So... I've been working on this fic for-honestly? I think it's been over two months now, ahahahaha... And even after all the time I had to fix this story, I'm still pretty iffy about it. I feel as if there's so many plot holes and mistakes, which is why I need your help! This is still unedited, so your reviews and constructive criticisms would be incredibly helpful. Tell me what you think! I might, also, maybe, have an epilogue planned. That is, if I can get past writing the second sentence xD Rate, review, react (calmly, please) Enjoy!
Disclaimer: I do not own any of the characters or pictures for the cover. Credit goes to the respective owners
As he taped the cardboard box closed, he let out a long sigh. He couldn't believe he was doing this. He couldn't believe he was leaving.
It was a week after graduation and he had been offered a scholarship from various universities inside and out of the country. He had made his decision, though, and was flying off to Australia in less than a week.
He was excited, but scared. He was happy, but sad. He was ready, but unprepared. He was confused.
He had been preparing for this moment all his life, taking on Law School, graduating, and bringing justice to the oppressed. That was his plan. He had been so, so ready to go off and just do it. But now, he wasn't so sure.
What changed his mind?
Well, there was no real answer to that, because the question isn't what but who.
He had been playing hide and seek with his friends. Bursting with adrenaline, he raced through the playground, past the pond, and up the leafiest tree he could see, scampering up its branches like a squirrel. Taking a seat on the thickest branch nearest to him, he wiggled as he tried to find a comfortable position to sit in. Just as he was getting settled, a little voice scared him.
"Oi," the voice rasped as a hand clamped over his mouth, stopping him from screaming. His heart pounded and his legs trembled. He didn't think his life would end at eight years old.
"Stop flappin' roun', yah wuss," a rough, but startlingly feminine voice mocked him. Slowly turning his head to the left, he found a little girl—around his age—with dark hair and piercing black eyes glaring at him.
"I'm gonna let go," she told him, her hand still firmly covering his mouth. "Bu' when I let go, yah be'er not yell."
He nodded once, to show that he would obey. Though he was only facing a girl around his age, he was still very scared. She looked to be twice his size, her clothes pooling over the tree branch she sat on.
Slowly, her hand left his mouth and he breathed a sigh of relief, his eyes briefly falling to the ground before rising back to the girl's shadowed face.
"Who are you?" he asked before she shushed him and told him to be quiet.
"I'm Éponine," the girl whispered back, her foot swinging back and forth. "An' yah're in mah tree."
"What? How is this your tree?" he asked in a whisper, following her hushed tone as he looked at the tree for any sign of her name.
"I been sittin' on it foreveh," she reasoned simply, shrugging as she waved for him to leave. "An' since it's mah tree, yah need ta gitout."
"Why?" he challenged boldly. "And you can't have been sitting in this tree forever, you would've gotten hungry and your butt would've hurt if you've been sitting on this tree forever."
"So maybe I hasn't been sittin' in this tree foreveh," she relented, but passionately shot back. "But I been hangin' out on this tree since as long as I can remembeh. This is mah tree, kid. Beat it."
He was offended. He was angry. He was annoyed that someone would be so rude.
"No," he replied firmly, crossing his arms over his chest as he leaned back.
"Wha' didja say?" Éponine's tone turned from monotone to threatening—and he was scared. But he had always been stubborn.
"I said no." he enunciated each word slowly and mockingly, as if speaking to a child.
"Why yah li'l—" Éponine's threat fell short as her body did as well. Missing the branch he was sitting on, Éponine fell to the ground with a loud "Oomph!"
Surprised and oddly worried for the girl, he scrambled down the tree to see if she was alright. Once on the ground, he couldn't find any trace of her.
"Enjolras!" an impish voice called him out.
He turned to see his curly haired friend Courfeyrac running towards him.
"Man, you suck," Courfeyrac laughed, patting him on the back. "You do know that the point of the game is to not be found, right?"
"I know, I know," he grumbled, still searching for Éponine.
"Um… Enjolras?" Courfeyrac brought back his attention. "What're you looking for?"
"Huh?" Enjolras looked back at Courfeyrac, slowly returning to the world around him. "I met a girl—"
"YOU MET A GIRL?!" Courfeyrac gasped dramatically but Enjolras ploughed on.
"She fell out of the tree I was hiding in and I went down to check on her but I can't see her anymore…"
"Are you okay?" Courfeyrac placed a hand on his forehead, checking his temperature. "I didn't see any girl on the ground when I saw you—and I did see you climbing down that tree. Maybe you just imagined it?"
"No, I couldn't have!" he argued, pouting as he crossed his arms over his chest.
"Alright, alright, whatever you want to believe," Courfeyrac relented before pulling his friend to the other side of the park. "Now come on, we have to find the others."
Enjolras had returned the next day—this time without his friends. He wanted to see if the girl was really there, or if it was just his imagination.
