Le Tête d'Ange - Pierre Morhange (Les Choristes)

[serpentspass]

Hello everyone! This is a little thing I typed up because I watched the movie Les Choristes a few weeks ago and I just couldn't find closure. Honestly I have no idea if anyone on here has even seen this movie, but I thought I'd post this anyway. It's supposed to 1) help me deal with my sadness caused by the film lol and 2) finally give poor Pierre the comfort he deserves. 
If you haven't watched the movie, which I strongly advice you do (you can find it with English subtitles on YouTube), here are the character descriptions and an overall description of the setting.

Pierre Morhange
Also called 'le tête d'ange', Pierre Morhange is a boy with a pretty face and a pretty voice. He was brought to Fond de l'Étang by his mother, who has no husband and, therefore, has no time to care of Pierre on top of having to work. Pierre doesn't exactly dislike her; he just doesn't trust her at all. Pierre is introverted and barely says anything throughout the entire movie. The only thing he seems to truly enjoy is singing.

Mondain
Mondain was brought to le Fond de l'Étang by a psychologist from a juvenile detention centre. Although not much is known about him, he seems to be particularly rude and violent.

Les Choristes, and therefore this fanfiction, is set in 1949, in a boarding school called Fond de l'Étang. It's a school for 'troubled' boys and for boys who lost their parents during the war. Clément Mathieu (who you might meet later in this story) is a failed composer who has arrived at the school to work as a supervisor. He forms a choir as a way of disciplining the rude boys.

Just one disclaimer before the fanfiction begins (I'm sorry), there will not be any sneezing in this part, and there won't be much sneezing overall throughout the story. I decided upon this because, in the movie, Pierre is quite young and this story is solely meant as a wholesome hurt/care story with a good ending. So if you're looking for something fetishy, I suggest you find something else to read. Anyway, here we go.

Le Tête d'Ange - part 1

Pierre Morhange hung a bedsheet on the washing line, and another one, and another one. A dull pain lingered along his spine as he bowed to pick up the sheets and stood on his toes to hang them on the lines stretched across the courtyard. This didn’t stop the young boy from doing what he had to do, though, and he sang a song to distract himself from his persistent backache. 

All of a sudden, the sound of a line snapping echoed through the yard. Pierre instantly stopped singing, held his breath and hoped no one had heard him. It would be embarrassing. Out of the blue, a large boy jumped at him from behind one of the bedsheets, and Pierre hurriedly took a few steps back.
“You sing well, pretty girl.” Mondain’s face was too close to Pierre’s, but the younger boy didn’t move. If he did, it would show his fear for the eighteen-year-old towering over him. 
Mondain held out his cigarette. 

“You want some?” he asked, the stink of the filthy smoke still on his breath. Pierre didn’t say anything, fiercely hoping Mondain would go away. Naturally, he didn’t. Instead, he seemed to have accepted Pierre’s silent treatment and decided to continue the conversation on his own.
“They left you all alone here, hm?” Mondain smirked. “Don’t worry; I’ll protect you.”
Pierre wanted more than anything else that Mondain would just leave him alone. He never seemed to be able to find peace anywhere in this boarding school, ever, not even while doing community service. In a pathetic attempt to escape the larger boy, Pierre made a run for it. But Mondain was faster, blocking Pierre between two rows of sheets. 

“Wait for me. We're more similar than you think.” Pierre stared blankly at Mondain’s unattractive, acne-covered face. The older boy nudged Pierre’s shoulder, likely hoping to get a reaction out of him. “You see, my parents are assholes –” Pierre interrupted him, trying to push past him, but Mondain shoved him back. “Your mother is the same way. She left you here so she could finally have some peace.”

Ouch. That hurt. Pierre felt the heat rise to his cheeks, but did his best to keep his face blank. 
“No,” for the first time during the conversation, he dared to reply. “It’s because she has to work.” His mother did leave him in this dreadful place because of her work. He knew it. She always told him. 
“Ah, so what the others say is true?!” Mondain’s nasty smirk had evolved into a big, ugly grin. 
“What?” Pierre demanded. Had everyone been talking about him – or worse, about his mother – behind his back?
Mondain waited for a moment before leaning closer to Pierre’s face. His voice was calm, yet dripping with malice. “That she’s a whore.”

