Sorry it's been so long since my last update! I really appreciate the positive feedback I have received on this, you guys are the nicest group of people ever. :')

CHAPTER SIX | STRUCK TO THE BONE

Éponine had dolled herself up to the best of her abilities that day. She snuck a shower as soon as she got home, making sure to keep it short to save money on their water bill. Even her clothes got a change; the striped, collared shirt was swapped for a burgundy turtleneck, while her pants got swapped for a brown pair of trousers (which were just a hair too long, but looked a thousand times better than her trusted-yet-tattered pair of bluejeans).

She left her day's wages on the counter near the refrigerator before heading out the door to meet Marius in Vanves. Of course, he had offered to pick her up, but she didn't want to cause Marius any distress at the sight of her living place. She would never invite the unwarranted pity into her life by him, as it would make her feel even worse about the state of their apartment.

It took her a while of walking, but she knew the streets well. When she finally showed up at that familiar door to Marius' residence, she caught her breath – just as she always did – then went to knock.

The door burst open as soon as her knuckles hit the door. There stood Marius, beaming, dressed handsomely with a nice suit coat and casual pants.

"You sure look nice, 'Ponine," he said, and added with an air of sarcasm, "What's the occasion?"

She scoffed. "Monsieur, you flatter yourself." Still, she was very aware of her appearance tonight, as if she finally had a reason to get all dressed up: Marius had asked her out on a date.

Not that he had called it a date, but she figured she could read between the lines well enough to know.

Marius grabbed his wallet off the table near the door, shoving it deep down into his pocket, then plucked his jacket off the coat rack. As the two took their leave, heading down the stairs side-by-side, he nudged with his elbow.

He didn't have to say anything; Éponine already knew. And she was beaming.

Finally.

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"Finally," Enjolras muttered, handing over a few bills to the cashier as he took the large cup of coffee from her. She eyed him fiercely – perhaps because he had been so intimidatingly impatient with her, but also because it was hard for any woman to deny how handsome he was. Not that he was aware of this from behind his glasses, or his marble expression, or the turtlenecks and tweed jackets and façades.

He took a long sip before heading out into the chilly winter air. Christmas was so close he could almost taste it, although he didn't have much time to spend enjoying the holidays. He was constantly at work since being promoted, sometimes heading down to the office at all hours of the night just to finish up writing a column or placing advertisements (a tasking job that still seemed to fall on his shoulders despite his new, meaningful position).

Christmas carolers were trolling about the town, which he pushed past with an air of hostility. Some of them turned back to glance at him, the boy on a mission with a destination in clear sight – to only him. He crossed the streets with his head held high, the coffee clutched in his grip, and a heavy leather book bag slung over his shoulders.

It was nearly eight o'clock and Pere Lachaise closed its gates before long.

His strides were long and his movements well-planned, like he could see his path before walking it to avoid complications with strangers trying to walk.

Enjolras saw the entrance looming in the distance. As he neared it, the sign atop the cement pillars seemed to glare down at him, a feeling he hadn't felt in a long while.

A feeling he seemed to have been running from.

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For the first time around Marius, Éponine was quiet. She sat in silence, listening to whatever it was he was going off about. She wasn't much listening, but was instead sipping on her latte and watching the movement of his lips. Sometimes her eyes would flicker up to meet his, but then she would move back to his lips, then to his frazzled hair, the movement of his neck when he spoke, his poorly-tied necktie, the crinkles around his face when he smiled, and then his laughter. It was loud and rang through the café like a hollow bell.

"So, 'Ponine," Marius started again pointedly, refocusing her back to the conversation, "did you have anything planned after this?"

She laughed. "Thought we were just going through the motions of a typical Monday night, Monsieur. Beers at your place before making fools of ourselves on the balcony – the neighbors calling the cops – falling asleep on your couch?"

"Thought you'd say that." He grinned, standing up from the table before scooting his chair in. "I had something different in mind though."

Her eyebrows raised. "Oh? And what would that be, may I ask?" She stood and pushed her chair in, leaving the half-drunken latte on the table before taking Marius' arm and following him out of the shop.

"You'll like it," he said finally. "Been planning it a while, really."

She couldn't help it when her face flushed pink. Were they actually discussing what she thought they were discussing? Her stomach was doing flips like she was some sort of little schoolgirl, and for a block or two, she forgot about everything else but being there with Marius, out at night with their faces all aglow from the Christmas lights twinkling around the city.

But it was when they crossed the Rue Jean Bleuzen, Éponine felt the air change. Perhaps it was that the wind was blocked by the tall, pointed steeples pinned all along the street, but something suddenly didn't feel right. She gripped Marius' arm a little tighter. He didn't notice.

"Monsieur Marius," Éponine started, but stopped suddenly when she noticed the look on his face. His eyes had gone wide, shoulders stiff, utterly stricken – but by what, she couldn't tell.

This is wrong, she thought to herself. Something here is very wrong.

"Do you see?" he asked in a hushed tone.

Pontmercy's feet were stuck, frozen in place like his knees had locked up. Without a word, Éponine slowly followed his gaze to whatever it was he had become transfixed on, somehow already knowing that she didn't want to know.

