Ok guys.
Second to last chapter (plus epilogue plus deleted scene).
Again, sorry this took so long to get up. I haven't slept much in the last two days, and it's 1:30 here and I have to be up at 8 and I'm so tired, but I desperately wanted to finish this chapter and write it to get things off my mind and to get it up for you wonderful people who have been beyond patient and understanding with my increasing slowness.
Disclaimer: Guys I think I'm dead.
Eponine's 25th birthday was in the middle of the week between Christmas and New Year's Eve. This, of course, afforded her and her friends an entire week of partying, thanks to the closeness of the three events.
The boys had all come back to the city the day after Christmas, and they had chosen that night to exchange gifts. Joly had, of course, loved his hat, and had refused to take it off any time he had been in her presence during the past day and a half.
The day of Eponine's 25th birthday dawned bright and early, with her roommates sneaking into her room to wake her up with breakfast in bed and a loud – but harmonized – happy birthday song. Enjolras, who had stayed the night in her room, must have snuck out before she woke.
She and all of her friends, as well as Gavroche, Azelma, and even Montparnasse, had made a reservation at the Musain to celebrate (they didn't take reservations there, but the group spent so much time there that they were more than willing to accommodate Eponine's large birthday party).
The boys were, of course, all ready to go, but the girls were still locked up in Eponine's room getting ready. After dinner, they were planning on going out to Eponine's favorite bar, though her underage siblings would be returning to the apartment.
The boys had just started to impatiently shout to the girls on the other side of Eponine's door when Azelma emerged, followed by the other women. She was wearing a pretty red dress with a bustier top and nude heels; her hair was pulled into a loose knot at the nape of her neck.
Cosette, per usual, looked dainty and girly and oh-so-pretty in a modest green lace dress and classic black heels, her hair tumbling in loose curls over her shoulders.
Musichetta was wearing a deep purple dress that hugged her body; the top was like a sports bra, and a layer of mesh joined it to the skirt, and it dipped into a deep V in the back. Her hair was in a bun on the top of her head, and she was wearing silver pumps and sultry makeup.
When Clémence emerged, snapping at Eponine to hurry up, a few of the boys murmured appreciatively and clapped Courfeyrac on the back and shoulders. She was wearing a short, body-hugging blue dress; it was one shouldered, and a dangerously low slit curved between her breasts. The low swoop was filled in with a sheer material of the same color that traveled up the strapped shoulder, the whole way down to her arm in a single sleeve, then down around the back. Without the sheer fabric, the back would have been dangerously low, but the translucent bit mostly covered her. Her light brown hair was pulled taught on one side with pins and was forced to spill over the strapless side in loose ringlets, and she was wearing platform wedges and bright lipstick. Clémence walked over to Courfeyrac and gave him a very deliberate, lipstick-y kiss, smiling victoriously when her lips left behind their mark.
Then came Eponine. The boys wolf-whistled at catcalled her as she smirked, and most of them looked to Enjolras for his reaction.
He was staring at her with slightly parted lips and wide eyes.
She was wearing a slinky black number, short like Clémence's, but with thicker straps. It pushed up her bust impressively, and there were small triangular cutouts at her waist. She spun around for everyone, revealing several more triangular cutouts across her back. Her hair was pulled into a tight ponytail, her eyes were smoky, and her legs were accentuated and looked miles-high in black stiletto ankle booties.
Enjolras noticed a silver anchor pendant resting below her collarbone. His heartbeat quickened.
As Eponine pulled on a black leather jacket, laughing loudly at something Bahorel said, she briefly locked eyes with Enjolras.
They fell into step as they walked to the café, and again later as they walked to the bar.
The bar was much too dark and much too loud and much too hot for Enjolras' taste. Most of his friends were on the dance floor or talking – more like shouting – animatedly at the bar. He, however, had never really been one for clubs, with their bad, loud music and the smell of sweat and shame that emanated from the gyrating strangers.
But it was Eponine's birthday, so he could hardly leave.
