A/N: No longer a modern AU! Chapter two begins to make sense and get the plot going, this chapter almost serves as a prologue!
Oh, and I do not own Les Miserables in any way at all. So, complete DISCLAIMER.

Kicked Out

Enjorlas afflictively shook the mericless rain out of his curly, golden hair, hoping to obliterate the last shred of the anger that had consumed his tired mind.

The howling wind swirled around his neighborhood, simply adding the element of fear to the already anxious atmosphere.

He had run five kilometers from the Universitie de Paris, furiously gripping the light pink papers in his hands, till he stood infront of his small loft. It was beginning to look even more decrepit than it previously had, especially by the way the door was shaking in the wind. A few more blows and it would surely fly right off. However, something caught his eyes. A glisten through the windows.

Someone had arrived there before him.

Forcibly tearing apart the soaked papers and throwing them behind his back, he threw open the battered door and quickly recognized a face from his past.

His mother stood near the closet, leaning on the severely damaged, winding, staircase hopelessly, refusing to make eye contact with her fuming, breathless son.

"Mere?" He asked, shocked by her presence.

At eighteen, Enjolras had anxiously moved out of his mother's apartment in Rouen to his loft near the river Seine; close enough to school but also to the local market. With all his late nights spent studying feverishly, he found it easier to pick up some fresh beef or some trout and asparagus on his way home so he wouldn't starve during the week.

Her presence in his home made him feel beyond uncomfortable. Now, at twenty, already with a degree in French Law, he no longer relied on his mother.

Quite the opposite actually.

"Mere?" He asked once more, crossing his arms bitterly as he crossed the carpet to reach her.

"Enjy..." She muttered, putting her head in her trembling hands miserably.

"Don't call me that." He shook his head, "Please."

"They've kicked me out." She sighed, ignoring his plea.

"Out?" The word burned his throat as it came out, "What are you talking about?"

"They've kicked me out of the school." Grieviously, she added, "They've fired the whole lot."

"The teachers?" Enjolras moved closer to his browbeaten mother.

Terrified of the truth he might hear, he kneeled next to her, trying to look her in the eyes.

As tears eventually began rolling down her dirty cheeks, he spoke up, "Why did you come here?" He began to pace, "You live in Rouen; why did you come so far to visit me?"

Had news of his most regrettable action reached his mother already? Did his friends know of what he had attempted the previous night?

In his youth, Enjolras had never built any sort of relationship with his mother. He had no family living nearby except for his aunts, who barely cared for him either. A mere glance was all they gave him, and soon, he grew to hate the world. Including his mother.

"I came to see if there were any jobs in Paris. I can't afford to feed myself anymore!" She finally spat.

"You have sister's Dijon! They're rich; they never had to work a day in their lives!" The tone of resentment began to creep into his voice.

"No, you don't understand –"

"Have you forgotten that I've given you loans since I've moved here?" He fumed, "Why not your dear sisters?" His words hung dryly in the air and he began to turn red from sheer anger, "I've been kicked out too, you know. All I have is the money I've saved up over the years. I cannot afford to help you anymore."

The blatant truth shamed his mother.

Hanging her head, she straightened her back and stood her ground.

"I'll be leaving then."

"I wish you well." He replied bitterly, standing to help his mother to the door, "Shall I send word out of your arrival to your sisters?"

"No, I don't think it'll be necessary. They'll know when I arrive."

"Why is that?"

"They've no home."

He froze in his tracks, "What?"

"Oh, and just so you know, they're kicking students out too. Especially the ones in useless areas of study – like history."

Clenching his jaw, he ran to the door irritably, threw it open, and helped his mother out, slamming it shut and sinking down against it, filled with rage.

Fighting back his frustration, he recalled a conversation held between Marius a few nights ago.

"Hello?" He whispered anxiously, hoping that his friend would answer the door sooner or later and not his stingy grandfather. After a few moments of hesitance, a voice spoke up from behind the door.

"Enjolras?"

"Did you get the letter too?" The tone of his voice was so enraged that Marius sensed it as he threw open the door.

"Everyone did. Nobody I know has a job anymore." He stuttered, "Why won't Lamarque do anything about this?"

"Lamarque is drowning in debt. He helps the poor so much he can barely afford to help himself, and now, he's ill." Enjolras bit his tongue in frustration, "I can't believe he's ill…"

"All the news about the state of France must be getting to him..." Marcus sighed.

"Nothing's getting to him!"

Marius shrugged, "We're doomed. My grandfather's literally the only one in the neighbourhood that isn't poor."

Enjolras played with a piece of his hair to distract himself, and then batted it out of his face, "This is all too much."

"Tell me about it!" Marius laughed, "Are we meeting at Musain today? Before they kick us out of that too?"

"I don't know, I'll see how I feel."

"Well, we'll all be there. Eponine's dropping by too. I'll see you if you come."

"Eponine?" He figured it was probably that pathetic looking girl moping around Marius all the time. She didn't make much of an appearance within their little society unless Marius was present, but then again, she barely affected it. "Alright, we'll see."

Shaking loose his thoughts, he walked to his office, catching a glimpse of his reflection in the mirror hanging on his chipped walls.

His stubble had grown out, his usually neat blonde hair was now sprawled out and messy, and his bright red waistcoast was wrinkled and untidy. Sheets upon sheets of notes were scattered along the floor of his office and were tacked up on the walls. What had become of him? Had he been so consumed in his intense studying that he had forgotten to care for himself?

With general Lamarque's illness beginning to anger and worry him further than his mother ever had, he banged his head on his mahogany desk and moaned.

Perhaps he would just have to go to the cafe once more tonight and sort things out with his friends, get his mind of the secrets he was keeping. Borrow some money from them if he could. His home was already falling apart, what did he have to lose? The only thing he had left were his studies, and frankly, he only did that to save his homeland. He knew something detrimental would tear the country apart eventually, but he had never anticipated it'd be so soon.

Grabbing a series of thick books he'd bought previously, he reminded himself to sell them to he library on his way there, as they were in good shape and he no longer needed them. Realizing what a mess his home really was, he didn't need more useless objects to clutter what space he had left.

Moving towards the door, he watched as it flew off its hinges from the sheer force of the wind. Letting out a yelp, he balanced it in a way that seemed shut and hoped no one would stumble upon it during his absense.

Trying to stay out of the rain, he ran out along the streets, ignoring the gazes of so many homless families.

If he prayed hard enough, perhaps France would see a much needed glimpse of hope through the darkness that continued to spread like a virus.