The Marble Man
Disclaimer: Still not mine. Shocker.
AN: Hannah, I love you. Melody, thank you so much for catching up and still loving this fic. And now, on with the story. Hope you enjoy!
Chapter twelve:
Saturday afternoon, she is still in bed – she just does not want to face the world at all, not today. Not after last night's party and that last glass of wine. She doesn't quite remember how she ended up comfortably tucked into bed when the last thing she knows is stumbling out the door of Marius and Cosette's place, carrying her shoes in one hand and gesticulating madly with the other. There are no memories of the walk home, or of entering the house or finding her attic room – let alone her bed.
She is sure that she must have embarrassed at least one of her housemates at some point, so she chooses to hide until the perceived awkwardness is forgotten. She hates apologizing for things she can no longer remember. She is not in college anymore, so why does she continue acting like such a stupid student?
Her head isn't pounding, and other than being sure that she has a serious case of dragon breath syndrome, she seems to be perfectly okay. There is nothing resembling a hangover going on, but just in case, she finds a cool glass of water and an aspirin on the nightstand. She does not remember putting them there, but then again, that does not mean much of anything at this point.
"Madam- Éponine?" she hears Enjolras' voice from the other side of the door. "I heard you groan and I am assuming this means that you are awake. Did you take your medicine? Grantaire instructed me to leave it at your bedside."
Did he actually put her to bed? Did he take her drunk self and help her home and up the stairs? Did Enjolras actually help her into bed? God, those are words she never thought she'd be putting in the same sentence. But still, it is starting to seem plausible and even pretty darn obvious – Jehan and R would have been too busy with each other, and too familiar with drinking to be sober enough to help her out. Sure, she remembers Enjolras having a few glasses of wine as well, but he was surprisingly clearheaded the last she remembers of him. She thinks they were going out the door at the same time.
"You can come in," she tells him, softly.
"Are you decent?" he asks in return.
"As decent as I'm gonna be," she shrugs, even though he won't be able to see it.
The door opens and Enjolras takes a hesitant peek inside, and takes a deep, relieved breath when he finds her completely covered by the sheets – what he might find underneath those sheets is a completely different story. Judging by the way the sheets stick to her body, she is only wearing a pair of panties and a tank top that has grown so thin that she might as well be wearing nothing on her upper body. If she were to lower the sheet, he might get the impression that it is cold in the room. He would be too much of a gentleman to look, but she bets that he would notice anyway.
"How are you feeling?" he asks, genuinely concerned about her well-being.
"Not as bad as I thought I would," she admits.
She stretches, feeling the weight of the alcohol making her body sluggish and heavy, her movements fluid yet slow. She is moving at a speed that is a bit slower than the rest of the world, it seems. Her wobbly limbs won't be able to support her for a very long time, so after her stretching – and noticing how Enjolras eyes the lines of her body when she does – she sits herself upright against the headboard of her bed, to take that aspirin and a sip of water to swallow it down. The world wobbles a little, but it does not spin.
And there is no latent need to hurl, so all is right with the world.
"If you hurl on the good sheets Jehan will kill you," she can hear Grantaire shouting from one floor down, and she flinches at the sound.
Would it physically kill him to whisper? She didn't have a headache before, but she is sure to get one if people start screaming. Enjolras is staring at her with damn compassion in his eyes and the second that compassion turns to pity, she will kick him out of her room, even though she can barely get out of bed. She can't stand pity.
"I can't believe he isn't hungover," she mutters to herself.
"I actually asked Monsi-Grantaire that same question earlier today," Enjolras responds, seemingly hesitant about stepping closer to her. "He claims that his alcohol tolerance is legendary and that this is the reason why he does not suffer any after-effects."
Well, actually, R is more like a mostly-functioning alcoholic – or a mostly-functioning addict, or whatever terminology she can come up with for that. If anyone in this house has experience with alcohol and/or hangovers, she can bet that's Grantaire. Even Enjolras should notice that – which makes her wonder if Enjolras drank wine back in the day. She wonders if Enjolras has ever been drunk.
"He's an experienced drinker," she quips, trying to smile brightly.
"Yes, I hear he imbibes quite often," Enjolras agrees with her, his smile quickly disappearing and being replaced by a blush.
For a second, she is stunned, not understanding what happened to make him look away so awkwardly after he was smiling at her just seconds earlier. She wants to touch her own face, trying to see if by smiling at him just now, she did something freaky that made him turn away. She tests the muscles of her face and when she finally gives in to the temptation of touching the skin of her face, she has to pull her hands out from under the covers. The covers that are no longer covering her chest – giving Enjolras a great look at just how thin her top is. He can see every line of her upper body, and he is blushing madly at the sight of her meager curves on display.
"What happened last night?" she decides to just throw it out there.
"What precisely are you referring to?" Enjolras is still unable to look in her direction, but she will be damned if she has to cover herself up yet again.
