Title: Draw My Soul
Summary: She's a dancer. He's a painter. They meet by accident and soon, his mind is plagued with thoughts of the girl with mysterious eyes and enigmatic smile. What happens when his notebooks are filled with drawings of her too?
Note: I struggled a lot with this one. And I could say that by far this is the longest I've written, well until now, who knows if the next one won't be as long as this one? I'm pretty happy with the result and I hope that you'll like it as much as I do. A huge thanks to my beta-reader Judybear236, her ideas and opinions are really important to me, also as her suggestions that always work out. Feel free to leave your opinions about this story, it still thrills me every time I read what you have to say, I feel incredibly honored to have people like you reading my stories, your thoughts encourage me to keep going. No more talking, go ahead and enjoy.
Éponine was a dancer. When she danced, all her problems disappeared, there was nothing else but her body and the music. The way her soul seemed to burst into flames was something she always cherished, making her feel more alive than she had ever been. The fact that she had been able to win a scholarship to attend one of the most praised Art Schools was still something that surprised her. Every single day, she practiced and practiced, because practice makes perfect. She wouldn't stop until her muscles burned or her feet bled. Ballet was a difficult dance, but since she was little, dancing had been her only way to escape from her reality. Her mother had forced her to take some lessons, and from that day on, she hadn't missed one single class. Even when her father had turned into a monster, her teacher had agreed to continue teaching her, even if she couldn't afford the classes. Because she had seen something in Éponine, something big, something special.
So it hadn't been a surprise when one day she received a letter inviting her to attend the National Art School in Paris. Her parents had been opposed to that, reaching a point in which they had locked her in her room, no food. When morning came, they discovered that the window was broken, no trace of their daughter. But it was too late to do anything, Éponine was already sitting in a train headed toward Paris. The two years she had been at the school had been the best two years of her life. She would dance all morning, study during the afternoons and then two more classes at night. But she didn't complain. She was a dancer, and she loved it.
Enjolras was a painter, something that probably was not the career choice some of the friends of his parents were expecting. Being the only son of the most respectable lawyer in all the city had cost him quite a big deal when he decided that he wanted to dedicate his life to the Arts. At first, his father had filled his mind with thoughts about how great he could be if he studied to become a lawyer. Enjolras was still too young and foolish to have an opinion of his own, and as a good kid does, he obeyed whatever his father ordered. Soon, he began assisting to all the events the family's law-firm organized, getting to meet other businessmen. Before long, Enjolras began realizing that the world which they lived in was a world built on money and lies. That's when he began drawing.
His sketches soon became drawings, and the drawings soon became paintings. He painted about freedom, about justice, he painted about a life without discrimination. Patria became his muse, and from that on, he spent his days locked in his room, capturing on paper what he hoped one day would become a reality. The day he received his acceptance letter to the National Art School was the day he realized that he didn't have a father anymore. His words still echoed in Enjolras' head sometimes "No son of mine will become an artist." He hadn't seen him for two years. His mother had been supportive, even to the point that she sent him monthly all the money he needed.
They would've never dared to think that one day, they would meet. One was a dancer, the other was a painter. But one day, it happened. "It" was an accident, although probably neither of them would admit the fault. The collision had been rather hard, sending her sliding a few meters away, slippers and CDs sprawled around her. He, on the other hand, had fallen to the opposite side, papers and cardboards flying around, tins of paint popping open, covering the floor with a kaleidoscope of colors.
"I'm so sorry!" he apologized, hurriedly getting on his knees and gathering some of her CDs that had flown in his direction, crawling on all fours and staining his jeans in the process "I didn't see you there!"
"Of course you didn't" she answered bitterly crawling to grab her slippers. Of course this would happen to her. Now some of her CDs were ruined. "Great, this one is broken."
"I'm really sorry" the student continued, picking up one of his cardboards which was now dripping with yellow.
"Yeah, whatever. The next time you decide to hit someone, please just see that it's not me, all right?" she complained furiously, her brow furrowed in anger "You really need to watch where you are walking, you can't just go blindly bumping everyone and- fuck, this is just great, this one's broken too- you see what you did you piece-"
She lifted her gaze to insult him properly before her sentence was drowned in her throat. His cheeks were flushed as he wiped the floor frantically, his golden curls bouncing with each movement. He suddenly looked up, his crystal blue eyes stormy as his eyes locked with hers. His scruffy jaw was probably the most endearing thing she had ever seen, his square glasses sliding down the bridge of his nose as he stared at her, his lips pressed in a tight line. And even like that, she noticed that his bottom lip was a bit fuller than the other. He blinked, an undecipherable expression in his face.
"I'll pay for them" he said apologetically before he stood up and offered her his hand, which she took a little reluctantly.
She took his hand and he couldn't help himself from thinking that they were incredibly soft and warm. He gave her an embarrassed smile before kneeling down and grabbing her bag, which was now stained with drops of yellow. He was staring and he knew that. His mouth suddenly went dry, slightly open. He knew that she probably thought he looked like an idiot but he couldn't seem to get his eyes away from her as she straightened, flipping her hair over her shoulder and revealing a long neck.
