Disclaimer: I do not own Les Miserables, the novel or the musical, both of which are amazing.
Title: The Note
Summary: Enjolras has never been fond of the female affection thrown his way. Yet, he finds himself strangely compelled when he discovers an anonymous note in his pocket. Who was the one to put it there? And, when he discovers the truth, will he then be able to convince her that he is indeed the one the note was intended for?
Author's Note: Hello! I am very excited, as this is my first Les Miserables fanfiction of this kind. It will take aspects of the musical/movie. I will preface this story by saying that I am a very big Enjolras/Eponine shipper. I am open to other people's preferences, of course, but that is my own. This story was just a little idea I had floating around. It will take place in the same time period as the novel is set, although I am not entirely sure whether or not I am going to have the battle looming in the future. I don't know I see this stretching on for too long, but then again not everything is completely hashed out with it. That's where you fine readers come in! I appreciate feedback and ideas. Let me know if you have a good idea for an upcoming event or interaction. Inspiration comes from the most unlikely of places.
For now, though, that is all. Please enjoy! And, I look forward to hearing from you.
P.S. I do apologize about the cheese of the note's contents. I am not terribly skilled at writing love letters and whatnot.
Chapter 1 – The Note
The note read: My heart beats for you and you alone. Meet me at Notre Dame. A kiss is forever on my lips waiting for you to claim it. Through the darkest night, through all of eternity, through Hell itself, I shall wait for you.
Enjolras blinked at the words a couple of times, confused and disconcerted. It wasn't as if he had never received a love letter before. In fact, he tended to find a few at least inside of his jacket pocket at the end of each day. It was just a curse that he tried to not indulge in.
Despite having read all sorts of words of devotion, this note haunted him. Perhaps it was the idea of a lone woman waiting in the dark of night for someone who might never show. He still considered himself a gentleman after all. He re-folded it and slipped it back into the pocket where it had initially been discovered. He peered out from behind the wall that offered him the slightest privacy.
Café Musain was nearly empty, anyway. Other than his friends, who were preparing to venture out into the darkened streets of Paris, there were two other tables. Granted, the place had been busy earlier. He supposed anybody could have dropped the note into his pocket then. He had had it hanging on the back of his chair most of the night, finding warmth in the wine he drank and the company of his friends.
"Come along, Enjolras," Grantaire called to him. "The night is still young."
Enjolras cleared his throat, composing himself. For one reason or another, he didn't want it known what he had discovered. He didn't want to laugh or roll his eyes over this one. He headed back into the main room, straightening his red coat as he went. He was quite sure that he would be found out. He felt his cheeks still burning and droplets of sweat still pattering his forehead. The best decision he could make was to play it off if necessary.
"Wait," Enjolras said, coming to a halt within their proximity, "where is Marius?"
Combeferre rolled his eyes. "I'll give you three guesses, though you really only need one."
Enjolras sighed. "Right," he muttered then led the procession out into the night.
Behind him, Courfeyrac and Combeferre laughed. They knew exactly what he was feeling regarding Marius' sudden absence. He wasn't afraid to say it aloud, even to Marius himself. It was always the same, though, and perhaps that was what they found so humorous.
"He acts as though he is bewitched," Courfeyrac mused aloud. "Perhaps his young lady is an enchantress."
"He is acting irresponsible," Enjolras corrected roughly.
"Love is irresponsible," Grantaire gushed. "It doesn't give you a choice, and it never has good timing. Yet, it is the sweetest thing you will ever know."
Enjolras' gaze fell on Grantaire, critical and wary. "Or the silliest."
"Just wait until you find love, Enjolras," Combeferre joked.
His finger swept by the note burning a hole in his pocket. "That won't ever happen," he explained coldly. "It is nothing but a distraction."
"Yes, but a very fun distraction at that," Courfeyrac chimed in.
"That's not love you're thinking of," Grantaire told him with a knowing wink.
The group of students laughed. Even Enjolras couldn't keep a smile from his usual pensive, stony face. It was typical for Marius to bow out early to pursue his current infatuation. It didn't matter where they were or what they were discussing, it always occurred. It was enough to drive one mad. And, for Enjolras, it did.
"For some more than others," Enjolras muttered anyway, under his breath.
He had been thinking mainly of the burden it had put on him, what with Marius being absent more than he was present now. Even when he was sitting right next to him, his mind was somewhere else. It was quite difficult to get anything done or to have an actual stimulating conversation. It was precisely how Marius had behaved that very afternoon.
