RainbowSeagull: Modern AU. Modern-day reincarnations of Valjean and Javert meet, and begin a relationship. Eventually, they marry. It is, of course, then that they regain their memories. Hello, and this is my first time filling anything from any kink meme. Assume that in this AU, the Les Miserables book/musical does not exist (what a terrible thing! D:) and that their names are completely normal names. And I know I shouldn't be writing this while I have another story that I haven't finished, but I am. Titled it Sugar High because I thought it would be absolute crack, but it might not end up being crack? Idk. I suck at titles.

Sugar High School's newest Biology teacher left his first day of teaching feeling like he had spent a week in the classroom instead of eight hours. Mr. Valjean was about thirty years old. He had gray hair, and would explain why this happened to his classes one day, perhaps at the end of the first semester or the beginning of the second semester. It would depend on when the started learning about genetics. He worried that his hair would turn white before then, though, because of the stress. Valjean regretted agreeing to teach a ninth grade class.

He rubbed his forehead and wondered if he should stay home the next day. After all, it wasn't as if they were going to be doing anything. He wouldn't start giving lessons until next week, because schedules weren't set in stone yet and he didn't want anyone to be behind. It wasn't necessary for him to go to school the next day, but it was necessary for him to keep his sanity.

"Yes, maybe I will stay home tomorrow," Valjean said to himself. Then he looks around, hoping no one heard. It would be a bad first impression. At first, he sees no one and relaxes, but then he notices a tall man in an old-looking coat frowning at him. Oh dear. He must have heard. How to fix this? "I'll just go straight home after work tomorrow. Nevermind going to the bakery, I'll just do that now," Valjean said, and, pleased with how convincing it must have been, he went to his car and drove off in the direction of the bakery.

Valjean never knew why, but for some reason he always loved bread. He parked his car and walked to the bakery. He just moved to this area, so this would be the first time he ever went inside this bakery. Valjean was determined to make a good first impression, because he would probably buy bread here every day for the rest of his days in this town. He entered and saw the man in the coat from the parking lot. Surely the man didn't come all the way here to make sure he wasn't lying? Who was he, the attendance police? And how did he get here so fast? There must be a shortcut. Valjean decided to check Google maps and find it, because if he could save even one minute while driving to get bread... He bought a loaf of bread and left the shop, too caught up in his dreams of bread to remember the man in the coat.

Javert watched the gray-haired man leave with his bread. Maybe he did mean what he said in the parking lot. Good. Javert did not want to be part of a school where the teachers ditched because they wanted to. He bought a cookie and left.

Javert, a man of about twenty five years old, had hoped to become a professional musician. He was one of the top musicians in his high school and an excellent marcher. When he auditioned for honor bands and colleges, though, they always told him that he needed to play with more emotion. Apparently, he played all of the notes too perfectly to be exciting. He had been told many times that he needed to express feelings in what he played. If it said piano, he played piano. If it said forte, he played forte. If it said crescendo, he did. If it said 127 beats per minute, then he played it at 127 beats per minute, no more, no less, and never would he dream of stretching the tempo to make it more musical. Eventually, he became tired of trying to teach himself to express his emotions and approached the band director of Sugar High School's marching band, wanting to be the marching instructor. He was accepted. Javert had meant to go to the bakery to buy a celebratory cookie, so seeing the gray-haired man in the parking lot was only another small reason to go.

He arrived at his appartment and carefully hung his coat up in it's usual spot. Javert sat in his chair and flipped through a book, wondering what he was going to do after marching season? Would he get paid for being there still? Maybe he could help out the woodwinds during concert season and get paid for that. He continued worrying/planning like this until dinnertime.

Valjean arrived at his house and happily began to eat his bread, ignoring the few boxes of unpacked furniture that had been lying on the ground for a couple weeks. The only things he had bothered to unpack were his bed (for sleeping) and a table and chair (for eating bread). It wasn't like anyone would come to visit him, so he saw no need to rush. Even if he did have a visitor, he was sure that it wouldn't take too long to take out the furniture. Or hide the boxes in the closet.

