Only she told him that she loved him.
It had toppled from her lips in the early morning hours after a long night. Not that kind of night, mind you. He had been wounded badly at the barricades, found only mere minutes before his inevitable death. She had been too late to save her beloved Marius, too late to join him in heaven. Had fought just like she had done all her life. Against Montparnasse so he would let her go. But she had been too late for Marius.
But she hadn't been too late for him. She had found the man, saved him. Had brought him to a small place which was nothing more than a cold and slightly damp shed. He had never complained though. It would probably result in an infection, he would probably die. Rightfully so. He should've died. Every night he lay wide awake, wishing he was dead. Wishing Grantaire hadn't died for nothing, wishing he could've been there for Jehan. Even wishing he would've saved Marius, so that lovesick fool could be with his Cosette.
Every night he lay wide awake and every night she would scold him for it. Éponine slept right next to him on the petty excuse of a mattress. Every night she would insist he'd take the thin rug she called a blanket and every night he refused, argued and lost the argument. Every night he eventually fell asleep from exhaustion, pain, and his fever.
Not this night though. This particular night he lay wide awake long after she was asleep already. It rarely happened. She always made sure he slept before she allowed herself to get some rest. But her day had been rough and her night even more so. She worked, what exactly he didn't know and never bothered to ask. He only knew he had missed her presence throughout the day, her cold hands on his burning forehead, the way she always cupped his face and pressed a soft kiss to his nose when he was on the verge of falling asleep. Even their banter and her slightly cocky, sarcastic attitude. He had missed it, even though he would never admit it out loud.
In the middle of the night she woke up, startled, breathing shallow and quick. Enjolras didn't know why, couldn't explain it but her sounds, the fear in her dark eyes pained him more than his gun wound ever could. He had reached out to her cautiously as to not scare her even more. Had placed his hand on her knee. He couldn't make out much; the moonlight didn't quite illuminate the whole shed. But he saw enough to see her expression change, to see her relax under his touch.
"I love you", she said, quickly and fearlessly.
It had been the first time someone had ever told him these words. Only she had said them to him. And only hers counted.
