Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

A young girl rocked her new Mary-Jane’s back and forth against the cobblestone, dark curls bouncing and her coat swaying as it rested on her arm as she glanced down the street. Angélique Roche, one of twelve girls set to attend Voltaire High. She had never imagined that one day, her parents would announce that the following year she would be attending the first school in France to co-op both girls and boys. Though Angélique, or as she preferred, Angé wasn’t as enthused, school was school, but it was an opportunity nonetheless for a certain friend of hers. A flash of blonde appeared in her visions, the brunette only smiling as the blonde came closer. 

“Annick! I was afraid you had abandoned me!” 

“Angé! ” The blonde retorted and gave her an exaggerated gasp, “You think that badly of me?” 

Her hand slipped in Angé’s arm, the two girls now walking with arms linked with one another. The brunette tapped her chin with her free hand, pondering as if for a moment and Annick could only give the girl a slight shove before they burst into laughter. 

Starting a new school year can be a cause for nerves. Starting at an entirely new school with an entirely new system is downright devastating. Angé could only be grateful that someone she knew was also coming with her, lessening her fright but Annick had ulterior motives. 

“You know,” Angé began. The school was in near sight and Annick hummed in response, egging her friend to continue without sparing a glance. Angé peered at the blonde, “You don’t need to prove anything. You know you’re smart, proving it to a bunch of dumb boys might not be worth your time.” 

“Then no one will take me seriously,” Annick became tight-lipped, “Men need to realize that there’s not much difference between boys and girls. I’m just as smart as any boy.” 

The brunette only nodded and left it at that. Her friend was nothing but stubborn and steadfast. In an age where even her own mother was not able to work until had to gain approval from her father to work per orders by the council, who’s to say that’s equal? There was much that women were not allowed to do. And there was nothing for Angé and Annick to do as they arrived at the gates of Voltaire High except keep their heads high and walk forward. 

It was as if time had stopped for the boys of Voltaire High. A buzz arose at the arrival of Annick Sabiani and Angélique Roche. Two beauties, arm in arm; one with a confident facade and one with a sweet smile plastered on her face. Angé was a pretty one for sure. Her eyes scanned the courtyard, seeing that everyone had grouped themselves off on the sides - watching the newcomers with interest. It seemed as if it were easy to distinguish everyone. Well, for starters: the girls, stuck together with books stuck to their chests. The seniors wore suits, as if to scream about their maturity with their impeccable posture. Angé’s azure eyes met a familiar shade of caramel and she averted his gaze with a shake of her head. Of course he was here. 

Joseph Descamps could only lean back with interest at the sight of the brown haired beauty. He gestured to the two new beauties with interest, a moment ago they were mocking ‘little piggy’ for being the first to interact with the other school girls, “Now there’s someone worth looking at.”

“Not one, but two!” The boy sitting next to Joseph whistled and shook the other boy’s shoulder, “Dupin, aren’t we lucky! We got the most attractive girls in town!”

Jean Dupin and Charles Vergoux watched as Joseph stood, fixing his jacket with a glint in his eyes. He followed her with his eyes. The heels of her Mary-Jane’s crunched through the gravel, her white skirt fluttering behind her with every move, dark navy blouse that seemed like it were to stretch at the chest, the matching white scarf keeping her dark brown curls from her face. His lips itched upwards and the sight of her, “My friends, let the party start.”

“Go on - say hi to them!”

“Who are they?”

“The other girls can go home now-”

“Yes… They do have breasts.”

Angé couldn’t help but stifle her giggle as she leaned into Annick, “You’d think that they’ve never seen a girl before.” 

Annick could only roll her eyes before the bell had rung. True to Angé’s word, when the pair had walked in - all eyes were on them, watching, murmuring. As everyone rounded up to the entrance of the stairs, the teachers milling out from the front door, Angé was abruptly shoved as someone pushed their way in front of her as the Dean began his speech. 

“ Oops , I didn’t see you there,” His voice was low but the sarcasm seeped through, “ Roche . Aren’t you going to introduce your friend to us?”

“Descamps.” Angé spoke sternly, her hold on Annick tightened just slightly, “The answer is no. Not ever.” 

“Ha! Tough luck,” Jean Dupin, the dark haired boy next to Joseph chuckled, elbowing his friends. Annick gave her friend a knowing side-eye and Angé could only sigh. Of course. They were just girls in a boys’ world. There wasn’t much they could do - yet . 

The two girls were the last in line for their homeroom with Mrs Giraud, or ‘Bluebeard’ as the boys had affectionately coined for her. Angé had to remind herself that although she was new, the boys had already claimed their seats as if this were the natural order. There were only four girls in this class; the other two girls, a short-haired brunette and a plaited blonde, found a table together. The brunette sighed as she spotted the next free chair at the very back of the classroom, knowing that Annick would prefer to sit closest to the board - the only other chair being the front row, next to a kind-looking boy who seemed to realize he was going to sit with a girl either way. 

“Don’t worry,” Angé pressed, noticing Annick’s hesitation. The blonde settled down and Angé gave her a small smile and began to make her way to the back before a shrill voice interrupted her.

“Where do you think you’re going, Miss?” Mrs Giraud leant casually against the podium but her eyes were grim. All eyes were on Angé as she turned around to face the teacher, “Angélique Roche. And I was going to go and sit-” She motioned to the chair at the back. “Over there, Mrs Giraud. It’s the only free seat, so is there a problem?”

“Do you think it’s okay for you to sit next to a boy?” Mrs Giraud scrunched her face in distaste, though the comment caused Angé to glance at her friend in the front row. The glance was caught. “That goes for you too. What’s your name, Miss?”

“Annick Sabiani.”

Mrs Giraud clicked her tongue, “Get your belongings.”

Annick’s eyes met Angé’s briefly before she reached for her bag. She was interrupted once again, “No. You.” Mrs Giraud’s finger pointed to the boy next to Annick, “Get up and go sit at the back. Miss Roche, you come sit here.”

“But I can’t see from there!” The boy stated and Angé slumped her shoulders, “It’s fine, I can sit at the back. I’m the only one standing-”

“Back row, now. And you - no more arguing.” 

Angé attempted to give the boy an apologetic smile but he packed up his things in a hurry with his eyes to the floor. She heard contact and laughter as she sat down next to Annick, the two taking their books out.  Annick pulled out her book and muttered jokingly as Mrs Giraud addressed the laughing boys, “It seems as if there’s no escape from you.”

The brunette giggled at Annick as the teacher began her introductions. Before they knew it, the first few periods of classes began. The classes were much more lax than what Angé had experienced in her previous school but that could’ve been due to the nature of the unruly boys. Angé held back her groan as the Latin teacher, Mr Douillard glanced around the classroom. The old man couldn’t have made it any more obvious that he was avoiding the girls. After all, Annick was the only one in the class to hold her hand up and with each question he asked, her hand shot up faster and higher each time. And each and every time, he would wait until a boy finally spared her the misery and answered the teacher. 

“Yes, monsieur?” 

“I think she has her hand raised,” A voice rang out from the back, which was met with a chorus of chuckles. With no other choice, the teacher motioned for Annick to answer. Angé turned, watching Joseph with her eyebrow raised. He only gave her a smile, pushing his glasses back; gesturing to his sheet, and then back to her. Angé rolled her eyes and brought her attention back to the front of the board. Note passing? How childish.   

“The Romans ‘cheer’ Horatio,” Mr Douillard corrected, “Can you conjugate the verb ‘ovare’ ?” 

It seemed as if the old man wanted to tear down Annick’s resolve. Her answer was technically correct after all. As Annick began reciting the answer, there was shuffling at the back which piqued Angé’s curiosity. Her eyes met Joseph’s once more, who shrugged and raised his eyebrows in return. His friends next to him were stifling their smirks as the teacher called them over, “Give me that. Give it to me.”

The boy with the curly hair and orange shirt approached the teacher. Angé recognised him as the boy who she had intended to sit with before Bluebeard had forced the new seating arrangement. The teacher snatched the note from his hands and unfolded the note with haste, “You think this is funny?” 

“It wasn’t me.”

“Who is responsible for this masterpiece?” 

The class was unusually silent as the boy crossed his hands in front of him, head down. Angé was tempted to turn around to point fingers at the culprit but the teacher echoed the boy’s words once no one had admitted to being the artist, “ ‘It wasn’t me’ , All culprits have the same name. They must all be related… Okay, Mr It-Wasn’t-Me -”

“Laubrac. My name is Laubrac.” 

“All right, Laubrac…” Mr Douillard had a moment of realization, head rearing back to look at the young boy before he pointed the folded note to Laubrac’s chest, “Aren’t you the boy from foster care?” 

Angé held her breath. The whispers grew as Laubrac’s history was revealed. 

“Some nobody's son is trying to graduate? How amusing. Didn’t anyone teach you any discipline in the foster system? I won’t let a bastard disrupt my class. Get out.”

“But he didn’t do anything!” 

Everyone’s heads snapped towards the new voice. The strawberry blonde girl with the pigtail loop braids had slammed her hands on her table and had now risen from her seat in defense of Laubrac. Angé stared at the girl, she didn’t seem to have much of a strong resolve as she caught sight of the regret creeping into the blonde girl’s body.

“Nobody taught you to raise your hand in your girls’ school, Miss Magnan?” The teacher all but spat out, “Or maybe you think you have a free pass because your uncle is the Dean.” 

Annick let out a soft gasp besides Angé. It seemed as if this teacher couldn’t help but reveal personal information about his students. Humiliation showed no boundaries. With pursed lips, Mr Douillard continued, “Escort your new friend to your uncle’s office. He’ll give you detention too.”

There was silence as Laubrac and Magnan left the room and then chatter erupted as the Latin teacher rubbed his temple in anguish. It was only the second class of the day, nay, the entire school year and he had sent two of his students to the office. Angé spared a glance at the bobbed girl who was now alone at her desk and then to the other side towards Joseph, who snickered alongside with his friends. He was more trouble than she had thought. Joseph Descamps. Tall, handsome and most importantly, a jerk. She gave a scoff as Mr Douillard heralded the class to calm down once more, but she couldn’t wave off the feeling that a pair of eyes were watching her intently from the back row. 

Chapter Text

“He didn’t even listen to me when I answered him,” Annick sneered. The two girls stood under the trees for recess, a needed break for fresh air from the stuffy classroom. “Ovare, ovo, ovas … I’ll ‘ovare’ the moment a woman knocks him from his pedestal.”

Angé giggled at her friend's overreaction, “You don’t suppose that woman would be you, would you?”

“I wish.” 

Angé giggling was paused as a group of boys walked past, ‘Hey! You!”

The trio stopped and stared at the girl, who made her way over to them with an eager smile. Angé had recognised the boy that had to be moved to the back and the other two sat on the desk to her left. “I’m sorry about taking your seat in Mrs Giraud’s homeroom. If you can’t see, then I’d be happy to lend my notes for any lesson.”

