Enjolras.
Sneaking through the front garden and out the gate, Enjolras felt an incredible elation upon reaching the open air. He’d seen this part of the city a thousand times, getting into their carriage to go shopping or when travelling to the country. The air was biting, since it was late January, and Enjolras pulled his coat tight around him as he began walking down his street towards the corner that Jacques had indicated.
It wasn’t long before the scenery became unfamiliar, and the street more crowded. As he turned onto the Rue Cujas, he quickly became overwhelmed by the many tall buildings, the crowd bustling by, and the loud sounds of people shouting to each other and carriages speeding down the road. He hurried so as not to get into anyone’s way, and struggled simultaneously to read the street signs, hoping that the Rue Saint-Jacques wasn’t too far away. He didn’t want to be late and have Jacques leave without him.
Suddenly, Enjolras heard a shout from behind him and without warning a man plowed into his side, knocking him over onto the sidewalk.
“Hey! Come back!” a voice yelled after the man, who, without sparing a glance for Enjolras, tore down a side alley, disappearing from view.
“What’s all the shouting about?” Enjolras turned to see a police officer approaching the man who’d yelled, looking entirely uninterested in the whole proceeding.
“Some good you are! That guy just made off with a loaf of bread!” the shop-owner yelled, totally exasperated.
“Bread, huh?” the police officer repeated, and a spark seemed to alight in his eyes. “Could it be Jean Valjean?” Without another word to the distraught shopkeeper, the police officer, ignoring Enjolras who was still lying fallen on the dirty sidewalk, ran down the alleyway after the thief.
Enjolras finally stood and brushed himself off, wondering why no one bothered to ask if he was okay. His new coat was covered in the dirt from the street and he suddenly felt very lost and afraid. Stumbling along down the road, hoping he would meet up with Jacques soon, he was entirely unprepared when a group of thugs seemed to appear out of nowhere, looking at him with crazed eyes, blocking his path.
“Excuse me,” Enjolras said, putting on his best authoritative voice. Unfortunately, Enjolras’s voice was particularly squeaky and didn’t sound menacing at all.
The group consisted of three rather intimidating looking teenagers, their faces thick with dirt and gaunt with hunger. One, who appeared to be the leader, pushed Enjolras into the nearest alley where they’d be out of view.
“Just give us your money and we won’t hurt you,” he said, and Enjolras noticed he held a knife in his hand, the blade glinting in the pale sunlight. The color draining from his face, Enjolras struggled to calm his racing heart and think of something he could do to get away. He shut his eyes furiously and was appalled to realize he was crying.
“Please, I don’t have any money,” Enjolras said, even though that wasn’t entirely true. He’d grabbed a few francs before leaving the house and stuffed them into the pocket of his coat.
“Doubt it,” another man said, with a harsh voice. “You’re clearly rich, strutting around with a silk scarf. Let’s just take that.”
The man with the knife did not hesitate before tearing the scarf from Enjolras, choking him in the process.
“Hey!” Enjolras shouted, tears flowing freely now as he struggled to catch his breath. “Give it back!”
Before Enjolras could say another word, he felt the cold blade of the knife against his throat.
“Stop shouting,” the man said threateningly.
Suddenly, the knife dropped to the ground as the man holding it was hit on the head by a magical flying rock. It took Enjolras a moment to register what had happened, until he saw the blood running in a trickle down the man’s face, and a large rock laying only a few feet away.
“What the fuck?” one of the men asked, looking around to see where the rock had flown from. Enjolras didn’t hesitate, he used their distraction to his advantage, tearing away and running down the alleyway, no longer concerned about his silk scarf.