Archive of Our Own

Winter had just started, and with that, the general excitement that came with Christmas being around the corner; while most children had already sent their letters to Santa, some were encouraged to rush it almost at the last minute, one of those kids being Enjolras, a seven year old kid, ‘too bright for his age’, as some adults (mainly his father) would say. In fact, the child had a remarkably sharp tongue that never quite matched his angelic blue eyes and face, framed by golden locks that arrived more or less to his shoulders, and a quite messy bang. His teachers would praise his intelligence and his discourses that went way beyond a regular child's capacities and interests; he would be described as charismatic and free spirited, which led to a lot of adults saying that he would grow up to be a politician, even better, president, considering how he was a natural born leader. However, the blonde child would always scowl and shake his head. He had always thought there was something wrong with politicians, but he couldn't quite put it to words, being only seven.

So there he was, sat at his aunt and uncle’s living room table, a blank paper sheet in front of him, a small case of pens and pencils between him and his little cousin, Jean, who was five, and somehow could write more decently than the average five year old: unlike his cousin, whose brows were furrowed and lips were slightly pouting, his right hand holding his own head and his left fidgeting with a pencil, little Jean was sticking his tongue out in concentration, hunched over his own sheet as he wrote and wrote, his reddish hair covering his face, his green curious eyes and freckles alike, as he occasionally smiled at the words on the paper. Eventually, he giggled and placed his pencil down, as he began to tap the older child's shoulder.

“Jo! Jo! Jo!”

As soon as the child turned around, Jean held his letter up to his face proudly, grinning so widely all his teeth were showing.

“Look what I wrote!”

He exclaimed; as Enjolras leaned closer, he started reading it out in his mind, his brows still furrowed. On the sheet, there was a list of presents the younger child wished, and it concluded with what the blue eyed cousin assumed it was some sort of poem:

‘ Dear Santa
You are cool
You give gifts

– Jehan ’

“You misspelled your name.”

Enjolras pointed out matter-of-factly, his head mildly tilted to the side. In response, Jean gasped and put the letter back on the table with a pseudo slam, all to show his indignation.

“No I didn't!”

He mildly raised his voice, crossing his arms to his chest; his cousin did not relent, however. They kept on bickering for a few minutes, before a woman walked in, a plate of small sandwiches in one hand and a jar of apple juice in the other; she placed the items on the center of the table, before she parted her lips to look for a way to calm the kids down.

“Children, children… Settle down, will you?”

Aunt Anne, whose full name was Anne Javert, put a stop to the quarrel, her voice assertive but soft in its own way, which was what differentiated her from her twin brother. While Jean huffed, even if reluctantly, Enjolras looked up at her, not backing down.

“Is it true there is no ‘H’ in his name, aunt Anne?”

The blonde child asked, and the woman's brows furrowed in confusion, slowly nodding her head.

“That's right, honey, there isn't.”

She then confirmed, glancing at her nephew, who stuck his tongue out at her son, and then glancing at the latter, who was now pouting; she snorted slightly and lovingly ruffled his red hair, quickly checking what he wanted for Christmas. When she did the same with Enjolras's, she frowned, noticing how the sheet was blank. As she sat opposite to the two, she parted her lips again, to ask him about it.

“Do you not want Santa to bring you gifts, Enjo?”

The child shrugged, a skeptical look on his face and his arms crossed.

“No. My birthday is about a month away, anyway…”

He paused, before tilting his head to the side again and squinting.

“How does Santa even manage to bring presents to everyone in just one night? And how does he manage to also be in malls and ask children for what they want? Shouldn't he be busy crafting all the toys?”

Anne waited for a moment. She knew that moment was going to come one day or another, but this early? The woman clicked her tongue and smiled, ready to give her nephew the most basic explanation she could have given at this point.

“Well… He doesn't work alone, honey. You know, he has a lot of helpers in Lapland, where he works and has his big factory where he makes toys, but he also has a lot of helpers all around the world! For example, the elves and the Santas you see in malls tell the real Santa about what the children want. But, at least here in Europe, it's the real him who leaves presents under the Christmas tree. In other continents, it's his brothers who do it, but they aren't talked about much, are they?”

She ended her speech with a giggle, hoping the explanation would please the boy's curiosity, and skepticism. Instead, she was met with a deeper frown; from there on, everything went south. After a pause, Enjolras began an onslaught of questions, which were more and more difficult for his aunt to answer to.

