title: One Summer More
pairing(s): main - Enjolras/Éponine; minor - Marius/Cosette, Courf/Jehan
rating: PG-13
word count: 7734
summary: There are many ways to fall in love with someone, but sometimes the best way is to do so is learning to love them one aspect at a time. Alternately, how Éponine and Enjolras realize the best thing for both of them is each other over the course of three summers, two photographs, and one unforgettable journey.
AN: A little one-shot that's been floating around for a bit. I've been dying to write something a little more serious like Touch, since perdus et trouves is kind of more of a fun, dramatic thing. This starts off from Enjolras' POV, then shifts more to Eponine's maybe halfway-ish through.
The first time he sees her it's summer, and she's wearing a pair of ratty jeans and an over-large t-shirt that hangs over one side, revealing a pronounced collarbone and pointy shoulder, her little brother in tow. She's skinny from being underfed and bedraggled, dark circles resting under large brown eyes from beneath a head of voluminous curls. He doesn't usually go out of his way to notice women, but he thinks that Éponine Thénardier is pretty in some fashion.
The next time he sees her is at Marius' birthday party. He notes she's not as scrawny anymore, that she fills out the vintage party dress with a tiny waist and soft curves. She's still thin; she still has sharp angles to contrast her round eyes, but he finds it gives her character. Her hair is in styled ringlets, her face decorated with red lipstick and a natural blush. Her posture and defiant gaze dares anyone to accuse her of ... of what exactly, he's not sure, since she's a vision to behold and should anyone dare insult her he would be the first to jump to defend her honor. His eyes continue to watch thoughtfully from the side of the room until Combeferre comes over to talk about his Philosophy course, but the vision of her in that crochet lace dress seems imprinted in the back of his mind.
She follows Marius around the whole evening, so he never gets the chance to tell her he thinks her beautiful.
Musichetta, who had been taking photos at the party, corners him a week after to hand him a matchbook-sized snapshot with a saucy wink. She pulls it out of an envelope stuffed with other photos. The faces of his friends peek out at him from inside as she sifts through it to find what she's looking for.
He gets the feeling he knows who's in the photo before he looks at it. His friends' girlfriend waves the shot in front of his face for a while before presenting it with a pleased smirk and a fancy 'tada!'. Musichetta is immensely pleased with herself at it and he resolves to not give her the satisfaction of a reaction.
It's one of Éponine in her white dress, smiling awkwardly for the camera, a soft tint of pink colouring her tanned cheeks. At first he's confused as to why Musichetta is giving it to him until the grinning girl points out his own figure in the background, staring at Éponine with a definite expression of frank admiration. Enjolras doesn't ever remember wearing such a ridiculous expression in his life, but he it doesn't bother him as much as it should. It seems right, looking at her in that way, instead of the way he's seen other men his age gaze lustfully after women.
"Don't worry. It's the only copy." Musichetta bobs her head up and down, as though she's doing him a huge favor (which she might be) by keeping this photo from prying eyes. "You don't have to worry about a thing."
"I'm guessing this is the only shot you got of me?" he lies unconvincingly, as if that was the reason she was giving it to him.
Musichetta purses her full lips, tilting her head and gauging his denial. "Sure, darling. Let's go with that." She pats him on the shoulder like a small child and walks away.
For reasons unbeknownst to him, Enjolras tucks it into his wallet and leaves it there, and whenever he comes across it he thinks of her, her smile, and all the words he never got to exchange with her that evening.
He doesn't realize what he's getting himself into when she opens her mouth to snap at him, witty retorts slamming hard and fast into his ego, and despite himself he's impressed. Éponine is intelligent for a girl with only a high school diploma to her name, carting around bizarre novels with obscure titles he's never even heard of before.
She leaves them lying around his apartment when she comes to pick up Gavroche from his tutoring, since she reads while she waits for them to finish. He doesn't touch them at first, simply hoping, perhaps, that it will give her an excuse to drop by, to finish them up. But she never does, when she shows up she'll read until it's time and then abandon them again. Curiosity gets the better of him eventually, and he finds himself admiring the worn covers and reading the summaries. The books are fantastic, unsurprisingly, and the one time she does drop by unannounced she catches him in the middle of one, mischief in her eyes.
"Interesting?" she raises an eyebrow at him in a coy fashion.
He clears his throat. "Yes, quite." It's all he can manage to get out in her suddenly intoxicating presence.
"Well, I've come to pick them up," she says, as if she only forgot them yesterday rather than months ago.