It is thrilling that her bony body can get such a response from a man, but at the same time she is so tired of him not even being able to look in her direction. She refuses to cover herself up in the summer heat as not to offend his oh so delicate sensibilities – he should feel lucky that she is not taking advantage of the sun and sunbathing in the garden, wearing only bikini bottoms as she reads another novel.
"Well, I can't remember anything after announcing that I was leaving," she has to make another semi-embarrassing confession.
"Which time?" he asks in return, and she lets out an annoyed groan.
Of course she didn't leave the first time – she has never done that and she was not about to start that in Musain. When she has a few drinks in her, she can party until the sun comes up, drink a glass of water, and keep going until she falls over somewhere in the early afternoon. This is a skill that she honed in college.
"The first time," she takes another gulp of water.
"Oh, well," Enjolras starts stammering, and she has to mentally map what she could have done to make him blush and stutter so.
Usually, when she has enough drinks, she gets chatty and flirty and even more rebellious than she usually is. All of these could have potentially disastrous conclusions for both her and Enjolras. If she got chatty with anyone about the wrong topics – mostly her personal life before she got to Musain and the topic of the great Enjolras himself – they would both be in some serious trouble. If she got flirty with anyone, she's undoubtedly made a complete fool of herself and embarrassed Enjolras. And her rebellious side rarely ends up well for Enjolras.
"How bad did I get?" she might as well just ask.
"Excuse me?" he does not seem to understand just what she is asking.
The expression might be new to him, but she doubts that the sentiment is unfamiliar to him. She cannot imagine that he never witnessed debauchery of any kind, and no matter the blushing, he must have some stories to tell that would surprise even R. They knew how to party in the olden days, and even though Enjolras would not be the type of guy to be the life of the party, she is sure that he must have seen his friends in the morning-after state. He cannot have lived his life without being around hungover friends.
"Tell me what happened," she orders him. "Start at the beginning."
"The first time you said that you were going to leave was about thirty minutes after you lied to Cosette about being an orphan," Enjolras still has not forgiven her for that particular comment. "Marius and Cosette were kissing in public, and you were upset."
It is terrible of her not to want these two together – but she does not feel guilty about that at all, not at all. There is no guilt or shame for what she is feeling. She is just a little hurt, and for that reason, she cannot look Enjolras in the eye.
"I don't want to talk about that," she looks away from him for a bit.
"You started drinking more heavily after that," Enjolras continues to talk, and she can hear the damn pity in his voice. "You simply refused to listen to me when I asked you to please slow down a bit. I was merely worried about your health, Éponine."
Ugh, that just makes it worse, because apparently just pitying her was not enough for her, he just has to be patronizing her and trying to take care of her like she is some dumb child who cannot take care of herself. If she wants to drink and party and forget about all the weirdness and stupidity that seems to surround her these days, then she will fucking do that. And no one has the right to say anything against it, because it is her life and she will live it the way she wants to live it.
God, this damn town is killing her. She needs to get out!
"Move on," she orders, trying to sound strong.
"I am sorry for offending you," Enjolras immediately picks up on the change in the way she is speaking to him. "I recognize your right to make your own choices. I was just showing concern as a friend, but if you would like me to refrain from doing so from now on, I will acquiesce to that request."
Somehow he can use these pretty words to make her feel better, and she hates how he can pull that trick on her when she is supposed to be the master of words and tricks herself. Somehow it is even worse because for him, it is not a trick he is trying to pull, but rather a sincere concern for her well-being. He calls himself her friend, and while that makes her a little uncomfortable – she doesn't have friends – she also feels something that is akin to delight when she hears him say the word friend in reference to her. Because somehow she actually means something to him, and that is terrifying.
"Thank you," she responds. "What happened next?"
It is easier to immediately move on to a different topic, rather than dwelling any longer on this evolution of the friendship between her and Enjolras. Her stupidity from the night before somehow seems like a much safer topic of discussion.
"You left my sight for a while," Enjolras is not quite sure of everything that happened next. "When I next saw you, you were already quite intoxicated, and Monsieur Grantaire was pushing you in my direction because monsieur Jehan ordered him to do so. He wanted us to dance together for some reason."
Dancing? That was Jehan's nefarious plan? She does not understand why he would even want her to dance with Enjolras, but she is sure that she would have objected to it if she had been sober. Sure, she can dance, but she usually chooses not to, especially not in a setting where dancing is more like slow dancing than shaking her booty to the beat. That is just too intimate, and it worries her that she might have shared this intimacy with Enjolras without even remembering it the morning after.
"Did we?" she has to ask, trying not to sound nervous.
"Not until you ordered Monsieur Jehan to dance with Monsieur Grantaire first," he replies with a soft smile on his face. "They were not pleased with this at first, but I am glad you did not take no for an answer."
That makes her smile, because even when drunk, she does not make a deal without getting something out of it first. It is both sad and awesome that this is so ingrained into her very being that she does not know how to make a deal without this.
"That pleases me," she grins her best evil grin.
