A/N: So incredibly sorry for the long wait on this one! I promise I have not been putting it off for a reason, but I had finals last week and have been going-going-going ever since! Hopefully the wait will not be as long for the next chapter, hehe :-)
A special thanks to ChasingYou, your comments really pushed me to get this chapter out. Much love to everyone who leaves a comment, though! You guys are my inspiration half of the time, haha.
I haven't had the chance to look this chapter over for errors, so later it may get edited a little. But I hope you guys like this chapter, it certainly did my heart good to write some joy in these character's lives. Next chapter, we find out the truth of Enjolras' backstory. Also, as another little aside, if you could, listen to "Gold" from the soundtrack of Once as you read this. It inspired the title - such a beautiful song! Anyway, enjoy and let me know what you think!
CHAPTER FIFTEEN | GOLD
Éponine's eyes were wide as Enjolras parked the car at the side of the street, nabbing one of the last unclaimed parking places in the same general vicinity as the Champs-Elysées. The roads and side streets were crowded, and everywhere she turned to look, she was met with another new face.
"I don't get it," she said, sliding out of the car and shutting the door behind her. "Out of all of Paris, all of the places we could have gone, and you come here?"
"Apparently it's the place to be," Enjolras said a little sarcastically, though reflected briefly on Dupont's suggestion for New Year's Eve plans. "Not that I need to justify myself or my decisions to you, seeing as how you're the one who agreed to tag along."
He met her at her side and they began walking down the sidewalk. When she couldn't come up with a good enough of an argument, she scoffed. "Well, it's too crowded."
He fought the urge to smirk. "I know."
As they walked down the street, it seemed a strange magnetism was in the air. It was between them and in front of them; like mosquitoes to a bright light, they were compelled to follow the crowd and head toward the epicenter of commotion all the way at the end of the avenue which stretched on for more than a mile.
People eagerly pushed past them, too hurried to find the time for excuse-me's. It was starting to annoy Enjolras, particularly how people would shove between the openness between he and Éponine due to their distance. By the time the fourth couple pushed between them, his furrowed brow had become more of an etching as he raised a hand.
"Hey, watch where you're going!" he shouted.
One boy turned back around, his face smudged with something like soot and a green cap perched on his head. He tipped it to Enjolras once before jogging off, weaving through the thickening crowd and disappearing.
Enjolras' hand twitched once as a thought entered his mind, but it took him a moment to act on it. His hand grabbed hers and, though at first came off as forceful, eased soon into woven fingers and palms pressed up against one another.
Though at first startled, Éponine didn't pull away. Something inside her fluttered.
"Are you hungry?" he asked off-handedly, though his eyes were focused on the crowd rather than on her.
Her stomach growled, to which she pressed her free hand. It was a feeling she had grown accustomed to and learned to ignore, even as she would sit alone in her room at night, tracing her xylophone ribcage with her fingertips.
"You aren't going to buy me anything," she said sternly, avoiding the point.
"You don't get to choose," he barked back at her, still fuming from the inconsiderate people bustling at the avenue.
Éponine blinked her eyes open widely in disbelief. His words came sharp, yet smooth – both at once. A tremor of something caught her attention most of all, silencing any rebuttal she had been ready to fire back; it was the sound of that old Enjolras, one she never knew but could sense was hiding somewhere, waiting to leap out. It was something prideful and strong, like a lion.
She didn't speak, and instead pointed to the café just a block down the road. It was pouring with people, and though Enjolras nearly protested due to how busy it was, he stopped himself before sounding hypocritical. Every aspect of the Champs-Elysées on New Year's Eve was busy – what was he expecting?
So he let the girl lead the way into the small, dimly-lit café where they waited fifteen minutes in line just to get a bite and couple drinks. Despite her pride, Éponine insisted they each have a glass of wine with their biscuits, rather than the coffee Enjolras had been eagerly anticipating.
Once again, when he thought of protesting her, Enjolras thought better of it, and he wasn't sure why.
They found two seats at a small table in the back, near the window while still cloaked beneath a hazy shadow. It was better that way.
As soon as they sat down, Éponine began making work of her biscuit. Enjolras quietly watched her as she scarfed it down in record time. When she was done, he didn't think twice before pushing his toward her, which he could tell she nearly refused but was too hungry to object to. She ate his as well, and as soon as she finished, the hungry look in her eyes was gone – the look that was almost animalistic, replaced by a new one that still seemed skittish but was a bit more subdued. Something inside her had been quelled.
