I am aware that I just posted a chapter and a note explaining that I haven't been keeping up due to my horrid amount of school work now that Spring Holiday is over, but I suppose the writing bug just bit me today. Was thinking about uploading this tomorrow, but I might as well do it today. I hope you enjoy :)

Chapter 10

"What was that?" Eponine slammed the door behind her as she stormed into Enjolras's flat. She found him sitting with his head in his hands, a book beneath his elbows but his eyes closed.

"Don't start, Eponine," he said softly.

"You said you'd talk to him, not break his heart!" she yelled, dropping her shawl on the coat rack and stomping over to the boy.

Enjolras looked up at her. His eyes were worn and tired, his hair matted where he had been gripping it. A bottle of rum sat half full beside him on the table. Even the candle looked beaten, nearly burnt out but still flickering on. Eponine softened her tone.

"He loves you,"

Enjolras looked lost.

"What am I supposed to say to that?" he asked, shaking his head.

"Not that he should go home and sober up," Eponine sat down at the table and took a drink from the boy's bottle. It had been a long night.

After Enjolras left the Café Musain, Grantaire had stood motionless save for his trembling hands. Eponine got up and put her arms around him, leading him back to their seats.

"Are you alright?" she asked. He shook his head mutely. "He'll be back,"

"No he won't," Grantaire mouthed, unable to produce anymore sound. Eponine began to rebuke, but stopped herself. She knew he was right. The marble lover of liberty had no mistress. He was stone, like the pavement he walked on, and could not be bought by tears and drunken promises.

"Do you want to leave?" she asked. The entire café was still watching them, unsure of what to do. Grantaire nodded and followed the girl out the door, into the black Paris night.

The two wandered amongst the streets and alleyways, no particular destination in mind. They very seldom spoke, but occasionally Eponine would voice a concern or ask the man a question. There was never an answer. He simply walked, shoulders back and head held high, legs stiff and fists clenched. His eyes stayed fixed ahead, never wavering. Eventually, they had walked circles around the city for so long that they had returned to the bakery above which Enjolras resided.

"You should go up," Grantaire said, his first sentence of the night.

"Will you be okay?" Eponine wasn't excited about the idea of returning to the scholar's flat. She was so angry at him that she wasn't sure if she could handle sleeping in the same room, let alone the same cot.

"I'll be fine. I'll see you tomorrow. Thanks for everything, 'Ponine," he turned to go without so much as a glance at the girl. She watched his heavy steps all the way down the street until he turned and disappeared from sight.

Reluctantly, Eponine passed through the bakery and up the stairs, all the while thinking about what Enjolras had done to Grantaire. He was so harsh to someone so sweet and undeserving. Surely alcohol couldn't redeem the boy's words. You can still feel when you're drunk.

Now, Enjolras seemed so unlike himself. He was sad and confused and not at all the stone statue she had been prepared to scold. She could hear his shaky breaths slipping in and out of his lips.

"Why are you so cruel to him?" she asked.

"I want to change the world, Eponine. He wants to drink wine and fantasize about things that hold no meaning. There is no reason for us to be kind to each other,"

"Tomorrow, he will fight alongside you, though he does not believe in the cause. He will fight because he believes in you, Enjolras. Is that not reason enough?" she tilted her head so that she could look into the boy's eyes. He clenched his jaw.

"I cannot be held responsible for his actions merely because he fancies me,"

"Could you love him?" Eponine asked bluntly.

"No," Enjolras glowered then softened, lowering his eyes. "Not in the way that he means," The candle finally burnt out and the two sat silently in the dark without acknowledging the change. There seemed to be a lot of this unreciprocated love going around. How unfair life truly was, Eponine thought. To pine after someone and have no chance at all. It made the whole thing seem like a waste.

"I suppose you can't be strayed from your Patria," she sighed.

"That's not it," he muttered.

"What, then?"

"He's right. I will probably die tomorrow,"

"Enjolras..." the girl started.

"Let me finish. I will probably die tomorrow," the boy said coolly. "But I will be dying for something that I know is right. France must be freed, and if my blood is what will free it than I'll submit. But I will not make ties that do not need to be made when I will be gone so shortly. He asked me to stay, and I cannot. I must fight,"

"But if you weren't going to die. If the rebellion were not an object?" Eponine pressed.

"I still would not love Grantaire," Eponine couldn't see the blonde's face very well, but the icy light of the moon revealed just enough for her to know that he was deep in thought.

"Would you love at all?"

His ghostly features rose to stare Eponine in the eye.

"Yes, I should think I would," Suddenly, the girl's face burned and her pulse quickened. What are you doing, Eponine? This is stupid. This is Enjolras.

"Oh?" the sound slipped from her lips like liquid. A chill danced about her shoulders.