"Does you and me dancing please you as well?" suddenly Enjolras sounds a bit more unsure. "Because when I agreed to dance with you, I presumed that you were conscious enough to make your own decisions – and remember your actions in the morning."
Is he actually worried that he somehow took advantage of her? Because that might be the most ridiculous thing that she has ever heard. Enjolras could never take advantage of anyone. He is much too polite and gentlemanly to even treat anyone badly – and it is kind of disgusting how he appears to be too good to be true. Even with the tears from the night before, and the occasional outbursts when the topic of his past comes up, he isactually a decent guy to be around. And she really hates that – she does not do friends, or decent guys, or sticking around. And in him, she has found all three.
"I don't usually dance," she skirts around the topic.
"Why not?" Enjolras asks a question that should not matter too much.
It is not that there is an actual story behind this – there is no weird tale of traumatic experiences related to dancing – it is more a personal preference based on watching her sister twirl while she tripped over her own feet. She didn't come into her own until she was away at college, and there were no proper dances there – more bump and grind than slowly swaying to a waltz. It has been a while since her last dance.
"That does not matter," she nips that conversation in the bud.
"We did dance," Enjolras just has to go on about it. "Just in case you would like to know what happened last night. Monsieur Jehan chose the song."
If she knows Jehan at all, and after spending most of the last month in his house, she does know a lot about him, she knows that he would have chosen the sappiest love song he could think of. Jehan would think it romantic that the protesting man, the man of marble would dance so closely with the woman who brought him back to life. Sure, the idea of it is romantic – something that poets like Jehan would write sonnets about – but the reality is so very different from the romantic ideal.
"What song?" she interrogates him, knowing that this won't be good.
"I am not familiar with contemporary music," now it just seems like Enjolras is being the one avoiding the topic. "I would not know the song title or the performer."
The reality of getting close with a man of marble is that heartbreak would be eminent for him – because she is still leaving this town when she gets bored of it, or she has enough money to make her way to Paris. She needs enough money to stay in the big city without a job, and then she will walk the Parisian streets and forget about Musain. Maybe she will remember the man of marble, once in a while, and she might even smile softly at that memory. But that will be where their story ends.
"What did this performer sing about?" she finds herself desperate for that information.
"There was a candle in a window," Enjolras is frowning while attempting to recall a song he might only vaguely remember. "The singer was fighting against feelings. Or, no, the singer found that it was impossible to fight said feelings."
Oh my fucking God, she was going to kill Jehan! She was definitely right when she guessed he would pick one of the sappiest love songs known to man, but this one was definitely supposed to strike a chord. There are no feelings to hide on her end, and she is crossing her fingers and almost desperate enough to pray that this goes for the other end, for Enjolras, as well. There should not be any feelings here – that would be the worst thing that could possibly happen to him. He needs a happily ever after, not an even bigger mess than he was in before.
"Fucking hell," she curses under her breath. "I hate that song. For future reference: it's called Can't Fight This Feeling, and it is performed by a band called REO Speedwagon."
"I assume that is why Monsieur Jehan chose it," Enjolras is once again more astute than most people give him credit for. "He was not particularly pleased after you chose a similar-sounding song for him and Monsieur Grantaire to dance to."
At least she managed to get R and Jehan a decent set-up – because those two were the ones who should just give up on fighting the feelings. While she understands that R probably needs time to just deal with himself first, she wonders how long the distant longing between the two men has been going on, and how long it will continue, until they finally give in to it already. If she can do anything to make that happen faster, or to make these two guys happy – together – she will do that.
"How was their dance?" she has to ask, because she is a curious brat.
"Both men were angry with you," Enjolras stands at attention, as if he is formally reporting to her. "I am not sure if it was about the song choice – I do not quite remember what the song in question was – or about the dance in general."
Either way, she did the job, and she did it well.
She is left picturing that dance, Jehan and R awkwardly trying to move together without touching too much – because that would be way too telling of their feelings for each other. And that would just be a disaster, if people would find out. They would think it a disaster, anyway, even though everyone they know and love already knows that something is bound to happen between them. And it depends on the both of them growing up and learning to deal with their feelings as well as their issues. It will never work if they do not learn to deal with both the highs and the lows.
"But they did dance, did they not?" she grins at Enjolras.
"That they did," he answers, not quite grasping the meaning of this momentous occasion.
Maybe Enjolras does not get it, or maybe she is just being ridiculous, attributing so much meaning to one dance, and trying to deny that another even happened. Sure, there are latent feelings of curiosity left stirring inside of her, most of them owing to her not remembering her own dance. She is not even sure if she wishes to remember it, because having the memories of holding the marble man close as they sway might stir up silly memories from the years before. She does not want either set of memories, for fear of them stirring up feelings in her that should have died long ago.
Still, she wonders. How much distance was there between their bodies? Did their hands clasp one another and how perfectly did they fit? Did touches ignite sparks or was there nothing but clammy hands awkwardly holding one another? Was there anything to this dance, or was it nothing important? Inquiring minds wish to know.
She does not want to want to know.
