I want you
Eyes meet across the cafe,brown orbs locked with those of stormy blue. He is standing upon the sturdiest table that les Amis could find and is mid speech,ranting on in an impassioned haze about social injustice. She is leaning against the wall,arms folded,a smirk on her lips as she takes him in. Even from a distance he can invade her senses. His pretty words fill up her ears and she computes them slowly,chewing over the words that she has heard come from his sculpted lips so many times before. She recalls each and every word that he has ever muttered to her.
She smiles at the memory of him stark naked and standing infront of a looking glass practicing his latest speech as she lay behind him on the bed,wrapped only in his red sheets,her chocolate hair billowing onto the pillows and reaching out across the bed like shadows. Later he would return to the bed,his golden crown beside hers on the pillow allowing sunlight and shadows to mix as they discussed and edited his referendums. He would contemplate Latin phrases and she would shoot him down,reminding him that the poor cared little for dead languages of the past.
His fingers would brush through her hair as he lay silent beside her before he finally conceeded to her opinion,knowing that she tended to be right on matters of the poor. She always seemed to have her finger right on the pulse. She could read the streets like a book and he would listen, her eager student. Sometimes,when she needed to,she would talk. She would empty her heart of her burdens. Discuss trivial matters. Matters of the heart and heartbreak. Of childhood traumas and dreams of a future. Hopeless dreams,she had declared but he vehemently disagreed.
He disagreed with her apparently hopeless future and somehow he always managed to rekindle her hope. Theirs was a mutual bond but a largely unspoken one. Declarations of love were unheard off. They were after all creatures of action. Ironic due to his occupation as chief rebel and impassioned public speaker but true nonetheless. After all, why would he build a barricade if he didn't believe to some degree that actions spoke louder than words? And Eponine herself had always felt that love was an emotion to be felt not spoken. But maybe that was just because it had been so long since the words were spoken that she had forgotten their power.
Together they edited,rearranged and reconstructed his words into seamless speeches before leisurely redressing,basking in the nameless emotions that consumed and defined them. And then they parted until they inevitably collided once more, always confident that they would find their way back into each others arms.
I want you so bad
He finally stepped down from the table,discussing pamphlets and protests with Les Amis as he passed through the crowd. Eponine had left her position against the wall and now sat with Grantaire at the bar but her gaze had not left his. She was unable to draw her eyes away and she could feel the sparks that threatened to consume them, her pulse quickening but her face a steady mask. They were good at wearing masks but they were even better at reading each other. And through the crowd Enjolras' eyes traced her figure, an internal sigh of appreciation for her petite, softly curved body and her prominently dimpled cheeks. Eponine herself wore a satisfied little smirk and she bit her lip to prevent a sigh from escaping. Many teased that the leader of Les Amis de L'ABC was sculpted by God himself and Eponine couldn't help but agree. Previously, Eponine had worried that with her background and her poverty ruined appearance that she could never stand by his side. That a relationship between them could never work because despite her pride,she knew that she was not what he deserved. But he himself had declared that she was more than he deserved. In fact, he informed her that she was what he wanted. And staring now into his stormy eyes, she had great confidence that his words were true.
It was as if they could sense the mutual need and Eponine was about to stand and meet him half way when he was interrupted by Combeferre, who insisted upon showing him the latest pamphlets that Grantaire had drawn up for them in one of his brief sober spells. Despite his cynical nature and overall lack of interest in anything but alcohol, Grantaire was a talented artist who always seemed to put 100% effort into every piece. His art was truly beautiful and his tortured soul artworks seemed to genuinely reflect the plight of the poor that Les Amis were fighting for. Jehan of course,had been tasked to write a simplified yet powerful version of Enjolras' general ideas for the pamphlet so that the ideals of Liberté, Égalité and Fraternité could reach out to all of society and allow their fight for change to take flight. Enjolras looked upon the pamphlets and gave Combeferre a nod of approval as Eponine rolled her eyes and sat back in her barstool. Knowing him as she did she knew that it would be quite some time before they would be alone. Afterall, when it concerned his beloved Patria, Enjolras was nothing but committed.
