Ok ok. So I wasn't going to post the third chapter so soon, especially considering that a) I haven't had time to write too much more (my senior thesis was due today! helloooo free time) and b) I have writer's block. BUT I'm going away for a few days and will be internet-less until Saturday. I didn't want to leave you guys without anything for so long because you all are FANTASTIC and I love each and every one of you for your kind reviews and your awesomeness and I just can't ok.

Anyway. This chapter is REALLY long. Sorry for that. And I feel like it's not that interesting, but it was necessary. I wanted to make it shorter, but the way that I wrote it (aka not planning on making this a chaptered story) there wasn't a good place to break it up because it would've gotten in the way of the stuff that happens next.

Also, sorry in advance about the stuff that happens next. You guys really are going to hate me. It's more exciting than this, but you'll probably chase me with pitchforks and flaming torches for what I did...

Also, sorry for giving you that tidbit. I'm the worst.

Anyway, thanks for the love, you guys rock, please be patient with me! I promise someday things won't be depressing in this story.

I'm just... I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry. Please don't hate me.

Funny thing though, I'm currently at exactly 24,601 words total in this story. I may or may not have shouted at my computer "and I'm Javert..." Whomp whomp.

Disclaimer: creys.

The ride home the next day was awkward, to say the least. The friends had gone in together and rented a few SUVs to get out to the lake, rather than finding individual transportation. Enjolras and Eponine had happily sat together on the way, but had ended up in the same car on the way home (although Enjolras had tried to sneak into another car).

Combeferre was driving, and Enjolras was in the front seat. Eponine shared the middle row with Courfeyrac and Clémence, and Grantaire, his date Lucie, Combeferre's date Camille, and Gavroche were in the back.

Eponine was trying as hard as she could to stare out the window, but couldn't help glancing at Enjolras now and again. She could only see his profile, but to her he seemed tired.

Combeferre was a pretty good driver, which was apparently more than could be said for Jehan, who was driving one of the other cars. Feuilly had complained that Jehan wouldn't allow anyone to talk too loudly and wouldn't even let them turn the radio on. Combeferre, however, was perfectly content to let a classic rock station blast, and even Eponine and Enjolras couldn't resist singing along dramatically when "Bohemian Rhapsody" came on. It was especially nice because, shockingly, they all had wonderful voices, and even nailed all the harmonies.

Later, Combeferre was equally calm as Grantaire entertained everyone by teaching Gavroche a rather boisterous song. When Courfeyrac questioned whether or not she approved of her little brother learning something so crude from a guy who, 24 hours before, had been drunker than ever before, she had informed him that she was not Gavroche's mother, and then, as if to prove her point, taught him the next verse. Even Enjolras laughed at that.

But other than those two incidents, neither Eponine nor Enjolras spoke very much. She was aware of Courfeyrac and Clémence watching her from time to time, but she didn't care. She just wanted to go home.

Combeferre dropped them at their building before heading back to the rental center. Joly was the only one of their entire friend group that actually owned a car, so he was meeting Combeferre and Jehan to give them rides back home. That way they wouldn't need to take public transportation with their bags and tuxedos.

Eponine noticed that Enjolras was avoiding her like the plague. She didn't want to be stuck in the elevator with Courfeyrac and Clémence, and he clearly didn't want to be any closer to her than he had to be, so she just took the stairs. It made her think of the time she had banished him from the elevator, forcing him to sprint up several flights. She had done it just to fool with him, but she had liked how out of breath and sweaty he was when he found her, how he had attacked her outside their apartment door.

Later in the day, after she had unpacked and hung up her bridesmaid's dress, Eponine opened her door to find all of their friends and most of their dates to the wedding in the apartment. She had been listening to music in her room and hadn't noticed.

When she emerged, several people turned around to look at her, including Enjolras. She avoided his eyes, and joined Jehan and Bahorel on the couch. Someone had brought a ton a food; there were trays of hoagies, plates of veggies and fruits, bowls of chips and pretzels and dips, and all kinds of cookies and brownies for dessert. And there was a lot of alcohol.

Feuilly passed her a bottle of Shock Top. "Did you have fun at the wedding last night?" he asked her. The boys looked at her with unsure expressions.

"I always do," she replied, smiling cheerily and taking a swig of beer.

"You were the life of the party, Ep," Bahorel told her, grinning. "I've never seen someone dance so much before."

She laughed in response. "Does it really surprise you? You know I love a good party. Like this one – what's the deal?"