"And we danced next?" she could almost kick herself for asking.
"Yes," is all the response she gets from the former marble man.
Wow, that is just wonderfully helpful. He does not tell her anything new, and she needs to new information to make something out of the black hole that is her memory of anything that happened the night before. And even though this black hole might be simpler, or easier to cope with, and even know she is fully aware that curiosity was the thing that killed the cat, she still has to know. She needs to know.
It is not because this might be the only time that he touches her like this – she has to believe that is not the cause for her curiosity. She wants to think that this is just because she loathes not knowing, and repressed memories have always been her enemy.
"Just one dance?" she hates how unsure she sounds.
"The next song was a lot faster," Enjolras seems slightly uncomfortable with the topic as well. "You were perfectly willing to teach me how to dance to that, but I still do not understand modern music. I have yet to find an artist or a performer that I like."
It is interesting that no one has taken the time to teach Enjolras about culture, and movies and music in particular. Sure, he is still rather wary of the television, but should that really be that much of a deterrent? She promises herself that on her next day off, she will teach him some music history, or just let him listen to Dylan and the Beatles and make up his own mind about more contemporary music. She knows that he will never grow to like the club scene, or dance music, but she thinks that he might learn to appreciate protest music or more contemporary folk music.
There is just so much that he does not know about yet, so much that she can still teach him. There are so many things that scare him still, or things that have yet to make his eyes light up with interest at this whole new world.
Maybe she can stay here a little while longer, until he is safe in this world.
"You will," she tries to reassure him. "I am sure of it."
"You were quite drunk at that time," Enjolras acts as if she never said anything about music, and she tries not to wonder why that is. "I politely declined your invitation for another dance to that terrible music. Afterwards, you were pouting, and then you announced that you wanted to go home, for approximately the fifth time in as many minutes. Monsieur Jehan and Monsieur Grantaire were still enjoying the party, so it was my duty as your escort to see you home safely."
Ah yes, of course she was just a part of his noble duty as a gentleman. Part of her likes this gentlemanly behavior, and yet another part of her resents merely being another duty to him. He was raised to take care of helpless young ladies, and while she has not been helpless in a very long time, she prefers to think that he simply cares enough about her wellbeing to see her home safely. It is stupid to want him to care while at the same time not wanting herself to care about him, but this is what is happening.
"And of course you would do your duty," the harshness in her voice is obvious.
"Of course," Enjolras reacts without any hints of harshness or anger. "I could not leave you to walk the streets alone. I wanted to keep you safe."
An admirable sentiment, sure – and oh God, why is she now talking so differently, using his words and phrases? But yeah, the idea is nice and all, trying to make sure that she is safe, because even though she can usually protect herself, she is definitely not at her best when she is drunk. And she was drunk enough to black out last night.
So, really, he did protect her and keep her safe, no matter how much she dislikes it.
"Thanks for that," she tries not to sound resentful.
"I walked you home," Enjolras flinches at that tone in her voice. "I walked you up to the attic, because the stairs appeared to give you some trouble."
The blush that suddenly appears on his face is a bad omen for the things that would have happened next. Sure, he blushes at a lot of things that involve her, and just to be sure she checks that his gaze is not once again distracted by her thin shirt and the curves she is hiding underneath. Nothing appears to have changed there, so it is safe for her to presume that his blush involves something that he has not told het yet.
"What happened next?" she crosses her arms, stupidly making the thinness of her shirt even more obvious to his gaze. "You're blushing. Something happened."
Enjolras almost seems scared to look at her now, and she finds that his gaze catches on her crossed arms and on her chest a few times before he gathers the courage to look her in the eye again. Still, he stays completely silent, not even letting out as much as a mere sigh to break the silence. Whatever happened after he walked her to her room is so embarrassing to him that he literally cannot speak of it – and that is seriously worrying her. She knows that she has done stupid things, but how bad did she get?
"What did I do?" she uses the tone of an interrogator.
"I really did not mean to take advantage of you, Mademoiselle Éponine," Enjolras starts stammering, still blushing as he tries to explain. "I was merely making sure that you found your room and your bed. I was just about to close the door and go back downstairs, but you claimed to need my help again."
She didn't! Oh God, please say that she did not go there! Sure, she is not generally a horny drunk, but she does have moments of stupidity. And of course Enjolras just had to be there for one of those moments, making it unlikely that he will be able to look at her again in the near future, especially without blushing. He cannot look her in the eye.
"With what?" she is only asking because she needs to know.
"You wished to change into more practical garments to sleep in," it seems as though his blush is actually spreading at this point. "You started changing clothes in front of me, and I swear I did not say anything to encourage this behavior."
All this and he is worried that she might think he did anything? Hell, he can't even tell her the story without blushing. Does he really think that she would accuse him of doing anything hinky while she was drunk, when he can't even look at her? When she is drunk, she gets even more stubborn than she usually is, and way too honest for it to be safe for her to get drunk too often. She says things she would not dare say when sober, and it appears that Enjolras was the unfortunate victim this time.
