"Hello, and welcome to stage three. Now, previous to this meeting, my faithful accomplice, Combeferre, asked you to come prepared. The reason for your prep learning will take place later." He stopped to write the stage name on his whiteboard. "Stage three: probably the most important aspect of the whole proposal. This stage determines whether or not she will say yes, as it will explain how much you want this." He looked at Enjolras. "Do you have any ideas for what to would like to say?"

"While I agree that the speech is important, I think I've got this part covered. As you probably already know, I am a very talented orator. You have all witnessed how well I can use the power of speech, I doubt we need to have a full meeting about it. In fact, I could write one now, if you'd like." At Courfeyrac's raised eyebrow, he opened up his notepad and began scribbling down.

Courfeyrac sat down next to Combeferre and they both stared at the blond. His hand was shaking as he wrote furiously on the paper. He kept writing a few words before instantly scribing them out. They watched in malicious silence for about three minutes as they watched their friend struggle. They knew Enjolras could write speeches, he had done so for every rally they had ever staged, and even some speeches just for the hell of it. However, they knew that he had trouble expressing his romantic feelings, which was terribly amusing to watch as he tried to form them into words. His eyebrows were scrunched and his curls were hanging over his eyes, his left hand scrabbling to move them. They saw his eyes dart up to them as his writing ceased for a moment. Enjolras registered their smirks and looked back down to write a few more words, before stopping and staring at the paper resolutely. He looked up, a mix of resentment and resignation in his blue eyes.

"Finished?" Courfeyrac grinned at Enjolras' glare.

"Let's take a look at it." Combeferre said kindly, his hand outstretched.

Enjolras looked nervous as he handed over the bright red notepad, his hand wavering slightly.

Courfeyrac leaned closer to Combeferre to read the messy writing, reading aloud as he tried to decipher the words. "'Éponine, you set my heart alight like Patria.'" He looked down at the scribbles once again, his head shaking. "That's- that's it?" He looked at Enjolras incredulously. "You took up a whole page of writing and scribbling and intelligible handwriting to write that?"

"It was the best I could do." He looked down. "I don't know what's wrong with me." He shook his head.

"I just- I'm just trying to understand this right now. I thought you said you could write speeches?" Combeferre said, placing the notepad on the coffee table.

"Of course I can write speeches, Combeferre, just not about Éponine."

"And why not? Surely you can think of a way to put your thoughts on Éponine onto paper."

"Apparently not." Enjolras sighed. "This is terrible." He scrubbed a hand over his face.

Combeferre looked at Enjolras. "Can you explain your feelings for Éponine to me?"

"No. I don't know how to explain it."

"Try." Courfeyrac prompted.

"Well, it's like- I don't know, she's everything."

"Carry on." Combeferre softly said.

"She's amazing. Whenever I see or touch or think about anything, I can always find a way to link it with her. Like, for example, my red notebook. She bought me that notebook, and I've used it consistently ever since. Or, I don't know, that lamp. It's tall- bigger than me, in fact- and Éponine doesn't like tall things, as she says they intimidate her, and she always likes to be in control." A smile had made its way onto his face as he took a deep breath. "I love her. I love her so much, I've loved her ever since she walked into the Musain on that cold afternoon in autumn. She loves the cold, almost as much as she loves the night. That's why we usually go out at night, because there's a way that she almost glows in the moonlight, and I love seeing her happy and comfortable and beautiful. Ever since I met her, she has made her way into my life, piece by piece, until she's the only thing that makes sense to me."

Courfeyrac started the clap, his eyes shining. Combeferre wiped at his eyes discreetly, pretending to be pushing up his glasses, joining in with the clap quietly. Enjolras nodded at them, letting them know that he had had enough applause.

"Now, we just need to put that into words." Combeferre said gently, still smiling.

"I can't do that, Combeferre! I can say it, but I can't write down how I feel!"

"Just write down what you just said." Courfeyrac smiled.

"I can't. I tried and I somehow started talking about France. It's almost as though I've come to associate writing speeches with revolution, and cannot shake the tendency when it comes to something as intimate and important as a proposal. What is wrong with me? If I can't even write a proposal speech, how am I gonna write a groom's speech for the wedding? How am I going to be a good husband if I can't even write down how I feel? What if Éponine becomes deaf and the only way I can communicate with her is through text, and I can only write 'I love you more than I love the republic'. I'm screwed!" He was almost red in the face now, its crimson matching his red leather jacket.

"Stop that! You are going to be the best damn husband there ever was. You wanna know why? Because you literally cannot explain how much you love Éponine! There aren't words to describe the love you have for her! Just tell her that and it'll all be okay!" Courfeyrac grinned and watched Enjolras relax, leaning back in the seat.

"So, what you're saying is, I don't need to have a written speech... That I should just wing it?"

"What? No- of course not-"

"Yes, Enjolras. If that's what you would like to do, of course you can just improvise." Combeferre cut in shortly, smiling at Enjolras

"Okay, good. I was panicking for a while there."

"We saw. So were we."

yo. i don't it.