"Now there's a tale of unrequited love," Courfeyrac mused, his hand going up to his heart as if in pain.
"What? What are you talking about?" Enjolras asked, turning his head in his friend's direction, actually rather confused.
"Why, 'ponine of course!"
His sapphire eyes grew wide. "Eponine," he breathed. He honestly hadn't even thought of her. Yet, she was a perfect example of the point he was trying to make.
"She's never going to give up on Marius," Combeferre said romantically.
"It is a waste of time," Enjolras grumbled, put off by the mere idea that someone could pine so devotedly and blindly after another.
"This is a waste of time," Combeferre corrected. "Enjolras is too cynical for this topic. We shouldn't pain him by discussing such things any longer."
Enjolras looked up into the overcast night sky. The moon darted in and out of passing clouds. Rain was imminent. It made him nervous. Not for himself, but for whoever had written the note nestled in his pocket. For whatever reason, he couldn't distract himself from it. He thought of the poor girl, shivering and alone, warmed only by the hope that her love would soon arrive.
He cleared his throat, ceasing immediately, even backing up a step. "Well, gentlemen, I am afraid that I must take my leave of you. It seems that I have another engagement I must attend."
Enjolras knew that this would rile them up. He smirked as the disgruntled feedback came. He held his arms out, as if to show his surrender, stepping briskly away from the group.
"You're delusional. You know your life revolves around us,"Combeferre was jesting, attempting to get him to stay.
"Goodnight, gentlemen," Enjolras said with an exaggerated bow.
He chuckled to himself as he strode down the empty street, away from his friends, who were still venting over his departure. They tended to roam from one haunt to the other, always starting with the Café Musain and ending up down the same street before breaking for their own beds. That particular evening, though, Enjolras just didn't feel up to going through the same routine. So, he headed toward the one place he couldn't get out of his head.
Even the rain, as it began when his feet automatically turned in the direction of the large cathedral, couldn't deter him from his path. He was very compelled to meet the person who had written the note, if only to tell her that she was naïve and going about this the wrong way. Whatever the reason he tried to tell himself, he was intent upon going to the destination.
All of the other love letters had been drab and unimaginative. Not only that, but they were all the same. They all confessed their desire for him and their admiration. He had grown into quite a good and influential public speaker, after all. Some had gone into detail on what would happen should they find themselves alone together. Behind each and every one, he could hear the empty giggles echoing in his mind. They were all typical; and, they were all easily dismissed.
Going over the passage written on the note, he couldn't help reflecting on how confident it sounded. It was so final, holding a delicate sadness and fragility, as well. He yearned to possess the same determination that was evident in the note. There was no doubt, no hesitation. The writer knew what she wanted and would not deter. It was rather invigorating to have such a purpose.
The shadows were thick in the square in front of Notre Dame. There seemed to be a million places this stranger could hide. But, he had never expected that he would have to search the girl out. He stood in the middle, glancing about sheepishly. He was beginning to feel that he had been set up, or mistaken, and was about to leave when a voice broke through the pattering of the heavy raindrops.
"You've come," it said softly, sweetly.
The feminine voice carried over the distance without a problem. Enjolras pivoted toward the voice, able to make out a shape in the long shadows cast by the parapets of the chapel. He refused to move, but he didn't have to anyway. The figure slinked within the darkness, drawing ever nearer.
"I didn't know if I would be seeing you tonight."
"You gave me no choice," Enjolras replied gruffly. "Was I supposed to just leave you out here alone?"
The female scoffed charmingly. "Many have before."
There was nothing he could say in return to that. He swallowed, hard, continuing to stare at her. He could feel his heart thumping against his chest the closer she got. And, yet, he hadn't even seen her face.
"Why did you bring me here? What do you want?" He figured if he got straight down to the point it would be easier for him to walk away.
"I suppose I gave my note too much credit. I'm not terribly good at writing such things," she admitted. "I thought that perhaps I could convince you that I'd be worth entrusting your heart to."
She sashayed ever closer. She began to leave the shadows behind, coming forward into the bit of moonlight that managed to peak through the thick clouds. It splashed across the ground in a single beam, separating them.
As the pale light poured over her, Enjolras slowly recognized the dark, matted locks and plain beauty. It was Eponine standing before him and confusing him even more than he originally was. She appeared drowned by the rain, but seemed perfectly comfortable in the conditions. She had come from the streets. They were her home.
"For, my heart is and always will be yours."