He shrugged. "Just continuing the festivities. Sorry for doing it at your place, we just all kind of ended up here."

"Oh please, Bahorel, impromptu parties are the best! Plus we'll have a ton of great food here for a few days. I'm not about to complain. Speaking of which, I'm going to go get a plate!"

She had to get away from Enjolras, leaning against the wall holding a cup, watching her through dark eyes as he talked with Jehan and his girlfriend.

Eponine was filling up her plate – starting, of course, with a ham and cheese hoagie, her favorite – when Clémence suddenly appeared at her elbow. Her pretty light brown hair was in a casual braid over her shoulder, and she glanced at Eponine with a knowing look on her face.

Clearing her throat, Clémence asked, "So, Eponine, is everything ok?" Eponine opened her mouth to respond, but the other girl grabbed her arm (making her drop a spoonful of potato salad), and said, "And don't try to lie. I know something happened between you and… you two."

Eponine didn't respond immediately. Was Clémence going to say something to Courfeyrac? Would he tell Enjolras? Why did she even care? It wasn't any of her business.

Clémence cut off Eponine's suspicious thoughts before they could cycle any more. "Eponine, I'm your friend. I'm not going to tell him. This is just girl talk!" she said with a giggle.

Eponine glanced around, ensuring that Enjolras wasn't there and that no one was eavesdropping. She picked up her plate, indicating that Clémence should follow her. They retreated to Eponine's bedroom; she closed the door behind them and put the plate down on the table next to her door. Clémence took a seat on the bed and patted the space next to her. For a moment, Eponine stared at the bed, remembering what she had done with – and to – Enjolras there. Then she sighed, pulling her hair into a ponytail and taking a seat.

"We had a fight last night. It didn't end well. He – he's threatening to move out."

"I'm assuming that you got this before the fight then?" she asked with a smirk, pointing at Eponine's neck.

Eponine sprung from the bed, running to the mirror above her dresser. There, on the left side of her neck, was a fairly large love bite. "Ugh – this is a massive fucking hickey," she groaned, pulling some cover-up from her makeup back and smearing it on. It didn't help very much.

"He was watching you as we came in here," Clémence remarked as Eponine rubbed at her neck. "What did you fight about?"

Eponine sighed. "I don't know. A lot of stuff. Me, mostly. And Marius." She put her makeup bag away and walked back over to Clémence. "Apparently last night when we were fucking, I said Marius' name."

Clémence raised her eyebrows. "Shit, Eponine. No wonder he's pissed."

Eponine sighed exasperatedly. "I know, I know. It was bad. I didn't even realize it at the time. I had no idea until we were out by the lake shouting at each other and he told me. He said that I'm too guarded, that I've hidden behind too many walls in order to keep everyone at arm's length, and… I mean I don't even remember what all he said to me, or what I said to him." It wasn't entirely true, she remembered specific things – mostly her begging Enjolras not to leave – but Clémence didn't need to hear all about that. "Anyway, then he said he couldn't do it anymore, and that he was going to move out and when I'm over Marius then maybe we can be friends again. I just don't understand it. What's his deal?"

Clémence was trying to hide a smile. "Eponine, you'll have to ask him. It's not for me to say. Do you want him to move out?" When Eponine shook her head, Clémence asked, "Did you tell him?"

"Of course I did. I told him he's my best friend and that the sex is great and that I… that I don't want to lose him."

"Do you have feelings for him?"

"For Enjolras? No! No. No, no, no, no. No, we're friends. That's all." She felt the slight flush in her cheeks and hoped that Clémence couldn't see it too. Unfortunately, the other girl was smirking at her knowingly, so Eponine hurriedly said, "I get why he was pissed, I shouldn't have said another man's name while sleeping with him. I didn't mean it, of course, but I can understand why he was upset. But he was just so mad, Clémence. And then threatening to move out because I'm still not completely over Marius? It just makes no sense."

"Oh Eponine, I don't know what to tell you. It's messy though. I could tell in the car today that something was really wrong. My best advice to you is to get over Marius. What do you even see in him, anyway? I mean I know you've been in love with him for quite some time, but what is it about him that makes him so special?"

"I don't know…. He's always been so sweet to me. We were friends as soon as we met. He's never treated me like I'm – like I'm any less than him or anyone else because I have a fucked up family. We get along so well, and he's just so kind. And cute. Oh, and I love his hair."

"But he doesn't like you back. He never has."

"I know, and if I ever had any doubts or hopes about that, they were certainly dashed when he married Cosette last night," she couldn't help the slightly bitter tone in her voice.

