-a rainy day-
He's running late already. Of course, he does lead the meeting, and he does say when the session starts and ends, but he is five minutes late (his bus driver was stupidly tardy, he's thinking of filing a complaint) and that isn't acceptable.
Plus, his shoes are definitely not suitable for running. They were from his mother three Christmases ago, and he has managed to avoid wearing them regularly ever since. Not that he doesn't like them- he has to admit, they do look very smart- he just doesn't like how entitled they make him look. Not to add that they are kind of rubbing his feet.
He checks his watch. Nine minutes late. He looks around the street. At least fifteen minutes away from the Musain. He sighs.
That's when he feels it.
He brushes it off as a fluke at first, rubs his nose and carries on, a more determined look on his face. Then he feels it again, more prominent this time. He switches his folder to his other arm and rushes past a woman with a pram.
Then it begins. Just a few gentle drops at first. He sighs because come on, he was having a good hair day, but rolls his eyes and accepts it. He can deal with a light trickle of rain, he's mature.
He passes a busy restaurant, nobody leaving, everybody filing in. He hears somebody say 'it's coming!', which is when the speed of the rain increases. So much so that it is almost bouncing off the ground.
Slightly deterred, but adamant to get there with at least an hour left, he carries on. All he can hear is the sound of rain, his red hoodie a darker colour than when he left the house, soaking and useless. His folder is completely wet as well, all the sheets probably drenched.
He picks up his pace, practically sprinting down the road. He turns a corner, slips a bit, but recovers gracefully (thank god for those ice skating lessons his mother forced him to take). The road is completely bare now, just him and the downpour.
He sees a rather large puddle, the light from the street lamp making the pavement shine. Jumping up and over the puddle, he looks straight forward, preparing for the landing.
Unfortunately, he underestimates how close the pavement is to his feet and, in his state of shock, slips and falls. His folder goes flying out of his hand and he tries desperately to put his hands underneath his head.
He lies there for a couple of seconds, trying to process what just happened. The rain is still screaming at him, but he hears a chuckle coming from the side of him, confusedly below him.
Turning his head and resting his cheek on his flat palm, he sees a girl. Probably just younger than him, standing on some stairs leading down to a door. She's completely dry, covered by the overhanging house above. She's grinning at him, not even trying to cover up her amusement.
"You alright there, buddy?"
He glares at her, and feels embarrassment flood his body. Sighing he shoves himself up (he almost slips again when trying to find his footing, but she doesn't notice), and turns to her.
"Have you," the rain being louder than he expected, he shouts to her, "have you got any room under there to spare?"
She grins and shuffles to the side. He takes that as a sign to join her, so he almost runs to the stairs. He jogs down them, sure to make sure he keeps his eyes on the floor, not missing one step.
When he reaches her and feels the rain stop, he turns to her. "Thanks."
She has a weird look on her face, a mixture of amusement and confusion. "It's fine. I'm Éponine."
He takes off his hoodie. "Enjolras." He gives her a smile.
"Okay, then, Enjolras. Nice to meet you."
Placing his hoodie on the floor, he gives her a lopsided smile. "It's nice to meet you too, Éponine, despite the terrible circumstances."
"I don't know what you're talking about, I think the circumstances are quite amusing."
He glares at her, but stays silent. He combs his fingers through his hair.
"Your folder is on the floor."
His eyes dart up, scanning the road. As she said, his folder is on the pavement, lying in a puddle, actually.
"Like owner, like folder." She says, laughter evident in her voice.
"Are you just going to make fun of me?" He grins at her nevertheless.
"Of course. You look hilarious. Your name is hilarious. What you just did is hilarious." She pauses to laugh. "I've got to take this golden opportunity."
He skims his eyes over her. He looks at her for a while. "Have I met you before?"
She chuckles and looks to the rain in front of them. "Nope."
He still stares at her. "I'm pretty sure I've heard the name Éponine before. It's not a very common name."
She turns to him and grins. "What, and Enjolras is? I would remember meeting you, trust me."
He narrows his eyes. "Are you meant to be somewhere?"
"Yes, actually. I'm meeting someone."
He nods, swallowing and looking to the road. "Boyfriend?"
She giggles. "My friend who happens to be a boy. What about you?"
He sighs, and checks his watch. 23 minutes late. "Yep. I have a meeting."
Her eyes light up. "Ooh, are you some type of fancy lawyer who has big meetings with whiteboards and pencil sharpeners and empty coffee mugs?"
