Chapter 8

Eponine absently held a finger to her lips as she stared out the small window in Enjolras's flat. Outside, the June sun was curling its shimmering fingers around all of the bricks and buildings, dancing off of people's backs and sneaking into the corners that did not normally show such hospitality towards light. It had been nearly two days since the girl's encounter with Grantaire, but still she could not seem to erase the unexpected kiss from her tender lips. She had not seen the boy since then. She wasn't sure if she wanted to.

"What's on your mind, 'Ponine?" Enjolras glanced up from his thick book just long enough to notice her pensive expression.

"Nothing," she smiled cheerily and went to sit across from the boy.

"Ah, but there is never nothing," the boy replied without taking his eyes off of the text. Eponine leaned back in her chair and blew a long breath out through her mouth.

"I was just thinking how different everything is now,"

"Oh?"

She could tell that Enjolras was only half listening. He seemed wholly interested in whatever the subject of his book was, turning pages quickly and mouthing words to himself absentmindedly. Eponine didn't mind, though. She had taken to watching the man study. There was a certain elegance in the way that his jaw hung slightly ajar, his eyes softened, his fingers curled around information like an old blanket. Sometimes, Eponine could catch the slightest of sounds protruding from his unknowing lips and she listened as he read to her about the theories of Plato or the history of France. Never having learned to decipher the scribbles he so easily transformed into language, watching him do so was awe-inspiring. It was one of the only things he seemed to love.

"Well, I'm living with you indefinitely. I'm part of les amis de l'ABC. I've made friends. Just two weeks ago, no one knew my name," Eponine played with a strand of her hair as she spoke. It was true, a lot had changed in a very short amount of time.

"I knew your name," Enjolras replied, for once breaking his trance from the book and allowing the girl a small smile.

"Well you never spoke to me,"

"Perhaps," he mused. "I was too intimidated,"

"Don't be silly. I never spoke in those meetings. What could I ever have done to intimidate you, the fearless leader of the revolution?"

Enjolras merely let out a soft laugh and went back to his book, shaking his head ever so slightly. Eponine wondered what the man had meant in his words, but let it go. It was much more rewarding to simply sit and watch as he continued to bury himself in literature rather than force a conversation.

That night, Eponine slid into bed and pushed herself against the wall so that her friend had room to get in behind her. After he blew out the candle and the room went dark, he joined her under the covers, wrapping his arm around her small frame. It had become a habit of theirs, the tired embrace. Although the sun brought a warm haze during the day, night time was cool and chilling. The two had found that entangling themselves with one another was much more comfortable than attempting to sleep at opposite ends of the cot.

"Enjolras?" Eponine murmured as she stared at the black wall before her.

"Mm?"

"Is Grantaire your friend?"

"He was," Enjolras replied after a moment of silence.

"Why did that change?"

"He drinks himself into a stupor. It distracts from the cause and it damages his abilities to focus," the answer was stiff, as if it were scripted. Eponine could feel the boy's steady breaths against her back.

"But you still care about him, don't you?" she pushed, sure that she could get him to admit some sort of feeling for Grantaire.

"I care about this country. Anyone who does not is not worth my time,"

"He does care about the country, Enjolras. I think you're being too harsh," Eponine felt his grip tighten around her waist. The marble lover of liberty was not used to being defied, even by the sleepy girl enfolded in his arms.

"I am being honest," he said stonily.

Eponine turned around so that she was facing the boy. She could just barely make out the small glint of his eyes, but she could clearly feel the air escaping his lips and landing warmly on her neck.

"I don't want you to dislike him because of what happened to me," She said firmly.

"He should have stopped them," Enjolras snapped.

"He tried. They were being cruel to him, too,"

"What could they possibly have said to him that would hinder his ability help you?" he hissed.

