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Chapter Text

   “Move along!” Javert growled, pushing through the wall of students with a coffee in his hand and satchel across his frame. His hair was tied into a bun with stray hairs already poking through.

   It was a rough morning. He all but shoved a few students out of the way until he finally got to his room, unlocking the door with harsh movements. When he got to his desk, he slammed the coffee down and threw the satchel into its corner, beside his chair. He fell into it, running a hand back through his hair. Class would be starting in ten minutes.

   Javert was a law professor. A very good one, at that, for he had the textbook entirely memorized. He had been at this university for years. He knew every teacher- not that he wanted to, for he had made it clear that he was not there to make friends. If you were to ask him why he was in the education district, he would be unable to answer.

   Nonetheless, he did his job, and he did it well. He knew that most of the students either hated him or were terrified of him, and he truly couldn’t care less for it. It was the same thing with the other professors- they called him a tight-ass, too strict, even for a teacher. He shrugged it off.

   Despite his unpopularity, Javert was practically a legend at the university. Everyone knew him, and he knew everyone. (Not that he could remember their names, of course) He was admired for his skill in law, his class one of the hardest to survive in. His ability to twist a debate his way, no matter the topic. He was what every law student strived to be.

   He wore this fact with pride.

   As he got situated for the morning; checking his emails, setting up the board, drinking his coffee, students began to shuffle into the room. His class was one of the most difficult, not only for the career choice but his grading and thoroughness, and he had purposefully kept it this way so that the only students occupying his day would be ones who actually cared to learn something.

   Soon enough, everyone was situated, textbooks out and waiting for class to begin. Javert got up from his chair and swept his eyes over the classroom, taking note of who was absent. Then, he cleared his throat.

   “I hope you all completed the cases assigned on Tuesday,” he started off immediately, not bothering with pleasantries. He noticed a few faces twist in surprise and scurry to open their laptop, and a twinge of a smile ghosted his lips.

   He inhaled, prepared to go on, before a hand suddenly rose up from the seats. Javert raised an eyebrow.

   “I did not know that would spark questions,” he said, deadpan, yet allowed it anyway. The boy lifted his head so that he was able to meet Javerts’s eyes.

   The boy was young, in his early twenties as college students were wont to be, with jet black hair and a young face. If Javert hadn’t taught him last year, he would’ve claimed that the boy was no more than sixteen.

   This boy was Marius Pontmercy. A fool- Javert still didn’t understand how he (barely) managed to keep up with the class- and a mess of a lawyer. He was terrified of Javert, and yet here he was, speaking his mind. It was a curious sight, a momentary change of pace.

   He gave a lopsided grin as Javert glared at him, waiting to continue. He cleared his throat and glanced down at his screen.

   “Uh, did the homework include Case,” he squinted closer. “Case 93-321? On the principle of equality?”

   Javert blinked, unamused.

   “I hope you will notice, Pontmercy, that the case you are asking for was supposed to be completed last week.”

   The boy’s face turned red as a few laughs jumped through the room. He cleared his throat, desperately trying to hide his face. “Oh,” he coughed. “Sorry, professor.”

   Javert hummed an affirmation before turning to the board and writing out a due date.

   “This next set will be due in a week’s time.” He started, pausing to take a sip of his coffee. “I advise you to remember that, Pontmercy.” He added, and a few mutters and laughs ran through the room. “Researching these cases will then set you up for the upcoming project. A mock debate. Choose your partners, choose one topic given, and state your case.”

   A few grumbles came from the back of the room, yet Javert did not care enough to point them out. Instead, he dove into the lesson.

-

   After an hour of lecturing, Javert dismissed his students. He dropped into his chair and took a long drink of his now cold coffee. He opened his laptop to once again check his emails and write back to a few students who had asked for his tutorial hours. (How hard was it to just read the board in class? He always kept his class hours in a neat square on the bottom right, for everyone to see.)

   As much as he hated tutorials, it was deemed mandatory so that they may help students who have been falling behind. Idiotic, Javert thought, but he couldn’t lose this job.

   One email caught his eye: Another upcoming teacher meeting, though this one was marked, in all capital letters, ‘READ IMMEDIATELY’, with a few dozen exclamation notes. Some of the professors at this university were utter jokes.

   Javert skimmed through it, not caring much for its contents despite the alarming title. On there Thursday meeting, they would be introducing a new literature teacher. Supposedly, there would be drinks and food, almost like a get-together. Really? For one teacher? Who had the time for this, Javert thought with a roll of his eyes.

   He had an hour to himself, and so Javert spend the time going through the pile of unread student reports from the last project. Most of these kids hadn’t a clue how to use simply grammar, and just for that, he marked off more than a dozen points- depending on the damage, of course.

   He believed that any assignment turned in should be treated like it was an official document of the courthouse. If not, you were allowed to get up and leave.

   A good portion of his students actually had the potential to become decent lawyers once they got their degrees, but could count on his hands how many students he had actually liked over the years he had been teaching. He merely tolerated the lot of them. Kids like Pontmercy are the ones that made him want to bash his brain in.

   After thirty minutes, his eyes strained to comprehend the handwriting before him, and he deemed it time for a break. He grabbed his coat and threw it on before heading to a nearby café on the campus.

   He went there regularly- so much, in fact, that he did not even need to speak his name before his order was put down. He paid and mumbled a thank you before taking a seat to wait.

   He scanned the room, eyeing the crowd of students. Most were familiar faces, regulars like him, and he couldn’t name a single one of them.

   When his order was called, he snatched it from the pick-up counter and quickly hurried out. A short walk around the campus before he returned to class would do well to clear his head.

   He walked on the stone pavement, eyes straight ahead as his thoughts rattled around his head like  beads in a bowl. There were students walking or biking around him, they all looked the same to him, and he disregarded their existence.

   There was, however, one sight that caught his eye. A head of hair, fully white, walking past the other side of the street. No student was that old, and no professor- not even him!- had a full head of white hair. It was odd, even unnatural. But that wasn’t what captivated Javert. He knew that man, with his broad shoulders and tall frame.

   He was impossible to miss, and he had interrupted Javert’s thoughts like lightning through the clouds. He looked the man’s way, hoping to catch a glimpse of his face, but to no avail. He was already turned away, entering another building. Javert had half a mind to go and follow him in, but thought against it. He had to return to his room soon.

   Was he going mad? It might have been a parent, or a visitor! Javert had no reason to believe that he knew them, never mind follow them into a building.

   When he made it back to the classroom, a few students had already taken their places and had their laptops out, waiting for class to begin. He shuffled in and settled into his chair, letting out a few coughs into his fist and grimacing at the tightness in his chest.

   As he started his lecture, he found his thoughts straying to the man he had seen earlier. He talked mechanically, not truly thinking about what was coming out of his mouth, and instead tried to focus on where he had seen that man before. Could it be a parent of a student he had seen at orientation? Or perhaps someone Javert knew as his time as an inspector? And even then, why did he care so much? He deemed it the simple distaste of not knowing, like a scratch on your back that you could never really reach.

   Before he fully realized it, class was finished. A student timidly raised her hand to remind him, and he blinked out of his daze, abruptly stopping his lecture. He glanced at the clock.

   “Ah. Apologizes, I lost track of time. You’re all dismissed, we will continue this tomorrow.” He said, running a hand over his hair. He fell into his desk chair and took a few sips of coffee, glaring out of the window in hopes of finding that man again. He didn’t, and Javert went home in defeat and confusion.

   Never mind it. He had papers to grade.

-

   Jean Valjean was not known for being outspoken and adventurous. He had a routine, and he stuck to it.

   That is why, when Cosette recommended that he join the university as the new literature professor, he started.

   They sat across each other at the island in the middle of the kitchen, enjoying what was first a calm and quiet dinner.

   “Cosette,” Valjean started, anxious at the prospect of switching jobs. “You know I enjoy my current job at the library. There’s no need to go and change everything.”

   His job at the library, in fact, was not needed. He had more than enough money to support himself and Cosette for the rest of their days. He only took the job so that he would have something to fill the days.

   “Papa, please! You look miserable at that library, and besides, the university needs it. Professor Dubain was fired, and we’re really falling behind.” Cosette fiddled her food around with her fork, perching her head in her hand with a smile.

   Those eyes! Valjean could scarcely say no to her. He shook his head. “I can’t,” he insisted. “I’m sure someone else will step up soon.”

   Cosette rolled her eyes. “You should be that someone else! Please, Papa! You’ll get to see me more,” she said with one final plea, all but throwing herself across the table to grip at his forearm. Valjean blinked down at her, eyebrows drawn together at the nose. After a moment, he relented.

   “Fine. I’ll… see if I qualify.” He said, head hung in defeat. Cosette straightened herself and made a happy cheer.

   “Yes! You more than qualify, Papa. Believe me, Professor Dubain was an idiot! Did you know that he allegedly looked up a girl’s skirt?”

   Valjean grimaced. “It is good that he was let go, then.” He sighed. Cosette nodded in agreement before jumping into a new conversation, the matter now settled.

   Perhaps it wouldn’t be all bad, Valjean thought to himself. Cosette had a point of him being able to see more of her each other- he would get to teach her! It was a joy he could scarcely imagine- and perhaps he would be able to keep an eye on her as well. He was always terrified at any mention of a boy in her stories. This way, he would be able to see them for himself.

   A few days later, after an interview and background check- which did raise a few questions- Valjean became a literature professor. He was to start on Monday.

   How exciting, he thought to himself as he stepped into the campus.

   He was told that on Thursday he would be introduced to all of the professors after hours, a sort of social event. He wouldn’t be looking forward to it, he hated crowded rooms- especially if the attention was going to be on him. But he was already hired, and he couldn’t back down now.

   On Tuesday, he had an empty hour, and took his time to trace the campus and get used to it. He found a café in the middle of the campus, and his heart plummeted when he saw a familiar face while walking past it.

   He quickly raced into the nearest building, his heart racing. Could it be? No- he must be going mad.

   There was no chance in hell that Inspector Javert was working at this university.

-

   On Wednesday, Javert was taking his usual stroll throughout campus, coffee in hand and eyes clouded with thought. His feet worked on their own accord, walking him through the route that he had done so many times over the past few years.

   He still had papers to grade, and it was giving him a headache. Not only were they painfully long (Though, he did specify for them to be long), but some were handwritten, because he didn’t specify that typed is preferred and borderline mandatory.

   Some young girl had decided to write all four pages in cursive, and Javert could barely glance its way without a migraine charging in. He would have to take them home for the weekend, surely.

    He walked under the shade provided by the large trees along the stone walkways and stopped for a moment when he felt himself growing tired. Damn his injuries! He wouldn’t have to be here, teaching incompetent kids, if he had just done his job right. He had gone from an inspector of the police force to a simple law professor in the span of less than a year.

   He was stuck with a condition that practically made him an invalid. He couldn’t even walk around the campus without falling short of breath and needing to rest on a nearby bench for a few minutes. And, according to the doctor, it would only get worse with time.

   Javert blamed the injury on himself. Nothing more he could do about it, what’s in the past cannot be changed, and so he simply tried to push himself as far as his lungs could go. Today was one of those days.

   He pushed himself off of the stone wall and continued walking, albeit at a slow pace. Unfortunately, he kept his head down, and didn’t notice that someone was walking towards him until their shoulders painfully collided with each other.

   Javert sputtered, quickly losing his balance and tumbling to the ground. His coffee fell with him, spewing all over the stones. He failed to catch his breath and found himself practically gasping for air, all while the stranger stood right beside him.

   “Oh- God! I’m so sorry, I didn’t see you at all!” He said, kneeling down beside Javert. “Are you alright? You’re-“ He abruptly stopped for a moment, his entire body freezing. Javert scarcely noticed it, still trying to get his breathing under control. “You’re choking,” The man finished with a guilt-ridden voice.

   Javert inhaled as much as his lungs would allow, the motion making his chest grow tight. “It’s fine,” he said weakly, placing a hand on his chest as he got up from the ground, ignoring the strangers offer to help. When he looked at the man, he almost jumped.

   It was the same man he had seen yesterday, white hair and all. He was almost as tall as Javert, if off by a few inches. His eyebrows were knit together, concerned.

   “Are you alright?” He asked again, a hand fiddling with the button on the sleeve of his coat. Javert looked at him, dumbfounded for a moment, before returning to his neutral scowl.

   “Yes, I’m fine. I apologize, I shouldn’t have kept my head down.” Javert said stiffly. He glanced towards the spilled coffee that laid on the ground and repressed a sigh. The man followed his eyes.

   “Oh! Your coffee! I’m such an idiot! Please, let me buy you another one.” He offered, taking an erratic step towards Javert. He, Javert, quickly increased the distance between them.

   “That’s not necessary.”

   “It’s the least I can do!”

   “I do not like debts,” Javert snapped, not in the mood to argue. “Now, if you will excuse me, I have to get back to the classroom.” And with that, he turned to walk away.

   The man quickly grabbed his arm and sputtered. “Wait! Are you a professor here?”

   Javert nodded. “What else would I be? A student?” He snapped, uncaring for the harshness in his voice. The hand on his arm softened.

   “What type?”

   “I’m a law professor. Is that all?”

   The man looked at him for a moment, inspecting his face. Then, he let go. “Yes. I’m so sorry again, it was completely my fault.”

   Javert shrugged. “Do not think too much of it. Good day.” He briefly bowed his head before walking back to the law district.

   He partially regretted not asking, Do I know you from somewhere?, but that would have been rude and entirely inappropriate, so he let it be.

   Once again, he couldn’t seem to focus on his teachings for the rest of the day.

Chapter Text

   Thursday came slowly enough. Javert’s days never changed: Wake up early, make a coffee, exercise- as much as he can, anyway- then get to the university. From there, he taught tutorials whenever they were scheduled, his normal classes, then went home as fast as possible.

   Evidently, he would be here for a while. Today was the meeting where they would meet the new professor, and it was to be longer than most of the meetings they usually had. More than two hours! Javert wasn’t looking forward to it.

   He took a sip of his coffee as he slung his satchel over his arm and locked up for the day. Slowly, he walked his way across campus to a completely different department building, where he took the elevator up to the room where the administration usually conducted their meetings to the professors.

   When he entered, the mass majority of the teachers were already in, with a drink and donut in their hands, conversing. Javert stiffened, suddenly feeling completely out of place. Nothing had changed over the years- he still felt like a complete fraud as a professor. It was like forcing a puzzle piece into a spot where it did not fit.

   But what else could he do in his state? The job did not require much physical activity, only talking, which didn’t seem to pain him as much as the former. And besides, it paid well enough.

   He greeted a few teachers who waved at his entrance and quickly took his seat in the far corner. For a little more than five minutes he sat there, sipping on his coffee and glaring at others, before the dean of the university clapped his hands and asked for attention. The room fell silent as eyes moved to the front of the room.

   Javert quickly noticed the white haired man once more, sitting in the opposite corner with his shoulders hunched over and eyes squeezed tight. He raised an eyebrow at the curious sight, rather surprised to see him here. So he was the new professor?

   What a first impression to make, Javert thought bitterly to himself as he recollected yesterday’s events.

   “Excuse me, everyone! I would like to introduce our newest member of the family!” Javert rolled his eyes at the expression. What family? He couldn’t even name half of the people in this room. He had scarcely met them when he first begun, some not at all. “He will be our new literature professor, replacing Professor Dubain. Everyone, please welcome Professor Valjean!”

   Valjean.

   Jean Valjean.

   Javert choked on his coffee. As the current professors gave their friendly greetings, Javert was doubled over in the corner, desperately trying not to cause a scene. Valjean? No wonder he had recognized the man! What was that damned man doing here, as a professor? Impossible! The man was a convict, a criminal!

   Once his near-episode ended enough that he could speak, he stood up and threw a finger in the air, directing it at Valjean.

   “ Him? Have you any idea who this man is?!” Javert growled, baring his teeth like a defensive dog. Valjean stared at him, a shadow falling over his face.

   “Javert, don’t cause a scene,” a professor, Peterson, whispered to him, though the entire room could hear them. Javert glared at him, but did not yield.

   “This man is a convict! Are you really going to let him into this university? Who knows what he might do to the students!”

   “Ex-convict,” Valjean corrected shyly. Javert raged.

   “As if! Don’t make me laugh, Valjean.” He snapped back, all but panting now.

   “Javert, please, settle down.” The dean intervened, stepping between the two men. “Yes, Jean is an ex-convict, but he has done his time and made up for his mistakes. Twenty years in prison, was it?”

   “Yes,” Valjean muttered. Javert barked out an ugly sound that could’ve been a laugh had he not been boiling over with rage.

   “I should know! I arrested him myself,” Javert said, straightening his back with a sense of pride. The dean huffed a sigh and grabbed both men by the elbows.

   “Gentleman, will you follow me outside for a moment?” He ordered, tugging them into the quiet hallway. Valjean stood beside Javert, and their shoulders momentarily brushed together. Javert flinched away as if he had been burned by molten iron.

   “Javert, listen to me. You were once an inspector; and Jean was once a convict. Once opposites, and yet here you both are, professors of the same school! It doesn’t matter who did what, what matters is that you both show each other respect. Can you do that? Or will I have to treat you like high schoolers?”

   Javert, chest still heaving, snapped his eyes away and nodded sharply. Valjean nodded as well.

   “Good. Now, work out what you must, and come back inside when you are finished.” The dean said with a throw of his hand before entering the room again. Javert glared at Valjean as they stood in the empty hallway, arms crossed over his chest.

   The silence was suffocating, until Valjean meekly spoke, “I did not know you were here,” he said. Javert scoffed.

   “You saw me yesterday. Hell- you must have bumped into me on purpose!” He growled, the last part of his sentence dying into a rough cough that he threw into the sleeve of his sweater.

   “Why would I do that? No- what I meant was, I did not know that you were working here, as a professor. I thought you were still an inspector.”

   Javert grimaced. “Yes, well, things happen.”

   Valjean’s brows knit together in concern. “What happened?”

   Javert growled. “Why would I tell you? I may have to play nice with you, Valjean, ” he spoke his name with poison, as if it was the most horrible sound in the world. “But that does not mean I have to respect you.”

   Valjean heaved a sigh, his broad shoulders moving slowly. “I understand, inspector.”

   “Don’t call me that!” Javert hissed, before storming back into the room. Valjean watched him with a sinking stomach. This was not going to be as easy as he thought.

-

   The rest of the gathering went by quickly, with Valjean conversing with a few professors and actually enjoying his time, albeit being stressed out of his mind at the amount of people and at the fact that Javert was sitting in a corner, glaring at him with eyes that burned.

   Javert left early, claiming he had a prescription to pick up. Valjean watched as he left, and locked eyes with him once more. He quickly looked away and resumed his current conversation.

   Once Javert was gone, his excuse churned in Valjean’s mind. He timidly approached the dean, who was having what seemed to be his fourth donut.

   “Sir? I wanted to apologize for what happened between me and Professor Javert earlier. It was uncalled for.”

   The dean let out a chuckle. “Ah, don’t worry about it! Javert can always be a grump, there’s nothing to be done about it.”

   Valjean nodded. “I suppose so. He left early- why is that? I understand that he is not exactly social, but he seemed rushed.” He asked, trying to cover his suspicions as innocently as possible. The dean shrugged.

   “Ah, he had to pick up some prescription medicine for that condition of his.” He said, as if it was the most natural thing in the world. To Valjean, it was highly unusual, for what condition could the fearless Inspector Javert have?

   He asked just that. “Condition, sir?”

   The dean’s eyes widened as they fell on Valjean. “Oh- you don’t know! Forgive me. Well, it’s not exactly my business to say, but what the Hell!” He wiped his hands with a spare napkin. “He’s got a problem with the lungs. According to his superior, that’s why he was discharged from the police. Couldn’t do the physical part of it anymore.”

   Valjean’s eyes widened. A problem with the lungs? Perhaps that was why he seemed so out of breath when he had caused a scene earlier, and why he had choked so harshly yesterday.

   “Oh,” he mumbled. “Well, then I do not blame him for being a grump so often,”

   The dean let out a loud laugh and patted Valjean’s shoulder. “I suppose so! I must say, sir, I am impressed with your maturity. Not many men would be so open to work with the same man who arrested him all those years ago.”

   Valjean shrugged, fiddling with his sleeves again. “I do not hold it against him. He was doing his job, it wasn’t personal.”

   The dean smiled. “We could use more people like you, you know.” He said with another pat on the shoulder.

   “Thank you, sir.” Valjean said, returning the warm smile.

   They bid each other good night and Valjean went home as fast as possible. He greeted Cosette with a strong hug and quickly changed into his home outfit before joining her on the sofa of their apartment.

   “How did the meeting go?” Cosette asked, tossing her phone aside.

   “It wasn’t a meeting, per se,” Valjean said, watching the TV but not really paying attention to it. “More like a gathering. And it went fine. Most everyone was nice and welcoming.”

   “ Most? Who wasn’t?”

   Valjean winced. “Uh- he teaches law. His name is Professor-“

   “Professor Javert!” Cosette finished for him with a wide grin. Valjean looked startled. She continued with a laugh, “Javert is the grumpiest teacher you’ll ever meet, don’t feel bad. He’s the harshest professor at the school! My friend, Marius, has his class, and he says that it’s a nightmare.”

   Valjean stored this information. Marius, hm? She had been talking about him lately. He nodded and gave a smile to her.

   “Well, I can only imagine. Perhaps I should learn from him- that way you’ll be able to learn more than the bare minimum.” He said with a chuckle. Cosette flushed.

   “Oh, papa, please don’t be like him! Javert’s got enough hostility for the entire band of teachers combined .” She rolled her eyes. “And, for your information, I read more books than anyone in my class.”

   Valjean pulled her in and pressed a kiss to her blonde hair. “I joke, my dear. You excel at everything you do. And I do not think I could be as mean as Javert no matter how hard I tried.” Cosette laughed at that and hugged him tightly.

   “It’s late, and I’ve got class tomorrow morning. Good night, papa!” And with that, she jumped off of the couch and trotted to her bedroom. Valjean watched her go with a smile plastered on his face, looking like an absolute idiot.

   He went to bed soon after, but couldn’t sleep much. Javert rotated in his mind as he tossed and turned. When had he been discharged from the police? What happened that he had permanent injuries in his lungs? And of course the most obvious, what was he doing as a law professor at a university?

   These thoughts rattled around all night, along with what-ifs and how-comes. Either way, Jean Valjean did not get much sleep that night.

-

   Valjean was extremely pleased with the fact that his students were well behaved. They were quiet, most of them, and yet spoke their mind clearly when asked.

   Cosette was a part of his morning classes, usually, and always raised her hand when she had a question or answer. It warmed his heart to see her so engaged in the class.

   There were only two students who seemed to dislike each other. Grantaire could almost be called lazy with how laid back he was, but he got the job done and never argued, so Valjean could not complain about it. Enjolras was the exact opposite- he was a cunning young man, clever and loud to speak his mind about any and all discussions.

   More than once, Valjean had to remind them that this was a literacy class, not a debate class.

   Either way, the students got along well with each other, and with Valjean. He enjoyed teaching them, and by the second week a little of his anxiety disappeared.

   He was sure to avoid Javert on his walks during the afternoon, for fear of being noticed and having to go through the, You’re a convict! argument again. It was better to just avoid one another.

   Or so he thought. Situated on the dinner table with Cosette, he grew pale at her story of Marius that had happened today. The way she spoke of him was unlike anything he had heard from her before. This was true adoration, obviously a crush.

   That is why, today, Valjean was venturing to Professor Javert’s classroom. He learned from Cosette than Marius had an early class, and now he found himself sitting on a bench outside of the classroom, waiting for it to end.

   He kept his book perched on his lap as he read to pass the time, sincerely praying that he wouldn’t have to meet Javert.

   When he heard the door latch open, he started. He got to his feet, trying to blend into the growing crowd. He moved to a bulletin board, pretending to be engrossed in its contents, all the while watching as students poured out of Javert’s classroom.

   He knew what Marius looked like, thanks to Cosette, and had no problem spotting him with a few other boys. He was young, somewhat handsome, and yet all Valjean could feel for him was distrust and irritation.

   He began to make his way towards Marius, wanting to speak to him, when someone suddenly grabbed his shoulder, whipping him backwards.

   “Spying on me, are we?” Javert snarled, his pale eyes practically glowing with hatred.

   Valjean shook his head. “No! No, I simply…got lost. I am still new to the campus.” Javert rolled his eyes.

   “You were looking at the bulletin board. You have a book with you that is resting on the bench, which can only mean that you were sitting there for a while. Do not try to lie to me, 24601.”

   Valjean growled. “Please, do not call me that.”

   “Then fess up!” Javert snapped.

   “Fine. May we at least take it into your room? There are too many people here.”

   Javert raised an eyebrow and glanced towards the moving crowds in the hallways, but nodded and led him inside. He slammed the door and crossed his arms over his chest, waiting.

   “I was not spying on you. It was not even spying, really. I was… looking for a student of yours.” Valjean said, hanging his head. Now that he said it aloud, it sounded increasingly stupid.

   Javert’s brows shot up, and his mouth twitched. “A student of mine? Who?”

   “Marius Pontmercy.”

   “Oh. That buffoon? Why do you care for him? And why do you think it is acceptable to spy on a student?”

   Valjean shrugged. “My daughter has been talking about him recently. I just wanted to see what he was like for myself. But now that I am talking about it… seems quite stupid.” He felt his cheeks grow flush with embarrassment, and looked around the room instead of meeting Javert’s eyes.

   The room was bare of posters or any decoration. The only place that seemed used was the far corner in the front, which acted as Javert’s desk, but even that was empty and naked.

   “It’s good that you realize that. You could get fired for spying on a student, you know that?” Javert hissed. “That is what got Dubain fired.”

   “I do not plan to do this again.” Valjean muttered. “I am sorry to waste your time.”

   “Yes, well, nothing to be done about it now.” Javert said. “If you will excuse me, I have a coffee to get.”

   “Will you allow me to buy it for you? After the bump in on Wednesday, I said that I would.”

   Javert’s mouth twitched into a semblance of a smile, though it was far too toothy. “Ha! I told you before that I do not like debt, least of all in a convict! Forget it, Jean Valjean.”

   He stormed out of the room, leaving Valjean alone. He watched him go, and let out a heavy sigh. What a pointless waste of a morning.

Chapter Text

   Two months went by in a similar fashion. Valjean and Javert stayed as far away from each other as possible, all while still doing their jobs to the best of their ability. Valjean, though he failed to admit it, enjoyed his job at the university much more than the job at the library. The students were bright, they loved him, and he loved them back. He only had a few classes a day, and the rest was catching up on grading.

   He didn’t take attendance as part of the student’s grades, feeling as though that would be unfair, and wasn’t too picky about grammar in essays and analyzations. He knew the campus entirely now, and had even become friends with a few other department teachers. For once, he was content in his life.

   Javert, however, was not.

   He had fallen into a rough patch of his condition. It happened every few months, almost like a teaser of what would happen in a few years time. He could scarcely walk around the campus without feeling the weight of an anvil on his chest. He couldn’t talk long enough for his lectures, and instead gave them assignments online so that he might be able to catch his breath. He had also upped his dosage of his medication, resulting in more sleepless nights than he could count.

   He looked as bad as he felt. Today was the damned administration meeting, and he would have to stay after hours for it. As soon as he dismissed his last class, he made him way to the same building he had been in for Valjean’s welcoming meeting those two months back.

   Javert didn’t bother with pleasantries as he came in and dropped himself into his usual seat in the corner, running a hand over his face. More people quickly shuffled in, including Valjean, who noticed Javert and quickly went to the other corner as to not be noticed.

   The dean droned on about some new policy that was to be set in motion in a week’s time, and yet Javert could not listen to a single word he was saying. His chest hurt with every inhale, and his head was spinning.

   Feeling a growing cough, and not wanting to cause another scene, he excused himself from the meeting to stumble out in the hall.

   Valjean watched him leave, dread growing in his stomach. The man looked worse and worse with each passing day, and he would be lying if he said he didn’t feel concerned for him, no matter their past. He awkwardly excused himself as well, all but bolting out of the door.

   In the hallway, Javert was nowhere to be seen. Valjean hustled into the men’s restroom, looking around and straining his ears for any sign of Javert. He found it.

   Javert was crouched in front of a toilet, the stall open, throwing up into the bowl. Valjean was taken aback.

   “Javert?” Valjean asked quietly, not unlike how he would approach a frightened animal. Javert’s shoulders stiffened, and he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand to turn and glare at Valjean.

   “Will you get out?” He growled, but his words lacked malice. Valjean kneeled beside him.

