The Marble Man
Disclaimer: SURPRISE! I AM STILL ALIVE! But I still don't own a thing.
AN: Yep, still alive. Thesis was hard, okay. Thanks to my lovely ladies for keeping me alive during these trying times…
Chapter nine:
To be honest, she is only lurking downstairs to see if she can get another glimpse of Enjolras' next battle with the heated menace. After the debacle yesterday with the unplugged toaster, Combeferre and Enjolras had a lengthy discussion on all of the kitchen appliances that bored her only two minutes in. She skipped out on that happily to sit outside and read one of the books she had taken from the bookcase.
Now she is sitting on the couch and hoping Enjolras will come downstairs soon. He mentioned something about taking a shower, but she has yet to hear the water running upstairs. Even though she made the damn effort to stick some post-its on the damn thing so he would be able to tell which side was the hot water and which side was cold.
Apparently remembering the right colors was too confusing for him – and she would have thought that a bit silly if she had not known just how many new things that he has to remember unless he wants to risk burned skin or other injuries. This is a rather harmless thing that she can easily fix for him.
There is a loud scream of an unintelligible sound that would be a curse if it had been anyone but her friendly neighborhood statue.
She knows that Enjolras is in trouble somehow, because not only are both of the other men currently at work, he is also the only one who would use such an unintelligible mess of words instead of the typical curse word. There are more pained groans coming from the upstairs bathroom, so she rushes towards the direction of the sounds, taking the stairs two at a time and almost tripping over her own feet on the way.
The final scream is what does it; she busts into the door, crashing into the bathroom with an almost dangerous speed. She is still rubbing her sore limbs – the door was open, but that does not mean that it gave way easily – when she sees it.
Enjolras is just standing there, in the shower, partly covered by the spray, awkwardly covering himself with the shower curtain as he notices her standing there. It is just too bad for him that the shower curtain is white, and it is going more and more see-through the longer he holds it to his dripping body. She is really trying not to stare too much at a certain area, but he is not making that easy on her.
"What seems to be the problem?" she tries really hard to sound professional.
"This damned contraption insists on dispensing only cold water," Enjolras is so flustered, but still able to form complete sentences. "I swear that I utilized the proper tap for heated water, but the water still is not heating up."
Okay, she is currently torn between licking this one droplet of water that is currently sliding down over his collarbone, trying to find its way down his stomach to the area that he is trying so hard to cover with the almost see-through shower curtain; and just completely cracking up with laughter at the awkwardness of it all. On the one hand, laughter is the best medicine, but on the other hand, that fucking drop is heading towards his pectoral muscles and it just looks so fucking tempting.
"Did you look at the post-its I left?" she reminds him, trying to distract herself.
"The post its were still attached when I started the water," Enjolras keeps trying to cover himself with the shower curtain. "I made sure that they were."
That does not add up somehow, but she is willing to accept that, as inept as he is with any kind of technology, he did check the notes and made sure that they would stay attached while he used the shower. He is diligent with these sorts of situations, trying to control whatever he can control about it in this whole new world of madness. He is vigilant and careful about the tiniest things, because everything else just scares and confuses him. It wouldn't make sense for him to mess up with the post-its.
"I'm sorry," she apologizes for the other guys. "I'm sure R and Jehan just switched the post-its because they thought that this would just be hilarious. I'll kick their asses later, but for now, stand back. I'm going to check if they switched them."
With that, she leans in closer, only to hear him squeak as her hand reaches past him but accidentally touches his wet, naked chest. She pretends that she does not notice, but holy shit is he actually made of marble? He is smooth and wet and gorgeous and she is totally not noticing anything about him. No, not at all.
She just has eyes okay, and using them right now – yeah, she's not sure if it's a good or a bad idea to keep looking while she fiddles with the shower for a bit.
"They switched the notes," she inspects everything thoroughly. "Just use the opposite one. I'll make sure it is fixed the next time you shower."
He is still covering himself with that damn curtain, and she is pretending that the curtain is actually covering anything rather than drawing attention to every single thing that he is trying to cover with it. It is not working too well for her, but she can still pretend that it is. It seems like he needs her to pretend, at least until she leaves the room.