He reluctantly closes the one he's holding, noting the author and title for further perusal in the future, but he knows he's going to miss her handwritten comments in the margins, filled with deep insight and intriguing thoughts.
She seems to read his thoughts. "You can keep that one, if you want. I have another one. Think of it as a going-away gift."
He blinds owlishly at her. "Away?" he repeats, because he's never considered the idea of her anywhere else but in his life, sitting curled up on his sofa with a pen perched between her fingertips and lower lip as she flips pages over, completely engrossed.
He realizes just how much time she spends here, even when Gavroche isn't there for lessons, toting coffee and a wry smile, cleaning up his mess of notes and textbooks and forcing him to take breaks. She has a habit of showing up at his doorstep at the worst times, He's in the shower, or he's just accidently burnt dinner in the microwave, or he's spilt an entire cup of coffee over his shirt - and the doorbell will ring, announcing her not unwanted presence in his home.
He realizes he's going to miss her company, their heated discussions and lively debates. He starts to notice little things: how her voice is a little rough around the edges when she's sarcastic and how it's lilting when she teases him. He could recognize her from the slight curve of her lip when she smiles, the tender timbre of her voice when she talks with her brother. He knows what she sounds like when she's happy, and he strives to learn the ways to make her smile.
He doesn't know how or when she snuck up on him like this, and it hits him over like a ton of bricks. Or books, maybe, he thinks, as she flutters around the room scooping novels into her arms.
"Yes. Azelma's got a scholarship and we need to move so she can live close by." She doesn't need to explain why this is because they can only afford rent for one apartment, let alone an apartment and a dorm room somewhere far away; he already knows. Éponine does whatever it takes to secure her siblings' futures, and he respects her and admires her for it.
"You can't carry all those by yourself," he says lamely, standing to help her. "You'll need a box, at least, or I can help you carry them in lots." He's rambling a bit now, trying to mask his utter bewilderment at having his life turned upside down.
She gives him a beatific smile. "Always the gentleman," she says fondly, dumping an armful of books on his table to reach over and ruffle his hair.
He wonders if this is her quirky mind's way of telling him she'll miss him.
She writes frequently, sending him quotes and little pictures of cats, naming each of them after one of Les Amis and saving one called Grumpy Cat especially for him. He writes back with the books he's read, ones he liked and ones he thinks she should pick up if she gets the chance.
Slowly, his library graduates from law and history books to a plethora of adventure, science fiction, and tragedy novels. His shelves are filled, and so is something deep inside of him, something that had been empty for so long. He finds that not all romance novels are as poorly written as he thought they were, and that there is more than learning to be had from words on a page. There is magic, and there is life. A healthy section of his collection becomes engrossed in fantasy, and she forces him to read the entire Harry Potter series (forced is most likely an exaggerated term, since once he'd started it became rather hard to stop).
So then the next thing she pushes into his life is a new appreciation for films, after staying up with him on the phone to watch the entire collection of Harry Potter films on Netflix one long weekend. Not movies, she says, but films. Popular movies are good and fun to see in theatres with friends, and some of them are quite good, but there are also little gemstones hidden away within boxes of old DVDs at department stores, and it is these little-known treasures that she loves to watch. It doesn't even matter if they're bad, because there's something thrilling about seeing taking in a piece of art that few others have seen.
He curls up on his couch with his laptop and joins her in the wonderful world of terrible films such as Sharknado, which Eponine tells him about as she cackles madly over their Skype call. He rolls his eyes fondly when he's done with it, thinking that only she could get him to watch something as horrible as this.
It goes back and forth like this, and as summer approaches he finds excitement building in him whenever he looks at the calendar, counting down the days until she can come to see him.
She writes about things that remind her of him, and he likes the idea that she's thinking of him.
He wonders if she knows the habit is mutual.
Éponine's birthday rolls around, so he orders books online and has them shipped to her door, but the real gift is the phone call he sends on the same day, asking her to come stay for a while.
"Azelma's almost done for the year," Éponine admits, and he hears her switch the phone to her other ear. "I don't know about leaving her alone with the boys."
"You can take Gavroche with you," he promises. "I'm sure Courfeyrac won't mind seeing him at all."
She agrees readily enough, and arranges for Azelma to watch the two younger boys while she and Gavroche come over to stay at his apartment. Les Amis shoot him knowing looks when they find out just where Éponine is lodging for her stay, but Enjolras doesn't let it get to him. His best friend is coming to town to stay, and he's elated. He walks home that afternoon with a spring in his step and a grocery bag full of Éponine and Gavroche's favourites.
The first bag she hands him is full of books.