“Lapland? But, if so, why do a lot of toys have ‘Made in China’ written on them?”

“Well, Enjo, he has a factory there, too—”

“But why? Wouldn't it be easier if he had one closer to Lapland? Isn't Lapland in… Norway, or something? Is it because in China there is… What is it called? Cheap labor…? I watched a documentary about it, once.”

“What? Enjolras, he—”

“Does he really take advantage of workers who are not paid enough…? Isn't he supposed to love everyone? And, I'm starting to think he doesn't even pay the elves in his factory in Lapland…”

“Honey, you're taking this way too seriously…”

That was the only thing that Anne could answer with, after awkwardly chuckling; she ruffled his blonde hair, before standing up and excusing herself. As soon as she did, Enjolras turned towards his cousin, who was calmly eating the small sandwiches, not quite paying attention to the previous conversation; the older scoffed.

“Can you believe this, Jean?”

They were looking at each other, but Jean was not answering, also because his cousin didn't really leave him time to, as he started talking once again, this time standing up and pacing around the table.

“All this time, they made us think Santa was a nice guy… Lies! Why hasn't anyone done anything about this yet?”

He stopped on his tracks, his shiny eyes widening in confidence.

“We need to do something about this… That fat pig has to pay for using underpaid labor, or maybe even unpaid for what we know! We need to liberate the elves and the Chinese workers, Jean.”

He then stated firmly, his hands on the younger's shoulders. After a few moments of silence, Jean finally answered.

“Okay!”

Both of them grinning, Enjolras rushed to his previous blank sheet, pen in left hand:

‘ “Dear” Santa,

I wanted to ask for an English version of The Little Prince, but I won't, because I don't like you and I will ask for it for my birthday instead.
Count your days. I will burn your beard off.

Sincerely NOT yours,
Enjolras. ’

With the letters ultimated, they folded them and tucked them in two envelopes Anne had provided them with previously, and once they were shut, they went out to mail them.

_______________

“...Are you sure this is a good idea?”

Jean asked, his hand tightly holding Enjolras's as they roamed in the local mall, crowded with people who had ended up having to buy presents last minute; while the red haired child occasionally tugged his cousin's arm, fearing to lose him, his cousin was way more confident, his deep eyes narrowed as he scanned his surrounding like a raptor searching for its next prey… The prey in question being the mall Santa.

“Of course! I thought about everything. Don't worry, okay?”

The older gave the younger one of his already charismatic smiles, eventually reassuring the other boy, who nodded and started looking around as well.

“Hm… What do you want to do, then—”

“Yo, look, the bookshop is open! I wanted to give something to a friend for Christmas!”

In no time, the blonde child had distracted himself; momentarily forgetting about his mission, he had rushed in, dragging his cousin with him. Wandering through the aisles, he finally found what he was looking for, The Little Prince. With a smile, he grabbed it and walked over to the counter, placing the item on it, alongside a 20 euro bill. His head peeking barely, he stared at the cashier.

“Could I have a pen? It's a gift for my friend.”

He asked, and as soon as he got it, he opened the book at the first page:

‘ “But if you tame me, then we
shall need each other. To me, you will be unique in all the world. To you, I
shall be unique in all the world.”

I hope you'll like this book as much as I do, merry Christmas Marius!

— Enjo ’

Still grinning, after writing one of his favorite quotes from that story, he gave the book back to the cashier, who wrapped it up for him and then gave him change. He then held the present tightly, his smile as wide as ever as he imagined whether or not Marius, his best friend in the whole world, would have thought; he still remembered the first time they met at a fancy restaurant both families would go regularly, how Enjolras kept on bringing him outside while they waited for the food to play, and how it took Marius several times they'd met to finally speak, and they haven't stopped playing together since.

But there was no time to think about it now: he was on a mission. As soon as he reminded himself of it, he gasped, slightly tugging Jean's arm.

“Quick, let's go!”

And with that, they ran out of the store and around the mall. When Enjolras's eyes locked on the target, he saw him: the mall Santa. With confident and powerful steps, he walked towards him, ignoring the now short queue, because that was not what he was there for; suddenly, an elf blocked the child's way. As he glared up at the worker, he didn't even let her speak:

“I need to talk to him!”

The worker, however, crossed her arms.

“These children want to talk to him, too. Be nice and get in line, you don't want Santa to give you coal for Christmas, do you?”

