I found a box full of your old books yesterday. It was packed full of colourful illustrations, from cars to trains to anything you could possibly imagine. Yes, even fairytales, despite your denial of ever having owned "such girly things". At the very top were your Dr Seuss books, the most well-thumbed and well-loved of them all. I told you your love affair with words started early.

Prouvaire bought them for you, actually. After our summer trip, he came by frequently to babysit you. It certainly gave me a little leeway with my work, but his ultimate purpose was to let me venture out into the world of dating again. He was ever the romantic.

I was glad for all his help though, because he was so much better at teaching you to love words than I would've ever been. I could only give you the building blocks of twenty-six letters and the basic rules of how to place them together into a word. Prouvaire, on the other hand, blew life into them. He rhymed and wove words into quirky rhythms, making them sing a song of their own, and you absolutely loved it.

You were obsessed with Green Eggs and Ham for weeks after he first bought it for you, and you would try to speak in rhyme all day long. Later, as Prouvaire collected the Dr Seuss books for you one by one, Oh, The Places You'll Go! became your absolute favourite. I think it's still up in your room somewhere, actually.

There are quite a few clips of you speaking in rhyme on my laptop, little man, but I never managed to capture my favourite rhyme of yours. We were at Combeferre's for a welcome-home party, and you met Grantaire for the very first time. He had just finished his one-year contract in Australia, and was eager to be back amongst familiar faces again. You two hit off famously, and as the night wore on and Grantaire's blood alcohol level skyrocketed, you found him even more hilarious.

It must be said that normally Grantaire is of the joking sort, but when he is drunk he becomes a merciless teaser. That fact was true on this particular occasion too. You were still speaking in rhyme, little man, much to Prouvaire's delight, and this was the thing that 'taire chose to tease you about. He tried his absolute hardest to provoke you into saying something that didn't rhyme, but somehow you held your own for a whole half hour (with only a teensy bit of help from Prouvaire!). And then he said something or did something (what he did, I can no longer remember), but it produced the biggest look of indignation on your little face. You crossed your arm and turned away, determined not to talk to him ever again. No way, Jose.

"Aww come on, buddy," Grantaire knelt down to your eye level, moving a little tipsily with the wine glass still in his hand, "Just a little teasing, no harm done. Truce?"

"That's no excuse!" you pouted, racking your brain to think up something that rhymed.

"He's right, 'taire," Combeferre put in, placing an arm around your little shoulders, "Your teasing crosses the line sometimes, and this is one of those time.

"You... you...," you struggled to find the word, then jumping suddenly as you hit jackpot, "You stupid moose!"

There was a long silence as we stared at each other, until Enjolras started a round of laughter that cannot be stopped. I felt the urge to tell you off for calling 'taire "stupid", just because we went through the naughty words mere days ago, but you were too funny and the moment too lovely to be interrupted. Out of nowhere, Grantaire settled his glass of wine on a table and started making terrible moose noises. You tried to stay annoyed at him, but you couldn't resist laughing as he came closer to you.

"You sound like a goat," you told him, grinning again, "A really crazy goat."

"Aw come on, give the poor moose a break!" Grantaire winked at you as he sat down on the arm of the sofa, "But you've gotta give me five. That was a wicked rhyme!"

You reached over to offer him a high five, but being tipsy as he was, he completely missed your hand. It took three tries and a lot of chuckles before he managed it right. You ran to me straight afterwards, your arms around my waist.

"What do ya think of that one, Courf?" you asked me, your blue eyes twinkling, "It's so good, it rocketed through the roof!"

"Well, I ought to tell you off for saying 'stupid'," I began.

"But you're not, are you?" you grinned at me, knowing how you can wheedle your way past me with just one of your little laughs.

"I ought to," I repeated, smiling, coincidentally rhyming along with you, "But I've got to admit, that was your best rhyme yet, little man."

Thanks for reading yet another fluffy little chapter :) I really appreciate the reviews, favourites and alerts, and I'm so glad you're all falling in love with these two as much as I am.