At around early afternoon (around the same time as the day before), he sat and waited for her under the tree. Hours ticked past and he waited for her patiently under the tree, making noises and pulling grass out of the ground.
As the sun started to set, he started to give up—believing Courfeyrac was right. As he stood up from the ground and dusted the grass and dirt off his pants, a familiar, raspy voice spoke up from behind him.
"'Ow long 'ave yah been 'ere, kid?"
Spinning on his heel, Enjolras turned to find the dark haired girl, now looking much smaller than she did in the tree.
She wore a man's trench coat, letting it pool over her and cover her skinny arms. Her face was thin and mostly bones, but she had a sparkle of life in her eyes that made you forget all about her ratty clothes and grubby appearance.
"I—" Enjolras paused, not wanting to embarrass himself, but deciding to be honest either way. "Since earlier this afternoon."
The girl—Éponine, he remembered—let out a long whistle, walking up to him and taking a seat on the grass next to him. Tentatively, he took a seat next to her.
"Why'dja come back, kid?" the girl asked first, rolling her enormously large sleeves up to reveal two skinny olive arms.
"I—I wanted to make sure you were real," Enjolras admitted, shifting uncomfortably in his place. Now that he could see the girl in clear light, he was sure she was real. She couldn't be a ghost or any other type of spirit. She was just a skinny little girl that could disappear with incredible speed.
At his reply, the little girl let out a bark of laughter, her head thrown back as her body shook in amusement.
"What?" his eight year old self asked, offended by the reaction.
"Yah thought I's a spirit," she laughed, figuring out his thoughts.
"N-No!" Enjolras lied, blubbering as he tried to save any dignity he had left.
Soon enough, though, Éponine's laughter died and the two were enveloped in companionable silence. Enjolras' eyes widened once he realized he had forgotten something, turning to her, he offered his hand as he said, "Enjolras—well, it's really Lionel Aubert Enjolras but I don't really like my first name so you can just call me Enjolras."
Éponine giggle, shaking her head as she took his hand and shook it, "And I'm Éponine Thenardier. Éponine is jus' fine."
It would be years later when he realized that he had met his best friend when he thought he met an apparition.
Smiling fondly at the wall, Enjolras blinked to get back into focus. Years had passed since then. Both of them had graduated college—he was off to Law School and she was being offered a job opportunity she just couldn't miss. But he'd miss her. He knew he would.
Looking at his nightstand, he picked up the framed photo of them, an arm thrown over each other, holding two little black beetles towards the camera. He chuckled as he remembered the first time she brought a beetle close to him.
It had been four years later, late in the summer and Enjolras and Éponine were enjoying one of their usual debates—his words flowing with elegance and logic but hers with experience and emotion. And as their debate started to die down, Éponine challenged him to a race.
"First to the tree wins," she grinned cheekily at him.
Now, Enjolras liked to consider himself a reasonably good runner, but he was nothing compared to Éponine. She was like the wind itself—which is why he knew he could never win a race against her. Which leaves him to question what was wrong with him that day.
"If I win," she smirked. "You'll do anything and everything I say for the rest of the day!"
"Deal," he shook her hand confidently, stretching his neck as he got ready to run.
Even with his head diving ahead of him, he did not win.
She held the beetle in between her fingers, giggling as he squirmed and made faces of disgust. Slowly, just to see his reaction, she moved the black little insect towards him and just as slowly, he started to inch away.
"Hey," she managed to say in between her laughter. "You're cheating."
"You're being mean!" he argued back weakly, practically a foot away from her.
"No," she retorted. "I'm just enjoying my 'benefits'. You agreed you'd do anything and everything I tell you to do for the rest of the day. I said I want you to sit still, right here, no matter what."
Begrudgingly, Enjolras stopped moving and Éponine eagerly went back to trying to put the bug as close to Enjolras face as possible until he bursts.
"Éponine!" he cried, jumping away from her in fear. "Stop it! I might get a bug virus!"
She snorted, "Enj, I doubt you'd get a bug virus that easily. I mean, I'm touching it, aren't I? Do I have a bug virus?"
"Maybe you're getting one right now! Put the bug away Éponine!"
"Okay," she said calmly, moving to place the beetle on the ground—to Enjolras relief—before her hand suddenly shot up and placed the bug on Enjolras' shoulder.
Éponine wouldn't stop laughing at his reaction for weeks.
"Thanks for helping me pack, 'Chetta," Éponine smiled kindly at her friend as she placed one of the last few boxes in the corner of the room.
"No problem," her friend—Musichetta—replied, walking over to give her a quick hug before scurrying to the door. "I'll be back tomorrow to finish this all up, but, now I'm going to go because Bossuet and I have dinner reservations. You'll be okay here, hon?"
"Yeah, I'll just read," she replied, grabbing a random book from her coffee table and plopping down onto her couch. Musichetta gave her one last wave before disappearing behind her door, leaving Éponine in comfortable silence.