   “Are you alright?” He continued, putting a hand on Javert’s back. The man flinched away and threw his head back over the bowl. Valjean winced at the sounds and, when Javert pulled his head away, flushed the toilet for him.

   “You should go home,” he offered, but Javert shook his head. “You’re not well.”

   “I’m perfectly fine. It’s just the medicine,” he mumbled, dropping his forehead in his hand.

   Valjean started. “Medicine? How much are you taking?”

   Javert growled. “None of your business.” He said flatly, squeezing his eyes shut.

   “It’s serious, Javert. Are you overdosing?”

   Javert sneered. “I am not. What is it to you?”

   “I want to help you. No offense, but you’ve looked horrible this past month. What’s going on?”

   Javert grumbled something under his breath and got up off of the floor, shoving Valjean to the side as he went to the sink and washed out his mouth and face.

   “Well?” Valjean said after a while. Javert’s movements became a bit more erratic, but he still did not speak. When he moved for the door, Valjean stepped in between. “Javert-“

   “No! I am not going to spill out every problem I have to you! Can’t you just leave me alone? What’s your problem? Fuck off, won’t you? I don’t know what you’re playing at, but you don’t need to know everyone’s problems!” Javert shouted, his voice painfully echoing in the small room. Valjean flinched and took a step back.

   “I didn’t mean to-“ he stuttered, but never finished.

   Javert shook his head. “Just move out of the way.” He growled, turning his body to prepare to shove.

   “I’m sorry,” Valjean said as he quickly stepped out of the way. Javert scowled at him.

   “Leave me alone, Valjean.” He said before storming out without another glance.

   Valjean bent his head in shame.

   When he entered the room again, Valjean saw that Javert was faced towards the presentation, paying as much attention as glazed over eyes did.

   That night, he decided that he was done trying to help him.

-

   “Pontmercy, Laigle, what is the topic of your debate today?”

   “Immigration law,” Marius responded confidently, back straight and head held high. Javert hummed in fake interest, scribbling down their names and topic on the grading sheet.

   “Your eight minutes start now. You may begin.”

-

   Marius stormed out of the class, leaving his friends behind, forgotten. He all but bolted into the open area of the campus, where tall trees created cool shades on the grass. Beneath one of these trees, on a bench, was Cosette.

   He must have seemed visibly agitated, because she quickly set down her book and beckoned him over.

   “What’s wrong?” Cosette asked, taking his hand in hers. “You look mad.”

   Marius could barely get the words out, practically burning with rage. “That damn professor! He has the audacity to.. to-!” He spat, running a hand over his face. Cosette grabbed his shoulder, and put what she hoped was a comforting hand on his back.

   “Calm down, Marius,” she cooed, her voice smooth and quiet. Marius took a shaky breath. “Now, what happened?”

   He shut his eyes for a moment before forcing himself to explain slowly.

   “Me and Bossuet presented our mock debate, on immigration law. We brought up past cases, we had our opposite point of views…” Marius threw a hand in the air to indicate he had no care to explain the details. “We had everything right. And- that damned Javert - he said we were completely wrong! Embarrassed us in front of the entire class, barely let us finish! I think he failed us,” Marius said with a groan, leaning over and resting his head in his hands.

   Cosette frowned. “That’s not fair at all,” she agreed, though not being able to give much comfort. They both knew what an asshole Javert could be.

   “He’s been unbearable these past two months,” he continued with a scowl. “Can’t even ask a question without getting your face bitten off. I’m sick of it.”

   “Do you think you can change classes?”

   Marius shrugged. “It’s hard to say. The problem with Professor Javert is that he’s the worst guy you’ll ever meet, but he knows his stuff. Ha! Can you imagine taking him in a real court case? Nobody would stand a chance.”

   Cosette wrapped him in an embrace. “Just a few more weeks. Then it’ll be a new semester, and you’ll be out of his class! Just hang on a little longer.”

   Marius smiled at her words, and hugged her back. “Thanks. Let’s just pray I get a B on the final so I can actually pass.”

   Cosette laughed. “You’ll get an A, I know it.”

   He smiled, his cheeks rising and making him look even younger than before.

   They weren’t dating, not officially, but both felt that this was something more than friendship. She was the only one that Marius ran to when he had news, and she opted to spend as much time as possible with him.

   “Want to get a coffee? It’ll make you feel better,” Cosette suggested, getting up and dragging him along by his hand.

   “Gladly,” Marius replied, squeezing her hand and following.

   On the other side of the street, Valjean had watched them run off. He felt his heart sink a little lower with something along the lines of dread and, he loathed to say it, jealousy.

-

   The next day, Javert told Marius and Bossuet to stay after class. When he dismissed everyone with a wave of his hand, the two boys sat in their seats, anxious. Marius was sure that they were about to be kicked out of the class. He’d seen it happen to students better than him.

   When the class was finally empty, Javert took a sip of his coffee and turned to them.

   “Come to my desk,” Javert muttered from his chair, not bothering to get up. The boys scurried up to it, anxiously eyeing each other. The professor frowned at them and turned to his desk to pick up two pieces of papers. He handed one to each before he explained.

   “With that… Disaster you called a debate,” he begun, and Marius gripped the paper so hard it ceased immediately in his hand. Javert pretended to not see it and continued. “You two are on the verge of failing this class. And, by school policy, I am forced to give you options.” He said with a fill of his eyes and motioned to the papers they held. “These are the tutorial hours. If either of you attend, you will research another topic and choose a side on it. You will state your case to me two weeks from today.”

   Marius raised an eyebrow. “So, essentially, it’s a redo of the project?” He asked, eyes lighting up and mouth twisting into a smile.

   Javert coughed into his fist and turned back to his laptop. “Unfortunately, yes. I hope this time you will research a bit more throughout before you decide to present.” He mumbled, glaring at Marius. “And now I am to ask: Do either of you plan on attending?”

   Bossuet smiled and nodded. “Yes, sir. And so will Marius,” he said proudly. Marius glared at him, but nodded in turn.

   “Very well. Go to the engineering building at three. Your teachers will get an email and you won’t lose any attendance. However, I should warn you both that whatever class you may have at that time, you will have to make up after the assigned tutorials. Do you understand that?”

   They both nodded.

   “Can you handle that?”

   Marius creased the paper again. “Sir, with all due respect-“

   “Don’t start. I don’t care.” Javert interrupted with a raise of his hand. Marius was amazed at himself that he didn’t explode on the spot. “Just come at three. That’s all,” he finalized, and turned back to his laptop. Marius and Bosseut shared a look before gathering their things and walking out.

   “I’m going to quit his class out of spite,” Marius growled as soon as they were in the hallway. “Who the hell does he think he is? Treating us like little kids!”

   Bossuet laughed. “Don’t fret. Let’s just do the tutorials, get an A on the exam, and get out!”

   Marius rolled his eyes. “If only it was that simple.” He turned a corner and motioned for his friend to follow. “C’mon. The rest are already at the café.”

-

   “Grantaire, will you please see me after class?” Valjean asked nicely with a smile. The boy’s eyes darted around, but he nodded all the same.

   “Thank you. And please, get your feet off of the desk.”

   When class was finished, Grantaire moved to follow everyone out. Valjean put a hand on the table in front of him.

   “A moment, sir,” he said with a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. Grantaire sat back down. Valjean cleared his throat and put his hands behind his back.

   “Grantaire, you’re a wonderful student. One of my brightest,” he started. “But… you are aware that you need at least a D to pass the class?”

   Grantaire nodded.

   “I’m afraid that you might not be able to pass this semester, Grantaire. I want to help you. To get your grade up, I’m offering tutorials. They’ll be at two thirty, every afternoon, at the engineering building.”

   If Valjean was to be honest, Grantaire needed these tutorials desperately. He spent most of the class chasing after Enjolras, purposely annoying him so that they’d both fall off track. Valjean never yelled at his students, but he was getting pretty damn close.

   At least Enjolras caught up quickly. Grantaire didn’t. Valjean, though it was mandatory to bring options, would be immensely happy if he did it.

   And besides, a failing student wouldn’t exactly bode well for Valjean in front of administration. But that wasn’t his main priority.

   Grantaire fiddled a pen between his teeth and leaned back in his chair. “What do I have to do?”

   Valjean’s face lit up a bit at the fact that he was actually considering it. “Well, it’s similar to what we’ve been doing in class. Analyzations, and then a report of a topic of my choosing. You’ll be in there no more than two weeks.”

   The student regarded this with a hum. He glanced out the window before looking back at Valjean.

   “Sure. Do they start today?”

   Valjean grinned. “Yes! I’m glad you’re doing this, Grantaire.”

   He picked up his back and threw it over his shoulder. “Well, I’d rather not fail an English class…” he shrugged, making his way for the door. “See you then, Leblanc.”

-

   Marius and Bossuet made their way into the café, quickly finding their friends in the crowded space.

   “We thought you guys got lost,” Grantaire said with a laugh. “Where have you been? It’s been twenty minutes! Everyone already ordered.”

   Marius took a seat beside Cosette (Who was a new addition of the group and happily welcomed into it) and took her hand in his, smiling, before he turned back to his friends.

   “We got held back after class by Sideburns,” he explained. “After that whole disaster with the project, we’re going to fail the class if we don’t go to tutorials.”

   Grantaire beamed and sat up. “That makes three of us! What time?”

   “Three o’clock, every day for two weeks.” Bossuet supplied.

   “Two thirty for me. Well this is great! I won’t be going out of my mind nearly as fast as I would without you two.”

   Enjolras butted into the conversation, “You shouldn’t be cheering that you have to go to tutoring. Maybe if you did your work from time to time you wouldn’t be in this situation.”

   Grantaire rolled his eyes, but smiled all the same. “Maybe you’d be my tutor,” he said, propping his head on his hand. Enjolras grumbled something under his breath and moved away from the table.

   “So I guess you guys won’t be available in the afternoon for a while?” Cosette asked with a frown. “That’s a shame.”

   “I’m sure you’ll be able to survive two weeks without us,” Marius assured. Their eyes met, and they shared a smile. Grantaire blew a raspberry from across the table.

   “Will you two get a room?” He said with an exaggerated sigh. “I wonder if Leblanc knows about you two.”

   “Leblanc?” Cosette asked.

   “That’s what they call your father,” Enjolras supplied. Cosette gave a start.

   “Well why would you call him that?”

   Grantaire laughed. “Have you seen his head?”

   “I think it’s charming,” Cosette pouted, crossing her arms over her chest. Marius laughed and got up to order his drink.

   “It’s quite charming, I think,” he agreed, before walking off.

   Cosette smiled and felt her heart tug with love.

-

   Javert hated tutoring. Too many stupid questions directed at him. He wasn’t in the mood today either (Was he ever?), and the very thought of the claustrophobic room he was to sit in for two hours made his head ache.

   That being said, he arrived thirty minutes late, coffee in hand. Marius and Bossuet were already there, laptops open and discussing potential topics. Javert had a feeling it’d be as complex as the last one, only to be completely butchered by their amateur discussion.

   He realized that he had been excessively short-tempered with his students the past month, but damn it, that wasn’t his fault! His lungs hurt more than ever, and he loathed to even venture out of bed in the mornings.

   Unknown to Javert, the school had decided to put any and every class in that one, large room in the engineering building. There were plenty of students already there, one of which Javert didn’t recognize, beside Marius, talking the day away.

   Javert was about to ignore it all when he heard a strong voice,

   “Grantaire, will you please focus? You’re wasting time.”

   Javert started, throwing his head up to find the source of that voice. Did he really need to? He already knew who it belonged to, and he loathed him with all his might.

   “Fine,” Grantaire sighed, pushing his chair away from Marius and back to his own laptop, where Valjean was standing in front of the desk, beginning to lecture again.

   Javert’s blood boiled. Of course he’d have to be here. He had made it clear to Valjean last month that he wanted nothing to do with him. It had worked, he quickly realized, because he hadn’t even seen Valjean when he was crossing the street anymore. Good. The less of him, the better.

   But now, having to be stuck in this room with him no more than a few feet away? God, his headache turned to a migraine just thinking about it.

   His mood turned sour (More so than before), Javert threw himself into the far corner and pulled out his laptop, beginning to type away and ignore the world around him.

   Over the next 30 minutes, Marius had come up almost half a dozen times to ask a question, all of which got a short and irritated answer that still didn’t really help at all.

   Valjean noticed this with increasing frustration, seeing how Marius returned to the table with a helpless shrug and confused look on his face.

   By the fifth time, he had had enough. When Marius approached Javert, he inched closer, following until the conversation was in earshot.

   He couldn’t hear most of Marius’ question, but he could see an irritation spark in Javert’s eyes.

   “We covered this in class,” he growled impatiently. Marius shifted between his two feet.

   “Yes, but not in regards of-“

   “If you’d been paying attention, you’d realize that yes, we regarded this very topic, this very situation! ” He punctuated that last word with a sharp fist upon the table, earning a flinch from Marius.

   Valjean couldn’t bear to watch this any longer.

   “Professor?” He intercepted before Marius could finish his stuttering sentence. “Could I have a moment of your time?”

   Javert stared at him with wide eyes.

   “I told you to stay out of my way,” he growled, completely forgetting that Marius was there in between them, watching their standoff with wide eyes.

   “Please, a moment of your time,” he repeated with a faint smile, though his eyes were dull and frustrated. Javert scowled, and Marius retreated to his desk.

   Soon, the entire class was watching.

   “What the hell do you want?” Javert asked, standing up and squaring his shoulders. Valjean did not shrink. In a low voice, he spoke.

   “I do not think it’s appropriate to talk to your students in the way that you did,” he said, keeping eye contact with him. “Tutoring is for questions to be asked, no matter what.”

   Javert felt he might literally explode with anger. As if on cue, his chest began to heave and ache.

   “Why don’t you focus on your own students?” He snapped back. Valjean shook his head.

   “I just think that your students deserve a more patient reaction from you.”

   “And I just think you should mind your own damn business.”

   Valjean’s face contorted in frustration. “Javert, what on Earth is wrong with you? Your students are trying to learn from their mistakes. Can’t you see that?”

   “I do. What I don’t understand is why you keep festering.” He responded hastily, though taking longer pauses to catch his breath.

   “I’m just looking out for them.”

   “Well there’s no need to ! Will you let me do my damn job and get out of the way?! ” Javert roared, suddenly pushing Valjean at his chest. The man stumbled backwards a few steps, and the room fell completely silent at the sound of Javert’s thunderous voice.

   “It’s bad enough that I have to do this damned job, and the last thing I need is a convict telling me how to do it! Stay in your own lane, or I swear to God, I’ll report you to the Dean.”

   Valjean’s expression went slack, his eyes wide with worry. Then he cleared his throat, taking another step back.

   “Very well, Professor. Forgive me.”

Chapter Text

   When tutorials were over, Grantaire all but bolted to Marius and Bossuet, who were on their way out. He tackled them and pulled them into a corner.

   “Ow! What on Earth-“

   “Shush! Did you see what happened in there?”

   “Of course we did. What about it?”

   Grantaire grinned. “Didn’t you see them? I thought they were about to kiss with how close they were getting to each other!”

   Marius sneered. “What are you talking about? They hate each other.”

   Grantaire scoffed and planted a hand on his shoulder. “You, my friend, are more blind than a bat. They obviously know each other already, and I’ve never seen Sideburns look at someone like he did at Leblanc.”

   “He looked at him with hatred, ” Marius pressed with growing exasperation. Grantaire clicked his tongue and turned to Bossuet, who had been smiling through the whole conversation.

   “Bossuet! What do you do think?” He asked, animated. His eyes brightened with excitement, for it had been ages since he had found gossip as interesting as this. Two professors, yelling at each other, and yet looking at each other like they had been married for years!

   He had to do something about this!

   Bossuet smiled as he spoke. “Maybe they are,” he shrugged, and Marius furrowed his brow. “Well,  R has a point… They were standing very close to one another.”

   “You’re both crazy,” Marius said, heaving a sigh and beginning to walk off. “Can we go get a coffee?”

   “Shall I call the rest of us and meet at your dorm?” Bossuet asked, taking out his phone but not yet unlocking it. Marius glared at him.

   “Why not your dorm?”

   He shrugged. “I’m with Joly. He’s already got finals coming up, and medicine is a treacherous subject.”

   Marius nodded in understanding. “Yeah. Tell them to meet us at the café, then we’ll make our way to my dorm.”

   “Perhaps Enjolras will take up my request for him to tutor me,” Grantaire suddenly said, trailing right behind them, for the sidewalk could only fit two. The law students rolled their eyes, practically in unison.

   “You wish, R.”

   “Yes, I do!” Grantaire exclaimed, a smile on his words. He continued to joke and rant as they made their way to the café.

   He had dropped the matter in front of them, but he was already beginning to plan a way to get Javert and Valjean together. He needed to fill his time somehow.

-

   For three days, Valjean and Javert have tutorials for their classes, and in those three days, they had interacted zero.

   Today the sky was a sickening hue of grey, the clouds heavy and low and threatening to pour rain  onto the city below.

   On days like this, Javert’s condition was almost unbearable. He struggled to make it up the steps of the building and did not even bother with the staircase on the inside. He used the elevator instead.

   The rain that had threatened to fall since last night finally came pouring down with a vicious vengeance against the sun, beating against the windows so hard it seemed as though they would shatter.

    Javert could not talk over the howling of the wind and beating of rain, for he could scarcely talk at normal volume without slightly straining his regenerating strength.

   And so went another day of giving a random assignment. Finals were in three weeks, and he had already mentioned what study tools were best to use, multiple times.

   Class passed by slowly, Javert spending most of his time behind his desk. A few students had questions, and he steeled himself not to completely snap at them when they couldn’t hear him for the third time.

   When his usual time for a coffee pick-up came around, he felt reluctant to get up. The damp weather gave him aches and a painful headache, and he wanted to do little more than just sit as his desk and scroll through the news.

-

   “The weathers horrible,” Cosette said with a sigh as she stared out the coffee shop. With her was Marius and the rest of the group.

   “It’s good we finally got some rain,” Jehan replied, following her eyesight. It was pouring outside, rather harshly.

   Grantaire could be seen, then, running across the courtyard to get to the café. He was quickly getting soaked.

   When he stumbled in, he was smiling, and quickly made his way to the table.

   “Grantaire! What on Earth were you doing out there without an umbrella? You’re soaked through!” Enjolras growled, watching as he threw back his hair from his face and took a seat.

   “A little rain never hurt anyone!” Grantaire said with a scoff. “Anyway, listen up. All of you. For those who don’t know- Leblanc and Sideburns are in love. Like, really in love.”

   Marius heaved a sigh and rolled his eyes. “Again with this? Really?” But Grantaire held up a hand.

   “No! Shush! Let me speak my part.”

   Joly looked at them, confused. “Who are we talking about?”

   “Oh, right.” Grantaire mumbled. “I forget that you’re not familiar with these professors. Leblanc is Professor Valjean, for our English classes, and Sideburns is Professor Javert. He teaches law. For the past few days they’ve been having tutorials, and our times overlap.”

   “Why those nicknames?” Joly asked.

   “We use Leblanc because his head is completely white, and we use Sideburns because… he’s got sideburns.” Combeferre explained. “It’s very straightforward.”

   “Yes, yes. But anyway-“

   Marius pushed his way into the conversation. “They hate each other. They completely ignore each other, and when they do talk, they end up yelling and fighting.”

   “They’re like two cats in an alleyway,” Laigle added with a shake of his head.

   Grantaire rolled his eyes. “You can’t see it.” He turned to the rest of the group. “It’s there, trust me.”

   “Maybe Grantaire’s got a point,” Courfeyrac chimed in with a smile pointed towards Marius. The latter rolled his eyes.

   “Don’t get on his side!” Marius groaned.

   The table erupted into chatter between the members, each of them talking about Valjean and Javert or otherwise.

   Grantaire stood up to regain the attention. “Listen up! I’m almost done.” The table exchanged glances towards each other, but kept quiet. “Okay. Since the two of them haven’t gotten together yet, we need to do something about this.”

   Cosette suddenly threw her head up and looked at him. She has been oblivious to this conversation, thinking it was all jokes. “Are you seriously trying to set my father up? On a date? With Javert?”

   “Yes! Cosette, you haven’t seen them together! It’s insane!” Grantaire urged.

   “Don’t you think she should have a say in this? It’s her father, for God’s sake.” Marius butt in, pulling her hand in his.

   Grantaire heaved a sigh and sat back down in his chair. “Fine. I won’t start anything yet. ”

   Cosette gave a lopsided smile. “Thank you, Grantaire…” she glanced back outside, where the rain had lightened greatly. “But, even so- maybe it wouldn’t be so bad if they did go out on a date.”

   Marius glared at her, eyes wide. “ What? This is Sideburns we’re talking about! The one who failed me and Laigle over a few pointless loopholes and is forcing us to do a whole other project!”

   “Yes, but… I think they know each other from somewhere,” Cosette said with a shrug. “Strangers don’t behave this way with each other, you know.”

   A string of hums circled around the table. It seemed that most agreed. Then, Feuilly grabbed Grantaire by the shoulder and cocked his head towards the pickup counter of the café.

   “Hey! Speak of the devil. Look!”

-

   Javert finally gained the strength to make his way to the café once he saw the rain lighten up. He pulled out his umbrella and slowly walked over, trying to keep his breathing slow and even.

   By the time he made it there, his shoes and trousers were more or less soaked through. He grumbled out a curse as he closed his umbrella and threw the door open. It was crowded and far too loud, and Javert quickly tuned everyone out.

   He made his order quickly and stood beside the pickup counter, arms crossed and spacing out. The world felt sluggish around him, as if things were moving far too slow. He was distantly aware of the burning pain in his chest that sparked like a fire with every inhale.

   In his state of dissociation, he did not hear the workers call his name, nor did he see Jean Valjean enter the building and walk up to the counter.

   When he finally did come out of it, he snapped his head to the counter to see multiple coffee cups with sleeves, steaming from the opening. Unsure of how to check, and positive that his name hadn’t yet been called, he simply grabbed the one the worker put down.

   He took a sip from it, not tasting anything different, and made his wait outside.

   When, suddenly, a hand grabbed his shoulder and twisted him around.

   “Hey! What the hell do you think you’re doing?”

   Javert stared at him with wide eyes. “Drinking my coffee? What’s your problem?”

   “ Your coffee? Is your name Justin?”

   “…No?”

   “Then get my coffee out of your hands!”

   Who the hell was this guy? He wasn’t taller than Javert, but he was evidently stronger. Javert was unsure if he was a student or a professor and, at the moment, he couldn’t care less.

   “Look, why don’t you go steal mine? That way, we’re even.” Javert offered, deadpan. That only seemed to make the man more furious than before. He suddenly grabbed Javert from the lapels of his coat, pulling him face to face.

   Javert inhaled sharply, earning a flaring pain in his chest. He repressed the urge to cough- doing that in the man’s face would only serve to anger him further.

   “I don’t want your dumbass coffee! I want mine! And you’re going to pay for it, you hear me?” He growled, foreheads almost touching. His grip was iron- no matter how Javert tried to move away, he couldn’t.

   “I’m not giving it back. Besides, I already drank from it. Just go take-!”

   The punch was much stronger than it needed to be. Javert barely had time to register what happened before he felt pain blossom in his left cheek and head and chest and everywhere else. The man let go of him then, sending him toppling backwards, to the ground.

   But he didn’t fall. Not all the way. He was vaguely aware that someone had caught him before he had fallen to the ground, hoisting him to sit up with strong, broad arms. He was wheezing, painfully, trying to focus on his breathing and get it under control.

   He heard arguing above him, and steeled himself to focus his eyes on who had caught him.

   There, still propping him up with his hand, was Jean Valjean. He was arguing with the man, his brow furrowed and eyes practically red. Every so often he would glance at Javert in concern.

   “You- you-“ Javert tried between gasps, staring at Valjean with horror. The world around him sounded much too loud, the disorientation was irritating. The only constant was Valjean.

   Valjean, who had helped him up. Valjean, who was currently fighting for him, the most angry Javert had ever seen him.

   Valjean, who had just saved him.

   No doubt that if the situation had escalated further, Javert would have been beaten to a pulp in the middle of the café, where all the students would have seen.

   He watched as a worker came and divided them apart, turning to the violent man and whispering something in his face. The man cursed her and finally stormed out. Then, she turned to Valjean.

   “Is he alright?” She asked, peering down at Javert. He was sitting up on his own now, the impact spot throbbing with his racing heartbeat. His chest was moving erratically, and Valjean put a hand on his shoulder and squeezed.

   “I think he’s just disoriented,” Valjean’s deep voice muttered back, vibrating in Javert’s very core.

   “You- You just-“ Javert stammered again, squeezing his eyes shut and desperately trying to get his thoughts under control.

   “That guy must’ve thrown a heavy hook,” she said with a wince. “It’s bruising already. You should take him to the clinic.”

   Valjean hummed. “Yes, I should.” He tapped on Javert’s shoulder and met his eyes. “Come on, Javert. We’ll be quick.”

   Javert didn’t say anything as he was helped off of the floor. He felt everyone’s eyes on him, and when Valjean put his hand back on his shoulder, he snapped away with a snarl.

   When they were outside- the rain had let up- Javert didn’t move.

   “Are you alright? Feeling dizzy?” Valjean asked, putting his hands together in front of him. Javert looked at him like he had personally offended him.

   “Why?”

   Valjean looked confused. “What do you mean?”

   “Why did you… defend me?”

   Valjean laughed, though it lacked much humor. “Javert, he punched you in the face! Over a coffee! I couldn’t just sit there and let it happen!”

   “Everyone else did. All you had to do was walk away.”

   Javert’s voice was quiet and his face was unusually blank, save for the slight furrow of his brow. Valjean didn’t understand.

   “Javert, I couldn’t walk away from that. He was going to beat you up over nothing-“

   “You should’ve let him!” Javert suddenly snapped, staring at the ground with hands balled into fists. Then he repeated, softly, “You should’ve let him.”

   “What are you talking about? You didn’t do anything wrong. He was just an asshole.”

   Javert shook his head. “No. No, you weren’t supposed to- You’re a convict, you can’t…” He put a hand on his forehead, feeling the world begin to spin again.

   “Javert-“

   “ No! You’re a convict, you’re not supposed to protect me from fights. If anything, you were supposed to laugh with him!” Javert snarled, his voice steadily rising. Valjean stood his ground, face creased with confusion and worry.

   After a moment, he asked, quietly, “Is that what you take me for? A convict who would laugh as you got beat up?”

   Javert didn’t respond, and yet that was all the confirmation Valjean needed.

   Without saying anything, Javert moved to the side of the road and collapsed onto a bench. Valjean followed wordlessly.

   His breathing was still painfully erratic, and he put a hand on his chest with a mumbled curse. Valjean did not say anything.

   After a while, with head in hands, Javert broke the silence.

   “How can you keep… coming back? I’ve pushed you away so many damn times…” he asked, slightly breathless and evidently tormented. Valjean looked his way.

   “I only want to help those in need,” he explained calmly. “I kept confronting you because you looked to be in pain.”

   “You just can’t stay in your own lane, can you?”

   Valjean smiled. “I guess not.”

   They sat in silence for a few more minutes.

   “Do you need to go see the clinic? That bruise doesn’t look good.”

   “No. I’m fine.” Javert’s voice sounded carefully blank now, as he got up from the bench. Valjean noticed that his hands were trembling.

   “Alright. Stay safe.”

   Javert couldn’t have stormed away faster.

-

   When Valjean was walking through the parking lot to his car, he found Javert leaning against an old, black car. In his shaking hands was a cigarette box.

   Valjean quickly ducked behind a car and watched, both equally intrigued and concerned. Javert was staring at it, his mouth twitching as if he wanted to say something, but couldn’t.

   And then, suddenly, he threw it on the ground and kicked it away with his foot. His movements were abrupt as he tore open his car door and fell into the driver seat.

   And yet, he didn’t drive away.

   He leaned against the wheel, head in hands, with fingers ruffling the long hair on his head and messing up his queue.

   Something was wrong, Valjean thought with increasing anxiety. Something was very wrong.

   As to further prove his point, Javert cranked on the engine, eyes gleaming unusually bright, and began to drive away.

   Valjean knew he should stay away. This wasn’t his problem! He had helped the man, and that was all that he needed to do.

   But nonetheless, Valjean ran to his car and turned on his engine, eager to chase after him. It wasn’t that he wanted to snoop. If Javert’s actions meant anything, they showed that he was not doing well.