Angé felt Annick smack her back in protest, after all, why should they help the boys of all people? The brunette shrugged her friend off and gave her hand out to the boy, “I never caught your name.”

It took a moment for him to respond but soon enough, his hand caught hers and shook it firmly, “Pichon. Henri Pichon. And there's no need at all.” 

“Well Pichon,” Angé gave him a small grin, “If there is ever any need at all, don’t be afraid to let me know. You can call me Angé.” She glanced over her shoulder, “And you know Annick.” 

The blonde had her arms crossed, her expression steely but Angé could tell that her lips were fighting a pout. Annick Sabiani was a strong, independent girl, but there was only so much she could take. Things had to be done, her way or no way at all. The blonde refused to shake hands with Henri and kept her arms crossed. The boys behind Henri gave a quick introduction, Daniel Applebaum and Didier Felbec. Angé had recognised Applebaum as one of the awe-stricken boys from earlier that morning but she pushed the thought to the back of her mind as the students were called back in to resume classes. 

To say the least, classes were uneventful. After the events of the foster boy and the Dean’s niece being sent to the office, Angé swore nothing could be as dramatic. It seemed that by lunch, the rest of the girls in the remaining classes had discovered Mr Douillard’s apparent sexism. 

“Does the Latin teacher call on you,” One of the girls questioned. Michèle Magnon picked at her food, unamused and uninterested at the reminder of the old man. Besides her, Simone Palladino answered, “He ignores us.” 

Annick shifted in her seat, feeling a bit awkward without the presence of her brunette friend. She had previously saved a seat next to her but the girls from the other classes had taken their spots before Annick could refute. ‘It’s only a simple question, it won’t take long.’ Annick remembered Angé stating she stayed back behind in class to ask the teacher a question. The blonde peeked at her classmates and recalled something from the previous class, “Are you really the Dean’s daughter?”

Michèle, who had not been paying full attention to the conversation, perked up before sighing, “Yes.”

“That’s helpful.” It was nothing but a statement from Annick, who stared at the strawberry blonde. She had wanted to say more before something collided into her, hands spilling into her food. Howling laughter imploded from the table across theirs. The blonde stared at Henri, flustered and nervous at the sudden attention, as he attempted to rectify the situation, “I’m sorry Annick - Do you want my plate?”

“That idiot should give his plate to hers.” Michèle’s voice was surprisingly loud and taut. Her bout of confidence from Latin was back, this time with no teacher to glare her down. Her eyes found their way to Joseph Descamps, who’s snide laughter died down. He was the one to push Pichon into the table of girls, the one who began passing the note which led to her getting in trouble. Michèle grew to despise him. The boys, mature as ever, began a chorus of ‘oohs’ at Michèle’s words. 

“Does the Dean’s niece have a problem?” Joseph turned in his seat, scanning the girls table before landing on Michèle. “What did you tell your uncle? ‘ Laubrac is innocent! Descamps is the bad one! ’ The Dean’s niece and the Bastard - A new love story!” 

“Why don’t you tell us what you wrote in that note?” Michèle taunted, her arms crossed against the table, chin jeering at Joseph. He shrugged and spoke as if it were a matter-of-fact, “It was a drawing. Here, let me show you.”

The dining hall grew silent as Joseph turned to recreate the drawing with the maple syrup on the table. The tension, unbelievably tense as he held up his finished work with pride, “It’s a portrait.” 

The boys on his table only laughed at Michèle displeasure at the sight of the drawing, Simone jeered and Annick didn’t even spare a glance. Joseph set his plate down, “No no no! Don’t worry, this isn’t a portrait of any of you girls-”

“Then who?” 

Joseph’s head whipped around frighteningly fast at the voice. Angé stood behind him, seemingly impervious to the ogling and awing of the boys at her arrival. She peered down at the smudged syrup but Joseph’s smile inched back onto his face; he took a swipe of the sweet sauce and licked it off, using the same finger to point back at her, “Mmm, Miss Roche. It's you. See the resemblance?” 

Angé could only scoff and turned her back to the boys, facing the girls with annoyance. Joseph continued with a chortle in his tone, “Too bad life drawing isn’t part of our Arts curriculum, you would’ve been the perfect model! I would have dozens of these portraits-”

“Hey Descamps-” Simone, annoyed and disgusted, leaned forward to interrupt the boy. To Angé’s amusement, the bobbed girl grabbed the sausage and tore it in two, “Does this remind you of anyone?” 

With that, the dining hall erupted into cheers and whooping at the girl’s actions; even the seniors at the far end of the room joined in with glee. Joseph only gritted his teeth and glared at the girl. Before he fully turned around, he caught the sight of the pretty brunette, her hands clasped to her mouth as she tried to hide her laughter. Oh , her laughter. Discouraged, Joseph drove his fork into the remainder of his lunch. 

“You see, I know a lot of English,” The bell had rung and it was then the beginning of their next class. Conveniently, Angé had run into the newest of the faculty members, who happened to be their English teacher. The brunette fiddled with the strap of her bag under Ms Couret’s watch, “My mother is from England. We vacation there to see relatives, so my English is uh – better than most, I suppose.” 

“Is that so?” Couret gave a curt smile at the student, “Would you want me to ask if you could join the third years with their English curriculum? It’s far more advanced.”

Angé gaped at the prospect of advancing in her studies, “You would let me?” 

“I’ll have to see how well you would do in my class first, Miss Roche. Then I’ll make a full assessment…” Ms Couret trailed off as the two were interrupted by a loud splash coming from down the hallway - specifically the room that they were headed to. Once they had arrived, Angé was shocked to see a fully soaked Magnan at the doorway and a bucket by her side. The cackling of the boys cut short at the sight of their teacher. 

Michèle Magnan was the literal expression of: soaked to the bone. From behind, Angé could see the clasps of the girl’s bra and the outline of her bottoms as her white dress dripped precariously onto the wooden planks. God knows what the classroom of boys were seeing on the other side. Ms Couret spared no moment in removing her coat and ushering Michèle out the classroom, the poor girl frozen in shock. Angé cautiously stepped into the classroom, wary of the puddle in the doorway and at the sight of the two boys, shoving each other with grins on their faces, it was clear who the culprit was. 

Setting her bag down next to Annick, Angé found herself next to Joseph and before she knew it - Smack . She had missed only barely, her nails scratching his chin before meeting his shoulder with a sting. He stood, stunned by the sudden action, “What?”

“Don’t ‘what’ me!” The hand that had landed on his shoulder slid to the center of his chest, forming a point which dug into his shirt with each word, “What a stupid prank! All for what, you pervert?”

“Relax,” Joseph licked his lips as he peered down at the brunette, “She got just a little water splashed on her, it’s not our fault she wore something that showed her assets underneath-”

His words led Dupin, who had only watched the dispute, to sneer and march down the rows of tables, chanting something along the lines of ‘ look at my chest ’, ‘ do you want to see my boobs? ’. Joseph only gave a chuckle at his friend’s actions but focused back onto Angé. Azure eyes filled with disbelief, pouty lips muttering under her breath, the peek of skin under the unbuttoned collar of her shirt-

“What are you doing?”

Tall, prim and proper were initially the first thoughts that ran through Angé’s mind as the suited man barrelled into the classroom. Agate eyes sharpened towards Dupin, who, in the middle of his childish spiel, didn’t realize the senior student behind him before it hit him - literally. Angé felt as if with that single punch, the entire classroom grew wild. Joseph steered the girl out of his path before meeting to defend his friend against the intruder. Dupin, now laid hunched over the table and Labrauc rushed to hold the suited man from behind. 

Angé rushed forward, a chorus of ‘stop’s and ‘don’t fight’s spilling from her lips. She knew it was pointless to join the quarrel but she felt as if she had to try. Before she could register it, Laubrac was sent flying back and a thunderous thud was all she heard as Joseph crumpled on top of her, a distressing howl erupting from him. Angé felt her knees collapse from below her underneath the weight of the tall boy, the two of them fell to the floor. 

“Joseph! Joseph?” Angé’s shout of concern grew into a whisper, the boy only clutched his eye and cried out in pain in response. She felt panic rise from her stomach as she noticed scarlet seeping through his fingers. Pulling the scarf from her hair, she balled the fabric and placed it carefully above Joseph's hands. He reacted instantly, his fingers clutching the scarf onto his face and Angé could only watch in horror as the once white silk began to saturate with blood. His free hand clutched Angé’s.

“Angé…” She shushed the crying boy but his grip tightened as he continued to moan in delirious pain, “Angélique… It hurts… My eye… My eye! ” 

Angé didn’t even realize that the classroom had quietened down and that by the time she had noticed the silence, the Dean had hauled Joseph off of her; the hand that held hers slipped away with a jolt. He held the injured boy by the shoulders.

“I can’t see!” 

“Don’t touch it! Okay?” The Dean warned, scanning him once over for any more injuries and turned to the girl next to him, “What happened?” 

“H-he got hit sir,” Angé gulped and peered at the senior, who stood bewildered on the sides and then across the room before she caught the shine of a familiar pair of glasses. Joseph’s to be exact, except it was in the hands of Felbec and one of the lenses was smashed beyond repair. Angé gasped.

“-the nurse! He’s got some glass in his eye.” The Dean affirmed, holding Joseph tight with Mrs Giraud, who Angé only realized had run in shortly after the Dean had as Henri ran past the two. Angé felt herself being tugged upwards, off the floor. She felt her shoulder shake as Annick snapped her out of her daze. “Are you alright? You didn’t get hurt, did you?” 

She only shook her head sluggishly as she listened to the Dean’s worried voice, something about going to the hospital. The class watched as Dupin straightened his back, pointing towards the suited man with vigor as Vergoux held him back, “You’re dead!”

Joseph’s whimpers were the only sounds that reached Angé’s ears; she feared that the image of him, hunched over with pain, would haunt her as she had never seen the boy not proud and tall. Never.

Chapter Text

Angé traced the rim of Joseph’s glasses gingerly. Standing in the lobby of the hospital a few hours after school had ended was certainly not how she was expecting to end her first day of school. She wasn’t quite sure if he would appreciate the sentiment of returning his glasses, though on the other hand, she wasn’t sure if he even needed it. Considering the hushed murmurs of the nurses gossipping in the hallways about a ‘damaged eye’ and ‘scarred young man’. Angé had half a mind to turn back and go home, perhaps throwing the glasses in the river on the way home before attending to her studies. Get rid of the rubbish and pretend this never happened. Fate had other plans. 

“Angélique?”

Evangeline Roche was a beauty. She matched Angé’s dark brown hair and azure gaze. Even as her eyes had sunken in with unrest, curls falling out of what was her perfectly manicured low bun, the ribbon of the nurse’s apron threatening to unfurl; Evangeline Roch was still, undoubtedly, a beauty. The eldest Roche child hurried her pace, down the crowded hallway and towards Angé, who in turn, tightened her hold on the glasses and moved her arms behind her back - hiding the object. Evangeline, as tired as ever, scanned her sister up and down before tilting her head in confusion, “I told ma mère that I was going to have a late night shift today, I don’t need to have lunch brought to me again - honestly, she needn’t worry.”