"Thank you, mademoiselle Éponine," he sticks to formality once again.
"Just call for me if you need me," she takes one last look at what that damn shower curtain isn't covering. "And please just call me Éponine."
Enjolras nods solemnly and she watches him turn the water on again, and when he does not scream at its touch, she feels like it is time to leave the room before she gets another eyeful that will not be proper in any way. She already has more than enough fuel for fantasies of a faceless man coming out of the ocean and ready to service her – because a girl has needs, after all. Needs that she should not be thinking about when once again faced with the glory of the marble man in the flesh. She takes another deep breath and turns towards the door, ready to leave. She has got to get out of here before she freaks Enjolras the fuck out by doing something even more improper than she's already done.
"Jesus," she breathes out when she can finally close the door behind her.
That was a ridiculous situation right out of some stupid Hollywood movie, complete with the random sexual tension out of fucking nowhere. She could swear that he is just an annoyance to her, and now that she has seen him almost naked, he is even more of an annoyance than he was before. Just, of an entirely different kind.
"I am going to kill those idiots for this," she mutters, stomping down the stairs, on her way back to her book. "I'm sure they'd think it was really funny if I left them with a frustrated Marble Man. Because they can just go out and have fun without having to babysit all of the fucking time."
Yes, she is starting to resent him, Enjolras and his constant needs. He is like a small child that she never signed up for, always needing help with everything, not being able to do even the smallest thing on his own. But with a child, she would get smiles in return, toothless or gappy smiles and warm arms hugging her and polite apologies. With Enjolras, all that she gets is polite indifference and forced distance.
The occasional obligatory thank you never means anything.
It is obvious he doesn't want to be here, that he would rather be anywhere else than in this strange new time where he doesn't understand anything and where everything is new. Oh, it is not that he would rather be a marble statue again, she wouldn't go that far, but she knows that he'd rather be back in his own time, whenever that was.
Because oh yeah, he won't tell her a damn thing about himself, not even when she could use the information to help him, to take care of him.
She falls down on the couch gracelessly, wondering when the hell her life got so fucked up.
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Combeferre comes calling right after dinner on Monday night, even though he has school in the morning and it's only been a day or two since he and Enjolras had their last lesson. She can't imagine that Enjolras would have had a lot of time to study for anything, so this lesson must be of the impromptu kind. And something impromptu is not a good sign when it comes to Enjolras – the gendarmes are still waiting for her to screw up, she just knows it. She is not going to be safe until there is a gendarme-proof background for Enjolras that she can show to them to explain away his similarities to the statue.
For now, she has no explanation to offer, and she is hesitant to even let her charge out of her sight for longer than it takes for him to take a shower. Sure, her dirty mind might like to look upon him even then, but she knows that this would be a bad thing.
He will only come to harm if she lets him leave, if she lets him spread his wings without her there to watch and guide and guard him. She is terrified he will do something that will endanger his safety and that of everyone else in the house.
She doesn't want to care.
"What's wrong, 'Ferre?" she asks, trying not to sound outwardly hostile.
"It's lovely to see you as well, Éponine," Combeferre is always the perfect gentleman, even when he is being a sarcastic shit. "I came to see Enjolras."
That much was obvious. Why would he come to see her? He found his new closest friend the day before. No one could deny that there was a connection between the two of them, and she's felt like a pointless outsider ever since. Sure, watching Enjolras battle the heated menace was amusing, but even that loses its charm at some point. The men moved on to their lessons and she was left having an inside joke with only herself.
She's never felt that kind of connection with anyone.
And with that, she was going to end the damn pity party already.
"Do you have more lessons?" she asks 'Ferre, reigning herself in.
"I was thinking that Enjolras and I would take a stroll around town," Combeferre steps inside with a pleasant smile. "It would help him get accustomed to the world without being incredibly overwhelming. Also, since it will be getting dark soon, he should not be recognized as looking similar to the statue."
