A/N: Your lovely responses to this story continue to astound me! Thank you so very much for the reviews, recommendations, favorites, and follows! I'm tickled pink and, if I could, I'd squeeze you all to bits!
*cough* But I won't, I'll leave that to E/É. I hope this chapter tugs at some shipper heartstrings. :)
Disclaimer: Les Misérables is copyrighted to and belongs to Victor Hugo. I'm just playing in his sandbox and receive no financial gain from this. Rats.
Chapter 12
"A heart full of love
No fear, no regret"
-Les Misérables
By the time Éponine emerged from her room the following day, looking far worse for the wear than any of her party expected, she had forgotten about the upcoming Masquerade Ball altogether, and wasn't much looking forward to her first presentation as a proper Mademoiselle when Cosette reminded her of it later in the day.
I'd rather eat dirt, she grimaced to herself, unable to mask her displeasure.
Harder to face still was Enjolras. Her lessons had become an absolute mind torture since that day she stormed out of the parlor, fighting back tears that took over eventually once she was isolated and alone. She hadn't expected to fall for Enjolras so hard, and yet, you did, Éponine! she scolded herself repeatedly since.
Éponine could hardly concentrate during her studies anymore, and it didn't help that the blond gentleman seated so close to her—near enough to permeate her personal space with the smell of his natural musk and masculinity, as though he were personally assaulting her senses somehow—was as visibly uncomfortable as she could have imagined. He still hadn't given her an answer to her question and didn't deter from her lessons either.
It was all Éponine could do not to walk out on all their hard work, but she knew to do so was childish, not to mention beneath her own standards of perseverance. In her new life, she couldn't resort to her former hide and stew tactics. She was indebted to the Pontmercies, as well as Monsieur Gillenormand, for their generosity in granting her an education, and, thus, she would put on a brave face and push on, no matter what it cost her heart.
It was only when Cosette happened to mention the prospect of suitable bachelors expected to attend the upcoming Masquerade Ball that Éponine's ears perked up again, and a captivated interest in the affair returned. Considering that Enjolras wasn't showing any interest in the event, nor her, for that matter—or so it appeared—Éponine was determined to put her best foot forward, both figuratively and literally. She had once more allowed her heart to overrule her head, and now it was time for a change. She didn't think Enjolras capable of such heartlessness, but then, she wouldn't allow herself to be taken advantage of again—by anyone.
It was those trappings she was trying not to reinforce mentally when, later in the week, Enjolras's smooth voice disrupted her thoughts. "We're through for the morning," he stated matter-of-factly, closing her book and thereby ending the lesson.
"Very well."
Éponine started to rise from her chair with a chilly regard like usual when he abruptly asked, "Can you spare another moment?"
No... Please...
Éponine sucked in a breath, but quietly returned to her seat. "I suppose," she mumbled, not sounding at all pleased.
Enjolras could feel that piercing coldness in her reply that made his chest constrict. Morbidly, he reflected that, if he touched her hand now, it would probably be as frozen as her very presence projected. He forced himself not to illustrate any disgruntlement, admitting that he probably deserved this brush off from her.
Since she had disappeared into her room for nearly a full day, Enjolras had grown quite desperate to talk it over, especially after coming to the hard-hitting awareness of his buried affections; and yet, the opportunity hadn't presented itself since her reemergence, though it was obvious why. Éponine had purposely been keeping herself at a distance, much to his growing frustrations, and usually ran off as soon as their sessions were through. He prayed this morning would be different.
"I know you're angry with me for what happened, Éponine, and I've been wanting to address it with you, only...I haven't known how to go about it. I also standby what I said before: I didn't wish to do so in this environment; but here we are."
"Enjolras—"
"Let me finish, if you would, please," he insisted, half reaching for her hand before thinking better of it. "I apologize for my rudeness. I was caught up in the moment and honestly couldn't think clearly, but it had nothing to do with you."
"You really don't have to—"
"And it had everything to do with you at the same time..."
Éponine reared back and quickly turned defensive. "Pardon? I don't follow you."
"You asked me why I kissed you," Enjolras leaned into her, the warmness of his blue eyes magnetic for the first time in days, having been trying to work up the nerve to speak from the heart rather than the head. "I didn't answer because I didn't realize my true feelings at the time. I only came to realize what I know now to be my answer after you stormed off."