"I should think…I should think I would love you, Eponine,"

Silence. The room felt slanted, the air seemed frigid and the wood beneath the girl suddenly felt too weak to hold her. This couldn't be happening. The absence of light was playing tricks on her ears. Men didn't love Eponine. They used her and they befriended her, but they did not love her. It was an emotion she was all too used to feeling but hardly aware of reciprocating. And yet Enjolras had made her heart stutter, her hands shake. How could she ignore the tugs in her stomach as he looked at her sheepishly, awaiting her response?

"Me, Monsieur?" she whispered.

"Forgive me, I did not mean to make you uncomfortable…" he ran a hand through his blonde curls, as he so often did.

"No, I…I would like to have loved you, too," the truth of the words relieved her. The nights spent curled in his arms, the evenings watching his fiery lips speak of revolution, the afternoons eyeing him as he studied, they all had meant much more than Eponine had let herself believe. She had been so fixed on Marius that she had ignored the skipped heart beats and happy sensations she experienced around the student's leader. And now, it appeared it was too late.

Eponine watched a small smile play at the corners of the boy's lips.

"It's a shame I'll be leaving tomorrow," he said lightly.

Eponine shrank in her seat. The way he spoke so surely of his death was spine tingling. How could he be so ready to give up his life?

"We both will," she replied.

"You don't mean…Eponine, surely you can't think that I'm going to let you behind the barricades?"

The girl narrowed her eyebrows.

"Of course, why wouldn't you? I've been to all the meetings! I'm un ami de l'ABC, just like the rest of you!" she cried.

"It's far too dangerous," Enjolras said shortly.

"You're positive that you're going to die and you're telling me that it's too dangerous? I want to fight for my country, too. I want to fall for France!" she stood, pushing her chair forcefully behind her.

"Eponine, I am not going to let you die," he stood so that he was a good foot taller than her. She straightened herself and looked up at him defiantly.

"Then I'm not going to let you die," she returned. The man chuckled. Eponine noticed the stubble upon his chin, the smooth pastel glow of the moon on his cheeks, the strong line of his nose and the watery blue of his eyes as they looked softly down at hers. There was so much of this man that she wanted to fall in love with. She stood, simply looking, for a long time.

Before Eponine could stop herself, she heard words protruding from her own vocal box.

"May I kiss you?"

Enjolras searched her eyes for a moment, allowing her vulnerability to sift a bit before leaning down and placing his lips on hers.

It was unlike anything Eponine had ever felt before. It was true, she had been kissed a number of times. The majority were by men who were too drunk to realize she wasn't a prostitute, or that she didn't want to be kissed. Grantaire's addition to her experiences was not unwanted but not particularly romantic, either. It was frantic and chaotic, much like his feelings had been that night. But this, this was much different. It was sweet and loose, like honey. As Enjolras took her head in his hands and pressed himself against her, the girl realized that this was the first time she had kissed someone of her own accord.

Enjolras traced the line of her lips with his tongue. Breathlessly, she allowed it to slip inside and search for hers, their kisses growing more fervent with every passing second. Soon, his hands were traveling the length of her back, hers wrapped solidly around his neck. The man tugged on the string at the back of her corset and worked to unlace it, letting it drop to the floor along with her dress. Left only in her petticoats, Eponine lifted the boy's shirt above his head and placed her hands on his chest, continuing to press her lips against his.

Enjolras picked the girl up and placed her on the cot. His hips pressed her gently into the blankets, causing a slight gasp to escape her lips. She had not realized how pleasant kissing could be. In all of its forced chaos, it had never occurred to her that a man could make her this happy. She had always known that Enjolras was strong and passionate, but it was only now that his firm muscles were pressed against her abdomen and his full lips massaged hers that she realized the two characteristics were not meant only for war and freedom. They were meant to be reveled in, loved. They were meant to be intertwined with soft skin and capable hands that were curious but not intruding. They were meant to be excited by tenderness as much as liberty, and Eponine loved to oblige.

Apart, they were crooked Parisians looking for something more from life than another day of not dying. Together, they were perfect. Eponine's fierce nature complemented Enjolras's tried patience. His temper rebounded off of her sweet understanding. They were both leaders in themselves, which made giving up so much greater. As they kissed, they did just that; they gave up. Tomorrow would bring death and destruction, but tonight was still tonight and it had not been stolen from them yet. So they cast away all ideas of strength and let themselves love, a task that no one else could have subjected them to.

Eventually, Enjolras rolled over to the other side of the cot and lay with his arms around the girl, their breathing falling into rhythm with each other.

"What are we going to do about tomorrow?" Enjolras whispered.

"I suppose we'll just have to try not to die,"

"I can't force you to stay here, then," the man said, defeated.

"Afraid not," Eponine smiled into the darkness and clutched at the scholar's back. "We'll fight together,"

"Together," he agreed, and buried his face in her hair. The two slept as they had countless nights before, entangled in each others' embrace. Tonight was different, though. Tonight, they were happy.