Checking the title of the book she'd gotten, her lips tilted into a smile at the familiar words. It was a Hardy Boys book. A series Enjolras had often read to her, when he was still teaching her how to read.
At nine years old, Éponine had told Enjolras of her embarrassing inability to read but instead of laughing at her or leaving her, he surprised her. He came back to their park the next day with a bag full of books.
"I'll teach you how to read," he promised, taking a seat under their tree and offering her the spot next to him.
Two years later, they carried on the tradition of reading to each other—well, it was more of Enjolras reading to Éponine and Éponine stopping Enjolras whenever she didn't understand a word. It was one of their favorite things to do together, though.
"The leader, who apparently was indifferent to the fit and condition of his uniform, nodded," Enjolras read as Éponine followed the words under his finger. Her head laid comfortably on his shoulder as he read to her.
Slowly, she started to read ahead of him. She was doing quite well, considering she had only started learning two years ago. She started getting proud of how far she was reading all by herself, until she stumbled over an unfamiliar word.
"Enj?" she asked softly, stopping him just a few words before where she was stuck.
"Yeah?" he replied, turning to her even though all he could see were her curly brown tresses.
"What's eh-ex-pie-dee..." she trailed off, realizing that she couldn't even pronounce the word. She pointed to the word, instead, turning to him with inquisitive eyes.
"Oh, that's expedition," he pointed to the letters, pronouncing it and then helping her pronounce it as well. "It's like a journey or an adventure you take to get something or go somewhere."
"Like when we go t' our special tree at night?"
"To," Enjolras gently corrected before answering, "Yeah, it's an expedition to get there."
"I think I like expeditions."
"Then we'll have many expeditions, just for you. They'll be awesome."
"As long as you're there, expeditions are always awesome."
And their expeditions were awesome. In all the years she's been Enjolras' friend, Éponine could not remember a time where Enjolras couldn't bring fun into her day.
She couldn't get the stupid grin off her face as she opened the book and started to read, every word reminding her of Enjolras. After finishing the book, she placed it back on the coffee table and hummed happily to herself. Oddly enough, the mysteries of the Hardy Boys always seemed to brighten up her mood. Maybe it was because it reminded her of Enjolras, or because it reminded her of the times when she was learning how to read, but she always knew she'd keep the series in her heart. After mulling over the story, she picked up another random book—now, if the Hardy Boys series made her smile, this book filled her thoughts with the sadness that came from the day she returned it to Enjolras.
"Here, Enjolras," she handed him the book she had borrowed the day before.
"You're finished with it already?" he quirked a brow as he took the book back, not entirely surprised but more confused. Whenever Éponine would borrow a book, she would keep it a few more days after she'd finished it so that she could read or write some of her favorite lines down and memorize them and contemplate on the book. Also, she called him "Enjolras." The Éponine he knew would never call him Enjolras unless she was upset or angry—and since no objects seem to be flying towards him, he was going with the former.
"Yeah," she replied in monotone, sighing as she took her usual spot next to him under their tree (they had stopped climbing it when Éponine realized that Enjolras was too heavy for the branches to carry).
Placing the book on his lap, Enjolras cautiously asked, "Ép, what's wrong?"
Sucking in a deep breath, Éponine squeezed her eyes shut as she replied in a soft voice, her voice cracking, "I'm leaving."
With those two words, Enjolras felt his world fall apart.
"What?" was all his genius brain could reply.
"I'm leaving, Enjolras," she said more confidently, her voice still shaking, though. "I'm going into Foster Care and I don't know where I'll go or who'll take me in, but I'm leaving and I won't be able to see you anymore."
Enjolras had no reply. He couldn't reply. His throat turned dry and his tongue turned to lead. All he could do was wrap his arms around her and pull her into a hug, and as he held her close to his throbbing chest, she cried. No, she sobbed.
It was the first time he ever held her in his arms.
The sound of his phone ringing interrupted him from his thoughts. Enjolras sat up from his seat, grabbing his cellphone off the coffee table and answering it in one fluid motion.
"Hello?"
"Hey, Enjolras."
"Courfeyrac?"
"Yeah, it's me. Listen, I need you to do me a favor."
"It depends, what is it?"
"Could you fetch my cousin from school? I've got a meeting in a few minutes and his classes end in an hour. I won't be able to make it…"
"Alright, alright, which cousin do you need me to fetch this time?"
"Sébastien, the one in high school with a goatee and messy hair."
"I think you just described Feuilly."
"Whatever, man. Thanks for fetching him for me. Tell him I owe him a book for missing out on him today, and I owe you a cup of coffee."
"I'll take you up on that someday."
"Alright, man. I'll see you later, thanks."
The call ended and Enjolras slid his phone into his pocket, grabbing his jacket and keys as he left his apartment. Once inside his car and heading towards the only public high school in town, Enjolras thoughts floated back to Éponine.