Éponine stared on, breathless at first, before her mind started screaming warnings to her to pull away. Don't let him hurt you! You can't go through this again! You simply can't! Leave now!
"I - I'm sorry, Enjolras, but—"
"I implore you to let me explain."
"No," she insisted with more force than she had meant, "I can't— I have to go change before Madame Pontmercy's lessons this afternoon."
"But—"
Before Enjolras could stop her, Éponine shot out of her chair and dashed from the room, turning a corner at the end of the hallway by the time Enjolras made his way into the corridor. He stared on after her vanishing form before sourly cursing himself and returning to the empty parlor, a disappointed scowl marking his face.
"Are you looking forward to this evening, Eponine?"
Éponine beamed at Cosette, who was standing behind her in the full-length mirror they both stared into. They had been getting ready together for the past hour in the attractive blonde's dressing room, along with an unhappy Molly, who was prying Éponine's long hair into a pretty bun of pins and hair jewels, only she wasn't being nearly as rough as she would had been were they alone.
Éponine adjusted the ribbon on the front of her navy dress that was made of the finest Parisian silk, effortlessly offsetting the color of her ivory skin and auburn-set eyes. She was quite pleased with her appearance and couldn't help but express so wordlessly at the unrecognizable reflection that stared back at her in the mirror.
A far cry from the lowly girl of the streets, that's for sure, she considered with a small smile. This is going to take some getting used to.
"I'm a little nervous," Éponine answered through an anxious-ridden laugh, "but excited at the same time!"
"If ever in doubt this evening, just follow my lead." Cosette, dressed in an all-lavender number, gave Éponine a reassuring wink in the mirror. "You'll be fine. The important thing is to enjoy yourself and dance with every fine gentleman who asks for your hand!"
"I'll try."
The idea sounded a bit ludicrous to her. Gentlemen never noticed her before, and, even in her fetching gown, she hardly believed the Mariuses and Enjolrases of Paris would take any interest in her tonight.
Still thinking you're a Nobody, Éponine. Cut it out!
"We'll have to see to it that Enjolras enjoys himself, too," Cosette continued to prattle on. "Poor man. He's been moping and looking ever so glum these past few days; more so than usual."
Éponine paused at that bit of commentary, even if she already knew it to be true. Enjolras had seemed particularly drab ever since trying to approach her about their passionate kiss. Éponine was rather regretful of not giving the man the opportunity to speak, but then, her heart was already torn enough, and her mind confused as it was. There was no need to go down that road again.
And yet, he clearly wanted to give you the answer you've been seeking, Éponine!
If Éponine were alone, she would have cursed herself for being so damned conflicted, but there was nothing for it now. That was, until Cosette saw the fuming look burning in her eyes that she wasn't aware of showing.
"Éponine?" she chanced, freshly concerned. "Are you all right?"
"Oh! Sorry. Yes, I - I'm fine."
"You will help me with Enjolras, won't you? Help me ensure that he doesn't scowl in a corner all evening?"
Éponine shared Cosette's amused giggles, but then Molly piped in, as she fastened the buttons on the back of Cosette's dress, "I'm sure Mademoiselle won't miss the opportunity to make sure Monsieur is enjoying himself."
Éponine's smile faltered and her complexion turned a shade paler. She shot the maid a deadly glare to rival any freedom fighter, but Cosette continued to laugh away the confusion surrounding the maid's comment.
"What on earth are you talking about, Molly?"
"Nothing, Madame," Molly smirked, her hostile glare reserved for Éponine alone once Cosette turned away from the mirror. "It's not my place."
"You're right, it isn't," Éponine sputtered loud enough for both of them to hear. She stalked out of the room quickly, leaving a puzzled Cosette and a triumphant Molly to themselves.
"Really, Molly," Cosette insisted once they were alone, "what was that all about?"
"Have you forgotten something?" Monsieur Gillenormand humorously goaded Enjolras upon his appearance in the entryway.
