He had planned the entire evening down to the last detail. From the type of baguette they would eat to the scent of the candles. It was to be a night to remember, a night to look back to. But now he was stuck with a stained white shirt (and for god's sake he had just gotten it ironed!), a congealed glob of what was supposed to be Bousett's delicious (and quite famous throughout the group) red sauce, and of course, the wrong scent of candles (how he hated the overpowering scent of what Yankee candle had dubbed "tropical breeze".) Not to mention some overcooked pasta, burned baguette, chocolate (not vanilla) cake and a kitchen like a nuclear fallout zone

All Enjolras had wanted was a nice evening for him and Eponine to be together without the constant distractions of Grantaire's drunk ramblings, Jehan's soulful sonnets, Combeferre's constant ramblings of Aristotle, Courfeyrac's new fling details (he never liked to hear of that anyway's), or Gavroche's new prank. He and Eponine rarely got time for themselves which took a toll on their relationship, only their strong love between them keeping them together.

In which Madi tries to cheer up a friend

Disclaimer: Not mine. Shocking I know


Tonight was a treat for his girlfriend who worked her ass off. On top of juggling two jobs and a theater major, she was Gavroche's guardian and sole provident. (He also gives her credit for being with him, since having any sort of relationship with a boyfriend like himself was taxing in on its own.) Nights were usually spent finding x in 8th grade geometry or coming up with research to support "tv being good" for Monday's debate.

So when he heard the familiar noise of the lock turning to the front door, the guilt in his stomach made him feel incredibly sick. And not only had he ruined their only free night together, he had successfully managed to completely destroy their kitchen flat and create a cleaning job fit for the National Guard. To say Henri Enjolras was a dead man was no more correct than to say pluto was not a planet.

Enter a completely drained and exhausted (yet extremely beautiful and now extremely confused) Eponine.

"Hey 'Ras I-" she stopped short, her eyes darting from the atrocity of their kitchen, to the chaos she called her boyfriend.

"Eponine," Enjolras smiled weakly "Uh- surprise?"

Eponine opened and closed her mouth in total shock. 'Dead man Enjolras, dead man' he repeated to himself.

"Look- 'Ponine I can explain-"

He is surprised when she hurtles into his arms, causing him to flinch. But when the familiar pain on his cheek (Eponine could pack a mean slap) was absent, he was even more stunned to feel her lips on his, kissing him intensely.

Was this some sort of reverse psychology women used when they were angry? Why the hell was she kissing him? Couldn't she see his disheveled state? The World War three he had caused in the kitchen? He really needed to consult with Jehan once this make out session had ended.

And sure enough she pulled away, her adorable pink lips swollen, strands of hair tumbling out of her messy bun

"You have no idea how much I love you Enjolras."

"W-W-Wha-What?" he sputtered "H-How- you're not mad at me?"

"Oh 'Ras, I'm pissed at you. But at the same time I am irresistibly and irrevocably in love with you and your attempt to impress me."

So three hours later, when they're curled up on the couch, sipping champagne, eating the chocolate dipped strawberries (the only food that could be salvaged) and watching reruns of Friends, he thinks that the night wasn't a total lost. Sure she did yell at him for destroying her script and Gavroche's essay on the Constitution. And yes his knees and back killed from scrubbing the every single surface spotless for hours.

But the moment he pulled out that velvet box at the end of season 4 and she accepted tearfully, he knew it was all worth it.

And years later when she's losing her memory, that's the one night she can't forget.