Read. Enjoy. Review. (The reading and enjoying are for you, the reviews are for me!)
I do not own Les Miserables, if I did ... everyone would be less miserable.
I'm a bit nervous about this chapter, I have to admit it. I had a really good thing going with the first chapter and I've got my fingers (and toes!) crossed that I didn't fuck it up with this one.
How did I do? Still have the characters pegged pretty well?
Seriously, I need to know!
Chapter Two: I'll Throw My Voice into the Stars
He could use her words as a barometer for how uncomfortable she was: the more uncomfortable, the faster she spoke.
He didn't see her again until after New Year's Day. He had been expected at his parents' house on Christmas Eve and she had been whisked away by Cosette to spend the holidays with her family. But a few days after New Years he walked into the Musain and she was standing behind the counter, looking as if she had always been there. She was with a customer when he first entered, helping them decide what they wanted from the menu. Enjolras did not mind, he was capable of being patient, and it gave him a chance to look at her.
He wasn't staring at her like a stalker, it wasn't inappropriate, but he had not realized how much he had missed seeing her every day until he saw her again. Her dark brown hair was hanging loose around her shoulders, her eyes sparkled, her brows furrowed a bit when the shoulder of her off-shoulder sweater slipped, revealing just a bit more tan skin from her collar bone to her shoulder. Absentmindedly, as if she had been doing it all morning, she pushed the sleeve back into place and continued speaking with the customer. Then, when the man finally decided on a drink, she smiled at him, her dimples showing before she turned to prepare his drink.
Enjolras moved up toward the counter when the man moved away. Éponine turned, the same smile on her face, "What can I get started for - Enj?" She looked surprised. He thought that she had seen him when he entered the cafe, but it was clear that she had not. He watched her face, wondering if she would be excited to see him, or angry. They had never talked about the kiss at the Les Amis Christmas party. It had seemed like the right thing to do at the time, but soon after he had realized that she might have been insulted by his actions.
"Good to see that you're back," he told her, watching her, still trying to gauge her reaction. "Your replacement over your vacation was not good at picking out mugs at all. They were all wrong."
He was sure that there was a blush rising on her cheeks as she looked away from him, tucking a strand of her hair behind her ear. "I've heard that before," she told him, still not meeting his eyes. She gestured toward the man that was still waiting for his coffee. "Let me finish his order and then I'll get you your coffee."
Enjolras nodded, "I like it -"
"Black," she told him with a nod. She still wouldn't look at him, but there was a smile playing at her lips when she shook her head. "It's been a few weeks, Gabriel, not years. I remember how you take your coffee."
"Right," he told her, clearing his throat. He was an idiot for assuming that she had forgotten. And he was an idiot for being happy that she hadn't. He liked black coffee, that wasn't hard to remember. He pointed toward his usual chair, silently telling her that he would be waiting for her there when she was able to escape the counter.
Though she wouldn't meet his eye she must have been watching him out of the corner of her eye because she nodded to him, silently telling him that she would be there as soon as she could.
He pulled his book out of his bag and tried to force himself to read while he waited for her. But by the time she brought him a mug of coffee thirty minutes later he had read the same page five times and not absorbed any of it. It wasn't so much that he couldn't get her out of his head as that he was worried that his idiotic, thoughtless action had ruined their tentative friendship. He needed to talk to her so that he would know that they were alright.
He had never seen the mug she placed in front of him. It was red, the back was plain. When he turned it around to see the front she sat down in her seat across from him, not quite meeting his front of the mug had a picture of Napoleon on it. The classic one of the emperor on his horse; in one hand he held a red solo cup, in the other a liquor bottle. They always invite me into parties, because I'm Borntoparte. He snorted and glanced up at her, his eyebrows raised, "This is a new one," he mused.
She shrugged her shoulders, "It's your Christmas gift," she told him, talking to her left shoe. "I meant to give it to you at the party, but I wasn't your secret Santa and if I had given you an extra gift there would have been questions."
She's talking fast, faster than he has ever heard her speak, almost tripping over her words. It hadn't been long into their friendship when Enjolras had realized that he could use her words as a barometer for how she was feeling. When she was happy her words bubbled out of her, lilting and light. When she was sad her words came slower, as if she had to pull each word out of her mouth. When she was angry, her tone was hard, grating, raspy even. And when she was uncomfortable she spoke fast. The more uncomfortable she felt, the faster she spoke.
Now, for example, she was speaking a mile a minute.
She was uncomfortable and he had a feeling that it was his fault.
He wanted to apologize to her for whatever he had done that made her feel uncomfortable. He wanted to beg her to let their friendship return to the easy one they had enjoyed before the party. There was a small part of him that wanted to ask her if it was really that bad - kissing him. But before he could even open his mouth she was talking again.
"Anyway, I saw it a few days before Christmas at a novelty stand for tourists. I'm not sure why it was there. Most tourists don't give a shit about Napoleon, but it made me think of you. I figured that it would get you angry, that I would be in for one of your long lectures about Revolutionary politics, but I could also picture your face when you saw it." She gestured toward his face, "You'd get a little red, your jaw would clench, your brows furrow. It made me laugh. So I bought the mug. You hate it don't you? I knew you wouldn't love it, but you hate it. If you don't want to bring it home with you, I can keep it here. The bosses won't mind, or even notice. But I can't guarantee that I won't use it for your coffee every time you come in here. Unless you really hate it - why are you laughing at me?"
Enjolras hadn't even realized that he was laughing at her until she had asked him. He shook his head, still chuckling. "You just don't give me time to get a word in edgewise, do you?" he asked her. "I'm laughing because if you had given me the chance I would have told you that I like the mug. And that of course I'll be taking it home with me this evening."
"Oh," Éponine said, taking a deep breath. For a moment he thought that she was going to calm down. That whatever awkwardness she was feeling had passed and they would go back to their easy conversations. But after her breath she was off and running again.
"So how was your Christmas? 'Taire said that you had to go to your parents' for a Christmas Eve party. I know that must have been difficult, I thought about texting you to see if you needed to talk, but I realized that I didn't have your number. And then I thought that it was presumptive of me to even think that you would want me to text you, I mean, we're not really friends are we?"
Enjolras felt his eyebrows shoot up toward his hairline, he had thought they were friends.
At seeing his surprise she was backtracking, taking her question back. "I mean, we are friends, but a different kind of friends. You have Courf and Ferre to talk to on the phone. They're the ones you would want to talk to if you were having a hard time with your parents, not me. We're the type of friends that see each other every day, that study together, and walk to class together. We're the kind of friends who share reading glasses and you judge me for loving Marius and I judge you for loving no one. And we're the kind of friends who can kiss under mistletoe and have it not be weird the next time we see each other. Right? We're that kind of friends right?"
He was chuckling at her again. So it was the kiss that had made her uncomfortable. But not because she was angry about it, but because she thought that it would change the way they interacted with each other. He thought about letting her stress about it for a bit longer, but she looked so worried. He leaned forward, ducking his head until he could make eye contact and holding her gaze as he spoke. "We're that kind of friends," he promised her.
She sighed again, leaning back into her seat and finally relaxing. "Good," she told him, her words slowing a bit now. "I had spent all break worried that you would be angry with me."
"You thought that I was angry at you?" Enjolras asked, sputtering a bit on his sip of coffee. Of all the things the woman in front of him could have said, he had not expected to hear this.
Éponine nodded. She didn't say anything. He half expected her to start on another monologue, one that was fast and awkward, one that he wouldn't have been able to interrupt if he had tried. But this time she stayed silent, too worried or embarrassed to speak at all. She waited for him.
