The Marble Man
Disclaimer: Yeah, still don't own it.
AN: Life, man. Life.
Chapter fourteen:
The next two days passed quietly enough, with Éponine picking up longer shifts at the Corinthe, Enjolras reading the book that Cosette had leant him, and Jehan and R being – well, Jehan and R. The most exciting thing that happened in those two days? Enjolras accompanying her to the boulangerie, and being so astounded by the digital cash register that there was an actual line for the first time in years.
She started Enjolras on the phone lessons as well, which was interesting. He is coming along nicely though, progressing in the speed at which he can dial a number as well as not freaking out at the beeping sounds when it rings. Soon she'll teach him to actually talk through the thing.
It is a decent project to pass some time, but still, she wonders if there is not something else that she can do to show Enjolras more of the world than just the Prouvaire house and the garden. She has taken him to some of the stores around town, and while some things still positively terrify him, he needs new challenges.
At some point, there will be nothing left in this town to interest him – she is fully aware of that, but she hopes that this jadedness will not set in too quickly. She still loves seeing him charmed by the smallest things in life, the things that she has long ago taken for granted. She does not want to see him become as jaded as she is.
Sure, this is no fucking Lifetime movie or a Hallmark card, but even though he annoys the fuck out of her most of the time, she does not want him to change.
God, she needs to get out of this town – fast! But first, she needs to attend a meeting for something she knows she is not going to fix. She doubts that she will even be around long enough to make a difference. But maybe Enjolras will be.
So she sits herself down at a table in the back, away from the madness that is bound to ensue, and is surprised when Enjolras sits down in the back with her instead of sitting closer to his friend Combeferre. She does not ask him why – that would be weird – but she does smile at him when he next looks in her direction.
She waits for someone, anyone, to start this meeting off properly, and is surprised when about three guys start talking at once – and no one stops them when they all get going, talking over each other in a cacophony of sound. This is not a meeting; this is a shouting match between friends! These guys need more help than she ever imagined.
"Oh dear," she sighs, hoping no one else will hear.
The 'meeting' has quickly descended into the kind of organized chaos only 'Ferre's Amis could create. She has only just realized that 'Amis' was not just 'Ferre or R referring to their friends, but rather some sort of title for their group. They were actually known throughout the town of Musain as 'the Amis' or 'Les Amis', because if you saw one of them, there was bound to be another nearby. They were the only group of friends that still lived in Musain – other groups had merely left a few strays behind while they hightailed it out of town as fast as they could. The town both loved and hated the Amis, present as they were as harbingers of change.
That is, if they ever got organized enough to actually get anything done.
"Is there a plan?" a whisper from Enjolras, sitting ever so calmly next to her as he waits out the chaos from a safe distance.
"I doubt it," she responds sotto voce.
Enjolras sighs, seeming particularly displeased at the lack of organization. She wonders what his response to it will be. Will he walk away from the mess – which would be her choice – or will he step up and do something about it? She has a gut feeling that he just might try the latter.
"This is not a properly organized meeting," he mutters through clenched teeth. "If they wish to accomplish something today, they should elect a chairman to head up the discussion. It would ensure that everyone gets heard."
In response, she just nods, hoping that will somehow entice him to take action. It is this or goading him, and she doubts that the latter would go over all too well. Or, you know, she could try it anyway if this effort fails. It would be good for him to have a purpose again, to make a difference.
"It sounds like you have valuable experience in this," she tries to be as subtle as possible about switching to this goading tactic.
"You mean to suggest I help conduct this meeting," Enjolras does not miss a thing. "I do not know if any advice I could give would be applicable in these times. I am sure that things have changed greatly since I was last in a meeting."
He bites his full lower lip, and it looks like she has at least gotten under his skin. He appears to be considering providing some input, and all she needs to do is give him that final push to show him that his ideas are valid. Because they are – even though Enjolras may have limited knowledge of these modern times, some principles still apply. And the Amis could really use the help, seeing as they lack a strong leader who will keep things running smoothly.
