You been kneelin' in the dark for far too long
You've been waitin' for that spark, but it hasn't come
Well I'm callin' to you, please, get off the floor
A good heart will find you again

-Glen Hansard, Bird of Sorrow

Éponine awoke the next day to discover that most of the boys had moved back into her bedroom. Jehan was curled at her feet, and Bahorel lay across the doorway, which could be painful if anyone suddenly ran in. Four of them had created a domino of sleeping heads on stomachs; Bossuet was on Feuilly, Musichetta was on Bossuet, and Joly was on Musichetta. She would've been furious at their return had it not been for the sleep Gavroche that had somehow wrapped himself in her arms. Éponine could hear him snoring lightly and she squeezed him. She hadn't ever seen him lie so still before; even when he slept, he was usually squirming around, dreaming about whatever prank he would pull next.

She slid her arm out from underneath her brother. He grumbled a little but didn't wake. She tiptoed over Jehan and the domino-line of her friends, then shoved Bahorel out of the way with her foot. Him, she wasn't worried about waking. Her legs beneath her were weak and shaking, but she didn't want to stay in the bedroom. Her head, however, was pounding, and she had to steady herself against the wall.

She had made it two steps outside her door before she knew she had to lie back down. Unfortunately, her couch was being occupied by four others: Enjolras, Grantaire, Courfeyrac, and Combeferre. Even in her delirious state, she did note that Marius wasn't there, but she didn't expect him to be.

I could just lie down on the floor... The floor was hard and cold, which was presumably why the boys were piled onto the couch. No. If they're going to be invading my personal space, then I'm going to do the same.

If she had the energy, she would have yelled at them, then dragged them out of her apartment by their shirt collars. But she was too tired, and if she didn't lie down, she would fall asleep standing up.

If one could flop onto a couch in an aggressive manner, that's what Éponine did. Then she dug her elbows into Grantaire and her hipbone into Courfeyrac. She kicked Combeferre in the knee, although not hard, since she found him to be the least obnoxious of the four. Still, she couldn't let the invasion go unpunished. Lastly, she stretched out her arm to punch Enjolras in the ribs, passing it off as a yawn.

"Christ—"

"What the—"

"Ugh—"

"Get the hell out of my house or shut up," Éponine mumbled.

"Éponine! You're awake!" Courfeyrac said, at a volume too high for the morning.

The girl adjusted her knee so it jabbed his spleen, but the student was too thrilled by the girl's consciousness to care.

"How are you feeling?" Combeferre asked. Éponine's eyes were shut, so she couldn't see him, but she could tell he wasn't exactly awake either.

"How am I feeling?" she repeated. "I'm feeling like there are a bunch of assholes sitting on my couch and preventing me from sleeping."

"You sound like yourself," Grantaire said.

"That's because I am myself. Everyone just freaked out. I'm fine." That was a lie. She was nauseas and her skin felt clammy. The space between her temples felt prickly, like blood flow to a limb was being constricted. Éponine felt worse than any hangover Grantaire ever had, she was sure. But she was too tired to care.

"I'd hardly say we overreacted—" Combeferre started.

"Combeferre, shut up," Éponine told him. He obliged.

Enjolras, who had remained silent this whole time, tried to slide his arm out from under Eponine's neck. She opened one eye to look up at him. The revolutionary had an extremely pained look.

Suddenly she remembered last night and everything she told him. She turned her head to face away from him, which was a bit better because she couldn't see him. It also provided her another opportunity to elbow Courfeyrac in the ribs.

"Could you guys please leave?" Éponine asked, her voice much softer this time.

"No," Courfeyrac said decidedly, although he was barely awake. "Did you honestly think asking in a nicer tone would make us leave?"

Éponine groaned loudly, but quickly fell back asleep.

Combeferre got up suddenly, shifting Eponine's feet as he declared he would make the coffee. Then Courfeyrac left, sliding over the back of the couch ungracefully as way of getting out from under the sleeping girl. Grantaire moved to the floor, and Enjolras carefully moved Éponine's sleeping head so he could move, too.

A small fist digging its way into his ribcage was what woke Enjolras. It wasn't a pleasant feeling to be woken up to, but his sleep wasn't that great, so he wasn't too put out. He opened his eyes slowly to see Éponine. Her head wasn't really on his lap, it was more in the space between Enjolras's and Courfeyrac's legs. The top of her head was pushing into his thigh, and her sweat-soaked hair was everywhere. Her usually wild eyes were squeezed shut.