It had been months since Éponine had left and Enjolras had been able to correspond with her through letters. Apparently, she had been adopted a month after being in the system but she and her siblings were sadly separated. Though Enjolras was able to regularly write to Éponine, he still missed her terribly and everyone around him could see the change in his mood.
"Enjolras," his other best friend—Combeferre, a kind and gentle boy with shaggy brown hair, a crooked grin, and forever-laughed-at glasses—called him one day. "Is everything okay?"
"Everything's fine," he sighed, slowly throwing another book into his bag. "Why do you ask?"
"Nothing big," Combeferre smiled wearily. "You just seem off, that's all."
"Off? In what way?" Enjolras quirked a brow, zipping up his bag and throwing it over his shoulder.
"You're quieter, Enjolras," Combeferre pointed out. "It's as if your head is in space all the time. You know you can tell me anything, right, Enj?"
Enjolras frowned, thoughts of Éponine and her absence filling his mind even further at the familiar nickname.
"Enjolras?" Combeferre prodded gently.
"I'm just—" he tried to explain, huffing and sighing when he couldn't find the right words. "I feel like a part of me has been taken away."
Combeferre replied with silence, surprised that Enjolras was talking about something touchy and emotional but even more surprised that Enjolras felt as if he were missing something. Enjolras always acted as if his life was predestined from the start—nothing could ever disrupt his streak. Awkwardly patting his friend on the back, Combeferre tried to cheer him up, "I'm sure the feeling won't last long, Enjolras."
Thankfully, it didn't.
Near the end of that week, Enjolras' dampened mood started to brighten considerably—and all because of that surprise gift Combeferre had given him. He hadn't been able to thank him since they had been so busy preparing for their rally and everything, but now that things were starting to calm, he remembered that he owed his friend a "Thanks." Carrying the book that his friend had secretly placed in his locker, Enjolras walked up to him with a bright smile on his face.
"Hey, 'Ferre," he greeted his friend, showing him the book in his hand. "Thanks for the book, it really helped my week!"
"Book?" Combeferre's brows furrowed as he read the title of the book. "I never gave you a book, Enjolras. Especially not that book. I've never even heard of that book."
"What?" Enjolras stopped, surprised and confused as he stared at the book in his hand. "Then who gave it to me?"
"Maybe you have a secret admirer," Courfeyrac teased—he had been talking to Combeferre before Enjolras had arrived.
"Impossible," he scoffed, glaring at the book for answers. "Only Combeferre and I know my locker code."
"I have no idea how that got into your locker," Combeferre shrugged. "But I'm glad it made you happy."
"Did it have a letter?" Courfeyrac asked, excited to solve the mystery of the unknown gift-giver.
"No, I don't think so," Enjolras trailed off, opening the book for what seemed like the nth time that week. But unlike before, he checked every nook and cranny of the book until, finally, he found something. "There's a paper in between the spine of the book and the part where the pages are all stuck together."
Once he had pulled the paper out, Courfeyrac snatched it out of his hands and read it out loud.
Dear Enj,
Smile! I know it's hard to when days just seem to drag on
and you just don't care. But I'm here in the background
cheering you on. You seemed sadder in your last few
messages to me so I decided to try to cheer you up. This
is a book I read a month ago and fell in love with right
away. The main character reminds me of you and his
ideals seem to be just as crazy. I hope you enjoy this
story as much as I did. Tell me what you think of it!
Love,
I-know-you-can-guess-who
Once Courfeyrac had finished the letter, Enjolras had snatched the paper back, a face eating grin on his lips. He had figured out who it was the second he had heard "messages." His friends couldn't understand why he was so happy, though. Courfeyrac believed that it was a secret admirer or a secret girlfriend that Enjolras wasn't telling them about. Combeferre believed it was something much more different, much deeper.
Enjolras arrived just as the last bell rung and students poured out of the school. Soon enough, his passenger door opened as a curly brown haired teen entered.
"Hey Enjolras," Courfeyrac's cousin—Sébastien—greeted as he threw his placed his backpack behind them. Most of Courfeyrac's cousins knew him because he normally fetched them—Courfeyrac was very fluent in favor-asking.
"Hey Sébastien," he greeted back, pulling the car away from the school as they drove in companionable silence. As he looked at his rearview mirror, the sight of the fading high school brought back fond memories, his lips twitching to smile.
He sat on the front steps of the school, eyes scanning the sea of people alertly. He had come two hours earlier than normal, just to see if his assumptions were true. Now, half an hour before the bell would ring, he was growing weary and desperate. She had to come, he couldn't be wrong. He didn't want to be wrong.
Fifteen minutes passed before he was ready to give up, his shoulders slumped as he turned on his heel, but just as he turned, he saw her. A familiar head of curly brown hair and sparkling eyes. She looked different—healthier, happier—but that was a good thing. He was happy for her.
Running up the stairs, he managed to reach her right before she reached the doors to enter.
"Éponine," he breathed, his hand flying to her wrist—his touch gentle but firm.
