AN: This was on my AO3 and I finally decided to upload it here. Enjoy :)

He sees her through the rain. She stands in the middle of the street, arms outstretched, eyes closed, face towards the heavens. While those around her hurry for cover or hunker down further into their coat hoods and umbrellas, she stands in the midst of it all. Embracing the rain, welcoming it.

The sight is so peculiar that he has to stop and watch for a moment. Standing under the small cover of a coffee shop's corner, he watches as the rain soaks her through. Her long, dark locks are plastered to her head, her clothes are beginning to stick to her skin. Yet she stays stoically in position.

And then, the bizarre happens. She begins to move. No-she begins to dance. Yes, she's dancing. Spinning in circles, moving her arms in graceful motions. It's nothing too impressive, but it's better than anything he could ever come up with.

On an act of impulse, he lifts up the Canon EOS 5D that hangs around his neck and snaps the spontaneous moment. He watches the dancing girl for a few moments more before pulling his jacket closer around him and plunging into the crowd, leaving the girl behind him.

He forgets about the picture until a few days later. Going through his most recent files on his computer, he stumbles across the picture. It's actually a rather nice shot. The lighting's good. Really good considering the cloud cover at the time. It's almost as if the clouds opened up just to give this dancing girl a spotlight.

But beyond that, it is a moving piece. The girl stands in the middle of the road, on her toes, arms outstretched. Almost as if she's beckoning the drizzle of rain. He could never recreate this shot if he tried.

He opens the picture up in photoshop. Maybe a few filters would help enhance the feeling of the picture. But after a few small tweaks, it doesn't seem to hold the same magic as before.

He discards the draft.

Opening up his email account, he sends it to a few of Les Amis, asking for their thoughts. Grantaire responds first, declaring how hot the girl is. He rolls his eyes and decides not pay too close attention to that email.

Combeferre is next. He relays his usual praise, but does mention that this photo is one of the best one's yet.

Jehan gushes over it, declaring it beautiful. Joly frets over how easy it is to catch pneumonia in the rain, but does mention it's a nice shot all things considered. Courfeyrac says it's good. Bousset says it's nice. Feuilly mentions that it's a sweet photo...

He reads through each response carefully and meticulously, trying to place a value on the picture. After a few moments of contemplation, he types up a quick draft to the editor of the newspaper he works for, attaching the picture to the email. Hesitantly, he sends it.

The response is almost immediate. She exclaims how perfect it is, and mentions that she wants to set it as the picture for the front cover of an upcoming issue. Some article about artistic expression and humanity or other.

He gives a small smile at her response, but it quickly fades as he realizes something. He sends out his concerns in a reply email. She tells him to quickly resolve it because she wants the picture on her paper as soon as possible.

He doesn't dare say that what she asks of him is nigh impossible.

"Why do you need to find her again?"

"I need her permission. I can't publish a picture of her without her consent."

"People actually do that?"

"Yes, Grantaire. People actually do that."

"Are you sure it's not just because you want to ask her out?" Grantaire asks, raising an eyebrow.

He can't stop the blush from forming on his cheeks. "It's solely for proprietary, R. Looking for a girl, who I've never even met, for a date is completely unprofessional and inappropriate."

"Hey, don't be ashamed, Enjy. No need to hide your true feelings from me," Grantaire replies with a sly wink.

He rolls his eyes in return. "I'll just ignore that last comment...so, where do you suggest I start?"

Grantaire takes a long swig of his coffee before responding. "Google."

"Be serious."

"I am."

"Yes, because googling 'petite brunette' is going to help me tremendously."

"Aw, you called her petite. How cute."

"Please, stay focused."

"Well, googling is the best idea I can come up with. I mean, if you type in location and description, you should be able to do find a Facebook page or something eventually, right?"

He contemplates this for a moment. "I guess I'd eventually come across something."

"Well, it's either that or hiring a private investigator to find her. Maybe you should just ask Marius. The dude was born to be a professional stalker."

"Marius doesn't stalk people."