At those last words, the older child's eyes widened.

“Coal…? You're telling me Santa also has mine coals? Does he send the poor elves to mine as well?”

His voice sounded even more shocked than before, and he simply turned to his cousin.

“... This is even worse than what I was imagining, Jean.”

But before Jean could even reply, Enjolras was already turning back towards the elf, and then Santa, who was now leaving, since there weren’t children anymore; gasping again, he managed to distract the worker elf, getting himself and Jean enough room to chase the mall Santa, who was already taking off his hat, wig, and fake beard. The blonde child finally caught up with the mysterious man's steps, who eventually stopped walking as soon as the child raised his voice.

“Hey, Santa! I have some questions about—”

Once again, his eyes widened in shock, upon realizing who that man was.

“Monsieur Fauchelevent!?”

Indeed, that was the man's name; Enjolras knew him, he had relatively recently married his friend Cosette's mother Fantine, thus becoming his friend's step father. He had talked to him a lot when he went to play with Cosette, and he seemed like a great man, though he never understood why his father always glared at him whenever he'd see him around town… Well, the child didn't care, anyway, he always thought it was because Fauchelevent was able to be a good and present father. But he was working for Santa, so, afterall, perhaps he wasn't such a good guy.

Upon recognizing the boy, the older man smiled at him, quickly trying to come up with something that wouldn't shatter the child's view on Christmas.

“Oh, hello, son! I believe you wanted to ask something? You know, I work for—”

“Don't call me ‘son’! And I know who you work for! I wasn't expecting it from you out of all people.”

The boy interrupted him, as he walked right in front of him, his angelic eyes a judgeful glare, contrasting the man's perplexed glance. Then suddenly, Enjolras began throwing light punches at Fauchelevent's chest, which did not hurt him one bit, and only made him feel even more perplexed; the child, however, seemed almost enraged.

“How could you do this? Why would you support Santa's reign of slavery?!”

Fauchelevent couldn't even respond in time that another voice chimed in; it was Fantine, who was in the mall with her daughter Cosette. Both of them looked perplexed at the sight.

“Oh dear, what's the matter? Enjolras, is that you, dear?”

Fantine inquired softly, her voice enough to make the boy turn around, pointing his finger accusingly at her husband.

“Madame Fantine! Your husband supports cheap labor and maybe even slavery!”

The boy complained, his eyes narrowed and his expression disappointed; the woman's expression, instead, mirrored her husband's. Deciding not to involve herself with it, she opted to reassure the clearly upset child.

“Is that so? Well… I guess I will have to have a talk with him once we get back home.”

She confirmed, nodding her head, and that seemed to work. For now, at least. While the kid crossed his arms to his chest and still glared at the older man, the latter simply furrowed his eyebrows, looking at the two children, while his wife and daughter went back to wander around the mall.

“Hey, how did you two get here? Are you by yourselves?”

Fauchelevent asked, concerned; Enjolras was stubbornly not talking, which made Jean sigh and saw himself forced to respond. As he fidgeted with his hands, he simply nodded.

“We walked here by ourselves,”

He admitted, which caused the older man to sigh and slightly shake his head.

“Let me drive you back home, before you get in trouble.”

And in no time, the three of them were in the car, with both the kids sitting in the backseat; while Enjolras still had his arms crossed and glared at the car window, Jean curiously glanced around. No one really talked much at first, until Fauchelevent eventually sighed, glancing at the upset boy from the rearview mirror; he was way too upset about the thought of Santa existing, so maybe, the only way to fix it was by telling the truth.

“Listen, kid… There's something you need to know about Santa—”

“About time!”

“...As I was saying, I don't actually work for Santa. Because, well… he doesn't quite exist.”

The revelation left both children speechless, both their eyes wide, although Jean's were gradually becoming glossy, too. His lips parted slightly, his lower one trembling. Enjolras', however, went back to glare at the older man.

“Yeah, that's what a Santa boot licker would say.”

Fauchelevent's brows furrowed a little, his eyes still on the road.

“What? Where did you even hear that word, son?”

“I was walking around last month, and I saw some guys in the street yelling that at a group of cops, so I asked one of them what it meant, and he told me it means that a bootlicker is someone who praises a more powerful person to get something in return… And that's what you're doing! You're working for him so you can also use— Oh my God! Do you also use cheap labor in your factory, Monsieur Fauchelevent?!”

