It seems I have something which resembles a heart

Hi my name is Monsieur Madeleine Fauchelevent Leblanc Urban Fabre and I have short white hair (that's how I got my name) with grey streaks and a white beard that reaches my chest and grey eyes that look honorable and dignified and a lot of people tell me I look like Jean Valjean (AN: if u don't know who he is get da hell out of here!) I'm not related to Bishop Muriel but I wish I was because he's a major fucking hottie. I'm an ex-convict but my teeth are straight and white. I have pale white skin. I'm also a mayor and I go to the National Guard in Paris where I'm legally exempt (I'm sixty). I'm a father (in case you couldn't tell) and I wear mostly blue. I love Le Bon Marche and I get all my clothes from there. For example today I was wearing blue trousers with a matching blue frock coat and a broad-brimmed hat which always appears to be new. I was wearing a black cravat and a quaker shirt that was dazzlingly white but made of coarse linen. I was walking around at the Rue de l'Ouest side of Luxembourg which skirts the parapet of the Pepiniere. A young man with an ambiguous prudence and an awkward daring stared at me and my daughter. I put my middle finger up at him.

Noticing the man’s sudden change of self, Valjean smiled to himself. This was an act he himself was used to, always changing his demeanour in front of others to appear different than himself. It made him feel like he would either get along with the innkeeper perfectly fine, or not at all. “A mug of water and a simple meal, if you please,” he said, before patting his breast pocket. “I can pay upfront if that would be an issue.”

Noticing the man's sudden change of self, Valjean smiled to himself. This was an act he himself was used to, always changing his demeanour in front of others to appear different than himself. It made him feel like he would either get along with the innkeeper perfectly fine, or not at all. "A mug of water and a simple meal, if you please," he said, before patting his breast pocket. "I can pay upfront if that would be an issue."

Grantaire grinned.  “I wasn’t actually being that philosophical about that; I have a closet full of canvases I’ve never shown anyone.  Also, I feel like giving ‘dead or alive’ as the only options for the cat is being unimaginative.  Undead is technically neither of those things.  It could be a zombie cat.  And the sun totally keeps shining, we just don’t see it.  If it stopped, we would die.” 

Chuckling, Valjean nodded. “I realise I have been defeated in this debate. So these paintings, any plans for them?” 

Grantaire shrugged.  “Not really.  Some of them are just.  Awful.  A few were school assignments that I don’t really like, but someone else might.” He stuck his hands in his pockets.  “I could probably try and sell those, if I wanted.”

“That’s a fair idea, people tend to pay for art if they like what they see, in my experience.” Valjean went silent for a second, pondering on something, before speaking again. “Actually,” he added. “Do you think there would be anything interesting for an old man like me in this collection of treasures? I have been trying to fill an empty wall for a while, but nothing I find seems to fit.”

Grantaire snorted.  “I wouldn’t call them treasures, but you’re welcome to look.  And if you still don’t find something you like, I’d be more than happy to do something new for you.  Portrait, landscape, whatever.” 

“One man’s trash is another man’s treasure, I’d say,” Valjean offered with a soft smile. “And that’s kind of you, very kind. I was thinking landscape of some sort, but the artist holds the brush. And I’d of course pay you accordingly.”

“Perhaps, but after two nights with little or no sleep, bed becomes the absolute love of my life, I swear,” Enjolras stifled a yawn. “Please don’t repeat that to Combeferre. Ever.”

Smiling at that, Valjean nodded. “Of course, the secret’s safe with me,” he assured, getting out of the chair he was in and standing up. “How does coffee sound?”

“Like heaven,” Enjolras straightened in his own chair and watched M. Valjean head for the kitchen. “I don’t suppose you need help with anything?” And what was the appropriate etiquette for situations like this, anyway?

“No no, I think I’ll manage, but thank you,” Valjean replied, gesturing for Enjolras to stay where he was. “Feel free to make yourself at home,” he added with a smile, before entering the kitchen. 

“Okay,” Enjolras settled back in his chair again, just as uncertain as before, but content to wait there until further notice. “You have a very nice home,” he offered. Which sounded a bit stale. But it was polite.

Humming as he put on a pot of coffee, Valjean smiled to himself. He rarely had much guests these days, but was happy to see a change in the pattern, and upon hearing Enjolras’s compliment his smile widened. “Thank you!” he replied, appearing out of the kitchen again, leaning against the door frame. “It’s a bit tired after many years of use, but it’s a home, and as me and the dog are the only ones living here currently, it’s not like I have to put much effort into keeping it up to standard.” 

“Perhaps, but after two nights with little or no sleep, bed becomes the absolute love of my life, I swear,” Enjolras stifled a yawn. “Please don’t repeat that to Combeferre. Ever.”

Smiling at that, Valjean nodded. “Of course, the secret’s safe with me,” he assured, getting out of the chair he was in and standing up. “How does coffee sound?”

“Like heaven,” Enjolras straightened in his own chair and watched M. Valjean head for the kitchen. “I don’t suppose you need help with anything?” And what was the appropriate etiquette for situations like this, anyway?

“No no, I think I’ll manage, but thank you,” Valjean replied, gesturing for Enjolras to stay where he was. “Feel free to make yourself at home,” he added with a smile, before entering the kitchen. 

Something not too far from understanding dawned on Valjean’s face and, thought still puzzled, a tiny smile played on his lips. “Is this what they call “youth lingo”? The things I miss out on by being old, which is, for the record, not something I would recommend.”

“You recommend against growing old? Well what’s the alternative then?” He asked with a chuckle. “I don’t see a fountain of youth around here anywhere. Unless you’re hiding it. You’re pretty toned for your age there, pops.”

Laughing, Valjean’s eyes crinkled. “I thank you for the compliment, but no, no magical youth fountain hidden up my sleeves I’m afraid.” He chuckled. “Besides I have read The Picture of Dorian Gray, eternal youth seems terrifying if anything. But with that said, I do encourage staying young for as long as possible.”

Grantaire grinned.  “I wasn’t actually being that philosophical about that; I have a closet full of canvases I’ve never shown anyone.  Also, I feel like giving ‘dead or alive’ as the only options for the cat is being unimaginative.  Undead is technically neither of those things.  It could be a zombie cat.  And the sun totally keeps shining, we just don’t see it.  If it stopped, we would die.” 

Chuckling, Valjean nodded. “I realise I have been defeated in this debate. So these paintings, any plans for them?” 

Grantaire shrugged.  “Not really.  Some of them are just.  Awful.  A few were school assignments that I don’t really like, but someone else might.” He stuck his hands in his pockets.  “I could probably try and sell those, if I wanted.”

“That’s a fair idea, people tend to pay for art if they like what they see, in my experience.” Valjean went silent for a second, pondering on something, before speaking again. “Actually,” he added. “Do you think there would be anything interesting for an old man like me in this collection of treasures? I have been trying to fill an empty wall for a while, but nothing I find seems to fit.”

“Perhaps, but after two nights with little or no sleep, bed becomes the absolute love of my life, I swear,” Enjolras stifled a yawn. “Please don’t repeat that to Combeferre. Ever.”

Smiling at that, Valjean nodded. “Of course, the secret’s safe with me,” he assured, getting out of the chair he was in and standing up. “How does coffee sound?”