The second one is DVDs and CDs of various genres.
The third suitcase is stuffed haphazardly with clothes and hygiene products.
"Are you sure you packed enough?" he asks dubiously.
"I debated carting my whole DVD collection, but I decided it wasn't worth it, even for the special features, when we can just use Netflix," she answers seriously, hauling them over to him so he can take them from the taxicab she and Gavroche had to take in order to leave their used car with Azelma and the younger boys.
"Right," he agrees, because the idea of spending movie nights on the couch with her is suddenly very, very appealing.
Éponine graciously allows Enjolras to haul all three bags to the elevator and then down the hall to his flat. She opens the door for him, and she and Gavroche take in the view. "Sparsely furnished, as always," she comments, dropping her purse on the kitchen counter.
Gavroche is already gravitating to the TV, probably to hook up whatever game-playing device he brought with him to occupy the day while he and Éponine catch up with each other like old friends. Gavroche and Courfeyrac are going out to see the latest Marvel movie that evening, and Éponine tells him that she had decided she was treating him to a marathon screening of Friends.
That evening they're laughing all over each other, Éponine barely able to breathe through her choking guffaws, clutching her sides and slapping Enjolras' arm rather violently in the process. His arm will probably be sore tomorrow, but afterwards she's leaning against his shoulder, wiping actual tears from her eyes as she settles back down and stretches her arm across him to reach the bowl of buttery popcorn.
And it's completely worth it.
"Goddamn it, Éponine." He's swearing as he finds himself groggy-eyed and dishevelled the next morning, drool dry on his chin. Éponine is looming over him with her hands on her hips, and he can tell she's trying to make an annoyed face at him, but it he can see she's smiling beneath it.
"Goddamn it is right," she responds, already showered and dressed in wrinkle-free clothes as she fluffs the pillows behind him as he sits up, groaning. "You slept through Ross' wedding. How could you? It was the biggest plot twist in TV history!"
"Sorry," he apologies blithely, rubbing his eyes.
She grins, and messes his already disheveled hair before patting him on the back. "You need a shower. You smell like popcorn and pizza." Enjolras resists the urge to cave in and sniff himself, shuffling over to his room to grab some clean clothes as she watches with an amused look on her pretty face.
"Still haven't forgiven you," she calls over to him. "You owe me lunch, lawyer boy."
He grumbles some sort of acquiescence out. He's not going to be awake enough to handle Éponine and her antics until he's had some coffee.
After that, she seems to come up with more and more excuses for them to spend time together.
Gavroche certainly doesn't seem to mind spending most of his waking hours with Courfeyrac. Éponine tells him that her little brother has been needing a role model, and while Courfeyrac isn't the exact epitome of a good example, she's rather short on options of men that Gavroche actually looks up to. She's looking kinda funnily at him then, and he wonders if she means for him to take that role.
So he invites Gavroche out with the two of them to go bowling, the young boy chattering excitedly to Enjolras about his achievements in class. He's genuinely proud of Gavroche, and tells him so. The beaming look on Gavroche's face is heartening. "Keep it up, and you'll get some scholarships for good schools like your sisters," he says, smiling at Gavroche.
If the strike Gavroche bowls after this comment is any indication, Enjolras is sure Gavroche will go on to make Éponine proud.
Éponine thoroughly trounces them both at bowling, and afterwards they go out for spaghetti at an Italian restaurant. ("Your debt is to be paid in delicious pasta," Éponine told him. "And fresh garlic bread.")
He watches her twirl her fork into the noodles, making little bite-sized bundles which contrast with her brother's large, scooping mouthfuls, ends of spaghetti dangling from his mouth. She chides his lack of manners, but Gavroche merely licks his lips at inquires about dessert.
He ends up paying for a large chocolate sundae for Gavroche and splitting a ridiculously oversized and overpriced slice of apple pie with Éponine.
All in all, it's a good evening, and he likes the sparkle he sees in Éponine's eyes as she watches her brother chatter excitedly about how great their day was, as though they hadn't been with him the whole time. Éponine's happiness always seems to hinge on the happiness of those around her, of those she loves, and he absolutely loves that about her.
Marius and Cosette announce their engagement that weekend, and Éponine is quiet and distant for the rest of the day. He hovers around, there for her if she wants to talk, but not prying or intruding on her space. Éponine mulls around the apartment reading sappy romance novels and crying as she watches equally sappy romance movies. Gavroche had taken one look at the pile of books and movies that morning and promptly asked to go out with Courfeyrac and Grantaire for the rest of the day, and Enjolras had allowed him to.