That was the last straw. Pierre jumped Mondain, placing his thumbs where the other boy’s trachea was as he’d seen many boys do to each other before. However, before he could exert enough force to choke Mondain, he was being strangled himself. Mondain threw him to the ground, pinning him to the floor while his hands were still tightly wrapped around Pierre’s neck. Pierre struggled to escape Mondain’s grip and, against his will, let out a soft cry. 

After a few agonising moments, he heard footsteps coming from down the hallway. Mondain must’ve heard them as well because he abruptly let go of Pierre’s throat. The boy gratefully inhaled the fresh air, immediately coughing hard as a result. He stood up, throat and lungs still aching, and crossed his arms over his chest to indicate he hadn’t done anything wrong. Mondain did the same. For all the boys knew, the approaching footsteps could be those of the strict headmaster Mr Rachin. Both of them would receive physical punishment if they were caught fighting. 
Fortunately, the person to whom the footsteps belonged turned out to be the maid. 

“You’re acting as if I couldn’t hear you,” she scolded. “Mondain, you’re not allowed to be here, get out! I will call Mr Rachin on you later!”
The redhead, who didn’t seem phased at all by the threat, did as the maid demanded, smiling sarcastically at Pierre as he left.
“As for you, Pierre, hang those few sheets back up –” She pointed at the bedsheets the boys had knocked off the washing lines as they fell to the ground. “– and then you’re done for today.”
 

The next morning, after a particularly sleepless night, Morhange still couldn’t put Mondain's words out of his head. His mother wasn’t a whore, he was certain. She worked at a local restaurant. She was trustworthy, right? He couldn’t stop thinking about her throughout breakfast either. What was she doing right now? He pushed the food around on his plate, not eating one single bite. After he cleaned up all the dishes – community service wasn’t over, after all – he took his coat from the dormitories and walked up to the massive doors of the school. Unlike some others, Pierre had never tried to escape before. He just wasn’t the type to do so. Nevertheless, he knew the ‘code of freedom’, as they called it. He took the iron lock in his hands and started turning it to form the right combination, hoping the clicking sounds wouldn’t grab anyone’s attention. Nobody caught him, fortunately, and within a few minutes, he was on the streets. 

He felt the chilly air bite the skin of his face and his legs, and he damned the shorts that boys at Fond de l’Étang were required to wear at all times, no matter the weather conditions. He didn’t exactly remember where the restaurant his mother worked at was located, but he guessed he would find it soon enough. And even if he didn’t, he couldn’t care less at this point. After he turned a few corners, having a vague idea of which direction to go in, rain started pouring down. 

_______________________

That was it for now! This was my first ever story and English is not my first language, so please let me know what you think of it or whether you think I should or shouldn't continue it!
 

[J-Squared]

와아아아아아아아아!!!!!! THIS WAS MY FAVOURITE MOVIE IN HIGH SCHOOL. WHAT THE HECK. SUCH A THROWBACK. I LOVE IT. THANK YOU. 

[serpentspass]

@J-Squared Thank you so much! I'm glad you enjoy it, I was so afraid no one would know the movie. 

Since there's (at least) one person who's enjoying this story so far, I've decided to continue it

Part 2

It was colder than Pierre had expected it to be. With it being the end of February, winter had almost passed – thank God – but that didn’t mean it was warm. As soon as he’d set a foot outside the school building, the sky had begun to darken into a dark gravel-grey, and he’d got the first splatters of rain approximately halfway down the street. Now, rain poured down over the city with a roar. Pierre wrapped his coat tighter around his chest, hoping to retain as much of his body warmth as possible. He couldn’t go back already. He chose to escape; now he had to commit to his decision. He turned left, right, right, right again... and he was in the same place. He cursed himself; he should’ve known he was walking in a circle. The icy wind burned painfully against the exposed skin of his face and legs, and there was a dull pounding on the side of his skull. Still, something encouraged him to keep walking. It wasn’t anger, not solely, anyway.