For his 25th birthday a few months back, they had gone to dinner and come home at a reasonable hour like responsible adults. Though perhaps it would have turned out differently had he and Eponine been speaking then, but that was unfortunately in those months between Marius' wedding and Gavroche's hospitalization.
He sipped his whiskey, watching her.
Men had been flocking around her all night, and for good reason. She was just so sexy, and completely in her element. She moved like a siren in a sea of people, drawing them in and threatening to drown them in her energy and force.
In return, they drowned her in drinks.
It was quite impressive, actually, that she could get so many men to spend money on her without promising them any more than a slinky dance and a sweet smile. Each new guy that approached her made Enjolras burn with rage and jealousy, but she danced circles around them – literally – and then moved on to the next, never paying any more attention to one over another.
She spent a great deal of time dancing with her friends as well, both the boys and the girls. Some of the boys were better than others – Bahorel, for example, was a great dancer, though it was hardly surprising, and Combeferre was hopeless – but Eponine devoted a lot of time to them, as did several other girls.
Enjolras was sitting at the bar sulking, almost finished with his whiskey, when Clémence came up next to him. She was breathing heavily, and had asked for two waters, then turned to him.
"Why are you here all by yourself?" she asked, leaning close to his ear and shouting over the music. "It's Eponine's birthday! You should be out there dancing with her!"
"She's doing well enough for herself without me," he shouted back, hoping that the loud music hid the bitterness in his voice. "Besides, she's getting herself a lot of free drinks by not dancing with me."
Clémence didn't reply, just rolled her eyes and grabbed his hand, pulling him out on the dance floor with her. Enjolras didn't even bother to argue; she wouldn't be able to hear him over the music anyway.
She dragged him through the crowd to where their friends were dancing. Some noticed him and waved or cheered, though it was barely audible over the bass and beats of the music, but most of them were too caught up in the music and their partners to see that he had joined them.
Eponine was dancing with Courfeyrac, her arms in the air and her hair in her face, swiveling her hips against him and laughing loudly. She didn't seem to notice Enjolras, as Clémence instantly grabbed one of her hands and starting dancing with her as soon as they were face to face.
Enjolras couldn't help but stare at how they were practically dancing on top of one another.
Then suddenly Clémence was yanking him to her, placing his hands on her hips, dancing against him and on Eponine, their hands mingling in the air. Eponine was clearly very drunk, and was laughing hard, leaning forward with her head on Clémence's shoulder as they shouted in one another's ears.
Suddenly they switched places, and Clémence was with Courfeyrac and Eponine was with him. She turned to see with whom she was dancing now, and her gaze fell upon him in surprise, her mouth forming his name, though it was drowned out by the music.
She spun around and latched her arms around his neck in a big hug.
"I'm so glad you're celebrating with me!"
"I'm not much of a dancer," he confessed as the song changed.
Eponine shrieked in his ear – though he hardly heard it – and told him, "I love this song! It's a remix of that one I played you the other day! 'Royals,' by Lorde, remember?"
Enjolras nodded automatically as she began dancing against him.
His expression must have been one of extreme discomfort with the situation, because when she caught sight of it she just laughed. "Come on, Enj!" she cried. "Dance with me!"
She spun back around, facing Clémence and Courfeyrac (who had been joined by Musichetta, dancing now with Bossuet), and pulled Enjolras' hands to her hips. She reached around and put her hands on his, forcing him to sway with the rhythm of the song. When he was moving, awkward as it was, she began grinding her hips against his own.
Enjolras only felt awkward for a brief moment or two, because suddenly she was sweeping through him with her steady, rhythmic waves like an electric current, setting him on fire and drowning him all at once.
He felt his fingers digging into her as he became more comfortable with their dancing, and was suddenly unsure of whether his heavy breathing was due to his increased heart rate or because she was so close to him and touching him the way she was.
The song faded into a more sensual one, and Eponine's arms were suddenly in the air, then they were reaching back and one latched into his curls while the other found its way to one of his hands. She was flush against him, leaning her head back so far that it was almost on his shoulder and pressing her forehead against his cheek.