He learns that Cosette wants Éponine to play bridesmaid to boot, something she is obviously not thrilled about. "I guess we'll have to stay for the rest of summer," she admits to him, eyes now dry as she twists the fabric of her maroon skirt. "To help with the planning."
"I don't mind," he says, even though she hadn't actually asked. "Stay as long as you need to. I have the extra space."
This was true; ever since Combeferre had moved out in order to save time on his commute, Enjolras had been stuck with an extra room and a half, the half being the empty space previously occupied by his friend's desk, chair and bookcase. Having Éponine in his apartment filled the empty hours with something he was sure was more than just contentment.
He hopes she understands that he is here for her; whether to vent about Marius or the stress of knowing Azelma and the boys will be on their own for a while longer, it doesn't matter. Later that evening he brings her a cup of cocoa, and though she doesn't say a word, her half-smile is all he needs to know he's done a good job.
Cosette's father spares no expenses, and soon Éponine is dragging him out dress shopping with her. "Why me?" he asks in bewilderment, as she pushes him towards his car.
"Because I trust you'll be honest and won't just ogle at me the whole time," she quips.
It takes a moment to get what she's implying. "Part of the time?" he blurts out, confused.
"Well," she says, winking at him, "you aren't made of marble, you know," and he's more confused than ever.
"How about this one?" This gown, after about twenty different dresses and three whole hours, is what Éponine promised to be the last one for today, thank goodness.
Enjolras has given the okay to a good number of them, but Éponine stubbornly insisted that they were not acceptable and that he would know the right dress when he saw it.
This time, when Éponine steps out from the change rooms, his mouth runs dry. She is wearing a lilac purple confection that clings to her waist and hips, floating down in an almost ethereal manner. The tiny waist curves up to accentuate her figure, with a swooping, modest neckline and short, gauzy sleeves. Her loose, dark curls tumble over her collarbone and shoulders, and her brown eyes are sparkling.
"Saved the best for last," she beams at him.
He know he ought to be annoyed at that, because if she'd tried this one on first surely they could have been finished by now, but he can't seem to muster up the proper irritation for it. "This one," he says weakly, gesturing up and down.
"This one it is. We'll just snap a quick picture," she hands him her phone, "and show Cosette, so she can make the final decision."
So he does, but while she goes back to change he examines the photo.
It is less awkward than the first photo he has of her, and he thinks it is because she's not as caught off guard by it. Her lips are poised in a quirky little smile, dimples visible on either side, drawing attention to the light shade of red lipgloss she's wearing. The dress suits her perfectly, the deep purple sash that sits on her bringing out the smoky tint on her eyelids and her tanned skin. Enjolras contemplates sending it to himself, too, as a memento of the day, when Éponine comes back out, still clad in the purple dress.
"We need a picture together," she states dramatically, handing her phone over to the startled salesgirl, who fumbles with it for a moment. She glides over to him and flings an arm over his shoulder, standing on the tips of her toes. "Arm around waist," she directs, and he follows the instruction gladly, slipping it around the soft fabric, his fingers gripping lightly on her other side.
The shop girl snaps the photo and Éponine snatches her phone back.
"I'll send it to you," she promises him, like she'd read his mind earlier, and then she's gone again, but his phone vibrates in his pocket, and he knows it's the photo that she just sent.
When Éponine finally emerges she links her arm in his and bids adieu to the salesgirl.
"Home?" he asks hopefully.
"Home," she smiles, and it pleases him to know she thinks of their little apartment that way, too.
"So I was working the table arrangements, and I have you and Enjolras together, yeah? No need for a plus one?" Musichetta has the end of her pen perched on her red bottom lip.
"Um, right." Éponine bobs her head. "I mean I don't know about Enjolras," she says awkwardly. "He might have plans."
"That's funny," Musichetta smirks, "Just make sure you have something sexy to wear for the after-party."
Éponine shakes her head, saying nothing, but part of her pictures Enjolras' reaction as she descends a staircase (because Cosette's father has a huge house, just like the ones in her fantasies), clad in a brilliant scarlet number that fits her just so, modest enough to leave the rest to imagination. She sees the cupid's bow mouth parting slightly in breathless amazement as she saunters down to plant a kiss on his cheek, and how his ocean-blue eyes will swirl with some unimaginable depth as he smiles and offer her his arm, the perfect gentleman.
"Anyways, when the two of you elope or whatever, I demand to be there. I don't care if you don't want a big wedding, but I want to take be there to take photos when you inevitably tie the knot." Musichetta is scribbling the names down on the large, unrolled sheet of paper she had been using to arrange the guests, not having noticed Éponine's abrupt daydream session. "Goodness knows the two of you will look good enough to be made into cake-toppers."