She turned to him, eyes widening as her mouth dropped open in surprise.
"Enjolras?"
His only response was to wrap her in his arms as his eyes burned with joy and tears streamed down his face. It was the first time he ever cried in front of her.
As she finished the book, her eyes wandered to the clock hanging on the wall. She got up from her couch and crawled back to her bed, snuggling in as she lazily decided not to change. Her eyes slowly started to droop closed, bringing her back to some of her older memories.
As soon as Enjolras had pulled away, she wiped the tears out of his face and gave him a quick hug in return.
"I never thought I'd see you again," Enjolras admitted, sniffling as he willed the tears away.
"Well, surprise," she smirked, her eyes twinkling just like they used to. They stood there, staring in amazement at the sight of each other—though they had only been separated for a little more than half the year. As soon as the warning bell rang, Enjolras remembered where he was and quickly snapped back to reality.
"I have to get to class," Enjolras sighed as a sea of students started rushing into the school. "I'll see you later, though, and then you can explain everything."
"Okay," she smiled, letting go of his hand as he started to join the crowd—but just before he passed the doors, her eyes widened in remembrance. "Wait, Enj!"
He stopped, turning to her in confusion before she shoved a small, tattered book into his hands.
"For you," she explained before turning against the crowd and disappearing.
He arrived home an hour after dropping Sébastien off, throwing his jacket onto his couch and trudging into the kitchen. Walking to the counter, he grabbed a hand-painted red jar and popped its lid open, sticking his hand in and pulling out the last three cookies in the jar. Pouring himself a glass of milk, he took his treat into the living room and silently ate on his couch. The taste and smell of the food bringing him back.
That day after he reunited with Éponine, they visited their tree after school and she explained everything.
"But because M. Jondrette couldn't afford to take care of all five of us, we were separated," she explained, playing with the grass in between them. "He's a kind man, a little old, but he's good to me. He lets me visit my siblings when I can and has helped teach me everything I've been missing out in school. He says my school is something called homeschooling."
"Homeschooling is the style of teaching. He's teaching you at home, so your education is called homeschooling, and all in all, that's great, Ép," Enjolras smiled, genuinely happy for her. "But how did you place the book in my locker? I never told you my locker number or my passcode."
"Cosette told me," she shrugged as if that was all the explanation he needed. "She told me your locker number, I mean."
"Cosette? Cosette Fauchelevent from my homeroom class?"
"Yeah, she's sort-of my cousin now. I think. I mean, she's M. Jondrette's niece so since he adopted me I guess she's my step-cousin…? I don't really understand it myself."
"Oh, wow, that's weird."
"Yeah, it is."
"But how'd you find out the code to my locker?"
"Enj, I know you. It's obviously 1-8-3-2."
Enjolras chuckled, shaking his head as he sighed, "I knew I shouldn't have shared that book with you."
"Hey, at least I'm learning," she shrugged innocently, a cheeky smirk growing on her lips. Éponine's eyes widened in excitement as she remembered something, hitting Enjolras' arm as she tried to remember what it was. "Oh, oh, oh! I nearly forgot! M. Jondrette said he's going to teach me how to bake!"
"Really? Well, that's great," Enjolras smiled reluctantly. He didn't know if she could be trusted in the kitchen.
"Oh, don't worry," she read his eyes. "I won't burn down the kitchen or anything—I hope. In fact, I'll let you be the first one to taste my baking! Besides myself, of course."
And Enjolras was the first to try Éponine's baking. He had to admit, it wasn't as bad as he thought it would be—and once Éponine's baking skills got better, Enjolras got freshly baked snacks every recess time. He'd find them in Ziploc bags, with his name written in black marker on them, lying on the bench in front of the playground, the window sill of his classroom, the front steps of the school, his locker. He had absolutely no idea how she did it and he learned not to question it. He was just happy that she was back in his life.
She woke up the next morning to the smell of chamomile tea wafting into her room. Groaning, she groggily got to her feet, trudging into her living room to see one of her best friends reading on her couch.
"R? What're you doing here?" she yawned, stretching her arms before plopping down onto the couch and throwing her feet onto his lap.
"Just checking up on you, Sleeping Beauty," her curly haired friend—Grantaire, or R—teased, handing her a cup of tea.
She smiled in gratitude, taking a sip of her tea before sighing contentedly, "Thanks, R. Are you going to stay and help me pack?"
"No," he snorted, taking a swig of his coffee. "You have 'Chetta for that."
"Gee, what a friend," she drawled sarcastically, rolling her eyes as she tried to fight away the affectionate smile ready to break through.
"I'm just the best, aren't I?" Grantaire retorted, finishing his cup of coffee and standing to grab another one.
As she watched him disappear into the kitchen, a fond smile quirked her lips at the memory of how they met.
Enjolras had sent her a text telling her to meet him at their tree. It had been a year and a half after their reunion, she was still in homeschool—though M. Jondrette said he'd allow her to decide if she wanted to join regular school or continue in homeschool—and Enjolras was still in the same school, his third year of high school almost halfway over.