"Your chairman idea was very useful," she slowly starts to raise her voice a little. "They may have more knowledge of what this town is like these days, but you appear to know more about planning and conducting meetings. That is valuable information. I mean, look at them! They could really use your help."
At this point, she is firmly steering him towards joining Les Amis – it would give him friends and people to talk to when she leaves this place behind, and he really does need a new purpose in life. He is not made of marble anymore. The Marble Man only needed to be freed. Enjolras needs more.
"I am not sure," Enjolras still does not step up.
She is this close to just pushing him into the melee to see if that will solve anything. She grows impatient so fast these days, and as usual, Enjolras is left to pay the price. Still, he will not get an apology from her.
"Stop yapping, you idiots!" she yells over the cacophony of voices. "Enjolras has some ideas to improve this mess. Play nice, or I hurt you."
The face of the man next to her has gone as white as a sheet, and she would totally feel sorry for him if she did not know that anything he has to say now is only going to improve things. This mess cannot be allowed to go on any longer, and Enjolras would be a great addition to their group – and an even better leader.
"I, I was wondering if it may be better to appoint a chairman," Enjolras sounds hesitant, less than sure of himself, "or –woman, my apologies, ladies. I think that would make it easier for everyone to have their ideas heard."
A silence stretches on after that, the Amis looking at each other in complete surprise – probably mentally slapping themselves because they did not think of doing this relatively simple thing. They need someone who can see the bigger picture and not just the issue at hand. She still thinks that Enjolras could be that man. He just needs to step up and get involved.
"I nominate Enjolras as chair," Combeferre is the first to speak.
"I second," Jehan is quick to agree.
The man in question, the new chairman, now gives her a look that is all anger – were it not that his eyes show that he is actually really fucking terrified. She is sure that he must be doubting himself and his abilities at this point, and while she understands that this will be difficult for him, she actually believes that he can do this. He has risen to every challenge that life has thrown at him, so why not this one?
"Motion accepted," she seals his fate.
She believes that he is ready to name her Judas – and she is so close to figuring out the best Jesus Christ Superstar reference for the occasion – but Combeferre's quick thinking saves them all from most of the awkwardness. 'Ferre manages to get Enjolras a new seat closer to the action, and she just sits back and watches the other Amis fall further under Enjolras' mysterious spell.
Really, it is impossible to tell just what he does and just how he does it, but everyone seems entranced by him somehow. He has a way with words that is beyond any era in particular, that has nothing to do with the time that he was born in and everything to do with the kind of person he is. He is a man with a cause – a new one this time – and he is ready to fight for that cause.
Now that the chairman has been appointed, and the meeting is suddenly a lot more structured, everything seems to move along much faster. Combeferre's pen appears to be flying over the paper as he tries to keep up with all the ideas that are being discussed under Enjolras' leadership. Plans are being made, and this whole meeting is finally starting to take shape as an actual lead-up to something bigger.
Still, there is no decision yet about what this something bigger might be.
"We can't stop this all at once," Combeferre cuts through a passionate argument from Bossuet. "Musain's problems are too big to be fixed in just one day, with just one protest from a small group. We need a first step."
As usual, the teacher makes an excellent point. Bossuet's argument was decent, albeit messed up by the unlucky man's other antics. He is standing, leaning rather precariously on a crooked chair – she is surprised he has not yet fallen to the floor with a loud crash, because that is just what Bossuet does.
Apparently that's not even his real name, but she has never heard him referred to by any other name than Bossuet. Well, sometimes R calls him "boss" just to be an asshole, but that only happens when he's high. Which is more rare now than it used to be.
"Any suggestions for this first step?" Enjolras continues to lead them well.
There is silence, then, because all of these men and their grand ideas and ideals are great for the big picture, but it seems as if none of them are too good at details and small steps that lead to something more. Enjolras seems weary of it all already, and she worries about why something that is potentially beneficial to him suddenly seems like such a terrible idea. What happened that changed this?