The girl shifted in her seat beneath his gaze, which was making her uncomfortable. He quickly averted his eyes.
"So, you spend New Year's alone, too?" Éponine asked.
He shrugged, sensing a twinge of judgement in her tone. "I like to spend most of my time alone."
"So why did you suddenly change your mind?" she quipped. "You would have been alone, too, if I hadn't come along when I did. Got an invitation out of being somewhere at the right place, right time, I suppose."
Enjolras was quiet a moment, taking a gulp of wine before setting it down on the table a little forcefully. His eyes turned upward to meet hers and the intensity of them sent a shiver down her spine. "You didn't just 'come along,'" he said. "I drove to Clamart. To find you."
The room was loud, but somehow seemed silent as the air shifted between them.
Something in his stomach felt heavy, like words waiting to be spoken fighting to stay down. He suddenly didn't want to say anything at all, and wished he hadn't in the first place.
"I wanted to spend New Year's with you," he managed, though quickly added, "but that doesn't really mean anything, so don't go reading into it."
"I won't," Éponine said quickly, then smiled. She took another sip of wine.
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A few glasses of wine later – and by few, meaning four – Enjolras and Éponine made their way out into the street with liquor on their breath and a warmth filling their bellies. His hand found hers again, though whether it was to avoid pushy people or for another reason entirely, neither of them were sure. The togetherness was easy though, so they didn't question it.
Their brains were lightly buzzed as they headed down the avenue, the thin brunette laughed loudly. Her throat sounded raw, and to add infliction, she pulled out a cigarette and lit it in her mouth. The smell of it hit Enjolras' nostrils, and though he did not smoke, its scent on the girl seemed somehow endearing.
"These tourists," Éponine sighed wistfully. "They don't know how good they got it. France can be a whole lot darker than these sights, right here."
Enjolras nodded, watching ahead as people posed before a fountain in the square. Their smiles held not an ounce of worry.
"Did you know they used to call this the 'Place de la Révolution'?" Enjolras mused aloud. When Éponine said nothing, he went on. "In the late 1700s – the French Revolution, during the lower-class oppression and the urge to overthrow the state – the people renamed the Champs-Elysées and gave it that title."
"Wasn't aware," she shrugged. "History really isn't my forte. Certainly wasn't my strongest subject in school."
The man's eyes were lit up now; as they walked, he spewed little-known facts about the history of anything they came across, and it was in these little moments that Éponine saw through him. The veil that seemed to constantly cloak him lifted, and she saw beneath the many fronts he put on. No more hiding, no more disguises, just passion and a real love for something. No matter how long he hid behind careful pleasantries, or how angry he could sometimes be (though she recognized her temper was often more fiery than his) he was still just a man.
Nothing more than that.
"Want me to try and hunt down someone else to take our picture?" Éponine asked smugly, to which he gave her a shove. She laughed again, her smoky breath rising in the air. "Alright, alright, I won't do it again. But someday you're going to wish you had pictures of these times."
"I don't need pictures. The memories are all up here." He tapped his temple twice.
"They will fade," she sighed. "I know many of mine have."
Enjolras was quiet a moment before speaking. "I wish I could say the same."
Éponine's eyes flickered on him. Something was not right. That uneasy feeling she got when he made mention of the past, or when she could tell he was thinking about some grave was suddenly choking her, and though she had every intention of asking what he was so afraid to remember, she couldn't. A strangled breath blew from her lips. She flicked the cigarette butt on the cobblestone ground and tried to clear her thoughts... but this was no easy task.
"Forty minutes to New Year's," she heard a man's loud voice boom nearby.
The girl looked openly up at Enjolras now, and he looked back down at her. "Who would have thought I'd be here with you," she whistled. "I didn't even know who you were until a few days ago."
"It's been more like two weeks," he corrected her gently.
"Yeah, whatever. You barged into my life a little unexpectedly, was all."
"I didn't barge anywhere, Mademoiselle. I was there on business and you happened to cross my path."
Éponine smirked. "Like I said, 'barged.'"
Ignoring her, he went on. "You were singing and it caught my attention. That was all."
Suddenly, her eyes went a little wide. "You never said anything about that before." Her voice was barely audible above the loud ruckus around them. "I was singing, and you heard me, and I was a complete and total bitch to you, and you were arrogant..." She trailed off, forgetting her place for a moment, but when she refocused, her words were more pointed. "But the only reason you wanted to ask me for an interview was because I was singing?"