Walking to the park, her mind filled itself with thoughts mixed with worry, curiosity, and more worry. Was there something wrong? Was Enjolras okay? As soon as she reached the park, she made her way towards the tree and immediately noticed something out of place.
Enjolras was not alone.
Her steps faltered before she slowly made her way towards the group, her fingers cramping up and freezing in nervousness.
She counted nearly ten of them—not including Enjolras. They hadn't noticed her yet—for that, she was grateful. She wondered what they were doing with him. They didn't seem to be harming him, so she knew he wasn't in trouble, but one boy with curly black hair was holding a flask—which usually meant alcohol. Was Enjolras in a gang? It wouldn't have been the first time she had seen a boy fall prey, but Enjolras didn't seem like the type to turn into a Montparnasse.
No, Enjolras couldn't be in a gang. He had just refused the flask—and almost every other boy around him refused the drink as well. She continued to observe the group, wondering what in the world they were doing hanging around Enjolras, before one of them spotted her.
"Hey, Enjolras!" another boy with curly brown hair called, an impish smile on his face. "Is that her?"
Every head turned her way and Éponine sheepishly ducked her head, unused to all the attention. Walking briskly towards Enjolras, she awkwardly whispered, "Enjolras, what's all this about?"
Hearing her rather loud whisper, the curly haired boy who had noticed her first replied with a cheeky grin, "This, mademoiselle, is a protest."
Her brows furrowing in confusion, she turned to Enjolras for answers.
Chuckling sheepishly, he scratched his jaw as he tried to explain, "Well, Ép, you see, these guys—"
"Who happen to be some of his best friends," a ginger haired boy interrupted.
"Well, they found some of the snacks you had given me," he continued, used to their childish interrupting. "And they tasted them—"
"And loved them," another blond with long hair braided and decorated with flowers. "You're an amazing baker, mademoiselle."
"So they really wanted to meet you, very badly," Enjolras continued, placing air quotes as he said, "They said, and I quote, 'We must meet this amazingly talented baker that Enjodouche has been keeping all to himself'."
Éponine couldn't stop the snicker that escaped her lips at the name "Enjodouche." It was oddly befitting.
In turn, Enjolras' brows furrowed at her snicker and he stuck out his tongue childishly to retort. Éponine replied with a teasing smirk, mouthing the name "Enjodouche" with a taunting grin.
"Actually, they really wanted to meet you to ask you to bake food for them, too," the boy with curly black hair and the flask of alcohol interrupted their childish exchange.
"Yeah, that, too," Enjolras agreed. "And since you'll probably be seeing more of them, I guess they should introduce themselves."
"I'm Courfeyrac!" the curly haired brunette who had spotted her first introduced himself happily. "Well, it's Marlon Courfeyrac, but everyone normally goes by their surnames in our little group."
"Why?" Éponine blurted out before she could stop herself. Calling each other by their surnames? Wasn't that the opposite of intimacy in a friendship?
"I think it started when Enjolras refused to tell us his first name," Courfeyrac thought back. "So we all started using our surnames to irk him and it just sort of stuck with us ever since."
"Besides," the boy with the flask piped up. "It's fun."
"And he's Grantaire," the red haired boy named the alcoholic.
"R. Grantaire, if you're feeling formal," the alcoholic supplied, taking a swig of his drink.
"And I'm Guillaume Feuilly," the ginger continued. "Simply Feuilly, mademoiselle."
"I am Jean Prouvaire," the soft voiced blond with a flowered braid introduced himself. "And unlike my friends, I go by Jehan, mademoiselle."
"And I'm—" a bald boy tripped to the center of the crescent the group had formed, quickly standing up with a friendly smile. "I'm Bossuet."
"I'm Gabriel Joly or Joly, for short," a shaggy haired brunette introduced, a handkerchief over his mouth. "Bonjour, mademoiselle."
"Baudouin Bahorel," a tall, well-built boy raised a hand. "Bahorel is just fine."
"Lastly, I'm Audric Combeferre," a messy haired blond with glasses extended his hand. "Combeferre or 'Ferre is what this lot normally calls me."
"And we're—" Courfeyrac paused, waving for the group to move closer. Everyone cheekily obeyed—except for Enjolras, who seemed too embarrassed by his friends to even comment on their idiocy.
Once they were squeezed together in a semi-circle, Courfeyrac gave the thumbs up and the group proudly showed off their practiced jazz hands while they shouted in unison, "Les Amis De L'ABC!"
The goofy sight brought a smile to Éponine's lips and made her like the group of strangers just a little bit more. Turning to see Enjolras' reaction, she found his head hung in shame, his head resting on his palm as he sighed the sigh of utter embarrassment mixed with just a tinge of affection for his crazy friends.
"So, mademoiselle," Courfeyrac brought back her attention. "What is your probably-gorgeous name?"
