She left the security of his apartment for the darkness to start another night's work. She'd been doing this from the very beginning, probably even before he invited her to live with him. He hated watching her go and has tried constantly to convince her to stay but to no avail. Each time she insisted that she had to pay him back, that she must earn her keep to live with him, and she would leave ando return around three or four at night. He's grateful each time she returns, preferring she returned late than not at all. Having known her routine by heart, he'd awaken each night out of habit when she returned, relieved she was back but never rose from his bed to welcome her home. Instead he waited silently as she cleaned herself in the washroom until she lay to sleep on the couch in the living room. Not until then could he fall back asleep again. However there were nights when she didn't return at her regular time and when that happened, he couldn't sleep; she'd come home early the next morning, and he would be up, anxiously awaiting her return though he hid it well. Yet, he failed to hide the dark rings under his eyes.
But tonight was different. He was tired of watching her leave, tired of the money that she left for him each time she returned that was only collecting dust. He wasn't going to deal with her absence any longer. And so he left the apartment and headed for the slums.
It wasn't difficult to find her. He knew where she worked and who she was around. It was heartrending to see her out in the night. She wasn't a part of the innocent life of the poor, of those who merely pick pocketed and begged, no. Eponine Thenardier was of the ruthless poor, those who thieved and sold themselves, taking the beatings that came just to survive. And seeing the young gamine, the young woman standing there, her arms laced in a tattered shawl, caused Enjolras a great deal of pain. But why pain? Why was she affecting him this way? Ignoring those nagging questions, he approached her through the shadows, his expression as hard and cold as always. Would she recognized him in the darkness? He caught her attention, and she smiled seductively.
"Not spending the night alone are you Monsieur?" No, she didn't recognize him.
"No," he said flatly. "You're coming home with me."
He could see her eyes widen, recognizing his voice, but before she could even breathe a word, he took her by the arm and led her away. They turned the corner out of the alley onto the sidewalk as the rain made the cobblestone slick and silver. It soaked the both of them to the bone, their hair and clothes plastered to their skin.
"What are you doing? Let me go!" Eponine shouted, twisting in his strong hand. "I have work to do!"
"I can't let you do this to yourself." Enjolras said, stoping and turning to her, "I won't let you."
She frowned, "What are you talking about? I have to pay my share! I owe you. I can't to be good enough if you don't let me work!"
He blinked, his forehead creasing, "What are you talking about?"
She bit her lip, her eyes averting to the cold wet ground, "For you. To stay with you."
"And selling yourself will make you better? Bedding strangers for money will somehow suddenly make you worthy?" He snapped, his eyes ablaze with the unmistakable passion in his voice, "You're only lowering yourself!"
"I don't have a choice. I've never had a choice! You don't understand. You don't understand the life I've lived." She shot back bitterly, glaring up at him, trying to struggle out of his grip to no avail; Enjolras could see the hatred in her eyes.
"You've always had a choice! You have been living in my apartment for months now, you can stop this anytime, but each night you keep returning to the brothel! Why?" He demanded, his eyes livid, his tone fierce.
"You can't understand," she repeated, her voice burning with loathing, with detest.
Unimpressed, Enjolras glared down at the gamine, no longer accepting her answers that only confused him further. Why couldn't she tell him? Did she not trust him? This aggravated Enjolras, and her defiance and her pride were hitting his last nerve. Saying nothing, his eyes boring down on her in anger, he dragged her back to his flat. While they walked, she struggled and fought back, but as they neared the apartment building she admitted defeat and gave up.
Once inside he tossed her a towel to dry off as he ran one through his hair. He could feel her eyes on him as he dried himself but could care less if she stared. It's her fault after all for going to the brothel. She also failed to give him a frank answer to his question. If she were to be angry at someone, he wasn't to blame. But yet, why did he feel so uncomfortable? He could sense her hatred for him; it wasn't that difficult. But he didn't like it; he didn't want her to hate him. He wasn't sure if that was something he could handle.
Just then the soft sound of squishing cushions came to his ears. He turned to see the drenched Eponine sitting on the couch with the towel in her hands. She stared down at her lap, her expression unreadable.
"Why did you do that?" She whispered, her voice mixed with anger and sadness.
His tensed a bit as he stared down at her, his hands curling into fists, his expression still hard and unfeeling, "Because you have no reason to be out there."
"But I can't stay here if I don't have money to pay you." She replied.
Enjolras frowned again, his frustration had reached its peak, "I don't want your money!"
She jumped a little, and her eyes shot up to meet his. He could see that his face, heated and enraged, frightened her. He pointed to the money she had left for him from previous nights, "I haven't touched the money you gave me! I don't want it Eponine! More importantly, I don't want you doing this to yourself anymore. I took you in to keep you away from the whore house, not to allow you to continue this horrid life!"
He breathed deeply, trying to control his anger and frustration as he stared at her. Was she trembling? What did it matter; yelling was the only way to get her to listen and understand how he felt. Sighing, he ran his hand through his curly, blond locks, closed his eyes and turned away from her. "You aren't some ruthless whore Eponine. I've never seen you that way. Whatever worthiness you've been attempting to achieve, you have always been worthy. You're good enough for whatever you want." This he told her without facing her as his head was turned slightly to the side.
However, she gave him no retort, no crude remark as he expected. But he waited nonetheless, for something. For anything. For the first time in his life, he allowed himself to succumb to vulnerability. It discomforted him. Say something. Do something. Anything. Just make this feeling go away.
Gentle arms wrapped around him from behind, her hands on his chest, and the side of her face pressed against his shoulder blade as she held him. Enjolras stiffened, unprepared for Eponine's tender act. But he couldn't say he didn't enjoy her embrace. All of his anger and frustration melted away in her arms. Although she was still wet and even soaking his clothes-which he didn't mind-he could feel the heat radiating from her body; he was relishing it. She muttered an apology, promising not to return to the brothel again, and Enjolras relaxed. Instead of speaking, he reached his right hand up to lace his fingers with hers. He could feel her press herself closer to him; she held him for what seemed minutes, and he didn't want her to let him go.
He then turned to face her and took her hand in his. He could see a glint of melancholy in her eyes which in turn caused his heart to ache; he kept it masked behind his marble face. He warped his arm around the small of her back, and he rested his chin on her head as she laid hers against his chest, staring at his raised hand that laced and wrapped around hers. Her scent was fresh and clean, rain, and to him, she was beautiful.
"I never knew dear Apollo had such a loving side." Eponine said sweetly.
His eyes lightened at the nickname, "I'm capable of quite a few things Eponine."
Inwardly, Enjolras was smiling, and he hoped that she was too.
That night he invited her to his bed, having no desire to sleep alone now that he felt her warmth. He didn't want to be without it. So within the blankets she pressed herself against him, her face buried in his chest, wrapping her leg over his, and he held her close in his strong arms, the pair feeding off each other's heat. He pressed his lips against the top of her head, resting there, listening to her soft breathing. Neither said a word to each other, captivated by the silence. And as they slowly drifted to sleep, Enjolras did not question his actions or the newfound, unfamiliar feelings he had for Eponine. For once he allowed himself to let go and enjoy the comfort of these new feelings and emotions. With Eponine beside him, in his arms, his sleep was so placid. The great Apollo was human and happy.