15

They walked in silence at first. Éponine had become quite used to silence when she was by herself, but things were rarely quiet when left alone with Gavroche or Courfeyrac or Jehan, and her walks with Combeferre were usually filled with conversation.

So to have company for once, and not speaking, felt unusual and more than a little awkward for Éponine. Enjolras, for his part, didn't seem to mind; he kept his eyes firmly fixed ahead of them and there was no expression on his face that would suggest he felt uncomfortable walking by her side.

Despite this, Éponine felt her mouth moving before she could stop it. "So, how are you, monsieur?" she asked.

His head twitched, almost as if his first reaction had been to look at her as he replied. But his head never turned completely.

"I'm fine," he said, voice a little crisp and more than a little wary. "Yourself?"

"Bored," she replied. "Very bored. There's not much to do here, is there?"

"There is if you're artistic," Enjolras said. "I have noticed that art in most of its forms is quite popular here."

She shrugged. "I like the library."

"I've been in there a couple of times," he said. "I'm not thrilled by their selection."

"Because it is unfamiliar or mostly fiction?" She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear.

"Both."

"Well, I enjoy it," she said, with another shrug. She gestured to the book in her hands. "I'm returning this, actually."

His eyes slid towards the book for the briefest of seconds. "What sort of book is that?"

"A mystery novel," Éponine smiled. "They're very entertaining. They're about this woman detective named Élodie…"

Enjolras cleared his throat. "Combeferre and yourself have been spending a lot of time together," he said slowly. "He spends a lot of time in the library these days, doesn't he?"

"He's working his way through the works of Clémence Lefebvre," Éponine said, "And she's written quite a lot, so yes, he does."

"And he spends more and more time with that Guardian," Enjolras muttered, under his breath. Éponine wasn't entirely sure he was aware she'd heard that comment.

"Is there an issue with this, monsieur?" she said, keeping her tone mild.

In the first proper sign of agitation she'd seen from the man since he'd died, Enjolras raked his hand through his blond curls. "Not really," he said tightly.

Éponine raised her eyebrows. "Are you sure about that?" She ran her thumb down the spine of the book and waited for him to answer her.

After a few minutes, it was clear that Enjolras had no intention of replying and had returned to just staring ahead with very little expression on his handsome face.

"Monsieur," Éponine prompted. "Enjolras."

His head twitched again but this time he turned to look at her. Still not quite in the eye, she thought to herself, but it was better than nothing.

"It's rude to ignore someone's question," Éponine said.

A wince passed over Enjolras' face. "My apologies, mademoiselle," he said. "I was thinking…"

Éponine felt unimpressed, but then he was actually talking.

"It's just – I don't understand how they can all move on so fast," he burst out, all of a sudden. "We're dead and they're all having the time of their lives. Do you know more than half of them barely leave the cafés and bars around here? They're getting drunk every evening – I swear, Courfeyrac is becoming worse than Grantaire ever was – and they're in the beds of different women every night. It's worse than when they were alive!"

Once he had finished speaking, Éponine noticed he looked a little embarrassed by his outburst and there was a flush over his cheeks.

"Just because you're not interested in those activities yourself, monsieur, doesn't make them wrong," Éponine said quietly. "The thing is, they're enjoying themselves. Have you ever wondered if they're just taking advantage of the fact they don't have to do anything here?"

"It's not very productive," he sniffed in response.

"Neither is aimlessly wandering the streets alone, but that hasn't stopped you," Éponine said sharply. "Maybe the drinking is their coping mechanism, just as yours seems to be burying your head in the sand."

Anger flashed in Enjolras' eyes. "Now who is being rude?"

"I'm not being rude, monsieur, I'm being honest." They had reached the library, and stopped at the foot of the steps. "I think you're being a little unfair on your friends. Everyone reacts to things differently. If you don't enjoy it here – if you're struggling to move on, as you put it – that is your problem. Isn't it a good thing if they feel happy, monsieur?"

His eyes narrowed and focused in on some spot above her head. The urge to kick him was strong.

"I am not irritated by their happiness," he said.

No, she thought to herself. You're irritated because they don't feel the same as you. But she didn't think expressing that thought out loud would please him, so instead she shrugged.

"I'm going to return this book now, monsieur," she said. "Au revoir."

She was about fifteen minutes in the library. She hadn't intended on getting another book out, but one of the girls who worked there recommended a lengthy, brick-like romance novel so she hunted that down to keep her occupied for the next few days.

To her surprise, Enjolras was still stood outside the library in the spot she'd left him when she came out.

"What are you still doing here?" she said.

"I couldn't leave you to walk back by yourself," he said. "It wouldn't have been fair, especially not if that man was still sniffing around."

They began to walk again, once more in silence. This time the silence was even more uncomfortable and heavy than it had been before, their previous conversation hanging between them.

Clearing her throat, Éponine said, "Have you heard anything from Grantaire?"

Enjolras sighed. "No. Not much. I've spoken to some of the others about it and apparently they've spotted him whilst they've been out but he makes himself scarce when any of them try and talk to him."

"That's not good," Éponine said, unsure of what else she could say. "So he's definitely avoiding everyone…"

"Yes, and none of us can really think why." There was a definitely perplexed look on Enjolras' face as he spoke. "I mean, the activities he is engaging in are no different to that of any of our friends at the minute, with the exception of myself and Combeferre. He'd fit right in."

"You know, it never occurred to me that I could go out and drink," Éponine said. "Not until you mentioned it before."

Enjolras' step faltered for the briefest of seconds. "Do you fancy joining them?" he enquired.

"It's definitely an option," Éponine said. Now she was thinking about it, the idea was becoming more and more welcoming in her head. It'd be nice to do something completely different for once. "I'm sure Gavroche could fend for himself for a night, don't you think?"

Enjolras didn't say anything. She noticed that his eyes were fixed upon the pavement beneath their feet.

The rest of their walk passed in silence. It was awkward still, but Éponine couldn't think of anything to fill the silence with. Once they were stood outside her apartment, the pair stood facing each other – her trying to catch his eye, and him determinedly looking at anything else but her.

"Thank you for walking with me," Éponine sighed. "It's appreciated."

"You're welcome," he said. "Be careful in future."

"Oh, I'll definitely be keeping an eye on where I'm going the next time I'm out," she assured him. "Also, monsieur…Could you do me a favour?"

He inclined his head.

"Please could you tell your friends that I wouldn't mind joining them this evening?" she requested. "If you see them, of course."

There was a pause before Enjolras said, "Yes, mademoiselle. I can do that for you."

"Thank you."

And with that, the pair said their goodbyes, and Éponine climbed the stairs to her apartment, feeling some excitement at the prospect of an evening outside her home.