Author's Note: This drabble was limited to 2 minutes. I ended up taking about 10 because I was doing this between other engagements and my train of thought kept getting derailed.

Author's Note specifically for felix hortensio: Yes, there is, in fact, nominal bosom. Deal with it, your Pimness.


"This 's my spot."

The old geezer looked up with wide blue eyes. Grantaire swayed emphatically in the breeze. It never hurt to look off-balance when you tried to put across a convincing drunk.

"There's space enough for both of us here," said the old man and shifted to one side of the stair. Oh well, thought Grantaire and plopped down next to him, exhaling a cloud of heavily alcoholic vapor into the frosty air.

For a few minutes they sat quietly watching pinkish gray clouds move across the black skies.

"'s dark out," offered Grantaire. The old man said nothing. Hmm, thought Grantaire, they usually bite after you make it plain that you're wasted. Oh, the things you hear! Oh, the things they confess!!

Several more minutes passed in silence. Grantaire hid his hands in his coat pockets and pulled his knees in to conserve body heat. The white-haired geezer just sat there like a stone idol.

"That's the North star," suddenly said the old man and pointed up towards a faint pinpoint of light.

Grantaire didn't bother looking up with him. "So what? Many of them up there," he slurred.

"True. But the North Star is the only one that can be used as a compass. It can help you find your way home. To where you belong," said the old man with sadness.

Grantaire lost the will to pretend.

"I have no home," he said glumly and now without a hint of a slur.

"Nor I."

They were quiet.

"But I do have a North Star," said the old man.

"Oh yeah? What's her name?" leered Grantaire.


"And is she pretty, your Cosette?"

"She's beautiful. Hazel eyes, brown hair, snow-white skin, the most charming smile you can imagine. She's lovely. But she's getting married soon," added the old man. "She'll be leaving me. Oh, we never have enough time to spend with them, do we? They grow up and they fly from the nest to weave their own. That's how it is."

Ah, thought Grantaire.

"Well, at least you have a North Star who loves you. Mine won't look my way twice."

"Oh, that's all right. She'll come around, I'm sure. What's your North Star called?" smiled the old man.

Grantaire swallowed against a lump forming in his throat. "Family name Enjolras, " he whispered, "and I don't know the rest."

"And is she pretty?"

Grantaire shut his eyes against the tears that were threatening to spill over.

"Absolutely beautiful. Perfect in every way. And do you know what? Even if I never get a wink out of my North Star," he said, pointing at the twinkling dot overhead, "she'll still lead me to where I belong. I know it."