Her cheeks were pink from the heat of the day, or probably it was just because she was really angry. Her eyes were wide and warm, probably the biggest eyes he had ever seen. Her long dark brown waves reached her mid shoulder, her skin had an olive color that reminded him of one of his favorite watercolors. Enjolras couldn't understand what was happening inside of him. Girls had never caught his eye before, not in this way. Yes, he had dated and had a couple of girlfriends. But to blatantly observe a girl was something completely different. He wasn't like the rest of his friends. He was constantly surrounded by beautiful things and beautiful persons, but not ever had he felt so interested by someone before. Courfeyrac always teased him about the way some girls seemed to be attracted to him, although not even once had he returned the attention.
He was vaguely aware that she was saying something to him, too dumbfounded to even find the right words to answer. The girl nodded and turned around, walking down the hall hurriedly, her sneakers leaving yellow stains behind. He stood motionless watching her retreating form until she disappeared. He should've asked her name. No, he shouldn't. He could've stopped gawking at her. But he didn't. That night, he drew her for the first time, sketches in his notebook that perhaps one day he would paint in a canvass. He tried to forget her. He couldn't.
It had been a week. A week in which he hadn't thought of her at all, too busy and concentrated with his classes and homework. But that afternoon, as he stirred his coffee with the spoon, he let his mind return to the intriguing girl. He began tracing patterns in his notebook, soon, the lines became curves, and the curves became the shadow of a face, then a neck, long arms and tiny waist. He shook his head and let go of the pencil as if it was on fire. He didn't liked acting the way he was, he didn't even know her name and now he was drawing her. He was going crazy, it simply wasn't normal. She was starting to push through all his thoughts despite his attempt to just forget her. He didn't need this. He didn't want this.
His head snapped up when the door swung open, his throat going instantly dry. It was her. The raven-haired girl walked into the Musain, out of all the places he was hoping to find her, this one was definitely the last one. She glanced in his direction, and he took notice of the flash of surprise in her eyes before going to the counter. He also took notice of the yellow stains in her bag and in her old sneakers. She looked away and ordered her drink, and that's when Enjolras forced his eyes away. Realizing that he was staring at the drawing of the girl, he closed his notebook hurriedly and took out a book. Fighting the urge to look up again, he lifted his eyes slowly as the girl waited for her drink, twisting and rolling her ankle in a way too familiar to him.
Deciding that it would be the best to ignore her, he opened the book and began reading. But apparently, that wasn't what the girl had in mind. Without a warning, the chair across from him was pulled out. Enjolras lifted his gaze with surprise only to see her taking her seat there, right across from him, a mug in her hands. Not knowing what to do, Enjolras just stared at her, not being able to say anything.
"So you are an artist" she said, her voice a combination between a statement and a question.
"A painter" he corrected with a nod "And you're a dancer."
"A ballerina" she answered mirroring him. She lifted the cup to her lips before asking "How did you know?"
He lifted his eyes and met her electric stare, shocking him with its intensity. Closing his book slowly and fully committing to the conversation, he tried to hide the obvious fact of how unnerved she was making him feel.
"The other day, when we…uhm-collided, I saw your slippers" he replied a little too insecurely. Of course, he wouldn't share with her the fact that he had been watching her as she moved her feet in the way a ballerina did. "And you?"
"Not many guys walk down the hallways carrying tins of paint" she mused, placing a tendril of hair behind her ear before chuckling "Besides, you also have paint there."
She pointed with one finger to a spot beneath his jaw. Raising his eyebrows with confusion, he lifted one hand to touch where she had signaled. The dry texture of paint came in contact with his fingertips as he felt the back of his neck turn suddenly hot. Taking a napkin, he rubbed the spot furiously before the sound of her laugh made him stop. Gazing at her startled, he noticed for the first time the outstanding dimples she had in each cheek. His hands itched to draw her face down in paper.
She was quiet after that and he waited for her to speak, but then he noticed that she had her mind somewhere else, he lowered his eyes back to his book and opened it again. When he realized that he wasn't paying attention to what he was reading, he looked up, startled to discover that she was already looking at him.
He cleared his throat and pushed his glasses up "About those CDs I broke-"
"Oh, those. Don't worry, my best friend is studying music production so she can make me another copy." She interrupted with a wave of her hand "I just overreacted that day, I wasn't on the best of my moods, and you just happened to be there. Sorry about that."
"No problem" he answered, and that was enough to make her expression beam with contentment.
"So you are a painter" she noted as she studied his hands. His long fingers were stained with dry paint he hadn't been able to remove, some cuts here and there he had made with paper and scissors. Suddenly aware of her intense gaze, he rolled his wrists with quick movements. "What do you paint about?"
He thought about it for a moment before simply stating "Life."
"I like the sound of that" she smiled. He liked her smile. He would draw her smile later.
"I'm glad" he answered politely nodding at her.
Perhaps he should've said something more, ask her about her dancing or something. But he couldn't find himself to do it. He was too afraid that he would say the wrong thing and maybe scare her away. Although she didn't seem like the kind of girl that got scared easily. Before he could get himself to ask her something, she was already standing up from her seat.
"This was nice, but sadly I need to go. Rehearsals are calling me" she said before draining her mug and placing it down on the table, hanging her bag over her shoulder "We should do this again."
"Yeah, we should" he muttered, although she was already opening the door and stepping out to the street.
Enjolras wished more than anything to bang his head down on the table. Aside from feeling extremely embarrassed, he was now completely sure that she thought that he was weird. He should've talked to her, shown some interest and ask her something. Because he was dying to know more about the dancer. He was about to open his notebook when the door opened once more.