   And that could cause more harm than anything if it wasn’t stopped in time.

-

   Valjean did not know where Javert lived, but he assumed that it would be somewhat close to the university.

   And yet they were still driving.

   Forty five minutes into this road trip, with the sun now set, Valjean felt a displeasing mixture of guilt and anxiety in his stomach. Guilt, because what the hell was he doing? Following a man to his home! This was stalking, and Javert had been a cop!

   And anxiety, because they were now driving nearly out of town, having passed multiple universities and neighborhoods, and there wasn’t a chance that Javert lived this far out of the district.

   After another ten minutes of driving, Javert finally stopped. They were at a bridge, surrounded by a forest. Valjean parked his car in the dark shelter of the trees and slowly creeped onto the wide bridge. He would look like a simple passerby, he was sure.

   Javert’s car was parked on the concrete road verge of the bridge, out of the road. There was no sign of the man yet.

   Valjean walked painfully slow on the other side, acting as though he lived in the neighborhood nearly and prayed that Javert wouldn’t recognize him and ask questions. Or worse- arrest him all over again.

   A moment later, the cars door was thrown open, and Javert stormed out. His hair was completely out of his queue, falling past his shoulders and covering the sides of his face. He looked worse than before, Valjean thought to himself.

   Perhaps he came here just to think? To clear his mind? He seemed horribly troubled.

   These thoughts bounced around Valjean’s head as he quietly walked by, trying to assure himself that Javert was fine and that he was just overreacting.

   He was quickly proven wrong.

   Javert, instead of leaning on the parapet, climbed upon it. The tip of his shoes stood over the edge, and his body swayed.

   Valjean could scarcely understand what he was doing before he was crying out and running towards him.

Chapter Text

   “ JAVERT!” He yelled, voice dripping with horror and dread as he suddenly began sprinting across the bridge, cars be damned. Javert’s head snapped towards him, making him lose his balance. For a moment, Valjean was afraid that he wouldn’t be able to reach him in time.

   And yet, he just so managed to tackle Javert’s legs and send him tumbling to the ground instead of the water.

   They collided with the concrete harshly, Valjean shifting so that he took a majority of the fall. Hearing and feeling Javert’s struggles, he trapped  the man in a tight embrace, efficiently pinning him to the ground.

   “Let go of me!” Javert screamed, his voice strained and choked, throwing weak punches at Valjean. “Let me GO!”

   “No! What are you doing?! You could’ve fallen!”

   “Idiot, that was the point! Let go of me!” Javert screamed once more, throwing a heavy hand against Valjean’s chest. Valjean shifted so that he released Javert out of his arms, but still kept him pinned from the legs.

   “Why are you doing this to yourself? This isn’t right, Javert!”

   “What do you know about doing the right thing?! Just get off of me! Leave me alone!”

   “Stop struggling! Stop it!” Valjean growled, pushing Javert onto the ground with a hand at his shoulder. When he saw that the man was gasping, he lessened his grip.

   “Don’t do this, Javert. I don’t know what drove you to this, but I do know that it’s not the answer.”

   “You don’t know shit, Valjean! You don’t know anything about me! Let me die in some damned dignity!”

   Valjean watched him with wide, terrified eyes, feeling tears well up. To listen to the man talk in such a way!

   “There’s no dignity in suicide , Javert!” Valjean yelled back, now trembling himself.

   Javert was wheezing again, gripping Valjean’s shoulders so tightly that they were sure to bruise. Slowly, the malice in his eyes died out into a look of hollowness, and his arms and head fell to the ground, limp. He stared at the skies, mouth pressed into a line so thin that his lips practically disappeared.

   “I can’t let you throw your life away, Javert. What about your students? Your family?”

   Javert let out a painful-sounding laugh, sounding more like a wounded dog’s whine than a real chuckle. “My students all hate me, and for good reason.”

   “That doesn’t mean that you should be completely wiped out of their lives! You’re the best law professor at the university!”

   Javert grew agitated again. “I don’t care! I don’t! Why should I? I never wanted this damn job in the first place!” Javert spat angrily, voice rising once more.

   “Then why are you there?” Valjean asked, unable to comprehend what was happening. Javert gave a frightening toothy snarl back at him.

   “I wouldn’t have been there tomorrow,” he growled before shoving Valjean’s shoulder again. “Get off of me!”

   “I’m not letting you jump, Javert.”

   “I can’t feel my damned legs.”

   Valjean thought for a moment. If he got off of Javert, would the man jump? He looked back at the car only a feet few away from them.

   One thing was certain: he couldn’t leave Javert alone tonight.

   He looked back at the man, who now resembled an angry dog, and sighed. If he would have to drag Javert, he would get him home.

   “I’m not leaving you alone tonight. Let me drive you home,” Valjean said, carefully getting off of the man, but not before grabbing his wrist, just for a safety measure. Javert glared at him and tried to tug away, but it was no use. In the dim light provided by a nearby streetlight, the bruise on his cheek looked extremely off-putting.

   “Fine,” he growled after a moment, snapping his hand away to get into the passenger seat that Valjean had opened the door to.

   A small victory, but Valjean knew it wouldn’t mean much compared to what was about to come. He got into the driver seat.

   “Can I have your keys?”

   Javert all but threw them at him before crossing his arms and staring out of the window, body slumped against the seat.

   Valjean turned on the engine and began to drive in the direction from which that had originally come from.

   “What’s your address?”

   Javert glared at him for a moment before supplying with a curt answer. Neither of them said anything else.

   After a few minutes, Javert finally spoke.

   “What are you going to do now? Send me to an asylum? A mental hospital?” Javert asked with a hysterical laugh. “Go ahead, see if I care.”

   “No, Javert. I know what those places are like. And I know you. I’m not going to make you through that. And besides, I don’t have the authority to do such a thing.”

   Javert let out another bark of laughter. “You don’t know shit about me, Valjean.” He repeated.

   They rode a while in silence, the air suffocating them both.

“…Did you put me on child lock? ” Javert suddenly spat angrily, trying the car door and failing to open it. Valjean glanced his way and nodded.

   “I did,” he confirmed, before quickly changing the subject. “Listen to me, Javert. When we get to your home, I’m going to put my number in your phone. I’m going to text you, every day, and make sure that you’re doing okay.” He explained in a careful yet firm voice. “And,” he continued. “I’m staying the night. I’m sorry, but I don’t trust you not to hurt yourself right now.”

   If Javert objected to any of this, he did not voice it. He has fallen silent, his arms were crossed over his chest, his head dipped and eyes half lidded and slightly glazed over.

   They drove the rest of the way in heavy silence. When they got to his neighborhood, Javert mumbled his address again and pointed to his apartment when Valjean asked for it.

   He moved robotically up the stairs, Valjean close behind him, and when he unlocked and entered his apartment, he stood in the open hall, unsure of what to do. Valjean took in the surroundings.

   It was nothing like his apartment. The walls were dark, without really any personal touch upon them. The living room was only able to hold a sofa and TV, and the kitchen wasn’t much better. It was a very tight, plain area. Similar to his classroom, Valjean thought.

   When he saw that Javert wasn’t moving, he spoke. “Okay. Get your shoes off and go change, alright? I’ll be right here. Do you want anything to eat?”

   Javert made no movement for a while, then slowly shook his head.

   “Okay. That’s fine. Just go change and get into bed.” Valjean said with a smile. Javert didn’t even look his way before retreating into the bedroom.

   Javert’s behavior was getting quite concerning. Not only the behavior on the bridge- wanting so desperately to get out of Valjean’s arms and into the water- but unlike before when he was screaming and yelling, now he wasn’t talking at all. He resembled a kicked dog, dejected and tired.

   It seemed that the night had finally caught up to him, and now he had fallen into a state that Valjean loathed to see any person in. He was in melancholy, agony, very nearly depression. It broke his heart to see the man like this.

   Valjean took a brief look into the kitchen. The fridge and cabinets were nearly empty, save for a few snacks gone stale and cat food.

   Cat food? Valjean hadn’t realized that Javert had a pet. He looked around the room, looking for any sign that it was true. He found none.

   He heard shuffling from behind, and turned around to see Javert in a T-shirt and pajama pants, his hair falling around his face. He was tormented, the emotion clear on his face.

   Javert heaved a quiet sigh before looking up at Valjean. “Can you go?” He asked quietly, all malice gone from his voice. Valjean’s face creased.

   “I’m going to sleep on your couch,” Valjean replied. “I’m going to guess that you’re not coming to the university tomorrow.”

   Javert glared at him. “I don’t want you sleeping on my couch. I’ll be fine. Just please, go.”

   He sounded painfully helpless. He somehow looked even more so. Valjean wanted to trust him, but…

   “Javert…” he started slowly, unsure how to voice his thoughts.

   His hands were shaking as he crossed them over his chest. “Valjean.” He was on the verge of snapping, Valjean realized, looking at his reddening eyes. Javert took a deep breath.

   “I won’t try to kill myself. I won’t , okay?” He said, his voice thick with tears. “I just want to sleep.”

   Valjean felt his heart breaking.

   “If I text you in the morning,” he tried to swallow the lump in his throat. “Will you answer me?”

   Javert stared at the ground for a moment before nodding. “Yes.”

   “Do you promise me?”

   Javert didn’t answer.

   “ Javert ,” Valjean repeated. “Do you promise?”

   Javert looked up at him then, his eyes wet and red with unshed tears. “Yes,” he choked out. “I promise.”

   Valjean smiled then. A soft, small thing. “Good. Stay safe, Javert. Please.”

   He didn’t want to leave Javert alone, especially after what he had almost succeeded in doing, but forcing the man to let him stay would only put him more on edge. He would have to trust him.

   He let himself out of the apartment, quietly closing the door behind him. He prayed that Javert will make it through the night.

   But the man was known to never go back on his word, and that alone must mean something.

-

   To say that Javert was surprised was an understatement.

   Jean Valjean! The convict! The very man who drove him to the bridge had tackled him off of it, and was now forcing him to live! The very idea of it all seemed insane.

   And yet, here Javert was. Not at the bottom of a river, drowned and lifeless, but in his own bed, dry and oh so tired.

   He did not even feel anger anymore. He didn’t feel… anything. He felt empty, hollow, like a simple shell of the man he was supposed to be.

   He glanced over to his nightstand, where his phone lay face down. It would be so easy to break his promise to Valjean, to go and run to the bridge, or maybe shoot himself in the head…

   And yet, he couldn’t move. Wouldn’t. Instead he turned to lay on his back, staring at the ceiling above with a blank face.

   He felt nothing, and yet his chest still ached. He felt tears forming in his eyes for the second time that night, and he began to tremble.

   Something soft brushed against his arm, and he turned his head to find his cat, Ferko, moving up beside him.

   He was a young Norwegian Forest cat, his coat silver and soft. Javert had never been one for pets- mainly because, back when he was a police officer, he did not have the time nor energy to care for them- however, after his incident and being discharged from the police, his superior had gifted him a cat from the litter of his. Javert had tried to deny, but the more time he spent with the beast, the more… relaxed he felt.

   Ferko was still quite young, and had a habit of curling up directly beside Javert so that he may be cuddled from the behind. He was a smart animal, and Javert was grateful for it. Over the years, they had created a strong bond with one another.

   Watching as Ferko curled up on his arm, Javert carefully pet his back, feeling tears begin to silently roll down his cheeks. Damnit. Damnit!

   This wasn’t how it was supposed to be. He wasn’t supposed to be here, not only alive but as a damn professor at a pointless university. He was supposed to be an officer, serving justice under Chabouillet’s wing.

   The world had tried to kill him once already. Why couldn’t he have succeeded the first time?

   He buried his face in the scruff of Ferko, desperately trying to get his breathing under control. The cat made a soft chirping sound, but did not move.

   Javert’s mind was spinning and his chest was aching with painful gasps that his damaged lungs failed to keep up with.

   He didn’t get much sleep that night.

-

   Valjean awoke with a start. He had barely made it to his bed last night before he had completely passed out. He hadn’t even changed out of his work clothes.

   Anxiety hit him like a bus as he remembered last night. With growing panic, he all but threw himself at his phone and quickly texted Javert.

7:53 AM

Good morning, Javert. How are you feeling?

   He stared at the screen for a few minutes, looking for any sort of indication that Javert had seen it. Perhaps he was still asleep. It was only expected after the night he had.

   Still anxious, Valjean quickly got ready. He skipped breakfast so that he would be able to make it on the university in time. Cosette had already left half an hour ago.

   On his way to the campus, his phone buzzed. Not a stickler of the rules, especially at this time, he picked it up and glanced its way. On the bottom popped up a notification from Javert.

8:29 AM

Fine.

   That’s all he wrote. Valjean didn’t expect much else, and yet concern still tugged at his heart. For a few minutes he didn’t reply, only until he got to a red light.

   He quickly picked up the phone and wrote out his message.

8:33 AM

Are you feeling tired?

   What a stupid question to ask! But he needed conversation, he needed to show Javert that he didn’t need to hide his emotions.

   Text bubbles bounced around for a minute, frequently disappearing and reappearing. Valjean continued to drive, and by the time he parked at the campus, Javert had responded.

8:39 AM

Yes.

   Despite it all, Valjean felt a pang of frustration. Trying to get Javert to open up was going to be much more difficult than he originally thought.

8:41 AM

I’ll tell the dean that you won’t be here for a few days. Take care of yourself, okay?

8:42 AM

Ok.

   Valjean stared at the curt conversation that had just played out. He learned nothing about Javert’s condition, only that he was alive. At least that was a relief in itself.

   He made his way to his classroom quickly. He didn’t have time to get his usual coffee, and by the time he made it there, he was still late by two minutes.

   He tried to stay as focused as possible, but his mind kept straying to Javert, and concern almost rendered him frozen. Cosette must have picked up his odd behavior- his quiet voice, stuttering words, and unfocused eyes- for she was giving him confused looks throughout the lecture. He pushed through them.

   When he dismissed class a few minutes early, it earned a few surprised mumbles. Valjean had made a plan in his head that he would have to text Javert multiple times during the day if he wanted to make sure that he was alright. If he had it his way, Valjean would visit him after work every day, but he knew that would cause Javert to shrink in on himself. The man was solitary, and Valjean knew his fair deal of recovery. It was a slow, tedious process, but necessary.

   Cosette walked up to Valjean and put a hand on his arm as he was staring at his phone, earning a flinch from him.

   “Papa, is everything alright? You seem stressed.” She asked with a squeeze of her hand. He smiled and put his hand over hers.

   “Yes, love, I’m fine. I’ve just got a friend that I’m…worried about.”

   “Oh. Are they alright?”

   Valjean frowned. “I don’t really know. I was with him last night, and now he’s more or less refusing to see or talk to me.”

   Cosette clicked her tongue. “That’s sad! But you know, papa, sometimes people just need their space.” She said with a smile, reciting back what Valjean had taught her so long ago. “I hope he’s alright, though.”

   “So do I, Cosette.” Valjean said with a sigh. “Thank you, love. Now hurry on, you’ll be late for your next class.”

   She pecked a kiss on his cheek before grabbing her backpack and sprinting out of the door. Once gone, Valjean unlocked his phone and went to his and Javert’s chat.

10:24 AM

Hey, how are you feeling?

   While waiting for a response, Valjean checked up on his emails and curriculum plans. Every so often he would glance at the screen and sigh when he saw that Javert didn’t respond.

   Thirty minutes later without a reply- and heart practically beating out of his chest- his next class rolled in. His lecture was worse than the first, he barely able to get the words out without stuttering and fumbling. It was embarrassing.

   At one point of his speaking, his phone buzzed from his table, vibrating the wood and making a loud sound.

   It took everything in him not to dismiss the class at that very moment. Instead, he pretended as though nothing happened, and continued on with his lectures.

   When the final students shuffled out of the classroom, he shuffled over to the phone.

11:38 AM

Fine. Why do you care so much?

11:39 AM

Because I want to make sure that you’re feeling alright. I want to help you.

11:40 AM

You mean, you want to make sure that I haven’t killed myself yet? And, did it ever occur to you that I might not WANT help?

   Valjean frowned at the words. Even through the phone, he could sense Javert’s anger, feel his piercing gaze on his skin.

11:41 AM

I don’t want you to get hurt, Javert. You’re a good man. Nobody should throw away their life like that.

11:41 AM

You don’t know anything about me, Valjean. It’s not like my life is all that great anyway.

11:42 AM

That doesn’t mean it should be thrown away.

   Text bubbles bounced around for a minute. It seemed as though Javert did not know how to respond.

11:43 AM

I don’t want your help. We’re not friends.

11:43 AM

We could be. Convict and officer roles put aside.

11:44 AM

I don’t need friends. Or want them.

And I don’t need you constantly texting me, making sure I’m not dead. I told you I wouldn’t do it.

   There went Valjean’s plan.

11:44 AM

Alright. I’m sorry.

   Valjean had thought it the end of their conversation, but then he saw the bubbles bounce before a message appeared.

11:47 AM

You can text in the morning. That’s all you get.

   Valjean smiled at the message.

11:48 AM

Thanks, Javert. Talk to you tomorrow. :)

   He didn’t get a reply back, but that didn’t bother him all that much at all.

Chapter Text

   Valjean texted Javert every morning for a week. Most of it was, How are you doing? and, Do you need anything? Simple conversations that usually only lasted five minutes.

   He had tried, once, to ask Javert what he had been doing with his time off, and he had been swiftly ignored.

   And so, Valjean knew next to nothing about Javert or how he was doing. He always wrote back that he was fine, that he was alive. It didn’t do much to soothe Valjean’s worries, but there was little else he could do. He didn’t want to push the man, for Javert was still in a sensitive situation where a few wrong words could send him right back to the bridge.

   All was going well enough until Cosette looked up at him from the dinner table.

   “Papa, how’s your friend doing?” She asked, her blue eyes searching his. He fiddled with his fork, looking away to some far off corner.

   “He’s doing alright. You were right, he just needed some space.” Valjean replied, mustering up a smile that didn’t reach his eyes.

   “I’m glad,” Cosette grinned. After a moment, she started up again. “Marius wanted me to ask you if you knew anything about where Professor Javert might be?”

   It was, in fact, Grantaire who had begged her to ask this. Cosette merely did not want to hint about his plans, and so instead poised the idea as Marius. Besides, he had voiced his questions as well.

   Valjean stiffened. “Professor Javert? No, I don’t. Why? He hasn’t been here?”

   Cosette shook her head. “Not for a week!” She exclaimed, motioning a bit with her fork. “It wouldn’t be such a big deal if Marius and Bousset didn’t have tutorials.”

   Valjean had to agree on that. He had been there for the tutorials the past week, and had heard the law student’s questions that nobody could answer. He had also heard Marius (loudly) voice his irritations about the absence of Javert.

   “That’s odd,” Valjean said, keeping his head down. “Perhaps he is on vacation.”

   Cosette let out a giggle. “Papa, Professor Javert never goes on vacation. He doesn’t even take his sick days.”

   Ah. So that explains why it was so odd for these kids. Valjean felt sick to his stomach.

   “Then this is very odd,” Valjean agreed, stuffing his mouth full so that he would not have to talk. Cosette said a few more things before changing the subject.

   Valjean couldn’t finish his dinner.

-

   How many days had passed? He could scarcely count them apart from each other.

   Javert had not left his apartment in a week. He only got out of bed to relieve himself and feed Ferko. He had not cared to shave or eat full meals, instead opting to just lay in bed and refuse to go out into the world.

   Most times, he simply drifted in limbo between consciousness and sleep with Ferko by his side. The cat had voiced his concerns when he realized that Javert was staying there longer than usual, but he did not heed them.

   He didn’t care for anything anymore. He wanted so desperately to die, and yet, he was too much of a coward to do that, so instead he spent his days wasting away.

   Valjean texted him every morning and he always felt obliged to answer. Of course he wouldn’t tell Valjean about what he was truly doing with his time- he didn’t think he would be able to handle the embarrassment of that.

   Having already spent most of the morning in bed, Javert dragged himself off of it to feed Ferko. The cat followed him eagerly into the kitchen, where Javert threw his usual amount into the bowl.

   Javert himself ate little more than a few snacks throughout the day- whatever he could find really; chips, granola bars- and didn’t bother with scheduled meals anymore. What was the point? None of it mattered.

   His hair was unruly and his sideburns had almost turned into a beard. He looked as bad as he felt, and even Ferko had begun to feel distressed at the sight of it. He clawed at Javert’s sock, chirping. Javert always pushed him away.

   Today he was feeling particularly pained, and didn’t even bother looking into the fridge. Instead he opened his cabinets and rummaged around.

   In the back of one beside the sink, he found an old bottle of whiskey, half empty.

   He stared at it, debating with himself if he should really go through with this. Javert knew all too well that he couldn’t hold his alcohol, and this would absolutely destroy him.

   And yet, it would make him unaware of his suffering. It would be an escape, he realized. Even if it was just for a little while.

   He was vaguely aware of his phone buzzing on his nightstand in his room. Valjean could wait.

   He screwed off the lid and steeled himself before putting the bottle to his lips and tipping it back. He downed it all in one go.

   Javert passed out a few minutes later.

-

   Usually when Valjean wrote to Javert, he would get an answer in thirty minutes to an hour. He quickly learned this pattern and adapted to it. No need to worry.

   Except now, it had been three hours since Javert had responded. He had never left it like this. And it wasn’t like Javert had left him on read- no! He was left on delivered, which meant that Javert hadn’t even seen the message.

   That wasn’t good at all.

   Growing more anxious with every passing minute, Valjean picked up his phone and ducked behind his computer. Luckily, he wasn’t sharing any lecture with the class today.

10:24 AM

Javert? Are you alright?

   Valjean stared at the two unread texts for probably ten minutes before fear gripped him so tightly that he had to put down the phone.

   Maybe he was busy. Maybe he was sleeping. There were so many reasonable possibilities to why Javert was not answering, and yet, all Valjean could think was that something terrible had happened.

   He never kept Valjean waiting this long. No, something had to be wrong.

   And yet, Valjean could not do anything. He had a class present, and another one coming in just half an hour. That wasn’t enough time to make sure Javert was alright.

   He glanced towards his students, who were all absorbed in their work and quiet save for a few mumbled conversations between each other. Valjean glanced back at his phone.

   I have to do it, he thought to himself as he got up and picked up his coat from the back of his chair.

   “Everyone,” he started, his voice trembling despite himself. “I’m sorry, but I have to leave. It’s an emergency.”

   Cosette looked at him with wide, concerned eyes. Valjean could only stare back, silently apologizing.

   Before anyone could say anything, he sprinted out of the door, throwing his arms into the sleeves of his coat and running to his car.

   It would be a quick visit. He just needed to make sure that Javert was alright. He didn’t think he could bear to know that Javert had succeeded in killing himself. Over what, Valjean still didn’t know. He had been too afraid to ask.

   He was fast to drive out of the parking lot and out of campus. He had Javert’s address saved on his phone, for things such as this, and quickly propped his phone up to follow the directions given by the GPS.

   A twenty minute drive, each moment spent in painful anxiety. By the time Valjean made it to the parking lot, he was shaking all over. Not many cars were present, for it was the middle of the day, but Javert’s still seemed to be there, exactly where Valjean had parked it a week ago.

   He all but ran up the stairs to Javert’s door. He checked his phone one more time to see if he was being crazy, that Javert had actually responded and everything was fine-

   But it was still left on delivered.

   He knocked three times against the door. No answer.

   “Javert?” Valjean called and knocked again. Still, no answer.

   Good God, could someone’s heart truly beat this fast? Valjean knocked harder, all but yelling now.

   “ Javert!” Valjean cried. When he realized that nobody was going to answer, he rummaged into his pocket and found a stray paperclip, likely from a stack of essays given by his students that he had once brought home. Thank God.

   He quickly shoved it into the lock and began to pick as fast as he could- though, he would’ve done better if his hands hadn’t been shaking so much.

   It felt like an eternity by the time he finally got it unlocked. He swung the door open, taking a few steps into the apartment.

   “Javert!” Valjean called, peering through the living room and the ajar bedroom door, where he could see that the bed was untidy, but unoccupied.

   He moved to the kitchen and froze in horror to find Javert unconscious, lying next to an empty bottle of whiskey.

   Valjean started at the sight, quickly jumping down beside the man to prop him up against the cabinets. He desperately pawed at the Javert’s throat, looking for a pulse, and he found one, strong and a bit too fast. The closer Valjean was to Javert, the faster he realized that he was breathing in short, quick puffs of air.

   As he was inspecting Javert for any more signs of damage, something soft brushed against his leg. He jumped and turned to his side to see a small, silver cat staring up at him with ice blue eyes.

   Uncanny, Valjean thought. So there was a cat living with Javert, and it just so happened to look exactly like him too.

   He hoisted up Javert into his arms and made his way into the bedroom. The bed was unmade and the nightstand was ridden with empty wrappers and used tissues. The entire room was a mess, with articles of clothing thrown across the floor and on the edge of every surface.

   How could he believe that Javert was fine? That he was truly doing alright after trying to jump off of a bridge? What an idiot Valjean had been!

   Valjean gently placed him onto the mattress and took a good look at the man before him.

   Simply put, Javert looked terrible. His once clean sideburns had transformed into an untidy beard, and his eyes and cheeks were sunken in- he looked like the dead.

   The silver cat jumped up on the bed, frightening Valjean again, and curled up beside Javert, all the while staring up at the unknown man in its house. Valjean shifted uncomfortably and instead moved into the kitchen.

   Everything was unnaturally tidy compared to the bedroom. He picked up the empty bottle of whiskey and wondered how much Javert must have drunken. It couldn’t have been the whole bottle, surely- then things would have been much worse than he had originally seen.

   He shuffled through the cabinets and fridge, shocked to find them almost entirely empty. No wonder the man had looked so gaunt and haggard! Had he even eaten at all this past week?

   Something similar to anger boiled up inside Valjean. To let himself waste away like this, stay in bed all day and just mope… Valjean knew this story all too well.

   He decided to spend his time tidying the apartment. A little while later, he heard a soft groan emit from the bedroom. So he was up. Valjean took a deep breath and steeled himself for the confrontation.

   As he slowly made his way to the bedroom, he heard Javert mumble something in a soft voice- likely to the cat, who hadn’t moved from his side. As they came into view, he was right- Javert was curled on his side, gently petting the feline’s head.

   Unsure how to start this, Valjean awkwardly tapped on the door. Javert’s head shot up, and he flinched when he saw Valjean in the doorway.

   “Javert,” he started softly. “I-“

   Javert suddenly let out a sharp bark of laughter. “I knew I was unable to hold my liquor, but I cannot be so far off that I begin hallucinating you! ” He hissed, his face contorted in a toothy grin. Valjean watched him, concerned.

   “Javert, you hadn’t answered me this morning.”

   “Yes, well… I didn’t have my phone with me.”

   “You were unconscious in your kitchen! Javert, I know that you may be troubled, but that doesn’t mean that you should turn to drink!”

   Javert dug the palm of his hands into his eyes. “Get out, won’t you?” He asked, his voice suddenly weak and pained.

   “I can’t leave you alone, Javert. What have you been doing for this past week? When was the last time you had a decent meal? Have you even left your apartment?”

   “What does it matter to you? I told you that I don’t need you.” Javert groaned back, hand covering his eyes.

   “I can’t just sit by idly while you destroy your own life!” Valjean cried, emotion grabbing him and making him lose his sense of control.

   “You haven’t any idea how pointless my life already was,” Javert replied, oddly still calm. Ferko was in his arms now, curled up on his chest.

   “I can’t believe that, Javert. No one’s life is meaningless, and even if it was, that’s not reason to throw it away!”

   Javert didn’t react to his words. “Just leave me alone.”

   Valjean shook his head and planted his feet into the floor.

   “…Now, Valjean.”

   “I’m not going to leave until I know that you’ll be alright.”

   Something in Javert snapped, and he suddenly jumped up from the bed to grab Valjean by the lapels of his coat.

   “No! You’re not, and you know why? Because it’s my own damn house. I can have you arrested for stalking, you know that? How would you like to be back in prison? What would your daughter think of you then, hmm?” Javert asked angrily, his bloodshot eyes wide and frightening. Valjean took a step back, desperately trying to be free of the man’s grip.

   “Get out of my house, Valjean,” he let go of his coat and pushed him backwards. “Before I call the damn cops.”

   Valjean watched as he fell back into his bed and threw the covers over his head. So that was that. He was forbidden to help Javert, unless he wanted to be arrested. Damnit.

   He exited solemnly, head hung in defeat. Would Javert be alright on his own?

   Would he even be able to make it to the end of the month on his own?