"So those are your only reasons that you like him?

"Yes. Well, no. I don't know, it's everything about him. His personality, the way he treats me –."

"From what Courfeyrac has told me, he doesn't treat you special at all. He says Marius treats you like one of the guys."

Eponine just looked at her, unsure of what to say.

"Well, how does Enjolras treat you?"

"Enjolras? Well – like a friend…." Eponine was finding this fairly new concept of "girl talk," to be quite confusing.

"Ok – here's an easier question. Why do you like Enjolras?"

"Why do I like him?"

"Yeah. I mean you guys are friends, and you're fucking. People just don't do that, you know? Not without a good reason. So why do you like him as a friend? Why did you start sleeping with him?"

"What do you mean?"

"What started it?"

"We kissed," she said tentatively. "Well – we kissed once in college, and I went down on him, but then nothing until all of this started. And we just kissed, it was kind of an accident, and then it just started happening." As difficult as this was for her to disclose, Eponine was actually happy that she was able to talk about it all with someone. She had kept it to herself since it had all began.

"Great, ok. We're working backwards now. Why do you like him? You know, as a person?" Clémence inquired.

"I mean he's my best friend. He always has been. We've been close ever since we met. We would study together, before I dropped out. And he's good to me, I suppose. He's hard on me, though. He holds me to really high standards. I could tell he was angry when I told him I had gotten a job at Hooters. But he's sweet to me, and he's funny when he wants to be, and…." She shrugged away the end of the sentence.

"And?" Clémence asked, raising her eyebrows. When Eponine didn't respond, she sighed, and said, "Ok. Now, do you find him attractive?"

"Well… of course I do. I wouldn't be fucking him if I didn't."

Clémence just gave her a look. Eponine sighed. "I mean…. He is very handsome," she grudgingly admitted. "I've always thought so, with that jaw. And I like his dimples, you know? And I know he's kind of skinny, but he actually is, like, scary built. Like, he's lean, but he's all muscle. He's like a marble statue. Just so nice to look at. And, I suppose, I like his arms. He gives great hugs…." She stopped when she caught sight of Clémence's expression. "What?" she asked.

"You like him," Clémence informed her, quite matter-of-factly, but with a large smile.

"What? That's absurd, no I don't. He's my friend, that's all," Eponine heard herself insist.

"Oh, please, Ep. You had trouble coming up with 5 reasons why you like Marius. But when I prodded you about Enjolras, you gave me about 50. Do the math, sweetie."

"You're crazy," Eponine scoffed.

The other girl smiled. "Did you ever think that maybe you got too comfortable with being in love with Marius? That keeping up your feelings for him just added another dimension to those walls Enjolras was talking about?"

Eponine just stared at her.

"Think about it, Eponine. You're used to doing things on your own, you're used to being alone, and you've gotten used to this whole concept of unrequited love. Have you ever thought that maybe you're using Marius as a shield? That maybe you're hiding behind your love for him so you don't have to open up to someone and be a little vulnerable for once? Are you still in love with him because you're afraid?"

Clémence's phone suddenly chimed, startling them both. She checked the message and, standing, told a very shell-shocked Eponine, "Courfeyrac is wondering where I am." She put a hand on Eponine's shoulder, and squeezed comfortingly. "Just think about what I said, Eponine. Be brave. From what I've heard, you're not afraid of anything, so don't let yourself run from your feelings."

She picked up her plate then and opened the door to leave.

"I'm afraid of spiders," came Eponine's slightly hysterical response.

Clémence just laughed and swept away.

Eponine took a few minutes to compose herself and followed her new confidante out of the room.

She wasn't back into the party for five minutes before Grantaire caught sight of her. "Damn, Eponine," he exclaimed loudly, "You and Clémence disappear into your room for twenty minutes and you come out that." He was pointing at her giant hickey. "What exactly were you two doing in there?"

Shit, she had forgotten to take her ponytail out. Oh well, too late now. Everyone could see Enjolras' handiwork. She wished she could see his expression, wished that she could share a secret glance with him. But if she did, she would give it all away.

Several of their friends were watching with interest, including a grinning Courfeyrac whose arm was around a somewhat concerned, but still smiley, Clémence. Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed Enjolras, who just scowled.

Eponine just gave Grantaire a big smile and joked, "Wouldn't you like to know, pervert?" Her audience broke into laughter as she took a casual sip of her beer, then she patted his cheek and planted on it a small kiss before she swept out of the room.

