A/N: A Monty/Ponine one-shot. Having never read the book, this little fic is set in a non-descript place so you can't tell me I'm wrong. AHA! Now then. Excuse my bad spelling and overused semicolons, and please do review. Critisism is welcome. Enjoy.


The grassy commons was exceptionally peaceful today, a small oasis of serenity that distracted from the wretched world that it was surrounded by. Two people in particular were enjoying this rare day in which the sun showed its face and cast gentle warm on those below.

Eponine curled her spindly legs underneath her and sat, her tattered skirt pooling around her. Not wishing to dirty his trousers, Montparnasse seated himself on a section of Eponine's outspread skirt. They were enjoying each other's company without having to slink about in shadows or decrepit alleyways. Here they sat, among the young lovers and blooming flowers. It was surreal, almost laughable. But Eponine was accustomed to being laughed at.

"'s nice day outside," she commented, picking apart a blade of grass. Montparnasse gave some sort of noise, possibly in agreement.

"Everythin's so beautiful in th' spring." She sighed whimsically. Looking over to Montparnasse, she frowned; the young man preferred to stare off at nothing rather than listen to Eponine speaking.

"Nothing is beautiful. It's only a mask to allure stupid lovesick children." He shot her a glare. "Like you."

Eponine cast her eyes downward, letting her snarled hair fall over her face. Cruelty had always plagued her, radiating from everyone in her life. Letting out a shaky sigh, Eponine snapped a small flower from its stem, pulling the petals away from each other and letting them flutter to the ground. Montparnasse pushed Eponine's sleeve back to its proper place after it had slipped to nearly past her elbow. "You practicing to be a whore, girl?"

"Can't. Papa says I'm too ugly." Eponine began to lace the small flowers together, weaving a chain.

"And he's absolutely right. Not even the most desperate of men would have you."

"Then why d'ya hang about me?" The flower chain had grown longer as Eponine spoke, her fingers absentmindedly intertwining. Montparnasse encircled Eponine's waist with his arm, bringing her closer.

"Because you're mine. What should I care what others think?"

"Seems like you're bringin' yourself down to th' lowlifes." Still preoccupied with her flowers, Eponine did not notice Montparnasse's arm moving to or from her waist until she felt him take her hair in his fist and wrench her head back. She cried out and dropped the chain, clawing at the air.

"Say the words. You know it."

"S-stop, please 'Parnasse!"

"Say it. Just two words."

He had played this horrible game when they were younger, Eponine remembered; even as a child Montparnasse had found amusement in others' pain. Whatever variation of the game he played, he always got his way.

"Say it."

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry!"

Montparnasse released his victim without another word. Subduing a cough, Eponine returned to her chain while the young man at her side resumed observing the spring day. Tying a final knot in the chain, Eponine placed the newly created crown of flowers atop Montparnasse's head, the white blossoms strikingly vibrant against his ebony locks. Montparnasse promptly pulled the delicate crown from his head, breaking the circle and tying the chain into Eponine's wild hair. The girl turned to give a small smile, and found herself pressed to the grassy floor and beneath Montparnasse. As his soft lips pressed against her own cracked ones, Eponine succumbed; she knew how Montparnasse could be. He was like the rain, always cold, always harsh, never forgiving. And yet, there was something wonderful and beautiful about the rain, washing away what evil the world contained, turning the streets to silver, bringing young lovers close. Eponine had always loved the rain.