She lived in a world of silence.
No one dared ever scream, or shout, or yell. Words were whispered, orders were stated. Lovers gasped, singers hummed.
Voices were sacred, and valued above all else.
For when a voice began to die, the body soon followed.
Eponine was running, music from her headphones pounding in her ears. There had been rumors, and her feet seemed just as eager as her eyes to see if they were true. Trees blurred past, and the clouds in the sky parted as she ran under them.
There were rumors, and they were only rumors, but whispered rumors traveled faster than shouts and screams, and some declared them to be truer.
After all, it was said that politicians used to yell. And look what became of them-
An oddly loud noise erupted through her headphones, and Eponine quickly turned it off, for fear of anyone hearing it. She ripped her headphones out of her ears, never stopping, and that was when she heard it.
The buzzing.
Ever since the Day of Silence, there was an ever present buzzing in the air, ubiquitous and slightly too loud for anyone's liking. The rumors, they mentioned the buzzing, spoke of how a boy can overcome them, speak louder than the buzzing.
They called it the Field. They used to call it the Electric Field, but people are inherently lazy, and the name was shortened.
No one could ever speak louder than the Field, and Eponine couldn't help but think that that part of the rumors were certainly false. The buzzing increased in intensity if anyone's voice grew too loud, it was impossible to ever overcome it.
Her father had tried. Once, when she was a little girl. She remembered how her father had risen out of his chair, arm raised, prepared to strike, his mouth opened wider than usual, and a sound that beat against her eardrums had come out. Her mother had lifted an arm rather than her voice, and her father was shouting terrible, terrible things.
Then he fell. There was sound, and then Eponine could hear a distinct absence of it. The silence seemed to build in greater intensity as her father's screams softened until there was no sound coming out of his open mouth.
He never could hear properly after that, and his words became whispers.
Eponine could see the crowd thickening before her very eyes. She pushed through, using her slim body to slip past the taller, thicker people. There was a flash of gold up ahead, up on top of the platform. Eponine felt a strange urge to be there, close to him. Separation was out of the question.
She couldn't hear him, at the moment. A hum of voices surrounded her as her eyes landed upont he most handsome man she'd ever seen.
More than handsome. From first glance, he appeared beautiful. He had curly, golden hair that seemed to scream at the audience, and backed up by his bright red jacket. A certain energy emanated from his confident stance, a feeling that the world can be conquered by one man, and that change is possible.
Something in her mind clicked, and Eponine wondered if his voice would be as loud as his stance. She imagined that it would rumble in his chest and rise like magma from a volcano, before erupting in a glorious stream of sound.
She imagined his voice to be low, yet proud, a voice no one would ever dare mess with. Eponine noticed him smirk at something his friend, a companion up on the platform, whispered to him, and it struck her once more how unfairly attractive he was.
He turned to face the crowd fully, and she felt her breath freeze in her chest, for fear of breathing too loudly. She didn't want to miss a single word.
He began to speak, softly at first. But Eponine, somehow, didn't feel the need to crane her neck. Each and every one of his words traveled across the crowd perfectly. She heard only them, and the buzzing slowly faded away until she felt bathed solely in his beautiful words. They were velvet, caressing her skin. She wondered if she'd melt if he started singing.
Oh, how she wanted to believe him. By the excited looks beginning to appear on the faces of her neighbors, Eponine guessed they were feeling the same. She grinned, excitement racing through her veins, she felt like-
Screams. Someone began shouting, cheering for the golden man on the platform. More joined in, and, to her horror, Eponine noticed the man making extravagant gestures as well, but his voice was drowned out by the screams of the crowd.
The buzzing reappeared, growing steadily louder until it blocked out the shouting completely. Eponine covered her ears and searched for an exit, the crowd's excitement pressing in on her until she could barely breathe. The men - boys, they could hardly be more than boys - were cheering and shouting. Her eyes were closing, she could feel her body ready to pass out from the pain in her ears, but she saw the golden young man, the one with the beautiful voice, bend over with his hands on his ears. A faint "No" escaped her lips as she fell towards the ground, deaf, dumb, and blind to the world.
