Chapter eighteen:
"What do you mean 'this time'?" he latches on to those two words in particular.
"I am sure you were under the impression that this was my first time waking up from my marble prison," Enjolras hides his face. "I have been awakened once before."
That revelation makes the world spin faster on its axis, because it was just so easy to assume that the marble man's curiosity at the world, and his lack of understanding at the modern society, was due to him being imprisoned in marble for centuries. He still does not know how old the other man is – he has refused to say.
And now he reveals that there is more to his curse, and that there has been a previous attempt at trying to break it. Why did he keep this from Éponine – because the woman would have approached him differently had she known? Why could he not explain to her the details of his curse? How much pain is there to be found in it?
"It is high time you abandon the cryptic hints," R raises his chin proudly, trying to display more strength than he feels he possesses at the moment. "It is time for the truth."
Enjolras has slowly turned to face him, still leaning against the wall – that is after all the way to stay furthest away from him and still remain inside the room. He pointedly sits down on the armchair in return, making it clear that he is not going anywhere until he gets an explanation. Besides, Enjolras must be dying to tell someone.
And if the marble man is too worried about it lessening Éponine's obvious feelings for him, he might as well tell his good friend R.
"What do you wish to know?" Enjolras sighs, clearly accepting defeat.
"How did you get cursed?" he starts with the first question that comes to mind. "What does the curse entail? How did you wake up before, and what happened? Why is it different this time?"
There are many questions to ask, and he has to wonder if Enjolras will actually answer any of them openly. He might think that the other man has been keeping his secrets for far too long, but he does not know if Enjolras will actually feel relief at revealing the truth, even if it is for R's ears only.
"First, I must ask you to make a promise," Enjolras stands up straight now.
"You want me to keep your secret," he understands all too well what is being asked of him. "I think you should tell Éponine. But it is your secret to keep."
Because there is something there between those two – he'd spy on them some more to figure out just what is going on, if he hadn't had his fill of spying for the foreseeable future. The saying 'be careful what you wish for' was starting to apply in a way that made him uncomfortable. He was the one who'd wanted to find out a big secret – and so he did find out a big secret. And then some.
"Everything revolves around my curse," the marble man sits down on the bed.
He is almost holding his breath, waiting for his friend to start talking. He is not very good at secrets and being emotionally supportive – Jehan appears to be the sole exception so far – but he will have to try. He wants to try.
"I had my own Amis in my time," Enjolras starts, and he wonders where the story is heading. "We were students, at some of the best colleges around. We were laborers and we were men of leisure. And there was so much injustice around us. We had to do something. We could not just stand aside and watch our brothers and sisters perish or let them be enslaved. So I led them into rebellion."
When was this? He tries to recall the entirety of French history in the space of a breath, tries to think of local history that might fight this narrative. He cannot come up with anything, and he is left to wonder at just how many rebellions France had fostered until the revolution kindled the spark again and again.
"The people did not stir," his voice breaks. "The people left us to fight for them. They left us to die for them. There was so much blood."
The nausea spilling up is unwelcome, and he tries to choke it back down. This story could never have a happy ending – it could never have an ending, seeing as Enjolras is still here, reliving it again and again.
"I was the only one left," Enjolras looks up briefly, his eyes shining.
It seems almost impossible for him to continue the story after that. Enjolras looks down at his feet, at the legs that would never be able to support him at this moment. This is too much guilt to be carrying on just one man's shoulders, and the marble man has been carrying it for centuries, most likely.
"By some miracle I was not detained or executed," Enjolras continues, taking deep breaths. "But I was alone, and I was the one to blame for dozens of deaths. They were on my conscience. It made sense that his parents blamed me thusly."
The term survivor's guilt had not yet been invented at that time – but it is the perfect descriptor for what Enjolras has been feeling for all these years. A leader has to take the blame for his men's deaths. A man like him, he would blame himself for surviving the onslaught. Why did he deserve to live while others were slaughtered? Enjolras is just as good at self-loathing as R is himself.
"They thought these men were nothing more than soldiers to me," Enjolras is not yet done talking about his former friends. "They thought my heart was made of marble, that I did not care about my closest friends. And a man with a heart of marble, he deserves to be turned into marble. I deserved to be turned into marble. After all, I led my friends into death. I had no right to come out alive. I deserved a fate worse than death for this."
Enjolras speaks as if this is mere truth, and not some outlandish belief that he has managed to hold for what might have been centuries. There is a waver in his voice at times, but it seems as if the other man is really trying to keep a straight face.