“Oh! I didn’t come here because of that,” Angé cut her sister off before she began to fret too much. She doesn’t like to admit, but oftentimes, she had to drop by the hospital to give her hardworking sister food. Evangeline’s posture straightened and raised her eyebrows, as if asking the younger girl her intentions. Angé only sighed and averted her eyes, “There’s a classmate of mine… He was taken here and I have something of his to - erm , give back..?” 

“Descamps?” Evangeline nodded, moreso to herself before leading Angé through the crowd of nurses and patients alike, “I just finished taking care of his paperwork. In fact, he’s ready to be discharged once his guardian comes, so you have some time alone with him.”

The nurse held the doorknob and faced her sister, “That Descamps kid, he’s grown a lot since I’ve last seen him. So no funny business.”

Angé didn’t have a moment to respond to her sister, being rushed into the room and greeted with the sight of Joseph. He cursed at the intrusion and faced away from the girl, which proved hard as he was sitting on the edge of the hospital bed. Out of all the people that could’ve come to visit him: relatives, Dupin or Vergoux even, he didn’t expect Angélique Roche to come through those doors. 

There was an awkward silence; Joseph sat firmly with his gaze to the wall and Angé by the door. The girl’s mind racked with questions and words to say to the boy: ‘How are you?’ , ‘Is your eye really missing?’ , ‘I’m sorry about what happened’ . But when she opened her mouth, not a sound came out. With the way Joseph was sitting, she couldn’t see the side of his face with the injured eye. Sighing, Angé took careful steps before placing the glasses next to him, leaning against the bed but kept her eyes forwards. 

“Because of the incident,” Angé said softly, “Proviseur Jacquet wanted to transfer all the girls out of the school.”

“You’re leaving?” Joseph’s voice was curt and hoarse. He turned to look at the girl beside him but she kept staring at the wall in front of her. She shook her head, “ Non . They only considered it for a moment. You’ll be happy to hear that you won’t be in much trouble. The guy who-” Angé gulped, “He’s going to be in a disciplinary meeting tomorrow. He might be expelled.”

“Good.” 

“ Good? ” Angé finally faced Joseph, he stared at her intensely - well , as best as he could. His right eye; caramel burning with frustration and anger, and the left was completely covered with bandages. Angé let out a breath at the sight of the bandages, her fingers itching to trace over them but she resisted. Joseph’s mouth formed a snarl, “That fucker practically gouged my eye out. He better be gone.”

He slunk onto his feet and reached for his glasses, Angé swore that the metal frame would’ve bent at the ferocity of his grip. She didn’t say a word as Joseph shoved his glasses into the pocket of his jacket, a string of curses under his breath. 

“Why’d you come?”

“Why?” She was taken aback by the abrasive tone directed to her, “I wanted to give you back your glasses…” 

Angé gestured to the glasses, which were now in his pockets. She couldn’t admit that when no one was looking, she had swiped his glasses from the window sill that Felbec had left it on when the Dean ordered the class to clean up the scene. She couldn’t admit that she had milled around the entrance of the school to hear what the nurse had to say about his condition. Joseph’s face blanked, though she knew there was more to his vacant expression. Angé crossed her arms, “Is it so bad that I wanted to know if you were alright? You were bleeding all over my lap only a few hours ago and… and everyone was saying you had become one-eyed, I was so worried – Of course I came!” 

Angé shut her eyes and cursed under her breath, though if she had kept them open, she would’ve seen Joseph’s lips curving into a smile. She cleared her throat, “O-of course I came, to give back your glasses… Nothing else…”

“Is that so?”

Even without looking, Angé could tell by the way he spoke that he wore his signature smirk. She peered at him through her lashes, “Yes. I mean, who knows when I’d see you next?”

If the girls were what caused the boys to stop and turn on day one, day two’s heel turner was the one-eyed boy. Angé remembered Joseph’s words from the night before. ‘ I can still walk and talk. And most importantly- ’ She saw the suited figure from down the hallway. Tall, prim and proper. Dark hair gelled back, agate eyes staring back at her. ‘ -I want to see the look on Magnan’s face when he gets expelled’ . 

Jean-Pierre Magnan. Michèle’s older brother. Top student, chiseled face, the boy who disfigured another student on the first day of school. Albeit unintentionally so, Angé still couldn’t help but frown at the sight of him. Dupin’s cheek was slightly swollen and Laubrac’s temple still showed the graze from being knocked back. And most evidently, Joseph Descamps walked into school sporting the bandage where his left eye was meant to be. 

It couldn’t be helped either, that the stares prolonged from the courtyard into the classroom. Michèle kept her glances towards Joseph short, clearly not expecting him to be there. The thought of her brother’s possible expulsion weighed on her mind. He glared back with hatred. 

“Who can give me the dates of the Battle of Marne?” 

Annick’s hand was high in the air but was shortly ignored when Felbec raised his own. “September 5th to the 12th, 1914.”

Mrs Giraud nodded at the correct answer and questioned further, “And who were the opposing armies?”

Once again, Annick’s arm shot up and shifted restlessly in her seat. The constant ignoring from the teachers was getting to her and Mrs Giraud only glowered at the girl, “Miss Sabiani, are you going to jump on the desk for me to see you?” The blonde’s arm fell reluctantly. “Don’t you think you draw enough attention as it is?”

Angé bit her lip at the teacher’s insult, fighting the urge to turn around and defend her friend but Mrs Giraud gave Annick a chance. 

“The French and the Germans.”

“And the British Expeditionary Force.” The brunette winced at the correction but the teacher continued, “Don’t raise your hand if you only know half the answer. And please tie your hair back, this isn’t a party.” 

“That isn’t fair,” Angé muttered as Annick sunk into her seat. She handed her friend a spare ribbon so that she could tie her hair back. In the meantime, Mrs Giraud made her way back to the podium, “Okay, we’ll talk about the Battle of Marne tomorrow. Let’s move on to naming our class leader.”

Felbec’s hand shot up immediately. “My teachers have always picked me as class leader.” The class couldn’t help but grin at the comment but it didn’t deter the boy, “I am studious and get good grades.”

“Well, I’m not like your former teachers, Felbec. You’ll have to earn it.” Angé leant back in her seat at the teacher’s words and glanced around the classroom. No one seemed as particularly interested in becoming class leader as Felbec did. The boy sat down in his seat dejectedly. “Does the Battle of Marathon mean anything to anyone?”

Annick and Felbec shared a knowing glance with one another but no one in the class spoke. 

“I see… Whoever can tell me the date of the Battle of Marathon this afternoon will be named class leader.” 

“This is amazing!” Angé gloated with excitement as recess began. There was a bite to the autumn wind but the sun shone brightly through the windows. “Miss Sabiani, class leader!” 

The blonde girl only gave a brisk ‘tsk’ at her friend, who put her hands up defensively, “I’m only stating a fact! I bet none of the boys know anything about Greek history and I know that you studied it over the break. Don’t lie.”

“It doesn’t matter!” Annick frowned, “The hag hates me. She’s so much nicer to the boys than she is to us.” Angé replicated her friend’s expression, “So what now? You’re going to let Felbec be class leader?”

“No.” Her academic rivalry was in the way of the blonde’s judgment. Angé let out an exasperated sigh, “Then who?”

It took a moment but the blonde’s eyebrows shot up as an idea brewed into her head, “Definitely not Felbec. Wait for me!” 

With that, Annick rushed out of the hallways in the direction of the courtyard leaving Angé alone. She raised her hands up once again, only this time in defeat and continued in the direction of the teacher’s bathroom but a soft chatter behind her distracted her. 

“If you’re so concerned about it, ask her!”

“She won’t talk to us!”

“Who won’t talk to who?” Angé spun around to see Simone and Michèle a few steps behind her, huddled together. Michèle was already dressed in her gym clothes but Simone was still clad in her regular attire. The bobbed girl cleared her throat, “I have a bruise on my thigh. My gym pants are too short to cover it so I was hoping you might have a spare that I could borrow - at least for today.”

Angé stared at the girl. It was the first time the two had ever spoken to one another directly, so it took her by surprise that she would ask something like that of her. Simone cowered slightly under the brunette’s stare until the brunette gave the bobbed girl a small smile, digging through her satchel and tossed a pair of blue pants to her. 

“Try to wash it before you give it back,” Angé scrunched her nose and Simone, grateful, gave the brunette an abrupt hug and ran into the bathroom. As the door closed, an awkward atmosphere developed between Angé and Michèle. 

The brunette had nothing to say, choosing to lean against the wall, waiting for Simone to finish changing but the strawberry blonde girl shuffled in her spot. Much like Simone, the blonde had never interacted with Angé prior to this exchange. As she took in Angé, she remembered how Descamps had always had his sights on her, and for good reason. Angélique Roche lived up to her name as an angelic beauty, the boys of Voltaire always tried to catch a glimpse of her. But if anything, Michèle knew she was attentive. Talking to her during the Dean’s speech, eyes trailing as she walked in the classroom for the first time, the portrait at lunch, how he lingered at her desk momentarily that very morning. She heard how the brunette had defended her against him when she was led away to the nurse's office. Descamps and Roche: A desperate bully and pretty victim, Michèle concluded. How wrong she was. 

Chapter Text

Angé was uncomfortable. The pants that she had given Simone were a larger pair that hung over her thighs comfortably, which unfortunately, left her with a pair of navy shorts that she had already grown out of. It clung to her and barely covered her behind, but she had to endure, it was only for today after all. It was a good deed. Angé cringed as she tried to pull the pants down a little more but Annick slapped the hand away, “Anymore and it will rip off.”

The brunette gulped but plastered a bashful smile to hide her discomfort as the two of them approached the gym. Simone and Michèle were already waiting inside but the boys had entered from the locker rooms, their eyes set on Annick and Angé. When the girls gathered, Angé gave a pointed look towards Simone as wolf whistles echoed through the gym. 

“I think you better owe me for this,” She tugged at the hem of her shorts and Simone, getting the memo, nodded eagerly. Gym class, unsurprisingly, sported the same sexism as all their previous classes. The four girls could only stand on the sides and cross their arms in discontent. As the boys warmed up, the doors to the gymnasium opened and a duo strutted in. Angé lowered her gaze at Joseph; who had his hands shoved into his pockets, his head held high and a telltale smirk barely visible on his face. Angé knew he had done something. His eye met hers as he was sent to sit down and his smirk halted. Those tiny little shorts. 

“They get to play handball… And we get this?” Simone’s disappointment was immeasurable as the four girls stared at the rope that hung from the roof. Angé reached forward to grab the rope before something dawned on her, the rope swung out of her hands as if she were disgusted by it as she turned to the three.

Annick raised her eyebrows, knowing the girl was capable of climbing the rope but Angé crossed her arms, “There’s no way I’m climbing up there. They’ll see everything.” 