"We can clean up this town," Feuilly is the one to break the silence. "There are houses on the edge of town that are falling apart, and they are only used by addicts to score a fix. I believe that if we tear those piles of junk down, it will rid a lot of addicts of their place to score. Sure, it is only moving the problem for now, but it is a step."
It would definitely make it harder for some of the local addicts to score drugs. Maybe it would bring them out into the streets, making the problem more visible, but maybe they would have to move away from this town. Some of the addicts only live where the drugs are. At least it would change something – and Musain is due for a few changes.
"It will show goodwill to the town," Combeferre adds, seemingly up for this plan. "It will show them that we are not just talk. And these properties are owned by the county. I am sure they would agree to this if we promise to clear the area. There has been talk of a new housing project there for ages now. They just lack the money and influence to clear the area, and to make the squatters and dealers buzz off. We can do that."
Slowly but surely, the other men start to respond to Feuilly's idea. There is a nod between Jehan and Courfeyrac, and the two immediately start whispering rather loudly about people they could contact and how they might need Marius' legal expertise for this in addition to Courf's own knowledge. The whispering gets progressively louder and their private conversation is now just another noise adding to the cacophony.
"That is quite enough," Enjolras interrupts, and silence returns. "One at a time, please."
The man is actually a natural leader, born to make these men shut up and shape up until they actually accomplish something. They fall silent as soon as he speaks up, and somehow he has already managed to make these men respect him. She cannot help but think that he has been here before.
But those men are long gone, and the reminder just might hurt.
e-e-e-e-e-e-e-e-e-e-e-e-e-e-e-e-e-e-e-e-e-e-e-e-e-e-e-e-e-e-e-e-e-e-e-e-e
She has listened to the message at least half a dozen times now, and the words never change. The sounds are the same. Nothing ever changes.
[crackling. The sound of a deep breath. Another. A cough.]
Hey, it's me, that sister you like to forget about. I'm just calling to let you know that Mom's dead. Apparently there was some kind of fight and she got shanked by her cellmate or something. Or her friend's cellmate, I don't know. Any way, since she was the only family member you still care about…
[more crackling. A young boy's voice in the background: "Who is it, Zelma?"]
We're leaving town. Not like there's anything making us stay here. Dad already has some stuff lined up for us, so we'll be fine. Call when you get this. Or don't. Yeah, just don't.
There isn't gonna be a funeral or anything, so. Yeah, don't call.
[more crackling, another cough, and then the dial tone]
The electronic voice asks her if she would like to save the message, and she somehow manages to press the right button; the one that makes the message start all over again – she needs to hear it once more, just to make sure it's actually true.
Hey, it's me, the sister you like to forget about. I'm just calling to let you know that Mom's dead.
Her mother is dead. Her mother, the woman who gave birth to her, is gone. She does not have a mother anymore. The only parent she cared for is gone now, without any last words, without anything else to remember her by. There are no heirlooms to fight over, nothing tangible that she can hold onto to remember her mother by.
All she has is nothing.
I'm just calling to let you know that Mom's dead.
She does not understand how Azelma can be so cavalier about the whole thing. A person is dead. A real, flesh and blood relative is dead. For fuck's sake, this is the person who gave them both life. They owe everything to their mother's decision to keep them, no matter what Father said. She may not have liked her mother very much, but she always loved her. And she cannot understand why Azelma does not feel the same.
She got shanked by her cellmate or something.
Who is this cellmate, or her friend's cellmate? Apparently her mother actually had a friend in prison. Her mother does not have friends – she is not exactly the type of person who inspires friendly feelings in anyone. It is a miracle that Father liked Mother enough to marry her – well, like is a strong word. She can count back far enough to know that her conception happened before the aforementioned wedding.
A shotgun may have been involved there.
We'll be fine
Her little brothers get no say in how they are feeling about all of this. Azelma has taken charge – or more likely, Father has taken the reins again and Azelma is following orders like the good daughter Éponine could never be. And Father wishes for everyone to be fine, so they will all fall in line. Even Gavroche and the little guys – she cannot even remember how old they are at this point.
She is a terrible sister and daughter.