Her large, dark eyes flickered upward, landing directly on him, peering into his very soul. It caused him to shiver. Or, perhaps it was the cold rain. An expression of contentment rested briefly on her features, but as she recognized who was before her, her full lips turned down into a frown.
"Enjolras?" She crossed her arms over her chest, surprised and disappointed. "What are you doing here?"
His expression fell, as well, and he threw frustration back to her. "You tell me, Eponine. You're the one who invited me here, after all."
"I was expecting Marius, if you must know," she muttered, her cheeks growing warm with blush. She had become self-conscious.
"Marius?" he said aghast. He pulled the note out of his pocket and waved it in the air. "You mean to tell me that this was meant for Marius?"
"How'd you get that?" She seemed genuinely concerned.
"You put it in my jacket pocket."
She shook her head. "That was meant for Marius. I meant to put it in Marius' jacket pocket." Her hand shot out and she snatched the note from him.
Enjolras looked her up and down in disbelief. She had some gall. But, he had already known that about her. He was already familiar with her stubbornness and her fire. Yet, having it directed at him now, he wasn't so sure that he liked it. Everyone knew of her affection for Marius, and that she constantly did little things to try to get his attention.
He took a long stride forward, ending up practically in her face. "It is sickening the way you follow him about," he hissed. Immediately he realized that those words had been mainly to hurt her, and he could tell that it had worked.
There was a dash of pain that erupted briefly across her features. Her eyes grew wet, but not from the rain. She had to turn away. "You don't understand," she breathed, barely above a whisper. Then she scoffed, and he could hear a smirk upon her lips. "How could you? It is obvious that you know nothing on the matter. You don't know how one feels, how one acts. You don't know how utterly painful, yet invigorating it makes one feel." She shook her head. "And now, I am starting to think that you will never know. And for that, I am the one that feels sorry for you, Enjolras."
There was the flash of an idea. He didn't know where it came from or how exactly it had occurred. Perhaps it was supposed to be some kind of revenge. It didn't even make clear sense to him. And yet, somehow… He placed his hands gently on her shoulders and felt her tense beneath his touch. He leaned in close to her ear.
"You know, Eponine, you're right," he whispered. "I don't understand. I mean, you practically know everything there is to know about Marius, the love of your life, and yet, you somehow managed to mistake his coat pocket for mine." His grip tightened on her shoulders. "Now that doesn't make much sense, does it?"
He loosened his grip enough to allow her to spin to face him. She peered at him with skepticism, ignorance, and perhaps even curiosity. "Excuse me?" she demanded.
Enjolras grinned, his teeth sparkling in the darkness and shining through the rain. "You want me to believe that you meant for Marius to receive this note. You watch him constantly. You slip him these little pieces of paper every single day. So how is it, that this one time, you just so happened to place it into my pocket?"
She seemed speechless. "I…It…Y…" She had to clear her throat to regain her composure. "I told you it was a mistake."
"Was it, though? How do you know that you didn't actually mean for me to get it, Eponine?"
She narrowed her gaze on him. "Th-This is ridiculous. Let me go. I'm not going to stay here and listen to this nonsense."
He lifted his hands off of her. "If you say so, Eponine. But, just hear me out first."
She sighed, clearly impatient. Her eyes darted about, searching for a way out. She appeared like a wild animal suddenly caught in a trap. He knew he had to speak quickly.
"Perhaps you've grown tired of Marius and his blind eye. Maybe you're bored, I don't know." He stroked her cheek delicately, his fingers barely brushing against her skin. She allowed it. She never even cringed beneath his touch. "The heart is fragile. It can break after years of abuse, can't it, Eponine? Maybe you are actually saving that kiss upon your lips for me."
A moment later she swatted his hand away and stepped backward. "I will never have a kiss meant for you, Enjolras." A devilish smirk played at her lips, and she swung around to depart.
Enjolras watched her fade away, becoming one with the darkness. A small smile remained even after she was gone. He found great entertainment in the thought of swaying her from the one that she publicly had her heart set on. Despite what she had said, he still believed that her note hadn't mistakenly found its way into his pocket. He had seen a yearning in her gaze before she had moved away from him. He had recognized that look in her eyes that had revealed to him that all he had said had been the truth.
But, she was just like him. She was afraid of actually getting what she had always wanted—of what she deserved. She was afraid of admitting the truth to herself. It was something that neither of them would ever admit to anyone. They were one in the same. He just hadn't realized it until that moment. And, he found himself very intrigued by the notion that he had something so deep in common with somebody else.