A/N: Thank you for all your reviews and follows, they seriously made my day. You don't even know how happy I got when I saw people actually liked this.
This chapter took a few days cos it was a pain to write, but I saw it as a necessary evil. I actually kinda like the direction I took it in by the end, but it was like typing through syrup to get started. I'm hoping now is when it can pick up. Enjolras is a little OOC in some parts, I know, but I figured if I didn't let him loosen up just a little for thirty seconds we'd never get anywhere with this, and Modern!Enjolras probably would be slightly more lenient than an Enjolras living among peasants literally dying in the streets. I was going to stick with a mostly Eponine centred from the third person, but it occasionally drifts into hinting at some other characters thoughts. If anyone asks about the mixed lingo/spellings, it's a result of being a Brit in the US for 2/3 of my life and of spellcheck changing all my words to the American spellings. So don't get confused that I say sweater and then colour.
"This is just embarrassing," Éponine mumbled to herself as she dug through her closet. Cosette was urging her to look nice, but what nice things did she have? Stained clothes from thrift shops and charities, some very, very used hand-me-downs, and none of it had been washed in days or weeks. Admittedly, she had showered, so that counted as effort. She didn't have water because her landlord was a jackass who couldn't wait one more bloody day for his rent and cut her off for the week, but Cosette let her use the shower at her flat, and even blow-dried her hair for her. Éponine suspected she was still trying to get close to her, despite spending nearly every day together for the past week. But no matter how clean her hair was, she was still stuck with looking like a slob.
What do I care if I look bad? she thought. I'm just hanging out with the guys at Musain. It's not like Marius is gonna magically leave Cosette for you cos you put on a skirt.
She was lying if she said no part of her held on to that belief, she knew that, but she hated herself every minute for it. Time to move on, 'Ponine, time to move on.
With a sigh of defeat, she dragged out her favourite black sweater. At least with black you couldn't see the stains. The thinly-knitted garment clung to her well, and left just a strip of tanned skin exposed between the hem and the waistband of her jeans. She laced her boots up to her mid-calf, hoping the thick rubber soles and peeling toe didn't reveal their age. If there was one thing Éponine hated, it was being pitied, even from afar.
She made an attempt at dabbing concealer under her eyes and on any bruises that could show. She had nearly perfected the art- by the time she was done with her makeup, you could hardly see the signs of her misery even upon close inspection. With a final huff, she left the shithole she called a flat and made her way down to the bar.
"'Ponine!" exclaimed a familiar -and slurred- voice. Éponine looked up to see Marius's grinning face coming towards her, arms extended in greeting. Without warning, he grabbed her hand and swung her in a circle, bumping her into several people around her. She couldn't help the laugh that bubbled from her throat.
"You're drunk, Pontmercy," she told him with a smirk as he let her go.
"Isn't that the point?" he asked, taking another bottle off someone she didn't recognise. He disappeared back into the crowd with a "WOO!" at no one in particular.
"I am so sorry," laughed Cosette as she came out to Éponine's side. "Grantaire…well, he showed up and this happened."
Éponine smiled. "It's fine, I get it. Grantaire will be Grantaire. Keep an eye on Marius, though, you know how he can get when he drinks."
She pushed herself through the crowd, a small smile staying on her lips as her friends whooped and hollered around her, swinging drinks and falling over. She was glad they were having fun, they deserved it. Apparently that barista of theirs had been working them like dogs with this North Korean human rights protest, and this was their first chance at actually enjoying themselves in weeks. Cosette had been moaning about how she hadn't seen Marius at all.
Finally she came out the other end, or rather tripped out, a giggle slipping out of her as she grabbed herself on the sofa.
"Do you mind? I'm trying to work."
A feeling of dread arose in Éponine as she recognised the voice. Him.
"I'm sorry that I offended you with my happiness," she sneered, sarcasm dripping so thickly off her words it was nearly visible.
Barista Boy rolled his eyes dramatically, then continued on with his work. He was sitting on the red velvet sofa in the back corner of the room, legs relaxed on the rickety coffee table in front of him, ankles crossed. He had his computer on his lap, and he was typing feverishly, brow furrowed in concentration. His slender fingers danced over the keys, flying faster than she'd ever seen anyone typed. She watched him for a few seconds, somewhat enthralled by the way he stuck out the tip of his tongue as he worked, the way he could snap in and out of his trance so easily.
"So is there a reason you're so rude to everyone?" Éponine asks, knowing that the question will only anger him yet asking anyway. Marius had always told her that she never knew when to stop talking.
The incessant typing stopped, his slender fingers frozen above the keys. Slowly he raised his eyes to her, annoyance radiating from his every pore.
"Because I dislike being interrupted when I'm actually trying to do something of importance," he sneered, but didn't return to his screen. His eyes remained locked with hers; jaw clenched like iron, hair falling carelessly into his eyes, muscles frozen solid.
"You got a name?" Éponine asked, taking the seat across from him uncaringly.
"Enjolras," he responded blankly, fingertips still hovering above the keys; not quite engaging, yet not quite cutting her out.