"They hired a witch," the story takes a leap into the fantastical. "She would punish me for my innumerable crimes. Like a coward, I ran, and I ran, until my feet could no longer carry me. She found me nonetheless. She always found me."
He would find this part hard to believe, were it not that he was talking to a statue come to life. R has now seen enough magical things to believe.
"When it was time to curse me," Enjolras is clenching his hands into fists, "Cécile, my sister intervened on my behalf. She had found me, and she was begging the witch to let me go, even to let her take my place. I could never let that happen. The witch agreed with me and let her go. I met my curser calmly."
What ever happened to that girl? Did she grow old carrying the memories of her lost brother with her? Did she die at the witch's hands? Did she live? Did she love? Did her brother's sacrifice mean everything to her, the way it should have?
The way Enjolras almost glosses over this part of his curse tells R that this topic is still a very painful one. Leaving behind his sister, no longer able to keep her safe – he was not particularly close with his own sister, but the idea would still pain him greatly. It would be his worst nightmare to have to leave his family behind – with Jehan as his biggest concern. He could not imagine a life without him.
"I will never forgive myself for my friends' deaths." With those words, Enjolras is looking right at him, eyes boring into R's very soul. "I will never forgive myself for leaving my sister and her family behind."
This is a familiar story, an almost familiar sight. He knows all about blaming oneself for everything that has gone wrong. He knows about shouldering blame and self-hatred beyond normal boundaries. They may have chosen different ways of dealing, but this he actually understands.
More silence – he just does not know of a way to soothe this pain. He does not even know if such a way exists. Pain like this cuts deeper than to the bone. It damages the soul and leaves a man forever altered. What can he say to this? Can he say anything at all?
"Do you have more questions?" Enjolras chooses to break the silence himself.
"You say you were calm," R does not understand this part of the narrative. "How did you end up as the Man Protesting?"
The posture of the statue he'd first seen in the museum was anything but calm – Enjolras' description of his last stand does not appear to match the evidence. Either his friend is lying or something else must have happened.
"I woke up again," Enjolras sighs heavily. "I lived another rebellion."
Is that a condition of his curse? Does there have to be a war or a rebellion involved in his thirty days of reprieve? Is Enjolras doomed to watch his comrades fall, or is this his chance to get it right? They are not at war – not even close. They are hardly in danger of anything serious. Does that mean that this time is truly different?
"There was a man in the year 1832," the tale continues. "He admired the statue for its poise, for its willingness to accept its fate. He believed strongly in fighting for a cause, in dying for that cause. He understood everything about the greater good."
This is another tale that does not sound like it will have a happy ending. Sure, he never truly believed in happily ever after, but this is beyond that. This is the kind of pain that kills indiscriminately and leaves no future for anyone. There are just endings; endings all around. He knows about Paris in 1832 – art history only went so far without the knowledge of plain old history to back it up. He knows this is not good.
"He woke me in the spring of that year," Enjolras glances at the summer outside his bedroom window. "The early days of May brought unrest, and when June came we were ready to climb the barricades to liberate the people of our city. I did not lead anyone this time – I had lost all interest in being a leader. In the early hours of that last morning, I failed them a final time. I was yet again encased in marble before the flow of blood stopped. My new friends clung to my stone body in fear as they were gunned down."
Enjolras is openly weeping, being made to reveal his guilt in this historic event. Or, what he perceives to be his guilt – he is not to blame for the failure of the rebellion. The deaths of those men are not on his shoulders, and R wishes that Enjolras could be made to see that truth.
Still, once again the marble man was left as such – marble and cold – while other men died around him. He had not yet loved anyone who had lived, and yet he acted more concerned for his friends in these thirty days than for his own well-being.
"This is my final second chance," the marble man's voice has gone hollow and cold, as if he is already preparing himself for ten days from now.
"What can we do to break the curse?" R asks desperately.
He will not let this – or what is coming in nine short days – be the end of it. Enjolras deserves to live; he deserves to be free, and R will do everything in his power to make that happen.
"Nothing," Enjolras is curt. "There is nothing anyone can do. Though I do appreciate that you took the time to listen to me. And that you have yet to announce to the world how despicable of a creature I am."
Maybe Enjolras believes that nothing can be done, but R is not just going to let this go. He will gather his friends and they will fight this. The marble man has become one of them and an Ami doesn't leave until all of the others say so. End of story.
"Oh please," he grins, desperately trying to lighten the mood. "Did you think I'd never figure it out? If you hadn't told me, I would have just figured it out with my mad spying skills."