She was sweaty against him, mixing hers with his own, but it only made him want her more. His hands were digging into her so hard he was beginning to wonder if he would soon feel his fingers through her. But he didn't care; instead, he planted a kiss on her shoulder and held her tighter, pulling her even closer, wondering if she could feel how much he wanted her as she writhed against his hips.
Eponine spun in his arms to face him; Enjolras was struck by how sultry her expression was, with her smoky eyes and parted lips.
She knew exactly what she was doing to him.
Her lips brushed his jaw and her nose touched his cheeks and he could feel her smile, only centimeters away from his lips, but when he opened them expectantly she was gone, no longer facing him, dropping to the floor, sending him such a buzz that he thought he might lose it right there.
Eponine lost her balance on the way back up, but her hands were still holding Enjolras' tight and he caught her before she tipped to the floor, pulling her back up and holding her steady.
Even though she had only been teasing him seconds before, her face was now entirely different. She looked tired and ill, like she was suddenly much too drunk to be moving like she was. She gestured wildly, drunkenly, toward the entrance to the bar. Enjolras understood, pulling her arm over his shoulder and slipping his own around her waist, helping her walk in those stupidly tall heels, practically carrying her outside. He caught Musichetta's eye on their way through the crowd, nodding towards the door and hoping that she understood that he was taking Eponine home.
There was a bench on the sidewalk, and he gently deposited her there.
Eponine inhaled deeply, the cold night air showing like smoke as she breathed.
"Stay here," Enjolras commanded. His ears were ringing in the sudden quiet, though he could hear the loud music mutedly emanating through the walls.
A few minutes later he returned with their coats and a cup of water for Eponine. Her head was lolled against the bench and she regarded him with tired eyes.
He sat next to her, pulling her forward to wrap her jacket around her shoulders and then handing her the red cup.
"I drank too much," she slurred.
"You did," he agreed. "But it's your birthday. I think we'll let it slide just this once," he replied patiently.
She gave him a big, goofy grin.
"You're a really good dancer," she whispered loudly, sidling closer to him on the bench. She smelled as though she had bathed in alcohol.
"Yes, well, I'm just naturally talented," he said patronizingly.
Eponine just giggled.
"Are you going to get sick?" he asked.
She took several deep breaths and sipped some more water.
"I don't think so," she told him.
"Well, sip your water, and when you're done we'll call a cab and go home."
She just nodded and sipped.
They were silent for several minutes, most of which Enjolras spent trying to get in touch with everyone to make absolute sure that someone would bring Grantaire home. Eponine suddenly reached out and gripped his knee. "Fuck, it's cold," she informed him, leaning in as though she were telling him a secret.
Her face changed again, and she was up a moment later, retching into a strategically placed trashcan that was no more than three feet from the bench.
Enjolras sighed, gathering her things from the bench and getting up to rub her back.
She got sick two more times, sipping water in between before expelling it again.
Enjolras was surprised that, firstly, it was nearly two in the morning, and secondly, that the majority of their friends had left hours ago. Indeed, the only ones that he was still aware of in the club were Courfeyrac and Clémence, Joly and Musichetta, and Grantaire. Even Bahorel, who had been quite the lady killer out on the dance floor, was gone (though Feuilly responded to a text saying that he was fairly sure Bahorel had left with a young lady a few hours before).
When Eponine was stable enough to make it home, Enjolras hailed a cab. By the time they stopped in front of the apartment, she was half passed out against him, and after pulling her out of the cab and realizing that she could hardly walk – especially not in those crazy heels – he swung her up into his arms and carried her into the building.
Azelma, Montparnasse, and Gavroche were still up watching a movie on TV when Enjolras stumbled through the door, and muttered a quick "goodnight" to them before taking Eponine to the bathroom, where he dutifully washed off her makeup with a washcloth and helped her brush her teeth and change and freshen up enough to get in bed.