“What do you mean-”

“You know exactly what I mean, Magnan.” Angé snapped. Her first words to the girl had been harsh but what the brunette didn’t know was that Michèle Magnan in fact, did not know what she had meant. She made her way off the mat and nodded at Annick to go first, who complied without a word. Angé turned to Michèle before sauntering off completely, “I’m not that type of girl.” 

Simone only shrugged at Michèle’s confusion before holding onto the rope for Annick, who had already reached halfway up the rope. Glancing at the girl above, Simone blinked. 

“She’s even good at gym…” There was a longing tone in her voice as she faced Michèle, “Do you think the two of them met at a modeling agency? Sabiani is like Marilyn Monroe’s secret daughter. Roche could be Jean Simmons’ love child, she’s British right?” 

The strawberry blonde giggled at Simone’s speculations. “I swear! They aren’t like us. Did you see Roche’s skin? It’s perfect. Sabiani is so smart too. Straight out of Hollywood.”

The bobbed girl’s rambling was cut short as she found herself staring into Jean-Pierre’s panicked expression. It was only lucky that Descamps had not seen the older student, as he exited the gym in favor of following a certain brunette.

“Want a smoke?” Joseph’s voice cut through the air like a sharp knife, Angé froze in her steps at being caught leaving. He licked his lips at the sight of the girl, who’s back had been facing him the entire time. Her tight shorts had ridden further up in her attempt at running out of class. Evidently, Angé had taken too long in considering Joseph’s offer before she felt him pressing up against her, his hands slipping the cigarette into her fingers and a lighter dangling in her face. She felt his warm breath against her ear, “Come on, don’t be a prude.” 

He chuckled as Angé turned around, snatching the lighter from his hand and dragged in the smoke of the lit cigarette between her fingers. She kept the flame burning as he went to light his own stick, taking the cigarette between his lips before leaning into the flame on her hand. The brunette pulled the lighter away but not before Joseph’s cigarette was lit. She hissed, “Your bandage! Be careful!” 

“You care too much,” He exhaled with a laugh and moved to trap Angé between the wall of the gymnasium and himself. She pressed up against the stone, tapping the cigarette so the ashes fell to the ground beneath them. It stayed like that for a moment; Joseph had one arm leaning against the wall above Angé, who stayed staring at their feet for if she looked up, she would’ve only seen Joseph’s chest. The tall boy couldn’t help but grin at the sight of the brown haired beauty, trapped beneath him with no resistance. The girl drew out one final smoke, dropping the stick to the floor and squashed it beneath her shoe.

“So…” Angé drawled, finally looking at Joseph’s face. “What did you do?”

“What did I do?” He repeated almost mockingly, copying Angé and disposed of his cigarette. Joseph shrugged, as if to say ‘ I did nothing ’ and the girl jeered at him in return, “You came to gym late, I know you did something.”

The one-eyed boy looked in both directions before leaning into her, the hand that wasn’t leaning against the wall began meddling with the waistband of her shorts. The smell of his cologne overwhelmed the stench of smoke as Angé consumed him entirely, feeling his lips brush against her ear.

“I just made sure Magnan won’t ever get his diploma.” 

History class had boasted the same seating arrangement as homeroom, due to Mrs Giraud’s insistence. It was the last period of the day and Angé couldn’t wait to go home. The teacher began the class, setting down her coat, “So, who deserves to be class leader?” 

The brunette cast a questioning look towards Annick, who frowned in return. The blonde had given her no hints as to who she had practically promoted into being class leader. Felbec was called upon, to which he answered vaguely. 

“Correct. But would you say ‘ 20th Century ’ if I asked about the Battle of Verdun?” Mrs Giraud spoke pointedly. Angé could only stare in silence as the boy dropped to his seat in rejection. The following name caused her to snap her head towards the blonde.

“Mr Descamps, can you do better?”

‘Really ?’ Angé mouthed, clearly not impressed at Annick’s supposed choice for class leader. She pursed her lips and shook her head as Joseph stood from his seat, “490 B.C.” 

“Congratulations Descamps. That’s impressive,” Mrs Giraud knew something was off as the one-eyed boy answered correctly. There seemed to be a secretive exchange between her students. “But can you tell me where you found the date?”

Felbec seemed to stare at Joseph from the corner of his eye with bitterness and the corners of Annick’s lips tugged downwards . The one-eyed boy gave a quick glance at Angé and then upwards towards the teacher - the gig was up. “In our books.” It was more like a question than an answer. 

“Really? The Persian Wars aren’t part of our curriculum.” The teacher seemed to smile in delight at the slip-up and Joseph attempted to fix his mistake, “Maybe it was another book. I don’t remember.”

“Already? If you’ve forgotten something that happened today, how will you remember anything to get your diploma?” Maybe all the teachers at Voltaire High thrived in the misery of their students, Angé thought. From revealing their students personal information to downright insulting them. How sadistic. Before anyone said anything else, an unexpected voice broke the silence. 

“I gave him the date.”

Henri Pichon. A much more plausible candidate for class leader; it made sense as to why Annick would rather him be the representative. He was the only guy she properly knew of in the class, not that the blonde would admit that anyways. “490 B.C is in the manual on Ancient Greece. And I know that because…”

Even the kind-hearted boy began slipping under Giraud’s scrutiny. The blonde girl at the front couldn’t help to start shaking her head as Pichon looked towards her for help. 

“I read it in the book.” 

“Why did you give the answer to Descamps?”

“I… I wasn’t sure if I could do it.” What a lame excuse. “Being class leader.” 

“There are worse faults than humility. Certain students, boys and girls, should remember that. Pichon, you are our class leader.” 

There were no claps to celebrate the newly appointed role in the usually loud classroom. Everyone in the room took to looking back at the board under the intense tension between Pichon and Felbec. Angé winced at the harsh look Didier Felbec gave her direction, though she knew that look was meant to be for Annick. The rest of class was equally as tense. As the bell rang to signify the end of school, Felbec was first out the door and was chased promptly by Pichon. Angé didn’t want to think about the chaos that choosing class leader had brought, the situation instigated by her own friend. 

“Do you need a lift home today?” Angé prodded, “If we drop by the hospital, my sister can drive you.” She knew for a fact that Annick had taken to walking today, something about the nice weather and already being awake in the early hours of the morning. Or rather the tire of her moped was in need of a dire replacement, but Angé didn’t need the specifics. The blonde shook her head, “I’ll manage.”

“Are you sure?” The brunette insisted. No matter how scenic the road from Voltaire High to the outskirts of Saint-Jean-d'Angély where the Sabiani residence was, by foot the journey seemed to be endless. She tugged the blonde closer to her as they descended the stairs, “You know you can always stay at my house.” 

Annick Sabiani. Smart, beautiful and most important of all, she had too much pride. The blonde rejected the idea once more. “I need some time to myself today.”

Angé stopped her persistence at the words, waving off her friend as she watched the blonde exit through the gates. In the corner of her eyes, she saw Joseph storm away from Mr Giraud. 

“Did you really want to be class leader that badly?” Angé eventually approached the trio of boys, who sat at the stony steps near the entrance of the school. They shared a weary look at the brunette’s joking smile, which was promptly wiped off once she realized their sour moods. Dupin was the first to stand, opening his mouth to retort back to her but Joseph was quick to cut his friend off; grabbing Angé’s shoulder and leading her across the yard, underneath the stone arch. 

“He should’ve been expelled.” 

The words flew out of Joseph’s lips, cussing and cursing followed. There was no doubt that he was speaking about Jean-Pierre Magnan. But he wasn’t loud. His anger was quiet and unnerving. He took a deep swig at his cigarette and stared at the girl, waiting, tapping his foot into the gravel. Angé bit her lip, “He’s not?”

“Eight days,” He seethed, “Perfect Mr Magnan got off with eight days suspension and a fucking warning. How is that fair when I got off with a missing eye!” 

“You’re not planning on doing anything, are you?” It seemed perfectly in his nature to plot revenge. Joseph chuckled and discarded his cigarette, “I don’t know Angé. Give me eight days and I might even simmer down, who knows?” 

The tall boy reached into the inside pocket of his jacket; Angé noted that it was his favorite jacket, the lapel was a worn out green and the brown suede matched his eyes. She had thought that he was reaching for yet another cigarette but was dumbfounded when he handed her a small box, her white scarf wrapping the box neatly. 

“My mother wanted to say thanks,” Joseph mumbled nonchalantly as he watched Angé unwrap the box, “For keeping me company at the hospital.”. He seemed disinterested but by the glint in his eyes, the girl knew he was curious about her reaction. 

“Macarons,” She gasped, “From my favorite Pastissiere.” 

He hummed, shoving his hands in his pockets, “You like?”

“Yes, I love it.”

“My mother wasn’t sure if you still liked them, it’s been a long time since we both talked.” Angé placed the box of sweets delicately in her bag before tracing the white scarf. The scarf was scrubbed clean from any blood but she saw an outline of copper. Of course, she would never wear the scarf again - it had been dirtied ! No, Angé didn’t care about the stain. The memory of Joseph’s moment of injury soiled the scarf more than anything. Still, she peered at the boy as she tied the scarf around the handle of her bag, “Thank you, Joseph.”

“I wanted to give back your scarf, you know. You brought back my glasses.” The term, an eye for an eye, seemed ill-fitting. Joseph smiled, though not the usual smirk that he always wore. His eye soft, as opposed to the everyday playful glimmer in his caramel eyes. Angé felt the air escape from her lips, dazed at the sight of the mellowed boy. It was a Joseph Descamps that only Angélique Roche knew of.

Chapter Text

Angélique Roche was the youngest of three daughters. Coddled and pampered, she had never needed anything more. If anyone were to ask about her parents, she would only share the same brief story. ‘My mother was a nurse in the British Army and tended to my father when he was stationed in London. They fell madly in love and eloped here when the war was over.’ Perhaps the thought of meeting a handsome soldier was what drove the eldest Roche daughter, Evangeline, to become a nurse just like her mother. But if anyone were to ask her how she had become friends with Joseph Descamps, she really couldn’t give a definite answer.

Maybe it had to do with the fact that both their mothers had frequented the same Jazz brunch, or the fact that their fathers were both workers within the city council. Their lives had been so intrinsically intertwined with one another, it was hard to pinpoint the exact reason the youngest daughter of the Roche family became friends with the only child of the Descamps. They had always been together. 

The first time Joseph had worn his glasses was at age 9. They were bulky and didn’t suit his face but his mother liked the frames, so there was nothing he could do. His left eye’s prescription was far worse than his right. It was a hot summer’s day and the first thing Joseph saw with clarity was Angé’s bright smile. That day, the two children raced around Saint-Jean-d'Angély in an endless game of ‘ I spy ’ with Angé’s older sisters chasing them around, acting as babysitters. 