His stupid game of Bi Spy is what brought them to this, and while he is immensely glad that the secret is out, it pains him that there is no solution in sight. He has to keep his promise not to tell Éponine – or Jehan – about this, and he knows that he will not be able to solve this on his own, not without Enjolras himself working towards this common goal. The other man is too resigned to his fate as the statue. Why is he not scrambling for a solution? Anything would be better than to forever live as the statue, doomed to watch the world go by for all eternity.
"Your spying skills have reached their limit," Enjolras sounds so very glum.
"If you are in so much pain," he uses his hands to emphasize his words, "why not give up and end it? Surely anything must be better than an eternity as a statue! So why don't you want it to be over? I have been there, at the very bottom, and I only wanted it all to end."
The words keep coming and coming, and he cannot stop speaking about his darkest moments in life. He means the moments when he drew up plans, when he seriously thought about quitting everything – when he thought about leaving it all behind. He remembers the wait of his father's gun in his hands and shudders.
"There was one thing that kept me here," R reveals. "One person."
Jehan's face was the thing that stopped him. He was alone, all alone, but he could picture his best friend's face as he heard the news and the cold steel in his hand fell from between trembling fingers. He could never leave him behind.
"I mean," he tries to make sense of his speech, "from one fucked up dude to another… When things are devastating and all encompassing, the end is all you've got. It is the only thing you've got to look forward to. What – or who – is keeping you?"
All he wants is for the man to admit it – to say that he loves Éponine and that she is the one person keeping Enjolras here. He wants Enjolras to admit that she anchors him, that he loves her, that she keeps him hanging on. He wants him to be open about this much, at least to him. Because R knows he would never dare to tell Éponine. No, Enjolras is content to leave her when his thirty days are up – he would make sure she was with friends, but he would still leave her.
But still, it also means that he has not quite given up. He would have ended it a long time ago if he had truly given up on himself. Right?
"I am done talking," Enjolras' grimace tells R that he has managed to hit the proverbial nail right on its head. "Please leave me be."
Clearly that is supposed to be the end of this conversation. He will not be allowed to say anything else right now – which might leave him with some time to think this over. He must find a solution, but he probably won't find it right away. Still he stands up and prepares to walk out of the room.
"You must not tell her," Enjolras makes him promise one final time.
"I promise," he crosses his fingers behind his back, like a naïve child.
There must be something he can do, some way to make this better. He can mull over it for a day and a night – he can barely think right now.
"Hey Jehan," he calls out to his – almost lover in the hallway. "Buffy marathon later?"
It never gets old, and the scary parts would give Jehan all the excuse he needs to snuggle into him and hide his face in the crook of his shoulder. This is starting to sound more and more like a genius plan by the second. Yes, he has to remember that.
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
Her Wednesday shift covers most of the day, and by the time she actually gets home the sky is already darkening. She is exhausted from the fake smile she's had pasted on for almost twelve hours, and even though her feet are used to long days, they are still paining her more than usual.
She feels sweaty and gross and so damn thankful that tomorrow is her day off.
"I'll keep R busy," is the first thing she hears when she comes through the door.
Jehan and Gabri-Enjolras appear to be having a private conversation about something, and she is sorely tempted to sneak up on them to figure it out. But her feet hurt too much for her to be subtle about anything.
"Everything is set up," Jehan continues.
"I owe you, Jehan," Gabriel is smiling softly. "You are a great friend."
They might not be aware of her presence yet – or at least, Gabriel has not yet realized that she is back from work – but she is very aware of them. Jehan is playing with his hair, no doubt thinking about just what he can do to distract R from whatever Gabriel is planning for the night. She thinks it is just so damn adorable that it almost makes her sick. They are just too cute – but there is probably more pain behind closed doors.
"Hey Éponine," Jehan is the first to notice her.
"Fellas," she exaggerates the word, watching Gabriel cringe. "What's up?"
Her pronunciation is straight-up Hollywood now, and it is just her stupid little way of making Gabriel more uncomfortable than he needs to be. But you know, that is her thing and she is going to stick with it. For some stupid reason it still makes her feel better to see him flustered. Which is why she should never be called a good person.
"That's my cue," Jehan waves at her before heading upstairs.
"Okay," she gives Gabriel a puzzled look. "What is going on here?"