The man simply sighed; as much as he enjoyed having the blonde child around, he could only now understand how stubborn, and empathetic, he was. It wasn't necessarily a negative aspect, but he could acknowledge that finding himself at the opposite side of Enjolras’ beliefs, even though those beliefs were about an inexistent matter such as Santa, could be distressing. Fauchelevent was amazed by the mere passion a seven year old held over a topic such as cheap labor, and he could tell those traits wouldn't have disappeared once the blue eyed boy would have grown up.

The drive home continued in silence, except for the times the little Enjolras would scold the older man, and it went on until Fauchelevant pulled over not too far from the children's house, as he did not want to risk an encounter with the infamous Inspector; as soon as they got out, he observed them for a little to make sure they got home safely, then he drove back to the mall.

“Does… Does Santa really… Not exist?”

That was the first thing Jean asked his cousin, still tugging on his arm with his lower lip trembling; Enjolras placed a hand on his shoulder, the other pulling out his set of keys to open the gate to their house.

“That was just a way to stop us from catching him. Of course he exists! Go back upstairs… I will think of a plan B.”

With that, the blonde child smiled at the younger boy, giving him the keys, then he began walking around his yard, his hands behind his back, his head tilted down in thought. Strangely enough, however, he couldn't come up with anything; partially defeated, he sat down on the low wall that divided his house from his neighbours', his back against the fence on top of it. He placed his hands on his knees, sighing deeply, and went to tilt his head down once again, however once he did he saw some dry leaves fall from the top of his head. Confused, he ran a hand through his hair, touching some more leaves, which was why he ended up turning around towards the fence, noticing a grinning brown haired boy, some leaves in his palms.

“Yo.”

He simply said, before he let the rest of the leaves fall on top of Enjolras’ head once again, who in response put his own fingers in his locks and began furiously shaking them, scrolling off the leaves.

“Hey, stop that!”

He giggled, before he finally looked back at the brown haired boy, whose name was Bahorel; they had been neighbors for all of their lives, therefore it wasn't unusual for them to talk through the fence. Unfortunately they never had the chance to actually hang out. Nonetheless, Bahorel smirked, his head tilted to the side.

“What are you even doing? You've been walking around in your yard like that for a while. What are you, an old man?”

Inquired Bahorel, in a teasing, yet curious tone. The blue-eyed child sighed and shook his head.

“I'm just… Trying to think of something. You know, I really don't like Santa. At all! I want to make him pay for everything he does.”

The brunette didn't answer at first, blinking a few times, before he chuckled and nodded his head at him.

“Hell yeah, make him pay! I mean, I don't know what you're talking about… But I asked him for a Wii last year and he didn't bring me one!”

Suddenly, Enjolras' eyes lit up and his head shot up. In fact, he grinned widely.

“That's it, man!”

“...What's it?”

“I have a plan now. Thanks! Do you want to join my cousin and I to put it into action?”

When the blonde child offered that, Bahorel simply cackled and shook his head.

“Nah. I honestly couldn't be bothered. Good luck, though.”

Then he got back to his own house, right after offering Enjolras a fist bump through the fence dividing them.

_________________

“Are you sure you two are going to be fine by yourselves in here?”

Anne had asked the two cousins, who were settled down on the couch, with a bowl of popcorn; it was finally Christmas Eve, and in the evening, Jean and Enjolras were in the latter's living room.

“Yes, Aunt Anne! We'll watch a movie and then we'll go to bed… Promise!”

The older child grinned and nodded, quickly nudging his cousin so he could also nod and smile; Anne, however, sighed, sitting down next to her nephew, on her face an expression of concern, sympathy, and a hint of reluctance.

“Are you sure you don't wanna come upstairs with us? Maybe we could play Monopoly together, what do you say?”

She suggested, observing the blonde's expression, attempting to understand how he was feeling and act accordingly. His father, her brother, had decided to take the night shift, and, considering how the kid's mother had a few issues with alcohol, leaving him mostly alone. At the end, however, father knows best, even if her brother tended to be way too harsh on the seven year old. Nonetheless, the child seemed unfazed by the situation, just like now, since he was simply smiling and nodding.

“We're good!”

Reassured her nephew, therefore she sighed, nodded and got up, before leaving a kiss on top of the children's heads.

“Alright… Sweet dreams, then.”

With that, she left.

Enjolras remained still for a while, until he heard his aunt opening and closing the upstairs apartment’s front door. As soon as he did, he jumped to his feet, and Jean followed suit.

