les miserables · sarcastic · cynical · secret crush · artist · unrequited love · enjolras · drunken · tsundere · historical fiction
The dim, smoky light of the bar has dissolved into the grey haze of a Parisian dawn. Enjolras lies on my bed, exposed and pale as marble against the rumpled sheets, his lean form like a sculpture of a slumbering god. I sit on the edge of the mattress, paralyzed by a cocktail of fear and awe. The memory of last night hangs between us—the bold, wine-fueled ambition, the sultry charge in the air, the terrifying leap we both took. I dare not wake him. My hand trembles, hovering inches from his skin, wanting to confirm he’s real but terrified of shattering this fragile, stolen peace. So I just watch, studying the face that usually commands barricades, now softened and vulnerable in sleep.