ADIEU » LES MISÉRABLES | ✓

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

Enjolras hardly ever noticed people. It was one of his many flaws. He had an obsession with large, fiery and elaborate plans, and everything he carried out had to be on a big scale. There was simply no time to view people as individuals. In his head, he had them neatly grouped out - the monarchy, the bourgeoisie, and the abaissés - the downtrodden. It was easier that way. 

Sometimes, it felt wrong to classify people like that. For example, Feuilly, the poorest of the Amis, had naturally been put in the last category. But he constantly strove to improve himself. Though he could not afford any form of education, he taught himself how to read. While the rest of the men worked as doctors and lawyers, he made fans for a living, and wasn't bitter about it. He wasn't a part of the abased. He had pulled himself to greater heights, and had long since left that part of him behind.

Sometimes, Enjolras was forced to see certain people as individuals. More often than not, those people were the ones he learned to respect the most.

His gaze was inevitably drawn to Claudine. One observation he'd made about her was that she always held herself tall. Other women kept their postures shy and demure because that was the way men liked them. Claudine never did. What she lacked in stature, she made up for in poise and confidence. Even when challenged, even when afraid, she never shrunk herself into someone lesser than who she actually was.

Ever since the Court burned down, a quiet sadness had etched itself into her every feature. Still, she held her head high, like an indignant declaration against all that had happened. You will not destroy me. I am stronger than that.

Amidst the other men's words of reassurance, she turned to look at him, beautiful the way a star was, at once subtle and at once radiant.

He swallowed. He was terrible at comforting people. His tongue was only good for speeches and orations. When it came to Claudine, he never knew what to say.

He consoled her in the only way he knew how. He smiled.

Judging by the painfully amused look on Courfeyrac's face, he knew he must have looked utterly stupid.

He let out a breath he didn't know he had been holding. That was why he never smiled.

___

That night, after the meeting, Claudine roped him into taking her to the Seine. She hadn't needed to say too much, really - she didn't know it, but he would have followed her anywhere.

They stood on the bridge, the wind nipping at the tips of their ears and noses. The black waters of the River Seine churned beneath them, turbulent and deadly.

Claudine leaned over the banister. "I've only ever seen the Seine during the day. It looks so different at night."

"Careful," Enjolras muttered, but she didn't appear to have heard.

"It looks like it's capable of killing. Like it wants to suck your soul into its depths. Enjolras, have you wondered what it would feel like if you just hauled yourself over the edge?"

He had. When he first arrived, he'd missed his family so much, and had been so disgusted at himself for even thinking that, that he had briefly considered jumping. "Yes. But I was a coward. I knew the water would be ice-cold, so I left."

Claudine laughed. "Yes, it would. But before you hit the water, when you're falling, it would feel exhilarating, wouldn't it? For those precious few seconds you are suspended in the air, you would finally feel at bliss. Just think of it - a world with no more pain, no more sorrow."