She was asleep before he even laid her head on the pillow, and he was not far behind, winding his arm around her waist and planting a gentle kiss on her knobby spine at the base of her neck.
"Happy birthday, Ep," he murmured against her skin, before falling into blackness beside her.
Eponine was in awful shape the next day.
She had woken up entirely too early, wrenching herself out of Enjolras' embrace to run for the bathroom (she thought she had woken him up, but he must have gone back to sleep) and had spent the next hour sharing the toilet with Grantaire as they both brought up the remnants of the previous night.
Luckily for Eponine, however, she moved on from vomiting pretty quickly, as a good chunk of the alcohol had been expelled from her system outside of the club the previous night. She showered, leaving poor Grantaire hugging the bowl as she washed herself, willing away the pounding headache and dehydration and nausea.
She returned to Enjolras' room, after thoroughly brushing her teeth and washing away the night from her mouth, and after getting poor Grantaire a large glass of water. Enjolras was in bed, shirtless, of course, curled on his side and breathing slowly, deep in sleep. It was still rather early, and they had been out so late the night before, so she wasn't surprised that he hadn't woken up with her.
Despite the pounding headache, the dizziness and nausea, the achiness in her body – both from dehydration and from dancing – that made her want to just collapse in that spot and never move again, Eponine smiled. He looked so peaceful and so cute lying there, oblivious to her affectionate scrutiny.
She slid under the covers, sliding an arm around his middle and hooking one of her legs over his and pressing her lips to his back. Just as she was falling asleep again, warm and content and feeling less sick against him, she felt his fingers lace through hers.
Enjolras' stirring woke Eponine.
"Good morning," he rasped, voice still thick with sleep. He was rolled on his side, his head resting on his arm, smiling sleepily at her.
"Is it?" she groaned, smiling in spite of herself.
"Nope, definitely not anymore," he said, looking at the clock on his nightstand. "How hungover are you?"
Eponine shrugged. "Not too bad anymore. I was up at probably 6 this morning throwing up. Actually, I was throwing up with Grantaire. We shared the toilet. Our friendship has now reached that point. And then I showered and came back to bed and slept most of it off."
"That's good, I'm glad you're feeling better."
"Ugh, I'm never drinking again," she told him.
Enjolras just snorted. "New Year's Eve is the day after tomorrow," he informed her pointedly, quirking an eyebrow.
"Ugh, I'm never drinking again until the day after tomorrow," she amended. He laughed.
"Did you have fun last night?" he asked, rolling over onto his stomach and propping himself on his elbows.
"I did. Did you?"
"You know, I actually did. It wasn't really my thing, but you always make things fun, so I had a good time."
"Why? What was I doing? Probably making a fool out of myself, right?" Eponine asked with a smile.
"You don't remember?"
"No, everything is kind of fuzzy after that guy with the ridiculous mustache bought me that shot."
"You danced with me," he told her, suddenly a little embarrassed. "Like, sexy danced with me. I thought you were going to try to have sex with me on the dance floor."
Eponine covered her face with her hands, half laughing, half groaning.
"I liked it though," he teased, making her laugh more.
"I'm so sorry for being a sloppy mess!" she gasped.
"It was mostly fine, except you passed out before I could give you your birthday present," he told her with a smirk.
"My birthday present?" she asked coyly.
Enjolras leaned down, planting a slow, lazy kiss on her lips, which she eagerly accepted.
"Sorry about the morning breath," he murmured with a grin, keeping it on his face as he kissed her again. He could feel Eponine smiling against him.
Enjolras had just propped his arm on the other side of her shoulder, so that he was lying over her, when someone knocked at the door. He groaned, dropping his head to her chest with a frustrated smile. Eponine just sighed and giggled quietly.
"Hey – you two! Stop whatever it is you're doing in there, sleeping or fucking or whatever, we made Eponine an anti-hangover breakfast!" Courfeyrac shouted through door.
"Be right there!" Eponine called. She planted a quick kiss on Enjolras' mouth, then said, "I'm fucking starving."