"Why would I be angry with you?" he asked. He was not going to let her get away without answering this.
"Because I was the one that was standing underneath the mistletoe?" she asked him as if it were the most obvious reason in the world.
She had been stressing about this over the holidays. He had already laughed at her twice. It would have been cruel to laugh again. He bit the inside of his lip to keep from laughing. And then, finally, when he was sure that he had himself under control, he shook his head. "I kissed you, Éponine," he told her, not missing the way her dark eyes darted away from him. "If I was going to blame anyone for that I would have blamed myself. Or Combeferre for moving over. Or Courfeyrac for noticing. Or Jehan for hanging it up. I would never have blamed you."
She stared at him and for a moment he was sure that she was going to argue with him. But then she smiled and nodded, "You're right," she told him. "We should blame Jehan."
Enjolras nodded, "Jehan it is," he agreed with her. "And how should we punish him?"
"We should send his best poems in to a publisher without telling him," Éponine told him matter-of-factly. "It's the best kind of punishment because it would actually be quite helpful to him, but he'll be scared the whole time. Even though we know that the publisher will love the poems."
Enjolras chuckled, pleased that her words were coming out at a normal speed again. It would have bothered him if she was uncomfortable around him all semester. "So, we're good now?" he asked her, just to be sure.
The smile she sent him was wide and comfortable, "We're great now," she promised him.
The way he talked about the things he loved made the whole room turn to see what shone.
Éponine Thénardier enjoyed watching Gabriel Enjolras speak. She liked the way his mouth moved around the words. She liked the way he was always so careful, so thoughtful about the words he chose to say. But more than anything she liked to close her eyes and listen to him. Over the months of their friendship she had become very good at determining his mood just by the tone of his voice.
She had two favorite tones of voice. The first was the soft, quiet, timber - the whisper that he used when he was editing his coursework (or hers, for that matter, he seemed to enjoy editing and tearing apart her work). It was quiet and unintentional. Part of her wondered if he even realized that he whispered what he was reading. It was soothing.
Sometimes when she was sitting on the floor by his chair she would ask him to edit whatever she was working on just so that she could close her eyes and listen to him. Her words always seemed to take on a magical quality when they were read in his voice.
"Do you want me to look over your paper?" he asked her one night when she took off his reading glasses to yawn and rub at her eyes.
There had once been a time when Éponine would have responded hostilely to this offer. She would have assumed that he was offering her his help because he thought that she was stupid. But now she knew the truth. They were friends. She could say that honestly now. And Gabriel Enjolras was one of those rare types who honestly expected and wanted the best out of his friends. He offered to help her not because he thought that she couldn't do it on her own, but because he wanted to help her achieve it.
And he would never admit it, but he seemed to be looking for more and more excuses to stop studying for his bar exam.
"Please," she told him, handing him both her laptop and his reading glasses. "There's a part in the middle that just doesn't read right. It's like, I know what I want to say, but I can't seem to figure out how. You know?"
He nodded, "I used to feel like that during debate in secondary school," he told her as he put the glasses on.
Éponine snorted, "You were on debate in secondary school?"
"Watch it," Enjolras warned her, shooting her a pointed look over the top of her laptop screen. "You're the one who needs help."
"And you're just helping out of the goodness of your heart?" Éponine teased, leaning her head back against his legs and tilting it up to look at him. "And not because you're sick of studying boring corporate law when that's the last thing in the world that you actually want to practice?"
Enjolras glanced up at her again, surprised, as if he thought that he had been good at hiding his feelings. "Taking a break from studying does not mean that I don't want to practice law," he told her.
Just not corporate law, Éponine thought to herself. But she didn't push it. Enjolras had a way of shutting down when things got too personal. He would talk to her about this if and when he wanted to. And not a moment before. "You're right," she told him. "So about that paper?"
He chuckled and shook his head, "Impatient," he murmured as he turned his gaze toward her history paper. "Germany and its Jewish population have always had a troubled past," he whispered, his eyes scanning the paper in front of him as he read. "When one thinks of Germany, the first thing that probably comes to mind is the anti-Semitic nature of Adolf Hitler and the Holocaust. But the truth is, that Germany's -"
Éponine smiled, when one of his hands dropped down on top of her head and his fingers began to run through her hair as he continued to read to himself.
Fighting another yawn she closed her eyes. Her last conscious thought was how Enjolras could make a boring history paper sound like an interesting read, just by the way he read it.
...
Her second favorite time to listen to Enjolras speak was when he was talking about something that he was passionate about.
Toward the end of January they had started to meet up outside of the Musain. Her schedule had changed a bit with her spring semester, she did not work as many afternoons. And the Paris winter weather was just a bit too much for her to walk to the cafe to hang out if she wasn't getting paid for it. Enjolras did not mind the weather, but he had a car.
A car that he did not mind driving to her apartment so that they could study together in her living room. She liked working with him in her apartment. It was a huge step in their friendship. But one thing she noticed was that they spent a lot less time studying than they had at the cafe.
At home they would pause to make snacks. They would watch the news. Occasionally Enjolras would stand up from his spot on the couch so that he could snoop around, looking at the belongings that littered the apartment. He had laughed at the stuffed animal she kept hidden under her pillow. He had given her many scathing reviews of the young adult books that Cosette had stacked on her bookcase. He took one look at a painting on the wall and knew instantly that Grantaire had been the artist. She felt like by spending one afternoon in her apartment he had gotten to know her better than he would have from countless afternoons at the cafe.
One afternoon they were sitting on the couch, her school work and his law books strewn all around them in a chaotic mess, the news playing softly in the background when his head snapped up suddenly, his attention completely focused on the television across the room.
Éponine glanced up, barely sparing the news report a look. It was a story about the Syrian refugees. France had closed the Jungle back in September, but that had not stopped the many refugees who continued to country, either in hopes of finding a permanent place to stay or a way further west. She glanced from the television screen to Enjolras, he was staring at it, his brows furrowed and his jaw clenched. "It's disgusting isn't it?" he asked her, his blue eyes never leaving the screen in front of them.
"The conditions they're living in?" Éponine asked, trying to make sense of her friend's sudden anger. "It is disgusting. But I imagine that it's better than where they were living in Syria."
Enjolras shook his head. "No," he told her, his voice flat and cold. "It would be better if we were doing anything to help them. But our government promises them shelter, promises them care, and the police beat them and use tear gas on them, and steal children's blankets leaving them to freeze to death over night. It's not right."
Éponine watched him for a moment, the more he talked the more passionate he became. His voice was no longer flat, cold. It blazed. She wondered if she sat too close to him if she would be burned by it.
The words rumbled from somewhere deep inside of him. She had heard this voice before, it was the type of voice that made every head in the room turn. Rich and deep. He spoke as if he could control the entire world with only his words. In that moment he reminded her a thunderstorm - beautiful and dangerous and capable of changing everything in a moment.
She nodded. "It's not right," she agreed with him. "So what are you going to do about it?"
Enjolras shook his head. "Ferre says that he might put off his residency for a year. He might go to one of the refugee camps and offer medical care for free. His mother's terrified, but I think it would be good for him."
Éponine nodded, she had heard about Combeferre's plans, he had shared them with her as well. "That's not what I asked you," she told him as she closed her book, carefully marking her place so that she would be able to find it again. "I didn't ask what 'Ferre was going to do to fix it. I asked what you were going to do."