What does her entrance have to do with this secret plan? She has no patience for riddles and puzzles and games. If she's really honest, she just wants to fall onto the couch and not get off until she either falls off in the middle of the night, or until she finally musters up enough energy to brave all the stairs on her way to the attic. That is, if the final option is even possible – right now she does not think she will ever be able to climb all the way up to the highs of Mount Everest. Her room is higher up than the Kilimanjaro.
"I was remembering the party we went to," Enjolras starts to explain.
"At Marius and Cosette's?" she wonders, because that is the only party she has attended in a very long time. "Because I don't remember a whole lot about that night."
Yeah, sometimes it still bothers her that she drank the night away at that party, but usually she is more than fine with it. Is there even anything worth remembering about that mess of a night? She let her stupid crush on Marius and her confusion about the statue coming to life rule her. It might not have been smart, but it happened.
"That is actually exactly the point," he straightens up, acting like this is important.
"I am too tired for these hints," she sighs, stomping down the hall.
She can barely lift her feet as she moves to the living room, and when she opens the door, she is ready to fucking smack Gabriel. The room is done up all tasteful, there are candles flickering softly and the lights are dim as the music plays softly. All it needs is some damn rose petals for it to be romance novel perfect. And she hates roses – hates candles and romance and all of that bullshit.
Why would he even think this was a good idea?
"What the fuck?" she turns to face him.
"I wanted to surprise you," Enjolras sighs heavily. "Since you did not remember our dance on the night of the party, I wished to have a dance with you that you did remember. Jehan helped me prepare the atmosphere."
Of course he did – this is right up Jehan's alley, with the exaggerated stuff that just feels insincere to her. Heck, the CD that is playing the slow jams and power ballads is definitely from Jehan's collection – no one else in this house would even consider listening to that crap about how love is the best thing in the world. How it can make everything better and lift you up where you belong, blablabla.
For most of her life, she has managed to survive just fine without love.
"This is ridiculous," she snipes, ready to turn around.
The climb upstairs seems less painful than staying in this room for another second – and that is saying something, considering that she can feel the blisters on her feet growing with every step.
But alas, Gabriel is standing in her way, almost looming over her, blocking her exit.
"Pray tell, why do you feel this is ridiculous?" his voice does not betray his nerves.
There are no trembling hands, no stammer in his voice… Only his uncertain posture betrays his nerves. He cannot quite stand on both feet, as he awkwardly shifts from side to side, leaning on one leg and then the other – moving slowly, to try and hide this uncertainty. Only her honed skills in spotting a mark make it possible for her to read this side of him. It would be so easy to be cruel right now.
"I don't like these types of gestures," she instead calmly explains. "They always come with certain strings attached."
This is something that she learned the hard way at a very young age – and it is a mistake that she will never make again. She has no interest in romance and she never expected Enjolras to try and make a move on her. That would just not be proper.
"I promise that my intentions are pure," Enjolras is calmer now.
"That's great," she is still not particularly convinced. "Still don't like it."
Seeing as Enjolras – or Gabriel, or the marble man, or whatever he prefers to be called – likes to keep surprising her, she has to be on her guard. She has no intention of making any kind of significant connection in this town, and it is hard enough that she knows he is her friend. That she can call him her friend without exaggerating or making it something that it is not – she has let him in far enough already. Enough is enough.
"Eponine," Gabriel is pleading with her yet again. "I am trying to thank you."
Well, damn it. She should have known that giving in to him the first time would never be enough for him – she should have known that he would keep trying. This is why she never agrees to something people want her to do – this is why she doesn't let people in, because they just will not leave her alone.
She is perfectly fine the way she is – no coming out of her comfort zone is necessary.
"I do not need or want to be thanked," she sighs heavily. "I want to rest."
Her throbbing feet keep playing up and even though a long shift gives her plenty of money – to use when she gets out of here – it still means that when she gets home, she just wants to crash. Why can't he get that and leave her alone?
"Do your feet ail you?" Gabriel asks, all old-fashioned and almost adorable.
Or, it would have been adorable if she hadn't been tired, cranky, and in a world of pain below the ankles. Whenever she tries to move, the ache just radiates through her bones until she just wants to drop her body down onto the nearest flat surface until it's over.
"I've been waitressing all day," she rolls her eyes. "Of course my feet hurt. Like a bitch."
She is wobbly on her feet as she kicks off her stupid shoes – the ones that were once actually comfortable. It is so fucking tempting to just drop onto the couch and give up on everything, but there are all these stupid candles and the stupid ballads that remind her of all the middle school dances she never wanted to go to. It reminds her of all of the things she hated about high school, and she hates it.