In the history of bad ideas, this one might be up there with 80's fashion. Combeferre wants to take the guy who just yesterday freaked out over a toaster out into the streets where there are cars, gendarmes, and other pointless dangers. If he cannot handle the noise of one room in one house, how will he deal with honking cars or screaming people and the general chaos of being out and about? No, that is a terrible idea.
"Absolutely not," she dismisses the idea immediately.
"Are you his mother now?" R comes up behind her, and he loops an arm around her shoulders. "I'm pretty sure that the marble man can manage walking. With a babysitter!"
With this amount of noise being made, she is sure that the former statue himself will find them soon. He is not stupid, no matter his difficulties with these modern times, and she knows that it would be hurtful to him to find them discussing him like this, as if he does not have a say in what happens in his own life. She has always hated it when people pulled that crap on her, so why would she now go around to do it to him?
"I must protest at being called a babysitter," Combeferre is vehement.
"I will ask Enjolras for his opinion," she stalks off, leaving the boys to their argument.
R can be as childish as he damn well pleases – okay, so maybe she is still pissed at him for not treasuring Jehan as he should – but she is going to talk to the person who should actually have a say in this conversation. He might want to go out, and he might be scared to see this whole new world, but she owes it to him to at least ask.
The stairs creak under her slight weight, and she knows that know he will at least know that someone is coming in his direction. She wonders if he's already learned to differentiate their respective walks and footsteps coming up the stairs, since she can always tell it is he walking in her direction. He has a very distinctive tread.
"Hey, Enjolras?" she knocks on his door hesitantly.
"Please come in, Éponine," his voice is steady and strong.
Her hand is steady when she opens the door, even though she is hesitant to come face to face with him again. At dinner, she blushed every time she set eyes on him, because that damn see-through shower curtain kept coming to mind. She will do better now.
"Combeferre is here to see you," she speaks quickly.
"I heard," his reply is pointed, and she feels guilty immediately.
Now that she feels strong enough to gaze upon him, she notices that he looks about as awkward as she feels. He is fidgeting as he sits on his bed, not able to look at her for too long without having to look away. She wonders if it is because she almost saw him naked, but she dismisses that suggestion quickly. She is sure that there are other things occupying the mind of the great Enjolras.
"I'm sorry we argued like that without asking your opinion," she sincerely apologizes to him this time. "Would you like to go for a walk with 'Ferre?"
He deserves to make his own decisions about these kinds of things. Ugh, she's acting like he's some damn child in Combeferre's class who is not old enough to walk the streets alone – and she honestly doubts that Enjolras is too young for any kind of age limit. She suspects he could get a seniors' discount about three times over if he just told her his real age. So even though letting him walk the streets along is a bad idea, he can still make his own decisions about going outside in the first place.
"I am not sure at present," Enjolras sounds hesitant now.
"Why are you unsure?" she takes a step closer to him, trying not to crowd him.
"I would like to experience this town further," he vows. "However, I am concerned with the amount of noise and of the fast-moving pace of this world. I would not like to be in an accident, and I would not like to be recognized by the gendarmes."
Those are pretty sensible arguments, and she is secretly kind of pleased that her mental arguments from before made sense. It seems as if she is actually starting to understand him a little bit. It makes her proud and it makes her a bit worried about him.
"Is there anything I can do to ease your decision?" she asks politely.
There is silence first, during which Enjolras appears to be pondering the possibilities – or during which he wonders what she would actually be able to help him with. Of course, what would silly old Éponine be able to do for a man out of time, like he is?
"Would you like to take this walk with me and Combeferre?" his request floors her.
"Do you want me there?" she stammers. "Why would you want me there?"
Now that is a surprise. Somehow, someway, she has managed to actually do something meaningful in his new life, because she doubts that he would have asked her to join them for any other reason. Still, the mere idea of her stupid ideas actually being helpful in any way is laughable. She is so far out of her depth with Enjolras.
"I find your presence reassuring at times," he pointedly looks away from her. "That is, when you are not deliberately antagonizing me or being decidedly not proper."