Enjolras was quiet, "There's not much I can do, Ép," he told her, finally glancing away from the television screen. Éponine stayed quiet, waiting for him to look up at her before she arched an eyebrow at him, waiting. "What do you want me to do?" he asked her, his voice rumbling like thunder. "I have nothing," he glanced away from her again. "Nothing except for these stupid books," he threw the book in his hand on the ground. "I don't think donating my law books to refugees would do much for them."
"Well, they could burn them at night for warmth, I suppose," Éponine remarked sarcastically. She smiled. Enjolras did not smile in return. "I was thinking that you could use everything you've learned to help them."
Enjolras snorted, "Refugees have a lot of use for corporate law, do they Éponine?" he asked her. His voice was cold and mocking. It hurt a bit, he had never used this tone of voice with her.
She took a deep breath before she continued, she wasn't about to let him intimidate her. "There is more than one way to practice law, Gabriel Enjolras," she told him, her voice shaking with her effort to sound strong and unaffected by his tone. It did not serve her purpose. "You say that you're studying corporate law because that is what your father expected of you. You say you hate it. You say that you want to help these people. Well, forgive me, but I think someone who knows the law as well as you would damn well do a lot of good."
He stared at her for a moment, as if he could not believe that she had spoken to him like that. And then suddenly he leaned forward, grabbing onto her hands and pulling her to stand from her spot on the couch. "Jesus Éponine," he whispered to her, a grin spreading across his lips. "You're a genius!"
Éponine's brows shot up toward her hairline, she had not expected this. "I am?" she asked, a whisper.
Apparently standing up was not enough. Enjolras let go of her hands so that he could climb onto the living room table, his head almost hitting the low ceiling. "Of course you are," he told her. "After the bar exam, I have to do an internship, anything I'd like. I'll intern with an immigration firm. You're right, they won't want my books, but my brain -" He voice trailed off as he turned, extending one of his hands to her.
Éponine giggled as she slipped her hand into his and allowed him to pull her onto the table with him. "And your father?" she asked him, her voice hesitant.
"He'll hate it," Enjolras told him with a grin. "But fuck him."
Is it possible to know someone through the words they love?
She was laughing at something Grantaire and Bahorel were saying when he walked into the Musain on Friday night. For the first Friday that he could remember she wasn't wearing what he called her sexy bartender uniform. Instead she was wearing a pair of jeans, converse, and a Paris Saint-Germain jersey. He didn't have to look at the back of it to know which player it belonged to.
The jersey was too big for her and his Adrien Rabiot jersey had been missing from his closet since the last time she had been over at his apartment.
He wondered how she had gotten into his closet without him noticing. Though, given what he now knew about her parents it wasn't so much of a surprise. He supposed that she had gotten quite good a sneaking over the years, whether that was from helping her father steal things or hiding from him when he was drunk.
Her laughter had quieted into a content smile by the time he was standing by her side. "Not working tonight?" he asked her by way of greeting.
She glanced up at him, her eyebrows raised, "Work during a PSG game? Do you think that I'm stupid?" she asked him.
"I think you're a thief," he teased her, nodding toward his jersey.
She looked a bit sheepish, "I didn't have one of my own," she told him, her tone apologetic. "I borrowed it, you've got like five. I didn't think you'd notice."
She started to pull her arms through the sleeves, preparing to take off the jersey, but Enjolras stopped her with a chuckle. "Stop," he told her, reaching out to place one of his hands on her shoulder, "I was kidding. You're right, I do have five of them. And this one probably looks better on you than it would on me."
"Of course it does," she told him, grinning up at him cheekily. "Breasts tend to do that."
"B-breasts?" Enjolras stuttered. She was smirking at him, the right corner of her lips turning up, a dimple in her cheek. She knew the word would make him feel uncomfortable and she was enjoying it. "Yes," he told her with a nod, struggling to control his surprised stuttering. "They do. Or so I hear."
"So you see," Grantaire teased from Éponine's other side. It wasn't until he had nodded toward the girl's chest that Enjolras realized that he had been staring down at it.
"I- I'm so s-sorry," he was stuttering again as he desperately tried to look anywhere but at at Éponine or her chest. "I did not mean to disrespect you."
She was laughing at him again, "Relax, Enj," she ordered. "I feel neither disrespected nor insulted. I brought them up, it was practically an invitation for you to look at them. Though, I must say I'm a bit insulted by your apparent disgust. Am I that ugly?"
"No," he told her, shaking his head. "You're not ugly, you're average." Grantaire was chuckling, apparently that was the wrong word to use to describe her. "You're more than average. You're normal."
"Normal?" Éponine echoed, her eyebrows raised as she glanced between Enjolras and Bahorel and Grantaire. "You hear that boys, I'm normal." She sighed, playing at disappointment. "I suppose it's my own fault. Hang out with a woman as beautiful as Cosette and what can you expect? I should be pleased with normal."
"He's nicer than I am," Bahorel teased her. "I would have called you ugly and left it at that."
"And you would have been a liar," Grantaire countered.
Éponine smiled at the brunette, Enjolras felt his chest tighten a bit at the sparkle in her eyes when she glanced at their friend. "Thank you, R," she told him.
"You're welcome, 'Ponine," he answered. "But you interrupted me. You're not ugly, you're hideous."
"And you're an ogre," she teased back, sticking her tongue out at him. Enjolras bit his tongue, he wanted to tell her that they were all wrong. That she wasn't hideous, or ugly, or average, or normal. But he wasn't good at talking to women and he would only embarrass himself or her even further. He kept quiet. She clapped her hands, looking between the three men, "You guys want a beer?" she asked them. "I can get them."
"I'll pay for them," Enjolras stepped in. He didn't want her to have to pay for their drinks, she was trying to save money.
She waved off his offer, "I get drinks for free here," she told him. "This is round is on me, sort of." She glanced toward the bar, "But you can help me carry them back."
He nodded and followed her toward the bar. Once they were away from Grantaire and Bahorel he felt like he could finally explain himself to her. "Resplendent," he told her quietly.
"What?" she asked him, looking over her shoulder at him.
"You're not average," he told her, yelling over the noise of the crowded bar. There were a lot of Paris Saint-Germaine fans there tonight, all of them yelling and cheering, he shouldn't have been surprised that she couldn't hear him over the crowd. "You're resplendent."
"Resplendent," Éponine echoed, her entire face lighting up in a grin. "I think I've just found my new favorite word."
...
Marius had moved in with Courfeyrac so that they could both save some money and in Marius' strange fashion he had decided to throw himself a housewarming party to celebrate his new apartment and roommate.
There was food, there was karaoke, and there were silly icebreaker games. As if they hadn't all known each other for years. They were currently sitting around in a circle on the floor. Each of them had a plastic cup, a pencil, and thirteen strips of paper.
"Alright!" Marius exclaimed, standing up from his spot on the floor. "So this is how you play. First we'll pass a permanent marker around. Everyone write your name on your cup. Then everyone will pass their cup to the person on their right. Once you have someone else's cup you take a strip of paper and write something on it, a word or a phrase, that describes them. Once everyone is done we will pass the cups to the right again. This will continue until you have your cup again. Then we'll take turns taking strips out of our cups and guessing who wrote it. The person who guesses the best wins."
"This seems very involved," Éponine spoke up from where she was leaning against Courfeyrac. "Can't we just play truth or dare or something."
"I'm all for spin the bottle," Musichetta added.
"That's because you have two boyfriends," Courfeyrac told her.
"No," Musichetta argued, "It's because I wouldn't have a problem kissing any of you."