Éponine had been putting her gloves on when she peered up to find a handsomely-attired and very attractive in general Enjolras standing a few feet away, cutting a most elegant image indeed. He donned what was undoubtedly his "signature" color: a vibrantly crimson waistcoat with a black belt, trousers, and knee-high boots. Glimpses of a white shirt peeked from beneath his ensemble, which was buttoned to his neck. The only item missing was a red, white, and blue ribbon—the symbol of his revolution that, before the ambush, had always been pinned to his chest with pride. Its absence was sorely felt, at least to Éponine, and she suspected it had to be the same for the wounded gentleman standing before her, trying to put on an indifferent face for his company. Yet, even without the ribbon, he still looked every bit the magnificent revolutionist she remembered from nearly a year ago, so much so that her breath caught in her throat at the sight of him.
Perhaps it was the way he held himself—his broad shoulders pulled back and his chin high—but he was a striking image to behold, nonetheless. It was only after inspecting him up and down a few times that Éponine realized what Monsieur Gillenormand was referring to: Enjolras was cane-less and had evidently come downstairs and across the length of the house on his own. It was a small triumph, to be sure, and Éponine started to smile brightly at his progress when she remembered that she was still somewhat cross with the man, and her smile disappeared as quickly as it had surfaced.
Enjolras and Monsieur Gillenormand carried on with their light bantering for several minutes before turning their attention to Éponine. They were all waiting on the Pontmercies to depart, and, as far as a nervous Éponine was concerned, they couldn't have moved slower if they were a pair of turtles returning to the sea.
"You look very nice this evening, Mademoiselle."
Éponine nearly shivered at Enjolras's soft-sounding address. When their eyes met, his gaze was enticing enough to suck her right in, and she had to compose herself properly before answering to his compliment.
"Thank you, Monsieur, as do you."
Enjolras bowed and a few of those tightly woven curls swept across his eyelashes. Éponine had to avert her gaze to keep from making herself look like a hopeless fool. She hastily focused on tightening her gloves instead, wanting to put that alluring image out of her head at once.
Finally, the Pontmercies came down the stairs and the five of them hopped into a large, horse-drawn carriage en route to the Beaumont's Masquerade Ball. As their hostesses chatted excitedly about the coming evening, Enjolras and Éponine found themselves sitting next to one another in silence throughout their short journey, not chancing a glance in either's direction, for the most part.
When the carriage pulled up to the vast Beaumont estate, Éponine finally acknowledged Enjolras by commenting on another item that seemed to have gone amiss from his person. "You didn't bring a mask?" she questioned, to which he regarded her quite gently.
"No, I have no intention of dancing this evening."
"Then why did you come?"
Éponine could feel the heavy weight of her disappointment in knowing she wouldn't be afforded the opportunity to twirl on the dance floor with him, until she remembered once again that she was supposed to be angry. It meant she would truly be left to dance with a handful of strangers, which didn't sit well with the butterflies in her stomach.
Enjolras ignored the severity in her voice, however, and instead offered her a wry smirk. "I'm here for the wine, naturally."
With that, he hopped out of the carriage after the others and extended his hand for her to take. At first, Éponine hesitated. Let go of your anger for one night, Éponine, and enjoy yourself. With that, she succumbed, allowing Enjolras to escort her inside by the arm. If the man she found herself so hopelessly drawn to could find a reason to smile this evening, despite not wishing to be there, then so could she.
Éponine was taken aback the moment they entered the Beaumonts' home, a stately establishment with the most vibrant settings she had ever set eyes on. Walking through the main hall, where several tapestries and extravagant furnishings were on display, the atmosphere set by dramatic candlelight, Éponine let out one of several audible gasps, the last of which upon entering the main ball room, which was appropriately elaborate and large. Guests were dressed to the nines. The crown moldings and high painted ceiling were additional feasts for the eyes, and Éponine found herself gawking unreservedly around the room, questioning how the heck she had arrived at such a place.
"Éponine, your mask!" she heard Cosette motion to the one she held in her hand.
Quickly, Éponine came to her senses and placed hers—a bright blue covering with beads and matching feathers—over her face. She thought she heard Enjolras snort beside her but ignored whatever jibe he might surely be thinking at her expense.
It wasn't long before Éponine was bombarded by a series of introductions to Monsieur Gillenormand's and the Pontmercies' friends. A couple of them knew Enjolras as well, and Éponine noted the hesitation in their faces when they greeted him. He hardly spoke a word to those he recognized, however, instead keeping his replies short and to the point.