"Changing clothes is hard when you're drunk," she nods sagely.
"I know this," he blurts out, and she turns to look at him, shocked. "Still, I have never found myself undressing in front of someone of the opposite sex. And when you asked me to assist you in getting changed, I was disinclined to acquiesce to your request."
Well, she cannot blame the old school guy for not helping her get undressed – his code of honor simply would not let that happen. The brief thoughts that tell her she would have liked it if he had helped her get naked are quickly pushed down.
"Wait, you were disinclined?" she picks up on a particular nuance.
"You took your dress off yourself," Enjolras is pointedly looking away from her. "I had to look away, of course, since it was not proper."
Him and his damn crap about things being proper! He always talks about things not being right or not being proper, and she really wishes he would just toss all of that shit aside and do something really improper.
Oh God, can she blame her own thoughts for going down a particularly titillating path?
"Of course," she humors him.
"However," he continues, and she wonders what else there is to the story, "after a few minutes, I was still hearing you struggle with something, and I had no choice but to turn around and see for myself what the problem was."
So he did actually see her naked? Or, semi-naked, or whatever state she was in. That is a curious turn of events, and by now she wants to remember last night more than anything. After the dance – both of the dances, really – and now this turn of events, how can she not want to remember everything that has happened?
"And?" she has to keep prodding to make him tell the entire tale.
"You were trying to put your head through the arm hole of the top that you are currently wearing," Enjolras is trying to stay serious at this point, but judging by the way the corners of his mouth are turning up, he is also trying not to laugh at her.
She understands that it might make a bit of a ridiculous picture; her drunken self, just about undressed after having taken off her white dress, trying to put on the well-worn tank top, and failing every single time. She wonders how many times she tried to put on the top by putting her head through the armhole before he noticed and finally put a stop to that. The idea is embarrassing and hilarious at the same time.
"Oh God," she shakes her head, trying not to crack up.
"I do apologize for any liberties I had to take," somehow Enjolras is still trying to be serious after all this. "I felt it was more important that you were dressed. And I promise that I tried not to peek at anything, unless it was strictly necessary."
Really, she is not even all that bothered about him possibly seeing her half-naked. She kind of likes her body, with its toned skin and taut stomach and slight curves – and she likes flustering the former marble man with it even more. She likes making him look at the lines of her body, likes that he blushes even though she almost gets the sense that he likes what he is seeing. She likes making him want her – because it makes her feel more like she is remotely close to being on equal footing with him. He is a constant surprise, a mystery wrapped in a riddle tied up with an enigma, and she knows that she could never compete with his classical beauty. She finds him incredibly interesting, and she cannot quite explain that, but she hopes to make him interested by her in return.
"I am sure you were a complete gentleman," she tries to reassure him.
"I promised the lady Cosette that I would be," his voice suddenly cracks.
Oh God, he talked to Cosette again, without her there at his side, without her there to support him? After everything he found out last night, how did he even find the courage and the strength to talk to his sister's family? After facing the facts, that his sister's life went on without him there, that his sister is long gone while he is forced to wander the earth again – he managed to go on, all by himself.
There is more strength in him than even he knows.
"You did what?" there is no other way for her to ask him.
"She made me promise to look after you," Enjolras speaks; voice unsure. "She made me promise to keep you safe. I had to keep that promise. She is family."
Pushing aside the nagging feeling that a promise he made to someone he barely knows was seeming more important than his care for her, she notices how completely open his face is when he talks about Cosette. Now that he knows about her family, now that he has gotten some hints that his sister had some happiness, his face is no longer so guarded when he talks about either woman.
"Are you okay with that whole thing?" she blurts out before reconsidering.
"The whole thing meaning the revelation that Cosette is a descendant of my sister Cécile?" Enjolras requests clarification.
"Yes, Mister Exposition," she rolls her eyes at him fondly.
He looks like he does not understand her reference – only because she never meant for him to get the joke. Sometimes she likes seeing him so befuddled by the modern world and all of the jokes and references that come with it.
"Okay is not the right word to use," he ponders out loud. "I think I still need some more time to properly deal with last night's revelation. I do hope that I will find some kind of opportunity to talk to Mademoiselle Cosette once again. While the end result may be painful, I do wish to know what happened to my sister after my… departure."
She cannot imagine being this brave – she never wanted to know much about what happened after she left her family. She was never strong enough to ask, and she is so very envious of the strength that Enjolras still manages to display after everything that he has been through. Even after he cried in her arms the night before, even after he fell apart for just a little while, he managed to pick himself up and calmly converse with a descendant of his own family. He managed to get her home and take care of her after all of this – she probably should have been a better friend to him.
They are actually friends – how can she still deny this after everything? He may be the only person she has called friend in years, but it is much too late for her to deny that the marble man has snuck into her heart and named himself her friend before she had the time to tell him no. She thinks he might have been her friend even before she brought him to life with a few careless words. She thinks it really started meaning something over these last few days – it has become all too real to her.