So, he likes her for that brief amount of time when she isn't being a complete bitch to him on purpose. She cannot say that she blames him for that, since she has her bad moments, and he brings to life a mischievous side to her that has been hidden for much too long. She likes antagonizing him a little too much, pulling her shirts down to show hints of cleavage that make him blush and stammer about how fashion sure has changed since he last noticed it. Really, there is nothing particularly scandalous in her duffle bag, but she likes to watch him squirm at the smallest changes in her apparel.
"So, for about five minutes a day?" she teases him ever so gently.
"Three minutes," Enjolras deadpans, and she giggles with surprised glee.
He stands up from his bed and holds out his arm for her to take, all proper like they're about to attend some ball together and she's wearing a huge dress with a poofy skirt that takes up the entire doorway to his room and then some.
"Miss Éponine," he escorts her into the hallway.
"Thank you, kind sir," she tries so hard to be sincere.
This gesture might have cost him, going out on a limb for her with his old-fashioned courtesies when she is ready to mock every silly thing he does. She is not good with courtesy and gentleman-like behavior, and to mock him would be so very tempting at this point. But she sees his tight smile and refrains.
A guy from this time would never do this, hold her arm like this and escort her down the creaking stairs as if she is some kind of important lady or duchess rather than just same old Éponine Thénardier with the bad past and the worse parents. This is nice.
"Thank you," she smiles at him when they get downstairs.
The other boys are gawking at them, Jehan having joined R and Combeferre for a good long staring session. She tries not to let it get to her, so she keeps her focus on Enjolras as he gently lets go of her arm and bows his head. The proper response for that is almost automatic, and she curtseys clumsily, fingers clinging to the fabric of her jeans.
"Shall we leave momentarily?" Enjolras addresses the gawking guys.
"We're coming," Jehan tells them excitedly, indicating R and himself.
And a calm, private trip just became a rowdy mess, and an excuse for R to make fun of everyone to forget about his own pain. She is not looking forward to it as much as she was before – wait, was she actually looking forward to this before?
"Oh joy," she mutters under her breath.
The stifled cough coming from Enjolras' direction is a surprise, and as her gaze flits towards him ever so briefly she can tell he appears to be stifling a grin. That is enough for her to smile as well, and she opens the door herself, since waiting for the guys to hold it open for her would mean that they never got outside. Oh, Enjolras would open the door, but she doesn't want to rely on his chivalry, sweet as it may be at times.
"Well then, what are we waiting for?" she waits for the boys to get outside.
Jehan and R are talking to each other, while trying to sneak glances at Enjolras but being too loud to be anything but obvious about it. This field trip is going to end with someone in trouble for punching someone, and she fears that she will be that someone in trouble, especially when she sees Jehan and R walking in the direction of the town square.
Enjolras is breathing heavily as he takes his first conscious look at the world away from the house, his safe haven. It is not completely dark yet, but the last rays of the sun are fading and the world is slowly falling asleep. So is their little town, most people already home and relaxing after a pleasant dinner. The streets are not entirely empty; the occasional person walking a dog greeting them pleasantly, but altogether everything is nice and calm – the perfect time for Enjolras to see this place.
The rumble of a car coming closer has her step between Enjolras and the street, so his eventual startling will not end with him crushed underneath said car. She wonders about how to warn him, but she decides to speak up before he finds out the hard way that cars are fast and dangerous if people don't understand them too well.
"There is a car approaching," she tells Enjolras, waiting for the car to reach them, any second now. "I don't know if 'Ferre has told you about cars."
Enjolras nods briefly, and she breathes a relieved sigh as the car comes into view, the headlights shining brightly and almost blinding Enjolras as he stumbles into her side briefly before regaining his composure.
"They are quite like Combeferre has described them," Enjolras comments as if nothing remarkable has happened, even though his voice is shaking. "They move faster than I had imagined though. I am sure that these cars can be quite dangerous."
She nods sagely and they walk on, getting slowly closer to the more crowded parts of their town, the parts with bars and pubs and places to hang out after the shops have closed. More people will soon see Enjolras, especially if the idiots up front insist on taking the route they are headed for right now – the route that will take them past both the museum and the police station. She would like to punch them right about now.