When she awoke, Eponine thought there was a bee flying around next to her ear. She jerked her hand up, only to be met with empty air. The buzzing had returned to its normal volume, and various people were waking up near her.
The boys. The one with the golden hair and the voice-
She jumped up and ran toward the platform, headache momentarily forgotten. He was still there, they were all still there, lying silently, as still as death.
She reached him first. His hair appeared dimmer up close, but when she gently moved him onto his back, she could still see the echoes of his confidence and pride. On impulse, she reached out and tucked a lock of hair behind his ear. Her other hand reached down to clasp his, like a bridge back to consciousness. A part of her felt as though she were attempting to call him back, yet she knew in her heart that she was willing for some of his confidence to seep back into her.
She was selfish, in love and in life. And there was something indescribably alluring about this boy, so much so a part of her realized she was holding onto his hand as though she wanted to keep him for herself.
Her thoughts were interrupted by a slight groan from the body beneath her. Her hands shot back just as he opened his eyes. She didn't dare move away.
His eyes were even more captivating up close. They were blue, and a shade so bright she felt as though she were drowning in them. For a moment, she could only stare, entranced and amazed that someone so beautiful was here on Earth with someone like her.
Eponine almost started crying when she realized he was trying to speak, and failing. Instead of his velvet voice, the young man was emitting some sort of croak. And by the look in his eyes, it appeared that his body was beginning to die on him.
"No," Eponine whispered again, and quickly wrapped one of his arms around her slender shoulders. Memories of her father flashed back, and a tall old man with a white mustache. He'd fixed her father's voice, repaired it so that he may speak again. And if he were still in business...
She didn't allow herself to think otherwise. For such a beautiful voice to be lost - no matter how stupid he had been to test the Field that controlled their lives - it was unthinkable.
Silently, they made their way down the stairs, the young man almost keeling over at the bottom. He tried pulling back, as if he felt he couldn't leave his friends behind. But Eponine kept pulling at his arm and his jacket, until he finally surrendered to her insistence. Various bodies were still scattered on the ground, and Eponine could feel her strength waning.
"Come on, it's not far," she murmured, partially to him, and partially to herself. He tried making a sound, and she assumed he was asking about their destination.
"There's a man," she whispered, not daring to speak too loudly. One could never know who was listening in those days. "He can fix voices. He fixed my father's." He nodded, but she noticed how his head turned to glance back at his friends.
"I can't carry more than one person," she said, and refused to answer the questions in his eyes.
Eponine had only ever visited the Doctor's residence once, yet she'd passed by it often on her runs, or whatever jobs she'd had to complete. She never saw anyone come or go, but the windows weren't boarded up. Eponine was not a religious girl, but as she stumbled down the street with a young man's weight on her shoulders, she prayed with all her might to whomever was watching them from above.
This one's special, she thought, not caring how cliche it might seem. She supposed that anything could be considered cliche if you've been around since the beginning of time.
Thirty minutes and five songs. That was the length of time it took her to get to the office from her house. But from the square, and at their current speed...
"Come on," she murmured. "Come on, you can't die on me." Eponine glanced at the wounded boy, and almost dropped him. He was staring back, and she found, this time, she wasn't able to look away.
She stopped moving, sweat pouring down her back in rivulets, heart beating too quickly to be considered comfortable. "We should, um, rest." The street was deserted - perhaps the increased volume had been heard over here as well, as a warning to the rest of the people. Eponine helped the young man sit down, then found a spot on the sidewalk, not close enough to be touching him, but close enough to grab him if he tried to run.
Not that he'd get very far without her help.
"That was a really stupid thing you did back there," she said without looking at him. "You can't overcome the buzzing. It'll just get louder, it's not like you can...break it, or anything."
