So, I just found out the other night that the lovely epjolras over on tumblr put my fic on one of her lists and made a beautiful edit for it, which you can find here: /post/49413135116. Go take a look, because I freaked out a little when I saw it (I have a tendency to easily freak out though, so...)

**UPDATED 1/4/15**

seventy-five

Éponine started going back to work. She had absolutely nothing better to do and she needed a distraction. So, she started taking her hours and tried to be herself again. It was difficult, and everyone noticed how odd she seemed, but she needed this.

Enjolras thought maybe he should get a job—he can't continue living on military pay. But he ultimately laughed that thought away. Honestly, who would hire him anyway?

So, he went directly back to just staying up in his apartment and doing nothing; it's what he had grown used to and it's what he'd continued to do. It's not even that he completely liked this, but really, what else would he do?

seventy-six

Enjolras almost went back to Arlington. He had a particularly difficult night of tossing and turning, and he didn't know what to do about it. And when he finally rolled out of bed in the morning, his thoughts turned to his fallen friends, just like most days. He didn't cry, but he was distressed and spent much time brooding before he thought back to Thanksgiving those few days ago. If he could never see them again, this was the next best thing.

So, he pulled on his clothes, grabbed his hat, keys, and wallet, and left the room in haste.

It wasn't till he was seated in the taxicab that he froze, his sudden enthusiasm leaving him. He couldn't go. He'd just break down. He was too weak to visit alone. Now what? The driver had already begun moving down the street.

Enjolras changed his mind. He had the driver drop him off just a few minutes away and he simply began walking. He had no plans or aim, he just walked.

Even as the temperature continued to drop, the streets of Washington D.C. were still busy; so many people still congested the sidewalk, brushing past him without a care in the world. At one time, he enjoyed this, walking among the people and not knowing who they were or where they came from. Everyone was equal and the same in those moments. But now, he wished he could just have the pavement to himself.

Eventually, the cold got to Enjolras and he stepped into a familiar café. He almost wished he didn't.

seventy-seven

Marcus and Éponine picked the location. When they moved into the middle of the city, they were looking for new places to spend their time, hoping to learn the city.

When they showed the place to Courfeyrac, it immediately seemed cosy; somewhere he would like to spend his time. The building was quaint, homey, and welcoming—immediately, the three felt relaxed.

They didn't mean for it to become their place. They would pop in every once and a while, but over time it became a regular thing to meet there (if it was too early for a bar, of course).

As they kept meeting new people, the café became their favourite place, the place they'd spend almost too much time in. The group didn't just go as a whole—they'd sometimes show up as a pair or a trio. The employees learned everyone's names and faces.

It was their café.

seventy-eight

Éponine wasn't sure what drew her to the café. She hadn't been there in months, but as she walked past it, she was compelled to step inside.

When she did enter, her gaze examined the room—it really hadn't changed at all. And when she accidentally made eye contact with an employee, she was surprised that she was still recognised. The young barista smiled brightly, waved, and said a quick "hi, Éponine," before she went back to working.

Éponine stood in front of the door for a few moments longer before slowly approaching the counter. She ordered her drink, the barista said, "we'll bring it to your usual seat," and Éponine began heading upstairs. It was always quieter upstairs—people tended not to stay for a long time, so they usually accumulated on the first floor.

She began to move to a table by the large window when she halted and stared at the one man already there. His back was to her and his head was resting on his arms, but she knew it was Enjolras. She should leave. But no. She would stay; she wasn't going to let him get to her.

So, she sat at a table closer to the staircase where she could still watch Enjolras. She was glad to have her purse with her, because she'd actually have something to do. She pulled out her old, tattered book—Frankenstein—and began reading where she had left off so long ago.

A few minutes later, the barista came upstairs, "Hey, Ép." Éponine immediately flinched a little and looked up toward Enjolras, whose shoulders seemed to become stiff, "Haven't seen you in a while—how've things been?"

"They could be a lot better…" her eyes moved between Enjolras and the barista. The man was lifting his head very slowly.

"Sorry to hear that." The barista also looked over at Enjolras, noticing Éponine's gaze continuing to move to him, "Isn't that one of your friends?" her voice was a little softer, hoping Enjolras didn't notice. Éponine gave a nod and the barista didn't ask further as she gave a small wave and disappeared downstairs.

The few other people in the room were in their own little worlds. And Enjolras turned his body to stare at Éponine, whose eyes were hoping to avoid his. But she could feel his eyes burning into her and slowly her eyes turned upward to his. She gave him a raised eyebrow, as if trying to tell him "well, are you gonna do something?" He stared for a few moments longer as Éponine turned back to her book, pretending she was reading its content.

Enjolras then stood. But he didn't approach her. He walked right past her and to the stairs. Éponine was shocked as she heard him rush out—he wouldn't have done that regularly. He would approach her and talk to her. Maybe not about what happened, but they'd talk.

Was she growing… angry over this?

seventy-nine

Enjolras was frustrated with himself.

He made his way back to his apartment, all the while criticising himself. He should have talked to her. She was right there and he just zoomed right past her. She just had to show up at the café at the same time he was there. He was really hoping he wouldn't have to face her, and he managed that for a few days, but now he had to struggle with that again.

He didn't know what he wanted to do anymore. He could only try to avoid this again.

eighty

Éponine was distracted by her unnecessary anger toward Enjolras. He walked right past her, looked at her, but he did nothing. She always knew he was stubborn, but she never expected him to simply ignore her because of something as little as a kiss. Okay, maybe it wasn't such a little thing, especially for Enjolras, but they were friends—they could work it out.

Maybe Éponine needed to be the one to do something. She was almost certain Enjolras would never interact with her unless she initiated things. But what would happen? Would they discuss the kiss? Discuss anything besides that? It would be awkward no matter what.

She'll figure it out.

She had to.

Well, conflict is good and fun, it always means eventually something good is gonna happen...