After nearly an hour of conversation with strangers, Éponine found herself being introduced to the hosts of the evening, Monsieur and Madame Beaumont, a charming older couple who expressed a keen interest in Éponine, particularly once they discovered she wasn't spoken for, despite having arrived on Enjolras's arm. Éponine realized soon after why they subjected her to a relentless series of questions, for Marcel Beaumont the Younger suddenly emerged at his mother's side, looking quite a sight for sore eyes—at least, to Éponine's dissatisfaction.
Marcel's hungry eyes roved over Éponine's figure as though she were a piece of artwork to be plucked for the family's collection. "This is my son, Marcel," Madame Beaumont introduced with a proud smile, although Éponine was unsure if there was anything to be truly prideful of, even with the man currently wearing a mask. Marcel was a heavy-set, young man with greasy, dark locks that stuck to his forehead, and eyes that spoke of only one desire from the ladies. He clumsily bowed his head to her with a smug, off-putting smile. Unless Éponine was mistaken, she could smell sherry on his breath, even with a wide berth between them.
Marcel removed his mask and gave her his full smile. His teeth were yellow and crooked, and the forceful manner with which he regarded her was enough to make Éponine cringe, though she did her best not to. She was too distracted to realize that Enjolras's hands had balled into fists at her side.
"Welcome to our home," Marcel offered charmingly enough, taking a moment to also greet Marius, Cosette, and Monsieur Gillenormand before turning back to her. "How do you find the house, Mademoiselle?"
"Oh, it's splendid!" Éponine replied, trying to smile back and finding it difficult.
"Do put aside your mask so I can introduce myself properly, won't you?"
Éponine looked to Cosette for guidance, who silently encouraged her with an apologetic nod. Why she felt so terribly exposed showing her face to this man, Éponine knew not, but, in her gut feeling, something was off. Sucking in a breath, she removed her mask and curtseyed.
"You're a pretty lass," he said cheekily, and Éponine caught the subtle squirm on Marius's and Cosette's faces. Enjolras's body, too, stiffened. "So, your parents are dead, are they?"
"Um, yes, Monsieur..."
"How long have you been in Paris?"
"A few months now," she lied, forcing another false smile.
"Do you find society as dull and terribly drab as I do?"
"Marcel, really!" her mother scolded him through a hiss, trying to be discrete, though it didn't work.
"What? Surely, Mademoiselle must think so by now! Look at the company she keeps! Even Marius here is not as fun as he used to be! Don't you remember how we—"
"Yes, I remember," Marius muttered under his breath, wanting to drop whatever subject the man was about to reveal.
"Oh, that's right, forgive me," Marcel snorted and sneered at his guests. "You boys were too busy with your little revolution nonsense, weren't you? Pray tell, how did that go in the end?"
Marius's face hardened, and only Éponine caught Cosette's subtle attempt to ease him back by the arm. Marcel's parents, as well as Monsieur Gillenormand, who were in the midst of their own private conversation, stopped at overhearing Marcel's remark.
"Not well," someone piped up beyond the group; it was only then that Éponine realized that Enjolras had fallen back and was now standing with his back to the wall, his arms firmly placed behind him. The glare he shot Marcel was enough to discourage any man, though Marcel was proving early in the evening as a force to be reckoned with.
"You're here?" he asked haughtily, surveying Enjolras up and down with aversion. "I didn't even see you."
"I was invited."
"I see." Marcel turned from Enjolras to Marius and back again. "What a pity."
"Yes," Enjolras snipped in return, his voice quiet but seething; Éponine could detect the rage boiling beneath his masked expression of detachment. "Nice to see you again, Marcel."
"I cannot say the same for you, I'm afraid. How is it you managed to survive, anyway? I thought you and your lot perished?"
"My 'lot'?" Enjolras's pupils dilated.
"Yes... All those boys from university who blindly followed you—to their ends, no doubt."
Éponine froze where she stood, as did everyone else in their circle. She tried to eye Enjolras sidelong, noting that his eyes had brightened. That almost terrifying look reminded her of how passionately inflamed the man could prove when provoked, much like his dealings with the French army.