She chanced a glance. He was looking at the ground, and Eponine suddenly felt truly horrible. But then he looked up, and she could see the confidence in his eyes once more, the belief that anything was possible.
It was incredible.
He lifted his hand, and Eponine immediately shot back. She knew in the back of her mind that he wasn't strong enough to actually hurt her, but old habits die hard.
Something flickered in his eyes, and he slightly lowered his hand. He began moving it in strange patterns, as if he were trying to spell something out. Eponine raised an eyebrow. She'd see a few people here and there communicating with their hands, but she'd never attempted it herself.
She shook her head. "I'm sorry, I don't understand you." He didn't seem disgruntled, he simply picked up a stick and wrote something in the dirt.
Enjolras.
"Enjolras," she whispered. "Is that your name?"
He nodded. She smiled. "I'm Eponine." Enjolras reached out a hand and she took it. Their handshake was not friendly so much as a business arrangement.
"I'm sorry I couldn't get your friends," Eponine replied. "You're heavy enough on your own."
Enjolras quickly scribbled something down onto the sand. You should have left me there with them.
Eponine shook her head. "I couldn't just leave you there to die!"
He stomped out his past sentence, and wrote down a new one. Why me?
Eponine couldn't bring herself to answer that. Because I felt myself drawn to you. Because your voice is too beautiful to lose.
She settled for, "Because I saw you first, pretty boy," and turned away. She didn't notice the way he continued to stare at the way the sunlight fell onto her hair.
A few minutes passed in silence before Eponine jumped and pulled Enjolras up with her. "We can't waste too much time." Enjolras grabbed his stick and partially leaned onto it like a cane, making traveling easier for the both of them.
The sun shone down mercilessly, and white spots began floating in front of Eponine's eyes. Her feet began to drag, and Enjolras began leaning more and more on his makeshift cane. Now more than ever, Eponine wished she'd been smart enough to bring a water bottle along, at least then-
Enjolras' came snapped, interrupting her thoughts, and they both tumbled down onto the ground. The world is strange, and fate works in odd ways, leaving Eponine to feel unsure as to how Enjolras ended up under her, with his face so close to hers, and with his arms around her waist.
Eponine felt her cheeks flush bright red. She stammered out some ridiculous syllables while Enjolras' eyes continued to stare into hers. Despite his weak state, his eyes seemed to be shining brighter than ever.
Something flashed in her mind. A brief memory of her mother, sobbing over her father's silent screams. She was the daughter of a wolf, but she would never let herself be the wife of one.
"Uh, I'm- sorry." She scrambled to get up, and hide her blushing face. For the first time, she was glad Enjolras couldn't talk, because she didn't think she could handle whatever magic his words would spin.
Eponine stretched out a hand for Enjolras to grasp onto, and they began to continue their slow trek through the city. With his cane gone, Enjolras was forced to lean on Eponine once again, and this time she couldn't help but notice how close they were to each other. She glanced over at him a few times, only to find that he was looking at her with those damn blue eyes of his.
What's the point of all this, Eponine, she berated herself as they trudged on. What do you think he's going to do after the procedure? If he even makes it out alive...
No, don't think like that. Papa was fine-
But Claquesous's got to wear that horrible mask all the time. What do you think happened to him?
I don't want this one to die. I want to keep him for myself-
He'll leave. They always do.
She felt a tug on her arm and glanced back. Enjolras' face was ashen, and there were dark circles under his eyes that resembled decay. Eponine had never seen someone physically die from vocal loss, and for a moment considered dropping him right then and there.
But something held her back. Perhaps it was the way his eyes pleaded with her, or how helpless she knew he'd be without her.
Perhaps it was her selfishness.
"It's...it's close, we're almost there." He raised an eyebrow, as if to ask, How do you know?
"My father...he'd lost his voice, long ago. This doctor helped him, he can help you."
Again, the gaze, the same question Enjolras seemed to never stop asking. Why me?