But she looked anyway.

And her chest fell.

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One. Two. Three. Four.

The headstones were lined up, all identical and gravelly and old. Most of them were, at least; the ones that weren't only popped up once every so often, because this part of the cemetery was mostly for those who lived during 18th and 19th centuries.

They had been old souls, though. Enjolras felt himself growing more and more saddened and guilty and insignificant with each step he took toward the stone he'd seen too many times in his dreams at night. Five. Six. Seven. Eight.

Nine.

Enjolras stopped, his boots crunching in the hard, frozen snow that had not been touched since the snowfall. One deep breath.

"Edmont Grantaire," he whispered. Before he could help himself, he was kneeling. A sudden rush of emotions made its way through him and he felt his eyes stinging. He pinched them shut tightly – not after all of these years, God, please, no more tears – and took a deep breath as he tilted his head upward. Eyes opened, and the pinhole night sky glowed back at him. It was very sad, but it was also very peaceful.

When he looked back at the tombstone, he remembered the time when its finality struck him. It was a few Christmastimes ago, but a few times after the riots. It was the in-between time that made him feel like he was never going to drown, trapped somewhere between sinking and floating, struggling without any air in his lungs in the deep, dark water.

He sat back and tucked one knee under his arm, while his other hand which still held the coffee cup rested on the ground beside him, propping him up.

"You know," Enjolras started, "if you'd have been here right now, you might've knocked this coffee right out of my hand... and told me that I needed something better to drink than this shitty joe from an equally shitty café." He took another sip, just to be sure it was as gritty as he remembered. It was. "Well, it's certainly no Musain."

Enjolras had been avoiding the cemetery a little more often than usual lately, mostly because it was just another part of himself that needed to be let go – but if no one else was remembering them, who was? Life had been looking up though, and sometimes, forgetting seemed to be easier than keeping them all alive inside his head.

He sighed. Sometimes it felt foolish talking to a slab of carved rock.

"You would've been 25 today," he said finally. And that was all – no more words, no more empty memories spoken alone...

Just a statement that hung in the air like a thick, poisoned cloud.

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Standing before Éponine was a girl. She had a beret, bright red lips that were visible even from where she and Marius stood a half a block away. The girl wore a brown wool coat with gold buttons with little camel boots on her small feet. There was something very sweet about her – perhaps it was the big, doe eyes with long eyelashes to match, or perhaps it was the way her mouth was parted, blowing warm breaths into the chilly nighttime air as she tried hopelessly to hail a cab.

Marius was frozen in place.

"Oh, I don't believe this," Éponine muttered to herself. "Come on Marius, let's go back home." She tried to take his arm again, to pull him in the opposite direction and avert this entire situation altogether.

But she should have known not to behave so foolishly.

"Stop, 'Ponine, wait," Marius said immediately, slipping his arm from hers and starting back in the opposite direction. She looked back at him with narrow eyes full of confusion disbelief.

"Do you know her?" he asked excitedly.

"Of course," Éponine threw back at him, "because I know every bourgeoise girl in France – especially two-a-penny ones like that."

"She's..." Marius trailed off, glancing back over his shoulder. A stupid grin had planted itself unmovingly on his lips. Éponine could see the wheels in his mind turning already; something about him had changed so suddenly that she hardly had time to react. Just two blocks ago – two minutes ago – felt like a lifetime ago.

The girl calling the cab suddenly stopped, looking around all gooey-eyed and helpless. Then, as if by some trick of fate, she just so happened to look Marius' way.

And that was it – it was all over but the crying, which Éponine wasn't prepared for tonight. Not on this night, one that was supposed to be so fun and carefree and finally a proper chance to prove to him that she could clean up and be flirty and pretty, too. But her chances were now out the window; in just one glance, she knew that things were altogether different and were never going to switch back. Like a lightbulb suddenly illuminating a dark room, Éponine now saw what was never there before – something he had never had before with her.

"She needs help calling a taxi," Marius said quickly, his smile big and bright and gleaming. "I'm going to go over and help, alright? Stay right here."

"Woof," she said simply, as does a faithful dog waiting for its master to return. With that, Marius was off in the direction of the girl in the black beret and red lips and little brown boots. She was too pretty, Éponine thought spitefully; it was unfair to try and compete with that kind of beauty.

Life's not fair, 'Ponine, she thought, trying to somehow rationalize how painfully her chest ached. You can't just expect boys like that to love you that way, and the sooner you realize it, the better. For a second, she almost believed herself; she almost had herself convinced that she was being unreasonable here, that Marius was never hers to keep, and that it was unrealistic for her to think she might have had a chance with him.

But then she remembered how selfish she could be – and she became unabashedly tempestuous.

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Enjolras and Éponine each went back to their respectful homes that night, alone, both of them longing for something what was out of reach - close enough to taste, but too far away to find themselves happy.

They both got very drunk on their own, wandering the halls of their homes with emptiness antagonizing their swollen bellies while eating away at their cores. The liquor made them numb, at least for the night. When they awoke in the morning, things were worse than they had been the night before.

But they would endure.

They were good at that, at least.