"You're out of line, Marcel," he whispered through a clenched jaw.
"I'm out of line?" Marcel mockingly snorted. "What captain doesn't bravely go down with his ship?"
"See here, Marcel," an enraged Marius started on him, but Enjolras cut in before he could finish.
"Brave, indeed," he hissed, keeping his emotions steady. "Sorry to disappoint you."
"I am disappointed. Your revolution was idiocy turned on its head; I told you that. It's little wonder your efforts crippled, and now look! All of those promising young men: dead. And here, their leader stands, unharmed and ready to parade about the floor as if he were dancing on their very graves!"
Éponine was floored, unaware that her mouth had fallen open at the careless insults Marcel was provoking Enjolras with. It would seem the others were just as openly disgusted.
"Why you..." Monsieur Gillenormand stepped forward but halted at Marcel's returning affronted look.
Éponine would have rushed to her tutor's defense herself if she wasn't so utterly stunned by his lack of tact. In the midst of her shock, it hadn't dawned on her that Enjolras had softly excused himself and walked off, leaving their party as quietly as he had come.
"Well, now that that's settled," Marcel issued to his alarmed guests, including Éponine, "come, Mademoiselle, let me give you a personal tour of the estate."
Marcel stepped forward and held out his arm, nearly shoving Éponine with his elbow; she opened her mouth to protest, but, before she knew what was happening, she was spun around on her feet and drifted—unwillingly—away from her party, the shock within her quickly turning to rage, which she was forced to suppress should she otherwise disgrace her friends with her emotional outbursts.
If Éponine thought her first night out amongst the crim de la crim of Paris was getting off on the wrong foot, it was only going from bad to dramatically worse. Although she tried several times to escape Marcel's clutches by trying to insist that they rejoin her party, Marcel resisted her demands and kept up his nagging pursuit of showing off every inch of the first floor, mainly explaining his family's vast art collection, although it sounded far more like gloating over his parents' wealth and prestige that he would surely come to inherit, than a genuine interest in art.
The place was cramped with people, and it was a full hour or so later before Éponine finally found her way back to the ball room, though still regrettably in Marcel's company. She spotted Marius and Cosette taking a turn on the dance floor together, Marius trying to be extra mindful of his wife's feet by constantly looking downward instead of ahead; but they still looked to be in relatively high spirits.
"Poor man; he always was a pathetic excuse for a dancer," Marcel laughed boisterously, leading her out by the arm in a most forceful way that reminded Éponine of her days on the street, when she was hustled and manhandled by the most revolting of men. Marcel was proving himself no better than any of those lechers in her eyes. She was scowling openly by this point, but Marcel was either too arrogant to notice, or, more likely, too ignorant to comprehend his lack of propriety.
"I think Marius dances perfectly fine," she grumbled, whilst Marcel began to twirl her about.
"Oh?" He belittled her with a smug smile. "And Enjolras, do you think he's a good dancer?"
"I wouldn't know. I've never seen him dance, but I would venture to guess—"
"He was never into these grand affairs, but then, his father disowned him for his political activities, so I suppose he got no less than he deserved. He shouldn't have come; he doesn't belong here."
"That seems—"
"What?" Marcel challenged, arching an eyebrow at her. "Unkind?" he cackled, causing Éponine's face to flush madly. "Actually, I pity him, poor fellow. I would never want to be in his shoes. God's most certainly punishing him for his sins."
"I wouldn't pity him if I were you," Éponine returned heatedly. "He's done very well on his own."
"Has he? Starting with that fallen barricade, I presume?"
Éponine tried to stop the dance, but Marcel laid a hand on her back and shoved her almost violently against him. She gasped at his unwanted advances and tried to wiggle free, but it was rather useless. He was physically much stronger than her, and much like the hustlers who had come before him.
"At least he stood up for what he believes in," she snarled, glaring him down as best she could.
"And got innocent lives killed in the process, Mademoiselle."
"Those men held the same beliefs and values as he did! Marius, too! He's not responsible—"
"Don't be a damned fool. I don't know what possesses the Pontmercies or Monsieur Gillenormand to keep company with a dangerous man like that. I know his sort well. They're nothing but trouble. Enjolras has blood on his hands, make no mistake."