There isn't gonna be a funeral or anything
So she is not going to get an opportunity to say goodbye. There is not going to be a moment where she can say her farewells to her mother and hold her little brothers and tell them things will get better. Even though things feel like they will never get better, and she knows that nothing will ever be the same again, she can be with her boys. They always make her feel stronger and more fragile at the same time.
But since there will be no funeral, there is no time for her to be with the parts of her family that she still wants to hold onto. Now that her mother is gone – mother is really gone – there is not much left of her life that she still wants to remember.
Yeah, don't call.
Once again, Father issues his orders and she is exiled. No contact allowed, unless initiated by Azelma – on Father's orders, of course. She cannot call, cannot hear her brothers' voices. Nothing soothes her like those little boy voices.
And she needs someone on her side right now, because…
Mom's dead.
Oh God, how can this be true? Sure, she knew that her mother was in prison, taking the fall for several of Father's worst crimes, and she knew that their family had too many enemies. But she never dreamed of things ending like this. She always thought that she would at least have one final visit with her mother in prison, one where the other woman begged for her forgiveness for being a shitty mom – even though she knows that Mother does not feel bad about that. She would never feel bad about that.
It was a nice dream, but there are some dreams that are just not meant to be.
Mom's dead
She keeps replaying the message over and over; memorizing the cadence of her sister's voice as she carelessly wrecks her last hope for reconciliation. The words are imprinted into her most painful memories, and still she clings to this voice, trying to hear her mother's likeness in her sister's tones.
Dead
A sob finally escapes, and she curls up into a little ball on her rickety attic bed. It feels like a dam has broken or burst and now all that is left for her to do is weep. The blankets are stifling and too hot, but she pulls them over her head anyway, in a vain attempt to hide away from the fucked up world outside this room. Why would she want to face a world without a mother?
Oh God, she really did love her mother. She did.
Maybe she should have said it more often – or just said it period. Their relationship was adversarial and messy and wrong, but now they will never have anything ever again. It is too late to fix things; something she always secretly hoped for.
"Mademoiselle Éponine?" the marble man has found her.
"Leave me alone," her voice cracks on her sobs. "Please!"
Right now, she does not want to help him figure out the damn plans for the damn project and the damn houses and the damn drugs. She just wants to cry and think of how she is never going to be the same again and it fucking hurts.
She beats her clenched fists to her chest to drown out the pain and weeps at how ineffectual the gesture is. God, she cannot bear the ache of it, no longer wants to feel this pain spreading throughout her body. But she is so damn powerless, too sad and angry and weak to stop it. There is nothing she can do.
"I cannot leave a lady in distress," Enjolras speaks and opens the door regardless of her wishes. "Please, mademoiselle. You have been most kind and supportive to me, and I merely wish to be a proper friend to you and return the favor."
A proper friend? Fuck that noise, because she does not want a proper friend at this moment. She just wants to curl up on her mother's lap like she is seven years old again and feel her mother running her hands through her hair as she tells silly romantic stories that they both used to believe in. There were princes on white horses, fighting for their ladies, whether they were princesses or kitchen girls. There were lords and ladies who were so very in love, just not with each other.
Those stories always had a happy ending – real life never had much happiness.
Mom's dead
"I do not want friends," she bites at him, lashing out at the only person willing to help her through this. "I do not need friends."
Like a little girl, she just needs her mother. Of course she would want the one thing she is never going to have – that is just the Éponine special. She is so good at wanting all the wrong things for herself, and it is something that she has tried to control for years now, but she has yet to succeed. She doubts she ever will. It is just in her nature to want more than a Thénardier has any right to have, or even to want.
Dead
"You have me regardless," Enjolras speaks ever so solemnly.
"Why?" she asks him, waiting for him to enter her room.
She knows how well sound carries in this house now that he has opened the door, and she would rather that he come in and close the door behind him than have R and Jehan hear any part of her outburst. They would find out soon enough, but she wants to be composed in front of them, an idea that she has already given up for her friendly relationship with Enjolras. He has shown as much weakness in front of her as she has in front of him, or more. It makes sense, seeing as this entire era is new to him and there are still many things that he does not know about.