"I promise to help you upstairs later," Enjolras continues to try and persuade her. "Just please, may I have this one dance with you?"
One dance? That would last, what, four minutes maybe?
It would be terrible of her to just give in to him yet again, but she is sorely tempted to do so. She does wonder what that dance was like at Marius' party, when she was too drunk to remember what was happening. She does not remember him touching her like that, his arms around her as they slowly swayed to the music. She does not remember the cheesy song that was playing, and she doesn't particularly want to. But still, she hates that she has these missing memories of a special moment with him.
Even though her feet are killing her, she is being offered a chance to fill in the gaps. It would be so easy to just accept the offer.
"One dance?" she asks. "Just one dance?"
Would it be that terrible to just accept? She can do one dance, and then swallow her stupid pride and let him help her upstairs – the help might be worth the minor agony of dancing on her aching feet. Can she really say yes?
"That is all I ask for," Enjolras holds out a hand. "I will even promise not to pick a particularly lengthy song. Jehan has told me this song lasts only two minutes."
What is two minutes? She can handle two minutes, can't she? Her aching feet will hold her over a little while longer, especially if nothing more complicated than swaying in his arms will be required. She kind of wants to know what that feels like.
"But, I'm gross," she has a stupid moment of inexplicable self-consciousness. "I worked all day. You do not want to come anywhere near me - lest you smell for the next 7 years."
There is no deodorant easily accessible, and there is no way she can stand up long enough to take a shower. So she'll stink for the foreseeable future, and that is not going to make the dancing any less awkward. She's already so hesitant about agreeing to this, and now she's acting like an insecure teenager about the whole thing. She hates it.
Soon she'll be sniffing her armpits like she's a twelve-year-old boy.
"I merely smell delicious food," Enjolras tries to reassure her. "That and the wonderful odor of spirits. I would gladly go near you, mademoiselle Eponine."
"Just one song," she finally acquiesces to his request. "I can do two minutes."
She takes a couple of deep breaths to prepare herself and turns to face him, finding him almost too close for comfort. His closeness is startling, and she has to look up so that she can look into his eyes. Those damn eyes see far too much for her to be completely comfortable around him at this point. She cannot let herself feel too much here.
"Thank you," Enjolras is so very grateful.
"Don't," she doesn't want to draw this out any further.
The song playing comes to an end, and she wonders what Enjolras is waiting for. Which song does he think is perfect for the two of them to dance to? She knows it cannot be the same song – that one is much longer than just two minutes – and she is glad of it.
"Ain't no sunshine when she's gone," Bill Withers kicks in and she just freezes.
Please let him have chosen this song randomly – no, she knows better than that. Enjolras will have chosen this song for its deeper meaning, and he has probably done it purposefully, to show her just how much she's come to mean to him over the last few weeks. She is terrified and pleased at once, and it makes her movements stilted as she gently sways from side to side.
His hands are on her sides, leaving her no choice but to grab one of his arms and hold it in her own. She places her other hand on his shoulder – too close, too close. Their gazes meet from time to time, and what she reads in his eyes is just too much to even contemplate. This is not something she ever asked for or even wanted – she just wants to be alone. She never asked for fucking feelings from him, and she hopes he can just keep his damn mouth shut about it.
Bill Withers starts to sing his I knows, and she wonders if the man truly does know the situation she is in. Gabriel is all around her, the smells of the museum clinging to him even though he has not been back there in over three weeks. He makes warmth rise up her cheeks, and to keep him from noticing it, she drops her arms and pillows her head on his chest – his heart is beating fast, in a steady beat much quicker than the song.
They move slowly, and she feels a certain heaviness settling deep in her bones. She likes this feeling of warmth, she likes the sense of safety she has with him. Even though she has her back to the door, and she would not be able to see anyone come in, she still knows that Enjolras, that Gabriel, would make sure she was alright.
Terrifying. Beyond terrifying.
She hides her head in his chest, breathing in his scent yet again, and she can feel a smile appear on her face. She sighs. This moment is too beautiful to end – and yet she knows that it will, all too soon. She doesn't want it to be over.
This is all too confusing – she has to end this, now.
The song ends then, with the drums as the final sound before the few seconds of peaceful silence. The next song starts all too soon, breaking the spell, and she breathes out almost forcefully – this is it. It's over. She has to leave now – go upstairs and hide in her room, because this is just too much.
Only she cannot will her body to actually move. It feels like her feet are actually glued to the floor. Does she even want to leave, really? Why should she leave when she is warm and safe – and in serious trouble. By all accounts she should tell her stubborn body to leave, tell her aching feet to move away from him.
