( Javert sighs deeply, slumping back against the couch, in a manner that is most unlike him. His hair is mussed a little, his eyes still red and sore from crying, his shirt rumpled, and his necktie hangs undone against his collar. He continues sadly, )

Perhaps that is not the right word for it. I'm told that is how some people celebrate their birthdays, though I have never had reason to do so before.

( He's never celebrated Christmas either, until he came here. His life has never felt so lonely before. )