"Whether you want me or not," he starts to talk as he finally steps into her room, "I am still your friend, Éponine. Friends support each other."
He may say that as if it is so very easy, but it is anything but easy for her. She has done everything alone since she was old enough to do so – and opinions differ about whether she was actually old enough for the responsibilities she assumed. Most sane people would disagree with her own sentiment, that her age at the time was perfectly respectable for her duties.
But that is so far beside the point right now.
I'm just calling to let you know that Mom's dead.
"You do not have to tell me anything," Enjolras is still trying to persuade her even though it is just the two of them in a closed off attic room. "Anything you want from me, anything I can do to make things better, I will do."
That is quite a lofty and heroic thing to say, and if she were a cruel person, she would ask things of him that he would not be willing to give, just to see how far she could extend this promise. But she is trying not to be that girl anymore, and so she stays mum, trying to figure out how vulnerable she can get in front of him and just what she can afford to ask of him. She plays the game of checks and balances at all times.
A Thénardier can never be in anyone's debt – it leaves these others room to call in favors that she is not willing to perform. It is never smart to owe anyone favors – not in her former circles. Not knowing the people that she is trying so hard to forget.
"I don't wanna talk about it," she says as he approaches.
She tries really hard to stifle the question that is trying to make it to her lips. A part of her really wishes she could muster up the courage to ask him to just hold her close – she needs to feel the warmth of another person who is on her side in all this. But to ask him to touch her would not be proper, and he would never do it.
"I will attempt to respect that request," he is ever so proper.
Once again, she tries to pull the stupid blanket over her head, but Enjolras' outstretched hand stops her. While fresh tears start to sting her eyes, she blinks through them to see her friend reaching for her. With baited breath, she sits up against the headboard, hoisting the blanket up to her chest – that would certainly make him feel more at ease being near her. Sometimes she wonders if he isn't still terrified of her.
"There, there," his warm hand gently pats her shoulder.
Suddenly she finds herself shifting from being seconds away from weeping, to fighting her laughter. He is just so awkward with her, as if he has never had to comfort anyone before, and especially not a woman. His touch is light enough for her to start worrying that she imagined it, that he pulled away before he got too close to her. Did he actually make that bit of progress there, or is her sadness just getting to her and making her imagine a more supportive friend?
God, that makes it sound as if she is unappreciative – which she really isn't – because while she tells him that she needs him to stay away from her, he is the only person she would let close enough to comfort her right now. She doesn't really want to talk to anyone, doesn't want to let anyone see her like this. But Enjolras is still here.
you know that Mom's dead.
"I don't bite," she stammers, her voice rough from her sobs.
"This situation," Enjolras is just as eloquent as she is, "it is rather improper. You are in your nightclothes, in your bed. I should not be in your bedroom when you are not decent, or in this emotional state. I know that times have changed and this is now acceptable, but I find myself not completely comfortable. However, I value your happiness and if my presence can contribute in any way… I am at your service. You were incredibly supportive at this… party at your friend Marius' house."
Seriously, sometimes she has no idea how he managed to adapt to this new society at all, with his old-fashioned ideas of what men and women are and aren't supposed to do together. He wants to be her friend, and yet he can barely be alone with her – especially in a room as private as a bedroom. It is almost funny to remember that maybe two weeks ago, they slept in this room together.
Mom's dead.
She chokes on her laugh, because how dare she laugh now? How can she be so easily amused at a time like this? Damn it, her mother is dead and she is laughing. She can't be laughing. She is not allowed to do that.
Tears burn in her eyes yet again and she tries to push them down. It is all in vein, because she is a stupid, vulnerable girl. Damn it.
"Tell me something," she orders him, completely choked up. "Anything at all."
I'm just calling to let you know that Mom's dead.
With that, he just looks at her, all curled up in this bed, tears running down her cheeks silently. She is sure that she must make quite a sight – and she briefly thanks whatever higher power people believe in that it was Enjolras at her door, and not anyone else.