"Well, it seems awfully fishy that he knew Cosette's address before he even met her."

"Grantaire..."

"What? I'm just saying."

He rolls his eyes. But despite Grantaire's wild behavior, his suggestion doesn't seem half bad. Would it make Enjolras feel like a creeper? Probably. But at this point, it is the best option.

"Alright, well, I guess I'll be up all night with google."

"Good luck with that, Enj."

Searching the internet, as it turns out, was not a good idea. He tried every variation of 'small brunette' that he could think of. He tried locations as broad as Paris, to as small as the address of the coffee shop he had been outside of when he saw her. Each attempt proved fruitless as he was, once again, left empty-handed.

Frustrated, he forcefully slams his laptop shut. The girl would not, or could not, be found. At least not in the public domain.

He sets his laptop on his dresser and turns off his lamp, plunging the room into darkness. He has a week to find the dancing girl if he wants to make the paper deadline.

One week.

"Frustrating read?"

The voice draws him out of his thoughts, and he realizes what the stranger means. His hands are clawing at his golden curls, his lips pressed into a tight grimace. Sitting alone in the coffee shop, he probably looks like he's frustrated at the book in his hands rather than at the thoughts that are running through his head.

He looks up at the stranger. She's dressed a little oddly. Sleek pencil skirt, grey hoodie covering a white blouse, hair tucked into a blue beanie. She stands by his table, looking at him expectantly. It is then that he realizes she's awaiting his answer.

"Oh, um, yeah," he lies, deciding not to explain his complicated situation to her.

"What are you reading?"

"The Hunger Games."

"Oh, that's a good one. What part are you at?" The stranger takes a seat across from him, suddenly eager to talk with him.

He's a bit taken aback. Nevertheless, he continues the conversation. "Well, I've read it before...and I'm just barely starting it again. Right now, it's the start of the beginning of the games..."

"So that's why you looked so distraught," she says with a small laugh.

"Um, yeah."

"I'm Éponine, by the way."

"Enjolras."

"Nice to meet you."

A beat of awkward silence. Then, "You look very...nice? What's the occasion?"

"Ha, a job interview," she says with a defeated laugh. "A job interview which I'm sure I flubbed."

"Ah, searching for a job. Never a fun thing."

"It doesn't help that nobody knows what to think of me," she says dejectedly. "Too spunky for this company, too quiet for that one. No one deems me good enough to hire."

He takes this information in, considering it for a moment, before deciding to be spontaneous. "I'm a photographer, and I work for the local newspaper...and I think we might actually have a job opening."

"Really?"

"Yeah. I mean, I could be wrong. But I'm pretty sure my editor needs an assistant."

"Really!?"

"Yeah...if you want, I could give you her number and put in a good word for you."

"Really?" She repeats a third time, this time skeptically. "You would do that for a complete stranger?"

"Oh, you'd be surprised to see what lengths I go to for a completely stranger. Besides, you've already proved that you're kind and engaging."

She blushes. "Wow...thank you. Nobody has ever done anything like that for me. Not to mention we met two minutes ago."

He smiles as he scrawls out his phone number and email as well as his editor's contact information onto the napkin. "Give her a call. She'd be an idiot to say no."

"Thank you, Enjolras."

"Don't mention it."

"Well, I have to go. Hopefully I'll see you soon."

"Yeah. Hopefully."

None of the other Amis had any ideas on how to contact this mysterious girl. He's asked all of them, and their schemes were no better than Grantaire's. It appears as if he is never going to find the dancing girl.

He is once again sifting through the thousands of google entries when his cell phone rings. He glances at the screen, seeing a number he doesn't recognize. But he answers anyway.

"Hello?"

"Hi. Is this Enjolras?"

"Yes. Who is this?"

"This is Éponine."

Ah, yes, the nice girl he met at the coffee shop. Honestly, her existence almost completely slipped his mind. But, luckily, he remembers her. "Hi Éponine. How are the job interviews going?"

"Actually, that's why I called you. I called your editor and we set up an interview and, well, I'm hired!"

