Enjolras threw open his apartment door and surrounded himself with the natural things in life; They were few, but beautiful, and he lavished in them. He didn't care how dark it was outside, how cold the autumn air was on his skin, how the pouring rain matted down his golden hair, causing it to stick to his forehead and neck most uncomfortably. Enjolras didn't care. He was cleansing himself, starting over from the beginning, letting the stress wash off his skin like filth, down into the depths of the Parisian sewers. When he was done, he went straight back to work. [or, recent law grad enjolras decides to take on a case- a series of mysterious deaths are plaguing paris, and one person is taking all the blame: jean valjean. arrested and released for theft thirty years ago, no one is willing to let him forget it. enjolras, however, is convinced that valjean is innocent, and decides not only to defend him, but to investigate the deaths on his own.]

In which Jehan survives the barricades, courtesy of a mysterious criminal. | Word Count: 2,356 |