"Yeah well, there's a disproportionate amount of men to women in the group," Bahorel interjected. "So I'd rather not play that game if it's all the same to you."
"We're playing this game right now!" Marius spoke out over his friends' disdain. "It's really fun. Cosette was telling me about it, she played it during her university orientation."
"Which was what? Last week?" Grantaire teased.
"I get it," Cosette said, playfully glaring at Grantaire, "because I'm so young compared to you guys."
"Nina is younger," Marius comforted her.
"Éponine," both Enjolras and Éponine corrected at the same time.
She lifted her head off of Courfeyrac's shoulder to smile at him.
"Éponine then," Marius said with a shrug. "Anyway, a few more rules. Nothing too mean. Try to use words and descriptions that you don't think other people will use. It will be no fun if everyone uses the word blonde to describe Cosette, for example."
"Or drunk to describe Grantaire?" Éponine asked, her eyebrows raised.
"Or troll to describe Éponine?" Grantaire countered, smiling at her to soften the playful insult.
"Exactly," Marius interrupted before Éponine could insult Grantaire again. "It'll be fun, I promise. Let's go."
Somewhat grudgingly the group passed the permanent markers around to play the game. What surprised Enjolras the most was that once they started playing everyone seemed to put quite a bit of thought into their responses. What surprised him almost just as much was that he kept glancing at Éponine every time she got a new cup. Her brows would furrow, she would bite her lip, thinking seriously before she would smirk and began to write. It was all very similar to when she picked out mugs for customers at the cafe.
It took them almost half an hour for the plastic cups to make their way around the full circle. "I'll go first!" Marius cheered once he had his cup in his hand. He closed his eyes and fished out a slip of paper, "Love," he read. Then he turned to grin at Cosette, "I know who wrote that."
"Gross," Courfeyrac muttered as they kissed each other.
Enjolras glanced at Éponine, her jaw was clenched. She had helped Marius and Cosette get back together, but that had not helped her get over him.
"Now me! Now me!" Grantaire cheered, he had been watching Éponine too and he wanted to distract her. He pulled out a slip of paper, "Bibulous," he read, his eyebrows raised. "What the hell does that mean?"
Most people in the circle shrugged. Éponine smiled, "Excessively fond of drinking alcohol," she supplied.
"And to think, I was nice to you. I see how you return the favor!" Grantaire joked as he finished his beer. "Very well, 'Ponine is right. I am Bibulous."
Later that evening when Enjolras found the slip of paper that Éponine had used to describe him he couldn't help but smile.
Superman.
...
"What are you doing out of bed?" Éponine asked him as she let herself into his apartment one morning in mid February.
Enjolras glanced up from the bag he was packing at his kitchen counter. "When I gave you a key it was for emergencies," he told her without looking up. "Not so that you could break into my apartment at eight in the morning and yell at me for getting ready for class."
"I can't break in if I have a key," she told him, holding up the key and dangling it in his face. "And I'm here because I knew you would try to go to class today."
"I need to go," Enjolras told her, trying to move around her toward the door. "Please lock the door when you leave."
She caught his arm and shoved him back toward his living room. "You need to get back into bed," she told him, her voice leaving very little room for argument. "You were throwing up last night. You had a fever. You're sick. You need to rest."
"I don't have time to rest," he argued.
"I know," she nodded, mocking him. "You only have four and a half months until your bar exams. One day in bed is going to completely derail your perfect score."
"You really don't have to mock me," Enjolras told her. But his fight had left him. It had been a struggle to get out of bed this morning, he had almost passed out in the shower, he hadn't eaten anything for breakfast because he knew he would only throw it back up. It was as if he had been waiting for someone to show up at his apartment and order him to skip class and get back into bed.
And here she was - all twenty years, five feet, and one hundred pounds of her.
"And you really don't have to pretend that you're not already on your way back to sleep," she told him, a gentle smile tugging at her lips. "Go back to sleep, I'll come wake you up with some soup around lunch. And if you still feel the need to study, I'll quiz you this afternoon. Alright?"
"Do you do this for everyone when they get sick?" Enjolras asked.
She thought about it for a moment before she nodded, "It started with Marius, I suppose. He got the flu my first year of school. I took care of him." Enjolras' stomach rolled, he told himself it was because he was sick and not because he hated the idea of Éponine taking care of Marius when he was ill. "I draw the line at hangovers though," she continued. "Grantaire ruined that for everyone." She glanced at Enjolras, "What are you still doing here?" she asked him. "I told you to go back to bed. And you better be sleeping when I check on you. I swear I will throw any law books I find out the window."
"You're so stubborn," Enjolras chuckled.
She smiled at him, his gaze caught on her dimples, "I prefer the word tenacious," she told him as she gently started to shove him toward his bedroom. "It's got a much less negative connotation."
"Tenacious then," Enjolras allowed.
"That's me," Éponine told him with a final shove. "Tenacious and resplendent."
He was still smiling when he undressed and climbed back into bed. He could think of many words to describe Éponine Thénardier, but perhaps he should stop trying. She could describe herself just fine.
His roar reverberated in her ears like a clap of thunder, such was his rage.
She was uncomfortable. Perhaps all of them were, but none so much as Éponine. The others, though rarely, had at least been to Enjolras' parent's house before, they knew what to expect. But never in her wildest dreams had Éponine ever imagined entering a house like this, at least not legally. And she was sure that everyone there could tell that she didn't belong. That with one look they would know that she had stolen her shoes from her sister, and borrowed a dress from her roommate. They were all judging her, all looking down on her - the charity case that Enjolras and his friends had picked up at a coffee shop.
She fidgeted and tugged on her dress. It was floor length and tugging on it did very little, but it made her feel better, it gave her something to do with her hands. "Stop fidgeting," Combeferre commanded as he moved over to stand beside her. "If you need something to do with your hands you can hold this." He passed her a champagne flute without looking at her. She smiled at him, he knew her well - they all did. Though he wasn't looking at her, he must have been watching her out of the corner of his eye because his lips turned up at the corner. "You have nothing to be worried about, Ép," he assured her, his voice soft and sure. "You look lovely."
"I stick out like a sore thumb," Éponine argued, reaching down with her left hand to tug at her dress again. The slit was too long, no woman here had as long of a slit in their skirt as she did. Why had she let Cosette talk her into borrowing this dress? It makes your legs look a mile long, Cosette had assured her. That had seemed like a good thing at the time, but now Éponine would gladly trade in her mile long legs for a dress that was more modest.
Combeferre reached out for her left hand, holding it tight in his own right one. "Only because you keep worrying about your dress," he told her. He shook his head and chuckled, "I would have handed you two flutes, but then you would have looked like an alcoholic."
"And there can only be one of those at this party?" Éponine asked, nodding toward Grantaire. He was standing at the bar, he had been standing there all night and she had a feeling that he did not intend to leave until the rest of Les Amis dragged him out to a car to go home.
Combeferre's eyes darted around the large ball room they were standing in. There were many older and younger people there. All of them had drinks in their hands. "Actually, my dear," he told her, turning to wink at her, "I believe what this party truly needs is one sober person."
Éponine laughed and shook her head. "And that's why you brought me? I really feel the love, 'Ferre."
Combeferre chuckled at her. "Actually, we brought you because you bring up the group average, at least as far as looks go." Éponine arched an eyebrow, a silent threat that Combeferre better rethink his words. He laughed harder and shook his head, "Don't shoot the messenger," he told her, his hands coming up in surrender. "I'm merely repeating what Bahorel said."