He watches her in amusement, laughing all the while. "I am a lawyer, yes. But it's not a meeting for my job, it's for a group I have founded." She raises an eyebrow, so he continues. "Have you ever heard of Les Amis d'la ABC?"
Her eyes widen. "You're the guy who loves France."
He shakes his head in confusion. "What?"
"You know Marius Pontmercy."
He gives her a baffled grin. "Why, yes. I mean, how do you-"
"I was supposed to be coming to your meeting tonight!"
His mouth drops open for a second before he recovers himself. "You're Marius' neighbour!"
She nods and laughs.
They stand there and talk for about five minutes more, neither of them noticing that the rain has completely stopped. It isn't until Enjolras receives a phone call from Combeferre that they realise where they are supposed to be. They walk to the meeting together, and everything spirals off from there.
-a summer camp-
He originally volunteered because it would make him look great on university applications. But then his friends found out and then they all wanted to join, so it kind of ended up like a large summer camp ran by Les Amis. Admittedly, he did enjoy having them there much more than if he were alone.
It was to last three weeks, and his group were- as expected, since Courfeyrac helped choose the groups- the most annoying, mischievous, and cheeky twelve year olds he had ever met. There was one girl (Lily, her name was) who made fun of his hair just because it was the same colour and style as hers. There was another kid called John who didn't listen to a word Enjolras said, no matter how loud he shouted. There was only one boy in the group who actually listened to a word he said- Gavroche, the blond shaggy haired boy- actually asked questions about his group and what his aspirations were all about. It was new and refreshing to have another person actually listen and give feedback about Les Amis, even if it was a twelve year old boy who once ate a leaf because his friend dared him to.
Which is why it is so surprising when he comes into the lunch room to see Gavroche, surrounded by laughing children, standing on a table with a red table cloth clutched in his arm and the other fisted in the air, shouting 'vive la France, vive la France!' at the top of his lungs. Normally, he would be proud at such an admirable show of defiance and determination. That would be so, if not for the platinum blond (obviously fake, and totally not his style) wig on his head.
His face going red with embarrassment and anger, he turns to the side and sees Courfeyrac, Grantaire, Bahorel, and Joly laughing along with the teenagers. He swears they laugh harder when they see him.
He storms out of the room, completely humiliated, striding towards the reception area of the camp. He stomps over to the woman at the desk, demanding the emergency contact list of his group. Her eyes widen a little at his frenzied eyes and she passes him the stapled pieces of paper without a word.
He walks into the nearest bathroom, placing the paper on the sinks and skimming through the names until he finds 'G. Jondrette'. Placing his finger on the accompanied number, he runs his hand through his hair and quickly types the number into his phone, pressing call hurriedly.
He begins pacing after the third ring. It picks up.
"Hello?"
"Hello? Hello. I need to talk to you about your son, Gavroche."
There's a cough. "Actually, he's-"
"At first I though that Gavroche was a pretty cool kid, he listened to me and contributed much more than any other teenager in this godforsaken camp. So I trusted him, I told him about my group and what I've been working towards my entire life. And you know what he does? He makes fun of me in the dining room, poorly imitating me and embarrassing me horribly." He stops to take a deep breath. He carries on walking around the room, angrily pulling faces and moving his free hand about even though he knows the other person can't see.
"Well, I'm sure Gavroche was-"
"He was stood on the table, a red cloth in his hands, pretending it was, what I can only imagine it to be, a flag. Not only that, oh no, he was also wearing a curly blond wig on his head, covering his own blond hair which is more like my colour than the wig, might I add. Also, whilst we're on the subject, may I suggest that you force him to have a haircut, it's getting dangerously like a Beiber fringe and I'm not having such a person in my group. Where was I, oh yes! He was also, at the top of his lungs, chan-"
"Okay, you know what? I'm not dealing with this shit. Do you seriously think I'm going to let you talk such shit about my brother? Gav' is a good kid, you obviously know that because of everything you said about him before all the bullshit. He likes to have a laugh, he enjoys having fun. He's a fucking teenager. I don't know how old you are, but I'm guessing you must be about sixty if you can't remember what it's like to want to impress your friends and joke about with them. I can tell you for sure that he just meant it in jest, my god. Have you never heard of having a laugh before?"
He stays stuck in his place, his mouth agape. He tries to force words out, but he can't think of anything to say.
"Have I finally shut you up? Wow, what a miracle."
He nods slowly. "I'm sorry."
"You should be. That was totally uncalled for. You should have said all this shit to Gav', not me. I haven't done anything wrong."
He nods again. "That's true. I am- I am dreadfully sorry. Please forgive me."