-

   “I’m getting kind of worried,” Combeferre mumbled as the three of them walked into the morning class. Javert had been absent from the university for two weeks, without a word to anyone.

   “Honestly? Me too,” Marius agreed. “I’ve never seen him take so many days off before. And without a word to anyone? It’s crazy.”

   “Do you think he’s doing okay? After the whole thing at the café…” Laigle offered with a shrug and concerned look.

   “He was hit pretty hard. Maybe it knocked his senses,” Marius shot back with a shrug, taking his seat between the two. “Either way, who’s going to grade our debate?”

   “Really? That’s what you’re concerned about? Maybe we should ask Grantaire if he knows anything.” Combeferre said with a shrug. It was, in fact, a very real suggestion, for finals were coming up in just a few weeks.

   “No harm in asking him at the café,” Laigle agreed.

-

   When they got to the café, as usual, the group was already formed up at their usual table.

   Marius got Grantaire’s attention. “Hey, you know your whole plan to get Sideburns and Leblanc together? Well? Do you have any information?”

   Grantaire sat back against his seat. “I do, actually. And if they were both here, I would’ve gotten them together already. Anyway,” he cleared his throat, gaining the attention of the table. “I did some digging around Javert. Turns out he used to be a cop until he had to be discharged.”

   “Discharged?” Cosette echoed. “He doesn’t seem like the type of person to get in trouble with the rules.”

   “I agree,” Marius added. “He’s a stickler for the rules, even as a professor.”

   Grantaire shrugged. “Well, I don’t know why he was discharged, but I know that he was. And, I found his old boss. Chabouillet,” he provided with a smile.

   “Okay, so we know his name. What does this have to do with your mission though?”

   “The mission needs to take a bit of a detour. We can’t do anything if Javert isn’t here!” Grantaire explained with a wave of his hand. “Anyway, if we know Javert’s old boss, maybe we can ask him about where he might be.”

   “That’s a long shot of an idea,” Enjolras growled. “Why would his old boss, who he doesn’t work for, have any idea about where he is?”

   “Have you got a better idea?” Laigle shot back. Enjolras cocked his head to the side and grumbled something before turning to look out the window.

   “Okay, so, how are we going to get in contact with him?”

   Grantaire grinned. “Don’t worry about it. I’ll figure everything out.”

-

   That night at dinner, Cosette spewed out everything about Grantaire’s digging. She simply couldn’t shake the feeling that her father knew Javert from somewhere. However, she needed evidence to her theories, and she planned to get them.

   “My friends did some searching about where Professor Javert might be,” she started casually, eyeing her father for any sort of change in behavior. His shoulders stiffened.

   “Searching? Should you guys really be doing that? It seems… inappropriate,” he replied, as if he hadn’t quite literally spied on Javert to make sure he was alive.

   “Yeah, but we just want to make sure that he’s okay. Anyway, Grantaire managed to find the name of his old boss.” She paused and glanced up at him, looking again for any sort of reaction and finding none. “His name was Chabouillet, I think.” She finished before stuffing her mouth with her fork.

   “Hm. Maybe he’ll know something,” Valjean shrugged. “Are they going to confront him?”

   Cosette shrugged. “I have no idea. Either way, it seems like Professor Javert has got some crazy backstory. Did you know he used to be a cop?”

   Valjean hummed in fake interest. “That would certainly explain a lot with him, wouldn’t it?” He said with a short laugh. Guilt twisted in his stomach, and he put his head back down to face his plate.

   Curious, Cosette thought to herself.

Chapter Text

   Five missed calls. Ten unread messages.

   Every few weeks, Javert and Chabouillet would meet up at a nearby coffee shop to simply catch up. To Chabouillet, it was making sure his protege was doing alright with his life. To Javert, it was catching up with an old friend.

   And yet, Javert hadn’t confirmed or even looked at the messages that Chabouillet had sent. The commissioner was worried, for in all the years he knew Javert, he had never known him to simply leave messages unread, no matter how busy he was.

   That is why Chabouillet found himself in the teachers parking lot of the university, waiting for his officer to appear.

   Cars quickly drained out, leaving only his and a few others scattered across the lot. None of them looked anything similar to Javert’s.

   With the sun setting, Chabouillet was about to give up, when he saw a man walking to a car. A familiar face, Chabouillet realized as he walked up to him.

   “Excuse me!” He called, and the man flinched at the voice. He raised his white head to meet Chabouillet’s eyes.

   “Yes? How can I help?”

   “Are you a professor here?” Chabouillet asked. The man nodded with a small smile.

   “Oh, good. I know it’s a big campus, but do you know a Professor Javert, by any chance?”

   Something in the man’s expression shifted. His smile fell, and a shadow was cast over his brow. He glanced away for a moment before nodding tightly.

   “Yes, I do. Why do you ask?”

   Chabouillet placed his hands behind his back. “My name is Chabouillet. You see, I’m an… old aquaintance of his, and he’s been unusually quiet these past few days. Is he here?” He asked, glancing behind the man’s shoulder in hopes of maybe finding Javert. The man was solemnly as he responded,

   “I’m afraid not. Professor Javert hasn’t been here in two weeks.” He said softly. Chabouillet’s eyes widened in shock.

   “ Two weeks ? I’ve never heard of him taking so much time off!” He exclaimed, concern spreading through him like a plague.

   “Yes, well… He’s had a difficult time lately.” The man replied, his brow furrowed.

   “Whatever do you mean? Is he alright?” Chabouillet urged, becoming increasingly frustrated. The entire situation was extremely off putting already, and the odd behavior and broken hints from the man before him was not making it any better.

   The man did not respond immediately. He stared at Chabouillet, studying him. Then, after a moment, he asked, “You say you are an acquaintance of Javerts?” His voice was calm and measured. Chabouillet nodded his head.

   “Yes. I’ve known him for years!”

   The man stared at him before huffing out a heavy aigh, as though the weight of the world was currently resting upon his shoulders. “Very well. Sir, two weeks ago, Javert attempted to kill himself. He tried to jump from a bridge. He was unsuccessful, and he has been at his apartment ever since. He has not been talking to anyone.”

   Chabouillet couldn’t believe what he was hearing. Javert, one of his most trusted officers and friend, had attempted suicide? He stared at the man, eyes as wide as saucers and mouth agap. After a moment, he swallowed the lump in his throat and spoke.

   “How do you know all of this? What is your name?”

   “I know that his attempt was unsuccessful because I was the one that stopped him and drove him home.” He locked eyes with Chabouillet, his gaze strong and unwavering. “My name is Jean Valjean.”

   Chabouillet stared at him, the situation processing in his mind. Jean Valjean had been one of Javert’s most prideful captures. He saw it as his greatest victory, and now the two had been working side by side. He could only imagine how angered Javert had been to find out that he would be working with the man, never mind the fact that he had saved his life!

   When he didn’t speak for a few moments, Valjean let out a puff of laughter. “You were Javert’s boss, yes? I remember you.” The smile quickly disappeared from his lips. “I tried to speak with him, but he pushed me away. It’s quite concerning- I believe he spends most of his day in bed, with the cat of his that is likely his only company, and neglects food.”

   “Good God. How did I not know about this?” Chabouillet sighed as he put a hand on his forehead, rubbing the temples with the tip of his fingers.

   “Javert is a very private man,” Valjean replied. “And he is very hard to read. At most times, it is impossible to know if he is tormented or just simply annoyed.”

   Chabouillet let out a dry laugh. “Yes, his poker face can be impeccable.” He suddenly turned to his car. “I cannot leave him like that. I need to pay him a visit. Thank you for your help, monsieur.”

   Before he could get to his car, Valjean grabbed his shoulder.

   “Sir,” he called. “If you speak to him, please, do not mention my name. He despises me, and I have good reason to believe that I may be the cause of his torment.”

   “You? How so?” Chabouillet asked, turning around to face him again.

   “A few hours before his attempt, there was a man who got violent with him at a coffee shop in the campus. I protected him from another punch, and that must have snapped something in his mind. I am not sure- the whole situation is incredibly complex.” Valjean said, putting his hands behind his back.

   “I understand,” Chabouillet muttered. “I’ll see if I can talk to him. Thank you for your help, Monsieur Valjean. And… Thank you for saving him.”

   Valjean nodded in respect before turning and walking to his own car. Chabouillet quickly turned on his engine and made his way to Javert’s home.

-

   Despite having been told that Javert was in his apartment, all the lights were off. Chabouillet sat in his car for a few minutes, waiting for any change. when he saw that none was to come, he threw his door open and made his way up to the house.

   This was not the first time that Javert had shut down from the world. A few years back, when Chabouillet had no choice but to discharge Javert from the police after his incident, the man had taken the change horribly. His behavior was similar to what he was doing now: staying in bed, not speaking to anyone.

   He knocked firmly on the wooden door. He tried again after a few minutes without a reply. By the fourth time, he let himself in. He had a sparenk key, having made it for emergencies such as this, in a swift motion, he unlocked the door and swung it open, closing it behind him with a loud bang.

   Chabouillet looked around at the tidy living room and kitchen. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary, only that it looked entirely unoccupied. Having not yet said anything, he turned on the light in the living room and scanned for any hints or details of what might be happening with Javert.

   He heard a soft chirp emit from his left side, and he swung around to find Ferko staring up at him with those wide, blue eyes. Chabouillet walked up to him and pet him from his head to his scruff, smiling all the while.

   “Hello, Ferko,” he hummed, picking the cat up into his arms. “Do you know where Javert might be?”

   The cat chirped again before sliding out of his arms and gracefully landing on the ground, where he travelled to the closed bedroom door and scratched against it. Chabouillet followed, hesitant. Before he opened the door, he called, “Javert? Are you in there?”

   No answer. Not even the sound of moving. With every moment that passed, this was becoming more and more eerie. Unable to wait any longer, Chabouillet slowly opened the bedroom door. Ferko slid in, blending into the darkness.

   The blinds were shut and every light was turned off. The only light was emitting from the living room, and it cast a bronze look over the room. In the far left corner was Javert’s bed, the covers thrown over a long, hunched over lump that could only be the man himself. His back was turned away from the door, nothing moving except the slight rise and fall of the covers.

   Taking a closer look at the state of the room, he was dismayed to find it so messy. Javert had always been a stickler to keep things organized, whether it was at work or at home. To find clothes and tissues scattered everywhere made something in Chabouillet’s chest tremble.

   Carefully, he approached the bed and loomed over it, catching a glimpse of where Javert’s face and messy hair stuck out. Unsure of what to do, he lightly tapped his shoulder. “Javert?” He whispered. The man’s face scrunched up, and he turned deeper into the mattress.

   “Javert,” Chabouillet called again, this time a bit more stern. Javert was just about to turn away again when he must’ve realized who was speaking, for his eyes shot open and snapped to Chabouillet.

   He started, scurrying away from him and into the corner of the bed against the wall. He looked miserable, his beard and hair untidy and attire made out of old T-shirts that must have looked disgraceful. Javert clamped his mouth shut, shame flooding his senses, and he hung his head. Chabouillet watched, taking a step back to give the man some space.

   “Javert, what’s happened to you?” He asked softly, his voice thick with pity. Javert’s brow furrowed deeper and he dropped his head back onto the pillow. He didn’t respond for a long moment, until he croaked out in a hoarse voice,

   “Leave, sir. Please.” He all but begged, eyes red and glistening in what little light was provided. Ferko jumped up beside him and curled up in his usual spot. When Javert put a hand on his coat, Chabouillet could see that he was trembling.

   “I apologize, but you look half dead. Why haven’t you been answering my calls?” He asked, taking a seat at the edge of the bed to make it clear that he was not going anywhere. Javert shifted uncomfortably, closing his eyes.

   “Haven’t been looking at my phone,” he croaked back, his words cut off by a dry cough that wracked his entire body. He winced, putting a trembling hand on his heaving chest.

   This was much worse than Chabouillet had originally thought. To see the man, once so proud and standing tall, now crushed and dejected, made something twist unpleasantly in Chabouillet’s chest.

   “Answer me truthfully,” he commanded, voice turning stern. He realized that, if Javert was to get back on his feet, soft asking would not be the way to go. The man responded to orders. “When was the last time you had a decent meal?”

   Javert’s resting hand upon Ferko twitched, and he stared off into a far corner of the room.

   “Javert?” Chabouillet called after a minute. Javert squeezed his eyes shut and drew in a slow, shuddering breath.

   “Let me save you the time,” he growled in a voice so low that Chabouillet had to strain to understand it. “I haven’t been eating, I haven’t been working. For-“ He couldn’t seem to pinpoint how long it had been. “-However long it’s been, I’ve been here.”

   Chabouillet was taken aback by his curtness. “Why? What’s happened that you felt the need to do this to yourself?” He was not one to play the parent role- he was quite bad at it, in fact- but this time was quite different.

   Javert ran a hand through his tangled hair. Several times, he opened his mouth, and each time, he clamped it back shut.

   “You don’t have to be specific with me, Javert, but I can’t let you stay here like this. You’ll be dead by the end of the week.”

   Javert glared at him, eyes piercing through him. “You sound just like him,” he breathed out shakily, twisting the covers in his trembling fists. “Very well. I’ll repeat what I said to him. I don’t want your help. I don’t need it.”

   Chabouillet stared at him as he spat the words out, snarling like a wounded, defensive dog. He got off of the bed and crossed his arms over his chest.

   “I don’t care what you want or need,” he snapped back, effectively shutting Javert down. “I am telling you that you’re not going to continue this way. Do you understand?”

   Javert sat up and watched him, chest heaving. Chabouillet tensed.

   “ Do you understand?” He repeated between his teeth.

   “…Yes.”

   Chabouillet smiled. “Good. Now get out of bed. You’re going to take a shower and shave while I make you something to eat.” He held out a hand to help the man up. Javert took it begrudgingly, allowing himself to be pulled up to his feet.

   “Good man,” he said, patting Javert on the back before exiting the bedroom with Ferko trailing behind him.

   Chabouillet scanned through the kitchen and managed to find some abandoned pasta in the back of the pantry. By the time he got the water boiling for the soup, he heard the shower turn on.

   As he was preparing the food, he took out his phone and called the station.

   “Yes, Andre? Please make a note that I’ll be coming in late tomorrow. Something’s come up.” He told the officer on the other end. “…Yes, I’ll likely be missing that meeting. Thank you.”

   Ten minutes later, Javert exited the bedroom, beard shaved, hair put into a queue, wearing a fresh set of clothes. But he still looked miserable.

   “There, now you look more like your old self. Come, I’ve nearly finished.” Chabouillet invited with a wave of his hand. Javert took a seat at the table. “I hope you’ve at least been feeding Ferko?” He asked as he dropped a bowl in front of Javert.

   He nodded. “Yes, sir.” He mumbled as he stared at the bowl, a look of disgust ghosting over his face. Chabouillet took his seat across from him, having his share of soup.

   “Well? I thought I told you that we were going to eat,” he said after a while, having noticed that Javert had barely touched his food.

   “Hm. Forgive me, sir. I don’t have an appetite.”  He replied back. Chabouillet frowned at him.

   “You have to eat something, Javert. I cannot let you return to your work looking like this,” he placed another spoonful in his mouth, bothered to see Javert tense up.

   “I… I’m not returning to work,” he said carefully, finally looking up at Chabouillet. The commissioner put down his spoon and looked at the man before him.

   “Why ever not? Were you let go?”

   “No, but-“

   “But what, exactly? Javert, I didn’t help you all those years ago just for you to throw it all away now!” Chabouillet exclaimed, though forced himself to remove any malice from his voice. Javert still flinched.

   “ Sir,” Javert growled through clenched teeth, holding the spoon so tightly it looked as though it would snap.

  “No, Javert. You can’t stay like this. I don’t know what drove you to that bridge, but I do know that you’re a fool for thinking your own life is so worthless, injuries be damned!” Chabouillet growled, his anger arriving like a lightning strike.

   Javert was staring at him, completely frozen and expression carefully blank.

   “How do you know about the bridge?” He growled, slowly getting up from his seat. “ He told you, didn’t he? He made you come here!”

   Chabouillet got up as well. “Yes, he told me. And I’m not sorry for going behind your back, Javert. Look at what happens when you’re left alone!”

   Javert seemed to be struggling not to snap at him. He grabbed the edge of the table so hard that his knuckles were pure white, all the while shaking.

   “I think you should leave, sir.” He said softly.

   “Javert, get a hold of-“

   “You may have been my boss, sir, but I do not work for you any longer, and this is my apartment.” He interrupted, still staring with his piercing gaze. “I think you should leave .”

   Chabouillet looked at him, dumbfounded. “If you think I’m just going to leave you alone…”

   “Get out!” Javert suddenly snapped, his voice practically echoing across the kitchen. Chabouillet frowned at him and picked up his coat from the entrance.

   “I’ll be back tomorrow, Javert. If I catch you in bed again, I’ll see to it personally that you be dragged back to the university.” He said coldly, thrusting his arms into the sleeves of his coat before slamming the door shut.

   When he left, Javert stared at the empty bowl that had been Chabouillet’s. Trembling from both exhaustion and anger now, he grabbed it and chucked it at the wall, its shatter as loud as thunder in his ears.

   Fuming, he grabbed his phone from the counter and called Valjean in a fit of rage.

   “Hello?” The voice asked, sounding slightly surprised.

   “You’re the biggest shit I’ve ever known,” Javert spat into the phone.

   “…Javert-“

   “No! No, you’re going to let me talk. You’re going to sit there and be silent and let me talk. ” Javert growled. When he got no response, he took it as his cue to continue on.

   “Who do you think you are? To drag me away from the place that was supposed to be my grave, put me back in my house, and refuse to leave me be. So what if I’ve been wasting away for the past two weeks? That’s my decision! Not yours! You think that you have to help every miserable soul you walk past, well guess what, Valjean? You don’t ! I told you multiple times that I didn’t want your help, and what do you do? You tell my boss everything! You had no right! You had- you had no…”

   Something in Javert crumbled, then. His voice began to crack and waver. All of the fighting he had done against Valjean and Chabouillet caught up to him, and he suddenly felt everything around him crashing down.

   “Javert? Javert, are you alright?” Valjean’s voice asked from the phone, panicked and probably screaming.

   “You…” Javert mumbled as he collapsed onto the couch of his living room. He was tearing up, the wall he had so desperately tried to keep up now crumbling and leaving him defenseless.

   “Can you… Come here?” He asked before he could stop himself, putting his head in his hand. His breath was hitching and he tumbled over his words, unable to stop the tears that were now rolling down his cheeks.

   “O-Of course,” Valjean stuttered into the phone. “I’m on my way right now.”

   Javert sat on his couch, sobbing into his hands. He was unaware of the world around him, of Ferko pawing at his foot, of a light rain beginning to thump against his window, of Jean Valjean entering his house and wrapping his arms around him.

   Javert felt the last of his defenses crumble. He allowed himself to be held, and cried out all the tears that he had tried to suppress the past two weeks.

   He was unsure how much time they spent there, how much he had stained Valjean’s shirt, or how on Earth Valjean had gotten there so fast.

   Either way, at some point, there were no more tears left to cry, and Javert fell limp in his arms.

   Still stuttering, he gasped out, “How can you… Keep coming back?”

   Valjean ran a hand over his hair and pressed a kiss to his head. “Because you are my friend,” he replied, his deep voice soothing against Javert’s cheek. “And I would never let you fight this alone.”

   “I’ve been nothing but a jerk to you,” Javert said with a shaking hand on Valjean’s chest. He shut his eyes as a tremor ran through him and he held on tighter. Valjean was about to speak when Javert suddenly continued.

   “I didn’t think anyone would care,” he choked out. “I thought if I just did it at night… Nobody would know.” He took a shaky breath in, shaking his head when he saw that Valjean wanted to speak.

   “This job… With these damned lungs…” He took in a deep breath and could only cough it out, seemingly to prove his point. “It hurts every damn day… and then- you - a convict- saved me, and it just felt so… Wrong. If- If you can be a good person, and had defied the law… What about the others? What about all of the others I’ve arrested?” He was beginning to hyperventilate again, but continued to rant. I’ve ruined so many people’s lives… And maybe I’ve paid for it, but I’m just so… tired. ” He finished with a sigh, dropping his head onto Valjean’s shoulder.

   “Oh, Javert…” Valjean whispered into his hair, now crying as well. “You’ve got it all wrong, Javert. All, all wrong.”

   “Don’t forgive me, Valjean. You can’t. I put you in prison for- for twenty years! God…” He choked out again, his chest heaving. Everything burned, he wanted so desperately to just sleep.

   “I forgive you, Javert. I forgive you for everything, and I beg of you: Don’t throw yourself away like this. Become a better man.” Valjean asked softly, tears streaming down his cheeks and hands slightly trembling as they rubbed up and down Javert’s back. “Don’t throw away the second chance you’ve been given.”

   “I don’t know how to,” Javert admitted softly. A smile ghosted Valjean’s lips as he pressed another kiss to his hair and replied softly,

   “Let me show you, mon ami. Let me show you.”

Chapter Text

   When Javert woke up the next morning, he was surprised to find the surface beneath him moving steadily with a heart beat. He awoke with a start- confused and unsure of where he was- until the two hands around him tightened as he moved, rendering him captured.

  Javert looked up to find the waking face of Jean Valjean above him. The man groggily opened his eyes and looked down at Javert, immediately beginning to blush. His hands snaked away from Javert as he sat upright, shuffling away.

   “Good morning,” Valjean said awkwardly. “How are you feeling?”

   It was painful deja vu. Javert looked up at him with half-lidded eyes, heavy from the tears he had cried. “Not great,” he mumbled, putting a hand to his forehead, where a headache pounded ceaselessly.

   Valjean gave a sad smile and got up from the couch. “That will change soon enough.”

   Javert raised an eyebrow at him. “Don’t you have a class to go teach?” He asked, deadpan, still rubbing his forehead. Valjean shook his head.

   “On my way here last night, I called and told them I wouldn’t be able to make it today. We’re going to get you back on your feet, Javert.”

   He looked as though he meant to object, but before the words could slip through his lips, Valjean put a hand up.

   “You said you would let me help you,” he said quickly. “Remember?”

   Javert blushed at the memory of being curled up upon Valjean’s chest, crying like a little boy who had lost his toy.

   “Fine. Then what are we going to do?” Javert asked, trying to keep an open mind. Valjean smiled again, this time reaching his eyes, and put his hands upon his hips.

   “First, we need to get some food in you. You need to go back to a regularly timed three meals, even if they’re small at first. That being said, your kitchen is completely empty save for cat food. We’re going grocery shopping today.”

   Javert sneered. “What? I can do that on my own.”

   “Sure you can, but will you?”

   He couldn’t find it in him to lie.

   Valjean clicked his tongue and moved into the kitchen. “Oh! There’s soup here,” he exclaimed. “Did you make this?”

   Javert was still seated on the couch. “No. Chabouillet did,” he replied as he motioned for Ferko, who had just entered the room, to come over. The cat jumped up on his lap and curled up, purring softly.

   “There’s a broken plate,” Valjean said, head disappearing as he bent down to clean it up. “Did something happen yesterday?”

   Javert frowned and focused on Ferko. “No. It was before I called you.” He mumbled. Then, he added, “I was frustrated.”

   Valjean didn’t seem to hear the last part. He rose back up once all the shards were collected and properly disposed of them, all without a bother.

   “What’s his name?” Valjean looked towards Ferko as he reentered the room, holding two bowls of soup. Javert took it and carefully placed it under his chin so that it wouldn’t burn the cat beneath him.

   “Ferko,” Javert said as he eyed the soup with disgust.

   “That’s a nice name,” Valjean said before taking a spoonful into his mouth. He glanced towards Javert. “Are you alright? You’re not eating.”

   “You’ll have to forgive me,” Javert snapped back sarcastically. “I haven’t got much of an appetite.”

   Valjean frowned but didn’t press the subject any more than, “Just try to eat a few spoons.”

   A few spoonfuls later, Javert announced that he couldn’t eat it, and instead went to go change. It had been far too long since he had worn his proper clothes, and opted for a simple white dress shirt with navy wool sweater on top.

   It should be noted that this new attitude by Javert was not easy for him in the slightest. He felt sluggish with every movement, every word out of his mouth weighed as much as an anvil, and yet he still found himself lacing his derby shoes at the door with Valjean by his side, all because the man had asked him to.

   It seemed like dread had become a permanent feeling as he entered the passenger seat of Valjean’s car.

   Valjean, wanting to make conversation, asked in a calm voice as he pulled out of the parking lot, “How long have you had Ferko?”

   Javert flinched at his voice, but steadied himself to answer. “A few years. Chabouillet gave him to me when he was just a kitten.”

   Valjean hummed in interest as he kept his eyes forward. “I never thought you’d be one to have a pet,” he said with a soft chuckle.

   Javert scoffed and crossed his arms over his chest. “Neither did I. I didn’t think I would have the time for it. But… now that I spend more time at home than I ever did,” he cleared his throat, his words suddenly struggling to get out. “Chabouillet thought I needed some company.”

   “So he’s… Like a support animal?” Valjean offered with a gesture of his hand. Javert scowled at the words.

   “No. He’s just an animal. There’s no need to put a label on him.” Javert snapped back. He saw in the corner of his eye how Valjean flinched and seemed to shrink in on himself, and he let out a sigh.

   “…Sorry. He’s not a support animal but he… helps, I guess.” Javert said begrudgingly, keeping his eyes on the moving cars outside the window. He didn’t see the way Valjean’s smile spread across his face like a rising sun.

   “I’m glad you’re not alone,” he said. “I was worried for you, Javert.” His voice shrunk, then, and Javert could practically hear the shadow that passed over his face. He felt out of place, and opted to just squeeze his arms closer to his chest.

   “I still don’t understand why you care so much,” Javert huffed out. “After everything I’ve done to you…”

   Valjean snapped his head towards him, looking betrayed and frustrated. “What you’ve done to me? Javert, you were doing your job. I broke the law, I got what I deserved. Why do you think you ought to be treated like the villain of the story?”

   “Because I very nearly am! Twenty years, Valjean. Do you really mean to tell me that you deserved every single one of those years?”

   Valjean let out a heavy sigh. “Javert, we’ve talked about this. I don’t resent you for anything you did back then.” He took a sharp inhale, as if to show to Javert that he planned to say his part. “Do you have any idea how terrified I was for you? When you cut me off…- Javert, I thought you would die this month.” He said, voice slightly wavering. “You can’t live like that anymore. If you have something going on, don’t just lock yourself up in your apartment with no food or communication with anyone! Call me, or Chabouillet!” He then paused for a moment, deciding how he should phrase the next part. “Maybe… Maybe you should see a therapist, Javert.”

   That seemed to anger him. Javert immediately shook his head. “No. No. I’m already letting you do all of this, but I’ll be damned if I let you send me to a therapist.”

   “But why? They help, a lot actually. When I first got out of prison, I saw one, and it helped me learn to calm down and control myself.” Valjean said as an example. He was currently looking for an open spot in the parking lot of the grocery store.

   “I hate them, and I don’t need one. Why do I need to pay someone else money just for them to tell me what I already know? Yes, I’m suicidal. See? Figured it out my own.“ Javert snapped, practically seething. Valjean minutely flinched at the way he so casually mentioned it, and harshly threw the car into park.

   “I’m not forcing you to do anything, but I want you to get better, and that means recommending and doing things you might not want to do. It’s not meant to anger you or offend you, it’s only meant to help you. I know you’re going through a lot, so I don’t mind your curt answers, but I would truly appreciate it if you stopped boiling over every word that comes out of my mouth. You said you would let me help, so let me. ”

   The tone which Valjean used to speak these words was both unusually calm and extremely frustrated. It sent shivers down Javert’s spine, and he felt guilt boil up inside him. Damn it all, he was right. Valjean was taking time out of his own day to care for Javert, and here he was, treating him like an asshole.

   When Javert didn’t respond, Valjean’s anger washed away like water against glass. ”…Come on,” his voice brightened, like he was talking to a child he had just scolded. “We’ve got groceries to get.”

   They didn’t speak as they walked through the automated doors and into the store. Javert kept his arms crossed over his chest and tried to control his breathing. He focused on people that walked by, memorizing their faces and expressions.

   “Come on,” Valjean said again, gesturing with his hand to another aisle. Subonciously, he slipped his hand into the crook of Javert’s arm so that he could easily lead him around. Javert didn’t argue.

   “We need bread, fruit…” Valjean continued to mumble to himself as he led Javert down the aisles. Javert felt like a little boy being led by his mother. Abruptly, he dug his heels into the floor and snapped his arm away from Valjean’s.