It was almost amazing how fast Enjolras was able to turn off his emotions when revolution was brought up. Afterall, it was that very talent that had earned him the nickname 'the marble man'. So named after his cool ability to change temperament with a flick of a switch whenever the winds of revolution caught him and to never bat an eyelid at the giggling bourgeoisie girls who he passed on the street. Eponine knew better than to judge him now though. She sometimes felt like she had an intimate knowledge of the way that he ticked. How things worked inside that beautiful yet terrible blonde head of his. The marble man did feel. In fact, he felt so intensely that he had to reign in his feelings more than those around him otherwise he would scream his every thought and feeling to the heavens and achieve nothing at the end of the day.
It's driving me mad,
Hours had passed since Combeferre had distracted Enjolras with pamphlets and discussions of revolution and the hour had turned late. It was now midnight in Paris and Enjolras was hunched over a map marking out barricades and the routes between each of them which would allow the leaders of each barricade to travel in between to attain more supplies if needed and to discuss how the odds were looking. Many of the Amis had left for their apartments hours ago and Marius had begged Eponine to help him locate the logings of a bourgeoisie angel who had captured his eye and his heart. So far this angel was nameless and Marius had not spoken a word to her. He had simply sighted her earlier in the day on Rue de la Chanvrerie whilst Eponine and the bourgeosie girls' companion had been caught up in a commotion with the Patron-Minette and Inspector Javert.
Enjolras had understood this to be the essence of the encounter and had blatantly ignored the rest of Marius' speech as it had basically been centred around his 'loves' big blue eyes that were like the sky and her dazzling smile that was now his very reason for existing. Enjolras could understand caring for another person-Eponine was living proof of his Patria and Enjolras found that he cared deeply for her well being. Infact he cared so much that he was leading a revolution with the intention of improving her well being and that of the thousands of starving citizens of France. However, he could not for the life of him figure out the concept of love at first sight. And thus, he deemed Marius to be insane and asked Joly to check him over to insure his sanity. Afterall, Enjolras really could not have Marius at the barricades if he was so unstable. He would be risking the safety of his friends and the success of his revolution if he did so.
Of course, Eponine had heard him state to Marius that love was insanity and that none of les Amis had the time for it. Especially not with the dawn of the revolution so close at hand. It was after Gavroche,with the help of Courfeyrac,declared Lemarque to be dead that the tension in the room was oddly broken as Eponine pointedly ignored him and dragged Marius out of the cafe to look for his beloved without a second glance. He watched her go with a heavy heart and briefly considered whether or not he had said the wrong thing before Bahorel beckoned his attention to discuss weapons. However, despite his focus upon the barricades the sad glare of Eponine lingered in the back of his mind and refused to go away. How unsurprising that the Eponine in his head was just as stubborn as the reality.
It's driving me me mad
She slipped back into the cafe, damp from the rain and casting shadows in the candle light over the table on which he sat. He had been lost in thought. His mind a haze of barricades,blood,glory but above all her. His head tilted up to look at her and he caught her wringing her hair with her nimble fingers, the matted brown locks covering her face like a shield. Slowly, hand rose to push her hair from her face. It was an unconscious action. He had not meant to do it. But they were like magnets and he was always drawn to her. She paused in her actions, allowing him to cast aside her shield and to see her weakness. The blossoming bruise upon her temple caused by her father in his fury. Proof that she wasn't as invincible as she often led people to believe.
He sucked in a breath through gritted teeth, momentarily allowing his anger to flood his senses before he stood up from his seat. Her eyes followed him and betrayed her silent hurt. The pain from her beating and the anguish from his careless dismissal of love. Causing her pain was not what Enjolras had ever wished to do, but he was a man of his word. A man of conviction. And so he would not explain himself with words, but with his heart. Stormy blue eyes willed her to understand and to accept his silent apology and after five minutes Eponine's tense posture began to ease. Her body accepting his silent apology even when she could not will herself to do so with words.
Usually, their disagreements would go on for days, they were afterall passionate, stubborn people. But tonight they let it go, each secretly knowing that this night could be their last. That come morning all hell would break loose as the French rose again, the blood of revolution feverish in their veins. And history always dictated that from rebellion came blood. Whether that be the blood of the enemy or the blood of the martyrs. His hands softly probed her head and she allowed a silent hiss to escape from her lips before she pulled him to her, dragging him down by his golden curls, their mouths colliding in a clash of teeth,tongue and lips. In return his hands found their way to her hips, yanking her ever closer to him, his passion not allowing for there to be even the smallest amount of distance between their bodies. And somehow, long after the candle had burnt out they found their way to his apartment. To his bed with the infamous red sheets. And their in the shadows of the night colour of desire took over.