At age 10, Angé sobbed into Joseph’s arms when the Roche family returned from their vacation in London. She came back with her dark brown hair barely reaching past her ears. He learnt that during her stay, some boys had flung gum into her ponytail and as she tried to pry it off, it only spread more with her panic. She sniffled at being called ‘ugly’ and ‘boyish’ to which Joseph denied vehemently. Angélique Roche was the prettiest girl he knew. His mean streak began then and there, spitting at whoever poked fun at little Ange’s short and choppy haircut when she wasn’t looking. 

On the first day of elementary school, Joseph and Angé were late. The two 11 year olds waited, first in line at the Patisserie. It was brand new and the launch of the new store coincided with the first day of the school year, regardless, the two kids saved up their pocket money to savor the taste of freshly made macarons. Joseph didn’t really care for sweets, but he treasured seeing the twinkle in Angé’s eyes at the taste of the pastry. 

Their first fight happened at age 12. The two had never fought, never argued, never even raised their voices at each other. But when Angé caught him shoving another boy onto the floor she couldn’t help but be upset with him. Joseph never told her why but supposedly, this wasn’t the first time he had been bullying other boys. He could never tell her that the boy had been trying to catch a peek under her skirt in the harsh winter wind. How the boy had cackled with his friends under his breath about the color of her panties. Joseph sucked it up as Angé called him a bully and refused to talk to him for the remainder of the week. He showed up one night, his mother standing on the side with an expectant look, with flowers and an apology.

The following year turned for the worst for Joseph and Angé. The night before her birthday, Angé’s older sister ran away. It was the middle of the night when she heard her sisters arguing below her window. The middle Roche child was only 17 years old when she left a note under her baby sister’s door, explaining the details of how she fell in love with a man that her parents did not approve of and at the bottom corner of the letter, a hastily written address in Paris. Beatrice Roche couldn’t bear to be apart from her lover but the love she had for her sister took up far too much room in her heart. It was the only secret that the three Roche daughters kept from their parents. 


Only two months later, Joseph Descamps lost his father. At 13, the two shared their grief and loss with one another. They were growing up too fast. 

The two sat together on the stone that separated the road and the small stream in the residential areas of Saint-Jean-d'Angély, knees tucked in and eyes downcast. They silently watched the leaves float on the surface of the water. The first of many secret letters sent from Beatrice Roche, neatly folded in the pocket of Angé’s cardigan. 

With the loss of his father, Joseph’s mother had put much pressure on him. To succeed, to act proper. ‘ If your father were here– ’ He had already accepted that his father was gone.

“What do you think Paris is like?” Angé’s voice was small and meek. Joseph took a peek at her. The corners of her eyes glistened, still teary from reading her sister’s letter. Her hair was fashioned into a milkmaid braid and she wore her favorite green knitted cardigan, the same green as the lapel of his jacket he bought a few years later. Joseph flicked a stone into the stream, “Bigger and better, I suppose.” Angé hummed in agreement. 

“Do you think we should run away too?”

It was only a passing comment for Joseph as he entertained the idea of following in Beatrice’s footsteps. His fingers inched closer to her own as she watched his expression become more serious at the ideas brewing in his mind, “Get away from this place.”

“What will we do?”

“Does it matter? No more school, no more parents. We’d be together.” Joseph stood up abruptly and held out a hand for the girl. Angé stared at the boy, his glasses reflected the sunset’s glitter and his smile showed his pearly whites. She grinned at the confident boy, wiping the remainder of her tears before grabbing his outstretched hand and rising to her feet. 

“Together?”

She stared up into the boy’s eyes, he was already so far taller than her that she had to crane her neck to see his face when they were both standing. Their hands were interlocked with one another, swaying playfully as they both laughed. The world was far too big for the two children who knew nothing but each other and the quaint little town of Saint-Jean-d'Angély. 

“Let’s run away!” 

Perhaps Joseph shouldn’t have announced it to the world, shouting it with playful glee as he held the girl in his hands. A shriek from behind them broke the two’s trances.

Angé’s mother was a calm and collected woman. Even at the revelation that her daughter had eloped in the middle of the night, she never showed much weakness in front of her children. But the sight of Joseph Decamps holding her youngest, her most precious daughter, exclaiming that they should run away. Her resolve finally broke. She couldn’t lose another daughter. 

“Mon père doesn’t want me to see you anymore,” A few weeks after the incident, the two ran into each other under the stone arch in the shopping street, safe from the autumn downpour. Angé picked at the hem of her cardigan, afraid to meet Joseph’s frustrated eyes. He could only scoff, “He’s exaggerating!” 

“Ma mère broke down because of what you said! She became ill!” She wailed, “It didn’t matter if it was a joke, my parents took it seriously.” If she were any younger, Angé would’ve been stomping her feet as if someone had taken her lollipop away. They took Joseph away from her . He reached to clasp her hands but the girl pulled away. He frowned, “Your mother will get over it one day.”

“One day…” Angé muttered. She grimaced at the thought of her mother never reconciling with the boy. It was a possibility that Mrs Roche would never get over her despise for the boy, she had already cut off all contact with Joseph’s mother. To be fair, being shocked into sickness definitely halted any sort of relationship she had with anyone. At the mention of the Descamps family, a pulsing migraine would strike Mrs Roche to her knees. All the stress, all the worry, all the sadness, had caught up to the woman. 

“Fine! Whatever!” Joseph threw up his hands in defeat. His words were bitter and laced with irritation. He turned to leave but Angé lurched forward, wrapping her arms as she cried into the boy’s back, “Joseph! They’re sending me away!”

He stiffened at the girl’s confession. 

“I can’t go to London, it’s so far away-” ‘From you’. Angé fisted Joseph’s gray shirt. The world was too big for the two children. He shuffled around, careful as to not jostle the girl too much before he took her into his arms. There wasn’t a word said as the brunette cried.

True to her words, Angélique Roche was sent to her mother’s family in the bustling city of London across the ocean. The meeting under the arch on that rainy day was the last time Joseph had seen the girl, he had always wished he had said more or tried to convince her parents to stay if Mrs Roche could even stand the sight of him. 

It wasn’t until a few years later, when he had grown tall with virulence, he stumbled into the girl on a random Sunday morning. He had thought about this moment for years, how he’d reunite with the girl from his childhood that was robbed from. Angé had only blossomed into a true beauty since the last time he had seen her, grown taller and slimmer. Her smile still took the breath out of Joseph after all those years. He cleared his throat, shoving his hands into his pockets and made his way beside her. Angé stood, perfect posture, watching him come closer with a shy smile.

“Hi.” 

Even with a single word, Joseph could’ve melted at the sweet voice. He had missed this. Angé straightened out the wrinkles of the lovely pink gingham dress - the latest fashion in Britain. 

“You’re back.”

“I am.” 

There was a cough from behind the two and Joseph stepped aside, head down at the sight of Mr Roche. The older man walked in the between the two, “Descamps.”

“Monsieur Roche.”

It wasn’t as tense as he had expected. Joseph Descamps awaited the angry shout of the older man to stay away from his daughter, after all, that was what the girl had told him before she had been sent away. He knew that the Roche’s had forgiven him, or at the least had forgotten what had happened according to the amiable interaction but there was still a wary look to the head of the Roche family. 

Angé’s disappointment was evident as her father led her away, unable to converse more with Joseph. But as she sneaked a glance back at the boy, she found him already watching her as she left. It was more than enough.

The two only shared fleeting moments with each other in the following year. It was hard when Angé’s school was an hour away from Saint-Jean-d'Angély. She couldn’t complain; anything was better than the gloom of London and she had found a new friend in Annick Sabiani, who shared the same passion in studying that other girls their age had lacked. 

Joseph found himself looking for her in every step he took every weekend. The two had used to spend every day with each other as children, but in their teenagehood, Joseph could only be content with the occasional glances towards each other from across the street. They had grown up, far too quickly. 

Her stay in Britain was a fairly lonely one. She was relegated to her studies as her uncle, a professor at the nearby university, tutored her relentlessly. It couldn’t be helped that she found it hard to socialize, especially once she got back to France. Angé ducked back into the bookstore at the sight of a familiar boy, who had his arms over two other boys as he threw his head back in laughter.

“-But she could really dance!” One of the boys hooked under Joseph’s arms quipped, “Joseph needs to get in on the action! Grab a girl and swing her around!”

“He only goes for the pretty ones Charles!”

“If she can dance, I’ll go for it!” She heard Joseph comment as the trio passed the store. Angé only clutched the book that she had only just purchased and ran home, slamming it onto her sister’s study desk. “ Teach me how to dance! ” Even as she started joining in on the parties held in the empty theaters, Rock n’ Roll blasting from the radio. Angé kept her distance from Joseph’s wanting figure. She watched as he sweet talked other girls in the far corners of the dance hall, but at the end of the day, Joseph only had eyes for her. Not that she would know, always running away after witnessing his flirting. 

“It’s so unkept!” He overheard the clamor of the girls at the bistro as he waited for his mother one day. Angé was amongst the girls, holding a British magazine. He spotted her in the corner of his eyes as she shrugged, tracing over the image of lord-knows-who, a male model whose hair covered his forehead in a messy fashion. “I don’t know, I think long hair is cute.”

The girls giggling continued as they flipped through the rest of the magazine. Joseph stared back at this reflection and picked at one of his short curls. He decided at that moment, he’d grow it out. 

The following autumn, when he arrived at school for the new year, he only smiled at the sight of a familiar girl. The heels of her Mary-Jane’s crunched through the gravel, her white skirt fluttering behind her with every move, dark navy blouse that seemed like it were to stretch at the chest, the matching white scarf keeping her dark brown curls from her face. Her azure eyes met his in surprise before she shook her head. Angélique Roche will be his once more.

Chapter Text

Angé was sure that after Jean-Pierre’s eight days of suspension, Joseph would’ve pulled a stunt that could’ve left the senior walking out of Saint-Jean-d'Angély. But eight days turned into a month and the one-eyed boy didn’t try to attempt anything. A dark leather eyepatch replaced the bandages, but his telltale smirk remained nonetheless. 

“As you know, this is a school where we like to experiment with new methods.” Mr Marcelin, the Literature teacher, finished handing out the exam results with a pointed look, “Next week, we’re going to try a new approach. We’re going to prepare a presentation, working with pairs.”

He pulled a small box from beneath his table and set it on the table, “You will choose your partner from this box and then you’ll present your work to the rest of the class.” 

Annick could only pull a face at the thought of working with a random boy in her class but the brunette next to her couldn’t care less as long as her partner worked alongside her. The teacher explained that since there were an equal number of students, he’d call the students by the order of the roster to pull out a slip containing a random name. Angé tapped nervously as the teacher began calling out names.

“I expect everyone to show me the slip with your partner’s name: no cheating to partner with your friends!”

Joseph and Dupin both strutted up to the podium, pushing and shoving as their names were called, leering into the box. A smile erupted onto Joseph’s face, taking a step forward to Angé’s table at the front row and slid the slip of paper to her. Her name was written in black ink. 