Step away, move away, get away from him before this gets any worse.
Finally she can move, at her mind's urging - but she still finds it impossible to speak. She is still remembering his warmth, remembering how nice that was and how it will most likely never happen again. This was their last dance.
"Thank you for the dance, Eponine," Gabriel smiles down at her.
And then the bastard actually takes her right hand, lifts it to his face, and plants a soft kiss on the back. His soft lips touch her skin and it is like her brain just shorts out for a minute - or a little longer than that. The warmth spreads through her body, increasing the feeling of safety she felt earlier until she feels like she might burst from it.
It has been so very long since someone has touched her so sweetly - she wonders if any man ever dared to kiss her hand before. There has been no courtly love in her past, and certainly no romance of any kind. There have been quick fucks and one-night-stands and nothing that lasted longer than a few weeks. Certainly nothing that involved any kind of romance. Heck, she used to think that she was allergic to it.
"Eponine," he calls her name, softly. "Thank you."
While this feeling of being cherished has been trying to take over, every survival instinct inside her is screaming at her to get out while she still can. She has to leave before she stupidly hands her heart over to him on a silver platter. This is a point of no return - there is no coming back from this if she lets herself stay now.
Everything is changing - and it's terrifying.
"I thought you fool knights came with white horses," she breaks the ice with a stupid comment in the most mocking tone she knows. "I'm kinda disappointed. I'm not getting the full experience here."
She can actually see the facade crack then, ever so briefly. He wanted to make this a meaningful moment, and here she is ruining it with glib comments and the metaphorical wall she is erecting between the two of them as they speak. Still, he returns to being all sincerity and his intense earnest eyes.
"I mean it," he repeats. "Thank you."
As her breath starts to catch in her throat, he leans in closer to her. For about half a second she thinks that he is actually going to kiss her. She actually thinks that the marble man thinks of her like that - and she actually thinks that he might act on it. Would he actually kiss her - her, Eponine Thenardier? Would that be proper?
God help her, she actually kind of wants him to do it. She holds her breath in anticipation, both watching and feeling him get closer to her. They are closer now than they were during their dance, and then finally his lips reach their mark. Her right cheek.
She is not disappointed, she really isn't. Even the cheek is too familiar, too sweet, too romantic. It is just too much.
And yet her heart feels like it's pounding so hard it shoots out of her chest and lands right at his feet. Yes, she knows that the metaphor is really gross, but it is closest to what she is currently feeling. She wants to give in. She wants so badly to just admit that she does have feelings for him in return - that she wants him to try this kissing thing again only then with mouths meeting and heat rising and want, take, have, more please more.
Not only does she want him, but she also actually likes him. As a person, as a friend, and as a fucking love interest. This is a problem, only it really isn't because he actually seems to like her in return. The distant person he is would never make a move like this if he didn't like her in that way, right? He wouldn't do that.
"Gabriel," she places a hand on his shoulder.
She is seconds away from leaning in, showing him that she wants him to kiss him again. The butterflies in her stomach are multiplying rapidly.
"What is going on here?" R chooses the worst possible time to show up.
Honestly, the guy probably has a radar just for the occasion. He probably calculates - or just predicts, because she can't see R doing too much math - just when a romantic moment is about to occur, and then he jumps in to ruin it. Sure, that may be reading too much into it, but R is a teasing jerk and she thinks he just might be able and willing to do it.
"I'm going to need to borrow the marble man for a minute," R continues.
He seems angry at something, which she doesn't understand. He must have been upstairs with his boyfriend - don't tell her they aren't official yet - watching the awesome Buffy kicking vampire ass. That does not an angry R make. So what happened?
"Please let me help Eponine upstairs first, " Gabriel seems so genuine in his offer, actually holding out his arms to her. "I could carry you, if you want."
Jehan is coming downstairs as well, looking for the source of the ruckus. And who can blame him, because both R and Gabriel are now posturing like idiots. R is making angry faces at Gabriel, who acts like he has done nothing wrong - and by all accounts, he really has done nothing wrong. She wanted him to kiss her. She still wants him to kiss her.
She even has a stupid fantasy of him carrying her upstairs, bridal style. Oh God, this is terrible.
"Jehan can help Eponine," R decides. "Enjolras and I, we need to have words."
Well, her feet really do hurt, now that she remembers them. They can always get back to the kissing in the morning. After some sleep. And some really nice dreams.
AN: Yes, I know, FINALLY! Now tell me what you think!