"We're not getting married," Éponine mumbles to the table, "we're friends."
"I see the way the two of you look at each other, and how you hang yourself off his shoulder. And those are very broad, manly shoulders if I do say so myself, but I respect your dibs, Éponine. Just know that those gorgeous blue eyes and blond locks aren't going to wait around forever. Just, you know, confess your feelings so you can bang already. I bet he's really great at it."
Scowling now, Éponine shoots Musichetta a glare, letting her know that it is now time to drop the topic, no ifs, ands or buts.
But part of her does really want to know what it would be like.
Éponine is trying on her bridesmaids dress in the bedroom when Enjolras knocks on the door. Musichetta gives Éponine a wide, knowing grin, and purses her lips, blowing Éponine a kiss. Éponine ignores her.
"Can I come in?"
"Sure thing, darling." Musichetta goes, opens the door and sashays out. "I'll be back to do your hair and makeup," she promises Éponine before she goes.
She feels nervous, even though he's already seen her in the dress, this time she's wearing it for real. And then Enjolras is in the room and he's wearing a tux with a tiny red square tucked into his pocket and she can see how nice it would contrast with her imagined red dress and-
"Hey," he says, and does he know what affect his eyes have on her?
"Hey," she says, projecting a confidence she doesn't fully feel. Éponine does a little twirl. "All ready for the wedding?" Being the maid of honour means she will be escorted by Courfeyrac, the best man, down the aisle, and she wishes it could be Enjolras instead.
"You look wonderful," he says to her, and his gaze is so warm she can feel it encompassing her. "Don't worry, everything is going to be fine. Everyone will be on time; no one wants to face the wrath of you and Musichetta." It's a little joke, and she's infinitely glad for it.
"I'm pleased you're properly frightened of me," she teases right back. "And thank you," she adds, because although she didn't feel wonderful, it was nice to know he thought so of her.
He raises an eyebrow. "I never said I was frightened. I'm sure everyone else is 'properly' terrified, as you put it, but I'm much braver than they are. I've seen you without coffee at six am in the morning with bedhead; that is frightening."
Éponine tries to look huffy and upset, but it doesn't work, and the corners of her mouth are itching to break into a grin. "You're not much better yourself," she shoots right back, which is a complete lie because she thinks Enjolras with bedhead is adorable and she wants to wake up to that every single morning-
"I am offended," he replies, in the haughtiest manner she has ever heard in her life. Crossing his arms and adopting his own huffy expression, his poorly-disguised wry smile finally prompts her to burst out in laughter, and she can feel the nerves of the day melting from her body as she goes and flings her arms around her best friend. As he picks her up and swings her around, she thinks that this day could not possibly get any better.
Courfeyrac's best man speech is the best speech in the entire world. He manages to somehow work every single embarrassing moment he's had with Marius into one long monologue that does not cease to entertain and make the groom turn every shade of red under the sun. "I saved them all up just for this," Courfeyrac adds at some point, eyes twinkling. He's in his element, and by the time he is done the whole room is practically in tears.
"That's the best speech I've ever heard," Éponine says to Enjolras, who is seated next to her as promised. "I'm sorry to say it, but he beat you."
"I've never been happier to lose," Enjolras snorts, handing her a napkin so she can blow her nose into it. "I completely agree with you. Poor Marius will never be able to go through a single conversation with our friends again without someone bringing something up from that speech."
"I feel like I should be telling him something along the lines of 'welcome to the married life', but I'm not married."
Enjolras makes a noncommittal sound somewhere in the back of his throat, but it comes out sounding more like a grunt.
"Well, remind me to make an equally embarrassing speech at your wedding." She's not sure what makes her say it, but the mere idea of him being married to some other woman is upsetting.
His bright eyes seem to twinkle, which is stupid because eyes don't twinkle and they shouldn't be allowed to. "I'll hold you to that."
Watching Marius and Cosette on the dance floor doesn't hurt as much as it ought to. As much as it used to. Now she only feels a sad kind of ache, and she knows it's not because she loves Marius. It's because she loves what he has - the bond he and Cosette share; the love that is visible every time the two of them look at each other. The happy couple sways slowly in time with the music - some sappy love song that she helped Marius pick out - and all Éponine feels is loneliness.
Cosette's father stands just then, and Éponine knows Cosette has all she's ever wanted in that one brief moment when Marius hands her over to her father, a proud smile on both of their faces.