   The man stopped and looked up at him. “Are you alright?”

   Javert stiffened and put his hands behind his back. “You don’t need to lead me around like some child, ” he growled. “I’ve been to a grocery store before.”

   Valjean shrunk into himself. “Oh- Oh! Forgive me! I used to do it with Cosette, and I suppose my mind just ran away from me- Forgive me.” He repeated, cheeks flush with embarrassment.

   Javert felt a pang of guilt spread through his chest. He lowered his head in shame. “Nothing to forgive. Let’s go,” he strode forward, and Valjean quickly came into step beside him.

   Valjean grabbed a large basket and put the usual groceries in: Bread, eggs, milk, fruit. When they passed by the wine section, he saw Javert’s eyes lingering upon the bottles. Valjean put a hand on his arm and urged him on.

   “That day I found you with the whiskey…” he begun awkwardly, his voice small. Javert looked at him expectantly, waiting for him to finish his sentence. “Do you usually turn to drink, Javert? I didn’t see any more alcohol, but…” He glanced up at Javert to find the man’s face carefully blank, staring ahead at the choices of cheeses before them.

   Then, very calmly, he responded. “No. In all honesty, I hate drinking. It burns my throat and I’m terrible with holding my alcohol. The only reason I did it was because I just wanted to be… unaware of my surroundings. Of my thoughts.” Then, he snapped, “If you’re worried I’m going to try it again, don’t fret. It left me with such a bad migraine- I don’t think I can have whiskey for another year .”

   Valjean smiled at his honesty. “Good. Now- do you need cat food? For Ferko?” He asked as they turned another aisle. Javert uncrossed his arms for what was probably the first time since they had walked in and grabbed a specific brand at the bottom of the shelf, not bothering to verbally answer. It wouldn’t fit in the basket, so he kept it in his hands.

   “Is that all?” Javert asked as they made their way back to the front of the store. Valjean nodded.

   “Yes, that’s all.” He smiled. They got into a line and began to drop all the food on the belt. When it came to pay, both men pulled out their wallets. Javert pushed Valjean’s hand away from his wallet, growing irritated again.

   “What are you doing? It’s my food.” He growled in a hushed breath so he wouldn’t cause a scene. Valjean stared back at him like he was missing the biggest clue to a puzzle.

   “It’s the least I can do. And besides, if I was the one to make you get it, I should at least pay for it.” Valjean said and opened his wallet again. Javert meant to protest again, but his credit card was already in the machine’s slot.

   “Bastard,” Javert hissed under his breath, putting a hand to his forehead. He helped bag the groceries and picked up as many as he could. Somehow, Valjean managed to carry double that.

   How could the man be so strong? It was hardly fair. By the time they got inside the car, Javert was completely drained, as if he had just run ten miles instead of simply getting groceries.

    Valjean noticed the uneasy silence and said as they pulled out the parking lot, “It’s normal to feel tired or fatigued afterwards. You’re still going through a lot; we should take it slow.”

   Javert’s hands balled up into fists, painfully digging into his knees. “All I did was go out for groceries. I didn’t talk to anyone except you. What right do I have to be tired after doing nothing? ”

   “You didn’t do nothing, you worked up the courage to come out of your apartment and… Into life again. That’s no easy feat, and it’s going to take a while until things get back to normal.”

   “Still… It’s never been this hard.” Javert muttered under his breath, defeated. Valjean was going to ask, but decided against it and instead kept his eyes on the road.

   They stayed in silence for a few more minutes, both watching the road, and Javert decided to glance at his phone. On the lock screen were multiple missed calls and texts from Chabouillet.

   “Damnit,” Javert hissed under his breath and quickly recalled him.

   “What is it?” Valjean asked as Javert put the phone to his ear.

   “It’s Chabouillet. You know- my boss.” Javert replied hastily before the dial cut off and Chabouillet’s voice exploded from the phone.

   “Javert! Oh- thank the heavens you answered! Where the hell are you?” Chabouillet all but screamed. Javert pulled the phone back a bit until he was finished and calmly responded,

   “I’m… Out. What’s the problem?” He glanced towards Valjean, who had kept himself carefully still through the past minute.

   “The problem is that I told you I’d be back today, only to find your apartment completely empty! I— I truly thought you had gone to jump off of the bridge!”

   Javert kept his expression and voice carefully blank. He could feel Valjean’s eyes glancing towards him, no doubt being able to hear Chabouillet from the phone’s speakers.

   “I’m out,” he repeated carefully. “With Valjean. We’re getting… groceries.”

   He heard Chabouillet sigh a breath of relief. “About time. Well- I’m glad, Javert. I was worried when you didn’t answer, and I’m at your apartment.”

   Javert rolled his eyes. “I should just start leaving the front door unlocked at this point if you two are just going to break in anytime you want,” he growled, sinking deeper into the seat.

   “Yes, well… I’ll be taking my leave now.” He paused for a moment, considering to ask, “…Will you be alright?”

   “Yes, sir.”

   “You’ll take care of yourself? If I come to see you in that damn bed one more time-“

   “I’ll take care of myself, sir.”

   How it ached to say those words. They were ripped from his very soul, making him so very vulnerable.

   “Good. And I already assume Valjean will be looking over you, so I suppose there is no need for me to further impose. But I expect regular messages, Javert. Understand me?”

   “Yes, sir.”

   “There’s the inspector,” Chabouillet exclaimed with glee. “Keep your head high. You’re the most resilient officer I know.”

   With that, he hung up. Javert stared at the blank screen, slowly taking in a deep breath as big as his lungs could take.

   “It seems like he cares a lot about you,” Valjean said after a while. “That’s good.”

   Javert hummed. “Yes, well, he’s known me for years. He’s used to this. To… me. The only reason he hasn’t completely cut off contact is because he pities me.”

   Valjean made a face. “That cannot be true. You two are close- surely you can see that? I’ve never heard of someone cooking you dinner and making sure you regularly message him out of pity.”

   “Mm…” Javert mumbled, reluctant to start another argument. Valjean put the car into a parking spot and helped Javert bring all the groceries to his apartment. Once they were all tucked away, Javert couldn’t help but collapse onto the couch, feeling a headache begin to grow. He pressed his fingers against his forehead, eyes squeezed tight.

   Valjean leaned against the doorframe of the kitchen, arms crossed. “You know, the students have been asking about you. They did some digging on you; one of them even managed to find Chabouillet,” he said with a chuckle. Javert froze in his spot.

   “They did some digging ? What the hell do you mean, digging? ” He growled, slowly getting up to approach Valjean.

   “Well, they’re worried about you, Javert,” Valjean first reassured, noticing his growing hostility and putting his hands up in surrender. “I told them that it wasn’t a good idea, but they did it anyway.”

   “Did they tell you what they found?” Javert asked, keeping his voice carefully balanced. He backed away from Valjean, realizing that he must look insane, and put his hands behind his back as he was wont to do when he was still an officer.

   Valjean gave a lopsided grin. “Only that you used to be an officer. I don’t know if they found anything else, they didn’t say. What are you so worried about? Surely you’ve told them about your past career?”

   Javert’s silence was enough of an answer. Ashamed, he dropped back onto the couch and held his head in his hands, elbows resting on his knees.

   “Really? You haven’t told your students anything? Why not?” Valjean asked, any amusement lost from his face.

   “Because,” Javert snapped. “They don’t need to know. They’re there to learn law, not about their teacher.”

   Valjean gave a sigh and chuckle before sitting down beside Javert. “I guess that was to be expected,” he said with a smile, sitting back against the couch. Javert slowly moved to follow him. They sat in silence, a few inches apart and both unable to look each other’s way. Then, Valjean said quietly,

   “I’m sorry that you’ve been feeling so… down lately-“ Down didn’t even cover it, but whatever. “-but I want you to know that I’m going to be with you, every day. I’m not leaving you alone anymore.”

   Javert huffed. “Move in, why don’t you?” He said sarcastically, sneering.

   “That’s- that’s not what I meant,” Valjean protested, the tips of his ears growing red. He cleared his throat and continued. “We need to set up a system that won’t end up in flames. A way so that we can communicate properly. To check up on each other.”

   “Mm,” Javert hummed, staring straight ahead at the black TV screen before him. He kept his arms crossed over his chest, unsure how to respond without sounding like an asshole. “What did you…” God, he sounded like an idiot. “Have in mind?”

   Valjean smiled at his awkward attempt to have an open mind, glad to see him trying. Javert failed to meet his eyes, grumbling something under his breath.

   “I know it might be a few more days until you come back to work, but in the meantime, I was thinking regular calls and texts. Like we had before- except, with rules.” He gestured with his hands. Javert instinctively rolled his eyes, but didn’t give a retort. ( Progress, Valjean thought with a smile.)

   “When I’m not with you, you have to do at least one thing productive. Now, I suggest going out on a walk or doing something in the city, but if you’re not ready for it- which is understandable, of course- you can stay inside, but not in bed. Read a book, or whatever hobby you might have. How does that sound?”

   Javert shifted uncomfortably. “Do-able?” He answered, unused to such a personal conversation where he wasn’t the one in control. “So, what, I’m supposed to call you about every little thing I do? That’s it?”

   “Yes, basically. And I’ll stop by after work to talk with you, just so you’ve got someone to converse with. Do you object to anything?”

   Javert thought for a moment. He didn’t exactly like the idea of having to tell Valjean every single thing he did, but he didn’t exactly have a choice, did he? He had- for some reason- called Valjean for help, and the man was awfully determined to make Javert feel better.

   Unable to turn the conversation any other way, he shook his head. Valjean smiled, that sickening smile that made the guilt in Javert twist even further, and pat Javert on the shoulder as he got up.

   “I’ll call you tomorrow at nine. Can I trust you to eat something tonight?” He asked as he took his coat from a nearby rack. Javert, still seated on the couch, nodded again.

   Before Valjean exited the apartment, he smiled one more time at Javert. “I’ll tell your students that you’re doing alright. Do you think you’ll be back next week?”

   “I plan to be back before that,” Javert replied. To sit around in his house for an entire week, unable to rot as he had done before, seemed unbearable. Valjean clicked his tongue and swung the door open.

   “Don’t push yourself, Javert. Let yourself heal.” He said before leaving without waiting for a reply. Javert looked at the closed door, momentarily stunned.

   Don’t push yourself. What nonsense. You never get better if you don’t push yourself! Javert scowled to himself and walked to the kitchen to find something to eat.

   If there was no other way to get out of this, he supposed he would just have to get it over with as fast as possible. That meant, to his horror, eating regular meals and getting back into the world.

   Anything if it meant getting away from Valjean, that confusing man who all at once threw Javert’s world upside, ruining the power of the rules he once believed were sacred, unwavering.

   This was going to be harder than he thought it to be.

-

   By eight in the morning, Javert was up. He had dragged himself out of bed and willed himself to take a jog (More like a fast-paced walk, really, with each step as heavy as iron) through a nearby park before showering.  and shaving. By the time he stepped out of the shower, he was already drained, unwilling to do anything. He begrudgingly ate an apple and spent the next half hour playing with Ferko upon his sofa. Already, his head was aching with a headache.

   How desperately his soul begged to rot away, to be thrown into a corner and forgotten from the world. But he was trapped by orders he could not disobey, forced to get up and do something. He was so very tired, and it had barely been a day. He wondered how long he would be able to keep this up before he finally crashed.

   At exactly nine, his phone buzzed with a call from Valjean. He put it to his ear and kept one hand still chasing around with Ferko, amused at the sight of the cat working so hard to catch his finger.

   “Good morning, Javert!” Valjean’s cheery voice called from the phone, a bit static from the faulty reception in Javert’s apartment. “How are you feeling?”

   “Fine, I guess.” Javert replied, internally cursing himself for not being able to make a conversation flow as easily as Valjean did. He simply wasn’t a people’s person. Ferko caught onto his finger and playfully wrapped his fangs and paws around it, gnawing at it eagerly.

   “Did you just wake up? I didn’t mean to disturb you if you did,” Valjean asked. Javert snaked his finger away from Ferko’s mouth and continued to tease him around, almost laughing aloud with how his head followed so determinedly.

   “No, I’ve been up for a while.” He suddenly remembered their agreement. “Um- I jogged, and took a shower. And ate an apple.” He cringed at how pathetic it sounded- like he was to earn praise for doing what was necessary .

   “That’s good! I’ll be honest- I didn’t expect you to pick it up so quickly, but I’m glad you did. How do you feel?”

   “A bit tired, I suppose. Can you stop with that therapist voice? It’s annoying.” Javert snarled, kicking his feet over the opposite side of the couch and pressing his nose to the top of Ferko’s head in an embrace.

   ”Therapist voice? I wasn’t aware I was doing it. I’ll try to stop.” Valjean sounded sorely dejected; Javert was about to take back what he said when he continued, “But on the topic of therapists, have you thought about seeing one? I seriously think it’ll help you, Javert. Not only with the whole incident, but with your condition, too.”

   Javert fell silent. His condition? He knew damn well that he hadn’t told Valjean about it- perhaps some slight hints, here and there- but nothing specific like that. He fumed.

   “My condition, Valjean? And would you like to tell what that is, exactly? Since you seem so sure that I need damn therapy for it.” He snarled into the phone through clenched teeth. He could practically hear the way Valjean’s face dropped and the way his shoulders came up in defense, like an armadillo curling into itself.

   “Javert, you know I didn’t mean to-“

   “I never told you about that. I never told you what my condition was. How do I know you didn’t help those kids dig up information about me? How do I know you didn’t interrogate Chabouillet until he spilled everything there was to know about me? I’m not going to therapy, Valjean. Next time, watch your damn words.”

   In a bout of anger, he hung up and tossed his phone to the side. Ferko was looking at him, resting upon his chest, tail swaying in curiosity. Javert frowned and turned to his side, fully laying down on the couch with his head resting on a pillow and holding Ferko from the edge.

   A moment later, Javert’s phone buzzed. With a groan, he reluctantly looked at the screen to find a message from Valjean that was way too long to knit in the notification bar. Still irritated, he opened up the chat and skimmed the essay.

9:12 AM

I didn’t mean to offend or pry. And no, I didn’t search or ask anybody anything; all I did was assume. Think about it, Javert. There’s been multiple hints about it. You left the police, which I know you wouldn’t do voluntarily and would never be let go. The first time we met and I bumped into you, you could barely breathe. Same with the incident at the coffee shop. And there was also the time I found you in the restroom during the teacher meeting. I’m sure there’s other examples, but that’s not the point. I know it’s a sensitive topic, but all I was doing was offering a solution. You don’t have to tell me what happened, and I won’t push. I’m sorry for overstepping.

9:13 AM

Are we good?

   Javert felt sick to his stomach. He could really make him feel bad about anything, couldn’t he? He could scarcely recognize himself- getting so worked up over something that was so clearly an assumption? He felt like an idiot.

   With trembling hands, he replied.

9:15 AM

Yeah. Sorry.

   He was surprised to see Valjean respond so quickly.

9:15 AM

Don’t apologize. I know how it can be. Do you want to take a walk in the park near the campus at two?

9:16 AM

Sure.

9:16 AM

Great! See you then :)

Chapter Text

   Chabouillet was a creature of habit. Every day, he arrived at work exactly at eight, and worked until six.

   In the past five years, he couldn’t count on one hand how many times citizens and victims had specifically asked to see him. It was odd, then, to be working in his office and be told by his secretary that there were two young men asking for him.

   Skeptical, he allowed them in. Both were extremely young- barely college students, maybe even high schoolers- but Chabouillet was not one to turn away people who might be in need of assistance. He put his questions to the side and leaned on his desk, fingers pressing against his mouth.

   “What can I do for you boys?”

   These two were, in fact, Grantaire and Laigle.

   Grantaire cleared his throat and shoved his chin up. “Sir, we’re two college students; we were wondering if you had the time to answer a few questions for us about a… delicate matter.”

   Chabouillet’s eyebrow cocked up, but he didn’t immediately refuse. He leaned back in his chair and crossed his leg on top of the other, silently clicking a pen in his hand. “Very well. Go on,”

   Grantaire smiled ear-to-ear. “Did you ever have an officer with the last name Javert?” He asked, hands behind his back. Laigle stood tall beside him, content to let Grantaire say his part.

   Chabouillet couldn’t stop the stunned expression that ran over his face. He dropped the pen on the desk. “Yes, I did. I take it that you two are students of his?”

   “Yeah. Sir, what are the chances that you still keep in touch with him?”

   Chabouillet thought about his answer. No doubt these kids were here to ask about Javert’s absence from the school, but to tell them what was really going on would be to cause far too much commotion and trouble amongst students and staff alike. Word spread as fast as a wildfire around there, he imagined.

   “As a matter of fact, I do,” he said carefully. “But if you are here to ask about his current whereabouts, I’m afraid that the information will be limited.”

    “That’s alright,” Laigle jumped into the conversation, taking a step forward. “We just want to know if he’s alright and if he plans to be back anytime soon. We’ve got finals coming up in a week’s time.”

   Chabouillet narrowed his eyes, wondering how much he could say. After a minute he clicked his tongue and begun to speak.

   “Professor Javert is fine, he is just taking a prolonged sick leave. I don’t know exactly, but knowing him, and knowing the company he’s in, he should be back in a few days.”

   “The company he’s in? As in family?”

   Chabouillet gave a skeptical look. “Messieurs, I hope you understand that your behavior is bordering on stalking, and will have consequences for it.”

   The two men shrunk away at that, all determination wiped from their face in just a few moments. Chabouillet was going to dismiss them, before Laigle moved up.

   “Sir, we don’t mean to pry into his life, but you must understand that his absence is quite concerning. Professor Javert has never taken a leave, not even for sickness; you can imagine how unusual it is when he just disappears! ” Laigle announced like a lawyer in a courtroom, determined to win the judge’s favor. Chabouillet smirked at the sight; no matter if he enjoyed it or not, Javert seemed to have taught them well. Laigle finished, “We simply want to make sure that he is alright.”

   How much would Javert hate him if he told the truth? The boys truly seemed concerned, and what good would it do to turn them away without having settled the matter? He heaved a sigh, twisting a little in his seat.

   “Very well. I will not say anything more than this: your professor has been in his house for the past two weeks-“ He struggled to find the word to describe what Javert had been doing. “- ill, of sorts. Another professor at your university, Professor Valjean, has been helping him- but, surely you already knew that part. That is all the information I will supply, gentleman.”

   He did not expect to find Grantaire’s eyes wide open and mouth agape, gripping the shoulder of an equally surprised Laigle. They glanced at each other, on the verge of cackling, and bowed their heads in thanks.

   “Thank you, Monsieur!” Laigle exclaimed, holding in his laughs. They bowed again before hurrying out of the room, and their muffled laughs could be heard through the wooden door of Chabouillet’s office.

   The commissioner could not say he was entirely clueless about what they might’ve been laughing about; Chabouillet knew as well as any that Javert never let others get close to him, and that he himself was probably the closest friend the man had. Not only that, but the Javert that he knew would never befriend an ex-convict- a mindset that Chabouillet had frowned upon but nonetheless accepted.

   To hear that Javert had allowed Valjean to help him through his troubles was incredibly surprising- when Chabouillet himself still did not even know what exactly had driven him to the bridge!- but he was still glad that he seemed to trust someone else for once. He had been able to text Javert a few times last night, learning that he and Valjean had gone on a walk despite his exhaustion. (Chabouillet could only assume so, since he had gone from fully housebound to socializing in the span of three days.)

   It was a relief, and yet he couldn’t help but feel as though Javert was pushing himself too far too soon. He was not good at adapting, bending to situations; whatever had happened must have truly shook his soul. Chabouillet prayed that he would not bend too far and end up snapping, ruined and irreversible.

   He texted him a bit later, asking how he was doing and if he needed anything. Javert replied half an hour later telling him that he was fine, and was planning to go out for a coffee with Valjean later in the afternoon.

   How he prayed Javert would learn to bend.

-

   As Grantaire and Laigle stepped out of the office, they couldn’t help but burst out in chatter and laughs. It seems as though their work had already completed itself!

   “So you think they’re together?” Laigle asked with a grin; he never thought he would care for this scheme of things, but seeing as though even Javert had better luck than he, he found it amusing to chase it.

   “Pretty sure, yeah. When was the last time you ever heard of Sideburns having friends? Other than his boss, of course,” Grantaire hopped down the stairs of the station, pride slapped across his face as if he had been the one to put them together. “This is great, then! We don’t have to do anything, we just get to watch.”

   Laigle cheered out his agreement as they made their way to Joly’s dorm. As they walked, Grantaire took out his phone and informed the group chat of their discoveries.

10:04 AM

Just came back from the station

Turns out SB’s sick and is being kept company by none other than LEBLANC!!

   Enjolras was the first to respond.

10:06 AM

You actually went to his ex-boss?? What’s so interesting about their relationship that you need to stalk them??

   Grantaire shot back,

10:07 AM

It’s the relationship you refuse to give me ;(

   Laigle chuckled at his response, but Enjolras didn’t respond back. Instead, Marius came into the conversation.

10:09 AM

Maybe now SB will lighten up a bit :/

Did he say when he’s coming back?

10:10 AM

All he said was a few days :P

10:10 AM

You gotta give us more info. Are they together??

If so, Marius is right

SB’s going to be much nicer

10:11 AM

Wish I could, ‘Ferre, but he gave us nothing to work with. But why would Leblanc be w/ him if they WEREN’T together?

10:11 AM

Guess we’ll just wait till SB comes back

10:12 AM

Hold on!! We’ve got a spy, remember?? :))

Cosette, do you think you can get ur dad to admit to anything??

10:13 AM

uhh…

10:13 AM

PLEASEEE

we NEED to figure this out!!

10:14 AM

r u really gonna start begging.

10:14 AM

shhhush

pls Cosette

Don’t u want ur dad to be happy??? he’s in love!!

10:15 AM

ive never even heard my dad talk about Javert!

butttt I guess I could ask if he’s been seeing anyone lately

stop prying so much!! it’s creepy

10:15 AM

YES!!

if he denies it, I’ve got a plan

10:15 AM

listen to cosette

10:16 AM

it’s for ur own good

10:16 AM

you’re obsessed, R..

   In the minutes that this conversation conspired, Laigle and Grantaire had joined Joly in his dorm room for a few drinks.

   “You’ve got a plan if he denies it?” Joly asked as they sat down. “What are you going to do, interrogate him yourself?”

   Grantaire waved a hand at the remark as he hastily swallowed his drink. “No,” he snapped. “If he denies it, then we’ll just have to set up a date for them and see for ourselves.”

   Laigle and Joly looked at him as if he had grown a third eye.

   “Are you mad? That’s insane!” Joly exclaimed, while Laigle nodded in agreement beside him. “How are you going to manage a thing like that anyway?”

   Grantaire smirked. “It’s not as hard as you think. All I have to do is make a reservation under one of their names and then lead both of them there.”

   “And how are you going to ‘see for yourself’?” Laigle prompted, smiling all the while.

   “I’ll get a table myself. But I’ll need a date- maybe Enjolras will come.”

   “Ha! You can always try, R,” Laigle said, dropping back in his seat and crossing his arms over his chest. Grantaire took another swipe of his drink.

   “Am I really that annoying? Like, truly?” He asked with a dramatic tone, to which both friends shook their head. “Then why must I be such a bother in his eyes? Who was it that’s always stuck by his side? Who followed him everywhere?”

   “Combeferre?” Joly replied with an apologetic grin. Then he quickly revised, “You mope too much, Grantaire.”

   “Hm,” Grantaire sighed, slouching in his seat.

-

   Three quick knocks landed on the door of the apartment, startling Javert to almost fall out of his bed. He dragged himself out and hurried to the door, meeting the vibrant and smiling eyes of Valjean.

   “Good morning,” he said as he stepped inside. Javert frowned and gestured for him to take a seat on the sofa, but not taking his own spot. He stood in the middle of the living room, arms hanging limply at his side.

   “It’s noon,” he muttered. “The morning’s done.”

   “No matter,” Valjean replied, keeping his smile. “How are you?”

   “The same as when you asked me this morning,” he rested his elbows on his knees, leaning forward. “Are we going to go?”

   “In a few minutes. All you said this morning was ‘fine’. That doesn’t cover it.” Valjean prompted with a wave of his hand, urging Javert to continue.

    Before this, Javert had never cared to express his feelings aloud; he never really knew how. To be asked such a personal question by the same man who still drove him mad and overwhelmed his senses so much that, at times, Javert believed himself to be drowning in the river he was taken away from, was a situation he begged to get out. But Valjean wouldn’t budge. Javert had sworn he would never set foot in a therapist’s office, and yet here was Valjean, doing the exact thing a therapist did. It was painful irony, and yet he had no fight left in him.

   Everything he had done the past three days had been done mechanically. He had begun eating and started his morning exercises, had tided his apartment more times than he could count, and was to return to work in two days. All of this progress, and yet he still felt terrible. Often times at night he found himself wishing he was never saved.

   “I’m…” He swallowed the pulp in his throat and urged himself to continue. He had already sobbed into Valjean’s shoulder; how much more embarrassing could this be? “Tired. I haven’t done much but- it’s like running with weights on my shoes. I hate it.” He flushed at his words, embarrassed at how weak he sounded, and was unable to meet Valjean’s eyes. And yet, he felt a hand snake around his shoulders and trap him in a warm embrace. He squirmed at the touch, unused to it as he was.

   “It’s incredibly impressive that you’ve managed to already come so far,” Valjean said softly, the white hairs of his beard tickling Javert’s neck. “But please, Javert, don’t think you have to push yourself for me. It’s okay to take a day off to just breathe.”

   Javert nodded. “I know,” he grumbled, pulling away from the hug and stepping back. Valjean almost looked hurt, but cast it aside.

   “Let’s go,” he said, the everlasting smile returning to his face. It infuriated Javert; could the man not once feel true anger? He was almost afraid to push the limits.

   They travelled down to the car and drove in a mix of silence and polite, brief conversation. Javert knocked his head against the headrest behind him, suddenly feeling a familiar ache in his chest. He fidgeted with a stray thread on his sleeve, keeping his breaths controlled.

   When they got to the coffee shop, he had fallen unusually quiet, and Valjean wouldn’t stop giving him concerned glances. He curled into himself, disliking the attention and feeling of eyes upon him.

   They ordered their drinks and pastries and sat outside, where the decreasing of a nearby park practically glowed underneath the light of the sun.

   “Have you done anything interesting in the past few days?” Valjean asked, smiling as he watched the scenery in front of them.

   “No. Other than the grocery store and walk yesterday, I haven’t done anything special.” Javert responded. A waiter came with their drinks and food, and he took a long sip of his coffee.

   “Do you work out?” Valjean suddenly asked. Javert looked slightly dumbfounded at the question, and his cheeks grew red. Panicking, he tried to revise, “Well- I only ask because you- you’re obviously a fit person-“

   Javert felt his cheeks growing hot and turned away. “Yes, I do. I jog in the mornings,” he supplied hastily, carefully keeping his eyes away from Valjean.

   “That’s good. I try to go to a nearby gym after work, if there is not too much work to be graded,” Valjean replied with a harsh clear of his throat, turning his head as well.

   A beat of silence passed as they took a bite of their pastries.

   “It’s rather cold, isn’t it?” Valjean asked, leaning on his edge of the table. Javert, who was sitting back in his chair, nodded.

   “Christmas break is in a month’s time,” he added, still fidgeting with the loose thread. The cold air brought a refreshing sense of release to his lungs, but something was still wrong. The ache in his chest was still present- small, but there- and left him with the lasting feeling that something was wrong. Valjean seemed to notice his discomfort, apparently evident on his face.

   “What’s bothering you?” He asked softly, moving his hand towards but not quite on top of Javert’s. The man startled, looking at Valjean with guilty eyes.

   To see the face of a convict in front of him, a convict that had stolen and lied and cheated the system, and yet only see a saint instead was incredibly disorienting to Javert. All his life, convicts had been nothing but troublesome trash that only strived to ruin the perfect order of the world, to disrupt it and scatter its pieces.

   How could this man prove everything wrong? Valjean was no disrupter, no ruiner. He was the most patient and peaceful man Javert had ever met, not even holding a grudge to the fact that Javert had been the one to arrest him!

   To have his world view shattered so quickly did nothing but tip Javert over the edge. His expression of guilt shifted to horror, and he quickly turned away.

   His throat painfully tight, he assured, “Nothing. How is your daughter?” He asked to quickly change the subject off of him. Valjean glared at him, brows furrowed in concern and confusion.