“Aren’t I lucky?” 

There was chatter amongst the boys as the first of four girls were picked. A series of silent groans from the boys who were eager for a chance to work with the brunette. She heard her friend sigh from beside her as Joseph basked in the moment. Angé only shrugged at both of them. 

Eventually, everyone had paired up and in a strange turn of events, everyone had gotten partners that they had wanted. Michèle and Simone, Felbec and Abblebaum. Ideally, Annick would’ve preferred to work alone if not with Angé - but curse the even number. Her hand shot up from her desk as her partner, Pichon stared from his seat. If he could erase the crestfallen expression on the blonde’s face as he announced that he had her name on the paper, he would in a heartbeat. 

“Sir, is there a chance we can switch partners?” Annick rambled, “Could we not work with our deskmate instead?” 

“Collaboration and sportsmanship, Miss Sabiani,” Marcelin boomed, “No complaints.” 

The blonde fell back in her seat in defeat, refusing to look back at her partner for the remainder of her class. As the bell rang, Joseph strided over to his own partner’s desk while she compiled her exams from the previous classes. Angé wasn’t that smart admittedly, rather she worked studiously to achieve good marks. The brunette was terrible in numbers whereas the blonde excelled in numbers and sciences. It was initially how they had started their friendship a year ago, where Annick would tutor her in mathematics and Angé would help her with Literature and English. 

“My mother would be happy to see you again,” Joseph mentioned and stared at the 17/20 on the latest Literature exam, Angé tucked it away wordlessly. He whistled, “Why don’t you come over to mine? We can study more than just Literature…” 

Full marks in English, above average marks in Latin, Literature and History but a dip in Maths and Science. Angé was content with the marks, especially with the reactions of the teachers that realized that she could catch up with the boys. But she knew that wasn’t what the tall boy was talking about. She tossed the strap of her bag across her shoulder and snuck around Joseph, his eyebrows raised suggestively, “How many girls have you used that line on?” 

“Only you.”

Angé was quickly tugged closer by Annick, who could only stare at the one-eyed boy in disdain because of the flirtatious comment. The look was noticed by another.  

“Say, Annick!” Dupin drawled, following the two girls as they exited the classroom, “If you ever have kids with Pichon, you can say you raised pigs together!” He was startlingly good at grunting like a pig that Angé would’ve giggled at the impression if he weren’t insulting two of her friends.  

“Is there a problem, Dupin?” 

“It wasn’t him, sir. It’s Pichon. When he’s happy, he grunts!” 

The two girls rolled their eyes as the grunting continued and made their way onto the courtyard. Annick pulled the brunette aside into the shade once they had separated from the crowd. It was deep into mid autumn, leaves turning brown and falling to the gravel. 

“What did Descamps mean by his 'mother will be happy to see you again’?” Blunt and straight to the point. Annick knew a lot of things about her best friend, her history with Descamps was not one of them. Angé pointed back to Annick in an attempt to change the subject, “I don’t know. Why do you hate Henri?”

“I don’t!” The blonde was quick to deny but Angé only gave her a disapproving look, “You didn’t want to be partners with him.”

“I don’t want to partner with anyone!” She was exasperated but collected herself once she noticed people heading in their direction. 

“Angé, why don’t we get a headstart on this project and work on it over the weekend?”

Joseph’s voice was low and playful, leaning from behind to tease the girl. Annick’s eyebrow raised at the intimacy but Angé stood without a reaction, “I’m sure you have other things to do. I didn’t think you were such a nerd, Joseph.”

Dupin and Vergoux chuckled but their attention was diverted as Laubrac sauntered past. Dupin gave the curly haired boy a shove, “Be careful: if you drop your bag at Laubrac’s, it might land in cow shit!”

“Why does he have to live on a farm,” Vergoux groaned, “It’s the only place we can work on this damn project because he has to work!” 

The three boys nudged and cackled at each other but the two girls only stared at each other. Angé leant forwards to her friend, “Are you-”

“He can’t.” The blonde’s eyes were shut and her lips tugged down. Angé had only been to Annick’s residence once. The café that doubled as a tobacconist was always loud and disruptive, full of vulgar and rowdy men. Her mother never acknowledged Angé, even when one of the men spilled his drink on the brunette’s new paperback edition of ‘A Clockwork Orange’. There was no apology and her mother waved it off, distracted by her latest boyfriend. It wasn’t that her mother was inherently a bad person, she had just made bad choices. Despite the fact, Annick never let Angé step foot in the building since. So there was no way Henri Pichon was going to come over. No one in Voltaire High was ever going to know of her hardships. 

As Annick marched towards the bench that Henri and his friends occupied, Joseph inched closer towards Angé but there was a clear voice rang out from the staircase of the entrance, beckoning out for the girl. 

Ms Couret and the Dean looked through the essays and marks that Angé had received in English with an upbeat glance. The older woman leant forward to pat the student on the shoulder, “You have been an astounding student in my class, with near, if not, perfect results on each exam and quiz!”

“You spent two years in England?” The Dean looked through his records to which Ms Couret turned back to Angé, “I thought you only vacationed there?”

“Both. I didn’t really speak English out of school when I was abroad though.”

The teachers hummed. The woman clasped her hands in delight, “Well, either way, we had an agreement! Once the new term starts, you’ll be advancing into the third year curriculum for English.” 

The weekend came and went quickly, Angé had compiled a list of authors and playwrights that she and Joseph could work from. She couldn’t help but be excited to have an excuse to work with him, after all, it had been so long since they had spent some valuable time with each other that wasn't spontaneous in nature. As she settled in, Angé couldn’t help but glance worriedly at the empty seat next to her. Annick Sabiani was always on time. 

Close to ten minutes later, the blonde scrambled through the door of the classroom. Her hair was frazzled and cheeks pink as it was obvious that she had been sprinting to school. 

“Ah, thank you for joining us today Miss Sabiani,” Mrs Giraud was taut as ever, looking over the blonde’s late pass with a grimace, “Is this how you come to class?”

“Sorry, I had to run.”

“Then you should leave earlier,” Mrs Giraud snatched the attendance book from Annick’s hands. Angé couldn’t hide her appalled expression as the teacher glared at the blonde, “One hour of detention.”

“But…” 

“Talking back? That’s two hours.”

“She lives so far away!” Angé couldn’t help but blurt out, annoyed at the situation, “Annick lives an hour away, she has to wake up earlier than any of us to even make it on time-”

“It’s true, I wake up at six in the morning-”

“Where are your manners?”  Mrs Giraud snapped, head swiveling between the two girls before landing on Annick, “And you still persist: that’s two more. So four hours.” She pointed at Angé. “And since you are such an advocate, you can keep Miss Sabiani company.”

The History teacher didn’t spare her another glance, turning back to the chalkboard to continue what they had been learning before Annick’s appearance. Angé opened her mouth to refute but the blonde pulled her back to her seat, shaking her head as she adjusted herself for the lesson. It wasn’t worth it. 

“What a troublemaker, you are.” Joseph purred. Angé rolled her eyes, giving him a light nudge. The two were walking down the cobbled path towards the café after school had ended. He brought his hands up in his defense, “Honestly! I get knee deep into trouble all the time but never have I gotten four hours of detention at once!”

“She’s on a power trip!” Angé exclaimed, “Giraud hates girls! You know, I heard one time she caught one of the girls wearing make-up and scrubbed it off herself!”

“Bluebeard hasn’t caught you yet?”

The brunette stopped in her path, crossing her arms with a pout, “You really think I’m wearing make-up? Is it obvious?” 

“Are you?” Joseph ducked down to peer at her face, “Even if you were, did you really need it?” The corner of his lips itched upwards at the sight of Angé’s cheeks growing red. The chimes of the café door brought a new distraction. 

“Gigi! Is that you?”

The one-eyed boy reared back as Angé snapped at the direction of the voice. He frowned at the newcomer, a tall young man with dark hair and copper eyes. His suit screamed a lavish lifestyle, not a wrinkle in sight. And this handsome stranger pulled the girl away from him and gave her a deep hug, right in front of him. Joseph cleared his throat with a strain which brought the attention of the man to him.

“Ah! You…” The man hugged his arm across Angé’s shoulder and pointed his other to Joseph in slight recognition, “Evie mentioned you a while back, how’s that eye?”

‘It’s not there, that’s for sure.’ He didn’t have to answer this stranger’s questions, especially when the only thought that ran through his mind was how and why Angé knew this flamboyant man. She seemed to notice his discomfort, breaking from the man’s hold to put herself between them. 

“Joseph, this is Victor. He’s my sister’s partner.” 

“Fiancé, to be exact. My Evie, Evangeline, she was the nurse who helped you with your eye -right?”

‘How would I know, I couldn’t fucking see.’ Would’ve been the words Joseph would have quipped back with, not holding back in his obvious distaste to Victor. Angé gulped eager to change the topic, “Anyways- What brings you here? Did you finish work?”

“As a matter of fact, I did. But I was handing out invitations to the engagement dinner to my friends.” The tall man pulled an envelope from his blazer pocket and raised it in Joseph’s direction, “Here, you can come as well, Dechamp.”

“Descamps.” 

“Ah, Descamps! So your mother is Suzanne? I’m sure she’d love to come-” Angé tuned out, staring at the scuffed marks of her Mary-Jane’s. Victor had known about her parents’ estranged relationship to the Descamps family, willingly inviting them to the dinner was a brash move that she was sure her mother would not outright approve of. 

“Look at the time, I better go lest Evie unleashes her anger on me!” Victor gave a peck to the crown of Angé’s head, breaking her from her stupor. The older man simply nodded to Joseph, who fought off his scowl and strided off. The one-eyed boy gripped the envelope containing the invitation with a subtle glance at the fleeting man. 

“Do Roche girls always go for dumb rich guys?” Joseph pointed back, his thumb jerking to Victor with a jeer. Angé giggled, hiding it with a cough. 

“Unfortunately: not my type.”

“Not your type, huh…” 

Angé took a peek at the boy, who stared at the envelope. There was a glimpse of a smile on his face, his curls brushing against his forehead against the soft breeze. The muted navy shade of his checkered coat complemented the glow in his caramel eye. He had grown so much taller compared to when they were thirteen and could be face to face at full height. He was only just a boy back then. She was reminded of the time that her breath was stolen by the sight of seeing Joseph for the first time she came back; her palms sweaty at the same - but changed boy. Angé shook her head, fighting the blush that creeped onto her cheeks.

Chapter Text

Even though the weather was awful: gray clouds rolling in from above, pouring rain that hit everyone’s legs at an angle and the brisk cold air warning the arrival of winter; the students roared and cheered at the prospect of winning a new student lounge. It had all been a series of elaborate, ah, apologies, coincidences that gave the students a winning chance against the annual Voltaire High: Students vs Teacher soccer match. 