“Jo… You still haven't told me what you want to do.”

The younger one reminded him, as he helped him move the couch.

“Ah, right… Well, Santa's coming tonight. That means we're gonna make him pay for everything directly!”

Explained the blonde child, pointing at some toy guns he had put on the table alongside a jar full of small, spherical plastic bullets.

“But Monsieur Fauchelevent probably ratted us out… So we need to hide. Let's build a barricade with the couch and some chairs!”

And with that, they got to work, pushing some chairs on the sides of the couch; behind it, Jean brought the popcorn, blankets and pillows he had brought, since he thought it was simply going to be a sleepover, while Enjolras brought the toy guns and their bullets. Then, they simply sat behind that makeshift barrier, occasionally talking and eating the popcorn, their voices soft.

Time passed, however, and there was no sign of Santa; Jean found himself to frown and furrow his eyebrows, his tired eyes glancing at his cousin's, expecting some explanation.

“I told you, Fauchelevent ratted us out!”

The blonde child exclaimed in a whisper, and that was all he could think about all night, since he remained awake, even if the red haired child ended up falling asleep on a pillow he had positioned on his cousin's lap. Enjolras’ hand ended up resting on Jean's head, almost intending to shield the younger child, just like he was used to. The two of them, in fact, spent a lot of time together, even though most of the time it was because the younger child's parents were often too busy, leaving him with his aunt, uncle, and cousin. However, his uncle was busy with his job as an inspector, and his aunt was an alcoholic, leaving him with just his cousin. But the blonde child, again, didn't seem to mind much. He was just happy to spend time with his younger cousin.

Suddenly, footsteps from the staircase caught his attention, snapping him out of his thoughts; Enjolras gasped softly and shook his cousin awake, who flinched a little and rubbed the sleep off his eyes. In the meantime, the blonde boy firmly grasped one of the toy guns he had prepared and propped himself up from behind the couch, his eyes narrowed, his brows furrowed, and the gun pointed at the door as he heard the door lock rattle, and as soon as it opened, the child began to shoot the small plastic bullets, his intention to empty the loader as he let out some sort of battle cry, his eyes closing in the moment.

He was too caught up to realize that the man he was shooting at was not Santa, but his own father, who just came back from his night shift, and was now alarmingly squaring his shoulders and attempting to shield himself. Upon realizing the context of the situation, which didn't take him long, he strolled in fiercely, still making sure to cover his eyes, just in case. Then, he grasped the child’s forearm, causing him to point the gun upwards, and when he tried to struggle from his grasp, the man grasped the kid's other wrist firmly.

“What in the hell do you think you're doing? Huh?”

The inspector inquired in a firm tone, his gaze stern and pointed at his son, who finally opened back his eyes and looked up at his father; he tensed a little, but the gaze on the smaller one's face was determined, his eyes narrowed once again.

“... I was waiting for Santa.”

His father's gaze became confused, before he scoffed.

“Santa? Enjolras, he's—”

It was on the tip of the inspector's tongue, however, as he noticed his nephew also being there, he sighed, before nodding at the door.

“Jean, go upstairs.”

His tone brooked no argument, and the five year old silently glanced at his uncle, his cousin, then at the door, his eyes wide. As soon as he complied, the man's attention went back to his seven year old son, his grip still tight.

“Santa does not exist, Enjolras. You're smart enough to talk back to me already, much to my dismay, but not smart enough to understand that?”

At his words, his son's gaze changed, his eyes narrowing and brows furrowing into a defiant glare, the same glare his father hated so much; in fact, the inspector's irritation would grow each time at how his child acted in these situations. Instead of doing what every kid –at least in his firm belief– should do and respect their parents by cowering and apologizing, all that Enjolras offered was that defiant, almost stoic glare and that irritating silent treatment, which had always gotten on his nerves.

In fact, that behavior caused Javert to tighten the grip on his son, mildly shaking him, almost as if he wanted to somehow shake some sense into him; while the child struggled to attempt to free himself, his father eventually relented, as he loosened the grip, although not completely. Then, he sighed heavily, his brows still furrowed in a strict expression.

“Where's your mother?”

The man inquired once again, and the boy's blue eyes shifted from looking at his father to looking at the ground, which, for Javert at least, was enough to understand that the child's mother had gone to bed drunk, and that finally seemed to make the man let his son be, looking around at the plethora of plastic toy bullets on the ground, then at the out-of-place couch and chairs, and then back to Enjolras.