He finished the bread and took a large textbook from his bag. Valjean began planning his first lesson, which wouldn't be until next week, anyway. He didn't know why. He would probably change it anyway. It was a whole week away. What was the point of having it a week away again? he asked himself. Might as well have it tomorrow.

Mr. Valjean's first period students were surprised to be having a lesson, when the teacher had said the day before that he wouldn't start until next week. Halfway into the first page, a student in the front nervously raised his hand after his neighbor had elbowed him repeatedly.

Valjean glanced at the seating chart. "Yes, Jean?" he asked.

"Um, sorry, but didn't you say that we wouldn't start today? No one brought their books today because we thought we wouldn't need them," he said, blushing.

Valjean thought for a moment. "Oh, I did, didn't I? I'm sorry, class. We'll do this next week, then. Do whatever you want for the rest of class," Valjean said, and walked back to his desk.

The student who had been elbowing the class' savior whispered, "Thanks, Jehan. Poor Frèdèric back there looked like he was about to have a heart attack or something because he didn't bring his notebook." Jehan smiled, happy that he had saved his friend from a heart attack. Meanwhile, the student next to him began folding paper airplanes with the leftover syllabuses. He threw them across the room until one hit their teacher in the head.

Valjean looked up from his computer, frowned at the boy, and said, "Mr. Courfeyrac, I would appreciate it if you could direct you planes elsewhere." Then, he turned back to his computer and continued whatever it was he was doing. Camille Courfeyrac turned towards Frèdèric Combeferre and started launching planes at him one after the other. Frèdèric pushed his glasses up and continued reading his book. Jehan was happily drawing on a notepad next to one of his poems. The rest of the class was talking loudly. The teacher next door frowned and hoped that the class wouldn't be as noisy for the whole year.

First period ended, and the next periods went by the same way as the first, except there was no curly-haired boy throwing paper airplanes all over the classroom. Finally, the last bell rung, and Valjean was out the door as soon as the last student left. If he could, he would have gone before them. Valjean locked his classroom and hurried to the parking lot before the traffic got bad. Unfortunately, his classroom was far away from his car, and by the time he got there, it looked as if leaving would take nearly an hour.

Annoyed, Valjean decided to wait before trying to leave. He didn't want to have to battle with high schoolers to leave. The Biology teacher sat inside his car, opened the windows, and observed the cars as they crawled by. If he was a musician, he would have noticed how each car's horn was higher or lower than an other's, and he would have wondered what a song written for car horns would have sounded like. But that was Javert's job.

Javert was standing outside the school's music room, which was next to the parking lot. The sound of car horns irritated him. Honking wouldn't make the traffic any better. He entered the music room and was faced with a noise just as bad as the honking.

The room was filled with marching band students. A few were holding hands, one or two were chatting at a reasonable volume, and the majority were screaming at each other and over each other. Javert had almost forgotten how much louder a marching band was without instruments.

The band director waved to attract their attention. Several of the older students stopped talking and tried to get the new members to shut up. Most of them didn't hear, and a few chose to ignore them. Sighing, Javert switched the lights off, hoping they were mature enough to not shriek at the top of their lungs. The students looked around and saw him standing next to the light switch. He pointed at the band director, who started his speech. Javert didn't pay much attention. Instead, he looked at all of the students, trying to find the ones who he knew would be the most trouble. He caught sight of a boy, probably a freshman or a sophomore, with light brown, curly hair. Just as Javert thought to himself that he would be a troublemaker, the boy walked to the front of the room as the officers were called. Must have been a sophomore, then. Oh, dear.

He looked at the other officers, and relaxed when he saw that none of the others struck him as troublemakers. Javert knew he would have to learn their names eventually, but for now, he ignored their introductions in favor of examining the many trophies decorating the room. He made a note to never be in this room during an earthquake.

The meeting finally ended, and the sections broke off to get to know each other better. Javert dropped in on each of them quickly, and left. It had taken half an hour, and by now the traffic wasn't as bad. Not that it mattered to him. Javert walked across the parking lot towards the sidewalk. On his was there, he saw the man from yesterday drive away.

Something was familiar about that man, but Javert couldn't figure out what.