At midnight, Eponine already knew who was knocking at her door. A part of her knows that it should be caution that warns her from unlocking her door but there is no fighting the overwhelming sense of relief that comes with seeing Enjolras on the other side.
He's worse for wear, which is a normal thing for Eponine to see. His shirt is buttoned wrong under his weathered coat. There's a coffee stain on his collar and his hands are trembling which happens whenever he forgets his gloves. Eponine greets him with a smile, knowing that she is just as disheveled as he is. He returns the smile and his pallid, wind beaten face, warms. She takes his hands, hissing in shock at how cold they are and wraps it around her waist. On the threshold of her tiny apartment, Enjolras takes a step closer and dips his head. His curls tickle her forehead as Eponine stands on her toes to close the gap. When her lips brush his, Enjolras deflates, his shoulders sag and he leans on her. Eponine's hands run over his chest to his neck, to his cheek and back down, warming him up. Enjolras presses his lips harder, hands bunching her shirt. Eponine takes him in, sighing at the feeling of him alive under her touch.
She takes a step back and Enjolras opens his eyes, pupils dilated with desire. She pulls him in her apartment, locks her door and leads him to her bedroom.
xxx
It's five in the morning and Eponine wakes to the weight of Enjolras bare thigh on top of hers. Her mouth is by her temple, his deep even breaths makes her baby hair sway. Times like these Eponine wonders which god or whichever saint, or guardian angel made all of this happen. It's not like up and coming lawyer Anton Enjolras would ever be seen with lowly barely-making-ends-meet bartender Eponine, yet here they were.
She's not his girlfriend, that's for certain. He doesn't think of her like that anyway and neither she to him. He doesn't come here in the middle of the night to talk. They never talk, not really. Plus she's seen him talk politics and laws and whatever philosopher that his group of friends fancy. She hates that. It's rich kid talk. It's my parents could afford a university education talk. That's not for her. So when they fill her bar with racuous noise from their debates, their saloon talk, she tunes them out. When Grantaire starts breaking glasses, she quietly slips Coufeyrac the bill and tell them to get out.
Enjolras shifts in his sleeps and pulls her closer to him, if that is even possible. He murmurs something unintelligible. He presses his nose on the crown of her head and breathes deep. Then he quiets again. Eponine follows him back to sleep soon after.
The next time she wakes the sun is inching its way up from the horizon. Her head lies on top of Enjolras' chest and she could feel his heartbeat. She tried to roll away, in case Enjolras needed to leave but he grabbed her arms and pressed her to his side.
"Not yet," he whispered.
"You'll be late for work," she counters.
"You are always first to remind me of that." Eponine rises and leans on her forearms on the mattress. Her hair is a mess and it clouds her periphery. Enjolras is looking down at her with still sleepy eyes.
"Don't want to steal you from the people." Enjolras scrunches his nose.
"The people can wait. Tonight, I'm all yours." Eponine snorts.
"What do you mean tonight? Can't you see the sun? It's clearly morning." Enjolras was already leaning closer to her.
"Not if we close our eyes." Their lips meet and He rolls Eponine onto her back, covering the two of them with her comforter. Eponine sighs into his kiss, and the both of them pretend the world outside their cocoon does not exist.