After what felt like hours of trudging through the streets, a small restaurant appeared from behind the wall of rain. Pierre let out a sigh of relief, glad to have finally found the place where his mother worked. It wasn’t like he didn’t trust her; he just had to check on her. He had never really had the urge to actively visit his mother; she came to see him from time to time. If she had time during visiting hours, that was. She didn’t always have time, but that was because she had to work. Not because she was doing… other things. He knew it, and he would be entirely sure of it once he saw her work at the restaurant.

He crouched behind a car that was parked near the sidewalk, water freely running down his face and into his already soaked clothes. People in ashy clothing passed in front of the building on the opposite side of the road, blocking Pierre’s view most of the time, but behind the thick sheets of rain and dark umbrellas obscuring his vision, he recognised her. His mother. She was setting the table near one of the large windows. Pierre stared at her as she put the plates and cutlery in their designated place with great care. Reassured, he let out the breath he had been holding. She was just doing her work as a waitress. Mondain had been wrong; everyone had been wrong. He didn’t know why he cared in the first place. His mother would never lie to him. He took his eyes off the restaurant for one moment, observing the street; the people hurrying to their warm homes; the rain hammering on the road. When he looked back up, his mother had disappeared behind the bar. He turned around and walked away without looking back.

 

The thunder had stopped, for the most part, thought the sky above him still grumbled distantly from time to time. The dark hue of the sky had shifted a little, but the rain didn’t stop pouring down. He made his way back to Fond de l’Étang slouching and with his trembling hands in the pockets of his shorts, his already bad posture weakened by the weight of his soaked coat. Water moved around uncomfortably in his shoes with every step he took. He was sodden. He was cold.

He didn’t know how long exactly it took him to get back to the school, but it was long enough for coldness to invade his bones and a thickness to settle in his lungs. When he knocked, Mr Mathieu was the one to answer the door. He said nothing, only staring at the boy in front of him. Pierre couldn’t quite grasp the look on Mr Mathieu’s face. If he hadn’t known better, he’d think there was a hint of disappointment in his expression. That couldn’t be it, though, Pierre decided.

When Mr Mathieu finally let him in, Pierre was too cold and too tired to think about anything else than his bed. It was only eight in the evening, but right now, Pierre couldn’t care less about the judging looks he was bound to receive for going to bed so early. He didn’t want to think about the consequences of missing the three o’clock roll call either. Mr Mathieu had been kind enough to let him in without any questions, but Mr Chabert would undeniably interrogate him tomorrow.

However, on his way to the dormitories, he was held back by one of the maids.
“Mr Morhange!” she exclaimed, her voice a mix of anger and surprise. Pierre spun on his heel, giving her a stare that was a little softer and tired than his usual.
“Morhange, where have you been all day?” He knew she didn’t expect an actual answer. “Go get a dustpan and brush and clean the classroom!”
Right. How could he forget about his community service? Pierre didn’t show any sign of acknowledgement but turned around to get his cleaning supplies anyway. The quicker he got it done, the better.

When he got to the classroom, he immediately started cleaning. One would be surprised at how much of a mess a group of unruly boys could make just by spending a few hours a day in one room. Spitballs were all over the floor, together with dust and dirt and the occasional paper aeroplane. Pierre coughed in his sleeve. Usually, the dust didn’t bother him too much. Today, however, the tiny particles caused his throat and nasal passages to burn. A fiery itch spread through his sinuses, and he had to pinch his nose shut for a few seconds to make it go away. When it did, it left his throat prickly and his eyes teary.

After the classroom was mostly clean – there was no way Pierre would get in all the corners or underneath the tables to dust – and Pierre was just about to leave the classroom, the boy’s eyes fell to the chalkboard in the front of the room. He recognised the words on the board as lyrics of a song. He’d heard the choir – which Mr Mathieu had created shortly after Pierre had received community service – sing it in class the day before. Ignoring the heaviness in his lungs, he leaned against the desk in front of the board and started humming the melody. Once he felt confident about the pitch and intervals, he sang the corresponding words on the board. His voice wasn’t as stable as it had been a few days ago when he sang scales in the empty classroom, but he still sounded alright. Just as he neared the end of the lines on the board, he was cut short when someone abruptly opened the door of the classroom.

------------------------------------------------

Yayyy another part done! Honestly, writing this has turned out to be easier than I expected! Again, let me know if you have any tips/whether you're enjoying the story/whether you would like me to continue it or not!