He was perhaps the only person who came close to looking as tired as Éponine. Bags hung thickly under his eyes and a shadow was spreading across his chin; the unnatural tremor to his movement showed the telltale signs of energy drinks. Everything about him, from his severe posture to the way he clipped his words, revealed a man more straight-laced than any Éponine had ever met. He was dressed cleanly, with a light-blue button-down shirt with the sleeves rolled carefully up to his elbows, each side a perfect mirror of the other, and a pair of dark blue jeans that looked expensive. Still, he had a disheveled appearance, the look of a man who saw sleep as a nuisance and an interruption. Everything about him screamed business.
She was about to ask him another question when Grantaire burst into the room. "Éponine!" he exclaimed, empty bottle of wine in one hand and a corkscrew in the other. His eyes had the wide, wild look of, well, trademark drunk Grantaire. The stench of alcohol on him could be smelt from across the room, his hair flew in every direction. His shirt was partially unbuttoned and an unhealthy enthusiastic smile spread across his face. Éponine gave him a smile, but moved away when he went to hug her. She knew by now to keep her distance.
"Hooow did you get 'im to stahp wehrkin?" he slurred, staring wide-eyed at Enjolras's frozen frame. "He nevrr stops wzrking. Dis wun time, we wurr-"
"-Grantaire," Enjolras interjected sharply, head snapping up to look at his friend. "Don't you think it's time I take you home?"
The finality in his tone made it very clear that Grantaire had little choice in the matter.
"I'm sure he can take care of himself," Éponine countered, turning to look at Enjolras. Something about him made her desperate to challenge him, to push him, and she found herself staring into his eyes with a copy of his condescending smirk. "Let him have a little fun."
Grantaire cocked his head and smiled at her with pressed together lips, causing his cheeks to puff out like a child. "Ay love you Pony."
"I love you too, as long as you never call me Pony again."
"You don't know him like I do. I know when he needs to stop," Enjolras insisted, looking at his friend with disapproval. With a heavy sigh, Enjolras rose from his seat on the sofa and towards Grantaire. "Come on, you old drunk," he muttered as he slid an arm around him to keep him steady. "Time to get you back home before you do something stupid."
Éponine could have sworn she saw him whisper "or someone" under his breath. Suppressing a smile, she got up from her chair as well, sliding towards the two boys.
"Please, let me help," she offered earnestly. "I'm not having any fun here anyway."
He looked at her suspiciously for a few moments before mumbling a reluctant "fine." She followed him out to his car, wrapping Grantaire's arm around her shoulders to help keep him steady. They slowly laid him down in the backseat, strapping him down as best they could with the seat belts so he wouldn't hurt himself.
"Do I know you?" Enjolras asked her casually as they began to drive. "You seem to be holding a grudge against me."
"Well, you did act like a shithead to me this morning," she explained. "All I wanted was coffee, you know."
Realisation spread across his face after several moments, smoothing the confused wrinkle between his eyebrows. "You were the girl holding up my line."
"Holding up your line? I took three seconds!"
"You couldn't take your eyes off your phone!"
"Because-" Éponine started angrily, nearly spitting out the truth before catching herself. "I had something important to keep track of," she explained calmly, relaxing back into her seat. Enjolras raised a curious eyebrow, but asked no further questions on the matter.
"I've seen you before, though," he continued, somewhat intentionally changing the subject. "You look familiar."
A light blush spread across Éponine's cheeks. Of course he recognised her. Before she even talked to Marius, she would find excuses to be wherever his friends went, lurking in the corners of Musain, watching from afar. Once they became friends, she still hung around, but not nearly as much for fear of him seeing her and asking why she was there. She had hoped no one had noticed her.
"I'm Marius's friend," she murmured, not quite sure why she has as embarrassed as she was.
"Éponine, I gather," Enjolras stated flatly, looking over at her from the corner of his eye. She returned a simple nod.
The rest of the car ride was silent for all but Grantaire's snoring. Enjolras and Éponine formed a comfortable silence; a mutual agreement of peace between them, perfectly possible to break but without reason to. They pulled up to Grantaire's building, helped him up and to his flat, and continued back down together with few words between them.
"I live close to here," Éponine lied hurriedly as he opened the passenger door for her. "I can walk home."
Please don't ask where I live, please please please don't try and be a gentlemen, she internally pleaded, wanting to save herself the humiliation. She knew men like him. Once she found out what kind of neighbourhood she was living in, he'd be Enjolras to the Rescue of the poor, innocent Éponine. The very last thing she wanted from anybody.
Mercifully unquestioning, Enjolras shrugged off the response and climbed alone into the sleek vehicle, leaving Éponine on the pavement. Through the window, she could see him morph back into the Enjolras she stumbled upon in Musain. Now free of distractions, his game face was back. Éponine smiled to herself at the ease of his transition as she started the mile and a half walk home.
Hope you guys liked this. If you want to see a certain character/couple/whatever, feel free to leave a review saying "Oh can you add in some E/R drama" or whatever, I'm always 100% open to it. Thanks!