From that moment on, everything happened like in slow motion. He lifted his eyes unconsciously to see who it was. He felt his stomach form knots as the girl entered the Café once more, a bewildered expression in her face. Noting that he was staring at her with confusion, she walked hurriedly towards his table.
"I totally forgot about it!" she exclaimed before extending her hand to him "I'm Éponine"
He felt the corners of his mouth turn up slightly before reaching out and grabbing her hand, shaking it gently "Enjolras"
She smiled happily "Nice to finally meet you, Enjolras. See you around!"
And with that she walked out of the Musain again, beaming. Enjolras stared dumbfounded at the spot in which she had disappeared. It was after a moment later that he realized that he now knew her name. Éponine. It suited her, he thought. He mumbled under his breath and tested it on his tongue, rolling out easily. It was already too late to try to forget her, with her name now freshly impressed in his mind, the picture of her glowed even more vividly than it had a week ago.
That night, two more drawings were made in his notebook, and for the first time he painted her. As her image came slowly to life on the white canvas, he found himself more and more enthralled by her. Moving the paintbrush and creating in one swift movement the bridge of her nose, he noticed for the first time that she was the first woman he had ever painted before. Of course he had once done a replica of the famous painting of Patria guiding her people towards liberty, but that had been different. Patria had always been his muse, but as the paintbrush moved to its own accord, adding deepness and warmth to her big eyes, Enjolras thought that perhaps Éponine was much more alike to Patria than he believed.
Hours later, as Enjolras stood in front of the finished painting, his arms aching and his fingers numb, he thought that perhaps getting to know Éponine wasn't such a bad idea. He stared at her painting, and she stared back. But as he fell into oblivion that night, his head buried deep into his pillow, one last thought appeared in his mind: his painting didn't show enough of the warmth that the eyes of the real girl did.
It turns out that they kept seeing each other during the afternoons. He would always be there before she arrived, and would stay an hour more after she was already gone. As the days passed, he found himself growing more interested in her, captivated with the way her eyes seemed to change from a mood to another in just a second. Enjolras was one of those persons who could easily tell what a person was thinking with just a look. But with Éponine it was different. When he was sure that he had guessed what she was thinking, she opened her mouth and proved that he was completely wrong.
Days became weeks, and during the times they shared together, Enjolras discovered things about her that made him curious to know even more. They spent less than an hour together, and he soon realized that he actually enjoyed that time, he could even dare to say that it was his favorite part of the whole day. The first days had been rather uncomfortable for him, a constant attempt of the girl to make him talk. Slowly, he began opening more and more, just as she did. Underneath the confident façade she always put on, Enjolras began to notice that she was actually a very frail human being. Although he was sure that she wouldn't like him telling that. As a dancer, Éponine owned a natural elegance in the way she moved that always managed to startle him. Even when they were sitting, Enjolras knew that her feet were constantly in motion, whether it was unconsciously or if she was rehearsing some dance moves, he never knew.
"Why aren't you wearing your glasses?" she asked curiously tilting her head to one side.
He turned around and pulled the glasses from the depths of his bag before he explained "I only wear them when I'm drawing, for details and all that stuff."
"So you don't need them?" she continued, taking the glasses from his hands and putting them on.
He chuckled quietly as she studied him behind his glasses "No. I just like to wear them."
"Well, I like how you look with them. So put them on" she demanded leaning over the table and putting them to him.
They talked about books. Anything about books. He found himself getting lost in her words, the way she described her favorite books or characters. She also was a good listener, somehow when he was with her, he couldn't close his mouth whenever a subject he liked popped out in their conversation. And not only about books, her music taste was also as good as her artistic one was. He discovered that she had attended some of the Art Gallery exhibitions he had also been to. Enjolras wondered how come they hadn't met sooner. After the usual hour, she would say goodbye and leave to her rehearsal, and he would stay, reliving in his mind all the conversation from beginning to end.
He went home feeling unsettled, his fingers aching to paint or draw. As soon as he stepped into his apartment, a pencil was already in his hand, tracing sketches of her down into a blank page. His notebooks were filled with drawings of her, a page entirely dedicated to her eyes, and two more to her smile. Definitely her smile was his favorite thing about her. He had many drawings and sketches, but he had only painted her four times. The days he had painted her, somehow he had felt closer than he had ever been with her. Perhaps one day he would show them to her.
Enjolras found in Éponine the friend he had always been looking for. Although he still didn't know much about her, there was an easiness in their conversations that made him wish that time would slow down. He didn't know if she felt like that with him, but somehow deep inside of him, he knew she did. It was a strange yet comforting relationship. She was like fire, or maybe a spark would've been the right word. Every time she was around, there was a certain warmness blossoming in his chest that made him shiver and desire for more. Éponine was not like the rest of the girls, and that was something he knew too well. She had made him laugh, a true laugh, the kind he only reserved for whenever one of his friends did something stupid.
"I like it" she smiled, a mischievous glint in her eyes.
His laughter died slowly until it became a low chuckle and then just a small smile "What?"
"Your smile" she stated simply, resting her elbows on the table "You should smile more often."