But that damn look on his face, eyes softening ever so slightly as they seem to share in her pain. It makes her cry even more, because this damn sympathy is killing her and she can't tell him. Oh God, why can't she tell him?
Dead
"I did have friends once upon a time," Enjolras settles in on the foot of the bed, facing her. "We were just boys, really. We were young and naïve and we wanted to change the world. Still – that is not what I wanted to talk about."
It is silent for a little while as he looks for the right words to say at this time. She has gone from hiding underneath the blankets to sneaking peeks at him, until she decides to sit up straight and just own up to her pain and grief. She might not be ready to tell anyone, but she could be okay with showing him that she is hurting.
"I wanted to talk about how I am not always proper," he starts speaking again, and her eyes widen slightly at the chosen topic. "My friends used to encourage me to break the rules, as their way of making me prove myself to them. You see, because I was their leader, there was always a certain distance between us. I always perceived this distance as necessary in order for me to be an effective leader – they disagreed with me."
She knows that Enjolras has a past – she knows that he must have had a life before the statue, before he woke up on the museum floor – but he does not usually talk about any aspects of his past. And especially not something relatively light.
"They were behind me getting drunk for the first time," Enjolras says, and it is as if story time is not over yet. "That did not end well."
That appears to be an understatement. She would say it was the understatement of the century, but since she still does not know which century, the statement would just sound extremely odd. But still, the odd idea of him being drunk makes the hint of a smile appear on her face. Would he be a sleepy drunk, a cuddly drunk, or maybe a weepy drunk? Would he giggle, would he smile?
"I was way too young when I got drunk for the first time," she blurts out, the memory making its way to the forefront of her mind without her permission. "I snuck some wine when my father was not looking. My sister laughed at me. She said I was walking funny – and I was. I could barely move without feeling dizzy."
It felt like she'd been spinning around in circles all night, when the lifting of her elbow to take another sip of the disgusting drink – she did not learn to appreciate wine until much later – was the only moving she had done all night.
"Of course, Father was furious," she glosses over that part as much as she can. "But my mother… Mom… She…. She held my hair back when I got sick."
just calling to let you know that Mom's dead.
A phantom hand runs through her hair, a soothing gesture meant to settle her spirits – it has been years since she felt this gentle touch.
Mom's dead
And now she never will again.
Dead
"She is dead now," her voice breaks and cracks, protesting this painful truth. "My sister called and left a voicemail. A voicemail! She couldn't even actually talk to me to tell me my mom was dead. She died. My mom is dead!"
Maybe she is just the tiniest bit hysterical at this point. Her remaining efforts go to keeping her freak-out quiet enough so only Enjolras can hear her weep. The tears have returned with a vengeance, and she pulls her knees to her chest, trying to create a faux embrace to make herself feel loved.
"My condolences," Enjolras just has to be damn formal.
"Can you not be a proper little machine right now?" she is starting to suffer from a stupid tear-induced headache, and he is only making it worse. "I told you my mom just died. I mean, I didn't like her, but I did love her. And all you have to say is the party line – some bland as fuck statement that you're supposed to say when someone dies."
When she is vulnerable, she lashes out. And it has been forever since she felt so naked in front of another person – it is easier for her to be physically naked in front of random people than to show any kind of emotion that could be seen as vulnerable or soft. She should never be soft – that lesson she learned at a very young age.
"I apologize," he is stammering now, awkwardly perched on the bed.
"That helps so much," her biting wit has returned. "Thanks so much."
Mom's dead
And even throughout this thing that vaguely resembles a conversation, her eyes are still leaking. She is left feeling like a fool; her nose clogged, her head throbbing with a persistent headache, and pillow marks pressed into the skin of her face. The streaks of tears on her cheeks are actually an improvement on everything else at this point. She should be able to deal with this bullshit on her own, but for some fucked up reason she would really appreciate some actual comfort – even though she's been forced to do without for so very long.
But if Enjolras is just going to sit here and stare at the wall… Well, she can handle things just fine, and he can just get the fuck out of her room.
