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It was all Rivette’s idea.
He’d been curating a list of things for Javert to do during the day so he didn’t become entirely nocturnal. And Javert agreed to the least painful option, in part because he felt guilty for making the poor man wake up to texts describing the exact melancholy of sitting alone in your living room at two in the morning. Nevermind the fact that the book club Rivette signed him up for only met once a month, and one personal obligation about every four weeks would not nearly be enough to keep him on a consistent schedule. And that’s not even getting into Javert’s distaste for books.
Still, he’d blown off one too many of Rivette’s ideas in the past, and thus guilt compelled him to just sigh and go with it.
It would be a lot easier if the man running the book club wasn’t the most infuriatingly nice, normal man he’d ever seen in his life. It made him angry and more than a little confused, but it was also strangely endearing. Grantaire, a student he’d once arrested at a riot during his police days, said that it was because he was a “mean old gay” and thus bound to be equally angered by and attracted to a stereotypical nice old man. Javert thought that was utterly ridiculous. Still, that damned student wouldn’t let it go.
He swore to himself as he stared at the library doors that he would never listen to one of Rivette’s ideas again. And he was very much considering turning around and going back home. That was when a deep, friendly voice sounded from behind him. “Ah! Mr. Javert!” There was no mistaking it. That was Jean Valjean. The man. The myth. The thorn in Javert’s side.
He pretended not to be deeply disturbed by the fact that he didn’t truly have to force the friendly smile he wore as he turned around to wave at him. “Hey Jean,” he nearly cringed at how fucking nice he sounded.
The smile Valjean gave him almost made it seem worth it, and something in his chest did a somersault. Jesus, he really was out of it. “Did you like the book?”
Javert almost didn’t hear him over the sound of his own pining. “The book…? Oh yes- The book, I--” he cleared his throat, “Yes it was quite interesting. Sorry, my mind just… yeah,”
Yes, good. An acceptable way to speak to one’s crush. That was good! Except for the everything. But that could be ignored.
In any case, Valjean laughed and told him it was quite alright and he was glad Javert had enjoyed the book. He seemed to find Javert’s ramblings endearing, or at least amusing, so it wasn’t a total loss. Not that he was actually trying to garner this infuriating man’s favor. Absolutely not. This man was a menace.
Jean Valjean was a menace, and Javert was doomed.
-----
Five months had passed since Javert joined the book club. Five months and Javert was still struggling to balance his absolute lack of patience for everyone and everything with the reality that people don’t appreciate it when you’re rude to them. He kept going back though. For Rivette, and for Valjean. He finally had to come to terms with his crush, but that absolutely did not mean he had to do anything about it. He was perfectly content to pine until his heart and soul withered away, thank you very much.
He was, unfortunately, dying from the effort of trying to appear completely unaffected by Valjean’s mere presence. Now one would think this wouldn’t be a problem, because the book club only met once a month.
The only issue was that Valjean had started inviting Javert over to his house. Now Javert couldn't just say no, he didn't want to disappoint the man. And it would look highly suspicious if he serendipitously had something to do every time Valjean asked him over. So Javert just had to stomach it and go listen to him talk about his daughter and his garden and other infuriatingly endearing things like a normal human being who didn't hate the very idea of forming thoughts and then communicating them with another person.
One such visit, occurring nearly a year after Javert had joined the book club, very nearly sent him to his grave a few years too early. It was a December afternoon, so the two men were sitting close to the fireplace, chatting and having tea. It was cozy. One of those little things that made Javert feel like he was in a Hallmark movie, except at that moment it felt less like something to laugh about and more like something to quietly enjoy.
It must have been something about Valjean's eyes, he thought distantly. The way they reflected the fire light.
This whole mess was turning Javert into a sap, truly.
But he couldn't bring himself to care. He enjoyed this old man's company, as much as he tried not to.
"Javert?"
He jolted, snapping out of his trance. "Yes?"
"Are you quite alright? You look troubled." Valjean's eyebrows were furrowed slightly, and the kind glint in his eye was tinted with concern.
Javert scrambled to come up with something to say. He barely stopped himself from blurting out the truth-- that he'd been thinking about how much he truly loved these visits. How much he truly loved him. Instead he laughed awkwardly and shook his head, "I'm sorry, I was just thinking too much. You know how I am,"
Valjean's mouth drew up into a little smile, but his eyes remained the same. "I know, Javert. But that doesn't explain why you looked troubled, unless your thoughts were troubling,"
There was only one thing about Valjean that Javert found more infuriating than his kindness. His ability to tell exactly what you're feeling based on only a few words and a look. This was well and truly hellish for Javert, who preferred not to have anybody dissect his feelings, thank you very much. He could put off dealing with them until he suffered an emotional breakdown by himself.
What could Javert do but simply confess? If he lied, Valjean would know. Besides, he'd been waiting for long enough. He opened his mouth, but nothing came out. Of course Javert didn't know what to say on that front either. He scrambled for something, anything to say as he cursed his utter refusal to categorize his feelings. "I don't hate spending time with you." His hand flew up to his forehead with an audible smack as soon as the words left his mouth. Of course he said that of all fucking things.
Valjean laughed. He-- Why was he laughing? "Well I should hope you don't hate spending time with me! That would make this whole affair very awkward,"
Javert, hand still on his forehead, gaped at him. "What on earth are you talking about?"
Now it was Valjean's turn to gape. "Well you always said you hated being in public, so I figured we could just have our dates here--"
"Dates?!" Javert could practically feel his heart rate skyrocket, "You think we're on a date?"
"You think we're not?"
And the two stared at each other in gobsmacked silence. It was Valjean who broke the spell, rubbing his face and chuckling at the absurdity of it all. "Old fools, the both of us,"
He frowned then, and looked up at Javert with an almost panicked look in his eye. "Did you not want this to be a date?"
"Well-- Yes, I did, the thing is that I was about to tell you so. It appears you were several steps ahead of me,"
Relief spread over Valjean's face, "So I was… Good heavens, Cosette was right, I am helpless,"
" You're helpless? I've barely been able to think for the last three months!"
Valjean laughed again, louder now, and took Javert's hand. "Well, at least we know now,"
"Yes," Javert sighed and shook his head, though he remained smiling, “At least we know,”
It was all Rivette's idea. But maybe that wasn't such a bad thing. Once in a while.