Éponine still made him curious, even after a month. She wore a mask, hiding away from everyone. She was good at it, Enjolras needed to admit. But he had managed to discover a part of her soul, something that had only made him want more. When they talked, he sometimes found himself too comfortable, it was natural to talk to her, to hear her laugh and gaze into her hypnotizing eyes. They felt like equals. She was a dancer and he was a painter, they both expressed in different ways what they had inside of them. She, with her body and he, with his hands and colors. They weren't so different from the other. She was a fierce creature, fighting for what she wanted and not letting what others thought about her bring her down. Enjolras was like her also, if she was fierce, then he was brave.
Éponine was a very intriguing person. He found soon realizing that he was genuinely curious about her, every time eager for more. She was kind, but still she could destroy anyone if she wanted to. His friends still didn't know about her, and in a way he wasn't really that excited to introduce her to them. It wasn't because he was ashamed of her, no, on the contrary. He was afraid that one of them would realize how extraordinary she was and soon she would see that he was not half as interesting as the rest of them were. Enjolras was a jealous man by nature, and the thought of one of his caveman friends finding Éponine interesting was a thought that made him internally groan.
"You know, you remind me of my brother" Éponine said casually one afternoon, soon before she had to go.
"You have a brother?" he asked, genuinely curious.
"Yes, he's ten years old, but sometimes I really think he's way smarter than I am" she answered crinkling her nose in mock annoyance.
He lifted his gaze from the handkerchief in which he was now drawing patterns before asking "What's his name? And more importantly, why do I remind you of him?"
"His name is Gavroche" she answered with a beaming smile before leaning forward to catch a glimpse of his drawing "And you remind me of him because he always does what you are doing right now, drawing wherever he can. I tell you, give that boy a pencil and he'll draw over any surface he finds. He wants to be a painter"
Enjolras then found out that the boy had run away with her from their abusive parents and now lived with her best friend´s father. He had the urge of asking more about her past, although from the way her mood had darkened after the mention of her parents, Enjolras believed that it would be the best to let her be. Perhaps one day she would trust him enough to let him in. Her face always brightened any time she talked about her little brother, his wickedness and the air of mischievousness he always had. Enjolras was an only son, never being able to experience what if felt like to have someone by your side to do silly things, and without knowing the exact reason why, he wanted to meet this boy. Éponine assured him that they would get along quickly. Days after, Enjolras arrived to the Musain carrying a box of crayons and another of chalks and made Éponine promise to him that she would give them to the boy. Perhaps the boy would have more talent than him. Éponine refused at first, but in the end, she planted a warm kiss on his cheek and left the Café hurriedly.
It was with gestures like that one that Enjolras discovered that Éponine was indeed a spark to him, a spark that had lit parts of him that he didn't even knew existed. His drawings became more and more detailed as time went by, and by the end of the semester he had already filled two complete notebooks with sketches of the brunette and he had five paintings of her, each of them different from the others. He had grown to be the best of the class and he had caught the eye of the patron of a small Art Gallery downtown who had offered to host an exhibition of his work. His life was a rollercoaster of emotions at the moment, he had never felt more proud of his work, as if every piece of him and his life had finally fallen into place. And he knew that Éponine's presence was the main reason of that. Enjolras wasn't sure if he was going crazy, if it was normal, if he was just overreacting. The only thing he was sure about was that he had a new muse, and her name was Éponine.
Raising his mug, he drank his coffee in contentment as he finally finished the draft of the last painting that would appear in the exhibition that weekend. It wasn't very normal of him to leave things for the last minute, but he still hadn't found the inspiration for his final piece. His eyes drifted up as the door of the Musain opened, just that instead of seeing waves of black raven hair, three of his friends came stumbling inside. Grantaire insulted Marius as the photography student tried to squeeze himself between Grantaire and Bossuet trying to enter first. Enjolras raised an amused brow as the freckled guy ran to where he was standing, breathing heavily before plopping in the chair that usually Éponine occupied.
"I know I owe you a lot of favors, Enj" Marius said desperately, leaning forward on the table "But please, I'll be forever in debt to you if you say yes."
Enjolras leaned back and rolled his eyes before sending a questioning look to the other two men who had sat down "If this is about letting you use my charcoal, then no."
"Johnny B. Good here wants to take us all to a dance recital tomorrow" explained Bossuet with a grin clapping Marius' back vigorously.
"Please, Enjolras!" Marius pleaded, pressing his hands together in a pleading way "Cosette said that we could go to dinner after the show! It would be our first time out to an Italian restaurant!"
"Wait, I thought you went to dinner with her two nights ago to this Pizza Parlor" Grantaire asked confusedly scratching his chin.
"It was pizza! Not Italian food!" Marius answered exasperatedly.
They could hear Bossuet's booming laugh before he teased "I'm sorry, but last time I checked out, pizza was the picture in every Italian food book."
"Oh you know what I mean!" Marius whined before returning his attention to the blonde "Please, Enj, I'll do anything!"
"Why simply don't you go alone with her?" Enjolras answered with a frown.
"Because her best friend has the main role and she wants her to have a large group of admirers" Marius explained momentarily distracted before the usual dumb glow returned to his eyes "Just say yes! Jehan has already accepted because some of his classmates are in the show, but the others will only go if you go!"
Enjolras leaned back and crossed his arms, raising an eyebrow as his gaze moved to Grantaire "If you go we go" he shrugged.
The painter let out a tired sigh before asking "Where?"
The photography student moved so fast that he almost knocked the table down before he could reach Enjolras and hug him, something that made Enjolras want to punch him. He wasn't a violent man, but when Marius began with all his love nonsense, sometimes he believed that only a good punch could get his head down from the clouds. The three men left the Café in a rush, not before Marius managed to stumble and fall down, Bossuet being the one who lifted him up by the shirt and pushed him out of the place.