Rolling her eyes, she introduced herself, "I'm Éponine Jondrette, but I don't go by my surname so you can all call me Éponine."
That day had been the start of the weirdest friendships she had ever made.
Morning came before he even realized he had fallen asleep and Enjolras woke with a start—he was an hour late for his farewell party. Bolting from his seat, he grabbed the first fresh clothes he could find and quickly changed, grabbing his car keys and cellphone before bolting out of his apartment.
"He's late," Musichetta grumbled, checking her watch for the nth time.
"We know, Chetta," Cosette and Éponine sighed together. The party had started an hour ago and everyone knew that they couldn't say they farewells without their fearless—and incredibly late—leader.
"Ép, could you call on him and find out if he forgot or not?" Cosette nearly begged, tired of Musichetta's ranting and grumbling.
"Yeah, sure," Éponine nodded, walking out of the café and pulling out her cellphone. Enjolras answered by the second ring.
"Ép?"
"Yeah, hey, Enj. Where are you?"
"I'm a few blocks away from the Musain, I'll be there in a few minutes."
"Hurry, Musichetta is getting impatient."
"As always... Sorry I'm late to your farewell party."
"Hey, it's your farewell party as well."
"Yeah, but you're more important than me."
"Says who?"
"Me."
Éponine couldn't find a reply to that, her usual wit and sarcasm falling short. The seconds of silence felt like hours before Enjolras spoke up.
"Ép, are you still there?"
"Y-Yeah, sorry."
"… It's fine. I'm turning the corner, though."
After that line, Enjolras ended the call and parked in the lot next to the Musain, jumping out of his car to meet Éponine waiting for him in front of the café.
"Hey," she greeted him, a nervous smile on her lips.
"Hey," he replied, quirking a brow as if silently asking her if anything was wrong. She replied with her signature eye roll and a small shake of the head before waving for him to enter. He shrugged it off, knowing that she would tell him eventually, and entered the café first.
"Finally!" Musichetta cheered once Enjolras had entered, Éponine following behind him as he walked to the front of the room where a small stage had been set up for the occasion.
"Sorry I'm late," Enjolras half-heartedly apologized, taking the drink Combeferre had offered him.
Pointing a deadly finger at him, Musichetta replied, "You are not forgiven, mister, but since it is your going away party, I'm going to let it slip for now."
"Alright, alright," Courfeyrac interrupted, tapping his beer mug with a spoon. "Here's to the life that used to be and the future that will be, to our future success and failures, to Enjolras and Éponine going abroad. Let the wine of our friendship never run dry."
"Cheers!" Grantaire shouted at the end of Courfeyrac's speech and the rest followed, chuckling at Grantaire's enthusiasm.
The gang celebrated a little wilder than normal. Music pounded through Courfeyrac's speakers as Feuilly played DJ, Jehan and Courfeyrac frequently sang to the songs and danced with everyone at least once, Grantaire played bartender and made sure everyone's drinks were always full, Bahorel danced drunkenly with Éponine until he fell fast asleep in the middle of the makeshift dance floor, Musichetta took turns dancing with Joly and Bossuet, Cosette and Marius sappily slow danced to almost every song, and Combeferre and Enjolras stayed sober in the corner. As the night wore on, the gang slowly started to return home, knowing that most of them had school or work the next day.
"Enjolras," Courfeyrac slurred as Combeferre waved for him to follow, carrying an unconscious Jehan.
"Yeah?" he quirked a brow, eyes scanning the room and counting down the ones who were left behind. Combeferre had offered to bring Courfeyrac and Jehan home, Grantaire was still there—but everyone knew he could hold his liquor and get home safely, and so that left Éponine.
"Don't waste any time while you're still here," he sagely advised—having always been a wise-worded drunk.
"Okay," Enjolras nodded solemnly as he watched Courfeyrac stagger his way out of the café. Sighing, he made his way towards Éponine and asked, "Can you walk?"
"I didn't get drunk enough today," she joked. "So, yes, I can walk."
"Alright, then," he offered her his hand. "Let's get you home."
Éponine took his hand and subtly laced their fingers together, making her way out the door she stopped only to blow Grantaire a kiss goodbye. She quietly walked with him to his car and only let go of his hand to enter. He started the car, noting how his hand felt colder without her touch but shook the feeling off. They drove in amiable silence until Éponine decided to break it.
"Hey Enj, Enj, Enj," she poked him repeatedly.
"What?" he asked blankly.
"Will you fly to London to watch my first show?" she asked innocently, giving him the biggest puppy eyes she could give.
"Of course. I'll be the lunatic, somewhere in the first few rows, cheering your name," he promised, giving her his pinky finger.
Happily hooking her pinky with his, they shook on it before returning their attention to the road. Comfortable silence enveloped them as Éponine snuggled into her seat and Enjolras turned up the radio's volume just a smidge. The minutes passed in a blur and the pair reached her apartment in what seemed like no time at all.