"I have to ask," she bites her lip, hesitant. "Are you sure? This could cause entirely new pain for you. You could find out things that make it worse. Do you really want to put yourself through that? I don't want to see you in pain like that."
With that last line she has put too much out there. She has said too much, and there is no way for her to take it back now. She cares – and no matter how much she hates that, there is nothing to be done because she cannot reverse it. She cares about this stupid marble man and his stupid feelings and his stupid life.
Maybe she is the stupid one here, because if this curse turns out to be more evil than she thought it would be, he could be taken away from her life just as easily as he was dropped into it. And no matter how happy she would be to leave this town and everyone in it, she would still hurt over leaving him behind as well.
"That is very kind of you, Éponine," Enjolras drops the usual title.
Before he can say anything else that would fuck up this fragile mess of a friendship that they've got going on here, she frantically looks for something that will make things less awkward. She needs something that will put them back on familiar terrain, and it appears as if there is nothing like that to be found.
"Fuck," she catches a glimpse of the time. "Is it that time already?"
There is no need for a distraction any longer when she is in serious danger of being late for the extra shift that she totally forgot about. She promised Musichetta that she would help out and now she is hungover and feeling like crap – and she still has to work, because she made a promise and she is sticking to that.
"I have to work," she tries to hide under the sheet for a few seconds.
"I will give you your space," Enjolras moves to leave her room.
In the panicked rush to locate some sensible clothes for work, she tries to ignore the guilt that is almost eating her up. He was the best friend she could ask for the night before, and she really has not acknowledged that enough.
"Thanks for last night," she manages to stammer.
"Thank you as well," Enjolras acknowledges, and closes the door behind him.
With a deep breath, she gets up out of bed and tries to find her stuff. She is going to need a ton of distractions to get through the day without freaking out or analysing this conversation – and everything that happened the night before – to death.
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The second the door slams shut behind Éponine, he rushes upstairs to use this extremely rare opportunity to talk to the Marble Man all by himself. Those two are rarely apart these days, and as much as he wants to encourage that – because clearly those two just need to do it already, no matter how not proper that may be – he also just needs to talk to Enjolras all by himself, without his babysitter present.
"Enjolras?" he knocks on the door so hesitantly that he surprises himself.
"Is that you Monsieur Grantaire?" the Marble Man responds. "Do come in!"
It has been a while since they have spoken without either Jehan or Éponine present, and he takes a deep breath, preparing himself so he won't completely fuck this up. Because that is what he's always been good at, of course. It is his great accomplishment – it is all that he is ever going to leave behind on this shitheap of a planet: a mess.
"What is the reason for your visit?" Enjolras is so very proper again.
"I want to know what happened to you," he decides to just be blunt. "I don't know what it is that Éponine did to make you become a real boy, but I want to know. Everything."
Sure, just like any artist, he likes the mystery, likes the esoteric and the odd beauty of not knowing. But now that the magic has entered into his personal life, he finds himself desperate to know the truth. Part of it is that he does not like the idea of actual magic – it makes him feel powerless and small, and he hates feeling that way. Also, he just wants to make sure that there is no catch to this, no secret rule that they have to follow or else everything will go to shit. He may not like magic in his personal life, but he is a student of art, and art comes with tales of curses and magic – and things rarely end well. If there is anything he can do to create a happier sort of ending, he will do it.
"I cannot explain this," Enjolras pointedly refuses to talk.
"I am merely offering my services," he tries to spin this curiosity into something that might benefit the Marble Man. "I have access to the archives at the museum, and I could help you out with the origins of the statue and what happened to you while you were – not entirely animate. Surely you wish to know more about this."
He is entirely too good at manipulation, he knows that much about himself. He knows how to spin a turn of phrase, and how to make people hang on his every word – he practices his skill with the oldies at the museum and he has honed it with some of his less savory connections. He knows just what to say and do with everyone – with one painful exception. Damn Jehan's eyes for seeing right through him.
"You are good with words," Enjolras appears to be another exception. "I know that you are curious about me, but I cannot tell you things that I have not yet told Mademoiselle Éponine. She has been very kind to me, and while she too is insatiably curious, she respects that I will not tell her certain things just yet."
Jehan was right about them – there are definitely feelings there. Sure, the Marble Man might not be used to women like their Éponine, and that might be a part of the attraction, but he is also generally entranced by her, and extremely grateful for the kindness she has bestowed on him. He can see that not even Enjolras himself understands just what the woman he calls Mademoiselle Éponine means to him.
"You are very fond of Éponine," he casually remarks on it.
"She has been a good friend to me," the Marble Man misunderstands the meaning of what he was trying to say – or at least, pretends to misunderstand it.
This is a game that he knows he can play. Surely Enjolras feels differently for Éponine – his feelings simply cannot be completely platonic. He saw them dance the night before, saw the way Enjolras cared for her, and now there is no way that he will believe the Marble Man when he pulls the "just friends" card.