"Éponine! You're awake!" Courfeyrac shouted, right into Enjolras's ear.

While the other four exchanged snide comments—granted, the snide comments came mostly from Éponine—Enjolras was forced to remember what she looked like last night, crumpled and barely able to move. He could still hear her words in his head, asking if he thought her weak, spoken in a voice that didn't belong to her.

His arm started to fall asleep, and he tried to move it from underneath her neck, but to no avail. A brown eye popped open, and she must have seen him, because she flipped her head around to face the opposite wall instead. Although he recovered use of his arm, he was just as uncomfortable now. Her hot breath was on his knee.

His biggest complaint wasn't, however, his physical discomfort. It was what to do about Éponine being a member of Les Amis. He didn't regret the choice; it was a long, thought-out decision that he made only with the support of every other member, all of whom gave their support enthusiastically. It was that Éponine was, well… a woman. He was having a hard enough time keeping the discussion topics off of women when there wasn't one around; was that going to change now that she would be joining them?

Maybe it would actually be better this way. With her around, they might be less distractions. She didn't seem like the women the boys usually talked about. He would just have to wait and see how it all played out.

About an hour later, Éponine found herself awakened by horrible stabs of pain in her gut. She made her way to the bathroom just in time to deplete herself of whatever was in her stomach, which wasn't much.

"Ah, the glamorous art of toilet-bowl-hugging," Grantaire said, pushing open the door to the bathroom.

"I don't need you to hold my hair back," Éponine said from her spot on the floor.

Grantaire sat beside her. "I didn't offer," he replied. "I just came to see if you were as talented as I am."

"At what? Puking?" with that, Éponine leaned forward into the toilet and coughed, but nothing came out. He didn't try to hold her hair, but he did put a hand on her shoulder.

"Yes, and you seem to be failing miserably."

Éponine leaned back against the wall. "Did Marius come back last night?"

Grantaire breathed in, trying to decide what to say. "No," he murmured finally, but only because he knew it would be better than lying to her.

"Okay."

"That's it? That's all you're gonna say? 'Okay'? Éponine, I never thought I'd see the day where all you had to say was 'okay'."

"Well what did you expect me to say?"

"Something like, 'Oh, poor Marius, he's probably so overwhelmed.' Or, 'That damn Cosette is trying to steal him away from me.'" Grantaire's vocal impression of Éponine was actually quite accurate, but she wasn't about to let him know that.

"If Marius is happy with Cosette, then… whatever."

Grantaire shifted to look at her straight on. "Who are you?"

"What?"

"It's like your body has been taken over by a parasite from outer space and its controlling your thoughts."

"What the hell are you talking about?!"

"You don't sound like yourself, that's what I'm saying. You usually look for ways to praise Marius, and now all you have to say on the subject is 'okay'."

"Okay, first, I do not. Second, you're a jerk. Third," she paused and gave a heavy sigh, "I told him that I thought I was in love with him. But then I realized that all I really wanted was him, there, like his physical presence, you know? And I think I just freaked him out."

She couldn't tell him that she was tired of pretending like it meant more than it really did, every time Marius looked or smiled at her. Tired of knowing it was only in her mind.

"That's like, really wise. You're like a little Buddha. Except skinny. And a girl. And you have hair."

Éponine glared at him, but didn't respond to his comment. Then she turned to face forward. "I want to get over him," she muttered.

"About damn time." Grantaire made a face that said I-need-a-drink.

"Does nobody like him?"

"No, we're friends. I love the kid, don't get me wrong. He can just be so…."

"Oblivious?" Éponine offered, then winced as she realized it was Enjolras who had used that term first.

"That's the perfect word. Look, you admitted he has faults! Aww, 'Ponine, makin' progress already."

"I hate you."

Grantaire shrugged. "Love and hate are similar emotions."

Éponine shoved him, but her arms were too weak to do much damage.

"I told Enjolras yesterday … about Marius," she muttered softly, after some time.

Grantaire looked equal parts mortified and amused. "You talked to Enjolras about feelings?"

"I dunno, I was emotional and tired and he was just sitting right there…."

Grantaire busted out with a laugh so loud it made Éponine jump.

"He was… so cranky… last night…"Grantaire tried to wheeze out. "We all… thought you had… insulted him…" He inhaled deeply, trying to finish his thoughts between laughs. "That's just… so much better."

