Enjolras had a heart of stone. Everyone knew it. Even he knew it. The only thing he cared for was for the freedom of his people. Once he achieved that, then maybe he could consider settling down.

The last thing he expected was to fall in love.

At first, it started out as infatuation. He saw her a few times at the rallies. She was dirty, her hair tangled and her clothes tattered. But she was still beautiful nonetheless. However, her eyes were focused solely on Marius. Even Enjolras could see that it was he who she pined for. So, Enjolras ignored the feeling and kept his focus on the revolution.

But she kept coming. Sometimes, she was even bold enough to come to the Musain, watching them quietly from the corner. Despite what Enjolras wanted, his feelings for the girl grew. Could one fall in love solely by observation?

His fears were confirmed when she came to take Marius to his love. He should've been annoyed that Marius was leaving at such a crucial moment in their rebellion, but instead he only felt sorrow for her. He exchanged glances with Marius. And Marius merely smiled, completely oblivious to her sacrifice.

A day later and she wasn't with them when they built the barricade. Enjolras was worried, but he covered that worry with passion for his country. If the revolution succeeded, maybe then he could seek her out. Maybe then he could properly introduce himself.

He didn't expect to see her dying that night.

Her front was covered in blood, her hair wet with rain. She leaned against the barricade, gasping for breath. Enjolras wanted nothing more than to run to her side and comfort her as she gave her final breath. But she reached for Marius, not him. She wanted to die in the arms of her love, not in the arms of a stranger.

So Enjolras was forced to see his love die in the presence of another. No one saw the tear roll down his cheek. No one saw the heart of stone crack. At that moment, the days full of regret washed over him, drowning Enjolras in the feelings of what could have been.

What could have been. That was the thought that ran through his head as he stood before the guns. He held his flag high above his head, glad that he was dying in the company of his friend. Glad he was dying for his homeland. Even so, he couldn't stop his thoughts from turning to his beloved as the bullets met their target.

I love you, Éponine.