Enjolras shrugged, not looking at her. "You stood out," he said simply.
"No one ever says that about me."
He paused for a moment before giving her hand a little squeeze; her gaze, which had been intently on his face, faltered, and she found his hand instead. Disbelief surged through her.
The words left his mouth before he could stop them.
"You're more than people say you are."
Éponine, ever the wanderer, ever the girl from the slums with the ratty hair and the smokes and the empty feeling in her chest, suddenly felt so full of something – a feeling she couldn't place. A grin spread across her face, but not the goofy kind that comes from jokes an laughter. This was a different kind of grin, which was neither sweet nor soft, but proud.
Yes, suddenly – with Enjolras' hand clutching hers and midnight's edge growing ever-closer – she felt proud to be herself.
And she hadn't felt that way in a long, long time.
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They wandered the streets until they came to a stop, past the bustling streets flocked by tourists and the agitated people in a hurry to be someplace. They found themselves on the other side of the Champs-Elysées full of trees and careful sidewalks lining either side of the road. Cars were at a standstill, but as the couple looked inside the cars, no one seemed to be unhappy; despite not being where they needed to be as the minutes ticked away to midnight, they appeared content to be exactly where they were.
"1968," Éponine thought aloud. "Hope this one's better than the last."
"Agreed."
She sniffed. "But, you know, even if it is as bad as the last – as I feel as though most of it will be the same – I think I might be ready for it."
"And why is that?" Enjolras asked.
"I'm not going to say it – it's cheesy."
Enjolras smirked. "Perhaps it is better unsaid then."
"Perhaps."
Suddenly, a loud chorus began to fill the night – a chant, off in the distance that somehow seemed so near. As soon as the sound hit her ears, Éponine began to chime in as well.
She paused between each call to nudge the man beside her with her elbow. "You better do it too."
"Why?"
"Because it isn't New Year's unless you do," she said matter-of-factly, then went back to the counting. "Douze, onze, dix..."
Enjolras watched her for only a moment longer before caving. The way she seemed so entranced in the world around her, controlled by it yet somehow controlling it, gave him a feeling that went on and on – resounding, perpetual, and constant.
"Neuf, huit, sept..." they said together.
Éponine smiled brighter than the stars in that same pinhole sky Enjolras used to hate, the one that he would lie awake in because of how hard it was to forget – that he sometimes still hated. But tonight, if only for tonight, he could set the visions of gunfire and anguish and death aside, and hold the hand of this girl who he was finally beginning to know. Even if she didn't always make sense, it didn't matter, because neither did he.
"Six, cinq, quatre..."
Her whole body tensed; he could feel it beneath his grip. Enjolras straightened, waiting with moving lips, saying the words that everyone else in Paris was saying at that very moment.
"Trois, deux, un..."
And then, there was continuum; forever in a moment, these two wandering souls found something they could both hold on to, something that could belong to them that they didn't have to chase after.
Then came an eruption of hollering and joy and everything good. Enjolras looked down at Éponine whose eyes squinted from her laughter, and he couldn't help but do the same. His teeth showed, little white rivets against a pair of pink lips.
She had never seen him smile so wide.
"Would you like one?" Éponine asked, though she had to shout to be heard.
"What?" he shouted back, leaning downward to catch her voice better.
She shook her head. "I said, 'would you like one?'"
Enjolras felt stupid, causing his brow to furrow as an agitation kicked in. His smile faded. "Would I like one of what?"
"Of these," she replied – and as she raised herself on tiptoes, she pecked the man once on the side of his mouth, halfway between his cheek and the center of his lips caused by a stumble. Éponine lost her balance, and despite his complete confusion, Enjolras managed to collect his thoughts well enough to stop her from completely toppling into his chest.
His hands were on her shoulders, steadying her from falling again, and with his face so close to hers, that surge of joy ran through her again. Something inside her faltered when she saw his smile return.
Enjolras' eyes - usually marble - were alight with a wonderstruck confusion and his smile returned. The resolve he usually held against any sort of momentary joy melted away, and upon thinking on this a moment, he realized that when he looked at her, he didn't much care.
"Bonne année, Éponine," was all he said before straightening again and starting to walk back in the direction they had come from.
She bit her lower lip to stop her smile from spreading, and before he could get too far, she sped forward and caught his arm in hers, linking them both as they walked together down the sidewalk.
"Bonne année, Enjolras."
And although everything seemed real, Éponine caught herself wishing it didn't – for her own sake.