She got out of bed and was standing checking her phone, her back to him. He followed her out and wrapped his arms around her from behind, kissing her shoulder.
"We'll pick this up later," he said with a grin. Eponine just snorted and opened the door, walking out of his embrace.
Poor Grantaire was seated at the kitchen table, a steaming mug of coffee and a plate of greasy eggs and bacon in front of him. But his head was in his hands and he very clearly hadn't touched a thing.
Eponine squeezed his shoulders as she walked by him. "How are you, sweetheart?" she asked.
"Worse than you, it would seem," he grumbled.
"Well, you drank more than me," she replied, piling a plate with eggs and bacon and pancakes. Courfeyrac, Azelma, and Gavroche had cooked all of this when they woke up.
Clémence was sitting next to Grantaire, her head resting on her arms.
"Morning, Cle," Enjolras said, walking into the kitchen. Eponine was slightly disappointed to see that he had found a shirt, and that he was wearing it.
"Did you have fun last night?" Gavroche asked his older sister.
"I did, kiddo," she said with a smile, kissing him on the cheek.
"And did you have fun, Enjolras?" he asked slyly, spinning around on his stool.
"Oh, they had a fantastic time," Courfeyrac replied, jumping in before Enjolras could. "Eponine taught Enjolras how to dance." He said it as suggestively as he could.
"Yes, but I have to say the best part of all of it was when I held her hair back as she vomited into the trashcan outside," Enjolras cut in sarcastically.
"Standing right here," Eponine snapped. Then, "Wait, I did what?"
"Don't worry, Ep, I definitely followed up that performance with some digestive pyrotechnics of my own," Clémence said, her voice hoarse.
"Yikes."
"Why aren't you hungover?" Clémence asked bitterly.
"Oh, I am, I was up with Grantaire this morning. We took turns throwing up into the toilet."
"Ok, can we not with this conversation? We're all about to eat, guys," Azelma said exasperatedly, shaking a spatula at them.
Courfeyrac smirked. "Girls are gross, right kid?" he asked Gavroche, nudging the teen with his elbow.
Azelma and Montparnasse were still staying with them, so Eponine slept in Enjolras' room again that night. They disappeared into his room fairly early on into the night, and they did not emerge until the next morning.
She fell asleep quickly, tired from the previous night and the restless sleep and the hangover and her extremely recent exertions. They had all done a whole lot of nothing for the entire day, recovering from the previous night with movies and food.
Enjolras was just coming out of his midterms in his final semester of law school, and had been working harder than Eponine had ever seen before.
However, she was working twice as hard as she had been previously as well, given that she had started up classes in January, and was now balancing a few classes a week with her waitressing job. She had finally been able to start working down at the Musain; it was convenient, decent money, and she got to see a lot more of her friends.
But Enjolras had been more stressed than Eponine during midterms, partially because it was in his personality to be anxious and partially because he was getting a law degree.
She did her best to help him, but even her help only went so far.
When his awful week was over, a large group of them went out to a bar to celebrate.
But before too long, Enjolras' hand was on the small of Eponine's back, their knees were brushing, and their hands, and her hand was on his thigh, and suddenly they were back at the apartment, in her bed in a tangle of limbs and sheets.
Eponine was only moments away from releasing when Enjolras' passionate hissing in her ear as he came close himself caused her to freeze with shock.
In between whispering and moaning her name, he had unmistakably murmured, "I love you."
He seemed to think that she had stopped writhing beneath because she had had her moment, and she cursed her biology as only seconds later she did come apart beneath him.
Enjolras collapsed on top of her, smiling that stupid, adorable grin of his that he always had after finishing, and propped himself up on his elbows on either side of her shoulders. He tenderly stroked her hair as his clear blue eyes swept over her face.
Eponine's heart had not slowed, and there was only rising panic instead of calm exhaustion.
No.
He couldn't love her; he wasn't supposed to love her.