Minutes after his friends had left, the door opened and Éponine entered, her hair pulled up in a ponytail, her slippers in her hand. Catching her eye quickly, she smiled at him and made his heart stop in the process, something that he was now too familiar with. She walked to their usual table and sat down, placing the slippers on it.
"I'm sorry, I won't be able to stay today" she said sadly, biting her lip.
"Oh, don't worry. I was just about to leave too. I need to finish a painting" he said, trying to hide the disappointment in his voice.
"I just came because I would like to know if you have something to do tomorrow?" she asked, suddenly finding interesting the ribbons of her slippers. Was she nervous?
"No- Yes, I do" he sighed, remembering that he had just agreed to go to that stupid show. He would need to remind Marius of how stupid he was later.
"Oh" she answered, her expression dropping.
"I´m sorry" Enjolras said, a knot forming in his stomach "Is just that a friend of mine asked me a stupid favor."
"That's ok, don't worry" she answered with a smile that didn't quite reach her eyes "Well, I need to go, rehearsals are driving me crazy! Goodbye!"
She disappeared, leaving him behind feeling incredibly guilty and frustrated. He would punch Marius later. Letting out a heavy sigh, he brushed his hair with his hand before putting his things inside his messenger bag and walking out of the Musain.
Perhaps one day he would be able to see her dance. Without being able to get the image of her disappointed expression out from his head, he arrived to his apartment and grabbed a white canvass. That night, he didn't sleep. As his hands traced the familiar curve of her mouth with the paintbrush, Enjolras realized that he was angry with Marius, with that girl he was chasing, with the Amis, with the world, and with himself. Adding his signature in the corner of the canvass, he decided that this one would be his final painting to his exhibition. He would show the world how beautiful the ballerina truly was. And perhaps she would see it too.
Enjolras was sitting uncomfortably in his seat as the curtain slowly rose up. He shouldn't be there, he should've been with Éponine to wherever she had asked him to go to. Aware of the squirming sounds the others were doing, he closed his eyes with frustration, taking a deep breath as the first chords of the violins resounded in the theatre. Somehow he was thankful that his seat was next to Cosette and by his side was the corridor. She was a very nice girl, blonde curls and bright blue eyes. Yeah, she was Marius' exact type. Closing his eyes to enjoy the feeling of the music surrounding him, he thought that perhaps he would enjoy it after all. He opened his eyes once more and appreciated the magnificent background of the stage, a combination of blue, silver and white.
He wasn't very close to the dance world, just what Éponine had told him and of course whatever little information he had once heard Jehan talking about. But then, The Swan Lake was a completely different thing. He remembered that one of his first assignments had been to add emotions with watercolors to F. Gaanen's design of Act II of The Swan Lake. Also, as a young boy, his mother had made him listen to an entire collection of classics. As ballerinas walked around the stage gracefully, Enjolras leaned back and crossed his arms, resting his chin on his hand as he tried to take in every detail.
The lead ballerina who played Odette twirled elegantly as she contorted her body in magnificent ways. Enjolras realized that the production had decided to add the Prologue, so they showed the transformation of Princess Odette as a swan for the first time. Awed by the way the ballerina moved, he sat straighter and followed her every move, before she stood in the center of the stage, arms up, standing on her toes with her back to the audience.
Enjolras felt as if all air had been suck out from his lungs as the ballerina turned around on her toes, facing the audience. It was then that he realized that he was staring at Éponine. The lights from the stage brightened as two wings emerged from her back, and it was then when he finally could see her face properly. There she was, her sharp cheekbones, big eyes and full lips. Morphing her expression into one of despair, the girl ran from one side of the stage to the other, twirling and jumping so high that Enjolras was sure that she was flying. As the Overture came to an end, she collapsed down to the floor dramatically, covering her face with her wings.
"Éponine" he breathed out with surprise as the crowd burst into applause.
"You know her!" Cosette asked him excitedly turning around to see him as she continued to clap enthusiastically.
"Yes, I do" he answered quietly, his eyes never leaving the stage. The background changed, as it transformed into what he believed was the scenery of a castle, the audience growing quiet again as the performance began once more.
"She was so sad that this guy with which she hangs out a lot couldn't come, but I bet she´ll be thrilled to know that you came! How did you two meet? Isn't she amazing?" the girl managed to say without being too loud, something that surprised Enjolras.
"She's extraordinary" was all he said.
Throughout all the performance, Enjolras found himself in a state of stupor. He couldn't manage to take his eyes off of Éponine as she danced something he thought he would never be able to witness. There was a certain frailness in her way of moving that made him wonder if she was actually real. No one was able to move like that and at the same time look so delicate. But on the other hand, when she became the black swan, the fierceness and passion she showed was something that made her look like she was on fire, threatening to burn all of them. To burn him.
Enjolras was lost in her, her arms, her legs, her torso, her hands, her neck, her face. All of her, she was making him feel like if he had been lost in a dessert and she was a fountain of water. So tempting and hypnotizing. His fingers were itching to draw, to capture in paper every single detail of the ballerina. His mouth felt dry, his heart beating faster in rhythm with the music. Enjolras was in a state of mind which only few men can reach, a state of mind he had heard his teacher explain some artists had reached in their lives. A state of mind in which his soul was on fire and nothing could soothe the flames which consumed him. Éponine was a flame, a creature which burned and destroyed, but in the end, like a phoenix, something beautiful was born from the ashes.