"If you're just gonna sit here," she starts, wiping her eyes on the bed sheet, "you might as well just leave. This isn't helping at all."
Screaming at him to just fucking do something is not going to help, so she stares at him, trying to make him uncomfortable, trying to make him choose one or the other. He can't just sit here and be a passive listener to her pained gasps and sobs. Her eyes still are not dry, and she watches him pointedly as the tears follow their familiar paths down her wet cheeks. Will he sit by, or will he step up?
"I do not know how to do this," he sounds so calm, and she hates him for it.
"I'm just a human being, you know," she raises her hands to the sky, so fucking fed up with this shit. "I just need you to be my friend and not like I have cooties just because I happen to be a girl. With lady parts."
Okay, so that last bit she added just to be a bitch, because if he is so freaked out by getting close to a woman, she cannot just let this go. How is this even the same guy who cried on her shoulder when they found the painting of his sister? He had no problems getting close to her then, but now that the roles are pretty much reversed, he is terrified of getting close to her. Did something change?
"My sister never let me comfort her," he is much less calm now, and that totally makes her feel vindicated. "I do not know what you would be comfortable with."
Well, try! Or ask! Or just do something other than stare!
She is really trying to keep most of her frustration to herself right now – because screaming is not going to help her in her quest for calm and peace. But right now her anger is actually threatening to overtake her grief, and it's the weirdest feeling ever.
I'm just calling to let you know that Mom's dead.
"I apologize," Enjolras interrupts her thoughts.
"What?" she frowns, not understanding how he just shifted gears.
The bed creaks ever so slightly as he stands up. So, that's it. He has chosen to leave, and she will pretend that this doesn't hurt her in the slightest. Because it's so shitty, seeing as she had a wet spot on her clothes after his weeping at Marius' party, but apparently Enjolras cannot be bothered to support her in return.
But then he moves, and instead of leaving the room like she expects him to, he circles around the bed, kicking off his shoes and sitting down next to her. He is actually a lot closer to her now than he was before, and she wonders if he even dares to do anything more than this.
Silence. She holds her breath, because she can feel his presence right next to her even though they aren't actually touching. His warmth is still there, and she can hear him taking deep, steadying breaths. That is almost comforting, just having someone sit here with her as she tries to figure out how to move on from here.
Mom's dead
His fingers twitch and for a fraction of a second they are actually touching. It is a relief and not enough and can the damn guy just hold her or hug her or something? She is this close to just walking up to Jehan and demanding a hug – because he would do it without even asking for anything in return. He wouldn't even demand an explanation.
Enjolras is different. Of course he is.
Some seconds later his fingers twitch again, and this time the touch feels more purposeful. He is trying to get her used to him, as if she's some skittish animal – and well, maybe in a way she is. But not with him.
Still, she decides to just wait it out, wondering what he will do if she lets him. He is now humming something under his breath, and if she dared break this spell, she would ask him what lullabies centuries-old men would know of. She does not dare, though.
Dead
There are no words to his lullaby, just a random melody that sounds both new and vaguely familiar. It is almost soothing – the pain is not eased, but she feels a little more in control of herself now. Sure, that should not make sense. She should be drowning in her grief, and in a way she still is, but at least now it feels like the weight of the world is being shared between the two of them. She is not carrying it by herself anymore.
When the hell did he get so close? And she isn't talking about his hand grazing hers – he really has moved into her personal space. His long fingers are slowly drifting towards her calloused ones, and there is a fluttering feeling in her stomach that gets worse the closer he gets.
Does that make her a terrible person, to feel like that at this moment?
It takes him a few minutes, but then he finally entwines their fingers. They sit side by side, barely moving save for his thumb gently running back and forth over her hand in a soothing motion.
I'm just calling to let you know that Mom's dead.
She breaks again, then, burying her head in his shoulder as her own body is wrecked by sobs. She doesn't notice the streaks of make up getting all over his shirt, or the tear streaks bleeding through the fabric.
AN: Let me know your favorite bits, or what hit home most about this chapter! Talk to me about what you're most excited about for this story! I wanna hear from you!