"ARE WE SURE this is legal?" Elizabeth asked, looking around nervously in case there were any witnesses.
The bustling streets of Paris, typically alive with festive cheer, were cloaked in frost and echoing the soft whispers of snowflakes falling silently from the slate-colored sky.
Elizabeth, bundled in her coat, stood outside the Café Musain, her breath forming small clouds in the frigid air.
"Are we really doing this?" she asked, raising an eyebrow at Courfeyrac, Combeferre, Marius, and little Gavroche as they huddled close, the determination in their eyes sparkling brighter than the holiday decorations around them.
They had discovered Gavroche wandering the streets, and he decided to join in on the fun.
"Of course! What would Christmas be without a tree?" Courfeyrac exclaimed, an impish grin stretching across his face. "The perfect symbol of rebellion. Now, let's go chop one down!"
"No one cares about a common tree," Elizabeth muttered, crossing her arms.
Yet, beneath her defiant exterior, a thrill sparked. They took off down the street, laughter trailing behind them as they ventured into the woods beyond the city, an act of defiance against the dark sky and the even darker predilections of authority.
"Over here! This one!" Gavroche's voice pierced through the crisp air, and soon there was a flurry of activity as the group felled what they confidently claimed as the finest tree in the forest.
With their treasure secured, the group darted back to the café, adrenaline and laughter intertwining as they raced through the dim streets, the clandestine adventure weaving threads of unity amongst them.
Once inside, Elizabeth set her books aside to assist Gavroche in decorating the tree.
They rummaged about, gathering stray ribbons, dusty ornaments hidden in the nooks of the café, and bits of colored paper.
That spirit echoed through the café until Enjolras stormed in, his presence silencing the laughter.
"We must convene," he demanded, eyes shining with an intensity that made Elizabeth bristle.
Gavroche stayed behind, not wanting to leave and be alone.
The meeting swirled around ideals and dreams of revolution, but soon it became tedious, and Enjolras, glancing from face to face, declared, "Why don't you all just go home?"
A chorus of laughter erupted, relief and camaraderie lighting up the heavy atmosphere.
Soon, the group found themselves outside the café, fresh snow gleaming under the moonlight, an idea brewing in the young hearts.
Courfeyrac seized the moment and threw a snowball at Elizabeth, hitting her squarely on the shoulder. "You didn't see that coming!" he laughed.
With a competitive spirit ignited, Elizabeth retaliated, crafting a snowball and aiming it at Courfeyrac but missing, only to hit Enjolras squarely in the face.
The impact was so sudden, so unexpected, that the world seemed to freeze, laughter becoming the only sound. Elizabeth gasped, her eyes wide.
Enjolras wiped the snow from his face, utterly aghast for a heartbeat, but then, for just the briefest moment, a smile tugged at his lips.
Elizabeth, cheeks flushed from both cold and exhilaration, felt her heart leap. "I'm sorry! I didn't mean-"
"Clearly," he replied, and the laughter around them bridged the gap between their constant bickering.
A playful snowball fight ensued as they all let go of their seriousness, becoming children again in the gentle embrace of winter.
As exhaustion began to arrive, the group dispersed, heading to their homes with lingering giggles and flushed cheeks.
Gavroche, however, lingered by Elizabeth. "Can I stay at your place? I don't want to be alone," he murmured with a hint of vulnerability beneath his bravado. He was clearly embarrassed to even ask.
"Of course," she replied gently, sinking into her role as protector.
Once they were inside her modest apartment, she brewed a kettle of hot tea, the steam curling into the air, warming the room against the cold nipping outside.
After they settled on the couch, Gavroche shifted, resting his head against the cushion. "Can you read me one of your stories?" he asked, the innocence in his voice tugging at Elizabeth's heart.
"I suppose I can. Just one," she smiled, opening her worn notebook.
She read aloud about an evil king who had cast his son out-only for the son to reclaim his rightful crown by virtue and valor, proving that good would always triumph over evil.
As her words wrapped around them like a warm blanket, Gavroche nodded off, eyes heavy with sleep, contentment transforming his boyish features.
Elizabeth closed the notebook, gazing fondly at the sleeping boy.
She understood that even the coldest of Christmas Eves could blossom into warmth, the truth of her story lingering in the air.
Even against a backdrop of winter, and perhaps, just maybe, miracles loomed within their reach.
But then again, maybe not.
✎ᝰ
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throw away, i don't write like this all the time i promise!!!