And she had wanted him to come. That was where she had tried to invite him to. She was willing to show him a piece of her world, only a tiny part of what she was made of. The passion in her moves, the gracefulness in her leaps, her hands caressing the air. Éponine was something beautiful, something Enjolras had noticed a long time ago, something he had tried to express through his painting. But now he was sure that the world didn't needed to see his paintings to understand what he had seen. They were all seeing it now, right up there on that stage.
He was forced to blink several times as the crowd burst into cheers and applause, everyone standing to their feet as the cast made their final bow. Enjolras stood slowly, his eyes still glued to her as she smiled brightly, her eyes sparkling with what could only be described as true happiness. The curtain came down slowly, and before he could realize it, he was already standing with the rest of his friends in the Foyer of the theatre. The place was buzzing with loud voices and some cheers as some of the dancers came out to meet their families and friends. But Éponine didn't come out.
"She won't come out. She's one of those dancers who prefer spending some time alone after a performance. " Cosette said to him quietly as she took notice of his expression "If you want, you can go to the dressing rooms to see her. I bet she will be really happy to see you."
Enjolras looked at her with surprise before she just winked and pulled an excited and quite dumbfounded Marius by the arm in the direction of the exit, the Amis following behind making a fuss as they walked out and leaved Enjolras behind. After a minute of standing alone in the middle of the Foyer, Enjolras decided that perhaps it wasn't such a bad idea to go to see her and congratulate her. Perhaps she would be happy, like Cosette said she would. Running a hand through his hair he decided that he was just being absurd, the best thing he should do was just to walk away. So that's what he did, he walked towards the exit.
As soon as the fresh air hit his face, realization dawned in him. Enjolras realized that he was being a coward running away. He wanted to see her. He actually wanted to have her close and see her smile and dimples. Maybe she would be excited and think that it was a surprise, or in the worst of the cases, she would think that he indeed was a creep. Shaking his head in disbelief, he turned around and made his way inside once more, not before a boy who was selling flowers caught his eye.
The theatre was a maze, and it surprised Enjolras that he didn't ended up lost as he tried to find her dressing room. After asking directions to some of the boys who had performed, he finally managed to reach her dressing room. He stood frozen to the spot for several minutes, studying nervously the sign which read Éponine Thenardier in big black letters. He felt again that strong urge to turn around and escape, but again, a voice in his mind told him that he was doing the right thing. Still, a sense of uneasiness filled his body. Barely two months ago he would've barely acknowledged her existence, she would've been some other female in the world who managed to confuse and hypnotize men with pretty words and mysterious smiles. But now, he could barely recognize himself, standing in front of a closed door with a flower in his hand, nervous because of a girl. Deciding to man up, he knocked on the door, maybe a little harder than he had wanted to.
The door swung open and suddenly he had her in front of him, as close as he had wanted to have her since he had realized that she was Princess Odette. He stood awkwardly in the threshold, his eyes scanning her form quickly before he settled in her eyes, wide and glowing with surprise and…pleasure? Her small form was wrapped tightly in a brown robe, her feet bare and her hair down. She had a wet tissue on her cheek as she rubbed some of the insanely heavy make-up off from her face.
"Enjolras?" she said with surprise, her expression of surprise morphing into one of complete happiness "You came? But…how? I thought you had some stuff to do with your friend!"
He cleared his throat and gave her a small smile "I-I was just as surprised as you are when I realized that it was you on that stage. I guess your best friend is the one Marius is crazy about."
"Cosette asked you to come?" she asked, rubbing the tissue in her other cheek and her lips, letting the natural olive color of her skin appear once more.
"She asked Marius to invite some friends and we came" he explained before rubbing the back of his neck embarrassedly and offering her the rose "By the way, I think you are incredible. I mean-that you dance really beautiful. Congratulations."
Her eyes widened before a soft pink colored her now clean cheeks. She lifted a hand to grab the flower shyly "Thank you."
She stood in silence observing the flower with a smile. A shiver ran up his spine as she studied him, her eyes glowing with something he had never seen before. He would draw it later. Finally she looked up, her eyes connecting with his. Her smile faltered and then disappeared slowly, a curious expression in her eyes as she studied him. Feeling uncomfortable under her powerful stare, he cleared his throat and took an envelope out from his jacket.
"Look, I- uhm, forgot to give you this yesterday" he said quickly handing her the envelope "Tickets for the Art Gallery Exhibition tomorrow night at eight, there's two tickets, if you want to take Cosette with you, I mean, surely Marius already told her but I thought that-"
She grabbed his hand and smiled at him, silencing him immediately. He studied as her small hand held his own, with great gentleness, but still, the electric current that traveled from his fingertips was not gentle.
"I'll be there" she smiled softly squeezing his hand softly before letting it go.
"That'll be great" he nodded, the corners of his mouth twitching in his own smile before he managed to return to his composed expression "Goodnight."
He turned around and began walking in the direction he had come, but it wasn't after he was three doors away that he listened to her laugh. He felt his stomach turn over and let the sound wash him, making the curve of his lips turn up as he walked away. If someone would've seen him at that moment, probably they would've thought that he was crazy, smiling to himself. But Enjolras didn't care, as he made his way to his home, the smile remained in his lips.