"I will kill him," Éponine told the med student through clenched teeth. "I will kill him."
"Who?" a voice asked from her right. She did not need to turn to look at him, she would know his voice anywhere. "Who are we helping you kill, Ép?"
"Bahorel," she told Enjolras as he took the champagne flute out of her hand and took a sip. "Hey!"
Enjolras chuckled, stepping just out of reach as her hand shot out, trying to take the glass back from him. "Found out about the group average, did you?"
She nodded, turning to look at him and opening her eyes as wide as possible. Her bottom lip jutted out as she pouted playfully at Enjolras, "Is that really why I'm here?" she asked him.
He swallowed thickly, her gaze dropped down to his throat, watching him. He cleared his throat, "No," he finally managed to tell her. "You are not here because you bring up the average. You're here because you're one of the few people in this group that can keep me sane."
She smiled at him, "You're always sane, Enj."
He ducked his head, his blue eyes sparkling, "You have no frame of reference," he told her.
"I think I do," Éponine argued. "I see you every day. And I have never seen you be anything other than completely, irritatingly sane."
"I'm sane whenever you see me because you're there," he told her. "You have no frame of reference because you are the control group."
She raised her eyebrows, a smirk playing at her lips, "I don't believe that for a second," she told him.
"It's true," Combeferre told her, defending his friend. "He's different around you, softer." Enjolras shot Combeferre a glare over Éponine's head and Combeferre cleared his throat. "Right," he said with a nod. "Well, that is my cue to go. Courfeyrac wants to see me."
"What?" Éponine asked, turning her head to glance at Combeferre. "Courf? How do you know that?"
"I can hear him calling, can't you?" Combeferre asked, pointing over his shoulder. And then before Éponine could tell him that he was lying, that not only was Courfeyrac not calling for him, but that he was in the opposite direction, he was gone.
She stared at his now empty spot for a long moment before she turned to look at Enjolras. He wasn't looking at her, his blue eyes were trained on a couple across the room from them, his parents. He must have felt her gaze on his face though, because he spoke. "He's right, you know?" he asked her. "He used the word softer to make us uncomfortable, but I am different around you."
"How so?" Éponine asked, turning to give him her full attention.
He turned to look at her, his blue eyes scanning her face as if looking for an answer to a question that he had not asked. "I don't know," he told her, his voice gentle. "And I am not entirely sure that it is all a good change."
Éponine stared at him for almost a minute before she sighed, "Being soft is not the same as being weak, Enjolras."
His gaze drifted from her to the couple across the room, specifically on his father. "That's not what he thinks," he told her, a rueful smile twisting its way onto his lips.
Éponine reached out for his hand, giving it a gentle squeeze, "What was it you said in my apartment not that long ago?" she asked him. "Fuck him?"
Enjolras chuckled, "If only it were that easy."
...
She and Grantaire had snuck out onto the balcony for five minutes to share a cigarette. That was all, five minutes. That was all the time it took for shit to hit the proverbial fan, at least as far as Enjolras and his father were concerned.
At first she did not notice it, the way the room beyond the glass French doors had gotten slightly quieter, as if everyone was uncomfortable. She did not notice when the room got almost silent. But she heard the fight as it started, rumbling like a storm in the distance, her head turned toward the doors, it was as if after all the years of living with her parents she had been trained to sense a fight.
Grantaire's gaze followed hers and he sighed, "Like clockwork," he murmured under his breath as they watched Enjolras' father reach out and grab his son's arm as he tried to walk away. Through the glass doors Éponine could not hear the words the older man yelled at his son, but she could hear his booming voice, she swore she could see the glass in the doors shake. She started to walk forward, toward the doors. "Ép!" Grantaire called after her in a strange sort of yelling whisper. "Éponine don't! He won't want you to see this!"
But it was too late, she had already opened the doors. She was already striding forward, the only one in the entire group of people at the party that was brave enough to approach the feuding pair.
"I don't care what you think, Father," Enjolras was whispering to his father, he at least seemed to be trying to keep his voice down, to keep their fight from being too public. "I am not a child anymore. You have no more control over what I do with my life after I finish school than you do over what time I go to sleep."
His father's eyes narrowed into a glare. "You don't care what I think?" he bellowed, moving closer to Enjolras, getting right in his face to intimidate him. "I have no say in your life? I only pay for your school and your damn apartment! I think that earns me the right to say what kind of law you will practice with the degree I paid for!"
Enjolras opened his mouth to argue. Éponine moved forward quickly, reaching out for his arm. "Enj," she whispered, "let it go."
He turned to look at her and for a moment she thought that he was going to yell at her too, but then his gaze softened and he took a deep breath. She smiled when she felt him calming down underneath her hands. She nodded, encouraging him. She heard his father laugh, a bitter sound. "And I suppose this is the reason you've suddenly changed your mind about everything we had planned?" he asked as if it were some sort of joke.
"Her name is Éponine," Enjolras told his father before Éponine could come to her own defense. "And she has nothing to do with it, nothing short of supporting me when I realized that your life was not at all what I wanted for myself."
His father laughed, that same bitter sound, "Jesus Gabriel," he sighed. "When your mother and I told you to go out and find yourself a girl, we meant one from our world. Where did you find this one? In an alley behind a bar?"
Enjolras' fist flew so quickly that Éponine did not see it until it had already come in contact with his father's face. Enjolras did not spend a lot of time in the boxing gym, his punch was not a good one, sloppy at best; but as inexperienced as he was at throwing a punch, his father seemed even less experienced in taking one. He spun, loosing his balance and fell to the floor, staring at his son in disbelief.
"Her name is Éponine!" Enjolras reminded his father again, this time yelling. "And you have no fucking right to talk to her at all, least of all like that!" If Éponine had thought that his father sounded like thunder when he yelled, it was nothing like the way Enjolras' voice cracked across the silent room. She had never seen someone filled with so much rage.
His father's nose was bleeding, he swiped at it as he glared up at his son, "Get out," he ordered, his voice hard as stone. "Get the fuck out."
Enjolras nodded, barely sparing his father a second glance as he grabbed Éponine's wrist and started to pull her from the room. She didn't need to look over her shoulder to know that the rest of Les Amis were quickly following behind them.
She wouldn't have been able to look, even if she had wanted to. She couldn't take her eyes off of Enjolras.
She had once remembered Jehan describing Enjolras as a charming young man, who was capable of being terrible. And she had never believed it until now. He had been terrible to his father, that much was true.
But he had done it to defend her.
He liked it - the sound of his name mixed with her voice.
She let herself into his apartment unannounced the next morning. He was beginning to think that he needed to take back his emergency key as he lifted his gaze from the book he was reading to look at her as she walked toward the couch he was sitting on. She paused, about a foot away from the couch and stared at him, her arms crossed over her chest, her foot tapping angrily against his floor. He raised an eyebrow, silently waiting for her to speak, clearly the girl had something she needed to get off her chest.
She blew out a breath, bit her bottom lip for a moment and shook her head, "Are we even going to talk about last night?" she asked him, her gaze flitting around his living room, landing on anything except him.
She was speaking fast again, her words tripping over themselves in their race out of her mouth. She was uncomfortable, no doubt she had been since they had left the party at his parents' house. He should have talked to her about it last night, it was cruel of him to let it wait this long, but he was proud of the fact that he had never lost his control in front of her. He was ashamed that he had last night. He hadn't known how to address it, he still didn't. And from the look of her, neither did she.