"Care to dance?" His voice breaks through her thoughts, and she is unable to stop the slight rush of blood to her cheeks.
Enjolras' gaze is open and inviting from where he is now standing next to their table, his hand outstretched. His face looks - it almost looks hopeful, and the ache in her chest is replaced with a new kind of tightness that she can't begin to understand as she rises and places her hand in his larger one. The skirts of her dress brush against her legs as he smiles and leads her slowly out, and the pleased smile only grows wider as he pulls her wordlessly into a dance position.
The only other people are Cosette and her father, Marius and Courfeyrac (who had somehow wrangled Marius into promising him a dance earlier), but even as more people go to join them, Eponine feels completely engrossed in her own world with Enjolras. The slow burning feeling of his hand on the back of her waist, the slight curl of his lip and how his blue eyes bore into her own. There's no one else who can match him in the intensity of his gaze, the deliberately unsaid words written across his face, the way he can make her entire being seem tethered to him.
"I don't think I'd rather be anywhere else right now," he tells her in a soft voice, and Éponine realizes that this is what it feels like to have everything you've ever wanted at your fingertips. It frightens her, to be honest, but there is one thing she's sure of as the song draws to an end.
"I don't think I realized how much I wanted to be here until you said that. But now that I do ... there's nowhere in the world I'd rather be than right here."
"We're on the same page, then," he tells her, tilting his head towards her just enough for a blond curl to fall onto his forehead. With a rush of confidence she reaches up to brush it away, not trusting herself to say the right thing. "I'm glad."
Éponine chokes back splutters, because wasn't it just dandy that Enjolras would be glad she felt the same way? She blinks up at him and it occurs to her just what sort of dorky boy she's landed herself with. "Glad," she repeats, staring him down. "You're glad."
"Well ..." He's the one spluttering now, making her smirk a little. "I mean, more than glad, obviously. Elated? Or, um, I don't know, is there another synonym for very, very pleased?"
"Glad is just fine," she says, leaning her head down against his sturdy shoulder as his hand travels up to touch her back. "It's just fine, Enjolras."
Things after that are comfortable, to say the least, but Éponine's inevitable return to her own home (it's weird to think of anywhere but their apartment as home, but there it is,) looms over their heads as the blissfulness of the wedding fever fades. She tries not to mope, but moping becomes a thing and it's not long before they make it to the final episode of Friends where everyone is leaving and Éponine is stoically trying to hold back tears.
She curls herself into his side and tries not to think, because if she thinks that terrible feeling in her gut is only going to increase. Enjolras wraps an arm around her and squeezes her shoulder. They haven't really progressed past the odd cuddle on the couch or the brief cheek-kiss over the course of their blooming physical relationship, but she's alright with that, and he seems to be too. They're not ready for a full blown relationship, not when their friendship means so much to them and she still has her roots so far away, her sister and little brothers who are dependent on her. She doesn't expect him to drop everything and move But it's a start, and she knows as soon as she's able to come she'll always have a place here.
Summer is almost over, and soon she will go back to her family, for better or worse, and they will once again resort to late-night phone calls, random texts and weekend Skype calls.
Éponine notices Enjolras floundering as he tries to cheer her up, and she almost tells him not to bother, but can't bring herself to refuse his puppy-dog eyes when he jogs up to her with freshly-purchased ice-cream cones at the park or stuffed animals she doesn't need from the zoo gift shop. While neither of them refer to these outings directly as dates, Éponine is pretty sure they both know they are. Their friends are smug, Gavroche seems pleased, and everything would have been absolutely perfect if it wasn't for the fact that by the end of this week there would be miles between them.
Her things are all over the apartment now and she can't bring herself to clean them up, as though leaving these pieces of herself here would mean that she hadn't really left. She promises herself she will be back soon, back next summer, and that as soon as Azelma graduates she will find a way for them to be together, but she knows that she can't uproot her small family for the second time, not when the younger boys have finally made good friends and Gavroche is gearing up in a few years to graduate high school. She can't bring herself to ask Enjolras to be the one to move to her, and he doesn't offer.
She hopes for a solution, but has little faith she will find one.
Musichetta thinks she's being ridiculous and has no qualms in telling Éponine to her face.
"Just ask him already. He's probably waiting for you to ask. Goodness knows that he'd do anything for you, darling. You just need to get off your low, insecure horse and do it." They're seated in a local Starbucks (Musichetta's treat), and Éponine little cup of hot chocolate looked pitiful Musichetta's giant, low-fat, triple-shot whatever. Éponine doesn't know the drinks well enough to tell them apart, and admires the speed and precision of the workers.
