A/N: I promised Acaila fluff fic literally months ago, but I finally finished it!
The Beginnings of a Beautiful Friendship
“Guy!” My mother had called out from the main sitting room of the house in Marseille. “Our guests are here.”
“Coming Maman!” I had replied. I was eight at the time. Mother had just given birth to Elise two months earlier. She was still a little pink thing, needy and curious, but mother had taken some time to meet and greet our visitors. There had been a new family who had moved in to the large home by the beach, and though they clearly ran in different circles than my family, they had invited the family over for a light luncheon.
“There’s someone here I’d like you to meet, Guy.” My father said. In my rush to the sitting room, I tripped on a rug, nearly falling on my face. My cheeks turned red in embarrassment.
“Careful,” My mother reprimanded. “This is Madame and Monsieur Enjolras, and this is their son Rene.” A little blonde haired boy peeped out from behind his father’s leg. I was surprised. I hadn’t known the Enjolras had a son till then.
M. Enjolras’ voice was stern and terse like the officers who sometimes could be found on the docks while on leave. “Rene, you know it is bad manners to hide like that. Come out and introduce yourself.” He shifted so that the boy was visible. Rene Enjolras was tall for his age. My first impression. It was clear that he was younger than myself, but he carried himself like a boy twice his age.
“Bonjour.” He said, his voice strong and clear, like the tolling of a bell, even at that young age.
I cowed slightly in his presence. My bonjour came out sounding meek and not at all like myself. Enjolras had taken on the personality of his father, but had the beautiful looks of his mother. The only word to adequately describe him would be pretty.
“Why don’t you show Rene the garden?” My father prompted, gesturing out the back doors. I nodded and showed him outside. As soon as we were out of our parent’s sights, Réne took my hand and started staring at it with a peculiar curiosity.
I waited for him to drop it, but when he didn’t, I asked, “What are you looking at?”
“Why is there dirt under your nails?” He asked abruptly and authoritatively.
“I was playing outside earlier.” It seemed so self-explanatory to me, but he looked as if he had never heard such things before.
“Oh.” He dropped my hand.
“Don’t you ever play?” I couldn’t have imagined not being able to play as a child.
“I have no time for things like that. I have school work.”
“So do I, but I still play. What if we played right now?”
“Play what?” I tried hard not to laugh at how confused he looked, and even then I felt a little pity for him.
“We can play in the garden. I like to dig up worms and collect caterpillars to show Papa. Sometimes he lets me keep them in jars as pets because cats and dogs make Maman sneeze.” This made Réne laugh. I loved his laugh even then. One heard it less and less as we grew older. We played for hours that day. When the time came to eat, we had already cultivated a lasting friendship while cultivating an unfortunately wormless garden. The visit was short, but it did not take long for us to realize that this would be friendship that would last to the end of our days.