   “Javert,” he tried again. Javert felt the ache in his chest growing. They were outside; why did it feel so damn hot all of a sudden?

   “Your daughter, Valjean,” he urged, his voice suddenly unstable and his senses aflame. How he wished he could get out of his scratching coat and lower his hair from its tidy queue, to run from the eyes and kindness of Jean Valjean.

   The kindness that should not be possible at all.

   “What’s going on? You’re not- Javert!” He yelled, for Javert had suddenly sprinted from the table and into the coffee shop, running like his life depended on it. His chest was painfully tight, every breath escaping him in jagged puffs that he couldn’t seem to catch.

   He stumbled his way into a bathroom stall and slammed the door, his knees soon buckling beneath him and sending him to the ground. His blood rushed in his ears, as loud as a river- anything and everything reminded him of that damn river.

   He squeezed his eyes shut as a wave of dizziness took over him, making him lean an arm on the toilet paper dispenser in front of him. He dug a hand into his hair, ruining the queue and yet not being able to notice that, for he still could not breathe.

   He barely registered the sound of the restroom door opening, too focused on trying to force himself to calm down. Holding in his breath only seemed to make it worse (and make the pain near unbearable), and he was entirely too loud for the environment.

   “Javert?” He heard someone call softly, their voice barely a whisper. Javert couldn’t respond, but tried to give a grunt of acknowledgement that he was there. Nothing could make it past his lips other than the pained breathing, and he knocked his head against the dispenser until he felt pain bloom at his forehead.

   “I’m going to text you, okay? You don’t have to answer if you don’t want to.” He heard Valjean say before the door opened and closed again, and Javert was left alone. With trembling hands, he clumsily took out his phone and went to their messages.

   True to his word, Valjean texted first.

1:14 PM

Just try to breathe.

1:14 PM

what the hell is happning to me

1:14 PM

You’re having a panic attack; don’t worry, just try to focus on something around you.

1:15 PM

I cnt breathe

why is this happening

1:15 PM

It’s normal to get overwhelmed when you’re still working yourself up back to normal.

Try tensing your arms up for 5 seconds before relaxing them again. Try to let your breathing follow that pattern.

   Overwhelmed and desperate to get this to stop, Javert set down the phone and did as Valjean asked. He tensed his arms up, the muscles shaking frightfully, before letting them go. His breathing faltered, and he took a choked gasp of air to make up for those he could not grab.

   After multiple failed attempts, he grabbed his phone.

1:19 PM

it’s not working

1:19 PM

That’s alright. Can I call you?

1:19 PM

okay

   Valjean called a moment later and Javert meekly placed the phone at his ear. He hated that Valjean must only be able to hear his broken pants, but if the man was annoyed, he showed no sign.

   “Can you hear me?” He asked, his voice soft and calm.

   “Yes,” Javert choked out. “I can’t- can’t-“

   “It’s alright, it’s alright. Can you tell me one thing you can see?”

   Javert was about to protest, but he was so tired of this that he gave in without a retort. He looked around the stall, eyes landing on the colorful wall above the toilet.

   “I see- uh- the wall. It’s got- a swirl pattern,” he said through pained gasps, not at all understanding how this was supposed to help him. “It’s- blue and white.”

   “Good,” Valjean said. “And one thing you can hear?”

   Javert desperately tried to focus, squeezing his eyes shut. “Myself,” he responded with a choked sound.

   “Try for something else. You can do it.”

   Javert let out a weak growl, but tried harder. He strained and strained, and he thought he could hear the familiar sound of the air system.

   “I hear the- A/C,” he said. “It’s not loud, but it’s blowing air,” he tried to take another breath, finding it just a little bit easier. Drained, he dropped against the wall behind him.

   “It’s blowing out here, too,” Valjean replied. “What about one thing you can feel?” He asked in the same therapist voice he had used before. Javert let out a strained growl and slammed his hand against the wall.

   “Stop talking like that- “ He hissed angrily, almost losing the progress he had made.

   “Focus,” Valjean said, but did indeed change his tone. “One thing you can feel.”

   Javert took a second to regain the feeling of the objects around him. “The floor beneath my- shoes, the… wall behind me,” he supplied, his chest feeling a little less tight. “The coat- it’s so damn itchy .”

   “I’ve got the same problem with another one of mine. How are you feeling?”

   “Uh, I still can’t- breathe,” Javert stuttered. “And my chest still hurts. But- it’s, better.”

   To hear Valjean’s voice in his ear steadied him. It was grounding, calming, and he found himself thankful for it. He took another heaving breath, trying to keep the calm he had gained.

   “That’s good. What about something you can smell?” Valjean prompted calmly, and Javert could practically hear the smile in his voice.

   “I can smell Clorox,” Javert said with a pained sound that might’ve passed as a laugh if it hadn’t been so unstable. “I’ve always hated the smell of- Clorox. It gets in your nose and- never gets out.”

   He heard Valjean chuckle through the phone and felt something in his chest twitch. Surely it was just his nerves that hadn’t quite rested yet.

   “I’ve never really minded it, but I see your point. Do you think you’re able to come out?”

   Javert looked over himself- he was still breathing a bit erratically, but it was nearly controlled. No longer did he feel overwhelmed with his surroundings, and found that he could focus on everything.

   “Give me a minute,” he said.

   “Take all the time you need. I’m right at the door.” Valjean replied before hanging up. Javert took a shaky breath in, aware of the slight tremors in his hands and arms as he slowly made his way off of the floor.

    He was endlessly thankful that no one had entered the restroom during his anxiety attack; what if someone had found him there on the ground, panting like a dog in the summer heat? The embarrassment would make him want to make him kill himself all over again.

   By the time he fixed his hair and washed his hands, he was nearly back to normal, save for the distant pounding of his heart that had not yet faded.

   True to his word, when Javert stepped out of the restroom, Valjean was sitting on a nearby bench. He looked up at him and smiled, warm and inviting.

   “Okay?” He asked simply as he got up and joined Javert in walking back to their table. Javert couldn’t meet his eyes, but nodded.

   “Okay,” he replied softly.

   “Would you like to finish the food?”

   Javert looked at the table of half eaten pastries and finished drinks. He faltered then, feeling as though another minute at this coffee shop would send him spiraling all over again. He shook his head, unable to form his scattered thoughts into coherent words.

   “Alright, that’s fine.” Valjean said with a grin, taking the lasting piece of his croissant because walking with Javert to the car.

   The ride was quiet all the way to the apartment. When Valjean parked the car in its usual spot, he motioned for Javert not to get out yet.

   “Do you know what triggered it?” He asked timidly, eyes soft and patient. Javert looked straight ahead, feeling his hands begin to tremble again.

   “No,” he lied. He actually had a clear understanding of what had triggered it, all he was confused about was how it happened. Never had he lost control of himself like that.

   “I’m sorry it happened. I meant for us to have a relaxing time, not a stressful one. Forgive me, Javert.”

   Javert felt his heart twist in guilt. “It’s not your fault. I’ve never-“ he struggled to admit it aloud. “I’ve never lost myself like that. It won’t happen again, Monsieur.”

   Valjean stared at him, dumbfounded. “There’s no need for such formality, Javert! And there’s absolutely no way you can promise that, nor should you.” He urged, concern still painting his features. Javert felt sick to his stomach.

   “Good afternoon,” he retreated, all but tumbling out of the car. Valjean watched him walk up the steps and hastily run into his apartment, collar held high and covering the lower half of his face.

-

   At dinner, Valjean was unusually quiet, head lowered and lost in thought, and Cosette was afraid to ask what she promised she would.

   “Papa?” She called carefully. Valjean snapped his head up, a smile already forming.

   “Yes, my dear?”

   “I had a question for you,” she started awkwardly. “Well, you’ve been spending a lot of time with your friend recently, and I was just wondering…”

   “Yes?” He urged patiently, smile growing tighter.

   “Are you seeing him? As in- relationship?” She asked meekly, immediately shrinking away. Valjean’s eyes widened and he choked on his food.

   When he stopped coughing, he was fully red. He and Javert, together? He could scarcely believe it. They were opposites, barely even friends; how could they ever be more than simple acquaintances forced together by fate?

   Well, it wasn’t as though Valjean opposed to the idea. He quite enjoyed Javert’s company- the man was witty and bold, two traits that weren’t found in many others, and he admired him for it.

   Even if Valjean had admitted it, there wasn’t a chance that Javert felt the same. He seemed to be barely tolerating Valjean enough as it was- Hell, no doubt he was the one to blame for the episode today!- and the last thing he wanted to do was stress the man out with pointless, one-sided love confessions.

   “Relationship? Oh, no. No, no,” Valjean said with a shake of his head. “All I’m doing is helping him through a rough time.”

   Cosette didn’t look convinced.

   “Really, Cosette. Please, no more silly questions.” He begged, dropping his head again.

   So it wasn’t true, Cosette summarized with a frown. A shame, for she was truly beginning to understand what Grantaire saw in them.

Chapter Text

   Two days later, Javert returned to the university.

   To see him walking through the campus was similar to one seeing a ghost wander through abandoned halls at night: silent, brooding, with a permanent shadow over his face. With the decreasing temperatures, he acquired his greatcoat, made of heavy wool that travelled down to the end of his calves, with the collar held high to shield his face from the cold winds.

   Except, there was something different about him. Rather than the holding his head high when he walked, Javert now kept his eyes upon the stones beneath his feet, walking as though ashamed.

   And, his hair had been cut short.

   The absence of his queue had been a surprise to many, for now it parted to the side and swooped to the left of his head, the bangs short but prominent, fluffy with volume.

   Before his classes, he met with the Dean to explain his absence, and was fortunately forgiven with minimum punishment. He explained that he had been ill and was still recovering (He didn’t specify his illness) and was met with a mere warning that could lead up to a suspension the next time it happened. It made no difference to Javert, but he accepted it without retort.

   When he stepped into the full classroom, all eyes fell on him, and everything became silent. He repressed the urge to bolt out of the room, away from the gazes if the students, and made his way to his desk. He set down his bag and coat and put on the mask he knew so well to wear.

   “This is a classroom, not a zoo exhibit,” he said to the staring eyes, already feeling his usual headache arrive. “Unless you plan to stare all day, I believe it’s time to start class.”

   Immediately hands flew up, eager to ask about where the hell he had been and why he had cut his hair. He let out a huff of frustration and sat at the corner of his desk.

   “Hands down. I’m not here to be interrogated, and you’re not here to ask. I won’t be answering anyone’s questions unless they have something to do about the next set of cases you’ll be writing an essay on.”

   The hands fell, but the eyes wandered back to his shortened hair. Javert’s scowl deepened at his ineffective method of shutting them up before getting up to the board and beginning his lecture.

   How easy things fell into place for him! He nearly forgot all that had been haunting him the past month, raving so quickly in the classroom that it looked as though he had gotten a caffeine overdose.

   He scarcely realized he had gone into overtime until the students had to stop him. He apologized with a harsh clear of his throat, feeling his excitement drain away, and allowed for the students to filter out.

   Marius and Laigle were the last to leave. They meekly arrived up to his desk, only one of them holding their bags in their hands. Another was left at their desk, forgotten by all.

   Javert looked up from his computer. “Yes?” He grumbled, left with the ever-insistent feeling of dread in the pit of his stomach. Marius fidgeted for a moment.

   “It’s good to have you back, Professor,” he said awkwardly. Javert frowned, and Marius hastily added, “Are we doing tutorials again? We never finished the project since you’ve been gone so long..”

   Javert sat back against his chair, fidgeting with a pen between his hands. After a moment he lifted his head again and nodded. “Yes, I think that would be best. Same time, at three.” He said in such a low voice that the boys had to strain to hear the words.

   “Thank you, sir.” Laigle said with a bow of his head and all but dragged Marius out of the classroom with him. Once alone, Javert’s shoulders sagged further into himself, and he let out an inaudible sigh as he ran a hand through his now fluffy hair. His chest hurt, his head hurt.

   He sat no more than ten minutes before someone came to knock on his door and peek through. Valjean’s eyes found his, and his everlasting, irritating, caring smile suddenly dropped. He looked at Javert as though he had grown a third eye, and rushed to his side.

   “Javert! You- your-“ He stuttered, mouth agape. Javert scowled and turned back to his computer.

   “Almost there,” he teased dryly, resting his chin on the heel of his hand. He rubbed his eye tiredly, scrolling aimlessly through his email inbox. Valjean smiled meekly and took a seat at the edge of the desk.

   “You cut your hair,” he stated with a sort of amazement, watching Javert with a wonder in his eyes. It made Javert sick. Before he could snap at him, Valjean added, “It looks great.”

   Any retort died on Javert’s tongue, and he looked off to the side as he felt his cheeks grow hot. Then, Valjean quietly asked, “Why did you cut it? I’ve never seen you with short hair before.”

   He didn’t know how to respond, and he worked his mouth silently for a few moments before he abruptly blurted out, “I just needed a change.” Then he revised. “It was becoming… bothersome. It felt heavy- I can’t explain it- and I just needed it gone.” He let out an unamused laugh. “It’s never bothered me all my life.”

   Valjean gave a look of sympathy. “It’s normal to change something about the way you look when you’ve changed how you feel.” He doesn’t comment on Javert’s eye roll, for he knows by now that it is all just a facade. Behind the irritation and anger, Javert listened. “You look good with it. It…suits you, honestly.”

   “Is that all you came here for? To gawk at me?” Javert snapped, obnoxiously clicking his mouse.

   Valjean shook his head. “I told you I’d be here between classes to hang out. We haven’t talked much since, you know, the coffee shop.”

   Javert’s brow furrowed as he leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms over his aching chest. “I’ve been busy. Preparing to come back. Do you have any idea how much work I have to catch up on?”

   “Don’t push yourself too hard. It’s your first day back,” Valjean lightly scolded, and Javert scowled, pushing himself to his feet.

   “That’s not any excuse. I’m here, I ought to work.”

   “But if you push your limits so far that you break, you won’t be able to do any work for an even longer amount of time,” Valjean snapped back. “Why are you so determined to extort yourself so much?”

   “Because I can’t-“ his words get abruptly cut off by a coughing fit that has him doubling over and using Valjean’s outstretched hand for support. They both grimaced at the wheezes, but before Valjean could express his concerns, Javert stood straight and roughly cleared his throat. “I can’t mope around forever,” he growled in a low voice, his burning chest moving with erratic breaths. “This isn’t the first time I’ve had an episode like this, and it took me half the amount it’s taking me now.”

   Valjean regarded him with an empathetic look. “What was the first time?”

   Javert opened his mouth to respond, but suddenly the door of the classroom opened behind them, and both men twisted around in shock.

   Marius was awkwardly standing at the front of the room, staring at them. Then, as if a switch flipped on, he was hurrying to his desk and stuttering far too loudly: “I-I’m sorry! I forgot my- my bag! Here!” He threw it over his shoulder and all but ran to the door. “Sorry!”

   Valjean and Javert shared a look before the law professor let out a huff of a sigh. “Idiot,” he mumbled under his breath. Valjean didn’t respond, but made the slightest of nods.

   Then, turning back to their conversation, asked, “Were you going to answer me?”

   Javert’s irritated expression gave way to a deep shame. Barely audibly, he responded, “I’ll tell you later, okay?” He said, resigned. Valjean nodded.

   “Alright.” He lifted himself off of the desk. “Do you have time to get a coffee?”

   Javert’s eyes met his and he nodded, his expression softened. Valjean looked back, taking in the new look. Although he liked the long hair, he looked good with it fluffy, with the way it slightly curled at the ends of the bangs and at the back of his neck. He looked younger, if not still exhausted; Valjean was glad that he hadn’t gotten rid of his sideburns.

   Javert followed him out, stuffing his hands into his pockets as they continued their conversation. They walked side by side through the building halls and campus to the coffee shop, where students were occupying almost every table except for one off to the side.

-

   Marius sprinted back to the coffee shop, seriously thinking he might faint from embarrassment. At the usual table, only Grantaire, Laigle, Cosette, and Enjolras were there, chatting about whatever. Marius all but threw himself into the chair beside Cosette, out of breath and still so mortified.

   “Woah! What’s up with you?” Grantaire asked as he took a sip of his drink. Marius dropped his head in his hands, catching his breath.

   “When I went to go pick up my bag,” he panted. “Leblanc and Javert were together. Are-“

   Grantaire exploded from his seat, held down only by Enjolras with a hand at his shoulder. “Together? How together? Hugging? Kissing?” And then he asked another option, looking at Marius with a pushed of his tongue against the inside of cheek. Cosette and Marius simultaneously made a sound of protest.

   “Don’t be an idiot! No, they were just… talking. God- it was so embarrassing. I’m an idiot!” Marius covered his eyes with his hands as Cosette sympathetically rubbed a hand at his shoulder. “They might not be together, but they’re definitely friends. What the hell happened to Javert on his time off?”

   Grantaire shrugged. His eyes scanned through the coffee shop, and he suddenly spotted the two professors walking to the entrance. He gawked at Javert’s hair, leaning forward in excitement.

   “Woah! Javert got rid of his hair? It looks so… weird.” He exclaimed. Cosette and Enjolras turned their heads, exchanging a mild sound of surprise.

   “Looks good on him,” Cosette decided as she turned back to her coffee. “I always wondered why he kept his hair long.”

   The group- minus Enjolras- watched as Javert and Valjean walked into the coffee shop and place their orders before sitting at a table in the far corner of the building. Their conversation was choppy and a little awkward, but it was there nonetheless.

   “Wonder what they’re talking about,” Laigle muttered as they all cast their eyes towards the two professors.

-

   Javert and Valjean took the last table and sipped on their drinks. It was a loud, bustling area, and Javert felt out of practice to be sitting near so many people. He had not been near a crowd in more than two weeks, and it unnerves him. Somehow, Valjean noticed.

   “Are you alright?” He asked, and Javert’s scowled deepened. Valjean quickly added, “I just don’t want you to feel overwhelmed. We can leave, if you’d like.”

   Javert rolled his eyes and took a long sip of his coffee. Then, he slammed it onto the table, earning a flinch from the man across of him. “If you’re worried I’m going to have another breakdown,” he said sourly. “Don’t. I can control myself.”

   Valjean’s face formed a look of dismay. “I told you, it’s not something you can control. If you’re feeling like it’s too much, we can leave. It’s no bother.”

   Javert was boiling. “I said it’s fine, Valjean. For God’s sake, you’re acting like a therapist. Can’t we just talk like normal… friends?” He struggled to find the last word, because until now, they had never spoken about the fact that they had genuinely become more than just coworkers. Javert was appalled to find himself eager to call with Valjean in the mornings as they got ready for work.

   It was the first time he had ever had someone to call a friend. And it was ironic that that someone was the very ex-convict that had drove him into the pit of despair.

   Valjean looked as surprised as he felt. He gave a sheepish, though joyful smile and nodded in agreement.

   “You’re right,” he said. Then, after a moment, he started up a new conversation. “How did your students take the new look?”

   Javert puffed out a laugh. “They watched me like a panda in a zoo,” he ran a hand through his hair, stroking it back and internally grimacing at how the bangs popped back to their rightful place. “Honestly, does it look so horrible? I told the barber that I didn’t care what he did, so long as he made it short.”

   Valjean chuckled and leaned his elbows on the wooden table. “No, not at all. I personally liked the long hair, but you look handsome this way.” He assured with a blush. “Younger.”

   Javert smiled a crooked grin. “Yes, at least I’ll look younger than you. A full head of white hair, really?”

   “I’m a decade older than you! And besides, your hair isn’t entirely black either. You’ve got a few gray hairs; they’re just hiding beneath the bangs.”

   Javert raised an eyebrow. “And how would you see something like that?” He asked slyly, leaning forward and meeting Valjean face to face. What the hell was he doing right now?

   “What, you think only inspectors get to be observant? And either way, it was very easy to tell when you had your hair tied back.” Valjean said with an innocent roll of his eyes. Javert barked out a harsh bit of laughter and leaned back into his chair, coffee in hand.

   “Bastard,” he laughed as he finished off the cup, set it down, and checked his watch. “My next class is in five minutes. Are you still doing tutorials at three?”

   Valjean nodded. “I’ll see you then?” He asked with a smile. Javert nodded.

   “See you. Oh- and,” he fished out his wallet and dropped a five dollar bill to Valjean. “You already bought my groceries. I don’t need you throwing me further into debt.”

   “Javert-“ Valjean meant to argue, the man was already out the door before he could finish. Valjean watched him stride away until he disappeared behind a large tree and smiled to himself.

   He had called him a friend. All this time Valjean had been afraid that he had been pushing Javert too much, and that soon the man would snap and shut him out again. But instead, they had shared a coffee and laughed together, as if they had been friends for years.

   Valjean did not miss the faces of discomfort and pain Javert would make when he thought no one else was looking. It was surprising that he had actually agreed to tell Valjean about something from his past. Maybe it would help clear up how Javert had left the police.

   He had thought to ask Chabouillet about it, but it seemed like such a breach of trust that he had immediately cast it aside. It would be better to hear it from the man himself.

   He reluctantly took the bill from the table and stuffed it into his pocket. On his way out of the shop, Cosette caught his arm. He did his best not to flinch, but it was a hard habit to break.

   “Papa! Before you go: can I hang out with my friends tonight?” She gestured to the table of students, with Marius’s head still bent in shame. “We’ll be at Grantaire’s dorm, the whole group.”

   Valjean considered it. “Are you having dinner with them?”

   Cosette nodded. “We’re ordering pizza and watching movies. Please, papa?”

   He sighed and nodded. “Alright. Just try to be home before midnight, please?” He asked with a squeeze of her shoulder. She grinned and nodded like an eager puppy.

   “Thank you!”

   Valjean’s eyes scanned over the table. Though they were missing a good part of the group, the students who sat at the table weren’t bad at all. He knew most of them from his classes, and mostly all of them had good grades.

   When he walked out of the coffee shop, he hesitantly took out his phone and opened up his and Javert’s chat.

10:27 AM

Hey, are you free tonight? Cosette’s out tonight, and I thought maybe you’d like to come a hang out a little. I can make dinner and we can watch a movie or something

   How could he be blushing so hard? It was a simple ask to a hang out between friends! He could bring out a few drinks and cook up a small dinner and talk with Javert to get to know a bit more about the man.

   It was an hour until Javert finally texted back. They were both in the middle of teaching class, sitting at their desks and answering emails, and no one was watching them so it was easy to be on their phones.

11:31 AM

Sounds like you’re asking me on a date.

Joking. Why not, it’s not like I have anything else to do with my night.

What’s your address? And what time?

   Valjean blushed again and smiled at the screen. He provided his address and a time, six in the evening, and then quickly typed out,

11:33 AM

Would you rather order a pizza?

11:33 AM

Whatever. I don’t really care, make or order whatever you prefer

11:34 AM

Well you are the guest, Javert. I think you should have some say, no?

   The text bubbles bounced around for a long moment as Javert tried to figure out what to say.

11:34 AM

Pizza is fine. You said we’d watch a movie?

11:35 AM

Yeah, we can watch anything. Have something in mind?

11:35 AM

Depends on what you want to watch. Are you one for action movies?

11:35 AM

It’s not my favorite genre, but I won’t object to it.

11:36 AM

I’m not a fan either. Mystery?

   Valjean made to answer, but suddenly Grantaire was at his desk, looking over his shoulder. He all but threw his phone down, looking up to meet his eyes.

   “Yes, Grantaire?” He asked, leaning back to earn space between them. Grantaire leaned in closer, an innocent look on his face.

   “Who were you texting?” He simply asked. Valjean blushed and roughly cleared his throat.

   “Just a friend,” he assured casually. “Are you here just to interrogate me? You have work to do, you know.”

   Grantaire rolled his eyes and stood straight. He supplied his question on their assignment, all the while staring at Valjean’s phone. After their short discussion, he whispered,

   “You were texting Professor Javert, weren’t you?” A sly grin grew on his mouth, and Valjean nearly choked. He sat carefully still and simply shook his head.

   “Take a seat, Grantaire,” he sighed, turning his attention back to his computer. The man let out a silent groan and stormed back to his desk, evidently annoyed that he hadn’t received a direct answer.

   Valjean waited five minutes before opening his phone again.

11:43 AM

Sorry, had to take care of something. I like mystery, yeah

11:43 AM

Have you watched Murder On The Orient Express?

11:44 AM

No, but I’ve read it. Agatha Christie, no?

11:44 AM

Something like that. But if you’ve already read it, I guess there’s no point in watching it.

11:44 AM

Well I haven’t watched it, so maybe it’s a different adaptation. We can watch it tonight :)

11:45 AM

Suit yourself. Should I bring anything? Feels wrong for you to just supply everything all the time.

11:45 AM

It’s no bother, you know. I’m happy to take a few things out of your mind, but if you really insist, maybe you could bring drinks?

11:45 AM

What do you want to drink?

11:46 AM

Well, I don’t really drink beer, but you can bring wine or soda. Anything, really. I’m not picky

11:46 AM

Alright. I have to go. See you at three.

11:46 AM

See you :)

-

   At tutorials, Javert and Valjean sat beside each other at a stray table, chattering about the upcoming evening and occasionally helping their students with their assignments.

   When Marius turned to go back to his seat, Javert irritatedly drummed his fingers against the wood of the table. Valjean chuckled as he typed out something on his computer.

   “I think he’s more scared of you now than he was before,” he laughed, and Javert shot him a glare.

   “Why would he be more scared of me? I’m being nicer, aren’t I? I don’t think I’ve ever been this patient with an idiot in my life.” Javert growled in a low voice as he scanned his eyes over the near-empty room for the fifth time in ten minutes.

   “I think that’s just it. No one’s ever seen you nice.” Valjean teased with a bright smile.

   “Keep up the goggling and I’ll make sure to be twice as rude tomorrow,” Javert snapped back dryly, resting his head in his palm as he numbly filtered through the news. He was bored out of his mind and he decided that he wouldn’t be thinking too hard today, for he was spending far too much time with Valjean and he wasn’t entirely sure he knew how to handle it yet.

   “Why’d you choose Orient Express for the movie tonight?” Valjean asked, smoothly changing the subject. Javert felt his heart sink a little deeper and he coughed into his fist to give him another moment to gather his words.

   “It was just the first thing that came to my mind,” he said nonchalantly. “I’ve always enjoyed mysteries, more so since I became a teacher here.”

   “Mm,” Valjean hummed in understanding. “I’d miss it too, if I had to leave a profession I loved.” He said, sympathy beginning to cloud his voice. Javert, eager to be rid of this conversation, and with a painfully tight chest and throat, switched the subject away from him.

   “What, you’ve never had a profession you care about?” He growled roughly, trying not to sound malicious but ultimately failing. He did not miss the way Valjean flinched at the tone.

   “No, I care about this profession,” Valjean responded. “But, before jail, I worked with my dad to take care of gardens. Mainly those in parks, like the one just a few minutes from campus,” his eyes grew distant with memory. “I loved working with plants.”

   “Why didn’t you continue?” Javert asked, now facing him. “You’re free, you can do what you want; why not go work in a garden? Better than being trapped inside all day.”

   Valjean met his eyes, suddenly dark and serious. “Yes, well,” he said, evidently trying not to get harsh with his words. Then, his face relaxed, and he fell back into his regular self. “Cosette begged me to take this job, and I can’t bring myself to quit. You can’t tell me that you seriously don’t care for your students, Javert?”

   Javert considered it. “It’s not that I don’t care,” he grumbled. “It’s just that… I don’t care for the job. It’s not where I want to be.”

   “Don’t the police have different jobs for those who can’t do patrols or any of the physical work?” Valjean asked, and Javert’s brow furrowed further.

   “I’m not good a desk jobs- I’m aware it contradicts to this job- but I also just couldn’t… handle being there and not being able to do anything. Chabouillet helped me find this occupation.”

   “Desk jobs are important. How else are you going to get the paperwork for arrests?” Valjean provided, though he only had a vague understanding of police work. Javert seemed to notice it and shook his head.

   “Leave it, Valjean.” He muttered, feeling as if the conversation was growing too personal. Valjean didn’t need to hear this now. Javert wasn’t sure he could even bring himself to say it without breaking down again.

   After a beat of silence, Valjean changed the subject again. “Have you ever played Monopoly?” He casually asked with a smile, and burst out laughing when Javert shot daggers at him. The man’s expression softened as he turned back to his computer.

   “Of course I have,” he grumbled. Valjean leaned up with him, arms touching side by side. Javert felt his chest tighten when he met his dark eyes, shining and mischievous.