That night, Eponine lay in her bed mulling over Clémence's words. She had implied – or more like insisted – that Eponine had feelings for Enjolras. Most shocking was the suggestion that she was afraid to fall in love and was hiding behind stale feelings for Marius.

Was it possible that over the months, perhaps even the years, she had developed feelings for Enjolras, but had been unable to recognize them thanks to her obsession with Marius?

Clémence certainly seemed to think so. "Be brave," she had said. Was Eponine as afraid as her friend seemed to think of letting people in?

Who was she kidding? She absolutely was. Enjolras had been right when he had told her that she keeps everyone at arm's length. She shut everyone out. And she supposed that it was because she was afraid of getting too close to someone. Her entire childhood had been a psychoanalyst's dream, to put it one way, so it made sense that she wouldn't want to be too vulnerable. Being vulnerable at home, especially after her parents were foreclosed upon… well, it had not been an easy time. She had been forced to grow up quickly, a fact that had always set her apart from these well-off bourgeois boys. She knew how to fight, and she knew how to work, and she did each well. But opening up to someone, even someone as good as Enjolras….

And where did he fit into all of this? When Eponine mentioned that she couldn't understand where Enjolras' anger was coming from, Clémence had told her that it wasn't for her to say, that she would need to ask Enjolras.

What the hell did that mean?

Was it possible that Clémence was implying that there was more on Enjolras' side than Eponine realized? Why else would she have gone to such trouble to convince her that her feelings for Marius were a farce, and that Enjolras was the real deal? Maybe he wasn't mad just because of some Freudian name-slip. Could he actually be so angry because he was in love with her?

Whatever. She needed to clear her head.

Moments later, she found herself in front of Enjolras' door. Shit, force of habit, she thought to herself, remembering that she couldn't just walk in anymore. Yet she found herself trying the doorknob anyway.

Locked.

He heard her outside of his door. He heard her each time she came, for the next several weeks. He desperately wanted to let her in, to take her in his arms, to taste her, to feel her touch burning him and her skin sliding against his.

He missed her.

"When did this happen?" she had asked. I don't know, Eponine, he confessed to her silently.

But that was a lie.

Eponine was the only girl Enjolras had ever had time for. People in college often thought they were dating, even after she dropped out, and he could never be bothered to refute them. In fact, it had been easier for him; it had kept the girls from becoming a distraction to him. Not that he had ever really noticed them.

He blamed it on Eponine. She thought she was fucked up? His life certainly wasn't a walk in the park, though he knew he had it easier, especially growing up, than she did. But he was so – what had Combeferre once said? – terrifying sometimes. Whatever that meant.

Perhaps it referred to his intense determination, his competitiveness, his motivation to achieve his goals. When he set his mind to something, anything less than complete success was just not good enough. Maybe that's what was terrifying.

He had never had time for girls. Yet there was Eponine, his best friend, the only girl with whom he had ever been close. Why was she so different from the other girls that had simply blended into the scenery around him?

And then he understood. She fell through the cracks. The cracks in his mind – the frustrations, the doubts, the sometimes-crippling sadness. The spaces between the Enjolras his friends knew and Enjolras that was a weak, self-conscious boy.

Eponine had wiggled her way in that first night, all those years ago. She had distracted him, even for just a moment, but it was enough. She fell through those cracks; he had never managed, never even really tried, to get her out.

And he had loved her ever since.

Being in love with her certainly wasn't a new thing, of course, but he had always thought that it had started when they began sleeping together.

The realization that he had loved her since he met her disturbed Enjolras enough that he had to get out of bed.

He walked out of his room, not going anywhere in particular, and found himself at the coffee table.

Eponine's books were piled there. The girl loved to read. He had always admired that, though he supposed it made sense.

She read to escape. She loved fantastical worlds, science fiction, dystopian societies, struggling characters coming out on top. He knew she connected with them, that it was therapeutic to see them win, because perhaps it meant she could win too.

She had been through so much. Emotionally and physically abused as a child by her parents and, he suspected, by her father's gang, dirt poor, and forced to grow up too quickly – that had been Eponine's life. They had been rich when she was young, perhaps even before Gavroche was born, and she clung to those fleeting memories as though her life depended on it.

She still acted as though she had money, and she was self-sufficient these days, but money was tight. Yet she often made comments that would make one think she had all the money in the world, though to a practiced ear like Enjolras' there was always a slightly dry delivery, as though she were both mocking and envying the wealthy.