She's silent for a while. She just hums.
There's a long beep after.
She hung up on him.
He pulls his phone from his ear and looks at it in wonder.
"So you're the dick who thought he could take me on, huh?"
He turns around quickly, finding a short brown haired girl in front of him. A smug looking Gavroche stands close behind, a smirk on his face. He stutters in bewilderment.
"I- well, yes. It has all been sorted now, so everything is fine."
She nods. "Oh, I know it has been sorted. If it hadn't, you wouldn't believe the amount of shit I'd be yelling at you right now."
"I can imagine." He can, he really can. She looks and sounds like the type of woman who could knock down a person's self esteem in just a few words.
She smiles. "You've got my number, right?"
He frowns, an amused smile still stuck on his face though. "Yes, why?"
She nods. "I'm Éponine."
He sticks his hand out to her. "Enjolras."
She just looks at it, then flicks her eyes back up to his. He awkwardly drops his hand, stretching it by his side.
"Use that phone number."
She turns and walk away, and he's left there wondering who she is and why he really wants to call her as soon as possible.
-a wedding-
He's one of the groomsmen. God knows why, but he is. He couldn't exactly deny it either, Courfeyrac had threatened him. Marius was like a puppy who just wouldn't let go of something once he has it, and apparently hurting Marius' feelings is like taking a chew toy from a puppy. You just don't do it.
So that's how he ends up in a new suit (red tie, his suggestion), in a room full of people, on a Saturday night when he could be planning tomorrow's meeting. It's the after party, a buffet set up and unlimited drinks at the bar.
Despite the freedom with food, the seating arrangements are not so free. He's on a table with Combeferre, Bahorel, and Grantaire. He's fine with that. It's just the girls that he's upset with. He knows none of them at all. He has a girl called Éponine on his right, and a girl called Musichetta on his left. Across from him, there is a girl called Azelma that keeps staring at him, and 'this is why he doesn't come to social events'.
It's the speeches right now, and Cosette's father is speaking. It's very tearful, and he thinks Bahorel might be crying, but he can't be sure and he frankly doesn't want to point it out lest he face the consequences. The speech ends and they raise their glasses.
"To Cosette and Marius."
They repeat it back and take a sip. He hears a mumble from beside him.
"The only good thing about this reception is the alcohol."
He almost spits out his champagne, his face going red from the concealed laughter. He ends up just silently shaking, and the brown haired girl beside him (Éponine, he remembers) gives him a sideways glance and an amused smirk.
He swallows and tries to put on a straight face. Courfeyrac stands up and begins his best man speech, but Enjolras finds himself focusing too much on thinking of a witty comment than actually listening to what his friend has to say. The speech ends faster than Enjolras expects and, still struggling for a comment, he just stays silent, feeling disappointed in himself. He's an amazing orator, why can't he make a pretty girl laugh?
Anyway, he- wait, what? Nevermind.
Marius stands up.
"Cosette and I met with love at first sight."
He sighs. "How cliché."
Éponine bursts into laughter next to him, and he gives her a surprised grin. Like him, she tries to stop her laughter, not wanting to disrupt the groom. So that's the trick, don't think about it too much, just say the first thing that comes into your head, right?
Marius is crying. He doesn't know how much of the speech he missed, silently laughing with Éponine, but Marius has tears running down his cheeks while a smile is stuck on his face as he reads off of some paper. He ends the speech and everybody claps, raises their glasses, takes a drink, then places the glass on the table.
Marius addresses the guests. "Feel free to help yourself to food and drinks."
Éponine almost darts up, her and a young boy with pristine hair (obviously heavily gelled) running to the buffet table from opposite sides of the room. Éponine pushes in front of him, grabbing a plate before him.
Enjolras thinks that he's the only person to see it, because everybody else is either talking to other people or moving to the table (at a significantly slower pace than the first two) themselves.
Éponine returns shortly, her plate piled with food. He finds himself grinning, laughing at how precariously it is all balanced. She sits down.
"You're about to see something pretty spectacular go down, pretty boy."
He laughs, then goes red. "Did you just call me 'pretty boy'?"
She nods, taking a bite of a breadstick. "You got a problem with that, pretty boy?"
He shakes his head. "Of course not. As long as you're okay with me giving you a nickname, sweetheart?"
She shrugs, a smirk forming on her face. "Fine by me."
They end up dancing together that night. He makes comments on Marius' 'hip moves', and she giggles at Courfeyrac's breakdancing.
She ends up coming to his that night, and nobody even bats an eyelid when they show up at the meeting together the next day.