Enjolras couldn't believe how many people had come, his friends, some of his teachers and classmates. Also, there were art lovers, who had heard of the exhibition and had come to enjoy a nice evening appreciating the paintings of a new artist who was unknown to many of them. His palms were sweaty as he saw the persons studying his paintings, talking in small groups about details and their interpretation. He was slowly making his way around the spacious room, taking in every detail of the place as he held a flute glass of champagne in his hand, provided by Grantaire who had insisted he needed a way to relax.
He actually couldn't believe that this was his work, all of it. Since he had discovered the power just a pencil and paper had, he had dreamt of a night like this, people coming to appreciate and see what he was trying to express. His art embodied everything he believed in, what he hoped for and dreamed of. Life, freedom, a world that lived in equality and justice. He painted to show the world beauty in what they considered sadness and injustice.
Everyone seemed to admire his art and praise it. He had spent an entire week choosing which of his paintings would be exhibited, deciding from the beginning that every painting he had done of her would be there. Everyone would see the beauty in her, the mysteries in her smile, the intriguing way her caramel eyes hypnotized you, as if they had witnessed a lot of stories which now made her who she was. As he walked down a small corridor in which all the paintings he had of her were exhibited, he caught sight of a familiar figure standing at the corner.
He slowly made his way towards her, a small smile in his lips as he stood behind her. He studied her back, the way the black dress adjusted to the small curves of her body, her hair down, curling at the end. The familiar scent clouded his senses before he blinked and returned his attention to the painting in front of them. It was of her, sitting in a chair as she read, her lips pursed in concentration, her hair falling around like a curtain, isolating her from the rest of the world.
"I painted this one the day we met" he managed to whisper softly "I've always believed you create your own worlds every time you read."
She turned around slowly and smiled. He took in every detail of her appearance quickly, something he had become an expert in. Her dark brown hair framed her face, waves reaching her shoulders. Her eyes were glowing in the dim light as she tucked strands of her hair behind her ears, her lips colored with a pale pink as she flashed as smile showing her white teeth.
"You came" he breathed out without intending to.
She laughed softly, a soft sound that made his throat dry "I told you I would" She returned her attention to the painting and he did the same "Sometimes I believe you overestimate me."
He sipped his champagne before answering "What do you mean?"
She made her way towards the next painting. That one was from the time she told him about her brother. She was smiling at the floor, the kind of smile that made a knot form in his stomach, the kind of smile that made him wonder what kind of secrets she hid.
"I'm not as great as you think I am" she stated.
"I paint things as I think them not as I see them" he answered, making her turn around and give him a curious look.
"Do you really see me like this?" she asked pointing to the next painting "Powerful? Magnificent?"
It was of her surrounded by flames, as if she was controlling them, making them do whatever she wanted. He wanted to answer her, but the words simply didn't come out from his mouth. He just stared at her, studying her like she always did with him. It was in that brief moment that he was able to see more behind her enchanting smile and sparkling eyes. He saw a warrior, a fighter. He saw the girl who had been forced to become a woman too quickly. He saw the dedicated ballerina who didn't stopped until her feet bled.
"Yes"
Before he could understand what was happening, he felt the soft pressure of her lips on his. Without a warning, he felt a fire blooming slowly inside of his chest, but he couldn't make himself react. He stood motionless as she pressed her lips to his. Before he got a chance to return the kiss, the warmth had already disappeared. She pulled back, her expression unreadable.
"I shouldn't have done that" she said, her words painfully emotionless "I must go. Goodnight, and thank you for inviting me."
She then turned around, walking back towards the main hall not looking back at him. Not even one single glance. He took a step forward, his mouth open and ready call her name, but no sound was able to come out. He exhaled a ragged breath, cursing internally for not stopping her. Why hadn't he said something?
His mind was plagued with images of her as he turned and began walking towards the main exhibition again, the feeling of her soft warm lips on his still remaining, tingling his lips. She had invaded his life completely, clouding his thoughts with images of her. She was mysterious and intoxicating, her voice like silk caressing his ears, her eyes casting a spell on him. He groaned at himself and decided that it was too late to take a step back. He would go to see her when the exhibition was over and tell her everything. He wouldn't let his muse slip away, like many other things he had lost. But for now he had to fake a smile and pretend that nothing had happened. He was an expert at that.
He walked down the street hurriedly in the direction Cosette had indicated. Luckily, the girl hadn't asked much about the reasons for his interest in Éponine's apartment and decided to just tell Enjolras where the dancer lived. After what seemed hours, he arrived at the red brick building, and without thinking about it too much, he pressed the button which read Thenardier. He waited on the street for several minutes, his mind working quickly on what he was going to say to her. He almost jumped as the intercom came to life with a static sound.
"Yes?" her voice said through the speaker, and finally he was able to release the breath he was holding.
"Why did you leave?" he managed to ask her.
She was quiet after that and he waited for another moment, not sure if she was going to speak, or if she had just left him. His heart almost came out of his chest as he heard the static sound again.
"Why didn't you kiss me back?" she answered drily, and although he couldn't see her, he was sure that her eyes were dark and tormented.
He felt a knot form in his stomach, a cold sweat forming in his forehead. He took his glasses off and put them in his pocket before he managed to answer "I-I don't know."
This time it didn't take her long to answer as he rested his head on the cold wall, wanting nothing more but than to punch it.
