Jean Valjean

 
Valjean's door had presented itself on his return from visiting Cosette, and there was no point in fighting it. Buoyed from spending time in her company, he had decided to walk for a while, then sleep and return to Paris in the morning.

But while he is walking, something happens. He cannot fathom what could have caused such a sensation, or the fact that his body appears to be...different. He feels lighter, quicker, younger. He stands for a good five minutes just staring at his hands, which are less callused, less damaged, strong but not so broad.

His wrists are not ruined by scars.

The men's room mirror shows Enjolras staring back at him. Valjean is not the type of man to think fucking Milliways, but if he were then he would. Even he, finding it so hard to conjure up any emotion but weariness these days, succumbs to shock as he blinks at his reflection.

But standing and staring is not going to help. He fights the urge to go to his room and stay there but the fact is, he knows where Enjolras lodges. And he would quite like to know where his usual body has got to.