milliways_bar | College AU Frenchmen!

...this isn't his bedroom. Jean Valjean - dressed in shorts and a muscle T, covered in sweat - rubs a towel over his face, and blinks quite a lot. Then he sticks his head back through the door, and yells, 'Javert!'

'What?'

'Come look.'

Javert - mussed hair, jeans, sullen expression, a scar around his neck - slopes through the door. He also blinks a lot, and doesn't stop the door closing behind them. While Valjean spends his time staring about, his eyes fall on the leaflets nearby. He picks one up, reads it, then touches Valjean's arm to get his attention.

'Here.'

A couple of minutes later, they're staring at each other. Javert shakes his head. Valjean nods, and stretches for the door handle...which won't open. His eyes go wide as he tugs on it, and Javert has to take his wrist to stop him trying to wrench his way out.

'It's OK. We'll just get a drink and wait for it to open. It says here that it will. OK?'

'...OK.'

And so there's two wary young guys at the bar, eyeing drinks suspiciously. Well, Valjean is. Javert is eyeing Valjean, because...well. Just because.

[OOC: AU guys, obviously! Write-up on their background here. You can pretty much do what you want with them, they're only here for a week. This is open until whenever, and they'll each get an independent EP at some point. \o/]

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

"What's stopping you?" Sin asks, not unkindly.

He snorts. Valjean shifts uncomfortably on his seat.

'Well, y'know, some of us have to work to get our first degree. Some of us have funding dependent on it, and on reaching certain grades while having to work almost full-time hours as well, plus volunteer to get experience to get accepted for the career we want. We can't all just take off to get that kind of experience, and give no fucks about...you know what, forget it.'

If someone hasn't had to work like that, they'd never understand. Javert stands up and digs the four bucks he has out of his pocket, throws them down on the bar for his Coke, and stalks off angrily.

Valjean watches him go - so he knows where to find him in a minute - and sighs.

'He's got a point, you know,' he says to Sin, only a lot more politely.

Sin's expression soften and he sighs. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to upset him like that. I came from nothing too. I know what it means to fight for everything you have."

He turns on his seat to look at the guy properly.

'Yeah, well, maybe you're just smarter than him. And me. I don't think either of us could pull four Masters' degrees out of our ass, and then travel around off the back of them. Saying we could is a little insulting.'

Valjean doesn't usually tell people off, even mildly, but it was kind of insensitive.

'He'll be OK. Truth is, neither of us want that kind of life even if we could have it. He's too set on his career, and I've got ties where I am.'

He shrugs a shoulder. He doesn't need to say the guy hit a nerve with Javert, because that's obvious, but he can let him know that it's not as bad as it might seem.

"I'm sorry." Sin lowers his eyes, hair falling over his face. "I guess I'm too use to having to defend who and what I am. I came on too strong." He pushes his hair back, his eyes rimmed with red. "Tell your friend I'm sorry." He turns to go too.

He snorts quietly.

'You don't have to worry about defending yourself with us. But you couldn't have known that. Don't worry about it, OK?'

Neither he nor Javert have backgrounds anyone would want to advertise, and neither of them give a fuck about the way someone dresses or comes across to others.

Valjean does something he rarely does, and lightly touches Sin's arm.

'You all right? Honestly, don't worry about it. Javert's tougher than that usually, it's just been a rough time.'

Sin stills when Valjean touches him. The arm under that thin blouse is small and delicate and infinity fragile. "I envy you." He forces a small smile, his voice soft. "Your ties, your connections, each other. You're very lucky."

He touches the man's hand lightly, the lines of scar tissue on his inner wrist catching the light for just a moment. "I'm sorry." He moves to leave again, already reaching for an inner pocket of his jacket and the stash hidden there.

'Don't.'

He takes his hand away at once, both because of the way Sin stills and the touch he gets in return. His voice is more than a little tight.

'We have nothing to envy. You don't want what-'

Well, OK. He will never say his ties to Father Charles aren't special, but they only came through his own awful past.

'Me and Javert aren't together. Not like that. Not yet, anyway. But...look, you just said you liked having no connections.'

Something's not adding up.

'You want to talk about it?'

Sin turns slowly to look up at him. Sin's eyes are very deep and very dark. And in this moment, very sad.

He shakes his head minutely. "We're both fighting wars the other knows nothing about. The slings and arrows of outrageous fortune. It was unfair of me to brandish my banners the way I did. For that, I'm sorry."

'You don't have to apologise to me.'

He glances off in Javert's direction.

'And he wouldn't listen, because no one ever says sorry to him. Let it go. But you don't have to fight a war on your own if you don't want to. I'm locked in here, you can talk to me.'

Valjean's a good listener, and he doesn't know how to judge a person. But he doesn't pressure either, so if Sin wants to run, that's up to him.

"You're stuck here?" Sin's eyes widen in something akin to panic. "I can't imagine. How cruel." But he can imagine, from personal experience. The way his hand goes to his scarred wrist.

His eyes flit to the wrist, and he goes still. Something like fear comes over his face, and then settles into a blank mask, totally unreadable.

'Yeah,' he says, and his voice sounds different. More mechanical.

'But it's OK. Javert's here.'

It's less of a comfort than it could be, and it doesn't help the hatred of being locked up again. But he can act, most of the time. He spends his life pretending he's all right.

'So yeah, if you want to talk, find me.'

Sin nods but he knows he won't look for Jean. He knows they can't talk, not honestly. There's too much broken inside both of them. Too many wounds words would only rip open.

He steps away, small and light. "Goodbye, Jean Valjean. I hope your banners fly proudly one day."

He tries for a smile, and almost makes it. That's not something he can ever hope for. He's been shamed enough to know there's no pride in opening yourself up.

'Take care of yourself, Sin. See you around.'

But probably not. And he'd be lying if that wasn't something of a relief.

{ooc: wow, that was intense. Thank you!}

[OOC: Completely awesome. Thank you. :D]

College AU Frenchmen!

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