She doesn't answer Musichetta, but she guiltily thinks of how she doesn't want Enjolras to leave behind his life here just for her, just for something she's not even fully sure how she feels about. Éponine crosses her ankles and takes a sip of her drink to avoid the conversation.
"The two of you have been dancing around this ever since you got together, and you already told me you don't consider each other boyfriend/girlfriend, which either means your relationship is more than that or it's less, and I'm thinking it's more," Musichetta says. "Besides, he's done his studies, and I know for a fact he's been looking for work in your area."
"You have?" This news startles her. She hadn't even known Enjolras had been doing that, and wonders when he had the time to go job-hunting, let alone job-hunting right under her nose.
"You've just been too out of it to notice, so I'll let that go. But honestly, Éponine, you're the smartest girl I know - besides myself, of course, - can't you see that boy is crazy about you?"
"How do you even know?" Éponine blurts out.
Musichetta gives her a look, a look that has quailed the pick-up attempts of many a sleazy guy (and sometimes girl,) and sent rude adults high-tailing it in the opposite direction ever since they were in high school. "I'm Musichetta. I know."
Enjolras is unloading some groceries in the fridge when she arrives back at their apartment. Her wandering gaze takes in the warm, light brown colour of the walls and the creamy rug in front of their couch. "Finally got tired of Chinese takeout?" she asks him as she set her bag on the counter.
He laughs, and shakes his head. Éponine likes his laugh very much; she enjoys catching him off-guard in those moments. "I just thought it might be nice to have something healthy for once."
"Dumplings are healthy." She goes to wrap an arm around his torso.
"They are not, and since you're living with me, I feel responsible for providing you with at least one good meal during your stay here." He's blushing now, whether from the contact or his words, she doesn't know, but she guesses at a combination of the two.
"Mr. Responsible," she mock-sighs, "that's you."
Things go quiet as she helps him place the fresh produce in the refrigerator, mulling over what to say to him about her conversation with Musichetta. Their hands brush an innumerable amount of times, and somehow they end up with their faces only an inch apart, noses almost touching as they turn around. Éponine catches herself before she does something silly, like kiss him, and clears her throat.
"Musichetta told me today you were looking for a job," she says as nonchalantly as she can.
The embarrassed look returns. "Yeah. I am. I was." His brief answers betray his uncomfortableness with the situation.
She raises an eyebrow even though her breathing stutters. "Was?"
His gaze meets hers. "I found one."
"That's ... good," she tries to end her sentence with a light, happy sound. "Where is it?"
"A law firm. In your town, as an associate. Maybe just for the summer." He mumbles the words 'in your town', and she smiles a little at that. "You know, if that's alright. I mean, I already told them yes, but if I tell them I changed my mind -"
"I'm glad," she says, and now he's smiling too.
"I'm glad you're glad," he quips right back. His face is lit up and happy, and she can practically feel her heart warm at the sight of it. Enjolras has her going soft.
"I'm glad you're glad I'm glad," she says stubbornly, and when he goes to open his mouth to reply, she kisses it shut.
Books are packed away, moving trucks are called, and soon they are hauling the entirety of Enjolras' material life down the road, as well as the giant collection of things Éponine had brought with her when she and Gavroche had first come to stay at the beginning of summer. The rent on his apartment is paid through August, and after offering it up to their friends it was promptly claimed by Courfeyrac and Jehan. Boxes are scattered all around, but slowly and surely they disappear as Éponine helps Enjolras load them into their cars. Gavroche is rifling through some of them, pulling out the odd item and examining it with a curiosity that only a young boy can manage.
"I hope you have enough room for all of this," he jokes as they load yet another box of books into the trunk of his car.
"I have enough room for you," she reassures him, leaning over on tiptoe to kiss his cheek as he emerges from the back of the car. "And that's all I need."
Azelma seems a tad miffed at the newest addition to their household, greeting Enjolras with a terse 'hello' as he makes his way in with his self-named 'essentials'. Éponine makes her way over to her sister, unsure what to say to her.
"The boys missed you," Azelma says to her, and it's an accusation, not a comment.
"Well," Éponine starts, swallowing. "I missed them too. And I missed you, too, Azelma."
Azelma's eyes flicker to Enjolras for a moment, and then she's jerking away from Éponine's attempt at a hug and walking away. "They're still at daycare. Try to keep the noise down. I need to prep for the school year."
