She came into the Café Musain, rain soaked and sad. Her eyes were lowered, clearly hoping she would remain invisible. She usually was. Well, to everyone but him. He never understood how Marius didn't fall for her. She wasn't beautiful in the traditional sense, but Enjolras somehow found her every move striking and different. Perhaps that was what attracted him to her – she was something original. But, her overwhelming sadness tugged at his heart, and he privately hated Marius for causing it. To his astonishment, she took a seat beside him. Though he guessed it was because his table was the least crowded. His friends loved him, but he wasn't exactly the life of the party.
"Is everything alright?" he asked.
"He loves her," she said, almost to herself.
"I'm sorry?" he returned.
She looked up at him and shook her head. "Never mind."
Her faltering smile gave her away as he gazed at her. Of course, her emotions were always pretty clear, although she would think otherwise. Enjolras, cold as he sometimes seemed, could read peoples' feelings better than most.
"Would you like a drink?" he offered.
She seemed surprised by the question, but gave him a small smile. "Sure."
He managed to get a bottle of wine from Grantaire. It was a dry red, but Éponine didn't mind. They decided to forgo glasses and exchange sips right out of the bottle. She did most of the drinking, as Enjolras was not big on alcohol. A clouded mind made him uncomfortable to say the least. Vulnerability was his vulnerability.
They drank together in silence, content to watch the others' merriment. Although Enjolras' eyes rested on Éponine more than the other men in the room. She laughed when Grantaire and Courfeyrac began singing an old folk song, though neither of them could remember the words. The corners of Enjolras' mouth turned up when she laughed, thinking that perhaps, if she could one day let go of Marius, he might be able to make that smile on her face. She ran a hand through her hair, trying to shake it dry after the rain plastered it to her head. He briefly imagined his own fingers taking hold of her dark locks.
After a couple hours of drinking, Éponine was sufficiently tipsy. Her cheeks were flushed and she was unsteady on her feet. She stood up, and when she wobbled, Enjolras jumped to return her to balance. She smiled and thanked him.
"I should be getting home," she said.
"I'll escort you," he replied, offering his arm.
She glanced at his arm and then back at his face before hesitantly taking hold of the crook of his elbow. It seemed she was unused to any sort of chivalry from anyone but Marius, who meant nothing by it when it came to her. Only that he was a gentleman and she was a woman. They left the café, unnoticed by the others.
He could feel the warmth of her hand through his sleeves. She sort of drummed her fingers against his coat and bit her lip. She was uncomfortable.
"What did you mean earlier?" he asked.
"What?" she returned, looking up at him.
"You said 'he loves her,'" he explained. "But you didn't tell me who you were talking about."
"We didn't tell each other anything," she said.
She was closing herself off, but he wasn't going to let her. Perhaps this was his chance to let her know that there was a man out there that wanted her.
"I know," he continued. "But you can't just say something so vague and expect me not to wonder."
"It doesn't matter," she told him. "Nothing matters anymore."
"I don't know about that," he said. "There's a revolution in the air."
"I forgot," she said. "Your only love is for your country."
She let out a small squeak of fright as she stumbled due to her drunken state. She gripped his arm tightly.
"I've got you," he assured her, steadying her again.
Their eyes met and he saw fear in them. But, now that she looked at him, perhaps hope as well. She visibly relaxed when he offered her a small smile. Éponine looked at him and saw the sun. He was so bright to her in this moment, she had to look away. They continued walking.
"By the way, my love is not only for my country," he pointed out.
She smiled, comfortable enough now to tease him at least. "Oh? Does the mighty Apollo have a weakness for us poor mortals?"
He chuckled. "I wish Grantaire would let go of that stupid nickname," he said. "I'm no god. Far from it. I'm just like any other man with the same wants and weaknesses."
"So…have you been in love before?" she wondered.
"I'll make a deal with you, Ponine," he said. "I'll answer that question, but you have to answer mine."
"Regarding who I was talking about earlier," she guessed.
"Do we have a deal?"
She agreed.
"Well, then," he began. "Yes, I have been in love before. It was a noble woman close to my family. We were actually going to be married…" He told the story of the high society lady he once thought would be his wife. However, he learned the real problems facing the country, how the poor were being treated, and he knew he had to do something. The woman did not join him, fearing she would lose the comforts of her life. Enjolras left her and his family for his cause.
Éponine gazed at him when he finished talking, amazed at his desire to help others and change the country, perhaps even the world. "Did you ever regret it?"
He shook his head. "Not once."
There was a short beat before he spoke again. "Now you've got to explain."
She took a deep breath. "There is someone I am in love with. But he has found someone else."
"Marius," he said.
She turned eyes on him. "You knew?"
He nodded. "I think everyone but Marius knows. You do anything and everything for him, Ponine. You don't exactly hide it."
She looked down as if suddenly very interested in her own feet. "I just don't see how –"
He heard her voice break over the word. He did not interrupt, though. He wanted her to finish the thought.
She sniffled. "I just don't see how he can fall in love with her in a second, but I've been here all this time…" she trailed off. "He just never saw me."
They stopped walking. She stayed focused on the ground, refusing to show him that she was crying, even though he knew she was. A tear dropped from her face and hit the cobblestone street. He took her chin in his thumb and forefinger and forced her to meet his gaze. Her glistening eyes looked like stars in the moonlight. She actually reminded him a bit of the moon – dark, sad, but still shining.
He raised his hand to cup her cheek gently. He stroked her tears away with his thumb. She closed her eyes to his touch, and it was then he noticed a bruise forming on her left eye. He stiffened and his brow furrowed.
"Did someone hit you?" he wondered.
She opened her eyes again. "Oh, that was…my father."
"Oh, Ponine," he sighed.
In his eyes, she saw raw passion. There was sympathy for her plight, but also anger at the abuse she had suffered. She thought that Enjolras was a contradiction. His gaze was intense and fiery, but his touch was tender and soft. She was once again reminded of the sun – difficult to look at, but warm against the skin. Only this time, she would not look away, even if it blinded her.