It took him a bit, but he finally calmed down. "God, 'Ponine, I've been screwing with him for years now, and you barely know him and manage to get that reaction? I'm impressed, maybe I should be taking lessons from you. Anyway, so you're saying you love Marius the idea and not Marius the person?"

"Yes. No. I don't know. Maybe. Ugh."

"Thanks, that cleared it up for me."

She shoved him. "It doesn't matter. Because starting today, I'm…" she paused, holding her breath, "I'm going to not love him."

"I don't think you get to decide that for yourself."

"Yes I do. I always get to decide." Well, for the most part. Éponine couldn't deny that some things were out of her control. But if she had the opportunity to decide for herself, she would. She wasn't about to let anybody else decide for her, anyway."Except when it comes to you assholes invading my house."

"We didn't invade your house—"

There was a knock at the bathroom door. "What were you saying?" she muttered.

The door creaked open, nearly hitting Grantaire in the knee because of how small the bathroom was. It was Enjolras. Because apparently he hasn't had enough of me, and now he has to see me puke.

"Combeferre, Joly, and I were talking and…" examining her disheveled appearance, he realized maybe this wasn't how to start off the conversation. "Do you need anything?"

Éponine pushed herself from the ground and gave him a cold look. She brushed past him and entered the kitchen, where Combeferre and Joly already were. She had stood too quickly and made herself dizzy, but masked this by leaning against the back cupboard as she folded her arms and glared at the other two men.

"You're looking better," Combeferre remarked.

"I didn't have the flu," Éponine snapped.

"May I… nevermind," said Joly, who stopped offering help as soon as he saw Éponine's expression.

Jehan came in, squeezed Éponine tight, then gave her a kiss on the cheek. The poet was followed by Gavroche.

"'Ponine!" the young boy squealed. "You missed it! Yesterday morning, I saw Brujon fall and his big, fat face! I think he broke his nose. I wanted to tell you, but you were sleeping all day."

"Oh?" Éponine swallowed hard. "And how'd he fall?"

Gavroche gave a mischievous smile as a reply.

"No one saw you, did they?"

"'Course not! You taught me that."

"Gavroche!" Combeferre said. "I have a favor to ask. Don't worry, there's something in it for you, too," he said, sensing the boy's hesitance. "I need you to run down to that tech store down the street, the one with the green banner. Get me a thumb drive, you know, the tiny portable ones that you can store documents on. I need one for class today and I forgot to bring mine, and it would take too long to run back." He pulled out his wallet and offered the boy several bills. "There's a candy store right next door. Get yourself whatever you want."

Gavroche grabbed the bills, bowed dramatically, and declared he would be back shortly. As soon as the door closed behind him, Combeferre turned to Éponine.

"We think it would be best if someone—say, Musichetta—stayed with you for a while. Just until you're feeling better."

"You mean until you're sure I won't relapse again? Don't sugarcoat it."

Jehan, sensing he had entered a warzone, gave Eponine a peck on the cheek and declared he had to go to class, but would be back that evening, and to, of course, call him if she needed anything. He was replaced by Courfeyrac and Feuilly, but Feuilly wasn't staying either.

"I have to go to work," he explained. "I tried to call in sick but I guess they really need me. Do you want me to stop by during lunch?" he asked Éponine.

She glared in response.

"I'll take that as a maybe," he said, and left.

"Courfeyrac, tell them I don't need a babysitter. I've lived on my own this whole time, I can take care of myself now."

"Well, I mean, yeah, like, I mean…" he babbled.

"We're trying to help you. Why are you fighting this?" Enjolras said.

Musichetta and Bossuet entered, followed by Grantaire and Bahorel. They had been laughing at something, but stopped as soon as they realized what was unfolding in the kitchen.

"'Why am I fighting this?'" Éponine repeated. "I don't know, maybe because there are nine people who won't get out of my apartment. Christ, Enjolras, for a college student, you aren't very smart." Some of them flinched; others snickered at the insult.

"Éponine, we're trying to—" he began.

"No, don't even start. You don't get to pretend like you care. Not when the amount of times you can look me in the eye is in single digits."

"It's not his fault he doesn't know how to talk to a girl," Grantaire said.

"You know what I think?" Musichetta put in. "I think there's too much testosterone in here. You four," she said, pointing to Bossuet, Grantaire, Bahorel, and Joly, "don't you have class?"

"Mine doesn't start till—" Bahorel started.