"Straight ahead, boys," Combeferre is always the teacher.
After some grumbling, mostly from R, the boys actually listen to 'Ferre and continue on the outside roads rather than to take the road to the police station. She should really try and develop a teacher voice of her own if she is going to last longer in the house than just to the end of the week.
"I imagine he would be a kind teacher," Enjolras nods in Combeferre's direction as he talks to her. "In my day, schools were different, and so were the teachers."
With a nod, she turns her gaze straight ahead, rather than to fill her burning curiosity and ask more about his life before he was a statue in a small-town museum. She wants to ask, but thinks better of it because she knows how he responded last time.
"Oh, not that much has changed," she remarks sadly. "Not all teachers are like 'Ferre."
It brings back less than pleasant memories, but she tries to shrug those off and go back to making Enjolras feel more comfortable in this new world. She can make that her mission in the little time that she will spend in this town – after all, she would never want to stay here forever. Not even a year.
Enjolras is only going to need her help for so much longer, especially now that he has Combeferre as his teacher and guide.
The next intersection approaches, and she knows that this is when R is going to let Jehan make their move. This little walk is not turning out to be as interesting as they imagined it would be, and they grow bored with Enjolras so easily.
"We're going to the Corinthe," Jehan gets ready to turn left.
She shoots a wistful look in that direction, missing the girl talk that only Musichetta can provide and hoping to see Marius' freckles and smile across a crowded room. She would love to be able to talk to someone who seems to understand her – and someone who would appreciate the story of a semi-naked Enjolras covered only by a damn shower curtain. Shit, that is going to be a difficult tale to tell, but it would be nice to have another woman to talk to, while having a few drinks and maybe flirting with Marius.
"You can go, miss Éponine," Enjolras is smiling at her when she turns back.
"I wouldn't want to abandon you," she shrugs. "I'd like to talk to some people there, but I'd rather you get home safe and sound. I'll see them some other time."
The idea of seeing Marius remains ever so tempting, but she can resist that for a little while longer – it is a weekday, and she can wait until the weekend to see him and the rest of his group. She has to think of the marble man first now – she promised she'd go out with him and she shouldn't be fickle and abandon him.
"Combeferre will see me back to your residence," Enjolras fixes his gaze on her.
"Are you sure?" she is so tempted to just go.
"Very much so," he turns in Combeferre's direction, already walking away.
It is strange that he could quickly abandon her, while she is the one having trouble walking away from him. She is always the first to walk away; always careful not to get attached so that there is no way that she can get hurt. The roles are reversing and that is not a good sign.
"I promise I won't be home too late," she calls out to him.
Wow, that was almost domestic, and disgustingly so. Promising a guy that she will be home on time signifies some kind of meaning that she really is not comfortable with. It is time to forget about that stuff and to have a meaningless flirt with cutie Marius and drink some wine with Musichetta while they talk about random things. She can keep things light and fun until she leaves.
"Let's party," she tells R, rushing off in the direction of the Corinthe.
There is no way that she turns back to look at her marble man one more time – no way, only there is a way, because she does look back a few more times.
Stupid Éponine.
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First problem: Marius only shows up after she's been waiting over an hour for his stupid freckled face to show, so she's already slightly past buzzed when she first spots him, and it shows in her greeting. Second problem: Marius is quickly followed by his pretty blonde girlfriend, and she is just about ready to punch something or someone at the sight of the Barbie doll perfection that is the girl named Cosette.
Really? Now she can't even flirt with a guy at a bar without something stupid like this?
"They're pretty nauseating usually," Musichetta has noticed her staring. "If you need me to hand out some barf bags, I usually keep some under the bar – for irony's sake."
She forces a chuckle as she sips her fourth glass of wine. The barf bag might not be necessary for the display that the almost perfect couple is making at their table, but the wine is no longer settling right in her stomach. She might need the bag for other reasons later. Especially now Marius has spotted her. Fuck!
"Éponine," he smiles charmingly at her.
"Hey Marius," she has to fake her answering smile.
