Those Who Fall in Love. |Enjolras|

5. February

Paris, France
February, 1831

The months of winter were beginning to melt away, the fluffy, bright snow morphing into brown and grey sludge in the middle of the street. Roofs leaked as water began to seep through the cracks in the shingles. February was the gray area between winter and spring that was not quite one or the other. The month lacked the seasonal and holiday cheer that December and January provided. The month was completely dreary, for most, but for Lorraine, the month had one day that wasn't as miserable as the rest. Her birthday. But even this year, her birthday had been muddled by the awfulness that was February.

She had come down with a cold. Her nose was stuffed and running at the same time, her head was in massive amounts of pain, her throat was sore, her body ached, the list of symptoms was never ending. She cuddled up to a pillow, her body half covered by blankets, as she tried to sleep the sickness away. A wet cloth was stuck to her sweaty forehead, not doing much at cooling her hot skin. Her aunt had barricaded her in her bedroom, forbidding her from leaving, and forbidding anyone from entering. She would crack open the door and slip a tray full of food in the door before she would close it. Grantaire would lay outside her room during his visits, talking to her through the door about anything.

On the night of her birthday, her fever had broke, and she was deemed well enough to leave her room and enter the cafe after it closed.

Now, she was curled up in her chair, a hot mug of tea clasped in between her hands. She held the mug close to her lips, letting the steam from the liquid warm her face. She had a thin blanket draped around her shoulders to keep her warm. Her hair was a mess, pulled back by a thick ribbon, stray hairs falling down around her face.

"Happy birthday, my niece." Lorraine's aunt smiled, sitting down across from her. She had her own cup of tea, sipping it gingerly. She had given Lorraine a small golden colored heart pendant necklace that had once belonged to her mother. She clasped it around her neck, and was now fiddling with the chain.

"Merci." She said, her voice still gravelly.

They sat in a deep silence for a moment, both drinking their tea. Lorraine watched the bucket in the middle of the floor that was collecting water from a leak in the ceiling. It made a satisfying clinking sound, which filled the air. Rain poured down in sheets outside, creating a silvery river on the stones outside. Earlier, children had been running through it, splashing in the puddles, before their parents called them back inside to avoid getting sick.

A knock came from the door, making both women perk up. It was late at night, and the streets would be nearly empty.

"Stay here." Sandrine warned, getting up slowly and making her way to the door.

She removed the bolt from it, opening the door a crack.

"Open the door, would you?" A voice came from outside. "You wouldn't keep a poor old man out in the rain, surely?"

Sandrine smirked, "you're not old."

"Oh, move over." Grantaire pushed passed Sandrine. He pulled a hood from his head, shaking his now wet hair. He had his arm around a small boy, leading him inside and out of the rain. He took the coat the boy was wearing, not that the scrap of rags was doing much to keep him warm and dry.

Gavroche ran to Lorraine, hugging her tightly. He shivered, and she hugged him back, running her hands up and down his arms to make the goosebumps disappear. She pulled out a chair at her table, and he sat down, taking her mug of tea. He held it close to his face, letting the steam warm his numb face. He took a small sip, sighing as the liquid warmed his body.