But isn't this what Clémence had insisted? That he had been in love with her for months?
When he bent down to lazily kiss her mouth, she couldn't help turning away. His lips brushed her jaw instead.
"Everything ok, Ep?" he asked, concerned.
Trying to keep the hysteria out of her voice, she quietly inquired, "Do you know what you just said to me?"
He was silent for a moment, trying to remember. "Um… No?"
She couldn't look at him. "You told me you loved me." Her voice was barely above a whisper.
He seemed to be struggling to find an answer. She waited patiently, still staring at the wall instead of at him, willing herself not to cry.
"Oh," was the soft reply. Then, "Eponine, it was only in the heat of the moment."
She turned to him, keeping her face as emotionless and stony as possible. "Was it?" she asked doubtfully.
Enjolras stared at her for a long, long moment, his eyes appraising and intense, but otherwise unreadable. She almost thought he was not going to reply, but he finally whispered, in a voice that was nearly inaudible, "No."
He rolled off her, pulling on his boxers as Eponine sat up. "You weren't supposed to fall in love with me," she told him sadly.
He just scoffed. "Well what the hell did you think would happen, Eponine?" he asked, voice tight with hurt and anger.
She said nothing.
"You knew I had feelings for you, and you've been fine with it," he reminded her.
"Feelings, Enj. Not love."
"Oh, please. You have to have known. How could you not? I have given you everything, Eponine. Everything that I am. You are the only woman I've ever noticed, ever thought of, ever wanted. You are what I work for every day, the first person I think about in the morning and the last before I go to sleep. I want to give you everything you want. Eponine, I want to be with you." There was a quiet desperation in his voice; that of a man who had been treading water less and less successfully, falling farther under as the waves rose to embrace him and then released him coldly, as she herself was wont to do, first holding him close and pushing him away when he began brushing at the depths where the monsters slept. Perhaps instead of bouncing him around through the sometimes-stormy, sometimes-calm seas that were her moods, she was trying to save him.
"You know how I feel about PDA," she joked weakly, unsure of how to respond to his declaration.
"Don't do that," he ordered. "Don't throw up your defenses and hide behind your jokes. God, Eponine, when are you going to grow up and let yourself feel something for a change? I'm not going to hurt you. And – and I want to help you when you need it, I want you to rely on me so you don't have to be strong all on your own."
Again, she just stayed silent, staring at him with wide eyes and parted lips. Her heart was pounding in her chest.
"What are you so afraid of? Love doesn't have to be a scary thing."
"I'm not afraid of anything," she insisted fiercely.
"You're such a liar," he told her helplessly. "You're afraid that I'm going to turn you into someone you're not, that I'm – I'm going to throw you in a cage, try to tame you. Are you really so willfully blind? That's the last thing I could ever do, even if I wanted to."
Eponine just shook her head. Enjolras took her hands.
"Ep, I couldn't contain you any more than a tidal pool could contain the ocean." He was sitting in front of her now, his hands sliding from hers to rub her upper arms lightly, his face close to hers. That smirk she absolutely loved was plastered on his stupid, angelic face.
What could possibly be amusing about this situation?
She looked into his eyes. "Enj–."
"Eponine, be with me. Be my girlfriend. We're there, already. We do everything together, we sleep together every night, we're basically already dating. Please, just let me love you," he pleaded.
Before she could stop herself, Eponine heard an automatic, "No," escape from her lips. It was barely audible, but Enjolras heard it well enough.
His hands dropped from her arms, and he sat back, looking extremely hurt.
"Enjolras, you're my best friend, and I love you dearly but –."
But he held up a hand, stopping her words as they tumbled from her mouth. Without a sound he hurriedly dressed himself and went to the door.
The look of utter pain and heartbreak on his face when he turned to look at her was enough to break Eponine's own heart.
"When are you going to let yourself feel, Eponine?" he asked, his voice choked and small.
And then he was gone.
Eponine sat in shock for a moment. And then the tears began.
