It didn't take long for Enjolras to memorize the little markings on Eponine's skin, countless scars with stories he doesn't dare ask. She'll tell him when she's ready, he thinks, and if she never is, he won't fault her. He takes only what she offers, never pushes or prods, never does anything that might give the impression that she is obligated to be with him. She can leave the very moment she wants to - he's made it perfectly clear, and if he wakes up one morning and finds himself alone, he won't ask why. Women like her, as strange and foreign as they are to him, are not meant to be caged.
"We should get wedding rings," she says one morning a little over a week into their official relationship. It's hard to differentiate the phases, but they are more official now, more deliberate and definitely more affectionate. "It would be easier for us if people thought we were… that way."
She has a point, he thinks, but he's too hypnotized by her pleading brown eyes to say as much. Instead, he takes her hand, brushing his lips against each finger in turn. "I suppose you're right. But it might be better still if it were real."
"I couldn't." Her voice shakes, and for once she knows damn well why. "It wouldn't be… you know how I feel about that. And besides, you barely know me!"
He looks away for the briefest of moments, continuing to trace spirals on her bare shoulder. "I know enough of you," he says after a while. "You've been here three months, Ep. That's got to count for something."
She closes her eyes for a heartbeat and shakes her head, brown hair flying in every direction. Early morning conversations are one of her favorite things, but she's not exactly thrilled with the direction this one has taken. "Yes, but have we actually talked about anything? Tell me how well you know me."
"You're a cruel mistress," he laughs, only half joking. "Hmm, where to begin? You have nightmares that make you wake up screaming in the middle of the night but you won't tell me what they're about. You can't organize anything to save your life but that doesn't stop you from trying. You pretend you're bulletproof but you're more vulnerable than you'll ever admit to anyone, least of all me. And you're the most fascinating person I've ever known."
She blushes, leaning in for a brief kiss because she doesn't know what to say to that. "I'm not fascinating," she mutters, deciding that shooting down his arguments might be the best course of action. "I learned to hide my feelings early - it was supposed to extend my lifespan, I think, but it's been a while and I don't really remember. I keep trying to clean things up because I have to repay you for your kindness somehow and you won't let me do anything proper. And as for the nightmares…" Her voice cuts off, tears beginning to form in her eyes.
"You don't have to say it," he whispers, wondering if it's humanly possible to feel any more lost than he currently does. "If it's really that bad…"
"It's not what you think," she counters just a little too quickly, backing away from him and curling into a ball. "It's not my childhood, as nightmarish as that was. It used to be that, but now… my nightmares are about you hurting me. Some days I think you will someday, once you realize I'm not worth this kind of love. You wouldn't be the first."
And then she's crying because what the hell. It's not like she has anything to lose, really, and she might as well get every possible thing out in the open instead of secretly worrying. Even the feeling of his arms around her, pulling her close to him, isn't enough to calm her. For several minutes, she loses herself, and there is nothing that can bring her back.
"I won't hurt you," he says after a while. His lips are inches from her ear, and he'd do anything to kiss her and show her exactly how much she's come to mean to him, but words are all he dares attempt in her current state. "I know I'm not the first to say that, but I want to be the first one who means it. Ep… you know I love you, right?"
She nods, a murmured agreement between sobs.
"Good. Because so help me, I want this. I want you. Are we understood?"
"Mhm." More sobs, her preferred method of communication at this point.
"And if I'm wrong, stop me. End me. Do what you have to do. But I promise you, no one's ever going to hurt you again, and I damn well won't be the hands that break that promise."
She leans up and kisses him nice and proper, tears intermingling with lips until she pulls away and looks straight into his eyes. "You're too good for me."
"No," he whispers, "I'm anything but."