It showed in the way he touched her – tentative and soft, as if he thought she was made of spun glass that would break so very easily. He did not touch her so softly because he did not want to touch her – no, on the contrary. He touched her so softly because it was the only way he could keep himself from showing his feelings for her. However, that conundrum meant that he was bound to show his feelings either way, no matter what he said or did, or how he treated Éponine.
"I saw you two dancing last night," he makes it a point to mention it to the Marble Man.
"I know this," the other man once again avoids the real issue.
The song was overly sappy and terrible – typical Jehan, really – but the feelings were definitely there. It is annoying that he basically has to hit Enjolras over the head with the evidence, but he will make it work. Both of these idiots deserve some happiness.
For all they know, true love is the key to breaking the curse. Though, he has to be honest about this situation, that solution would be kind of cheesy and lame. Jehan would love it, but everyone else would pretty much hate it. Because really, true love? It is the easy way out of a curse, and if there has to be a proper curse in his life, he would rather it be a decent one, with a solution that does not involve romance.
Not everything can be solved by romance. If that were the truth, he would be ecstatically happy and extremely well-adjusted by now. And that is obviously not the case.
"Denial has never helped anyone, you know," he has to explain that much.
"I think it is very interesting that you would say that," it seems as if the Marble Man has a few more tricks up his sleeve as well, "especially knowing what Mademoiselle Éponine told me about you and Monsieur Jehan."
Ah yes, of course everything would come back to whatever the thing is that is slowly brewing between him and Jehan. It has been a long time coming, he knows that, but it will be an even longer time until something can actually happen between them. He would ruin Jehan if he were to give in now, and that is the last thing he wants.
"We might get along better if we discussed different topics," he makes a tactical retreat.
"What do you suggest?" the Marble Man makes him do all the work.
Now that the topic of their mutual friends has all but been placed under the column of taboo, he is scrambling to find another thing that they can talk about. He really does want to get to know the Marble Man as an actual person, not just the representation of the entrance of magic into his life. There has got to be more to this guy than magic and fear of technology and the modern world.
"Do we have anything in common?" he exclaims, frustrated.
"The museum," Enjolras gives a kind of sensible answer. "We have been spending time around each other for a long time now. It is high time we get to know one another."
At least the other man has similar intentions for this conversation. Still, now that Enjolras has pointed out that they have in fact known each other for a few years, he starts to wonder just how aware the Marble Man was of his surroundings during that time. He wonders how much the other man has seen, how many secrets he has overheard that no one was ever supposed to know.
"What do you know?" he turns suspicious very quickly.
"I have seen your sister," Enjolras seems to be trying to approach this gently, without too much success. "When she visited, I was aware of your conversations in front of me."
Even though he cannot see himself in the one mirror in the room, he knows that he must be pale as a sheet at this point. He has said a lot of things to his sister, and most of them were extremely private – not something that he would want anyone to know about.
"What do you know?" he repeats, dreading where this is going.
"I heard about your father," the Marble Man answers. "I know that he was sick."
Fuck! He hates talking about the old man – so he just pretends that he has no family aside from Corinne. He talks to her rarely, mostly on the phone because he is the black sheep who never goes near his family and she is the good daughter who takes care of her elders no matter what. She visited their father and played nice and listened to him spewing his offensive bullshit – the stuff that always used to cut him to the bone. His father had grown so bitter without their mother to keep him happy.
"Yes," is all that he says to that – all that he can say to that.
"I know that your sister took care of him," somehow Enjolras is still trying to seem gentle while he tears apart his carefully constructed tower of secrets.
That tower has turned into a house of cards in mere minutes, and one by one the cards fall down until there is nothing left but a stack of lies and secrets that no one even believes anymore. He can't even make himself believe any of it anymore, and that is what he requires to tell these stories to people. All his secrets have been laid bare, and he resents Enjolras for being able to keep his own house of cards standing after all this.
"You know everything, I assume," he is careful to keep his voice level and strong.
"I know that you went to your father's funeral recently," of course the Marble Man has to twist the knife. "I am sorry for your loss."
His loss? There was nothing left for him to lose, since he had been cut off by the old man years ago, for a host of stupid reasons. Sure, the old man might have had a point about the damn drugs, but the rest of it was complete horseshit. He would love who he wanted to love, damn it, and he would live in this godforsaken town and work at the damn museum if that is what he wanted to do. Fuck his father!
"I am not sorry," he bites from between clenched teeth.
"Those are harsh words," a stupid comment from Mister Obvious.
"My father was a harsh man," he finds himself in his element again, even though the topic still proves to be difficult. "He did not care for his children disobeying him in any way. I did not care for obeying. You can see that there was a problem there."
It is easier to hide his annoyance with the topic by using quips and sass. God, he hates talking about his father, and he hates that the damn Marble Man knows all too much about his family. Sure, he has revealed the occasional tidbit to Jehan – one of the few friends who has actually met both his father and his sister. Heck, Jehan even knew his mother once upon a time. They did grow up together, after all.