First had been removing Mr Herman as the partial referee - The Dean, Mr Bellanger couldn’t help but jump at the chance of not having to play against the ruthless students. Having the Dean be the referee was already an enormous boost in their favor but the second was making sure that the teacher’s not-so-hidden trump card, Mr Marcelin, couldn’t score a goal. A simple spill of water outside of the Literature teacher’s classroom couldn’t be helped when someone had accidentally spilled their bottle of water. Now, the simple prank wasn’t meant to incapacitate the teacher - he appeared on Monday with a crutch and a limp. But regarding the seniors’ delighted reactions at the injury, it seemed to do the job.

“-With a record so we can all listen to music!”

“I doubt it’ll be a good place to study.”

“It’s a lounge, not a library!” Angé groaned at Annick’s comment. The blonde had been snarky and cold all day but the brunette could only chalk it up to the unfortunate weather. In fact, her sullen mood had already begun even before Annick had walked out of the front doors of the café in the early morning, finding Angé already waving at her from the inside of her sister’s baby blue Renault ¾. ‘There’s no way I’m letting you walk in the rain, what type of friend would I be?’ 

A good friend. Angélique Roche was a good friend to Annick. But she couldn’t help grimacing at the sight of the convertible beside the Roche’s car, afraid that Robert - her mother’s new flame and resident photographer… Filmmaker, scout and whatnot, would take a peek at her friend and also try to give her his card. Angé didn’t need this baggage. She also didn’t need to know that she had stripped in front of Henri Pichon the night before in an attempt to straighten the poor boy’s thoughts. The minds of boys were volatile and as the blonde predicted, they had barely gotten much work done. The class leader didn’t take even a glance at the blonde today. Normally, Annick would have been pleased at one less distraction, but the unwillingness of the boy irked the blonde. It was a strange feeling that Annick could not comprehend and that annoyed her more than anything.

“A student lounge where we can listen to music and smoke,” Annick recapped the goals and requirements that the seniors had imposed in the case of their victory. She instantly glowered, “If you want to do that, just go home!”

“I think it’s nice.” Laubrac stepped in line with the girls. The blonde instantly shut her mouth at the sight of the curly-haired boy, plucking her umbrella from the floor before heading out into the rain. Angé called out to her friend with displeasure laced in her groan and turned to the boy once she realized that Annick was not going to wait for her, “Sorry Laubrac, she’s not usually like this, I swear…”

The boy only chuckled as they both stared at the soccer pitch that began to be filled out with both students and teachers alike. Alain Laubrac shoved his hands into the pockets of his thin jacket, unaware that Angé could see the slight shiver and pink hue of his hands. 

“Earlier today, she came by to ask me about the math test,” He began with a crooked grin, “We both got 19, so I suppose Annick thought that I knew how to solve one of the equations that she got wrong. Turns out,” Laubrac leaned in, “We both got the same question wrong and she went all tight-lipped. Ended up storming off.”

“She’s too proud to admit,” Angé giggled at the story. It definitely seemed like something the blonde would do when she thought no one was watching. The rain began to pour down more fiercely and the girl opened her umbrella, “Are you watching the game?”

He shrugged, “Yeah, why not.” 

Laubrac however, did not move from his spot and Angé wiggled the handle of the umbrella at him, “It fits two people? Come on, I don’t bite.” 

And so, Laubrac and Angé shared an umbrella at the fence of the grassy sports field behind Voltaire’s main stony campus. Or at least tried to share an umbrella; Laubrac seemed to be restless as he paced back and forth, inching forward away from the cover of the umbrella to watch the game excitedly so much so that he became soaked. Annick stood to the left of the brunette under her own umbrella, unimpressed at the rowdy boys. 

The game was 2 - 1 in favor of the teachers by halftime. Angé had been enjoying the game, finding it amusing that the teachers that were so adamant on manners and courtesy left all that behind on the playing field - rushing and tripping the students on the muddy grass. She found the game a lot more interesting as Ms Couret had joined the teachers as one of the players. Even with the presence of a lady on the field, the students were cold-blooded. Laubrac excused himself, needing to go to the washroom but the blonde beside her glanced at her watch and without any time to spare, made her way down the benches to where the boys of their class were sitting. 

“Pichon, I’ll finish the presentation myself. I’ll do your part.” Annick didn’t let the boy get a word in, “At the rate that we’re going, it won’t take me very much longer.”

“Wait…”

“We’re supposed to work, not watch the game.” 

Annick marched off, giving Angé a knowing look on the way. The brunette frowned, wanting to watch how the game would end. The student lounge seemed promising and the students were not willing to step down. But she couldn’t let her friend travel all the way home in this weather, especially when she was the one who offered to drive her to school and back. Well, her sister would be driving but it was all Angé’s idea.  The game restarted with taunts from the teachers and Angé sighed, pushing herself off the fence when Pichon approached her. 

“Angé! Do you know where Annick went?”

“Why?” She stared at him with curious eyes. Pichon was unusually antsy and his voice was pleading. Angé sighed, “Don’t give her a hard time-”

“A hard time? She’s the one-” Pichon stopped himself and let out a deep breath, “She thinks this game is a waste of time, I don’t see why taking a break from studying will stop her from getting a good grade?”

“So she’ll watch the game for an hour, spend another few at yours? Then go home alone in the rain to study a few more when she gets back?” Angé lists off and Pichon’s face blanks, “Let me remind you that she lives an hour away, how will she sleep with that amount of work? Not to mention that she has to walk because some idiot stole her moped and then four more hours of detention this week-”

Pichon interrupts with a mumble, “Annick has to walk to school…?” 

“Why do you think she was late yesterday? Do you think Annick would ever show up looking that messy on purpose?” Angé smiled at the boy, almost joking but hoping he would understand her friend’s situation. He shook his head at the rhetorical question. She stepped in a bit closer to Pichon, “Henri, give her a chance. Annick is stubborn and skips to the last resort when she thinks nothing goes right. That’s the type of person she is. She doesn’t like working with others, so prove that you can help her. Pick up whatever slack, okay?” 

Pichon seemed to be stunned, a hundred thoughts raced through his head. Angé took a glance at the exit, finding that Laubrac was coming back with Michèle in tow and decided that she had taken far too long; Annick was probably waiting at the entrance of the school by now. She leant in with a hushed tone as the two neared them, “Don’t tell anyone about Annick’s moped, the last thing she wants is pity.”

“Roche! What did I miss?”

“Not much happened.” She leant away as Laubrac ducked underneath her umbrella, safe from the onslaught of rain. Pichon also took a step back from the intrusion, though he was deep in thought. Angé clicked her tongue at the damp feeling of Laubrac’s jacket and pressed the handle of her umbrella to the boy, “I’m going now! Keep it, otherwise you’ll get sick!” 

“Are you sure? It’s yours!”

“I’m sure! It’s the least I could do, I wish I could offer you a scarf or something more useful.”

“An umbrella is better than a scarf,” Laubrac jested, finally holding onto the umbrella and Angé let out a chuckle. She patted him on the arm and tried to hide her grimace at the feeling of wet fabric, “Stay warm and let me know if we win that lounge!” 

Michèle, who had followed closely behind Laubrac, stared dumbfoundedly at the two. Watching as the girl gave the two boys a large grin before sprinting off the field. As she watched the brunette leave, she missed the fact that her best friend had made eye contact with her brother from across the stands. She had missed the look that Laubrac had gave her as he spun around, beckoning her to join him under the umbrella. She missed the expression on Pichon’s face as he sauntered back to his friends, not paying her a single glance. Missed the scowl on Joseph’s face, despite the goal that the student’s had gotten due to the penalty. Michèle was far too intrigued by the brunette’s interactions with Laubrac, a funny feeling rising from the bottom of her stomach. 

Angé was right in thinking that Annick would be at the school gates. In fact, the girl had only taken a few steps away from the gates before she heard her friend calling out to her. The blonde rolled her eyes and extended her umbrella to the brunette, “You took so long that I considered just walking home myself.” 

“Sorry!” Angé panted, almost slipping on the stones below, “We’re winning, by the way!”

“I don’t care.” 

“Right,” The brunette drawled teasingly, nudging her elbow into Annick but at the blonde’s annoyed expression, she stopped. 

The route to the hospital was only down the road from Voltaire High, a ten minute walk straight down the main path. It was a route that Angé usually took when visiting her sister. The Roche residence was one of the large houses that was past the hospital, a few streets away from the rivers. If the weather weren’t so horrid, Angé would’ve offered to watch the clouds pass by on the grassy hills with Annick like they had used to do when they had finished their homework back when they were in their girls' school. 

“Did you break your umbrella or something?”

“I gave it to Laubrac,” Angé shrugged but she felt daggers from her friend, “Why?”

“You don’t need to help anyone, especially those boys.”

“He needed it more than me. There’s nothing wrong with being kind.”

Annick didn’t say anything in response, keeping her pace and her gaze forwards. The brunette was tempted to bring up the conversation she had with Pichon back at school but decided against it as Annick had that familiar expression plastered on her face. Eyebrows furrowed, lips pursed. It was a look that Angé was familiar with, a look that meant that the blonde had already an unbending resolution. Whether it was positive or negative, there was nothing she could do to change it. 

Chapter Text

A few days later brought the night of Evangeline and Victor’s engagement dinner. Angé couldn’t lie that her family was quite well off, their house was decked out with their nicest ornaments and china, the girls of the Roche family dressed in the latest couture for the night. The dinner was more akin to a party than anything, due to Victor’s insistence on wanting to invite practically everyone he knew. 

“Angélique, come now. You remember Mrs Descamps?” 

Her father beckoned her over, a glass of wine in his hands as she approached her parents. She was sure that Joseph would’ve kept the invitation hidden from his mother, he had no intentions of coming either. More surprisingly, Angé was sure that even if they did come, her parents would have avoided the family the entire night. Instead, the adults chatted away as if their relationship hadn’t strained a few years ago. She shook hands with the woman, who did so eagerly.

“My, my Angélique! You’ve grown so beautifully!” 

Suzanne Descamps was a socialite. Beautiful, young, always keeping appearances. But her words were genuine as she recounted the last time she had seen the girl with nostalgia. Angé thanked the woman but another thought sprung into her mind, “Thank you for the macarons, I never got to thank you for that.”

“Macarons?” Mrs Descamps tilted her head in confusion, “Ah, yes! It was all Joseph’s idea, isn’t he sweet?” 

Angé slowly nodded. She remembered that Joseph had said that the gift was from his mother. Her father took the opportunity to glance around the room and jutted at Descamps. 

“Speaking of Joseph, where’d that son of yours go? Is he not here?”

“He mentioned something about a Literature assignment, he’s been holed up in his room all day-”

The brunette blinked. The two of them had finished the Literature task the night before, seeing as the presentation was due the next day. Joseph had lied in an attempt to ditch the engagement party. Lied about the macarons. She shook her head and sipped on her glass of champagne. 

