amen, amen | enjoltaire

Chapter One

It was like clockwork. At exactly 8pm, every night, Cosette's bedroom light would turn on. It had been this way for several years. Her adoptive father was incredibly overprotective, and often ended up subjecting her to strict rules that were more ridiculous than anything else. Like an 8pm bedtime.

She didn't mind too much any more, but it had been a point of contention throughout her teenage years. It also proved problematic when she started dating, and had to tell her boyfriends that she wasn't allowed out past 8. Enjolras maintained that any guy who would think less of her because of her dad's rules probably wasn't a great guy in the first place.

Enjolras was most of the reason she didn't quite mind having such an early bedtime any more. They'd been next-door neighbours for as long as either of them could remember, and their bedroom windows looked directly into each others'. A terrible architectural decision, Enjolras knew, but one that benefited the both of them.

They'd tried opening the windows and shouting, at first. They'd been no older than six and didn't quite realise that the whole street could hear their conversation- including both Cosette's dad and Enjolras's parents. Enjolras remembers the embarrassment he felt when his mother burst into the room and demanded to know who he'd just been discussing the life cycle of butterflies with. It wasn't exactly confidental information, but realising himself and Cosette weren't the only ones privy to their words made his cheeks burn nevertheless.

They tried their best to be quieter after that, but the presence of the outside world still hindered the conversation. It wasn't until they began to learn to read and write more comprehensively that the idea of writing notes in paper pads came to them. They wasted a lot of paper those first few years, especially after they realised that thick black marker was much easier to read over the distance than erasable pencil.

They saw each other outside of their bedrooms, of course. The two grew incredibly close over the years. They were more akin to siblings than friends- growing up alongside each other, always with the other when they could be. Their blonde curls and striking blue eyes had them mistaken for twins on several occasions. The two delighted in it. It was the best kind of pretend- imagining that they were, in fact, siblings. They were both the only child of their respective families, and it was immensely refreshing to have somebody they could call a sibling.

Their parents didn't get along. Mr Valjean, Cosette's adoptive father, didn't like that Cosette's best friend was a boy. He never did anything to hinder their friendship, but Enjolras could feel the dislike from the man the moment they met. Enjolras's parents didn't mind Cosette, but they showed as clear distaste for Valjean as he did for their son. Enjolras's parents were the archetypal white British Christians, which didn't bode well for a dark-skinned ex-con with no discernible partner and a daughter who he was so clearly not related to by blood.

They had tried to make them get along. Enjolras would write "Cosette and Mr Valjean" on the invitations to his birthday parties, and Cosette would always drag her father along. It never worked, however. He typically spent the whole event sitting in a too-small chair in the corner, tiny plastic cup in-hand and watching his daughter like a hawk. Enjolras's parents would stand at the other end, tutting and muttering about him, even a few times asking Enjolras not to invite him next year. Not that he would have listened. It was likely that Cosette wouldn't even be allowed to attend without Valjean, and thus he continued to invite him.

Despite seeing eachother in the outside world regularly, there was something special about their silent night-time conversations. It felt like a sacred ritual, unloading the burden of the day onto the other every night without fail. They both had phones by now, but neither thought for a second about switching to them. Handwritten notes were all they wanted or needed for this. Now they were both eighteen, it was almost nostalgic in a sense. This tradition and routine that the two of them had shared for so many years was one that felt like it couldn't be broken. Enjolras lost his phone often, anyway. His parents had a habit of siding with his teachers whenever he got into any sort of trouble at school, and now college, which meant he was frequently grounded. The fact that he was now legally an adult didn't seem to bother them.