He shrugged his shoulders, "My father is an asshole," he told her, looking for an easy excuse to make his answer. "He's one to everyone. But you didn't deserve what he said about you last night." He looked away from her and shrugged his shoulders again, "I shouldn't have blown up at him, but he shouldn't have spoken to you like that."
Her laugh was sarcastic as she finally moved from her spot, coming to sit on the couch beside him, Enjolras moved his legs to give her more space. "I think blown up is a bit of an understatement," she told him, turning to smile at him. "Gabriel, you punched your father."
Even remembering it now made his blood boil, he could feel it. His fists clenched and his jaw tightened. He hadn't regretted that, if his father were somehow to miraculously appear in the room at that moment he would most likely do it again. But something quieted the anger. She had said his name.
It wasn't the first time she had said his name since he had told it to her, but this time seemed more important than all the others. She wasn't using it sarcastically. She wasn't using it to make a point. The soft, quiet quality of it made him think that she hadn't meant to use it at all.
He liked that. He liked to think that she called him Gabriel in her head and that sometimes, when she didn't have her guard up, the name escaped through her lips without her permission. He liked it because it meant that he was on her mind more often than she would have him believe.
He cleared his throat, looking away from her so that she wouldn't see the blush he felt burning its way onto his cheeks. "And I'd punch him again if he said something like that about you again," he told her, hoping that she wouldn't hear the discomfort he was feeling at having to admit that to her. He wasn't Jehan or Marius, or ever Courfeyrac or Grantaire, he wasn't good at feelings.
He was still looking away from her, but he could hear the smile in her voice when she spoke again. "And while I thank you for that, I'm not some damsel in distress that needs you to ride to my defense and punch everyone who says something that hurts me." She didn't sound angry. He turned to look at her and she was smiling softly at him. "You father is an ass, Gabriel," she told him, using his name again. This time it sounded more deliberate, a conscious choice not to use the name he shared with his father. "But you cannot fight with him like that. Especially over something as stupid as me."
Enjolras arched a brow at that, apparently he and Éponine Thénardier had very different ideas about what a stupid reason to fight was. It was stupid for him to fight with his father about his career, there was nothing his father could do to change his mind, and if the money was an issue then, once he started working he would pay his father back. But Éponine, she was something that mattered.
He shook his head, "It doesn't matter," he told her, his voice soft. "He's always been like this and nothing I say will ever change that. He yells -"
"He yells because he cares," Éponine interjected before he could continue. Enjolras turned to her, he wanted to argue, but she shook her head before he could. "My father used to yell," she told him, her voice taking on the quiet, shaky quality it always did when she spoke about her parents. He wanted to tell her to stop, he knew how much it hurt her to talk about them, but her eyes were narrowed, her jaw set, she was determined to get to her point. "My mother too. I spent years living in a house where I hid every time I heard one of them yell for me. And I would have killed for just once to hear them yell at me the way your father yelled at you last night. Killed, Gabriel. What he said about me was cruel, you're right, but the rest of it was because he cared."
Enjolras shook his head, "All he cares about is the money," he told her bitterly. "And how it'll look to all of his friends to have put his son through this fancy law school for me to turn around and not make the money he thinks I should be making. To not be rich like him."
Éponine shook her head, her lips turning up at the corners like she was talking to a stubborn child who refused to see her point. "He's worried that you'll start work as an immigration lawyer and you won't have the money to support yourself, to live the life he's dreamed for you." She looked away, her lip trembling a bit, "He just goes about showing it the wrong way."
Enjolras wanted to do something to comfort her, he could only imagine how difficult this conversation was for her, to sit here and tell him how his father loved him when they both knew that hers did not love her. He wanted to tell her that her parents cared about her too, the only way they knew how - but he didn't know if that was the truth and he did not want to lie to her. He wanted to tell her that he would always care about her, but it would make her uncomfortable. And probably scare her away.
She saved him, as she often did, from having to say anything when she reached out and clapped her hand against his knee. "Well, now that we've had this conversation and I've shared my little orphan Annie two cents, I'll let you get back to studying."
Enjolras cleared his throat, "You can stay," he offered her.
She smiled at him and shook her head, "I've got plans, Enj," she told him. "You think this little intervention was the only think I'm doing today?" She shook her head, scrunching her nose playfully, "Cosette, Marius, Courf, and I are going over to Cosette's father's for dinner tonight."
Enjolras raised his eyebrows at that, it seemed like an odd bunch to be having dinner with Cosette's father. "Why?" he asked, drawing the word out longer than it needed to be and praying that it wasn't some strange sort of double date.
Éponine shrugged her shoulders, "Lark and I go over to Valjean's every week for dinner. It's kind of a tradition. Lately she's been bring Marius and that's been," she waved her hands, a vague gesture that he took to mean awkward or hard. "So I thought I'd bring somebody. Jehan is busy, 'Ferre's got a real date, Bossuet and Joly are doing whatever the hell they do with Chetta, Bahorel's got a fight tonight, Feuilly has a class, and I was definitely not going to bring R, that's just a recipe for disaster. Courf can pretend to behave, at least, and he's Marius' roommate, so it's kind of a roommate dinner with Jean thrown in."
Enjolras' shoulders sagged a bit, in spite of himself. She had just run through the list of Les Amis, apparently asking each and every one of them to go with her tonight except for him and Grantaire. He didn't know what to make of that.
She stood up from the couch, "I would have asked you," she told him, almost absentmindedly as she moved toward his door. "But you have that habit of glaring at Marius that I haven't quite figured out yet. I figured that would only make things, more ..." she waved her hands again. "Anyway, I'll see you later, Gabriel."
He smiled.
...
A week later, at the beginning of March she ran into the cafe, excitedly waving a letter in the air as she approached their usual spot near the back. Enjolras glanced up from his laptop to watch her with raised eyebrows as she waved at the girl behind the counter, he thought it might be her sister, before throwing herself down on the couch next to him and throwing the letter in his lap.
He had his headphones in, not so much for music, there was none playing, the headphone jack wasn't even attached, but it kept people away from him. Everyone except his friends that is. "What's this?" he asked her as he reached up to take the take the headphones off his head.
"You should read it," she told him in a sing song voice. He reached out for it but she was faster. She grabbed it from him. "On second thought, maybe you shouldn't." She looked uncomfortable, and even a bit afraid. He didn't like to think that he was the reason she would look like that. All of the excitement she had when she entered the cafe was gone now, in fact she was looking at him a bit sheepishly.
"You have to promise me something," she told him. It was an unusual request.
"Anything," Enjolras told her, meaning the word.
"Gabriel, I'm serious," she told him, her voice quick and stilted.
"And so am I," he told her. "What do I need to promise you, Ép?"
"That you won't get mad at me," she told him. "No matter what."
His brow furrowed; he couldn't imagine why he would be angry with her, but she seemed so certain that he would be. "I promise," he told her. "I won't get angry."
"This is a letter from your mother," Éponine told him, playing with the letter in question in her hands. "The second one I've gotten."
Enjolras felt his fist clench, he took a deep breath, trying to force himself to calm down. "And why would she write you two letters?" he asked her, breathing through his nose.
"Because I responded to the first one," she told him as if it were an obvious response.
"Why did you do that?" he asked, it was getting harder to remain calm. His mother had just stood by when his father yelled at him for wanting to follow his dreams. She had stood by when his father insulted Éponine. She had stood by when his father had ordered him to get out of the house. He couldn't imagine what she had to say to the brunette sitting beside him.
"Well, she wanted to apologize for everything your father said," Éponine told him, her voice a whisper. "And I think she thought that maybe I would be able to persuade you to answer the phone when she calls."