Eponine didn't answer this time. She was afraid of what would come out of her mouth if she did.
In a world of silence, no one spoke much. No one really interacted with others. Everyone kept to themselves, and everyone kept silent.
So Enjolras had tried to change that. He'd spoken, and people had listened. But he'd fallen, and many had fallen with him. Where were his friends? Were they dead, or dying? With each step he could feel his energy waning, and he should've stayed with his friends-
Eponine. She hadn't listened to his silent protests, she'd taken him with her. In a world of silence, she'd spoken with her actions.
"Come on, we'd better get moving," she interrupted his thoughts. "If we're out past curfew...well, you know what happens."
It's been said that the loudest music used to thrive in the nighttime hours. Enjolras couldn't help but wonder what kind of music Eponine had in her iPod, the one she clutched in her hand during their breaks.
"He almost caught me once, you know. With my music." Enjolras glanced over to see her smirking, as if she were trying to one-up him. Or perhaps she was just reminiscing upon a fond memory. "I'd been running, and a song came on, an exciting one. He was hiding in the shadows like the devil he is, and he ran after me." She sighed, and, without warning, he took her hand.
Eponine stiffened momentarily, unsure of what he was implying or what he wanted or perhaps this wasn't such a good idea-
He squeezed, just enough to let her understand he was being supportive. She finally looked up, to see his eyes. They were not filled with fire, but rather with compassion, and was that pity?
"I don't need your pity, Enjolras," Eponine spat out, standing up and tearing her hand away. "I've gotten away from him plenty of times, running's second nature to me."
He stood on shaky legs and reached out for her hand again. Eponine frowned and clutched her iPod harder, as if it were a lifeline, but Enjolras kept his hand outstretched. The world froze around them, and Eponine could feel her heart beating. Enjolras was looking at her with those eyes of his, but there was no pity, there might have been something more...
She stuffed her iPod in her pocket and, on impulse, grabbed his hand. Enjolras smiled, surprisingly tender, and Eponine couldn't help but smile back.
She almost regretted how near the doctor's office was.
They walked and stumbled the rest of the way in silence, Enjolras throwing his arm over Eponine's shoulder during the final steps. His face was pale, and his breathing was coming out in harsh gasps. Eponine half-dragged him as far as she could, until she noticed the doctor's office, just across the street.
"Wait here," she told him, then immediately felt stupid because it's not as if he could get anywhere on his own. She ran across the street, and slammed her fist into the door. "Open up!" She shouted, momentarily disregarding the Field. The buzzing increased slightly, and she looked back to see Enjolras writhing in pain, his face twisted into a grimace. Her own fists quickened, and she kicked at the door for good measure.
"Open up, god damn you," she whispered through tears that she hadn't realized were streaming down her cheeks. Her fists beat senselessly against the door, creating a pointless rhythm. Boom boom boom boomboomboom boom.
Or maybe he's just as unconscious as the rest of them, she thought frantically. Maybe the Field went crazy over here too maybe they found him maybe he's dead-
She turned sharply on her heel. Enjolras was still there, lying on his side, teeth bared in pain.
She give the door one last, barely hopeful slam. A last breath, of sorts. Enjolras was becoming extremely pale, there was nothing she could do, his voice was almost-
There was a squeak. Hardly audible, but certainly euphonic.
A small, white face peeked out from the darkness. "And who might you be, banging on my door at this hour?" He eyed her up and down. "You don't look like the police."
Eponine gritted her teeth and forced herself to calm down, focus, breathe. "No, I'm not the police..." She moved aside to give the doctor a better view. "And neither is he."
The doctor's eyes betrayed nothing. "How long ago?"
"This morning."
Widened eyes. A look that may have been a mixture of surprise and admiration. "He survived that long?"
"Yes, yes, why do you think I banged on your door so hard?!" Eponine gesticulated wildly with her arms in the air, feeling strangely light without Enjolras leaning on her shoulders.