It made him smile – her sense of humor was acute, dry, and fast. She was sarcastic, she was witty, and she found everything funny. It was incredible to him that after everything she had been through she could be so happy. He knew it was hard, and he knew she had as many down moments as up ones, but she was positive and optimistic, almost to a fault. He, on the other hand, was probably three times as jaded as she, and his life had been charmed by comparison.

Enjolras sighed, picking up her worn copy of A Tale of Two Cities. The girl loved her Dickens, for whatever reason. Something about the satire, the dry humor hidden deep within the story, agreed with her.

Enjolras dropped the book back on the table.

He went to the kitchen and almost jumped out of his skin when he saw Eponine sitting at the kitchen table, her back to him, reading a book in the light of a dim kitchen lamp.

Her thick, dark hair spilled over her shoulders. She was wearing a large t-shirt, a red one, with the writing from a bar he frequented on the back – his t-shirt, then – and pajama shorts. One leg was curled under her, and the other was bent so she could rest her head on her knee as she read. She looked peaceful, still, for once. Calm waves gently lapping at the shore, rolling back and forth lazily.

Enjolras froze, not sure whether to stay and just watch her for a while, alert her to his presence, or retreat to his room and lock himself away.

He had just decided on the latter when the floor squeaked, startling her. He froze as she dropped her book and whirled in her chair.

They stared at each other.

Eponine's lips were parted in surprise, but the fright in her eyes had quickly changed to something else – relief perhaps? – though in the dark it was hard to tell.

The lamp silhouetted her head, but there was enough moonlight for him to see the soft expression on her face.

She gave him a tentative, small smile and whispered, sounding somewhat experimental, "Hi, Enjolras."

He regarded her for a long moment, allowing the silence to stretch between them. She did not take her eyes away from his.

"Eponine," he finally conceded, though he could hear the strain in his voice.

They stared at each other.

"Um… How are your classes going this semester?" she asked, sounding uncertain of herself. Or perhaps she was uncertain of him.

"They're fine," he replied tightly. She was looking at him expectantly, but he said nothing else.

"Does it feel good to be in your last year?"

Marius and Cosette were married during the first weekend of his semester, back in September. With all the preparations he and Eponine had been involved him, they had never discussed his course load. Then they had the fight, and hadn't spoken since.

It was October.

"It's a lot of work, but yes. I'm beginning to organize myself for the Bar exam, but I'm going to take a review course after I graduate to prepare."

"I'm sure you'll pass with flying colors. Not everyone is at the top of the class in an elite law school," she gave him an encouraging smile. He just stared at her.

An awkward silence fell between them, until Eponine asked quietly him, "Will you sit?" She gestured to the chair next to her, then added, "I have snacks," holding up a box of Double Stuf Oreo's and an open jar of peanut butter, a combination she had introduced to him back in college. He almost laughed.

Enjolras hesitated for a long moment, then found himself sitting in the chair next to her. He took an Oreo, smeared some peanut butter on it with Eponine's knife, and stuffed it into his mouth.

She giggled, and some of the tension dissipated.

"If you need me to read any papers for you, I certainly will," she informed him.

"Thank you," he replied stiffly, though he was secretly grateful. She was the best editor he had ever had, and had been reading over his papers since their first semester together.

Neither said anything for a long while, and Enjolras would be damned if he spoke first.

Then she said something that caught him completely unawares.

"I'm going back to school," she blurted out all of a sudden, her voice still soft and uncertain.

Enjolras almost fell out of his chair, regarding her with shock.

"I've already sent in my applications," she continued. "I've been doing a lot of research, looking at what I might want to do. My plan is to major in business and art or art history or something. I'd like to work at a museum, or in advertising, or maybe even in the theatre circuit."

"That's a big commitment, Eponine," he told her seriously, preparing another peanut butter-smothered Oreo.

"I know," she replied. "I've thought a lot about it. I've made appointments with admissions offices and financial offices – I've done it all. I have a lot of money saved up, and I've only applied to places in and around the city so I can live at home."

"These are tough schools, you know. You've been out for several years –."

"I know what I'm getting into," she snapped, cutting him off. Then she backed off, seeming to remember that Enjolras was virtually a physical landmine, and that pushing too hard might set him off again. "I've thought a lot about this," she continued, voice soft again, eyes staring down at her knotted hands.

Enjolras realized she was nervous.

"Why now?" he asked, curiosity getting the better of him.

She didn't answer at first. Eventually, she murmured, "I don't want to be a waitress forever. I can't be a waitress forever. I just can't."

