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Valjean rubbed the palms of his hands together, blowing warm air over his freezing knuckles, his breath immediately turning into a cloud of steam.
Contrary to what he had been worried about, the sky itself was clear of any clouds and instead, the shy winter sun was casting its pale light down on them. He turned his face towards the faintly golden glow, contrasting with the deeply blue December sky, and his lips twitched into a small smile.
Somewhere in the distance, Christmas music could be heard from inside one of the shops, the familiar melody making him hum along, and Valjean closed his eyes for the moment, soaking in more of the distant warmth.
How peaceful it was, these days, he thought, and felt the corners of his lips lift some more.
How blessed he was, to be able to go on this holiday and enjoy the festive spirit of it all.
“Tourists! The least they could do is watch their steps and refrain from stopping for pictures in the middle of the road!”
Ah, there it was.
Valjean cracked his eyes open, blinking against the low sun that was peaking over Regent Street’s curving facades.
“Correct me if I’m wrong, my dear, but are we not tourists as well?” he asked, not quite able to suppress the humour in his voice, and when he shot Javert a glance, he was met with a dark glare in turn.
The other man had drawn the broad collar of his dark coat all the way up to his chin, his hat pulled low into his face as if to protect it from the cold that Valjean knew his partner cared little for.
His eyebrows had curved into a clear expression of disdain and a low huff escaped Javert’s pursed lips.
“That doesn’t mean we have to behave like ruffians,” he muttered, a hand curling around Valjean’s elbow, “in fact, you’re standing in people’s ways, Jean.”
Gently, but not without determination, Valjean was pulled to the side of the pavement and into the shadows.
“Who even comes to Regent Street in the middle of the day the week before Christmas?” Javert let out, shaking his head, and Valjean rolled his eyes. Lord, let him have patience with his partner.
“If I remember correctly, it was you who suggested we should go away on a trip to London, as you famously dislike the season in Paris.”
Javert remained quiet for a moment, his eyes flickering under his brooding eyebrows, before he let out a sigh.
“It was you who wanted to go shopping, Valjean.”
“Yes, and so far, I’ve only managed to cross one thing off my list.”
Javert seemed to let out a wince, his back straightening as if he were preparing for battle.
“Alright,” he said curtly, “we just passed the most horrendous display of Christmas ornaments I have seen in my entire life, a bit further down the road.”
Valjean shot Javert a puzzled look, but the Inspector simply shrugged his shoulders.
“That suggests they will be just to Pontmercy’s taste, I would imagine.”
__
“Admit it, you like it,” Valjean said teasingly, once they had stepped into the halls of Liberty London.
Javert raised an eyebrow at him, quickly catching the tip of his leather gloves with his teeth to slip out of them.
“The Tudor architecture is certainly to be admired,” Javert replied and Valjean nudged his side with his elbow.
“I will try to make it quick, I promise.”
“Mh-mh,” Javert hummed, the expression on his face conveying that he was clearly not convinced, before his gaze darted towards the steep gabled roof and mullioned windows.
“At least one can breathe in here,” Valjean added and shivered when he thought back to their quick trip to Harrods the previous day.
“The only thing still missing is a present for Cosette. Maybe I will find something for her in the home décor department.”
“With all the presents you gift her throughout the year, I genuinely doubt that there is a single thing Cosette is missing in her life,” Javert mumbled, “apart from a respectable partner, maybe.”
Valjean shot Javert a glare but could not quite stop his lips from trembling at the comment, “Don’t pretend like Marius isn’t growing on you.”
“Growing on me?” Javert echoed, the flash of his eyes suggesting that he felt personally offended by the statement.
“Mh-mh,” Valjean hummed, pulling his partner along towards the next exhibition room, where they passed glass cabinets filled with jewellery, “you’re growing soft in your old days, Javert.”
Javert huffed in turn before he suddenly stiffened next to Valjean.
“What is it?” the older one asked in alarm, following his partner’s gaze to where a person was currently leaving through one of the side doors.
“That woman just stole one of the exhibits,” Javert uttered, already about to jump forward, when Valjean’s hand closed around the taller one’s wrist to pull him back.
“Javert. When you think you see someone stealing something during Christmas time? No, you didn’t.”
Javert’s coat flared out around him when he turned around in a hurry, a sigh dropping from his lips.
“Valjean, we are in a department store worth hundreds of millions in pounds, not a Carrefour City.”
“And you are not on duty right now, Javert. In fact, you have no authority in this country at all. So, if you wouldn’t mind too much, can we focus on finding a present for Cosette?”
__
“It is quite pretty, away from the big streets, is it not?” Valjean asked softly, giving Javert’s gloved hand in his a squeeze.
“Yes, it is,” Javert replied, his voice low, and Valjean shot the other man a warm glance, leaning into his side where they were standing under the Christmas lights of the narrow courtyard they had found their way into. The sun had set about an hour ago, making the strings of lights and Christmas trees glow against the shadows.
“Do you have a preference what to do this evening?” Valjean asked, his thumb trailing up a little higher, to where the skin of Javert’s wrist was exposed to the cold, “we could have a walk by the river or go to the theatre.”
“The theatre?” Javert asked, perking up, “do you have anything specific in mind?”