Soon enough, Enjolras was dropping Éponine off in front of her door, shuffling awkwardly in place. Once she had unlocked her door, she turned back to him to say goodnight.
"Night Enjolras," she gently smiled at him before going in for a hug. The hug lasted more than their normal hugs and it made Éponine feel as if it were goodbye.
"Hey," she poked his shoulder as she pulled away. "No frowning, this isn't goodbye."
Enjolras blinked. How did she do that? How could she read his mind like that?
"Sorry, it's just that you're going to be so far away and—"
"No! No sad stuff. Just—Just think of this as a 'see you later' of sorts," she gave him one last smile before turning to enter her apartment.
"Éponine?" he stopped her, the question plaguing him since he started packing.
She turned, quirking a brow at him and nodding for him to continue.
"Will you—" he faltered, before ploughing on. "Will you miss me?"
Her eyes softened at the question and she softly replied, "Of course I'll miss you, Enjolras. You're my best friend."
Taking a leap of faith, he asked, "Is that really all I am to you?"
Her brain thought the question over in her head, and when she finally understood what he meant, her eyes filled with fire as she sharply whispered, "No."
Before he could reply, she continued, her voice growing in volume and fire, "No, no, no, no, no, NO! Now, Enjolras? Really? You tell me this now?!"
His eyes widened in shock and he hastily brought her indoors, knowing that the shouting could go on for a while. Closing the door behind him, Éponine continued to yell.
"Of all the times you could have told me, you choose now?!" she shoved his shoulder. "Two days away from our flights?!"
"Éponine—"
"Don't 'Éponine' me, Lionel Aubert Enjolras! You're not supposed to do this! You're not supposed to try to change my mind!"
"But I'm not trying to change your mind!" he argued back, finally getting a word in. "Can't I just tell you I love you?!"
She sputtered, "Love?"
And he only realized what he had said a little too late. He loved her, he actually loved her. Blowing a curse under his breath, he ran a hand through his hair as he stared at the floor, dumbstruck.
"Enjolras?" her voice was soft, gentle, brittle.
And when he looked up and saw her watery eyes, he couldn't stop himself from pulling her close and wrapping her in his arms, repeatedly muttering, "I'm sorry. I'm so, so, so sorry," as he rocked her back and forth.
"Don't forget to call, okay?" Cosette kept her in her embrace for a little while longer, trying desperately to keep her tears at bay.
"I won't," Éponine promised, giving her friend a reassuring squeeze before prying herself away. "Don't worry, alright? We'll see each other in a few months."
Cosette laughed, nodding as she wiped her tears away. "I'll be in the front row, throwing tomatoes at you if you forget your lines."
"Maybe I shouldn't leave you some tickets…" she teased in reply, making Cosette roll her eyes and punch her arm in return. The pair gave one last goodbye hug before Éponine pulled away and looked at her friends and family. She knew she'd miss them—more than she'd like to admit—but this was a once in a lifetime opportunity, and they would kill her if she didn't take it. After giving everyone one last goodbye, she took her bags and made her way to her terminal.
Two nights had passed since Enjolras' ill-timed confession and after the two had cried their throats dry, they spent the night together curled up on her couch watching movies and finishing TV series. They had fallen asleep by the third season of How I Met Your Mother and she had woken up to him cooking breakfast. She wished things could always be like that, but she knew better, so after breakfast, she thanked him for spending the night with her and led him out the door. He wanted to stay, of course, but after that night, he felt as if the fire in him had been extinguished. He just couldn't fight.
And now that Éponine is leaving, a flicker of the flame he had pushed him to run out of his terminal and towards hers, stopping her from entering with a desperate shout.
"Éponine!" he cried, being held back by the guards. "Éponine! Ép!"
"Enjolras?" she turned around and found him fighting against a trio of muscular guards ready to carry him away. Quickly, she walked up to him and the guards let him go, staying near in fear of what he could possibly do next.
"Éponine," he panted. "We can do this. We can make this work."
"Enjolras…" she sighed but he pushed on.
"I know we can make this work," he tried to persuade her. "Love knows no bounds, right? I'll visit during my breaks and, maybe, when your run is done, you could stay with me in Australia? We could call each other every day and message each other every night. We can do this, Éponine—please."
"Enjolras," her hand stroked his cheek and he unconsciously leaned in. "I'll be working. It's not something that I can just reschedule, and you'll be in Law School, it's not something that you can set aside. If it's really love, then we'll find each other again. We'll see each other, and it'll still be there. But right now, we need to focus on our own lives first, okay?"
He replied with a sigh and a nod, taking her hand in his and pulling her in for a quick, tender kiss. It was their first kiss.
And as he let her go and watched her disappear from sight, he sincerely hoped it wouldn't be their last.
"Attention passengers…"
He cursed under his breath as he remembered that he had his own flight to catch and hastily made his way back to his terminal.