Les Misérables One Shots, Imagines And Preferances

Jehan - Away

Jehan sat quietly on the wall with the flowers in his hands, a nervous emotion in place upon his face, y/n Combeferre opposite him with all the other friends watching from the other side of the wall with hopeful smiles upon each of their small twelve year old faces.

“Hello Jehan,” y/n greeted him as she went to sit down beside him.

“Hi,” he mumbled the nerves clutching his heart like ivy.

“Why did you need to see me?” she asked him to be greeted with a stuttery mumble.

“N-n-needed to tell y-you s-s-something.”

“What?” she hummed.

“Here!” he shut his eyes tight and pushed the flowers to her with her eyelashes fluttering fuddled.

As she held the daisies baffled she noticed the piece of folded paper that contained what only Jehan knew or so she thought.

Her eyes scanned down the perfectly white page with little drawings of flowers all down the side before she let a giggle escape her pink lips.

“Oh Jehan!” she exclaimed before throwing herself at him and hugging him.

“Woah,” he mumbled as he found her buried in his chest expecting things to have ended very differently.

Y/n just snuggled into him happily as he awkwardly wrapped his arms around her, not very sure what he was meant to do.

“That’s the nicest thing that’s ever happened to me Jehan, thank you,” she decided before exiting the embrace and deciding that it would be a good idea to be brave.

She began to veer towards the flushed fellow feeling courageous as though all her courage had finally been turned to sight. And before anyone could do anything, well anyone being Jehan or the rest of the friends of the ABC y/n kissed Jehan’s cheek leaving him blushing badly to say the least.

And that’s how things went. Little gestures were exchanged between the little sister of the friends and the poet progressing steadily from kissing his cheek to holding his hand to not seeing each other ever again.

There comes a time in a young lady’s life when it becomes unacceptable to run about with a group of boys from lots of different backgrounds and a few street girls and so to resolve the issue and avoid scandal she was sent off to a boarding school in the far off countryside where she never left until she turned 18.

She was a fine young lady when she returned, her face a little changed, her smile possibly prettier, her eyes watchful and her pen accomplished.

Combeferre had been sitting in their parents' sitting room when the girl returned, drew up to the house by a carriage and was led out by hand by the driver, her eyes darting to the door where Combeferre stood when he got up.

“Thank you,” she nodded at the driver.

“Y/n!” Mme. Combeferre began, her arms wide for her daughter.

“Mama,” the girl laughed as she was engulfed into a hug.

“How I’ve missed my baby girl,” she mumbled before withdrawing herself. “But look at you now! You’re a little lady!”

Y/n’s head hung down a wee bit, her cheeks dusted with a blush and her hands fidgeting with one another under their gloves.

“‘Ferre,” she laughed before rushing to her older brother and hugging him which he returned awkwardly.

“N/n,” he let a low laugh out.

“It’s good to be back,” she smiled at her assembled family before being led back inside.