Although there were so many people in attendance for the engagement party, none were around Angé’s age. The bride-to-be was much older than the youngest Roche child, being 24 years of age. Evangeline’s fiance was a couple years older than her, so most of the attendees were around their age and much older. The teenager felt out of place in her own home. The sun had set already and Angé stood quietly by her parent’s side; posture perfect, a quaint little smile but her mind was anywhere but the lively party she was in. 

“Angélique? Why don’t you get the door?”

Her mother’s soft tone brought her out of her stupor, a quiet nod in response as Angé began to weave through the crowd to open the door for the incredibly late partygoers. What she didn’t expect to see when she opened the door was a familiar tall boy. She stared at him: brown coat, black turtleneck and tell-tale brown leather patch across his left eye.

“Joseph!” 

His name spilt out of her lips without her even realizing, setting down her champagne and bringing her hands to hold his own to drag him inside but he stood his ground, “You came!”

The corners of his lips itched upwards but it never formed a smile, “For you.”

Perhaps it was the alcohol, or perhaps it was his smooth deep voice, but Angé felt her breath hitch. Joseph peered over her shoulder at the busy house, “Do you wanna get out of here?”

The autumn air was sharp and bitter against Angé’s skin. The two had deserted the engagement party in favor of wandering down the street to the river. Around the corner of the Roche residence, there was a small footpath that led past two canals and down to the Boutonne river. It was almost too nostalgic for the two teenagers as they sat down by the bank of the river. The last time they were there was when they were only children. 

Angé sat on Joseph's coat, her soft green dress safe from the dirt. The boy, laying close to her, lit a cigarette silently. There wasn’t much to say, Angé could bring up the case of the macarons and why he didn’t initially show up to the party but she knew he would vehemently deny. Regardless, he did gift her and he did show up, eventually. Whatever. 

“You’re not going to offer me one?”

“It was my last one,” Joseph grunted, not bothering to take it out of his mouth. He sat up with his elbows propped, his left arm spread behind Angé as she turned to him with a pout. 

“So?” She beamed, stealing the cigarette from his lips gingerly and placed it on her own. Joseph’s lips parted at the indirect kiss, staring at the stick between her rose lips. Angé leaned away to exhale the smoke before she turned back to Joseph, “What’s wrong with sharing?” 

Joseph only chuckled, taking back the cigarette, “How many have you had to drink?”

“Hmmm,” The brunette shivered as the river breeze washed over her, “Two or three? Maybe more, it was awfully boring.”

“You weren’t dancing? You’re really good, I’ve seen you.” Joseph inched closer to the shivering girl, the short dress not bringing much warmth to her. It may have been subconscious but Angé snuggled closer.

“You’ve seen me?” She muttered and laughed, “I didn’t dance because all the guys there were well in their twenties! I would never!” 

The two laid down on the banks of the river for what seemed like an eternity together, sharing the cigarette between the two until it eventually became a stub, unusable. Even as the night crept by, the sounds of water rushing by and the leaves rustling, the two stared at the bright night stars. Soft mumbles slipped from their lips; talks of rumors at Voltaire, the contents of Beatrice’s most recent letters from Paris. 

Joseph shuffled, glancing at the girl next to him. Her brown curls laid around her like a halo, azure eyes reflecting the stars above and her pouty lips, cheeks rosy. He traced her features with his eye, like a painting that was too beautiful that it could not be exhibited lest it be stolen. He didn’t want anyone else admiring, taking in her beauty. He reveled in the fact that even though they were unwillingly separated from one another, they were always drawn to each other. Joseph couldn’t admit that ever since that fateful reunion, he had always been wanting a glimpse of the brunette. Her whispers were music to his ears. 

“I’m not letting go this time.”

“Hmm, Joseph did you say something?” 

It was only luck that Joseph had been mumbling those words under his breath, his thoughts tumbling through his mouth when he made eye contact with Angé. He jolted upwards and brushed himself off, “I said, it’s getting late. We should probably go back.”

Angé begrudgingly stood up, brushing off the boy’s coat but he shook his head and placed it on top of her own shoulders. She sighed as she eyed the main pavement, “If you’re worried about the party being over, I assure you it will probably go on till midnight.”

“I don’t want your parents thinking that I’ve actually stolen you and that we’ve run away for real,” Joseph ridiculed, still mocking the idea. Angé pouted, “I don’t know if my parents have forgiven you fully for that. But… Our parents seem to be friends again. That’s good, right?”

The one-eyed boy shrugged, “I don’t think they trust me. My mother never did anything wrong.” 

“Then I guess we’ll have to see when we get back.” 

Joseph and Angé turned the corner only to halt in their path. The orange street lights illuminated the streets, brick walls lined the streets and right in the middle: two figures were in each other’s arms, lips pressed together in fervor. 

“No fucking way.” 

The one-eyed boy wished he had been mumbling like he had before, instead his voice was clear and loud. The couple in front of them flinched away from each other, shocked at being caught. Angé recognised the burgundy headband that the girl in front of her wore, the green cardigan and short bob. 

“Simone?” 

“Angé!” The bobbed girl responded, out of breath and panicked. Her eyes wide at the sight of her classmate and widened even more seeing the tall one-eyed boy next to her. Her head whipped to the man she had been kissing and Angé did the same, recognising him too. He had the same astonished look as the time she saw him during the incident.

“Magnan.” She heard Joseph speak under his breath, almost spitting out the name. It had been a long time since the two had seen each other, the fact that Jean-Pierre now had more extra-curricular to represent the school with a Latin contest meant that their paths never met in school. But here they were, caught under the orange streetlights far from where Magnan would usually be found. 

Oh how Angé wished she hadn’t sobered up at that moment as the tension was unbearably thick. The four of them could only stare at each other, waiting for the first word to be thrown. But the brunette really wasn’t one for confrontations, this night in particular wasn’t meant to be about finding out about her classmate’s secret affair. 

Wordlessly, Angé slipped her hands into Joseph’s and led him past the couple. Simone called out to the girl to no avail. The brunette and one-eyed boy escaped into the Roche house without a glance back to Simone and Jean-Pierre. 

Needless to say, the following morning, Angé was not expecting to see the bobbed girl waiting in front of her gates. She had half the mind to shut the front door and wait for Simone to leave but she didn’t want to risk more detention for getting to school late. Simone called out to her as she exited the Roche residence but struggled to keep up with the brunette’s intentionally quick strides. 

“Please don’t tell anyone!”

“What, that you rendezvous with a senior in the middle of the night?” 

It was meant to sound like a joke but to Simone, her words felt like a taunt. Angé actually couldn't care less but it was a shock seeing her classmate with a senior, and out of all the seniors it had to be the one that gave her friend one less eye. It was more awkward than anything. A thought crossed her mind, “Does she know?”
 
“No one can know!”

“Michèle! Does Michèle know?” Angé crossed her arms, her voice sharp. Simone gulped and by the guilty expression she wore, it was quite obvious that the strawberry blonde did not know about her best friend and brother’s romantic situation. Now the brunette wasn’t friends with the blonde. She found her a bit childish, a bit too naive. But from one girl to another, she did not appreciate Simone’s actions. Angé scoffed and rolled her eyes, “So you’re only friends with Michèle to get with her brother?”

“No! No, it’s not like that!”

“I don’t see why she doesn’t know then,” Perhaps Angé had been hanging around Joseph too much, her sentences slowly sounding like his snarky quips. Simone bit her lip and pleaded to the brunette, “Michèle definitely can’t know! Please Angé!” 

Angé only adjusted her coat and kept her gaze straight, not wanting to see Simone’s begging eyes, “It’s not my place to say anything.”

“And Descamps!”

“What of him?”

“He can’t say anything either!”

“What makes you think I can stop him from spreading rumors?” Angé finally turned to Simone, who had almost bumped into the girl at the abrupt turn. The bobbed girl gasped and suddenly found her shoes to be interesting, “If anyone can stop him from doing anything brash - it’s you.”

Angé only scoffed, “What does that even mean?” 

She turned on her heels and continued her march towards the direction of the school, leaving Simone to walk uncomfortably in her shadow. Angé heard her shuffle along, “Well, he seems smitten by you and…”

The brunette had half the mind to turn around and scoff at the girl. Joseph? Smitten by her? After hearing a moment of silence from behind her, Angé paused as she heard Simone speak.

“What were you doing with Descamps last night?”

It was an innocent question in all honesty because no one in Voltaire knew of Angé and Joseph’s history. While the two of them saw a junior and a senior’s scandalous kiss underneath the moonlight; Simone saw Joseph’s coat draped across Angé’s shoulder and said girl holding his hand as they entered the same house. 

“If you must know, Joseph and I have known each other for a long time. There was a soiree at my house, he was invited, end of story. You on the other hand…” Angé trailed off, adjusting the strap of her bag and continued her walk to school, ignoring the stunned bobbed girl behind her. 

And it continued till they reached their classroom, in which Simone’s persistent gaze gave Angé the shivers. Even as she stood up on the podium beside Joseph, who had finished discussing his portion of the presentation, Angé felt unsettled at the stare that Simone gave her. She felt the boy nudge her with his shoulder and was brought back to attention when she heard the tapping of Mr Marcelin’s pen.

“-Well, well. Working in pairs has its perks. Great work, Roche and Descamps.”

The pair made their way back to their seats as the teacher continued his praises towards the three other girls in the class, “And congratulations, ladies.” 

The classroom bustled with laughter and Joseph snorted, barely making it to his seat before he clapped towards Pichon, a standing ovation, “Yes, well done Ms Pichon! Bravo!”

“Quiet down, Descamps.” 

Angé couldn’t help but scoff lightly at his theatrics, watching the tall boy get told off as he unwillingly sat in his seat - still clapping for Pichon. As she turned in her seat to face Annick, wanting to appraise her friend for finally working with a boy, Angé caught the scrutinizing face of Simone in the corner of her eye. Dropping her smile, the brunette swiveled towards the front of the board where Mr Marcelin had moved onto a new topic. 

“What was that?” Annick jeered as the class ended, gripping her pile of books and standing - the screech of her chair making Angé wince. The brunette shrugged and led the way out the classroom, “I wanted to say how I was glad you and Henri were working together and passed but I didn’t want to miss what Mr Marcelin was saying.”

“Right…” The blonde raised an eyebrow at the answer, knowing that her friend would’ve whispered the comment to her regardless during the class. Angé quickened her pace as she heard a familiar name pop up in a conversation in front of her.

“Did you and Jean-Pierre talk about my grades?”

“No. Don’t worry, I wouldn’t say anything anyways. I’m loyal.”

Angé could practically feel the bubble coming up from her throat, threatening to scoff when she heard a crude laugh cut in from behind her. 

“Loyal, my ass.” 

The two girls pivoted to see Joseph and his friends behind them; the tall boy balling his fist in front of him as he made the comment. Michèle and Simone were well ahead of them, far enough that they didn’t hear the purposely loud comment that Descamps had made. Annick scorned him, “What are you implying?”

“Nothing,” Joseph straightened up, his gaze still on the two retreating girls. “Nothing at all.”