By the next afternoon, it seemed their entire friend group had discovered what had happened. So, rather unwilling to face anyone, Eponine just stayed in her room the whole day and sulked. She imagined Enjolras was doing the same.
Ok, maybe she wasn't completely shocked that he had fallen in love with her. It certainly wasn't completely out of the blue, especially after he had revealed that he had feelings for her.
But why did he have to ask anything of her? She had nothing to give. Certainly not to the likes of him; her shriveled little heart had been consumed by the demons that lurked in the darkest corners of her mind, the places that made her feel so alone, so utterly sad, so broken, even when she was clasped tight in Enjolras' embrace.
How could she give all that to him, dump it all on him? He was whole; why should it be left to him to pick up the pieces of a partial soul, floating about, trying desperately to stay afloat but so frequently slipping below the surface?
But.
Enjolras had become a beam of light in her life, brightening all but her very darkest moments with his stoicism and his wit and kindness. He was beyond supportive of everything she did, offering his help when applicable, but rarely being overbearing. He had discovered things about her that she herself had surely forgotten, and he had learned to take care of her. And in doing so, he had drowned in her.
All he wanted in return was her heart.
But she didn't know how to love, and Eponine was fairly convinced that she was incapable. It was a love that ran deeper than friendship or family. That kind of love was pure, it was warmth and safety and unconditional.
But the kind of love that Enjolras was offering, that he was asking for in return? It was fire; a blazing inferno, sparking everything within reach, consuming every bit until there was nothing left.
Love was fire, he was fire, and Eponine was water; she could only snuff it out, only kill it, leaving nothing but sad gray smoke behind. She was the moon, she was Artemis, controlling the tides and only existing in darkness. And Enjolras, that golden Apollo, that boy with so much fire and so much passion and so much love, he was the sun. He was capable and she was not; she could only reflect his light, but never produce her own.
The next few weeks crawled by slowly. Things were perpetually awkward around their friends, especially when Eponine and Enjolras were together. Eponine had largely holed herself up because of it, much more willing to face her own demons than to face her friends.
Or at least, that's what she told herself.
In actuality, when she was so alone that she could think of nothing else, it was he that was on her mind.
Unlike last time they hadn't been on speaking terms, he was hardly giving her the cold shoulder. No, she frequently caught him just staring at her, the same pained, heart wrenching expression on his face.
Sometimes she would turn around in the kitchen, and feel his eyes on her, or he would stand close enough that she could feel the static between her arm and his.
As if she needed reminding of their situation.
One particular day, she had been talked into going down to the Musain – even though it was her day off – for dinner.
Everyone was there, even Gavroche.
After they had finished eating and were finishing their drinks, Enjolras stood up.
Eponine's heart caught in her throat. Oh no.
"I have an announcement, everyone," he said.
The group quieted, looking at him expectantly.
"I've been offered a job." He might as well have been reading off the weather.
Everyone, including Eponine, erupted into enthusiastic applause, shouting their congratulations.
He held up his hand to silence them.
"It's not quite what I want to be doing, but it's better money than what I'll get if I accept a position at my current firm, or one of the others that have been offered to me. The bad news, however, is that it's halfway across the country."
There were audible gasps and chattering. Eponine felt dread build up inside her, though she could hardly say why. Enjolras loved this city; it was his home, his entire life. He had always wanted to stay here, as long as she had known him. And to throw away his ideals and dreams for a higher salary? Sure, it might not be a permanent thing – just a way to save some money and get some experience, perhaps – but it just so wasn't Enjolras.
"I've done a phone- and Skype interview. I have until the week after graduation to accept the position. If I do, I'll move out there, take the bar out there, and be there for at least the next five years or so."
A stunned silence followed his words.
Finally, Combeferre asked, "What are you going to do?"
Enjolras turned to Eponine, looking her squarely, challengingly, in the eyes, his blue ones seeming to spark with a fire she did not recognize. Everyone followed his gaze.
Then he announced, in a strong, even voice, "That's entirely up to Eponine."
Merci à tous!