Enjolras looked at himself in the mirror. A wan face blinked back at him. He'd been so tired lately. "Life is hell," he said aloud.
On his bed, he pulled out a book and flipped through the pages. A collection of photos he and Sophie had compiled. Them together, them with friends, them each on their own, their other half having secretly taken the photo. Sophie's handwriting was on every page, his own less so, commenting on almost each photograph pasted inside. There were other mementos too. Flower pressings, show tickets, and less obvious things. A copy of an essay. To anyone else, it would seem an odd keepsake, but Enjolras knew the significance. It was the final essay he had written while he had been studying his CPGEs, one that was terribly difficult and probably would have cost him his admission to university, had it not been for Sophie's daily encouragement and presence.
The collection of memories was as vivid as if Enjolras had just lived them yesterday. So why did he always act as they would disappear at any second's notice?
There was nothing else to do but confront it head on, Éponine told herself. The next Saturday, she made her way to the Musain. She walked as quickly as she could so she wouldn't lose her nerve. This was a one-way street and she wasn't going to back out of it. There he was, head down over a book, his cup steaming next to him. Éponine balled her hands and marched forward, sliding into his booth.
If she surprised him, he showed no sign of it. As always, Éponine both envied and hated his ability to maintain such a mask of an expression all day. He didn't say anything at first; he just sat and appraised her. Finally:
"Long time no see."
Éponine nodded. Her throat had gone dry.
"Why are you here now?" The question was simple, straightforward, and posed without challenge, only curiosity. But Éponine still felt a strike to it, a bit of a sting. She wavered before unsticking herself and forcing herself to speak.
"I'm taking responsibility. I've done it for everything else in my life-and have no reason to not now," she finished. She cleared her throat and glanced at him nervously. Enjolras had closed his book, a gesture Éponine knew to signal his willingness to listen.
"I know what I said was wrong. And I shouldn't have said it, or at least not the way I did. I know it's been hard for you the last months and what I said didn't help. It's just-I wanted to do this as much on my own as I could, and I guess I didn't make that clear. When you just kept helping me out, it wasn't what I wanted anymore, so that's why I...said the things I shouldn't have." While she she been speaking, Éponine had been staring at a speck on the table, kneading her hands under it where she knew Enjolras wouldn't be able to see them. Presently she raised her gaze to see him looking steadily back at her.
"I'm sorry."
It came out stronger than Éponine had thought it would, taking herself aback slightly. Enjolras didn't register her surprise, though. He had slid his eyes away from hers and appeared to be deep in thought.
"I appreciate your apology," he said.
But...? Éponine urged him on silently, keenly aware what he had said wasn't quite what she was looking for.
"And I accept it."
But...? He was still preparing himself to speak, though he had delivered.
"You were right about what you said, though."
That wasn't what she was expecting.
Enjolras almost smiled then. He must have seen the confusion on Éponine's face. "I was trying to be Sophie. It was the only I knew how to keep her alive in some capacity. When I was with her...it was the most complete I had ever been, and when I lost her, it was like a part of me was ripped away. I didn't know what to do. So I turned to doing what she loved, like my continuing of her work would fill that hole...and, in some sense, keep her with me, alive.
"But I've come to realize since meeting you, and talking to you, Éponine...it's not that I needed her specifically to be complete, it was her spirit, her sense to do good in the world. And I know now that that spirit is not exclusive to just her, because I see it in you. You proved it when you worked so hard for Musichetta, when you yourself could use that valuable time.
"Anyway, the point I came to see is that I don't need to keep her alive. I just need to not forget her."
Eponine nodded, her heart beating very fast, not daring to interrupt him. But Enjolras seemed to have come to a stand still and was thinking again.
"However, it's easier said than done to make that effort. I know for me I will have a difficult time with it. I will need to...train myself, in a sense." For the first time, Enjolras looked up and met Éponine's eyes directly. She had to force herself to not break the connection; his eyes were very blue and very intense now, even more than they normally were. "I...I won't be able to do it with you in my life," Enjolras said finally.
Coldness flooded Éponine when she heard this. Not in the way that one might have felt when scared, but more like a confirmation of suspicions, a snipping of a thread spider's web thin.
"I know you repent deeply what you said to me earlier regarding Sophie," Enjolras continued, "and I believe you. I honestly do. But regardless of what you think now and what I think now...it still was said, and I still heard it. At this moment, you and Sophie are associated. I won't be able to make that break if you're always there." He paused, and then said, "You understand, right?"
Éponine nodded. She did. It was her fault for whatever hardship she inflicted on Enjolras, so if the way he was going to cope meant having to block her for a while, so be it. At her affirmation, he seemed relieved.
"I guess I should get going, then," Éponine said after a moment, trying to make her voice light. It was a blow, but one she had been expecting, in some sorts. And she didn't want to make him think that she was dreadfully hurt by his request; that wouldn't help him any. "Just...give me a call whenever you want to meet again. Or tell Gavroche."
"Sure," Enjolras agreed. Éponine studied his face carefully. It betrayed no emotion, looking almost exactly as it did when she first sat down. She stood up and made for the door.
"Éponine, wait." It was Enjolras. He had reached out, almost compulsively, and then seemed to have checked himself and withdrew again. "I'm gratefully that you took the time to come down here to make amends, I really am." His tone betrayed his face then, Éponine heard. No matter how passive he might have appeared, she recognized the sincerity in his voice, and for the first time she felt like maybe she had done something worthwhile. It felt significant, somehow. She didn't dare to be happy, though, for she had not forgotten the circumstances.
"I know," was all Éponine said instead. "I'm glad I did." It was the most she could say while still being honest.
Now would be the time for them to smile, but neither did. There couldn't have been more than two feet of distance between them, but somehow Éponine felt as if she was shouting across a very large field, as if there was a great many miles between them, and she wondered if things would ever be as they had been before with them or if she had ruined everything.