"And that's what this is?" Enjolras asked her. "You're here to tell me to answer when my mother calls?"
Éponine shook her head, "No," she told him. He took a deep breath, feeling himself relax. "I'm here to tell you that you're having dinner with both your parents on Friday. There won't be any yelling, from either you or your father. There won't be any insults or punches. Your father wants to apologize."
"And why should I let him?" Enjolras growled.
"Because it's the right thing to do," she told him, looking at him sharply. "And I think you should apologize to him as well."
She was meddling, something he very rarely allowed any of his friends to do. But when he looked at her he couldn't be too angry with her. "This has to do with your parents," he said softly, getting to the heart of it very quickly.
She nodded, "My parents and I will never have a relationship," she told him with a shrug. "For very obvious reasons. And it's nosey and intrusive, I know that, but I cannot sit back and watch you throw away a relationship with your parents because your father can't figure out how to show you that he cares about you when he clearly does." She gestured toward him. "You're not that great at showing emotions either, Enj. Don't fault him for it when you're just as guilty."
Enjolras smiled ruefully at her, "I learned it from him," he told her, defending himself.
"Then let him learn forgiveness from you," Éponine told him, her voice showing him just how much faith she had in him.
He sighed, that was not how he planned to spend his Friday evening. But after a moment under her intense gaze he nodded. "We're not going to be some happy family," he warned her.
She nodded, "As long as you're not strangers either." She stood up and started to walk away from him. After a moment she paused, and then turned, rushing toward him so that she could throw her arms around his shoulders, pulling him into a hug. He had almost raised his arms to hug her back when she pulled away. "No matter what," she told him, smiling down at him, all dimples and straight white teeth. "I'm proud of you, Gabriel."
The way he said her name was different.
She knew that her name was safe in his mouth.
"I don't know about this, Pontmercy," Éponine told her friend, her voice a soft whisper as she stood next to her friend. "I don't think this is how it's supposed to work. This has got to be bad luck or something."
"Nonsense, Nina," Marius told her, looking past her at the store in front of them. "How can this be bad luck?" He shook his head. "You're my best friend, you're her best friend. You know what she would like better than I ever will." He paused, "And your fingers are the same size."
He reached out, grabbing her hand and pulling her toward the doors. Éponine walked slowly, dragging her feet. The last thing that she wanted to do on her day off was help the man she loved pick out an engagement ring for her roommate and best friend. But she was Éponine and he was Marius and it was impossible for her to say no to him.
Twenty minutes later Éponine was standing in front of a display case, staring blankly at the rows of rings just waiting for a couple when Marius approached her with a ring. "What about this one?" he asked.
Éponine turned to look at. It was beautiful. A rose gold band, with a large circular white diamond at the center and two smaller white diamonds on either side. Simple, beautiful, and absolutely perfect for Cosette. Éponine's vision blurred slightly as tear began to fill her eyes. She blinked her eyes and cleared her throat, "It's prefect," she told him with a nod. "She'll love it."
"Put it on," Marius suggested, reaching out for her hand. Éponine shook her head, but he was determined. He grabbed her hand, "I need to see it on your hand," he told her. "Please Nina!"
She sighed, looking away as he slipped the ring on her finger. She couldn't look at it. A part of her was terrified that it wouldn't look right on her finger; that this ring from this man would not fit her. Another part of her was terrified that it would look right; that she would be reminded of everything she would never get from Marius.
"Oh that one is beautiful," a saleswoman told them, approaching the pair with a pasted on smile on her face. She nodded, moving closer to Éponine. "A near perfect fit on her finger," she told Marius. "I might go down one size," she grabbed Éponine's hand to get a closer look. "Her fingers are so delicate and small."
She turned to Éponine, an aside, "You are very lucky," she told her. "Not many guys are smart enough to bring their girlfriends in to pick out the ring."
"Oh I'm not -" Éponine told her quickly, shaking her head and pulling her hand out of the woman's grip.
"Nina's just my friend," Marius explained to the woman. "This ring is for her roommate."
The tears were back at the casual way Marius said just my friend. She quickly blinked them away, turning her head so that neither Marius nor the woman would see them. She could feel the woman's gaze on her. "Oh," she said softly, drawing out the word as if it had more syllables. "I'm sorry for the assumption. But I am sure that your fiance to be would love this ring as well."
Éponine nodded, "She would," she agreed.
...
Grantaire only needed to take one look at her to know that something was wrong. She had thought that she had done a fairly good job at hiding the pain on her face, but perhaps she had only been able to hide it from Marius who had always been blind to her, at least when Cosette was concerned.
"Ép?" Grantaire asked her, sitting up a little straighter in his seat on the couch at the cafe. "What's wrong?"
Tears sprung to her eyes. Her vision blurred, she couldn't see him anymore. It was the simple question, the question that she had wanted Marius to ask her all afternoon, but he had not. She heard Grantaire shush the men around him. She couldn't see him, but she heard him climb off the couch and move toward her.
"Come here," he told her softly as he wrapped his arms around her and pulled her closer to him. "Tell Uncle R what's wrong, sweetheart."
He was joking with her and she didn't know why. Éponine was not the type of girl to burst into tears over something stupid. She hadn't realized that she was shaking until she was held tight against Grantaire's very still chest. She could feel herself shaking in his arms. She opened her mouth, prepared to tell him all about her afternoon picking out Cosette's engagement ring, but all that came out was a loud, shuddering sob. The tears streamed down her cheeks, one right after another. The entire world seemed to turn into a blur. The sights, the sounds, the smell. Everything was gone but the tears dripping onto Grantaire's chest and his arms wrapped around her shoulders.
"Shit, Ép," he whispered, holding her tighter, closer to him as her knees began to shake, threatening to give out from underneath her. She felt him turn, glance over his shoulder at the guys still sitting in their seat. "Can someone call Apollo?" he whispered.
He steered her toward the couch, ignoring the clumsy way she tripped over her own feet, and shoving Courfeyrac out of the way to make room for her. It didn't matter, once they were both sitting on the couch he had pulled her into his lap so that he could rap his arms around her. "Don't worry, Ép," he whispered, rocking her slightly as if she were a child. "Enjolras will be here soon."
She didn't know how long it took him to get there. She was still crying uncontrollably when he arrived. Each breath coming in shaky and uneven, and leaving in a wrenching sob. Her chin trembled as if she were a child, she was gasping for air that simply would not come. Her throat burned.
"What the hell happened?" she heard him ask, his voice cracking through the still air. Éponine sniffed as she lifted her head from Grantaire's chest, blinking as she turned toward Enjolras. He was glaring at Grantaire and Courfeyrac as if they were the ones who had hurt her. His hands flailed a bit at his sides, as if he wanted to reach out for her, but he stopped himself before he could. "Éponine, what happened?"
She closed her eyes, embarrassed when more tears slid down her cheeks. "I should have said no," she told him, sobbing, she wondered if he could even understand her. "I should have said no. The ring," she shook her head. "The ring was so beautiful. And the woman - the woman thought that I was his girl-girlfriend."
Grantaire's arm was still wrapped around her shoulders, "All I got from that was should have said no and ring."
Enjolras's jaw clenched. He took a step closer to them, his brows furrowed. "Can you guys give us some room?" he asked, his gaze darting around the group.
She heard them moving, she couldn't look away from Enjolras, but she assumed the boys had moved their chairs back. All of them except for Grantaire who kept his arms wrapped around her.
