To Lead Them Towards

Feuilly is somehow de-aged twenty years, and it falls on Enjolras to take care of the four-year-old.

Enjolras looked around the room and could not keep himself from gasping lightly at what he saw.

There, sitting in the corner of the room, tangled in a much too-large nightshirt, was a child. A boy of maybe four, five years at most, with untrimmed light brown hair and wide, red-rimmed eyes, the iris a familiar – very familiar – shade of hazel.

In fact, his features were also quite recognizable, from the furrowed brow to the constellation of freckles clear against his pale skin.

The boy rose quickly, but kept his back flat against the wall. He looked tired, even sickly, and was rather short for his age.

Then again, even as an adult, Feuilly had never been especially tall.