   “Would you object to playing a round tonight? That is, if you’re not afraid of losing,” he said with a shrug, and he could barely contain his laugh when Javert exasperatedly rolled his eyes and clicked his tongue.

   “Obviously, you’ve never known how good I am at boardgames.” Javert snapped back. In truth, he scarcely remembered how to play Monopoly- or any board game, for that matter. He must’ve played it last in a foster home when he was a child, when the family had tried to get to know him more.

   But he did not want to seem weak in front of Valjean- no, he had done enough of that for a lifetime. He would join him for dinner, mainly because he did not want to be alone in his apartment. He didn’t fully trust himself yet.

   Suddenly Valjean had an idea. “Hey, you know what? You should bring Ferko with you!” He exclaimed cheerfully.

   “Why?” Javert asked.

   “Well, I don’t want to leave him alone all night,” Valjean shrugged. “Plus, he’s good to cuddle with, isn’t he?”

   Javert frowned. “If he likes you, yeah.” He muttered. “If you insist, fine, I’ll bring him along.”

   Valjean smiled like a ray of sunlight. “Can’t wait,” he laughed, and turned to help Grantaire- who had been eyeing them both like a wolf- with his question.

-

   At exactly six, Javert knocked at Valjean’s door, holding a can of sodas in one hand and Ferko’s leash in the other. Valjean sprinted over, thinking he would be the pizza delivery guy, and lost his voice when he saw Javert in his place. For a moment they simply looked at each other, Javert raising a confused face.

   The man was wearing a thick turtleneck sweater, as black as his hair, with a pair of dark-wash jeans and worn out derbies.

   “What, did you invite me over just to stare?” He snapped, and Valjean fumbled out of his reverie to invite him in.

   “Forgive me, I thought you were the pizza guy,” he stuttered. “Oh! Ferko!” He exclaimed as he looked down to see the elegant feline trailing behind Javert, inspecting the apartment just as his owner did, and decided it best to take a seat on Valjean’s chair, right in front of the fireplace.

   “You told me to bring him, remember?” Javert sneered as he put down the pack of sodas on the kitchen table. He looked around the apartment, scanning every piece of furniture, for it was his nature to do so. “You’ve got such a big apartment.”

   “Well, it’s meant to fit two people, so it’s really perfect for me and Cosette,” Valjean shrugged anxiously, blushing red. What the hell was wrong with him?

   Javert let out a sharp laugh. “Two? You could fit five people in here! Honestly, how the hell did you afford this?”

   Valjean took a seat on his couch, awkwardly trying to coax Ferko his way. The feline regarded him suspiciously, tail swishing behind him curiously. “Saved up, really.” It wasn’t necessarily a lie, but it wasn’t quite the truth either. Yes, he had saved up, but he had also used multiple different names to earn his money. Perhaps it was best that he did not bring that up.

   He held his hand out to Ferko for the cat to sniff it, watching as he trailed around in and eventually ended up butting his head against his palm. Surprised at the quick acceptance, he carefully stroked the cat, letting out a quiet laugh of wonder as he felt him purr against him.

   Javert appeared at his side with two cans of sodas, handing one to Valjean before leaning back on the couch. “I didn’t think he’d warm up to you that fast,” he muttered as Valjean carefully carried Ferko over to the space between them, smiling as the cat curled up at their thighs.

   “I’ve always been good with animals, I think,” Valjean said as he ghosted a hand over Ferko’s scruff. “When I was a boy I used to have a dog, a stray that my father had taken in. His name was Mathieu,” he said with a fond grin. He hadn’t thought about that dog in a long while. “What about you? Any childhood pets?”

   Javert’s face darkened, though his expression kept carefully blank at the question. This was territory he was not able to go through. “No, I didn’t.” He said shortly. “When might the pizza get here?”

   Valjean thankfully didn’t push the subject. “Probably another five minutes.” He replied and took a sip of the soda. “This is good,” he exclaimed, looking towards the ingredients of the can. Javert put his feet upon the ottoman in front of them and grabbed the remote of the TV, turning it on.

   They found the movie quickly, and a moment later the pizza came. Valjean brought it over and opened it up. “Do you need a plate?” He asked, and Javert shook his head as he grabbed a slice and turned on the movie.

   The movie was captivating; Valjean watching with wonder as the scenes of the train rolling through the snowy lands of Europe.

   “I’ve always wanted to go on the Orient Express,” he said with the tone of a child at an amusement park for the first time. “Travel through Europe, see everything pass by while sitting against the window with a book.”

   Javert shrugged. “I guess,” he muttered as he took a second slice of pizza. He wasn’t hungry- and he was really becoming nauseous- but he did not want Valjean to fret over him again, so he continued on.

  The movie continued on, and the pizza was finished off. Javert leaned back on the couch, shoulder touching Valjean’s with Ferko curled up in his lap. Taking a look around the apartment, Javert noted how warm and welcoming it was. Perhaps the style was a bit rustic and old, but it was better than Javert’s could’ve ever been.

   When the movie was finished, Valjean got up to grab the Monopoly board, and Javert felt a sort of panic in his throat. He did not admit to not knowing how to play, even when Valjean managed to take all of his money.

   To Valjean, it was incredibly clear that Javert did not know how to play, but he did not want to make the man feel ashamed of it, so he kept it to himself and opted to go easy. Javert, somehow, managed to notice it.

   “Are you letting me win? You ass,” Javert hissed as he moved his figure along the sides of the board. Valjean met those piercing eyes and awkwardly smiled, frustrated to be found out.

   “I’m doing no such thing,” he argued, and just to prove his point he managed to land Javert in jail. “Go on, pay your fine.” He said with raised, expectant eyebrows. Javert scowled.

   They played three or so games before Javert got frustrated enough to almost tip over the board, which then Valjean decided it best to end it at a tie.

   Valjean carefully toed around the next conversation. “This morning, you said you’d tell me about the first time you had a depressive episode,” he said slowly, pained to see how quickly the man stiffed up. “Would you be willing to tell me now?”

   Javert did not answer for a minute, considering. It was not an easy thing to talk about- a lot of times he loathed just to think of it- but Valjean should probably know. Hell, he knew everything wrong with Javert already; what was one more flaw?

   Hesitantly, he nodded. “Okay. Um,” he quickly tried to earn the courage in his voice and form the story in his head. He sighed and set down his soda can on the coffee table.

   “Back when I was still an inspector, I had to lead an undercover mission. I was leading a group of officers through an abandoned warehouse, hoping to capture a gang of criminals. When we confronted them, one of them shot a bullet into the ceiling, and since it was unstable concrete, it crashed down on us.” He took a deep breath as the memory came together before his eyes. Seeing the bullet come in contact with the unstable concrete, hearing it crumble, watching as it came down towards him with no time to get out of the way.

   “Most of the officers managed to move away in time. But me and two others were trapped underneath it. I guess I should count myself lucky for being able to survive it- one of the others had his skull crushed, and another died of complications later.

   I was unconscious for the rest of the mission. When I came to, I was in the hospital. Uh-“ He balled up his hands resting on his lap, trying to will himself to continue.

   “You don’t have to finish,” Valjean blurted out. “Please. Don’t overwhelm yourself for me.”

   Javert looked at him. He didn’t have to finish this. And yet, he knew that he could not back away from this.

  “It’s fine. The, uh- the doctors told me that, due to the collision, several of my ribs were broken. One of them had punctured my right lung.” His voice was shaking as he could see the doctor before him, eyebrows set low with apology. “Usually pierced lungs can heal, but there were… complications with mine.”

   His voice suddenly darkened. “You said you wondered about my condition? Well, because of the issues with the lung, I developed pulmonary fibrosis. It’s a permanent condition that gets worse over time. When I was discharged from the hospital, I kept working on patrols and missions, trying to fight through it, until one day Chabouillet called me into his office. He told me that I would have to be discharged. ‘I’m doing this for your own good,’ he said. Said it would help my lungs last longer. ”

   His voice was thick with tears he so desperately tried to hold back. Never had he spoken about this to anyone- he had even tried to deny it to himself ! Memories came back raw, unwavering before his eyes. To fall into a fit of despair for months, to feel a new burning ache in his chest with every inhale, like a wildfire spreading with no means of stopping-

   He did not realize he was hyperventilating until he felt Valjean’s arm wrap him in a tight hug. He fell into a dry coughing fit, grimacing at the way he wheezed like a man past ninety. Valjean patiently held him, relaxing his grip a little so that the man could breathe. Despite himself, Javert continued,

   “I got depressed,” he said between chokes. “Like I was- am- now. Chabouillet forced me into this job and made me get back on my feet.”

   Valjean had a look of dismay on his face as he sat up to meet Javert’s pained eyes. “You never went to anyone to deal with it?” He asked in disbelief, and Javert wordlessly shook his head, still battling a few coughs. His chest was on fire.

   Horrified, Valjean carefully tackled the man into a steadfast hug, his sympathy for the man overflowing him. “Oh, Javert,” he called softly, holding the man tighter. “Why didn’t you talk to anyone about this? How have you completely changed your life around without a single helping hand? It’s no wonder why you’ve felt so dejected! Oh,” he whispered again, running a hand down Javert’s short hair. The man was shaking against him, trembling and trying so hard not to let his tears fall. “Who could blame you?”

   Javert blubbered. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me. I ought to be in a psych ward-“

   “No,” Valjean snapped, shaking his head and effectively cutting him off. “Who could blame you for this? For God’s sake, Javert, you suffered a terrible injury and didn’t even get proper therapy for it! I’m so sorry,” he dropped back on the couch, bringing Javert with him so that they may lay together. Both men were suddenly struck with deja vu- hadn’t they done this days ago, when Javert had given up his defenses and allowed himself to be helped by Valjean?

   “I’m sorry,” Javert gasped, trying and failing to be free of the man’s grasp. “I’m sorry, I’ve ruined the entire evening- we were having fun, and I-“

   “No,” Valjean softly interjected. “I’m glad you told me this.“ And he gently pressed a kiss to the top of Javert’s head just as he had done that past night. “Thank you for trusting me.”

   Javert’s breathing had almost calmed down, but his erratic gasps were still going. Unable to speak anymore, he allowed Valjean to pull him closer to his chest, closing his eyes and focusing on the warmth that emitted from the man. Ferko was still present, settling in between them so that he may get his fair share of warmth.

   Javert did not mean the conversation to turn this way. He had meant to explain his situation to Valjean, brush off his concerns, and continue on with the evening. He should’ve known he wouldn’t be strong enough- even after all these years, the situation was a wound never healed, never closed. It caused such agony to think about it, to once again see the rubble lifted from his bruised, battered body, or hear the steady sounds of the hospital. As much as he’d loathe to admit it, Valjean was right. He never healed from it, not mentally, and it had ruined him, likely beyond repair.

   He remembered what it had been like when he had been discharged from the police. He didn’t believe what Chabouillet had said, and had gone out running for as long as he could, ignoring the way his injured lungs begged to rest. He had pushed himself as far as he could, and ended up breaking multiple dishes in his house out of anger and denial.

   And then he had crashed, burned out faster than a flame. He didn’t eat, he didn’t clean; he stayed in his bed all day, drowning in sorrow and pain. Chabouillet had found him- similarly to the way he had a few weeks ago- in his own filth and had yelled at him to get up off of his ass.

   It’s not as though Chabouillet did not care for Javert or did not notice the depressive episode; rather he was furious and confused of how Javert could have fallen so fast, so quickly. Chabouillet had worked hard to find him a good job at the university, and he would be damned if he was going to let it go to waste.

   Javert was thankful for what he did, even if he did not voice it. And he was thankful for what Valjean was doing, staying with him and making him feel like he wasn’t alone.

   His tears had dried on his face and he was nearly lulled to sleep by the warmth and steady movement of Valjean’s chest, but before he could fully succumb, the man above softly spoke,

   “It’s getting late, and Cosette will be home soon. Are you alright?” He asked, moving up a little so that he may look at Javert. The ex-inspector flushed, embarrassed at how he must look, and nodded.

   “I’m sorry,” he said for the third time. Valjean smiled and shook his head, running a hand over Javert’s hair so that it bounced back into his face.

   “It’ll get better,” he promised gently. “I promise, Javert.”

   He nodded again, unsure how to answer. Wordlessly, he got up from the couch, smoothing out his sleeves. His chest was still tight, not only by the fibrosis but by something else, something new. It didn’t hurt as the initial did.

   Valjean carefully put a hand at his forearm. “You can stay here for the night, you know. It’s late, and we’ve got a guest room.”

   Javert scoffed. “What about your daughter? How do you think she’d react to seeing her boyfriend’s professor in her house?” He watched the realization dawn on Valjean’s face and couldn’t help but manage a smile.

  “Well, Cosette usually leaves before me. She wouldn’t have to know you’re here,” Valjean offered with a shrug, and Javert considered it.

   “I don’t want to impose,” he said, hesitating.

   “You wouldn’t be! Really, it’s late, and it might be unsafe to drive. You don’t have to, but I’d prefer knowing that you’re safe.”

   Javert’s face had never felt so hot. He squirmed a bit and looked down at Ferko, who was patiently sitting on the couch and waiting for him to make a decision.

   Eventually, he relented. “If you insist.” He sighed, and the new feeling in his chest ached further as Valjean’s smile grew.

   “Follow me,” he took Javert’s hand and let him to the guest room down the hall, opening the door to reveal a small but neat room, complete with a bed, desk, and bookcase. When Ferko brushed against his leg, he suddenly flinched. “Oh! But I don’t have a bed for Ferko.” He said, disappointed. Javert waved off his concern with a flick of his hand.

   “Don’t worry about it. Most of the time he just sleeps with me anyway.” He said, taking the cat in his hands and walking over to the bed.

   “Do you want to borrow some clothes to sleep with?” Valjean asked, still standing at the doorframe. Javert thought about it for a moment before shaking his head.

   “No, it’s alright.” He said, sitting at the edge of the bed.

   “Good night, Javert.”

   “Good night, Valjean.”

Chapter Text

   After Javert went into the guest room, Valjean busied himself with getting the house back to the way it was before. He threw away any evidence that he had had Javert over, and by the time Cosette opened the door, he had curled up in the corner of the couch with his book, as if he had been there all night.

   “I’m back, papa!” Cosette called, kicking off her shoes at the entrance. Valjean smiled up at her, closing the book to talk with her.

   “Was it lonely here without me?” She teased, and Valjean laughed.

   “Yes, but I managed,” he shrugged. Cosette took off her coat and made to hang it in the closet, but looking at the row of shoes, something caught her eyes.

   “Papa, since when have you owned derbies?” She asked, holding them up for him to see. All the color drained in Valjean’s face as he set eyes on them.

   “Oh- those are-“ he stuttered, unable to come up with a fair excuse. Cosette grinned, quickly putting the dots together.

   “Did you- or do you-“ She revised with a giggle. “Have a date?”

   Valjean shook his head. “No, I’ve been here alone all night,” he assured hastily, cursing himself for the way his ears burned red. Cosette raised an eyebrow.

   “What’s his name?” She asked instead, settling herself on the couch beside him. Valjean shrunk into himself and shook his head again.

   “I’ve been alone,” he repeated, trying to sound stern and ultimately failing. How could he miss the most obvious clue?

   Cosette glared at him, trying to decipher the mystery. Then, she got up and pecked him on the cheek, before going to her room.

   “Whatever you say, papa. Good night!” She called, before shutting the door.

-

   Sleeping in his jeans had proven uncomfortable. When Javert awoke the next morning, he was momentarily panicked to find that he was not in his own room, but then Ferko had rubbed against his leg, and last night came flooding back to him.

   He felt tired, more tired than usual, and he remembered how he had once again broken down in front of Valjean yet again. How pathetic could one man be?

   Throwing his feet off the side of the bed, Javert made to exit the room before he remembered what Valjean said about his daughter. Had she left yet?

   Unsure what to do, Javert reached for his phone and opened their chat:

7:48 AM

Are you awake? Is your daughter gone? Should I come out??

   Javert didn’t get an answer immediately, and felt dread seeping in. What an idiot he had been!

Now he was stuck here, probably going to be late for work. And damn- Ferko was still here!

   He silently paced around the room, trying to figure out how to get out of this. There was a window to his left; perhaps he could manage his way through and land safely on the ground. Or perhaps hide in the closet-

   And then the door was thrown open, and Javert flinched so hard he nearly fell. Valjean stood before him, wearing a green button up, his hair a little messy from the morning.

   “Cosette’s gone, don’t worry,” he said. “How did you sleep?”

   Valjean regarded Javert with a cheerful sort of air. The man had obviously just awoken, for his clothes were slightly askew and his short hair ruffled from sleep. He looked adorable.

   Javert’s eyes fell to the floor as he carefully picked up Ferko from the bed and allowed him to climb upon his shoulders. “Fine,” he shrugged. Then, life came back to him, and he exploded towards Valjean. “We didn’t think this through, at all. What the hell am I going to do with Ferko? Or with my outfit? Goddamnit…” He hissed under his breath, pressing a hand to his forehead. Valjean grins at him, his insufferable smile printed on his face, and Javert had to restrain himself from strangling the man.

   “Your outfit is fine,” Valjean replied, casually shrugging his shoulders as he led Javert out into the kitchen. “And, since you’ll be late otherwise, you can just bring Ferko with you to class.”

   Javert stared at him like he had grown a third eye. “What? Are you insane? How the hell am I going to explain a cat in my classroom?” He hissed angrily, pretending to not see the plate of  food that Valjean nudged towards him.

   “Just say it’s your cat,” Valjean calmly recommended. “And something came up and you had to bring him there.”

   Javert growled and crossed his arms over his chest. He tried to retaliate, snap back that it wouldn’t work, but he found his words failing, and he abrupt dropped himself onto the couch.

   Valjean watched from the kitchen table. “You know, you should eat something. It’d be good for you,” he offered, and once again nudged the plate in the direction of Javert. He rolled his eyes and settled upon the couch, rubbing the bridge of his nose to try and fend off a growing headache.

   “Not hungry.” Javert grumbled. He could feel Valjean’s eyes on him, and almost screamed when he asked,

   “Are you feeling alright? After last night I-“

   Javert snapped his head up and threw a finger his way. “Shut up. I don’t want to talk about it. I already said too much.”

   Valjean frowned. “Do you regret telling me?” He asked after a moment of silence. Javert’s eyebrows bunched together in guilt.

   “No. But it’s not exactly my favorite subject,” he said, carefully calm. “And... I didn’t mean to break down into tears like a little kid. It’s just- it's a painful reminder.”

   Valjean didn’t say anything for a long while. For a moment Javert was sure that he had driven him away and was about to leave through the door, when a meek, quiet voice asked,

   “Is that what drove you to the bridge?”

   Javert had never frozen faster. He repressed a shiver at the thought of that night, the amount of pain he had felt that night. But no, his police incident was not what had thrown him off.

   He shook his head and took a deep breath. “No,” he said simply, refusing to give any more explanation. He felt Valjean wanting to push the subject, but thankfully the man let it drop.

   Javert got up from the couch and began to pace around in small circles. “I don’t know how you can be friends with me,” he blurted out, and forced on so that Valjean had no room to butt in. “I’m an asshole, a recluse. No one can stand me. I mean- you’ve been around me for months; can’t you see that? All I’ve ever done is yell and spit in your face.” He takes a sharp inhale of breath. “I’m not a good person, Valjean. I’m- jagged, angry. I am not a good fit for you; I would taint your life.”

   He was so engrossed in his fit of doubt that he did not realize Valjean had left his spot at the table to come and take Javert’s hands in his. The law professor startled, making to pull back, but the man held him steadfast, and he could not get away. Below him, Valjean was smiling sadly- at this point, when was he not smiling? Javert cursed himself for thinking the man handsome when he smiled like that.

   “You say foolish things,” he chided softly. “Did you forget that I have spent twenty years in prison? You call yourself a recluse, when I myself can scarcely talk to a waiter without freezing up. You may be rude and standoffish, yes, but that means nothing because you are fun to be with.” His face grew red. “Your humor is unlike any other and I feel as though I can truly be myself around you.”

   Javert raised an eyebrow. “What about your daughter?” Valjean looked away in shame, blush growing from embarrassment.

   “She does not know that I have been to prison,” he mumbled under his breath, and Javert’s eyes widened in disbelief. The girl was twenty and had stayed for Valjean since she was a little kid!

   “Are you crazy? Tell her!” He snapped, but Valjean shook his head.

   “I’m not discussing this now. My point is,” he squeezed Javert’s hands. “We’re both different people, and we’re friends now. I’m not going to let you go, no matter how badly you may think of yourself.”

   Javert’s cheeks darkened with blush. He had never had a friend- Chabouillet did not count, not really, and he had no time nor opportunity in his childhood to befriend other kids. Valjean was the only one.

   There had been officers, yes, but none of them paid Javert any mind until he returned from the hospital. Suddenly everyone was regarding him with pitiful looks, patting him on the back and calling him a good sport. It only got worse when his stamina began to diminish and his lungs started to get worse; he still remembered how the station had looked at him after he was discharged- he wanted to die, then.

   And he had never really overcome the feeling, even when he switched jobs to the university. That is why it had been so easy for him to run to the bridge after having his entire mindset, one that he still followed even after being discharged from the police, ruined by the very man he was now calling his friend.

   What’s strange is that as he stood in the living room of Valjean’s apartment, hand in hand, he realized that the suicidal and depressive dread that he had kept for years had lessened, ever so slightly so that he may breathe. Yes, he took in a deep breath as he looked at Valjean, at a loss for words, and realized that his chest did not feel so heavy. It was different. It was good.

   Javert had thought that he did not need friends, nor anyone to save him from a mess he had created himself. If he decided to kill himself, whose problem was that except for his? How- and more importantly, why- could Valjean care so much? He’s sure that a lot of people would rejoice to hear the inspector passed, no longer a bother or threat.

   Besides, Javert had never thought highly of himself. Ever since he was a child, he had been discriminated and made fun of, not only by other kids but by every foster home he had lived in. He had never lived with a family for more than three months, the parents deeming that it just wouldn’t be a good fit. As he grew, he learned to stop caring, and simply accepted the fact that he was not a lovable person. He was too ugly, too rude, for someone to love him. Being told this all of his life, he was baffled to think that Valjean could see good in him.

   Valjean knew that Javert would have trouble responding, and so he did not wait for the man to return the commendation. He let go of Javert and hurried into his kitchen, tossing an apple his way. “You must eat something,” he chuckled. “I do not think it is wise to thrive off of caffeine alone.”

   Javert came back from his reverie, inspecting the apple in his hands. “Fine,” he held it in one hand and pet Ferko, who was still balancing on his shoulders all this time. “I need to go. I’ll see you at tutorials,” he said as he knelt down to put on his shoes. Valjean bid him farewell and Javert almost mourned the disappearance of his smile.

   Getting into his car, he gently set down Ferko in his lap and stared at the steering wheel, lost in thought. He was friends with an ex-convict, and somehow, he didn’t feel a single bit of remorse for it. Something in him had shifted, had made him see a brand new road that he had never seen before.

   He ate the apple he had been given in silence, gently petting Ferko’s soft fur as he continued to contemplate it all.

-

   Cosette was in a rave when she met up with Marius.

   “My dad had a date last night! A date! And you won’t believe who it was with- he really thought he could just lie and say he had been alone the whole night!” She cheered, and Marius had to hold her by the shoulders so she would stop jumping around.

   “Calm down, calm down. Who was he with?” He asked, not really interested but unable to deny her her excitement.

   She beamed. “Javert!”

   Marius gaped. “You must be crazy,” he mumbled. “Did you see him? With your dad?”

   Cosette shook her head. “No, but his shoes were at the front of the house. He wears those black derbies, doesn’t he? Oh- Grantaire was right! I can’t believe it, but he was right!"

   “A lot of people own derbies, Cosette,” Marius tried to argue. “Besides, I mean, Javert isn’t exactly the most friendly guy..”

  “What are you implying?” Cosette asked with a frown. “He’s friend with my dad, and I swear they were on a date. I remember Javert’s shoes from the coffee shop! Why don’t you believe me?”

   Marius felt guilt sink in. “It’s not that I don’t believe you, Cosette, it’s just that, well, Grantaire has been trying so hard to make this reality that it all just seems… staged.”

   “Well, it’s not. I thought Grantaire was crazy at first, but I remember how flushed my dad got when I asked him if he liked Javert. They like each other, I swear! When was the last time you saw Javert laugh and hang out with someone?” Marius couldn’t answer, and she took his silence as a victory. “See? Now, maybe it wasn’t a date, but they were together, I swear.”

   Marius didn’t know how to respond. “What are you going to do, ask him about it?”

   Cosette grinned. “No, I already asked him last night and he denied everything. I’ll tell Grantaire, and maybe he can fill us in on his master plan.”

   Marius exasperated rolled his eyes. “Do we really have nothing better to do?”

   “Marius, my dad’s been alone for as long as I can remember. It’ll be good for him to finally have someone other than me, what with us together and me moving out soon.” Cosette explained and blushed at the last part. Marius grinned like an idiot and shrugged his shoulders.

   “Fine. If you really think it’s best for him, I guess I don’t have much to object.” He pecked her on the cheek to prove that he was alright with it, and Cosette hugged him tightly.

   “Come on, let’s go find him!”

-

   Marius and Cosette were right when they thought Grantaire would be excited about it. He was in his dorm, with Enjolras by his side, who had been trying to tutor him before their classes. Grantaire asked for every detail Cosette could supply, and once she finished, he ushered them all to sit with him so that he could tell his plan.

   “Maybe if you spent more time on your class work instead of obsessing over these two, you’d have better grades,” Enjolras hissed as he sat beside Grantaire, arms crossed.

   “Anyway,” Grantaire said pointedly, ignoring Enjolras. “Here’s what we need to do. I’ve planned this whole thing out: if we get a reservation for them at a restaurant, they’ll have no choice but to eat together. We already know they’re friends, so they won’t just deny each other dinner- and then we’ll let the magic happen. Now, I plan to make sure they make it to their reservation- but I can’t just arrive at a fancy restaurant without a date. So…” he slowly turned to Enjolras, who was staring at him with bewilderment.

   “Are you insane?” He growled.

   “Will you permit it?” Grantaire asked, silently pleading. Before Enjolras could refuse, Cosette chimed in,

   “Come on, Enjolras! It’ll just be for fun, it won’t be a real date.” She assured, grinning at a thankful Grantaire. Enjolras thought for a moment, frustratingly drumming his fingers against the wood of the table, and heaved a sigh.

   “Fine.” He grumbled, and Grantaire almost cheered aloud.

   “Alright, now we just need to set a date.”

   “How about next Friday?” Marius chimed inc doing his best to be helpful, even though he did not care much about it. Cosette and Grantaire agreed on the time. “How do you even plan to get them to the restaurant if you plan to do it in secret?” He then asked.

   “Well, for Leblanc it’ll be easy. Cosette, I’ll need you to lure him to the restaurant. As for Javert… maybe we can use his old boss…”

   “From the police force?” Marius laughed. “I don’t believe this.”

   Grantaire glared at him. “Trust me, things will work out. Don’t doubt me,” he declared, and Cosette giggled.

   “Sounds like a plan,” she grinned.

-

   When Marius and Laigle set foot in the classroom, they were met with a dozen students crowding around Javert’s desk, with the professor standing over them and snapping at them to be more gentle.

   A closer look showed that, on the edge of his desk, sat a silver cat, sitting with its head up proud as it took multiple pets and hands at once. A collar around his neck told the students that his name was Ferko.

   Javert glanced at his watch and muttered something under his breath. “Alright, no more,” he announced to the class. “Go back to your seats, you have assignments to do.”

   One student chirped up as he sat back in his desk, “What’s with the cat?” He asked, and Javert glared at him.

   “This is Ferko. He’s mine, and he’ll be spending the day here. If you want to pet him, you may, but I will not allow any of you to crowd around my desk. And, if he does not want to be pet, you will not do so. Do you all understand?”

   There was a collective Yes, professor, and Javert nodded in approval. Today was a simple assignment, and he sat at his desk, watching as a few students came up every few minutes to carefully pet Ferko, who was bathing in the attention. He adored it, and he made it clear by loudly purring as countless hands ran over his back and head.

   “How old is he?” One girl asked as she ran her hands over Ferko’s stomach, giggling as he playfully squirmed around.

   “Three years or so,” Javert mumbled, engrossed in his computer screen. “He is quite smart.”

   “I didn’t know you’d be one to have a pet,” she shrugged, and Javert’s mood slightly blackened.

   “He was a gift, really,” he said plainly, and thankfully the girl took the hint to go back to her desk.