"Wow! That's great, Éponine."

"I start in a week. On Monday."

"Ah, that's deadline day. That'll be fun for you."

"Good to know, I guess."

"Yep."

A wave of awkward silence passes between them before she sighs. "Thanks again, with the job and everything. It really means a lot to me."

"No problem. You clearly deserve it."

"Well, I don't know about that...but thanks again."

"You're welcome."

"I guess I'll see you Monday, then."

"Yeah, see you then."

The line beeps, indicating that she's hung up. He sighs and sets his phone aside. He still has a long night ahead of him.

He soon realizes that the picture has become more than a picture. It's almost as if it contains an essence of magic. As good of a photographer he is, he has never been able to capture such raw passion and emotion as he did with the girl in the rain.

Maybe it's crazy, and probably a bit bizarre on his part, but he begins to feel as if he knows the girl. It's a weird thought, really. He hasn't even met her. His only memory of her is the picture plastered across the screen of his computer. A picture that makes her face barely recognizable. Yet, even with the aforementioned reasons, the picture seems to tell him a story about a young woman dancing in the rain.

And, of course, he tries to silence these thoughts once he realizes how sappy (and perhaps slightly perverted) they sound.

But even he can't deny the thoughts tugging at the back of his mind.

Éponine begins to text him. First, it was just another thank you for his part in her new job. Then, it's idle chit chat. Slowly, it progresses into deeper conversations. She tells him that she's the legal guardian for her younger siblings and has been trying to find a stable job so she can provide for them. He tells her that he has family issues of his own and hasn't spoken to his parents in over a year.

She mentions she always wanted to be a dancer growing up.

He mentions that he felt like he would've been better suited as a history teacher.

She relays the tale of her most recent boyfriend-an abusive man named Montparnasse.

He rants about the pressures his family places on him.

Their conversations are passionate, yet pleasant. Soon, they begin to talk on the phone instead of over text. That's when the deep topics dissolve into the fluffy stuff. The discuss favorite colors (her's is blue, apparently) and favorite movies (she says she's always been a sucker for romantic comedies) and favorite music (she's a self-proclaimed Christina Perri addict).

Even though their conversations are sometimes silly and meaningless, he finds that he enjoys them. Nothing brightens his day like seeing a new text from her. Yes, even though it's silly, it's still nice. It's still the start of the friendship.

Or perhaps something more.

Sunday rolls around and Les Amis begin texting over their group text chat. They agree to meet at the usual coffee shop that evening. Two thoughts cross his mind once the plans are set. One: he cannot go because he has yet to find his dancing girl. Two: maybe he should go, but also invite Éponine along.

He discards the ideas as soon as they come. At this point, he should just swallow his pride and tell his editor that he never found the girl and that they would have to cancel that picture for the front page. And as for inviting Éponine to the coffee shop, well, it's probably not a good idea. Sure, Éponine could handle herself in a room full of boys. But whether a room full of boys could handle Éponine was an entirely different matter.

So, with both of his own ideas rejected, he decides it's best to go.

The meeting with Les Amis goes well. The swap funny stories and talk about how their jobs are going. As refreshing as it is to step away from his work, Enjolras finds that he cannot pay attention. Instead, he finds himself staring at the dancing girl's picture on his phone. He should probably do more to hide it, for if Grantaire or Courfeyrac found him staring at a girl's picture, he would never hear the end of it. But he doesn't act on that thought.

"What's that?" Marius asks, and Enjolras realizes that the auburn haired man was staring over his shoulder. He also realizes that he never sent Marius the original picture. This is the first of it the young lawyer has seen.

"It's just a picture I took the other day," he explains, deciding to leave the complications out of his response.

Marius leans in to get a better look at the picture. "That looks like Éponine."

He freezes. "Éponine?"

"Yeah, Éponine Thenardier. She's an old friend of mine. I wouldn't be surprised if you don't know her, though. She's usually pretty quiet."