“I expect you to clean all this mess up, and then go to bed. Do I make myself clear?”

But instead of the answer he was expecting, the blonde child simply kept on glaring at him; the inspector took a firm step towards his son again, his stance assertive, and the child took an immediate step back, his small shoulders tensing.

“Is that clear, Enjolras?”

Javert repeated, and Enjolras reluctantly nodded, his angelic face still scrunched up in a disdainful, hurt expression.

“...Yes, sir.”

With that, the inspector left and retreated to his bedroom, and the blonde child clenched his little fists; he hated how his father acted, he hated how he treated him. He awfully often felt more like a prisoner than his own blood. He picked up the toy bullets and put them back into the box, pushed the chairs back around the table and the couch back into place, and then he finally went to bed, although he couldn't quite get any sleep. His mind was swirling around everything he had learnt that day, maybe Fauchelevant and his father were right, it was the first time the child heard them have the same opinion on something, so he figured that must have been true: Santa wasn't real, but if so, why was that even a lie? That question was eating him up, making him unable to even close his eyes. That was why, after a couple of hours, he decided to get up, walk to the living room and wait for his parents to wake up, hoping he would have managed to spend at least Christmas with them. Sooner than later, however, his hope began to fade. Disappointed and let down by his parents once again, he sighed and decided to dress up and sneak out, wanting to avoid the feeling of dread and isolation that was coming with remaining in the house; it felt empty, and cold.

The chill, crispy air seemed to lead the child's breath to hitch in his throat as soon as he stepped out of his house, but he simply buttoned up his jacket and began walking towards a certain house, his intention was to apologize to Monsieur Fauchelevant. As he found himself on his doorstep after several minutes of walking, his finger hovered a little on top of the doorbell, before he finally pressed it. Enjolras took a deep breath, his hands in his pockets as he looked down and shifted his weight from one foot to another, as he waited for someone to get to the door.

Not so long later, the door finally clicked and then opened, revealing the brunette man curiously glancing around, before his eyes went down to the child, his eyebrows furrowed in concern.

“Ah, Enjolras,”

He greeted the child with a smile,

“What brings you here?”

But instead of smiling back at him, the blonde child continued to look down awkwardly, his eyebrows furrowed as well. Sensing his mood, Fauchelevent decided to quickly put on his coat, get out, close the door behind him and sit on his doorstep, inviting the smaller one to do the same next to him. When he sat down, Enjolras softly sighed, his eyes still directed on the ground; he also needed explanations, and he knew all too well his own father either wouldn't have explained, or he would have done it in a hurry, leaving the child feeling ignorant. He was left with the only option of going to the only adult he actually trusted.

“Uhm, you were right about Santa…”

Began the blue eyed kid, his tone gloomier than his usual loud, extroverted self, as he hugged his own knees.

“Sorry for calling you names, some days ago.”

Fauchelevent softly chuckled and shook his head, placing a hand on one of the child’s shoulders.

“There's no need to apologize. You know? I don't really blame you, for thinking that about Santa.”

That sentence got the child to shoot his head up towards the man; his whole demeanor was slowly converting back to his normal self.

“Really? I actually was thinking you were evil, Monsieur Fauchelevent!”

Fauchelevent laughed at the kid's admission, as he ruffled his hair playfully.

“You really were upset at Santa, were you? That's a good thing, Enjolras.”

“What do you mean?”

The blonde child quickly inquired, his head tilted to the side; the adult placed both of his hands on his shoulders, comfortingly.

“I mean that it showed me how much you care about the injustice you saw in that possible situation. You already have your ideals, and most adults tend to forget about them…”

His tone grew a little more serious, but still light, his hands still on the child's shoulders.

“I need you to promise me one thing, Enjolras. Promise me you won't forget about these ideals of yours once you grow up, promise you will never get influenced by someone else. Your beliefs are your own, remember that… Can you promise me that?”

His wide blue eyes shining slightly in determination, the boy finally grinned; for the first time, he felt validated for what he believed in, and not belittled like the inspector used to do. The man's reaction filled the blonde's heart with joy and resolution, and he decided that from now on, he would have considered such ideals and hold onto them for dear life.

“I promise, Monsieur Fauchelevent!”