Musichetta is fully appreciating all the layers of awkwardness, especially when Cosette follows her boyfriend and looks intent on joining their little group. No, that is just not acceptable. She has no need for someone like that around her – yes, she is a judgmental bitch, and no, she does not care a single bit about that. She is fine talking to Musichetta because they're both harsh sometimes and she doesn't have to worry about offending her delicate sensibilities that she would have to with the blonde doll who looks like she's made of porcelain that will shatter at the slightest provocation.
"Meet my Cosette," Marius is practically bouncing on his feet at that.
"Pleasure," she returns curtly, slamming down the rest of her wine. "Éponine."
The drink burns a little as it goes down, but she is fine with that. Shit, all she wants at this point is to go home with a random unattached guy and work off the stupid tension that came from seeing a man made of marble almost naked and envying the water in their damn shower. She has got to get rid of the thoughts somehow.
"Excuse her," Musichetta teases. "She's been living with the poet and the painter for the last few weeks. The asshole behavior and the drinking comes with the territory."
Now that she's been given an excuse to act like a raging bitch, she has no problem with just grunting unintelligibly and ignoring whatever Marius would like to say to her in response. She just wants him to leave so she can rant to Musichetta without fear of repercussions. She needs someone to listen to her.
"I know the feeling," Marius claps a friendly hand on her shoulder. "Good luck!"
"It was nice meeting you," Cosette actually speaks before walking away.
She lets her forehead meet the bar with a soft thump, so tired of the mess going on at home, and still almost wanting to go home and see if stupid Enjolras is still awake so she can ask him how far he's gotten in the book she recommended.
"The confessional is now open," Musichetta waits until they're alone.
"Did you read my mind?" she blurts out, feeling the effects of the wine.
Her head is slightly heavy, and she lifts it from the bar with more effort than it should take to perform such a simple action. Musichetta is almost laughing at her, but then again, the other woman has probably seen a lot of drunks whining about one thing or another in her years working at the Corinthe.
"You can't be this frustrated just because of the flustered ferret," Musichetta says.
"Did you hear that my friend moved into the house?" she tries to talk around the mystery of Enjolras and still leave herself the opportunity to rant. "Well, he is being a confusing pain in the ass. I had to save him from the damn shower because R and Jehan played a stupid prank on him and left him with a cold shower."
Hopefully, her little story doesn't have too many holes in it, and Musichetta will actually buy this weird tale of her mystery friend randomly showing up in town. She doesn't know how else to explain it without bringing the curse and the statue into that, and she is nowhere near ready to have that conversation again – once, with Combeferre, was already complicated enough for her. She will just lie by omission from now on.
"Is he hot?" Musichetta cuts right through all of her bullshit.
"He's my friend," she protests, not ready to call Enjolras, the marble man from centuries ago, something as modern and objectifying as hot. "He's a total pain in my ass."
There is no other way to describe Enjolras. He is annoying and a pain in her ass, but he needs her and he is a really good guy now that they can make the effort to have an actual conversation together. Still, she'll be glad to walk away from this town and leave His Marble Confusingness behind.
"I ship it," Musichetta teases, pouring her another glass of wine.
"I hate you right now," she takes her first sip of her fifth glass. "So much."
Really, the wine starts tasting better with every sip – which is a good thing, but a bad sign that she is heading towards intoxication rapidly. She really does not want to get any more woozy-headed, since that will lead to her telling secrets that are not her business to tell. She knows it's coming – she's always been a chatty drunk.
"Did you know that our shower curtain is really see-through?" she has just blurted out to Musichetta, when she spots freckles from the corner of her eye. "Hey Marius!"
Oh yeah, she is doing great right about now. She wants to hit her head on the bar and pass out for a few blissful hours – that would be great.
"I just remembered," Marius grins at the both of them, "I'm having a little get together at my place on Friday, just our group, and I was hoping you two lovely ladies could come and join us. Both of your boyfriends will be there, 'Chetta."
