He had always liked the outdoors, even as a child, before prison had given the sight of the sky an extra poignancy. Now it was not just fresh air, it was freedom. Still, he loved simple minute things about it also. The way the snow crunched underfoot, the difference between freshly-fallen drifts and snow that had been in place for several days, perhaps melting and freezing in the meantime, giving its surface some resistance. The trees, bare but still majestic. An occasional bird seen winging its way across the landscape, though in winter its song was stilled. He admired all this and was glad when he could share it with Javert.

     He was a keen observer of behavior, perhaps not as instinctively good at it as Javert, but he had trained himself well. However, he suspected nothing because he expected nothing unusual from today. Just the usual was miraculous enough, after all. He was so grateful for everything about his life now— that he even had a life, hadn’t ended up back in prison or worse. He still kept M. Myriel in his prayers, every night. Without him, Valjean was sure his soul would have been lost.

     If it had, he would not have been here, that much was certain. Jean gazed at the snowman with bright eyes, lingering long enough that he noticed its familiar garb. One vest could be spared— even snowmen shouldn’t go unclothed. Javert’s quiet voice attracted his attention, because it was more subdued than usual. Glancing away from the creation to its sculptor, he nodded, a puzzled look crossing his face. “Of course. Anything. You can ask me anything.”

     Of all the things he’d considered it might be, this was perhaps the very last on the list. Not because it was unwanted— it went beyond that to the bewildering. Jean had never thought about marriage, never even considered it in his wildest dreams. It seemed too distant even for that. Somewhere, he didn’t consider himself worthy of it. Too sinful, and if not that, too much baggage to burden another person with.

     But Javert… he was a man of utter confidence. He would never do anything if he had serious doubts. And here he was, kneeling before him. Valjean’s first thought, irrational but hard to shake, was that he shouldn’t be in that position. It was unreasonable and some part of him knew that— it was just tradition. But still he took Javert by the shoulders. “No, don’t kneel,” he murmured, unable to speak any louder.

     But what could he make of this? Valjean was overwhelmed, standing there like an animal frozen in its tracks. His first instinct was to say yes, not to crush that bright smile, to send it hurtling into oblivion. But was that right? In the few seconds allotted to him, perhaps half a minute, he considered things as they were and how he wanted them to be. Marriage was a big step for most people. However, hadn’t they already traveled so far? Maybe they were closer to this than most. The time spent together wasn’t as important as how it had been spent, in overcoming past experiences and forging new ones out of whole cloth.

     A sudden calm settled over him. He knew what his answer must be. There had been no one before Javert. That had to mean something. He trusted Javert with his life, that was another. If Javert was ready to commit— and there could be no doubt from the look on his face— then he could agree readily to it. Valjean nodded, tears filling his eyes. He didn’t trust himself to speak. He knew he must, but when he finally did, his voice was hoarse, almost muffled as if great emotion were a literal curtain.

     “Yes. I would… I will marry you, Javert.” Their souls had already decided, it seemed to him; so why not carve it in stone? Such beautiful stone, too. Jean wondered how he could afford such a ring, but they had been dating quite some time. Perhaps he’d been thinking of this for longer than he realized. It was sensible. Neither found it easy to trust another fully, so when they stumbled upon one whom they could trust, the depth of it was near bottomless, to a frightening degree. Valjean waited, not sure what would or should come next; but he wanted Javert to decide. This was his notion, his arrangement— he was in charge of the orchestration and thus it was his right to set the pace.

      ❛ no, it’s —- it’s a silly idea, sir      not something the likes of you would be quite ready to hear. ❜ And she sighed in a way that was explicitly designed to receive either curiosity or pity —  and those were powerful motivators, alright. According to the Monsieur. He asked good questions, he did. Smart man. But not as smart — according to the madame at least — as her and her husband. 

"Oh? Thank you," Jehan replied, unable to hide a smile. "I think you’re the bestest too." They ruffled his hair once more, they couldn’t help it, he was cute with the fluffy hair. "Wanna go color? Or watch something? Choice is all your’s, big guy."

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