"Well, that settles it. Goodnight." She answered before the line was dead again.
He pressed the button once more desperately "Wait, wait, wait. Please, Éponine, just listen to me."
She didn't answer, so he decided to continue, not knowing whether if she was listening or if she was standing there. He didn't care, he just wanted to tell her.
"I didn't kissed you back because…" he took a deep breath before continuing in a much lower voice "Because I wanted to kiss you first."
The silence was almost unbearable, a car or two passing by as he waited for her to say something, anything. Suddenly, the intercom came to life.
"Why?" her voice came out as a whisper.
"This is the hardest thing I've ever done, Éponine" he said slowly before taking in a deep breath "I'm fighting this strong urge to run away. But I guess it's too late for that, and also I'm tired of hiding it from you."
"Don´t go" she asked him gently, her voice soft once more.
"I won't go." He assured her, resting a hand on the wall and closing his eyes. "I won't go because…Éponine, I have feelings for you. I care about you, I like you. More than you could ever comprehend."
Enjolras felt as if an enormous weight had been lifted from his shoulders the moment the words left his lips. His head snapped up at the sound of a buzz and a door unlocking. He smiled to himself and opened the door, making his way up the stairs quickly. As soon as he reached the floor of her apartment, he saw her, standing at the end of the hall, barefoot and waiting for him. She smiled, the kind of smile that had always made his knees falter a bit, the one who made him curious, just that, for some unknown reason, he thought that now, he would finally get to know those secrets.
He smiled back, walking down the hall, his eyes never leaving hers. In a blink of an eye, he was standing in front of her, a hand grazing her cheekbone as the other placed a tendril of her hair behind her ear. He leaned down slowly, taking his time to appreciate the way her eyes fluttered closed and she breathed heavily, her full lips parted, waiting for his kiss. He closed the distance completely and covered her mouth with his.
Electricity ran through him, shaking down his spine, and the flame he had felt earlier in the Gallery was quickly growing. Letting his instincts take over, he pulled her closer to him, eager to feel every curve. She gasped with surprise as he deepened the kiss, her fingers tangling in his hair and bringing him closer to her. The hand resting on her neck felt her pulse increasing as he tilted his head and kissed her once more with fervor, trying to express through that kiss every single thing he had inside, pouring his soul into hers. His fingers only itched like this whenever he needed to paint, but at that moment, his hands were painting on her.
He rolled his hips to align with hers, his hands grasping onto her hips to hold her still and pulled her closer to him. He reached to her, looking at her in awe. It was as if he was looking at one of the most beautiful pieces of art, still, beautiful and breath-taking. He brushed her lips with his fingertips, soft, full, rosy and swollen with his kiss. Her eyes closed as her chest rose and fell with each breath she took, proof that she wasn't a painting and she was alive. His hands traveled down her neck, her shoulder, tracing in her skin patterns as he explored her body. His hands traveled down the contours of her breasts, down to her waist.
She breathed deeply, leaning into his touch as he moved against her. His eyes were on hers, those eyes which had hypnotized him and promised him countless secrets. Not even the most beautiful painting in the worlds was as beautiful as she was at that exact moment, hair sprawled around, eyelids heavy, chest rising and falling. She was beautiful. She was his muse. She was his.
He moved ever so slowly, trying to commit into memory every single detail. Details that later he would capture into paper, to paint her as she bared her soul to him. "Kiss me." He moved slowly, pressing his lips onto hers softly, sliding down to her neck tentatively, and shivering at the feel of her under. She held him as if it were the only thing she had ever felt in her life. His name left her lips, like a caress to his ears.
He held her tighter, their bodies creating a kind of art he had never experienced before. He rolled his hips against hers as she buried her face into his neck before it fell back into the pillow, her eyes scrunched tight, arms wrapped around his back tightly. Beautiful. She was so beautiful. He watched her face lax, her eyes looking for his, a final groan escaping his lips, before he collapsed on top of her. She ran her fingers through his hair as he placed a kiss on her cheek, his arms locked around her tightly. He never wanted to let her go. She was his, Éponine Thenardier, was his.
Enjolras had always loved the sunrise. He thought it was the most beautiful part of the day. He remembered his favorite mornings very clearly, some of them of when he still lived with his parents, others in the company of his friends. But as he glanced at Éponine, still asleep next to him, he thought that perhaps this would be his new favorite memory. And also his new definition of beautiful.
As the sun still drifted through the window, her skin glowed. Her body was warm, pressed to his side as he outlined the contours of her body. Her face was peaceful, the ghost of a smile playing on her lips. It was better than any painting he had ever done before. Standing up carefully, he found a pencil and a paper and began sketching her.
Her hair was sprawled on the pillow around her shoulders, her skin looking warm and inviting to him to touch it. Some strands fell across her face, framing the curve of her neck beautifully. He studied her and captured her in paper. One of her long toned legs was exposed, a reminder of how she was able to fly while she danced. Her eyes opened slowly, hazy and unfocused. He let a smile appear in his lips at her confused expression. Straightening, she caught sight of him, her own lips curving in a warm smile. Soon her hand was stretching forward, asking him to return. He smiled, and laying down the paper, returned to the bed with her. Pulling her closer to him, he let her warmth surround him once more, her touch inviting him as her lips ghosted over his.
He would have plenty of time to draw her later. Now he just wanted to draw on her body.