The doctor stared at her as though attempting to look right through her, to see if the lies are branded upon her bones as well as her tongue, the same as her father.
Eponine gritted her teeth and stared back, knowing that one faltered gaze would result in the door slamming shut in her face.
Finally, the doctor reverted his gaze back to Enjolras, to the boy who lay dying on the street.
"I don't know how much of his voice I can save," the doctor said, still hiding behind his door. "When your father came here all those years ago...I can still hear his whispers echoing in my ears. This boy, his voice may very well become no more than a whisper. Are you willing to take that risk."
Eponine replied without hesitation. "I am. A whisper is better than death."
"But what is death if not a final whisper of life?" The doctor muttered before opening his door. "Bring him in."
Eponine managed a quick, grateful smile. It lasted only a moment, however, because as soon as she turned back to face Enjolras, her heart plummeted.
His chest was rising in quick gasps, and his face had gone pale. His hands were groping the ground as though searching for a handhold to keep himself on Earth, on the land of the living.
She ran over and pulled on his arms. "Enjolras, come on, you've got to get up! I'm not letting you die on me, now!" He managed a groan, and opened his eyes.
He moved his lips, but no sound escaped. Eponine pulled harder on his arm. "No no don't speak, get up!"
His arm slipped out of her grip and flopped back onto the ground. She turned sharply on her heel. "Gimme a hand, here!" She shouted at the doctor, no longer caring if her voice should collapse.
The doctor was at her side in a moment. He grabbed Enjolras' arms and hauled him over his shoulder with a strength Eponine would never have thought him capable of, mostly due to his graying hair.
"Put a cloth on the table, quickly," the doctor managed.
"Monsieur...who are you?"
"A man of no consequence." The doctor replied. "You and he were never here. This never happened." As he spoke, he gently placed Enjolras on the table, the way a father would a child. "Times have been tough, tools have been broken..." He sighed. "But I'll do what I can."
All of a sudden, Eponine's hands flew to her pockets. "Money," she stuttered. "I haven't got any. And I'm not sure about him."
But the doctor was already immersed in his work, and didn't even look up to answer. "Do not worry about payment. That will come at a later time."
Eponine could hardly look away from the delicate procedure. While Enjolras rasped, the doctor stuck a tube down his throat. She looked away, only to see a rusty nameplate above the door.
Dr. ... Fauchelevant, the sign read in faded letters. The first name was smudged, looking as though someone had attempted to rub it off. How odd, thought Eponine. No first name, a strength to match young men a third his age, a man who vanishes with the sun and lives by the shadows...
"Eponine, give me a hand!" Eponine couldn't remember if she'd ever mentioned her name, but the thought passed fleetingly as she grabbed Enjolras' arms to hold him down. He was beginning to struggle.
"Oh merde," Dr. Fauchelevant muttered under his breath. "It's stuck, the damn thing's stuck."
"What does that mean?" Eponine rasped, heartbeat speeding up once more. "Can't you get it out somehow?" The questions were going through her mind too quickly to process, to have come all this way just to die during the procedure. It wouldn't be fate, it'd be a fucking cruel irony.
"I'm trying, Eponine!" There it was again, the name that had never passed between her lips and his. Perhaps he just remembers, her mind briefly flirted with the idea, then broke up with it. After all, so many years had passed, but still...
Unconsciously, her grip had loosened on Enjolras' arms, and he began to struggle fiercely once more.
"Almost...got it..." The doctor managed, panting for breath. Enjolras gasped for breath as the doctor wrestled with the tube, turning it this way and that. For a moment. Eponine imagined it to be a snake, wriggling and writhing. The thought made her want to throw up, so she quickly focused on holding Enjolras' arms at his sides.
"There!" The doctor finally exclaimed, holding up the glistening tube. Some kind of liquid was dripping from the end that had been inside Enjolras; Eponine guessed it must have been some kind of medicine, because Enjolras opened his eyes and said:
"Eponine."