"Why did you not tell Monsieur Jehan about the funeral?" Enjolras questions.
"He would have pitied me," he decides to just answer the other man, since he already knows too much for him to be comfortable with.
Jehan will hate him when he finds out the truth – and knowing Jehan, he will find out at some point in the near future. It will be another reason for Jehan to hate him and keep him at a distance – which would probably be better for him in the end. He deserves so much better, and he is unable to give his friend that.
"I am sure there are things that you have not spoken to Éponine about," he is a terrible person for wanting some kind of payback.
It is not an attempt at blackmail, or anything remotely as nefarious as that. It is just a reminder directed at Enjolras that he is not fit to cast the first stone here. Everyone has secrets and things that they would rather not talk about – and sure, he knows that Enjolras would have revealed some of them to Éponine when they were on the balcony together the night before, but he also knows that this conversation was not the end to the secrets. There are many more tales still waiting to be told, and even though Enjolras did not say anything that he did not already know, there were revelations in the other man's attachment to Éponine, and new discoveries about the Marble Man's character.
"Nothing that I wish to reveal at this time," Enjolras puts an end to that.
"I won't say anything else either," he almost huffs in frustration.
They stare at each other awkwardly for a little while, not having much else to say to each other without Jehan or Éponine present – especially now that they have already discussed most of the bad topics.
"Anybody home?" they hear Jehan calling from downstairs.
"Maybe we could play one of your videogames later," the Marble Man offers up as some sort of peace offering.
"Sounds good," he replies, heading in the direction of the stairs.
Enjolras was going to wish he had not said that – he is the kind of friend who picks Rainbow Road.
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She stares at the glasses miserably, willing her head not to start pounding now, when she only has an hour of her shift left. There is not much to do at the moment, since the café is pretty quiet until later at night, but Musichetta has been keeping her busy with several menial chores, and she is simply exhausted.
"Thanks so much for picking up this shift," she finds Musichetta next to her, leaning against the side of the bar, looking like she might fall over soon. "My idiot brother was not going to take the late afternoon shift after the party."
From what she heard, Bahorel is still upstairs, sleeping off a hangover more terrible than she has ever had to deal with. She wonders if he remembers more of the party than she does – that would be ironic beyond belief. Even in her blurry memories of the night before, Bahorel was a long way gone. And that was at the beginning of the party – she does not even want to imagine how he ended up at the end of the night.
"Sure," is all that she says in response.
"I know you have a bit of a hangover as well," Musichetta is smiling, "so I appreciate your presence all the more. It's good that we're not too busy. It helps with the headache."
Well, she did not have a headache when she started her shift – one is starting to creep up on her, though. She is hoping for a quiet night at home with some decent food, to soak up the leftover alcohol running through her body. Really, at this point she does not even care what kind of food they put in front of her, only that there is a lot of it. Eating always helps with a hangover.
"I had a little too much wine last night," she shrugs, as if it hardly matters.
"So I've heard," Musichetta now shows an enigmatic Mona Lisa smile.
But how could she have heard that, when she left the party early? Musichetta is the responsible sibling, leaving Bahorel at his friend's party while she prepared the café for the Saturday afternoon shift. Most of the shenanigans did not happen until Musichetta was safe at home, maybe even after she went to sleep.
"Where did you hear that?" she scrunches up her face in confusion.
"Marius told me," Musichetta winks at her. "He had a lot to say about what you did at the party. You went home with Enjolras? And you two slow-danced together?"
Marius noticed her at the party? She cannot help but smile at that, because somehow, in some way, she actually managed to get his attention. She managed to make him notice her even though he barely stepped away from Cosette all night – or the parts of it that she remembers, anyway. But embarrassingly enough, he noticed the parts of the night that involved her getting awkwardly close to Enjolras.
"Oh God," she mutters. "He saw that?"
"Éponine, honey," Musichetta is trying to reassure her. "What is it with you and Marius?"
How is she ever going to explain the instant feeling of connection she had with Marius, or the way his smile unleashed butterflies in her stomach? Marius makes her think of easier times, when freckled boys were the norm and flirtations were easy. She likes the way he makes her feel. Really, her stupid crush is that simple.
"I like his smile," she says in her quest to explain herself.
"Ep, why would you do this to yourself?" Musichetta sighs deeply. "He loves Cosette – they're basically disgustingly happy together. And you could do better. Hell, if you'd only open your eyes, you could be doing better right away."
And with a pointed look in her direction, Musichetta walks away from her, grabbing a tray to pick up the empty glasses nearby. The other woman is already hard at work while Éponine finds herself once again staring at the glasses, wondering who the hell Musichetta was talking about.
Her eyes are wide open, and she still cannot think about anyone in particular – that is, unless Musichetta's earlier mentions of Enjolras, and the way they were together at the party, were meant to be clues. Could Musichetta really be referring to Enjolras?
Really, all these deep thoughts are just making her headache worse.
AN: So, talk to me about your favorite lines/parts/moments…