Éponine feels both guilty and angry. Angry that Azelma blamed her for leaving when Éponine had left and moved here just for her, just for her scholarship so Azelma could have a chance at happiness. Angry for letting her own dreams slip through her fingers as she raised her siblings as her own. Guilty because she was the one in charge of their family and she had falsely convinced herself that one summer would be okay. Guilty because Azelma had felt she had put herself and Enjolras first, which she had.
But for one goddamn time in her life she had someone who made her feel happy, who made her feel loved, and she wasn't going to give that up so easily, not when her dreams were finally coming true, dreams of her siblings educated and well-fed, of Éponine herself returning to her education and finally figuring out what she wanted to do with the rest of her life. But she thinks of the little boys waiting all summer for her to come home. She thinks of Julien and Dion.
"I should have come back sooner," Éponine says to no one in particular.
Enjolras sets down his pack and goes to squeeze her shoulder. "Things will be alright now. Azelma will forgive you. You've done so much for them; she'll come around. The boys will always love you, Éponine."
Will you? she wants to ask.
Instead she picks up his bag and gives him a half-smile. "I'll show you to your room. You'll be sharing with Gavroche."
Soon enough the school year is in full swing, and Enjolras is settled into his new job. He comes home late most evenings, and evenings when he does arrive in time for dinner it's with piles of paperwork. The rent and utilities become less of a burden with Enjolras helping out, but Éponine can feel the stress piling up along with the seemingly endless amounts of work he has.
She knows he wants to be a lawyer, so she encourages him as much as she can and offers to stay up late to help, even though she has a her own job to do the next day. Éponine works as a secretary at a boring office, typing and filing things, answering phone-calls. It's boring and tedious, but it's easy enough for her to do and she's thankful for the normal working hours. On top of this she helps Enjolras organize his own work, filling out his schedules and looking over his paperwork for him. He jokingly refers to her as his personal secretary, and she eventually stops bothering to correct him, and wears the title with pride.
His blue eyes are tired and weary, but he never runs out of thankful smiles when she hands him a cup of coffee, or a particularly long file that she's looked over for him. "I'm going to work as hard as I can to prove myself so I can get promoted soon. Then we'll have more time," he promises, even she knows 'soon' could be more than months; it could be well over a year.
One quiet night many months later finds them curled up on the couch, both of them doing nothing. Something is playing on TV, but they're not really paying any attention to it; they're absorbed in each other's company, in the soft rise and fall of chests and quiet breath of air that brushes against skin as they snuggle close. The boys are asleep; Azelma is studying for a test in her room. They're alone together for the first time in months and there is not a single sheet of paper in sight.
"This is nice. This is good," she says, nodding to herself. "Doing nothing."
"I'm glad you feel that way," he says right back, his fingers stroking through her hair. Éponine tucks herself closer, pressing her feet against the edge of a seat cushion and leaning her head more comfortably on her shoulder.
"We haven't had time to ourselves in a while," she admits. "We've been so busy."
He laughs a little, prompting her to look curiously at him. "It's just, we sound like parents. Or something. You know," he adds hastily, "we spend all our time working and looking after the kids and we never get any time for ourselves."
"The sad part is I know exactly what you mean," Éponine huffs a breath, blowing strands of her hair against his neck.
"It's worth it, though," he says in a contemplative tone. "For moments like this."
Éponine yawns a little. "Maybe this summer you can convince your boss to let you have a vacation. We can go visit everyone. See how Marius is coping with the married life," she snorts a little. She can joke about it now without feeling that pang of pain inside of her, and she has Enjolras to thank for that. He's filled a void in her life that she thought could have only been filled by Marius, and she's unbelievably happy, even with the hectic, work-filled days that involve spilt hot cocoa and missing case files.
"As long as you promise to pack light. I'm not lugging two suitcases full of books and DVDs anywhere ever again."
She rolls her eyes. "I was packing light then. Idiot," she says fondly, shuffling up to plant a kiss on him. His arms hold her closer, and she there's that new, warm feeling coiling inside her that she ought to get used to but can't quite seem to. Everything with Enjolras seems new and exciting, and she realizes she doesn't ever want that feeling to go away.
"You know," he says thoughtfully, minutes later, after they'd pulled away from each other, "I think spending at least part of the summer there is a great idea. We can take Azelma and the boys."
"There's nowhere in the world I'd rather be."
AN: Ah, so I'm really on the edge about this since it's the longest one-shot I've ever written. This was un-betaed, as all of my work basically is, so any grammar/punctuation errors are completely my own, although I must say I put in extra work on this one. I would really appreciate any reviews you throw my way; they help me grow as a writer and encourage me to continue churning out stories for you all to read.
So, please review!