❛ there's been no one like him anywhere, anywhere where he is ❜
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18.❛ please, never stop smiling ❜
━━━ 𝐈𝐦𝐚𝐠𝐢𝐧𝐞 , please never stop smiling.
You met Jean Prouvaire, or more commonly known as Jehan, as a child. Neither of you came from extremely wealthy families and often struggled with money, however, that didn't matter to either of you. Jehan found happiness between the pages of a book, more specifically poems where he found he could succumb to his deepest and darkest thoughts. It was therapeutic for him and you loved it; you had always begged and begged to hear his own work, and he declined with a heavy blush, but you always managed to run him down, eventually.
When your parents passed you were forced to a life on the streets where you met your most trusted friend, Eponine. She took you under her wing and taught you how to survive the wretched streets. You learnt how to steal without your victim knowing, which alleys were best for an escape, and most importantly (though, also the most tragic) how to sell yourself. You were embarrassed by whom you've become; you felt a burning shame, especially having given yourself up before marriage.. to the one you loved, you felt guilty for ruining yourself, he didn't deserve that. And so you cut all ties from your closest friend, and secretly beloved, Jean Prouvaire.
Jehan, the soft spoken, uncoordinated, poet deserved so much more than a filthy prostitute, at least that's how you saw it. He was kind, gentle and tender, the definition of pure heart and childlike innocence. He was everything needed in the catastrophic world they lived in, you just wish he would stay that way forever. Even if you weren't there to see it.
You sat alone in a darkening alley way, hunched against a brick wall trying to keep out of the way. People passed by dressed in luxurious clothes made from the finest of cottons and silks, you watched with slight envy as they flounced around and boasted about their riches, all while ignoring your pitiful display of begging for scraps.
You hated your life, living on the streets wasn't something you imagined your future to hold. But it's what you had now and that was it, you tried to make the best of what little you had and that was enough, for now.
Your friend, Eponine, shared the same opinion as yourself. She longed to get off the dangerous streets and into a home of her own, one she yearned to share with her secret beloved Marius Pontmercy, a secretly rich revolutionary who had stolen her heart. It was a shame her love was unrequited, much like your own...
"Y/N?" The all so familiar voice of Jean Prouvaire called as you sat in a heap on the cold floor. The September chills were really getting to you, your bare arms were smothered in goosebumps as they worked relentlessly up and down your body in hopes of gaining warmth. It didn't work.
"Jean?" You questioned, your voice meek as you gazed up at the man you once knew. He stood a few paced away from you, dressed in the same old mismatched clothes he always used to wear; a white shirt, blue jacket, red and purple ascot, khaki trousers and brown boots. Despite his obvious lack of fashion you thought he couldn't look any better, he was truly gorgeous.
You scrambled to your feet as the man approached you, his auburn hair glowing within the last of the evening light. The sun setting behind him seemed to brighten his beauty, he was purely radiant as he stared at you in wonder.
"Y/N, oh sweet y/n," he whispered, quickening his pace until he was standing before you. You were trapped between his body and the brick wall behind you, practically no space between you two which was convenient for him.. you had no where to run. "Why did you run? Why did you disappear and leave me, you are- wait, are you living here?"
You swallowed thickly and nodded, "Yes," you whispered, your confidence falling further at the crestfallen look on his face.
"I heard what happened to your parents, I'm so sorry," he said, gazing down at you with sympathy. "But you needn't have to run, I could have helped you, dear y/n. You should have known I would have helped-"
"I know, Jean," you replied, sighing in exasperation. You sunk further into the wall in hopes of putting some space between the two of you. "I couldn't allow you to do that."
"You were always so prideful," he whispered, gazing fondly at you. You felt yourself melt at his words, he spoke of you with such fondness that brought warmth to your hardened heart. You hated it.
"Please just stop," you whispered meekly.
"What?" He asked, confusion laced in his tone.
"I'm not the same y/n you once knew, Jean," you said, your voice filled with sorrow as you stared up at him with an equally as crestfallen expression. "I'm homeless, I have barely a bloody franc to my name, I steal, I lie, I manipulate... I sell myself."
"What?" He spluttered out, his gorgeous blue eyes shining in sadness. They weren't your typical blue, no, they were more like a crystallised ocean from foreign seas.
"I'm a prostitute, Jean," you replied, rolling your eyes. Your tone was filled with nothing but bitterness as you spilled all your darkest secrets, ones you had hidden from him for a long time. "I didn't want you to see me like this, I'm unfaithful to the person I love and am nothing more than a street rat. I'm nothing. You, sweet, adorable and kind Jean Prouvaire, deserve so much more than the likes of me-" you place your hand on his cheek. "-an ugly, repulsive, vermin."
"You are none of those things," he shook his head firmly.
"I am all of those things," you replied sadly. "I am no good for you, and don't even try to deny it-" you quickly added once he opened his mouth to argue once more. "-I am not worthy of you, an impure person - a criminal."
"I don't care!" Jean Prouvaire bellowed, his usual velvety voice roaring with passion. It was a surprise to you, he knew it simply from the silence he received. "I don't care," he spoke, softer this time as he timidly reach forward to place his larger hand on your unusually skinny shoulder. "You could be he richest person in the world, a prostitute at the docks or wait staff. I don't care- well, I do care because you don't deserve the life of the docks. But that doesn't change who you are; a loving, selfless, beautiful young person, the one that I love."
"What?" You asked, your voice barely above a whisper as you gazed up at him in wonder. You were afraid you misheard, he couldn't love you... could he?
"I love you, y/n, more than anything," he repeated, moving his now shaking hand to your cheek, gently rubbing his thumb along your cheekbone.
"You do?" You asked, still in disbelief as he smiled down at you.
"I do," he replied. A small smile made its way to your lips, showcasing your slightly yellowing teeth, Jean could see a few missing from the back where you had sold them in order to survive. And yet he didn't care, to him your smile was the most beautiful thing he had ever witnessed. "Please, never stop smiling. Oh, how I love that beautiful smile."
You chuckled, shaking your head as tears of happiness filled your eyes, "I love you too, Jean Prouvaire." And so, the two of your sealed your love with a passionate and timeless kiss.