"He doesn't have blood on his hands! We all make our own choices. Those men chose to fight alongside him, and that's the price they paid for taking a stand."
"Yet, he survived?"
"And you assume he wanted to survive, do you?" Eponine shot back, her emotions getting the better of her. "You think he hasn't thought about those men every single day since then?"
Marcel, ever more curious, cocked his head. "Do they let broads like you into their revolutionary club?"
"What?"
"Well, you seem to have a high and mighty opinion about it all."
Éponine finally maneuvered free of his grasp. He shot her a harsh look of offense, which only made her step further away from him.
"As do you, for someone who doesn't fight or believe in much of anything except unjustly insulting those who are undeserving of your tactless remarks!"
With that, Éponine left Marcel standing partnerless on the dance floor and stomped away, her hands fisted at her sides. She frantically searched the room for a familiar face, and spotted Monsieur Gillenormand sitting in a chair with several other elderly gentlemen and women near the live orchestra that was playing. He waved her over in haste, removing his mask.
"You looked like you were about to throw a punch, my dear," the old man smiled wickedly up at her, "not that I'd have blamed you. I was silently encouraging it all the while, or at least that you'd stomp on the man's toes."
Éponine readily returned his smile. "Thank you, Monsieur." Not wasting another moment, she hurriedly inquired as to where a certain crimson-attired gentleman had gone.
"I confess, I haven't seen him," Monsieur Gillenormand frowned, his eyes scanning the room. "I wouldn't be surprised if he's taking a stroll to cool off."
"Perhaps you're right."
Éponine curtsied and ambled away into the throng of masked individuals in hot pursuit of a revolutionist in red. Tonight's outing had made her realize—now more than ever—that she owed Enjolras an apology for not giving him a chance. She could only hope her instinct was right and that the information she might receive tonight would put an end to her emotional turmoil.
You and your incessant need to not listen to the right people!
Nearly a half hour later, Éponine had all but given up on locating Enjolras, when she decided to venture outside into the frigid night air, where she found several couples standing about, either waiting for their carriages or heading back inside. A light snow was falling, which Éponine took a moment to admire on the grand front steps. Then, she descended to the street and looked up and down, praying against hope he would be there.
Sure enough, she spotted a fine-looking gentleman in a blood-colored waistcoat, leaning against the far side of the house with his arms laced across his chest. He looked like a melancholic, marble statue, hidden amongst the shadows, with a trail of light snow falling rather beautifully all around him, the flickering lights of candles at his back forming an angelic hallow near his head.
Even in the darkness, their eyes locked quickly on one another, and Éponine found herself gravitating towards him in relief and anticipation. He appeared to have been standing outside for some time, as his nose and cheeks were quite red. Although he smiled politely at seeing her, his captivating simper didn't reach his eyes; rather, they were laden with bitterness and anger over the unpleasant encounter he had had earlier in the ball room.
"I see you found me," he offered as a leeway into conversation, a scowl soon relining his mouth.
"So I did; it took me quite a while, mind you, but I'm here." She watched Enjolras turn away from her, his nostrils flaring against the cold, winter wind. "How long have you been standing out here?" she inquired after a moment, wrapping her arms around herself for what little warmth it might provide.
"Since taking my leave from you and the others."
"You must be freezing!"
"I am," he confessed, though without emotion.
"Well, for goodness' sake, come back inside, and we'll talk!"
Enjolras gave her a half-cocked smirk. "I prefer to remain outdoors for the rest of this party. You, on the other hand, should go back inside."
"Enjolras, please, you'll catch your death out here—"
"I've been in far worse scenarios than this," he insisted, his expression like stone. "I'll survive."
"Well, in that case, so have I, so I'll keep you company."
Enjolras scoffed her off. "You should be with the Pontmercies and dancing with every eligible bachelor here, remember?"
"I already danced with one, and that was more than enough."
Enjolras's gaze flickered towards her out of the corner of his eye. "Did you enjoy yourself?"
To this, Éponine willingly teased him with a smile. "Not one bit," she answered, which seemed to soften the lines in his expression. "As a matter of fact, I should thank you for leaving me to defend myself against that slimy ghoul of a creature."