It wasn't possible. It couldn't be. Had the answer had been staring him in the face the whole time? But he's seen Éponine before. Granted that a beanie had been covering her hair and an oversized hoodie had toned down her figure. And, well, the picture didn't offer a good illustration of her face. Perhaps it was so...

"Are you sure this is her?" He asks, confirming Marius's statement.

Marius responds with a nod. "Pretty sure. It looks a lot like her."

Grantaire was right. He should've sought Marius's help from the beginning.

Monday comes and he finds himself pulling up to work nervously. What would he tell Éponine? That he'd snapped her picture without her permission and had been stalking the internet in order to find her? No, that description probably won't go over well...

"Enjolras?"

He turns around and sees her. There is no hat to hide the brown locks pulled up into a high ponytail. There is no oversized jacket to hide the petite and curvy figure. Now that he sees her whole picture, there is no doubt that she is his dancing girl.

"Hey Éponine," he says with a smile as he holds the door open for her. "Nice to see you."

He leads up to the editor's office, idly supplying small talk. But while he prattles on about the weather, his mind is a million miles elsewhere. What will he say to her? How will he say it? Would she think less of him for not talking to her the first time he saw her?

They reach the office, but he stops her before she can enter. "Do you mind if I show you something first?"

She's a bit surprised, but agrees. He leads her to his small, unoccupied desk and pulls his laptop from his bag. She watches with curious brown eyes as he logs in and opens up his camera roll. Gathering his courage, he clicks on the thumbnail that's been plaguing him for days.

She blinks in surprise, leaning in to get a closer look at the photo. She squints her eyes and her nose wrinkles as she studies the picture. He finds himself holding his breath as she takes in his work. She looks up at him. "Is that me?"

"It is," he says, letting the moment of truth come. "I took it roughly two weeks ago. Several days before I even met you."

"I remember that day," she murmurs beneath her breath. "I had just gotten out of my worst job interview yet when it started raining."

"And then you started dancing?"

"Yeah...yeah, I did."

"I'll admit, it was a such a beautiful sight, I had to take a picture."

"It's a nice picture. And that's saying something because I hate having my picture taken."

"My editor wants it on the front cover of the next issue?"

"Really?"

"Yeah. As long as that's okay with you..."

"Of course! I thinks a good picture. Although, I do have a question."

"Yes?"

"Why didn't you show this to me earlier?"

"I figured out that this was you yesterday. Otherwise I would have. We need your consent before publishing a picture of you...and I'm glad I found you. I spent a lot of time looking for 'the mysterious dancing girl.'"

She smiles and a dimple shows. "So you're telling me you spent two weeks looking for me just to have my permission?"

He finds himself blushing. "Well, yes. And, I guess I must admit, I was curious to meet you. Not many people take to dancing in the rain whenever they have a bad day."

"'Life isn't about waiting for the storm to pass, it's about learning how to dance in the rain.' Vivian Greene."

"Advice that you took literally?"

"Yeah. And the fact that I love to dance. I was never able to afford dance classes as a kid, so I make up for lost time when I can."

He looks at her thoughtfully. There really isn't a person quite like her. And whatever it is that makes her different, he decides he likes it.

"Well, I'm glad that I caught you at the right moment. Gosh, that sounds so wrong..."

"You're a photographer, you saw the opportunity, you took it. It's fine, Enjolras. No need to feel like you did something wrong."

"Thanks...that makes me feel better."

"Glad I could help."

He looks down at his watch. "Wow, that took longer than I thought it would. You need to get going. Can't be late on your first day."

"That would be bad," she agrees.

"Well, I guess I'll see you later."

"Yeah, see you later."

He watches her as she leaves.

Later on, he texts her and asks how her new job is going. She simply responds with a smiling emoji. It makes him smile in return. Gathering up his courage, he types out a query as to what her plans are for lunch.

She says she's open.

He asks if she wants to go to lunch with him. For maybe there is something behind photographs of girls dancing in the rain and talking to strangers about books and simple text conversations.

His phone chimes as it receives her response.

She says, "Yes."

AN: Love you all! Reviews are always nice, but you can do what you want.