She's so heavy
Enjolras had poured so much of his soul into his dream of revolution and so naturally he had taken upon himself the role of leader. He had to be strong and he absolutely could not crack or falter under the pressure of his insignificant fears. He feared that he was leading his friends to their death and whilst he knew that there was always going to have to be sacrifices along the road to change, he didn't necessarily want his friends to pay the price with their lives.
And those were the thoughts that plagued him at 3am on the morning of Lamarques funeral. Those terrible thoughts that had snuck in through the cracks in the marble. Broken through his defences just like Eponine had so many months the ago. And just like Eponine they had broken him without him even realising it. They had rooted themselves into his consciousness without a warning and now they were wrecking him, tearing at his nerves and bringing to the forefront his worst fears. The fear that the people wouldn't rise. That he was leading his friends to their deaths. The fear that France would never change and that he was fighting for a lost cause. That he would inevitably lose his life for a lost cause.
Never had Enjolras felt so vulnerable than that morning at 3am when Eponine woke quietly from her slumber and held his head to her chest as their roles were reversed. As he for once discussed his fears and laid himself entirely bare to her. And she listened with out judging him, without even commenting when he allowed a tear to fall from his eye and roll down his sculpted cheeks. Eponine was no stranger to tears. She had seen grown men cry before. She could recall with perfect clarity the day that her very own father cried ugly wretched sobs when they lost their inn. Believe it or not but he had adored that inn more so than any old stolen trinket from the street. And she could remember the cries of her brothers when the hunger had gotten too much for their tiny little stomachs. Forever imprinted into her memory was the day of Montparnasses' first kill. When a lonely tear fell and streaked his dirt smudged face as he stared upon his bloodstained hands before the rain washed it away and he looked upon her with changed eyes. "Rain will make the flowers grow, 'Ponine." He said simply as his innocence was forever stolen from his eyes and all remnants of the boy that she knew were stripped away and replaced with the bitter shell of a dead man walking.
She caught the tear with her fingertip and traced it over his lips as he slowly regained his infamous control and began to harden into the marble man once more. He laid a small, loving kiss of thanks to her brow and she smiled in return as they sat for hours and discussed the possibilities of a life after the barricades until the sun began to rise. And then they sat side by side on the bed, arms wrapped around each other tightly as the dawn began to bleed in through the window and bathe them in its light. He looked at her and no longer saw a shadow. Now he could only see her fire. Here in the light of the dawn he took in the sight of her with his wearied eyes and simply sighed. She was blissfully unaware of his gaze as she gazed out of the window upon the sight of an awakening Paris and he smiled as he felt his fears lighten. She had taken some of the burden from his shoulders and put him at ease. Calmed his soul and reminded him of his cause without even saying a word.
"You're my Patria."he whispered to her, a blush upon his face yet the words were spoken with utter conviction.
"I love you too, Apollo." And with that they finished off watching the world dawn, the burden of revolution far from their minds as they enjoyed each others company for the last time.
She's so...
Authors Note: firstly, I don't own Les Miserables, the characters involved in this fic or the song I Want You (She's So Heavy) by the Beatles. I wish that I could own these beautiful things but I can't, which is sad but oh well... Life goes on I guess...anyway, dear E/É haters,please do not hate my fic because you don't like the ship. I personally ship many couples in the fandom, including E/R so I guess I'm just saying why can't we all just get along and appreciate the beauty of Les Miserables like one big happy family? Beyond the barricades of ship war is a world I long to see. This fic was inspired by the aforementioned totally awesome Beatles song and I kind of feel like writing more Beatles inspired E/É fics in the future, but I'll see because its exam time and I'm extremely busy trying not to fail my science exams :) anyway please read and review because I would love to hear thoughts on the potential for my Beatles Enjonine in the future. I have a tumblr account called TheLittlestLexie but because I'm largely tumblr confused, it's probably not going to be that interesting so if anyone would like to give me advice on how to use tumblr I would be much obliged...im rambling so I'll keep it short, thank you for reading to anyone who does read this long labour of love. Now I'm off to finish an essay on Of Mice and Men...bye, love from Lexie