Humored by her frank opinion, Enjolras allowed the mask to fall a little. "Oh? Did he boast himself properly to you?"
"Revoltingly so, yes! And nothing that man says could ever impress me, I'm convinced of it."
"That's a pity," Enjolras returned lightly, his eyes shifting towards the ground. "Well, you're now getting your first dose of what it means to be a lady. I suspect you'll have plenty of future dull encounters before the right gentleman comes along."
I hope not, Éponine frowned, staring at what she considered to be the perfect gentleman for her already, though he wasn't looking back. She could feel the desperation within taking hold, twisting her stomach into knots.
"If that's the case," she swallowed painfully, "then it's exhausting and I'm not sure I want any part of it."
"Yes, well, be careful of whom you say that to, Éponine. There are many miserables who would gladly take your place. Remember that."
Éponine nodded her understanding and waited on Enjolras to say something else. It became quite apparent, however, that either the man wanted to be alone with his thoughts, or had simply run out of things to say.
I've really screwed things up, she reflected worriedly.
Sighing, Éponine quietly sauntered in front of Enjolras so as to stare at him head on. She wrapped her arms tighter around herself, though it was Enjolras's warmth that she really sought. She tried to ignore the fact that she was starting to shiver from the cold and focused her attention instead on the elegant figure that was intently staring at the ground instead of her.
"Are you all right?" she finally whispered, breaking the silence.
Enjolras met her question with a peculiar upward glance, a few curls hanging in his eyes. "Yes, I'm fine. Why?"
"You shouldn't listen to that wretched man. Nothing that comes out of his mouth should be taken to heart. He's thoughtless and unforgivably rude; that's all there is to it."
Enjolras's posture straightened. "I'm not affected by him," he snipped, which she knew to be an outlandish lie. "I've known Marcel a long time. I expected worse."
"Really?"
"Yes... Some people never change."
"No, they don't. I... I'm sorry, Enjolras. What he said was cruel; terribly cruel."
Éponine used the silence that followed to gather her courage and step closer. Enjolras's gaze never left hers. If anything, it intensified and made her heart beat faster.
"Enjolras?" she murmured, emotionally prepping herself for what might follow. "What were you going to tell me before?"
She was surprised to catch a gentle glistening in his eyes, one that made itself known despite the darkness. "Before you stormed off?" he prodded, making her nervously laugh.
"Yes. I owe you an apology for that..."
"As do I for—"
"No," Éponine cut him off and shook her head, "you already gave me your apology."
Giving her a conflicted look over, Enjolras, too, stepped closer to her, removing his back from the wall. He was now angling his neck, his eyes boring into hers with a ferocity that made her spine tingle. She visibly shuddered, but it wasn't the chill in the air that caused her to react. It was him.
"You asked me why I kissed you," he began in a soft tone of voice; Éponine inadvertently leaned into him, wanting to be nearer.
"Yes?"
"I was fighting at the time to make sense of my actions, which is why I couldn't answer you on the spot. It was never my intention to hurt you."
"I know, I know..."
"Do you?"
Éponine's inviting expression told him exactly that. "Yes," she confirmed with a nod of her head.
A muscle in Enjolras's jaw twitched. "I know now why I couldn't tell you. I suppose, in truth, I've known since that argument we had during our stroll of the house what I felt for you then, as I do now.
"I'm not a... Well, I've never been a man interested in the things most people are, Éponine. I've never known real sentiments such as happiness, attraction... Love." He paused on the word, staring deep into her eyes. "I've struggled and fought so long for issues greater and bigger than myself that I didn't stop to ponder the things that I want."
Éponine's heart thrummed rapidly against her chest. She could sense from the off that Enjolras wasn't a sentimental man, even if her insight had always been limited, and yet, in the months she had spent in his company, she began to notice the underlying yearnings to connect, to feel, to touch another human being, just as she saw it now—so vivid and clear.
"And what do you want, Enjolras?" Éponine breathed, finding herself transfixed by his delicately chosen words and curvation of his mouth.
Linking eyes with Éponine's that were so unguarded and open he thought he might drown in their depths, Enjolras no longer felt lost, wrestling with the world's problems that often plagued him in the past. No, not lost, he considered with relief, but found.