Enjolras cleared his throat, "I meant leave," he told them, his voice leaving no room for argument.
"I don't think -" Grantaire started.
"She won't be alone," Enjolras cut in. He sat down next to her, just as close as Grantaire. She felt his arm slip around her back, gently pulling her away from Grantaire. Gone was the smell of Grantaire's paints and scotch. Now all she could smell was sandalwood, the leather band of his wristwatch, the fancy soap he kept in his shower, and old books.
He wasn't as comfortable as Grantaire was with holding her. His arms were stiff, he sat a little too straight. But as she leaned into him, her hands clutching at his shirt, pulling him closer to her as she pressed her face into his chest, she felt him relax a bit. One of his hands lifted to her head, his fingers running through her hair. This was the first time he had ever done it consciously. Without saying a word Grantaire moved away from them.
He held her for a minute before he spoke again, allowing her breathing to slow down, her sobs to quiet. She was still crying, but she was calmer now. "You want to tell me what happened?" he asked her, his voice a whisper.
She sniffed. "He's going to ask her to m-m-marry him," she told him, stumbling a bit over the word marry. "He's going to ask her to marry him. And she's going to say yes. And I'm going to have to go to their wedding and be happy for them while my best friend is marrying the man of my dreams."
If he thought that she was being overdramatic, he didn't say anything about it. He wrapped his arms more tightly around her, pulling her closer to him. "Oh Ép," he sighed quietly. "You had to know this was coming," he continued. "Just a few months ago you were telling Cosette that she and Marius were going to be together forever as long as they weren't morons."
"I know," Éponine told him with a sigh. Her nose was running, she sniffed, trying to hold it in. She felt Enjolras sigh and his arm lifted, silently providing her with the sleeve of his jacket like he had done before, the very day he was talking about. She grabbed his wrist and brought it closer to her face, wiping her nose with it. "But I thought it was going to be years from now. She's only a junior. God! What if they get married before graduation and he moves in with us!"
"You won't have to deal with it," Enjolras told her, his voice determined.
"Like hell I will," Éponine argued. "He'll be there when I wake up, he'll be there when I go to sleep. He'll be there all the time. So close, but so much further away then he is now. And I helped him by helping him pick out the most perfect, beautiful ring for her. And I can't even hate her for it!"
"That's not what I mean," Enjolras told her, his fingers still running through her hair. "If he moves in with Cosette, you'll move in with me."
That shocked Éponine enough that the tears stopped flowing for a moment. She lifted her head from his chest and she shook her head, "I can't ask you to do that, Gabriel," she whispered to him.
"You didn't have to," he told her. "You don't have to. So take that worry off the table."
Éponine shook her head, "You must think I'm so ridiculous." She felt him shaking his head, even though her face was pressed against his chest again. She laughed, bitterly, "You yourself just said that I should have seen this coming." She sighed. "I mean, he is in love with my best friend. He's been in love with her since the day he met her. And I'm the idiot, who's stood on the side lines, loving him, waiting for him to notice me, and breaking my own heart the entire time. If I were smart I would have put an end to it a long time ago."
"You're not stupid for loving him," Enjolras told her, his voice gruff. "I told you that already."
"But I am stupid for continuing to do so," Éponine told him, still laughing bitterly.
"And he's stupid for never seeing you, Éponine," he told her, his voice harder than it had been before. He was silent for a moment, she knew he wasn't good with emotions. These gruff, awkward words meant more to her than anything anyone else could have said because she knew how hard it was for him to express them. "Why did you go, Ép?" he asked her after a minute. "He must have told you what he wanted your help with."
"He did," Éponine agreed with a sigh. "And that's what makes me even more pathetic. He told me and I went anyway. I told him that it wasn't a good idea, but he was all Nina, please? I need your help Nina -"
"Éponine," Enjolras interrupted correct Marius even though he wasn't there to hear it.
In spite of her tears, Éponine smiled.
I'll throw
my
voice into
the stars and maybe
the echo of my words will
be written for you
in the clouds by
sunrise.
All I am trying
to say is:
I will love
you
through the darkness.
Christopher Poindexter
Author's Note:
Boom! Another chapter in the books.
I know, I know ... you guys probably thought that I had forgotten this story. But I promise you that I hadn't.
It's just this ... these chapters are long, and they don't always come easily. I love Éponine and Enjolras and I adore Enjonine, and because of that I really want to make sure that I'm getting them right, that their slowly building romance is believable, relatable, and not too rushed.
And that takes time.
But the chapters will keep coming. And I hope you guys keep enjoying them.
Anyway ... thank you for stopping by and reading. Thank you for adding this story to your alerts lists, your favorites lists, thank you for the reviews we both know you're going to leave me!
And a HUGE thanks to everyone who reviewed on the last chapter. Every time I began to think that I was in no way equipped to continue this story, I read your reviews and kept going. So thank you for that. Thank you, thank you, thank you!
Guest (1): Thank you so much for being my first reviewer on this story! I'm so glad that you enjoyed (most of) the first chapter! I know the Christmas scene was a bit cheesy, but I needed it for Éponine's awkwardness at the beginning of this chapter. And with the time line, Christmas just worked. I hope it didn't make me lose you before this chapter!
LovingIsMyGame: Thank you so much! I'm so happy that you enjoyed the first chapter! Your review was AMAZING! So thank you! I hope that this chapter did not feel too long as well! As long as you keep enjoying every word, then I'm doing my job right!
Freyja: Don't worry, I know that not every body is going to love everything about this story. I took some artistic liberty with Marius in this story. He's not a serial romantic as much as someone who just falls in love a lot more easily than Enjolras.
Lost Girl 02: Thank you so much! I'm glad that you found the first chapter so interesting and I hope that you feel the same way about chapter two. I'm hoping that I still have most of the characters pretty well pegged, because if I do I still have plenty more to tell.
LadyFirefly88: And I love that you loved the first chapter! I hope that you enjoyed this one as well!
WashingAwaySins: More please? Well here you go! I hope that you enjoy it! Thank you so much for your review!
Jasmine: Jasmine
I LOVED YOUR REVIEW! Thank you!
Guest (2): I'm glad you've enjoyed it so far and I hope you enjoyed this chapter as well! Thank you so much for reading (and reviewing!)!
GalanthaDreams: I'm glad that the first chapter was so satisfying! I hope this one was too! I would hate to let you down, especially since you think the "characters were done to perfection." That was seriously a huge compliment.
Hannahmb: Oh my god! Can I even put into words how much I loved your review? Thank you! I'm so glad that you enjoyed the last chapter and that you think I captured the characters perfectly. I hope I managed to do that again. I never thought that I would ever bring the Les Mis characters into the modern age, but I have to admit, the more I write, the more I love it.
hihiyas: I'm happy to provide it! You're welcome! Thank you so much for your review! I must admit, I read one of your stories the other day! They are magic!
prettyfuschia: That's why this story was written! I missed Enjonine too! There aren't a lot of Enjonine stories out in the world, I think I've read most of them. So I needed a new one. And instead of waiting for someone else to write it, I decided to do it myself.
saigoncat: Thank you! I hope you loved this chapter too!
Tsume Yuki: Thank you! I'm glad that you enjoyed the last chapter. Don't worry about finding it late! I'm just happy you found it! Enjolras has always been one of my favorites, though I will admit I jumped on the Enjonine pairing train very easily. They're my OTP. And I'm so glad that it works for you! I hope you enjoyed this chapter as well!
That's all I've got for now guys!
Thank you so much!
Until next time,
Chloe Jane.