Marius is all charm at this point, hoping to sway the both of them into attending his party. She's ready to turn him down with some stupid excuse when she realizes that this would be the perfect time to introduce Enjolras to the rest of their friends, and help get him settled into this town without overwhelming him by forcing him to go to the Corinthe. She thinks he would rather attend a party at someone's house than be forced into the bar scene, where there are strangers and random noises.
"Can I bring my friend?" she asks, figuring she can just go for it. "He's staying with us."
She will probably want to punch herself for this later, but she figures that if it's okay with Marius, she can gently broach the subject with Enjolras and see what he thinks about it. It would be good for him, she thinks.
"You can bring a date," Marius smiles before turning to Musichetta. "And, 'Chetta?"
"Fine," her friend rolls her eyes. "I'll have someone else close on Friday."
After blowing a kiss, Marius practically skips back to his girlfriend.
"So is your friend shower curtain guy?" Musichetta just pretends the visit from Marius never really happened. "I'm sure you got an eyeful."
That is enough of an excuse to let her head hit the bar again. Why was it that she wanted to talk to Musichetta about this? She can't remember.
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She finds herself stumbling home a little after eleven, after drinking one more glass of wine and avoiding Musichetta's nosy questions about her mysterious friend. Jehan and R were still talking to Courf and some of the other guys when she left, but she wasn't up for any more hanging on the bar. If she had taken that seventh glass of wine, she would have fallen asleep right there – and she promised to be home early.
Yes, call her domestic, fine. She just wants to keep her promise.
It is a relief when she finally sees the house in her line of sight. The walk from the Corinthe to the house is not particularly far or long, but everything takes so much more effort after half a dozen glasses of wine. It's not that she's seeing double, or blurry, or anything like that. Her body just doesn't move the way she wants it to move.
Stupid body. Stupid wine. Stupid Marius and his stupid girlfriend and his stupid party that she has to talk to the marble man about. Hihi, the marble man. Still funny.
Really, since it isn't even midnight yet, Enjolras should still be awake, right? Whatever time he's from must have had parties or balls or whatever they used to call them. She is sure that those events must have gone on until after midnight.
"Lights are on," she mutters as she reaches for the door with a shaky hand.
Unlocked. Not that it means anything; because she doesn't have a key to the house and neither does Enjolras. Those idiots – the actual owners of the place – must have left the house unlocked all this time, because she can't remember seeing them lock the door before they left. She's going to tell them off about that later. When she's sober.
"Honey, I'm home," she calls out when she steps inside, knowing Enjolras won't get it.
There is no response, but she can hear the sounds of the television coming from the living room, so she suspects that he may have gotten drawn in by the pull of crap television, like so many others before him. She giggles at the idea of the high and mighty Enjolras being fascinated by something so simple as that.
"I promised I'd be home early," she speaks again.
When she walks into the living room, she finds the TV playing some random reality television show, and a sleeping Enjolras occupying the couch, remote in his hand, fingers clenched tightly around it. The whole tableau is wonderfully cozy and domestic, and she plucks her cell phone from her pocket to take a picture of it, for posterity's sake – so she is sure to remember this gloriousness in the morning.
She finds herself reaching out to push a blond curl back behind his ear, and her hand hangs in limbo for a while before she decides to go through with it and touches his golden hair with a trembling hand. It is just as soft as it looks.
Her hand is pulled back as if the gold burned her when he stirs softly, letting out an almost pained groan. She steps back clumsily, storing her phone with the priceless picture in her pocket again, and trying to push down the stupid disappointment that rises in her at not being able to show him that she came home in time to find him still awake. She kind of wanted to talk to him a bit before going to bed, but she's sure he would have nothing to say to her. After all, what could he have to say to her that he couldn't say to his new best friend, Combeferre? She shouldn't be getting attached to him.
This whole domesticity thing was a stupid thought anyway, she ponders as she stumbles upstairs; cursing the creaky stairs and hoping Enjolras will not be able to tell that she stopped to see him before diving into her bed. That would be too emotional of a display.
And she's not disappointed.
She's not.
AN: Tell me what you think, and tell me ALL about your favorite parts/lines/moments!