She looked at him then, but looked away when she saw those intense eyes boring into her.

"And seeing all you boys, all of your success – it just got to me. You all are going to do amazing things with your lives, especially you, Enjolras," her hand unconsciously reached out to cover his, "and then there will be me, working crazy hours down the street in a café. You all will have your lives, and will get married and have kids, maybe move away, and I'll always be here. I don't want to be left behind," she finished quietly.

Tell him the truth, Eponine. Tell him you want to be good enough for him. Tell him you're doing this so that he won't hate you anymore.

No, that wasn't what this was about. It was about her, not Enjolras. But her heart was beating quickly, either way. Eponine found herself craving his approval.

I miss him.

Enjolras looked pointedly down at their hands, and Eponine pulled hers away so quickly that it seemed as though his had been on fire. They felt a little cold as she busied her own with making another peanut butter Oreo.

"Well – congratulations. I wish you all the best with your studies," he told her formally.

The look she gave him was one so full of disappointment and heartbreak that he had to look away.

"I should be getting to bed," he announced suddenly, rising from the chair and startling her. "Good night, Eponine."

"Wait, Enjolras!" she exclaimed, leaping up beside him. "I have something for you." She was reserved and timid again, but he could already feel her rising around him like the tide. He fought her current.

Still, he followed her wordlessly to her room, standing at the door as she went inside.

It was a brand new copy of Neverwhere, by Neil Gaiman. He had never read anything by Gaiman before, but Eponine had raved about him on several occasions.

"You'll like it," she whispered. She seemed sad.

"Thank you, Eponine. I'll start it before I get too much farther into the semester. Good night." And he left her standing there.

Climbing back into bed, Enjolras tossed the book on his nightstand. However, after nearly an hour of tossing and turning, he picked it up, turned on his light, and started reading it.

Enjolras was never going to forgive her; that much was certain. Eponine couldn't remember the last time she had been so disappointed.

She had been so excited when he had come into the kitchen, thinking that perhaps, finally, things could go back to the way they were. But oh, how wrong she had been.

Things would never go back to how they were, and somewhere deep inside, Eponine knew it.

They couldn't just be friends anymore. They couldn't just go back to sleeping together. It was all ruined.

She had been dreaming about him. Not every night, at least not that she knew, but in her dreams, they were together. They were happy. They laughed, they kissed, they fucked.

She had bought him that copy of Neverwhere weeks ago. It was one of her favorite novels (there wasn't just one favorite, of course), and she had been badgering him to read it for ages. When she had come across a copy in the bookstore around the corner, which rarely had any Gaiman books, she knew she had to get it for him.

Maybe it could say what she couldn't.

Maybe after he read it, he would understand. Maybe he would stay.

The first time she had read the book, it had been a fantastical, moving story about good and evil, life and death, truth and lies. But it was also about bravery, self-discovery and self-confidence, faith, purpose, reality, and perception.

But Enjolras was smart. Maybe he would see those themes. Maybe they would make him think of her, realize that when it came to him, she wasn't any of those, that she couldn't achieve anything that those characters had managed.

Or maybe she should have given him a less complicated book. Boys were stupid anyway, especially when it came to girls. And Enjolras proved no different, except that he was also incredibly stubborn when it came to her.

"I just want him back," she whispered into her pillow.

Enjolras finished the book in two days. Eponine had been right, he had liked it. She knew him entirely too well.

He wasn't sure whether she had intended it or not, but the whole book just reminded him of her. He saw her on every page. She was Door, brave, determined, and mysterious. She was Richard Mayhew, who had fallen through the cracks into the underworld; just like Richard, she was compassionate, hungry for more out of life, but stuck in a rut. The novel itself, its fantastical setting, its subtheme of reality, of faith – it was all her. And it had consumed him; he had loved it, he was hooked.

He would never be able to get away from her.

Enjolras was no longer certain that their current state would ever break. Perhaps it had been too long since they had interacted. The tension between them just a few hours before in the kitchen, weeks after the incident, was palpable.

Could they ever move beyond this, now that it had been so long?

Something had to be done. The lease was up in January….

No. He didn't want to leave. His friends were here. He loved this apartment. The rent was good for all of them – he didn't want to have to pay more anywhere else, and he didn't want the others' rent to go up because he left. He also really hated apartment hunting.

No, he and Eponine would have to figure this out on their own.

Until next time, my lovelies!

P.S. If you haven't read Neverwhere, GO DO IT NOW. That's your homework assignment in my absence. There will be a quiz.