"You, Éponine," he finally declared to her in a tender whisper, unmistakable longing seeping through his voice. "Je te veuux..." *
Éponine's breath hitched at the profoundness of those words—an expression she had been praying against hope to hear for far longer than she ever realized, until this moment. She could tell that he was heartened by the smile that spread across her face, which seemed to radiate from the innermost part of her soul.
Without uttering a word, for she was too lost for words, Éponine arched her neck to present him with a kiss. Their lips locked, and all sense of time and place drifted away with the spiraling snow. The feel of his warm lips pressed against hers reminded Éponine of that overwhelming heat that had overtook her the first time they shared such intimacy. It was electric, immediate, and all but shattered her senses. Somewhere, somehow, life sparked anew inside her, and Éponine found that she wanted nothing more than to deepen the kiss, a wish Enjolras willingly granted.
Reaching out to pull her against him, Enjolras wrapped his arms securely around the smallness of her back, hugging her to his warm, encasing fold. Their embrace perfectly suited one another, as though their limbs were made to be entangled. Hers meshed perfectly with his, but they were far too busy to notice.
Éponine extended her hands upward to mindfully twist curious fingers through his tight curls. She pulled his head down to recapture his mouth several more times, intensifying their lip-locking as they sucked and pulled and conquered.
Neither had any recollection of how long they stood unabashedly in the snow, devouring each other's taste and relishing in returned affections, but, eventually, their lips broke apart, and only at a familiar gruff of a voice that sounded nearby. There wasn't time to catch their breaths or move away from each other—not that either of them wished to be parted. Both swiftly turned their heads to find Monsieur Gillenormand standing a few feet away, clearing his throat and gawking at them along with the Pontmercies, although Marius looked appropriately smug and highly amused at catching them in the act. Cosette's expression, however, was unreadable for the moment.
"I didn't expect to find you two like - like - like this!" Monsieur Gillenormand snapped, wiggling his bushy mustache.
Enjolras and Éponine tried to speak, but there seemed little point in divulging an explanation. It couldn't have been more overt.
"Monsieur—" Éponine began hastily, but the old man cut her off with a wave of his hand.
"No, no," he dismissed quickly. "I can see for myself what's going on here. I'm not entirely incompetent yet in my old age, Mademoiselle."
Enjolras stepped forward and looped a hand through hers; it gave Éponine pause, and she contentedly allowed it. She found herself calmed by such a public, yet meaningful, display of affection, despite the awkward situation they now found themselves in.
"We weren't trying to keep anything from you," Enjolras spoke for both of them, his commanding tone one Éponine remembered well; her lips drew into a considerate smile. "We've only just come to the bottom of... Well, of how we feel for one another."
"You two?" Cosette stepped away from Marius, showcasing her shock. "Really?"
"Yes," Enjolras replied, and Éponine nodded as well. "Really."
"Molly was right..."
Marius was the first to shoot his wife a gaping mouth. "Molly?" He took Cosette by the arm, who started to protest and speak louder of the tale she had been told by the maid prior to their departure. "Love, it's not what you think," Marius tried to persuade her, whilst Monsieur Gillenormand looked on, confused.
"What the devil's going on?" he commanded.
"Monsieur Marius is right," Enjolras tried to speak over them all. "It's not what it seems."
Éponine peered up at him curiously, to which he appeased her with a look that told her they would settle the matter of Molly's disclosure later. Éponine wasn't yet aware of what Molly had told Marius and Cosette, but Marius kept insisting to his wife and grandfather that he would explain once they got home.
Cosette calmed down enough to comply, though she appeared undeniably put out for reasons that escaped Éponine, insisting over and over that she "hadn't wanted to believe what Molly told her."
Monsieur Gillenormand's next remark, however, got everyone laughing, including Cosette. "Am I always the last to know what in God's name is going on around here?" he shouted, exasperated.
His outburst immediately softened the shock of the situation for all and, together, the five retreated into their carriage, grateful to be leaving the Masquerade Ball behind in exchange for the comforts of home. But it wasn't an entire loss, both Éponine and Enjolras mused to themselves on their journey back to the Gillenormand estate.
All the while, their hands remained tightly clasped together.
* Translation: "I want you..."