Valjean ducked his head at the question and could feel the other man’s gaze boring into him.
“You were thinking of a musical, were you not, Valjean?” Javert let out, a groan in his voice, and Valjean shrugged his shoulders.
“When in Rome - …”
“A musical? In earnest?” Javert huffed, shaking his head, “musicals are for teenagers and people that have no understanding of actual theatre.”
“I’ve always enjoyed them with Cosette.”
Javert huffed again, but Valjean did not miss the way the Inspector’s gaze had softened involuntarily.
“Would you genuinely prefer to watch a show about a deformed stalker or, God forbid, singing trains to Sophocles or Euripides?”
Valjean laughed quietly, meeting Javert’s appalled gaze.
“Not all musicals are like that. Some of them are serious.”
“Name me one, then.”
The older one gently rolled his eyes and leaned into the other man, lifting a hand to trace the sideburns on Javert’s face.
“They should make a musical about the very serious Inspector Javert, then.”
Javert groaned quietly.
“I doubt that would sell,” he commented, shaking his head, “however, a musical about the criminal mastermind Jean Valjean, who sidesteps the course of justice…”
“Criminal mastermind,” Valjean echoed, his lips twitching, and he leaned up a little, feeling Javert’s warm breath against his lips.
“I’ve heard he’s frustratingly handsome, too,” Javert muttered.
Valjean could not help but grin to himself, shaking his head in fond exasperation. Oh, how far they had come, he thought, while his gaze trailed over the other man’s once so stern face.
“You see, there is no reason to be so tense all the time. Being a tourist is nice, every once in a while.”
“Tense?” Javert echoed, eyebrows shooting up, a quiet huff escaping his lips.
“Old habits die hard, I know,” Valjean commented in amusement, hand reaching out to find Javert’s, but his partner was quick to withdraw it from him.
“On that note, actually - …”
Valjean watched how Javert’s gloved hand disappeared into the deep pockets of his coat, rummaging around, and he could not help the exasperated sigh that left his lips.
“What is it, Javert? If you need the hand sanitiser – you are right, the pandemic is not over just because it has disappeared from the news – I think I packed it - …”
“No, that’s not - …”
“Your phone? I admit, I don’t know where we are, but can’t directions wait for now, I’d much rather enjoy the moment for another - …”
Javert let out a growl, his hand visibly forming a fist in his pocket, eyes flashing when he shot Valjean a brief glance.
“Can you stop talking for just a second, Valjean, I would actually quite like to - …”
Another frustrated grunt escaped him and Valjean let out a quiet sigh in reply, gathering his patience. Travelling with Javert was never easy – but besides his daughter, there wasn’t anyone in the world he would rather be spending his time with.
“I’m sorry, I was just thinking - …”
“Valjean,” Javert barked, “would you, for the love of God - …”
“Alright, alright,” he mumbled, raising his hands in defence, before he turned towards the strings of light decorating the tallest of several Christmas trees in the courtyard.
“Maybe we could take a picture in front of it, for Cosette and - …”
He glanced back at Javert over his shoulder, checking for his reaction to the idea, and suddenly felt his breath catch in his throat at the sight that met him.
Javert had pulled his hand out of the pocket of his coat, the gloved hand now extended, and Valjean stared at it with his heart racing in his chest, his glance landing on the little black box, almost the same colour as the other man’s gloves, that was sitting in his open palm.
“Javert,” he breathed out, turning around slowly, his eyes only briefly leaving the small box to meet Javert’s gaze.
He wasn’t sure what he found in them – they were wide open, the string lights reflecting in his dark pupils – and the other man’s extended palm seemed to be shivering by now.
When Javert opened the small box, the movement appearing to be in slow motion, a silver band was revealed, gleaming in the Christmas lights of the yard.
And Valjean felt his heart thump in his chest, felt it hammer against his ribs with every frantic beat, his breathing flat and his eyes widening in disbelief.
Could it be?
“Valjean,” Javert got out, his voice hoarse, before he coughed quietly, “Jean, I - … ehem.”
His gaze flickered nervously, cheeks suddenly flushing, and Valjean felt entirely transfixed by the sight.
Javert’s lips opened and closed several times, a frown appearing on his face, and Valjean felt his heart jump at the blatant nervousness he could read in his partner’s gaze.
When another few seconds passed in anticipating silence, Valjean took a tentative step forward, gently covering Javert’s hand with his own.
“You meant to ask me something?” he whispered quietly, fondness blooming in his chest and burning its way through his veins.
“I was hoping you’d have said yes by now,” Javert admitted quietly, pulling a grimace, and Valjean let out a breathless laugh, dimly noticing how tears were staring to blur his vision.
“I want to hear you say it, at least,” he replied and watched how Javert winced, before his back straightened a little, wearing his impeccable posture like an amour.
“Jean Valjean, will you marry me?” he eventually asked, his gaze unmoving, his voice trembling barely audibly.
“Is this your final attempt to put a chain on me?” Valjean asked softly, blinking away the tears, before he reached up a hand to cup Javert’s cheek with it.
Javert’s lips twitched at the comment, his attentive gaze trailing over Valjean’s face.
“Is that a yes?”
Valjean laughed quietly, “It’s a yes.”