Musichetta shot him a look, and for once in his life, Bahorel didn't argue. The four of them said their goodbyes and left.

"That's better," she said, wiping her hands on her skirt as if she had just done a chore. "Now, we're going to talk this out like adults. Éponine, you go first, it's your home."

"My problem is that two nights ago, I felt more alone than ever. Now I'm surrounded by people, and all I want is to be alone." She was sure to use her least-civilized tone, just to be spiteful.

"So what you're saying is," Musichetta moderated, "you feel like everyone is only here because they see you as a victim."

Éponine wasn't sure how Musichetta was able to reverberate her thoughts in a more understandable way, but she was right, and Éponine nodded. She added, "You care more about your stupid revolution than you do the people around you. Being here is just a way to help you sleep at night." It probably wasn't necessary to add. She didn't even mean it, for the most part anyway. But she was feeling particularly aggressive.

Enjolras would later pass her agitation off as a symptom of her comedown. For now, though, he wasn't used to being talked to like this. He was used to the guys arguing with him, he was used to name-calling and small insults. But he had never been accused as not caring for his friends. He may have put an emphasis on the revolution, asking them to set aside discussions of their personal lives for after the meetings, but that didn't mean he didn't see each one of them as a brother.

"Liberté, égalité, fraternité," Enjolras replied, placing special emphasis on the last term.

"Are you about to give me a speech?" she said, raising an eyebrow.

He ignores her comment and continues. "You're in Les Amis now, I thought I made that clear last night. We take care of each other. Just because I don't want to listen to Courfeyrac talk about whoever he slept with the night before, or hear Grantaire's drunken ramblings, or the latest news from Poland from Feuilly, doesn't mean I don't care. It just means that I want to focus on the problems that supersede our own.

"We didn't let you in because we pity you," he continued. "Or because you happen work where we meet. We let you in because you look at things differently, because your experiences set you apart and provide a new insight."

There was a long moment where nobody said anything. The tension was suffocating. Then, finally, Éponine whispered, "Fine."

"What?" Combeferre asked.

"I said fine, I'll let Musichetta stay for a couple of nights, if that's what everyone wants."

"Thank you," the all said, but for different reasons.

"I'm going to take a shower," she said, by way of response.

Feuilly did come back for lunch, bringing with him Polish pastries called Pączki. Where he got them, Éponine had no idea. While she was eating—which she did even though she knew she would probably puke it up later, because where she came from she learned to never reject food—Feuilly told her the story of how he grew up. An orphan, he taught himself to read and write, and got a decent job at an art museum.

Maybe being an orphan would've been better than being raised by her parents.

Jehan came back, too, after classes. So did Bahorel, who brought his laptop to watch some low-budget American horror movie. Jehan didn't verbally protest, be he was obviously unhappy with the choice. The three of them, along with Musichetta, huddled around the laptop. Halfway through, Musichetta decided that her English wasn't good enough for the movie. Everyone knew she meant that she couldn't stand the gore any longer. She declared she was going to check in on the café; some girl had volunteered to look after it and she needed to make sure that she didn't burn the place to the ground.

Grantaire returned just as the movie was over. He threw a fit about not getting to watch it with them. Marius came back eventually, too, though he didn't stay for long. He claimed he was already late to dinner with his grandpa.

"I thought your grandpa didn't want anything to do with you?" Eponine had asked.

"That's what this dinner is trying to fix," he replied shortly.

"I thought you didn't want anything to do with your grandpa," she said.

He shrugged in place of an answer. Éponine could feel a great barrier between them, and maybe it was better this way, because at least now she could start to separate herself from him. But it didn't feel better.

Éponine didn't sleep that night. Maybe it was just a side effect of the comedown. Maybe it was everything that happened with Marius, or the fight with Enjolras. But she didn't dare leave her room, not with Musichetta in the next room or the several students sleeping in her living room even though she said only Musichetta could stay. Still, she squeezed her eyes shut, praying sleep would come. She was ready for it to be a new day.

A/Ns:

Sorry this update took so long. This chapter is about twice as long as the others, and I've been having the most horrid time writing it. If you follow me on tumblr, you've seen me whine all week. (Speaking of, if I'm not following you back, please let me know! Don't be shy!)

On the withdrawal: technically vomiting doesn't start till later in the withdrawal (well that's what my research told me, at least). I lied a little for the sake of this chapter. But agitation is definitely a symptom, as well as sweating.

Thanks for all your support!