Eponine bit her tongue. Although she wasn't sure what her encounter with Grantaire had meant, she was sure that the boy was confused and scared, two emotions that the street urchin was entirely too familiar with. She was honored that he had come to her, of all people, with his fistfuls of worries and self-doubts and she wasn't about to betray them to the one person who he least wanted to know. No, not even the ignorant teasing of the drunkards would find its way to Enjolras's ears.

"They were horrible men. They were going to hurt him just because he was trying to defend me. Please, Enjolras. Try to understand. Grantaire is a good man,"

Echoes of her conversation with Grantaire drifted through the girl's head. I'm an abomination…

An icy silence settled over the room. Eponine's eyes had somewhat adjusted to the darkness and searched Enjolras for any sign betraying his thoughts. He revealed nothing, but stared above her head for a long while.

"Please speak to him," she begged.

"Is that what he was discussing with you? Strategies to make me less angry?" The words were flung from his brutal lips.

"No, of course not. He was apologizing profusely and I accepted. Why can't you?"

"I am not obliged to forgive a man I don't see worthy of forgiveness,"

"That man is willing to die for a cause that you recruited him for. The least you could do is indulge him in a short-lived friendship," Eponine retorted briskly. Enjolras removed his arm from her side and pushed himself off of the cot. The brunette sat up and watched as he paced a few feet away.

"I will not be spoken to like this in my own home. In my own bed," he spat.

"Throw me out, then," Eponine narrowed her eyes dangerously.

"Is that a threat?" The girl could hear the smirk dripping from his voice. She began to get up.

"It's a promise. I'll see myself out," she ripped the blankets from her legs and stood, grabbing her crumpled dress from the floor. In a hurried rage, she stripped herself of the man's clothing until she was exposed in only her corset and threw her petticoats on over it. She shoved the borrowed shirt and pants at Enjolras, who had for a moment been struck dumb by the sight of her.

Suddenly returning to reality, he threw the clothing to the ground.

"No need," he growled, grabbing her by the forearm and dragging her to the entryway. "You're not welcome here anymore,"

Enjolras forced himself not to look at the girl's face as he slammed the door. It was a good thing, too. If he had been so weak as to watch as her creamy brown eyes grew and her entire body flinched with the sound of the closing wood, he would not have been able to stalk back into his flat as she leaned her head against the corridor's wall. Tears collected in the corners of her eyes and streamed freely down her cheeks. She did not bother to wipe them away, letting them stain her skin with the sting of abandonment.

I don't know why you're surprised, she thought to herself. He is just one more man that didn't want you.

A few minutes passed. Eponine tried to lift her head from the stone wall but could not bring herself to do it. She felt weighed down by a thousand pounds, aged by a thousand years. She inhaled a wobbly breath and swallowed hard.

There's no use in crying, 'Ponine.

Just as she was mustering all of her strength into some sort of movement, remembering that she had to find somewhere to sleep tonight, the door behind her gently swung open. Enjolras appeared, head hung low and blonde curls falling in front of shy eyes. He stepped across the hall and took her in his arms, wrapping her tightly in the warmth and dusty smell of books that she had grown so accustomed to. Eponine shook uncontrollably.

"Shh, Eponine. Shh…I am so sorry," he whispered into her uncombed hair. She squeezed her eyes shut and buried her nose in his night shirt, trying so very hard to believe that he had really come back. One would think that solid flesh would be enough proof. Perhaps, to the Jondrette girl, the past had proven otherwise.

"Come back to bed. Please," he breathed. Eponine withdrew from the embrace and ran a doubtful gaze over the boy's face. He seemed sincere, his angled features glowing palely in the moonlight that eavesdropped from the window.

Reluctantly, the girl followed him back into the room and returned to her place on the cot without bothering to change. Enjolras folded her small body against himself, much tighter than he had previously. His lips brushed against the back of her head, his abdomen pressed firmly against her spine.

"I'll speak with him," he said softly.

Eponine blinked the last of the tears away and shut her eyes, promising herself to remember that this wouldn't last long. After all, good things never did.