Okay, sorry for how much the last chapter sucked.
Disclaimer: I own nothing except this laptop.
When Marius first announces that he is dating Cosette, Eponine doesn't worry too much. Marius is always chasing some hot piece of ass, and it never lasts too long. He always comes back to her. But when two months becomes six months, and six months becomes a year, Eponine loses sight of that.
"Guys, guys, guys, guess what?" Cosette says, eyes flashing and face flushed. "Today, Marius and I have been dating for one year!" The Independents applaud, though Grantaire and Jehan both give Eponine worried looks.
"That's truly excellent, Cosette, now please get down from that table. We have a country to save." Eponine could kiss Enjolras. "Now, did anyone see the State of the Union address last night?"
Eponine finds Grantaire smoking by her car at the end of the night. "Hey…you okay?"
He laughs. "Why wouldn't I be? This isn't the first time he's kicked me out for being me, and it won't be the last."
She opens her arms and gives him a hug. They stay like this for a while, with him trying not to cry while saying things like, "It's always like this," and "I'm such a fuck-up," and Eponine murmuring reassuring sentiments into his ear.
They drive home in silence until Grantaire can bear it no more and turns on the radio. "She Will Be Loved" by Maroon 5 plays, and Eponine flinches as Grantaire loses it. He's sobbing into his hands, and it's painful to listen to. Eponine tries to focus on the road and her friend at the same time; luckily, they are almost home.
When they finally get upstairs to their flat, Grantaire has stopped crying, though his face is still red and wet. "Jesus, I can't believe you're putting up with me right now, 'Ponine. I should be comforting you."
She sighs. "I'm used to it. There's always going to be another girl, and it's never going to be me, and Marius is never going to see me. How could he? I'm a skinny whore who takes his messages for him, and who fucks him when he's lonely. That's it." She sits down on the couch.
"No." The sheer force of Grantaire's voice makes her jump. "No, that's not it. You are not that, Eponine. You're so much more than that. Pontmercy is an idiot. Any of the Independents would kill for a chance with you. 'Ponine, you have to realize that you don't see yourself properly. You're insanely sweet, and you're so kind, and you're so incredibly beautiful." He realizes as he says it that, yes, she is beautiful, with her big brown eyes glistening with unshed tears, her soft, dark hair that smells like strawberries, and her delicate cheekbones. He sits down beside her.
She smiles, but there's no feeling behind it. She doesn't believe him. "Thanks, 'Taire."
"I mean it," he says again. When she sighs and doesn't answer, he kisses her, putting all of his gratitude and fierce admiration into the movement of his lips.
They've kissed before, they kiss frequently, but it's nothing like this. Grantaire's lips are rough and warm, searing her cold face, and maybe it's because they're both so lonely, maybe it's because neither of them are drunk enough to deal with themselves, but she kisses him back, and she closes her eyes and pretends that it's Marius, and he knows, and she knows that he's closing his eyes and pretending that she's Enjolras, and neither of them mind.
He breaks away long enough to caress her face in his rough artist's hands and whisper how beautiful she is before he kisses her again, and again, and again, tasting every inch of her face, kissing away her tears. She's so overcome with emotion at finally feeling loved, wanted, beautiful, that she throws her leg over his waist, straddling him, and kisses him the way she kisses Marius when he calls, the way she kisses Montparnasse when she's too high to realize what she's doing; Grantaire may be her best friend, and he may be in love with Enjolras, but he is not a saint, and he is not immune to be kissed like she's kissing him, as if he conveys something holy and delicious.
He stands up, wrapping one arm under Eponine and one around her waist to support her weight as she reflexively curls her legs around him, and moves towards their room. He lays her down on their bed, kissing her hard before pulling his shirt off. She runs her hands down his chest, tracing the trail of hair that leads beneath his jeans, and lifts her arms so that he can pull off her shirt, which he does, tossing it to the floor.
She sits up, shifting her position and pushing him down so that she's in control, and reaches around her back to unclasp her bralette, leaning down to kiss Grantaire again as she does so. She doesn't know what's gotten into her, but her closest explanation is that she's highly intoxicated off of Grantaire, off of his dark curls, his soft lips, his calloused hands, his scruffy jaw, his sweet words, his incredible capacity to love.
They drink deeply of one another's love and loneliness until very late at night, and when they finally collapse, it's after declarations of love and confirmations that nothing has changed. Eponine drifts into sleep, imagining that the man beneath her who had told her he loved her, who had told her how beautiful she was, who had kissed her with such gentleness and loved her with such tenderness was Marius Pontmercy. Grantaire finally succumbs to sleep's charm much later, dreaming that Enjolras passes by him and smiles. It's the happiest and best they've slept in months.