-

   The plan worked better than expected.

   Next week, as Grantaire asked, Cosette had asked his dad to join her to dinner as a way to celebrate the completion of a semester of his new job as professor. He had quickly agreed, taking it more as celebrating her completing another semester with success (For her grades were one of the highest in all of his classes), but he did not voice so.

   As for Javert, somehow, Chabouillet had gladly agreed to help the students with their plan. Grantaire had gone over to his office again and told him of their suspicions and plan, and the officer had seemed excited for it. He texted Javert that he had something important to tell him, and wanted to meet up for dinner to discuss it. He took the hang easily enough.

   The plan was set in motion, having worked out nearly perfectly. Neither teacher had the slightest bit of suspicion for Friday night.

   As for the men themselves, both had gone through a rather unexpected and frightening realization.

   For Jean Valjean, he had just returned from a walk with Javert on Tuesday evening when, as he got into his apartment, he stopped in his tracks and realized that the warm feeling in his chest was not from his coat. He had felt it every time he stayed with Javert, and he realized with horror that it was confirmed: he loved Javert.

   He loved the man’s short, fluffy hair, his tall and intimidating stance; the way he regarded everything with a suspicious air and a dry humor, how he always got bothered when things did not go his way and he so vocally voiced his complaints when Jean was around. Valjean loved how his mood seemed to light up- as much as it could- when he saw Jean, how he seemed to always be holding a coffee no matter the hour.

   Jean Valjean loved Javert.

   And for Javert, it was a realization of similar magnitude, except he did not admit it to himself nor realize that he was in fact in love with Jean. Rather, his realization was the final setting of the fact that he now had a real, close friend, one who genuinely wanted to stay with him. He still did not see himself as lovable, and therefore thought himself incapable of returning it, when the truth was simply that he too did not know how to place that warm feeling in his chest.

   He ached to be able to see Jean in the afternoons, at tutorials, because he knew that he would be able to sit beside him and simply relax. There were no strings attached to this relationship, no hidden motives or uses. For once, Javert understood what a friendship was supposed to be like. And he could not admit it to himself that he was greedy for more.

   When Chabouillet had messaged him, telling him that he had something important to tell him, he felt a fear grow in his chest that perhaps he would be placed back into the police and allowed to leave the university.

   How could it be that he genuinely did not want to leave the university now? Leaving the school meant he was no longer able to see Valjean in the mornings and afternoon. Of course, he could not mention this to his boss, for it would go against everything he had been saying for the past three years. So often he had voiced his hate for the job, how he wished like could be back on patrol but refused to do any of the desk jobs. He did not need their pity. He did not want it.

   He sincerely hoped that Friday night would not go that way.

Chapter Text

   Valjean was currently standing in front of the restaurant. His hands were stuffed in his pockets, his head hung low as he patiently waited for Cosette out in the cold weather. Night had fallen already, the only light available from a nearby row of streetlamps, creating a warm atmosphere that, despite the freezing temperatures, made Valjean feel warm inside.

   He had texted Cosette multiple times, asking her where she was or if he had gotten the reservation time wrong. Seven thirty, she had said- now it was nearly time, and she was nowhere to be found. He couldn’t help but feel worried- what father wouldn’t be, when their kid suddenly disappeared on them?

   Eventually he got tired of standing and sat down on a nearby bench, further curling in on himself to fight the cold.  He glanced up at nearby passers, smiling fondly at them. Another glance at his phone proved no improvement on the situation, and he huffed in growing frustration.

   Another five minutes passed before he got up from his seat, making to go home, before he stopped in his tracks to see Javert standing at the entrance of the restaurant, engrossed in the screen of his phone.

  “Javert?” Valjean squeaked, shocked to see the man only a few feet from him. The man’s head shot up from his phone to meet his eyes, and Jean could have sworn that he began blushing.

  His eyes raked over Javert, and he felt his breath catch; the man was wearing a flattering coat, dark so that it matched with his shirt, with his hair voluminous and arching in a way that could only be described as perfect.

  “Valjean,” he said, surprised himself. Not wanting to be awkward, he briskly strode over, shoving his hands into his pockets. “What are you doing here?”

  Valjean smiled, guessing that his cheeks were bright red, and not only from the cold. “I’m waiting for Cosette. She said she wanted to have dinner with me, to celebrate my first semester as a professor. And you? Could it be that the irreproachable Javert has a date?” Valjean teased with a grin, and he felt his heart do a flip as the man rolled his eyes and scoffed.

   “Please,” he grumbled. “Chabouillet said he had something important to discuss with me.” Valjean did not miss how the color seemed to drain from his face. “He said seven thirty, and he’s never been late. I don’t know if something happened, or…”

   Valjean put a hand on Javert’s shoulder that he hoped was reassuring. “I’m sure he just got caught up in his work.” He stated smartly, and Javert silently nodded, staring at the concrete beneath their feet.

   “You truly enjoy being a professor at the university?” Javert asked after a while, and Jean smiled. The winter air rushed past them, tousling their hair, and Javert could not pretend he did not see how the man’s hair looked so utterly perfect beneath the light of the streetlamp. It brought a beautiful glow, imitating a halo, and he could not ignore the sudden ache in his chest.

   “Yes, actually,” Valjean said with a chuckle. “It’s quite interesting, don’t you think, to see your students grow? To see how their interests peek through their assignments and projects. Especially with Cosette,” his eyes glazed over. “Seeing her enjoy the class so much, I can’t help but feel… like I’ve actually done something right.”

   Javert sneered. “Of course you’ve done something right. She’s a smart girl. Or- so I’ve seen-” he hunched his shoulders a little more when another cold air blew past them, tickling his nose. A moment later, his phone buzzed from his pocket. “Excuse me a moment,” he muttered, pulling it out to look at the screen. At the bottom sat a text from Chabouillet, informing him that something had come up last second and he was unable to meet him. Javert frowned, feeling his anxiety wound up tighter. His cold hands shook a little as he stared at the screen, and he breathed a quiet sigh.

   “Is everything alright?” Jean asked, concerned at the shift in Javert’s expression. He looked back to him and shoved his phone back into his pocket, nodding briefly.

   “Yes,” he assured. “Chabouillet just cancelled on me. Said something came up last second,” he shrugged, as if it had not shaken something within him. Valjean nodded in understanding, keeping the calm smile plastered on his face.

   “I’m sure he’s just busy at the station,” he said. Then, his phone buzzed as well, and he saw an unexpected message by Cosette, also stating that something had come up with her friends and that she was unable to come with him. However, she urged him to not waste the reservation, and go on without her. She also said that she would try to be there before the night was over, but no promises. Jean was at a loss of what to do.

   “Is everything alright with you?” Javert asked, forcing himself not to peek over to see Valjean’s screen. The man frowned, but nodded all the same.

   “Yes, but- It seems that both of our ‘dates’ have cancelled on us.” He glanced back over to the restaurant behind us, then to Javert, who was patiently waiting for him to continue. “Cosette said that I shouldn’t waste the reservation.” He glanced back up to the man one more time. “Well, Javert, it’d be a shame for you to get all dressed up for nothing. Would you- would you like to accompany me inside?”

   Javert’s cheeks seemed to grow redder. “I wouldn’t want to impose-” He argued, but Jean immediately shook his head

   “No, not at all! Please, I insist. I would like to be with a friend tonight.” Valjean placed a hand on his forearm to show that he meant it, and Javert faltered.

   “If you… If you insist,” he huffed, allowing himself to be pulled to the door of the restaurant. Valjean cheered in approval, and pushed him inside. The building was drastically warmer than the outside, and Javert was silently thankful for it. He waited by the corner as Jean gave the reservation name, staring at the dark floor in growing confusion. This night was not at all going according to plan, but for once Javert did not seem to be upset over it. He had the opportunity to spend time with a friend- his only friend; perhaps it wouldn’t be so bad. It was certainly better than spending the night in anxiety with Chabouillet.

   The two men draped their coats over the back of their chairs as they were left to their table, one against the window so that they were able to see the illuminated view of the city. Valjean marveled at the sight. “Look at that,” he sighed in wonder. “Isn’t it beautiful?”

   “Mmhm,” Javert mumbled, but in all honesty, he was not talking about the city view. Against his better judgment, he was watching Valjean, taking in the sight of the man. He wasn’t wearing anything fancy- a dark green waistcoat over a white dress shirt with pants to match- but there was something about him in these clothes, this setting and lighting- that caused something in Javert to flip. How did it get so hot in here all of a sudden? Suddenly he thought back to the last time he was sharing a meal with Valjean in a public setting and internally cringed- oh God, he wasn’t having another panic attack, was he? No, no… He could still breathe, he could still think straight.

   He belatedly realized that Valjean had been talking, and he hadn’t even been paying attention.

   “-and, you know, this doesn’t even compare to some of the other views I’ve seen! God, Javert, you should have seen- oh, forgive me, I’m rambling.” He shook his head, exasperated, his cheeks still red despite the heated room. “Here, let’s change the subject- What are your plans for the Christmas break?”

   Javert looked away to a nearby table. “Nothing, really. I don’t exactly do much anyway come Christmas, so I always just… Stay at my apartment.” He hated the words as soon as they left his mouth. He sounded like such a loser!

   But Jean didn’t seem to think that. “Do you have any family to visit? Or, vice versa?”

   Javert shook his head. “It’s just me. Well, and Ferko, if you want to count him.” He meant that to be the end of the sentence, then forgot that he was supposed to actually make conversation. Hastily, he added, “And you? Anyone other than your daughter?”

   Jean frowned at his response- Pity? Displeasure?- and shook his head. “No, it’s always just been us. Her mother passed away when she was little, and I lost touch with my family a long time ago.” He said, his voice dropping so quiet that Javert could barely hear him over the commotion of the restaurant. Nonetheless, he nodded in understanding, glancing out of the window.

   “What are you going to drink?” Valjean asked, quickly changing the subject. Javert’s eyes made his way back over to the menu, scanning over the wine side and clicking his tongue.

  “I’m not really in the mood for wine or anything like that… Probably just water. You?”

   Valjean laughed. “Well that’s a shame, because I was looking forward to sharing a bottle of Merlot,” he did not show his disappointment, Javert was sure it wasn’t even real, but he started all the same.

   “We can get it if you want,” he amended quickly with a brief wave of his hand.

   “No, no, really, it’s fine-”

   “Get the wine, Valjean.”

   Even Javert was shocked at the sudden coldness in his voice, and he immediately looked away in shame. But Valjean, to his never-ending surprise, began to laugh. He rested his head in his hand and smiled up at Javert, eyes creased in amusement, and Javert thought his chest would burst.

   “If you insist, mon ami,” he shrugged, and looked back down at his menu with a comfortable smile. Javert glared at him through his eyelashes, keeping his head low but eyes still on the man. What was happening to him right now? What sort of hell was going on in his chest right now? Could he really not contain himself any time they stepped foot in an outdoor setting other than the university? This was pathetic.

   Once they gave their drink order to the waiter, Valjean turned his attention back to the view to their left, gazing at it with shimmering eyes. “It truly is remarkable,” he whispered, seemingly to himself, before he turned back to Javert. “Have you ever travelled out of the country?”

   Javert thought about the question. “Perhaps once or twice, for a mission in the police,” he replied, suddenly engrossed in the menu at his lap. “It was never far, usually an adjacent country.”

   Valjean hummed “It must have been nice, no?”

   Javert fidgeted with the corner of his menu, toying with the paper edge. “I’m sure it would’ve been, if we weren’t busy arresting gangs… But I suppose that, at night, the cities were nice. They were like this,” he gestured to the window. “Bright. Like a bunch of stars in the night sky.”

   “When was the last time you went on a mission?” Valjean asked quietly, and Javert closed his eyes, allowing himself to sink into the memory of his old police work. The sound of the restaurant faded around him, replaced with the quiet sounds of the bustling streets, a nearby river.

   “Years ago. Seven, perhaps? I was tied to desk duty for a few months before I was discharged,” he shrugged, opening his eyes again and returning to the moment. Jean was watching him with a curious look of- no, maybe not pity, more along the lines of.. sympathy.

   “I wish it was not so,” he whispered, and dipped his head. “How is it, with the… sickness?” His voice was suddenly thick, and Javert could not fathom why. Nonetheless, he sensed the mood of the conversation darkening, and with that his mood. He did not want to talk about it, not now, not ever, but he felt that if he snapped at Jean one more time over it, he’d try to kill himself all over again.

   After a moment to gather his thoughts, he replied, “It is bothersome. It’s gotten worse over the past few months, I think, but I suppose I should count myself lucky that my development has been slow. Usually, the life expectancy for someone like me is three years. So far, I can still breathe without needing an oxygen tank.”

   Valjean looked equally dismayed and relieved at the answer. He frowned, settling back in his chair, his head slightly tilted to the left so that he resembled a confused dog, able to sense its owner's sadness. “There is no cure for it, is there?” He asked softly, fiddling with his hands.

   Javert shook his head. “The only way to get through it is to get a lung transplant. I would have done it already, but,” he seemed to falter here. He did not finish, allowing the sentence to die off in the heavy air between them, and Valjean felt his throat caught by growing tears.

   “You could never afford it, could you?” Valjean tried to finish for him, and flinched when he felt Javert jerk his head up to meet his eyes.

   “Shut up,” he growled, eyes filled with fury. “Don’t even start. Don’t give me your pity, don’t give me any of that crap. I have it worked out.” He crossed his arms over his chest, staring daggers into Valjean who was resisting the urge not to squirm in his chair.

   “Okay, okay,” he breathed, though his frown was set ever deeper. “Um- I’m going to use the wash room for a moment. Be right back.” He didn’t wait for an answer before bolting out of his chair, leaving Javert at the table without so much as a look back.

   He hurried through the tables, passing through people with half-hearted apologies, all but running to the restroom and shutting the door of the stall behind him. Unwilling to do it out in front of Javert- for he knew the man’s temper was not something to test- he plucked out his phone from his pocket and began to research just how much lung transplants cost, and how long it would take to get them to someone in need. He could not believe that Javert was so prideful and stubborn that he would rather die by illness than ask for help- it was absurd, it was downright stupid.

   Jean spent at least three minutes skimming the internet before he heard another stall close nearby, and remembered where he was. He quickly washed his hands again and fixed up his shirt sleeves before carefully and calmly stepping back out.

   What was Javert thinking? He was endlessly grateful that the disease had not progressed to the extreme yet, but the more they talked about it, the more it dawned on Jean that it was an inevitable future. How could Javert be so calm talking about his life on the line, as if it was the weather? He was baffled, and a little frustrated.

   As he walked through the tables once more, he caught sight of a couple off to the side. He belatedly realized that those faces were not just familiar- he knew them. Two young men, one with hair as blonde as the sun, the other dark and curly- his students. Enjolras and Grantaire were there- leaned in on each other, whispering something that Valjean could tell was of importance. It suddenly clicked to Jean that there was no way that those two would be here dressed so casually- nor together, for if their interactions in class were any hint to their relationship, they despised each other.

   They were here for him and Javert, he realized. It was actually a very smart plan- Cosette would get him to come to the restaurant, suddenly disappear, and would make him spend the night with Javert. Enjolras and Grantaire were making sure it happened right.

   It was a set-up. A set-up done by their students, a set-up that was so perfectly kept under their noses that neither of them knew what hit them.

   When he got back to the table, Javert was sitting, impatiently fiddling with his fork. At some point the wine had been brought, their glasses filled with red. His back automatically straightened when he saw Jean come back, and his face was ridden with guilt.

   “Valjean,” he hesitantly started. “I didn’t mean to act like an ass,” he mumbled, head hung in shame. “I just-”

   Jean waved a dismissive hand at him. “Javert, trust me- it’s fine. I just realized something.” He was practically giggling now, though he felt a little sorry for cutting him off so quickly. Nonetheless, Javert snapped to attention, raising an eyebrow, guilt now forgotten. “I think we- I think this is a set-up,” he announced, and quickly elaborated. “I was walking back from the restroom when I saw two of my students sitting off to the side of the restaurant.”

   “And this proves your point, how? They’re adults, they can go to restaurants if they want.” Javert shrugged, a little annoyed. Valjean shook his head and continued,

   “Sure, but they wouldn’t be dressed in a simple t-shirt and jeans for a restaurant as nice as this. Think about it, Javert: Cosette called me over here, then disappeared at the last minute. Chabouillet called you, and never showed up; I think Enjolras and Grantaire are here just to keep watch of us, make sure we don’t bail on each other.”

   Realization dawned on Javert’s face almost comically. His head jerked to the side, eyes scouting for any glimpse of the spies. Then, he sank low, putting his head in his hands. “God, you’re right. We fell right into their laps- how stupid are we?”

   “I wouldn’t say we’re stupid,” Jean shrugged. “They just… played their cards right. At least they chose a nice restaurant, no?” He offered with an embarrassed smile. So this was a date. A date with Javert.

   The man lifted his head from his palms. “How the hell did they even get in contact with Chabouillet? This is absurd.” He growled, glaring off into the distance of the restaurant. Jean cautiously put his hand over his.

   “Well, if they’re so desperate to try and get us together,” He said meekly, cheeks red. Javert caught on and smiled, his sharp teeth gleaming in the warm light.

   “Might as well put on a show,” he finished determinedly, eyes alight with the determination of competition. Jean blushed at the sight his heart suddenly alight with a reminder that he genuinely loved this man. This stubborn, tempered man.

   In a bout of confidence, he put his hand back on Javert’s and began to run gentle circles over the back of his palm. Javert’s hand twitched under his, making to move away but quickly amending to allowing himself to stay there.

   “You know, I really do love this shirt on you,” he grinned, unable to believe that they were doing this. That he was able to hold Javert’s hand, give him compliments. He wished it was not a ruse, for the blush that formed upon Javert’s cheeks was something that Jean only thought possible in his dreams.

   Javert’s smile was crooked, unusual. “Rather generic, no?” He scoffed, a hint of mischief gleaming in his eyes. Jean laughed, dipping his head a little.

   “But nonetheless true,” he added, smiling warmly. Javert felt his heart give another sudden tug, and his smile immediately dropped. His hand twitched beneath Jean’s, but did not move away. Trying to hide the unknown phenomenon occurring within him, Javert upturned the corner of his mouth so that he did not appear perturbed.

   “We are being fools, you know,” he huffed, but the smile did not leave Valjean's face; if anything, it grew bigger.

   “Is there anything wrong with that? My daughter seems determined to push us together; we are merely allowing her mind to be at ease. No?” Jean asked with a shrug, and Javert considered it. Yes- it was all just an act to get the kids off of their backs; no more than that.

   And yet, something in him suddenly screamed- But you want it to be true! He was startled by this, uncertain of where this voice had formed from. The past month, his mind had been a place of absolute chaos, where he himself couldn’t even find peace amongst the myriad of voices that would never shut up.

   This voice was different. It was new, unexpected. Perhaps it had something to do with the tightness in his chest- no, probably not. It was just nerves- nerves that had yet to calm down from the expectancy of meeting Chabouillet.

   But Jean was smiling at him, and a realization dawned upon Javert, so much so that he tore his hand away in shock.

   This was not nerves, this was not anxiety, this was not heart palpitations.

   This was love.

   As much as this man annoyed him, tested his limits so much that Javert thought he was going to snap in two every time he spoke to him, there was something about his companionship that

   Javert put his hands on the side of the table, meaning to leave, but something stopped him. His anguish must’ve been present on his face, for Jean’s smile dropped like a stone and was immediately replaced with concern.

   “Oh, are you alright? What’s wrong? Was I too forward?”

   Javert huffed, having trouble staying on track. He settled back into the chair, crossing his arms over his chest and willing himself to calm down. “I’m good.” Valjean didn’t seem convinced. “I’m fine, Valjean. I swear. I just- I remembered something.”

   Valjean raised an eyebrow, looking at him expectantly. Javert did not have a lie on him, so he dodged again.

   “Will you relax? It’s nothing.” Then he added, irritated, “No wonder your hairs gone white. You stress over every little thing!”

   Valjean looked hurt. “I do not! But when someone suddenly jumps out of their seat in the middle of a conversation, it raises some questions.” His face held a frown, but it did not seem as deep as before. "But- If you say you're fine, then I guess you are. Now, where were we?”

   Javert hummed, relaxing back into his chair and desperately trying to ignore the erratic thumping in his chest. "I think we were discussing how absolutely irrational you are." At the sight of Valjean's dismay, he laughed, sounding a little looney himself.

   "You're incredibly rude, you know," Valjjean huffed, but a smie played on his lips. Javert crossed his arms over his chest, smirking.

   "You love it," Javert finalized, and both men felt their hearts skip a little.

-

   The evening passed in a success. Grantaire was giddy the entire time, constantly texting the group chat that it was true- Javert and Valjean were dating.

   Cosette seemed the most excited by the news than anyone else. She was raving, informing them all about how she knew their secret for weeks. Grantaire had, in fact, known much longer than her, and had actually been the entire reason she even knew about it- but he let her have her victory.

   Grantaire and Enjolras had been watching Javert and Valjean throughout their meal, and every move they made. Whatever crap they had heard about Javert was ultimately forgotten once they came to the verdict that Javert was a perfect match for Valjean. Oddly enough, he could make the man spit out his drink laughing, almost to the point of crying. It was sweet.

  Grantaire deemed the night a success and finally indulged Enjolras in leaving them be. They left the restaurant, Grantaire sulky and a little tipsy.

   Enjolras drove him home, the ride silent save for the asphalt of the road.

-

   “I think I drunk too much,” Valjean huffed, holding his head as they walked out of the restaurant. Javert scoffed beside him, upturning his mouth in a snarky grin.

   “You had two glasses of wine. One and a half!” Javert barker, laughing. He held a bag of leftovers in his hand, swaying it a little as they walked down the concrete path.

   “I haven’t had wine in forever, can you blame an old man for feeling a little tipsy?” Valjean laughed, pretending to stumble around if only to bump his shoulder with Javert’s.

   The act was long forgotten. This was real, unbarred love for one another. Perhaps they were both too old to be doing this, perhaps a little too forward with it, but neither were aware of the other’s behavior. They saw each other in the light of companionship, the wine having dulled down even Javert’s keen senses.

   There’s a bridge a little while down the path, and they walk over to it slowly, taking their time and lacing their fingers together. The street is lit with bright lanterns, and though the air was cold and stiff, it meant nothing when they were in each others company.

   “Your cheeks are red,” Valjean commented after a moment of silence, grinning stupidly. Javert rolled his eyes, stopping in the middle of the bridge to stare out to the water.

   “So are yours, you know,” Javert hums, though his eyes are turned to the horizon of the moon and stars, shimmering down to reflect against the calm waters below.

   Valjean watches him with a fascination. How calm he looked, any agitation wiped from his face for this one, perfect moment. Then Javert’s eyes turned upwards, towards the stars, and he smiled.

   “You’re getting better,” Valjean whispered with a smile. To his surprise, Javert did not immediately snap back into his usual frown, but continued to smile, turning his gaze to look down at Valjean.

   “Mm,” he hummed, creasing his brows ever so slightly. “I suppose so.” He sighed a little, turning back to the water. “It’s odd- I do not feel like myself. I feel like I’m a fraud, in the wrong skin.”

   “You are someone new, and yet you are still the same Javert I have always known.” Valjean assured with a caressing hand on his arm.

   Valjean could not be more proud of Javert than he was at that moment. He was wholly in love, he was sure his heart was bursting. Javert was beautiful, perfect even in his flaws. Despite the turmoil he had pushed through, he held himself with posture that could only be described as immaculate, an air of certainty surrounding him even when he was not so certain.

    Damn it all, Cosette had been right. Despite everything, he loved Javert. He loved the huffs of irritation he made every time someone said something he remotely disagreed with; he loved the way he seemed to relax whenever he was in the presence of Valjean or Ferko, how he melted into the cushions and allowed himself to be free; he loved the now short, fluffy hair that somehow matched him almost as well as the long hair had; he loved how his eyes seemed to catch everything around them, how not even a single detail managed to skip past him; he loved how his smile resembled that of a tiger, fierce and imposing yet beautiful all the same.

   He had not acted tonight. His actions were as pure as you could get- Once sworn to secrecy, only to be revealed at the findings of the setup. In all honesty, he was glad that the students had done it; he did not know how he would have been able to continue on hiding his feelings.

   And to his surprise, his love did not seem to be one-sided. Javert truly seemed to be enjoying himself- save for the start of their conversation at the beginning of the night- and he had never known the man to be a strong liar. How could it be that his feelings were as pure as Valjean’s, that there was a fighting chance that this could be real? Surely not…

   But Javert was smiling at him, his hair highlighted by the moon and warm light of the lantern behind him. He was perfect.

   “Do you think so?” Javert asked, and for a moment Valjean had to remind himself of what they were talking about, “if I am so changed, then, I can say the same for you. You, who was once Jean-le-Cric, now a saint.” He laughed, shoulders trembling in his own silent way. “It should be impossible. You, are impossible.”

   In his speech, he has dared to come closer. Chests nearly touching now, he gave a short sigh, as much as his lungs will allow. “I’m glad that we this. It was… fun.” He struggled to find the words, mouth moving awkwardly. Valjean smiled like an idiot, squeezing the hand that had stayed resting on Javert’s arm.

   “We ought to do it again,” he said nonchalantly, though his grin gave it all away. “I had a good time tonight.”

   Something in Javert’s chest cracked, then, and he stifled a whimper with a cough. He willed himself not to let it go on any further, and instead nodded in agreement.

   Javert took in the sight before him. If Valjean had been beautiful in the restaurant, he looked positively angelic out here. The moonlight reflected against the white curls in his head, turning it into something like a halo, while his eyes shone brightly with a look Javert did not realize was admiration. Javert’s chest ached with the sudden need to hear the man’s laugh, to hear his loud, resonating chuckle and see his shoulders shake.

   How could it be that he felt so much love for this man? It shouldn’t be possible, what with how unexpected the realization had been. Only tonight he had figured it out for himself, and here he was, fantasizing like a teenage girl!

   His eyes traveled down to Valjean’s lips. He had never kissed another- neither woman nor man- and he had little knowledge of it. But, how odd it was, that thinking of pressing those lips to his own could be so enticing- almost as if they were trying to lure him in-

   The kiss is not as romantic as the movies always make it out to be. Javert, with his minimal experience, pushed forward an inch too far, causing their teeth to momentarily clash. He heard Valjean’s grunt of surprise, and perhaps even pull away, and his heart sunk with the realization that the man might not have wanted this at all.

   But then suddenly he is kissing him back, turning his head so that they may find a proper position. His heart does a flip, and he cannot breathe, but damn it all- what does it matter, when Jean Valjean is kissing him?

   They came apart with a gasp of air. Jean looked up at him with tears forming in his eyes, his lips quivering before breaking out into a smile. Javert watched him with reddening cheeks, averting his eyes off to the side. Then Jean’s hand was at his cheek, bringing his gaze back to him.

   “You have no idea how much I wanted to do that,” Jean said with a giggle. Javert smiled despite himself, dipping his head.

   “I can’t believe I did that,” he gasped, hands beginning to shake.

   “Do you regret it?”

   Javert met his eyes. “…No,” he said, his voice choked and no more than a whisper. “No, I don’t regret it.”

   Jean smiled wider. “Good, because I don’t either.” Then his eyes darted from Javert’s eyes to his lips, and he quickly closed the distance between them again.

-

   Cosette was waiting for him when he entered the house. Perched on the couch with a book, she jumped over to him when she saw him open the door.

   “I’m so sorry I missed dinner, Papa! Something came up with Grantaire, and I-“

   Jean held up a hand to make her pause. “I know about your plan, Cosette. I had dinner with Javert tonight.”

   Cosette beamed at once. “How did it go?” She asked, practically trembling with excitement. Jean cowered at her enthusiasm; he was unaware that it would be so important to her.

   “I kissed him,” Valjean whimpered, dragging his hands over his mouth. He could not breathe, could not think properly- he barely registered Cosette’s squeal of joy from his left.

   “That’s wonderful! I’m so proud of you, Papa!” She laughed, wrapping her arms around him in a tight embrace. Valjean still scarcely noticed it. He was unable to wrap his head around the fact that he had genuinely done it- he had kissed Javert. How could such a thing be possible?

   Simultaneously, his heart cheered in victory and giddy love, while his mind screamed at him that he had just screwed everything up.

   It caused a wild feeling to well up in his stomach. He stared off as Cosette kissed him and bid him goodnight, walking off to her room. Once she was gone, his knees failed him almost immediately, and he grappled at the kitchen counter for balance.

   He had kissed Javert.