The grin, however, slowly turned into a puzzled expression, his eyebrows furrowed and his head tilted to the side, as he stood up and went back to shift his weight from foot to foot, unable to stay any more still.

“But, Monsieur Fauchelevent, why is Santa even a lie, then? Did he come up out of nowhere?”

At Enjolras’ confused question, the older man stood up as well, with a mild cackle, as he began explaining.

“Well, he's not completely made up, that's why I wouldn't call him a complete lie… You see, he originated from Saint Nicholas, who would bring presents to poor kids. So now, we can say that parents buy presents to their children so we can remember him by what he used to do.”

The blonde child grinned wider, seemingly enjoying the story deeply. He chuckled contentedly, his eyes shining as he looked up at the man, who patted the child’s shoulder again.

“That's so cool! I wish more people were kind like Saint Nicholas…”

“Oh, me too, son.”

With that, he opened the front door again, before looking back at the kid; he obviously couldn't have left him out there in the cold, and it was obvious there was a reason if he wasn't with his parents, at the moment. He didn't want to ask him directly what his mother and father were up to instead of taking care of their own son, therefore he simply smiled and nodded towards the inside of the house.

“Come on, get inside, will you?”

And with a wide grin again, the blue eyed boy hurried in, and as Fauchelevent followed, he closed the door behind them, and then helped the kid with hanging his jacket. Right after, footsteps could be heard approaching, another blonde child, Cosette, appeared, rubbing the sleep from her eyes with a yawn.

“Who was it, Papa?”

She called out on her way to the front door, and her eyes lit up once she saw her friend, who was smiling at her; a wide grin appeared on her face.

“Enjo!”

She giggled and ran towards him, quickly and tightly hugging him before he could even react; she reached to kiss his cheek multiple times, like she always did, and like Enjolras always did, he attempted to squirm away and push her face away, as he giggled as well.

“Ewwwww, get off of me!”

As he playfully yelled out his apparent distaste of the situation, Cosette simply held her captive tighter, continuing that torture made out of friendly pecks on the boy's cheek. Fantine also arrived shortly after, as she gently snorted and placed a hand on her daughter's shoulder.

“Come on, let the poor boy breathe, Cosette,”

She chuckled, pointing to the living room with a nod of her head,

“I believe there is something waiting under the tree, isn't there?”

With that, Cosette gasped, as if she just remembered about it being Christmas morning, and she dislodged herself from Enjolras, although holding his hand.

“Oh, right!”

She tugged her friend's arm a little, and he took it as a signal to rush towards the living room with her; as the girl sat down on the ground in front of one present with her name on it, Enjolras sat beside her, his eyes wide in curiosity. She unwrapped it, and she squealed with joy as she revealed a rag doll, with blonde hair made of yarn and collected in two pigtails , green eyes, rosy cheeks and a simple light blue dress with a checked skirt. She immediately hugged the doll tight, as she turned around and looked up at her parents, who were standing right behind her, her eyes shining with content and gratitude. The room was filled with warmth and love that could only be such from parents to their own children.

“Oh, she's beautiful! Thank you, thank you, thank you!”

Enjolras smiled brightly and genuinely at the sight of his friend being so happy, but a particular sentence caught his attention.

“Aren't you going to check anything, dear?”

Fantine's soft voice inquired as she looked down at the blonde boy, who widened his eyes a little, taken aback; he did however begin to check under the tree, uncertain, until he found another wrapped present, his own name written on it. As he picked it up, he looked back up at the couple, who smiled and nodded at him. So he began to unwrap it, and he found a book, particularly an illustrated book about Greek mythology. His eyes lit up as he looked back up at the couple again. He couldn't believe they actually thought about him, too.

“Thank you so much! This is…”

Enjolras couldn't even find the words to describe what he was feeling, a smile on his face that weakened by his lower lip beginning to tremble, a lump forming in his throat, and his eyes beginning to sting. Cosette, her brand new doll still in her arms, immediately jumped in to hug the boy, as he held her just as tightly, his face hidden on her shoulders as his own began to tremble due to the sobs he was holding back. Soon enough, both Fantine and Fauchelevant joined the hug, giving the blue eyed boy the reassuring he so obviously needed.

“Merry Christmas, son.”

The older man murmured, still holding Enjolras just as much as his spouse and child were doing. The boy had never felt this safe before. He had never felt this warm or loved within a group of people, not like this. He felt like he had found his place: for the first time in his life, Enjolras felt truly at home.