Jehan tried to write down the words as fast as they rushed through his head. Some days his thoughts were very organised and calm and the lines came to him like a slowly rippling brook. But then there were days when his mind was racing and his thoughts went all over the place like a feather in a storm.

Today was a feather-in-a-storm kind of day.

He had to write really fast to capture his thoughts before they faded from his mind to make place for new ones which he then also had to write down before they were gone. This resulted in scribbling in his notebook in a manner that could be described as almost aggressive. His handwriting had messy loops that were far from his usual neat handwriting.

Today his racing thoughts were caused by a certain young man that was just across the room.

The sound of Jehan's pen over the paper was loud enough to catch unwanted attention -the attention of a very bored Bahorel.

"Jehan, what's so important that you have to write it down with so much passoin?" He asked. "It gives you a certain attractive look though, if I'm being honest."

Jehan ignored him without blushing or looking up. The pen and paper needed his full attention.

Bahorel, however, found this attitude to be even more interesting, Jehan's passionate writing appealed to him in some way. He made his way over to the poet. "Why don't you show me what it is that's keeping your mind so very far away."

Jehan was barely able to hold back the panicked, high-pitched noise that rose up in his throat when Bahorel snatched the paper from his hands. "Bahorel-" The other young man ignored him and walked to the center of the room with Jehan's poetry in his hands. "Bahorel, please, give that back," Jehan tried again.

As the troublemaker started reading out loud, there seemed to be genuine interest in his eyes, but the smirk that pulled up the corners of his mouth worried Jehan. "Don't be a child, give me that back."

Others started to give Bahorel the attention he had been looking for when he snatched the poetry from Jehan's hands.

This was all wrong. His poetry was not meant to be read like this, it was meant for reading in private, not being shouted without sensibility. Not to mention Bahorel's emphasis was completely off.

Jehan had already started to feel itchy, but when Bahorel's voice suddenly shifted pitch Jehan knew he had realised who the person this poem concerned was.

Just then a previously quiet Courfeyrac's head shot up in interest.

The wrong people were paying attention: Jehan wanted this to catch Combeferre and Enjolras' attention as soon as possible so they could put a stop it. But the two were consulting in the back of the room, which was probably much more important.

Besides Courfeyrac and Bahorel nobody else seemed to have found out the true meaning behind Jehan's words, fortunately. They were just amused because Bahorel was giving them such a show.

Courfeyrac made his way over to Bahorel. "Don't be such a child, Bahorel. Give him his writings back." he tried to hide the fact that he knew this particular poem was about him, but his cheeks flushed at Bahorel's reply even so.

"I think maybe I should give his writings to you, it seems-"

Before he could end his sentence, Courfeyrac grabbed Bahorel by his collar. Bahorel was not impressed and simply held the paper behind his back, out of Courfeyrac's reach.

All of a sudden someone else snatched the paper from his hands: Combeferre had finally noticed the commotion and had made his way over. "What is this?" As soon as his eyes caught a glimpse of the handwriting, he knew it was Jehan's. He'd often seen small pieces of paper with the same handwriting around Jehan's flat. "This does not belong to you," he said, after which he removed Courfeyrac's hand from Bahorel's throat. "And it most definitely wasn't yours to share. You should be ashamed of yourself."

Silence fell as the others noticed the suppressed anger in their guide's voice. He looked around the group of young men that were now staring anywhere but him. "That goes for all of you. You knew this was not right, yet you still decided to laugh about it. I'm disappointed in you. Make sure you have more sense next time and don't let it happen again."

"We have come here to organize a revolution, we do not have the time to play cheap jokes on each other," Enjolras stepped in. And then to Bahorel he said, "If you want a fight, go and search for one outside. I'm sure you'll find what you're looking for."

Bahorel looked almost genuinely sorry when his gaze met Jehan's.

"Are we done here?" Asked Combeferre. When it remained silent he uttered a final and calmer "good", and that was that.

Everyone went back to their previous persuits and soon everything was normal again.

Courfeyrac made his way over to Jehan and handed him his poetry. "I believe this belongs to you," he said with a small smile.

"Thank you." A warmth crept up on him as their hands briefly touched.

After an awkward silence, Courfeyrac mumbled something and left the room.

It angered Jehan that it had gone like this. He could not be ashamed of his feelings, but they were not meant to be made public like this, and he definitely didn't mean to upset his friend. He blamed himself for not making a better effort at hiding his writings from others.

Joly sat down next to him and offered him some tabacco. After Jehan refused, Joly simply shrugged and started talking about the pros and cons of this lovely weather and about how he hoped it wouldn't bring up an allergy of his'.

Jehan inhaled some of the smoke coming from Joly's pipe and tried his best to listen to his friend until Courfeyrac came in and caught his eye.

He walked over to Jehan and before a word could be said, Courfeyrac revealed the flower he had been holding behind his back and put it in Jehan's hair, right above his ear.

It fell out again almost immediately, but that didn't affect the amount of appreciation Jehan had for Courfeyrac's gesture. He quickly fastened the flower in his hair again, and couldn't help but smile.

Courfeyrac's smile widened into one of the broadest grins he'd ever smiled, and he sat down next to the poet. "Jehan, you're the most beautiful and genuine young man I have met in my entire life," he said, after which he placed a kiss on Jehan's forehead.

Jehan wrapped his arms around Courfeyrac's waist and pulled him as close as he could while Courfeyrac buried his face in the polka-dotted fabric of Jehan's vest.


I'd like to dedicate this one to Gabbie (enjoltaiire on Tumblr) because she's awesome and getting into this pairing as well (:

My apologies if it wasn't that good, I wasn't sure about this one but I decided to post it anyway.

Please note that English isn't my native language so if there are any grammatical or spelling errors: feel free to point them out so I can correct them.
Feedback is always welcome (;