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Jean Valjean had been through a great deal of different things. At only the age of twenty-five, he had been on the run from the police, been threatened at gunpoint by a leader of a drug cartel, taken impure shrooms and ended up colorblind for a year, spiraled into a short period of kleptomania, lived on the street, been stabbed twice, committed identity theft, couch surfed, been to jail, successfully escaped from jail, and been put back in jail again after.
He was far from proud of his experiences, but he viewed himself as a somewhat wise man for it, wise and difficult to topple, difficult to overwhelm.
One whole year had passed since Jean got out of jail, and to him, it felt as though he had cheated at life, in every way that mattered. Thanks to nothing more than luck and contacts, he had landed a nice, small apartment and a decent job as a warehouse worker at a local clothing factory.
Eight years in jail was a very long time, especially when served so young. The world that Jean was made to face when he had served his eight years, felt like an alien one, completely foreign to the one he used to know. There were a great many things he had to relearn, such as carrying conversations, talking to shopkeepers, operating a washing machine, using a phone, driving a car. Getting back into society was difficult, and learning to feel as though he belonged there was even worse.
Again, the idea that he was somehow cheating, it frightened him. But a very hard life had taught him that winners who cheated were still winners, and so far, it looked as though he was winning.
He had a dog named Myriel, and he went to a rehab meeting every Friday, and made sure to keep himself clean shaven at all times. Jean had been off to a rocky start in his life, but he was rebuilding it, and if he were to be honest, he was starting to find things to like about living.
Chantelle Fantine was around twenty-two years old, working as one of the many seamstresses at the factory, and out of all of them, she was regarded as the meek one of the bunch. She suffered from an inability to defend herself against even the most unreasonable statements. Naturally, the other girls made a target of her, and so did the men who were her superiors.
Jean, who had been in the hands of an unjust system since he was orphaned, had very little regard for injustice. Therefore, for as long as he had been working at the factory, he had made it his life’s mission to defend Miss Fantine every time he was given the chance. He told himself it only had to do with his hatred of injustice, but in truth, he had been in love with Miss Fantine since the first day he saw her, since the first time he learnt her name. He thought her long auburn hair and her bright green eyes were the most beautiful things in the world.
Earlier that week, he had been waiting outside his boss’ office, to have the usual performance chat, talking to one of the finance guys while he waited. Then, distracted by what sounded like shouting, he held a hand out to quiet his coworker, muttering a quiet, “excuse me, let me just…” as he stood up, pressing his ear to the office door.
“I swear to God, Fantine,” he heard an angry voice proclaim. His boss. “This is the
third
fucking time this
week
. Listen, if you were planning on skipping work every time your daughter fakes a cough, then maybe you shouldn’t have even bothered to get this job at all.”
“Sir, I…” said a voice. Miss Fantine’s, no doubt.
“
Sir, I
? At this point, it’s ridiculous. And you mean to push out another one too, is that it? You’re stupid enough to get pregnant
again
when you clearly have your hands full with one brat?”
Jean Valjean had heard enough. He excused himself and opened the door to the office, clearing his throat.
“Excuse me,” he said, feeling a little awkward as he stood there with both Miss Fantine and the boss staring at him. “Uh- I’m sorry about the intrusion, but…” He grimaced. “Actually, I’m not sorry,” he said, one eyebrow raised and an accusatory finger pointed at the boss. “I couldn’t help but overhear your conversation- actually, no, your gross and
disgusting
verbal abuse directed at Miss Fantine. And I just want to say that, uhm…” He wrung his hands slightly, and when he looked at Fantine and found her looking completely awestruck, he was given new motivation. “I just want to
say
, that if you intend to fire Miss Fantine, then I will resign. And report you, you big- you un
pleasant
person, to HR.” Very awkwardly, he placed his fist firmly down on the desk, as if to underline his point. It looked absolutely ridiculous. He drew in a deep breath, looking from her to him.
“Valjean, you-” the boss started, but Jean was already headed out.
“That would- that would be all,” he said as he turned in the door. “Thank you and farewell.” He pulled the door shut, struggling a little with closing the old thing properly, and took a deep breath, giving thumbs up to the finance guy, before heading down to the warehouse, the performance chat completely forgotten.
“Wait!”
Jean stopped and stood still, turning around slowly, and smiling awkwardly when he saw Chantelle Fantine standing there.
“Hi, miss,” he said.
“Uhm. Hi. I just wanted to say thank you,” she said.
He blinked, before raising his eyebrows, gesturing over his shoulder. “Oh, for-”
“Yeah, I…” She looked down, smiling somewhat shyly. “I’ve- I’ve noticed, all the other times you have stuck up for me, but I suppose I have been too shy to thank you, but… thank you. Really. I appreciate it so much,” she said, wringing her hands and tilting her head.
He grinned crookedly, running a hand through his hair. “Oh, it’s… any time, miss Fantine. ‘tis but what any good man would do,” he said matter-of-factly.
What the super fuck, Jean, no one says ‘tis. Nobody
.
They both stood there for a little while, in a silence that might have been awkward, but for some strange reason, it wasn’t. The silence felt almost natural.
Jean was the first to break it. He cleared his throat. “Uh, Miss, I don’t suppose…”
“Yes?”
“Well, uhm, I don’t suppose you’d want to go out for coffee or something like that?”
Her eyes widened slightly. “Why, I- yes, I’d… I’d love that, actually.”
“Ah, that’s alright- wait, oh, that’s… that’s wonderful. You- okay, then, uhm…” As he thought of what to say, it became increasingly clear to Jean that he had never,
ever
done this before in his life. Quickly, he snatched a post-it note and a pen from someone’s desk, scribbling down his phone number and handing it to her. “Here, just… go home to your daughter, and just… if someday later in the week works for you, just… you can text me if you’d like. Or I could text you. Whatever works best,” he said, cheeks very red.
“Okay,” she said, grinning from ear to ear. “That’s- that sounds perfect, Jean.”
He melted just a little. “Perfect,” he echoed.
They stood still, staring at each other, half entranced, and Fantine was the first to come back to reality.
“I’d better go.”
“No, of course, yeah, I’ll- see you soon, I hope. Have a great day,” he said. She smiled at him, took her coat from the stand, and then she was off.
Later that week, Jean found himself standing in front of the mirror in his apartment, buttoning up one of the nicer shirts that he had, making sure his hair looked right, checking the time every five seconds.
Jean Valjean was jaded beyond his years. But tonight was the first night in a long time he was going to do something that felt like it mattered; he was going on a date. And he was
so
fucking nervous.