50

Éponine eventually found herself a book – it was another murder mystery, by a different author she hadn't tried yet, and it was a little thicker than the ones she was used to – and wandered over to the front desk. Valjean was already there, deep in conversation with one of the librarians behind the desk.

Éponine decided to leave them to it and went to the other side of the desk to have her book checked out by a young male librarian. This was done in a matter of moments and, tucking it beneath her arm, she turned towards Valjean, who had obviously ended his conversation.

"Éponine!"

Éponine turned, wondering who else she was going to run into in the library today. It was Courfeyrac, wearing a coat in a rather alarming shade of blue, with Combeferre trailing behind him carrying more books than he could actually manage.

The two men drew level with her just as Combeferre lost his grip on the books. Before they could topple to the ground, however, Valjean was there, easily taking half of the books away from Combeferre.

"Thank you," Combeferre said, voice grateful.

"It is no problem," Valjean said kindly. "Éponine, you do not mind waiting whilst I help this gentleman?"

"Of course not," Éponine said. "Actually, I know him – both of them – this is Valjean, and Valjean, this is Combeferre and Courfeyrac. They were at the barricades..."

"Ah, yes." Valjean nodded, adjusting his grip on the books in his arms. "I thought you looked familiar." He nodded at Combeferre. "Particularly you."

There was a pause, and then Valjean turned towards the front desk. "Do you need these checking out?"

"Yes, monsieur," Combeferre said, neatly stepping around Courfeyrac and following Valjean over to the desk.

"I did not ever think I'd see you inside a library," Éponine said to Courfeyrac.

The corners of Courfeyrac's mouth turned up in a smile. "It has been known to happen," he said. "I was bored, and everyone else was busy...I also did not expect to run into you today."

"Well, I've offered to keep Valjean company over the next few weeks," Éponine said. "The library seemed a sensible place, although that is only because I don't know what else there is to do here."

"It does seem sometimes that the only things a person can do is walk or read," Courfeyrac said, cheerfully. "Or drink Bliss. Or mope about things..."

"Surely there must be something more interesting to do," Éponine said.

"We should ask Éléonore," he said. "I'm sure she would be able to think of something...Or Inès."

"Ah, I don't think Inès will want to speak to me any time soon," Éponine said, thinking of how red the other girl's face had become when she was caught with that book.

"Why not?" There was something like concern on Courfeyrac's face. "Did you argue?"

"Not exactly," Éponine said. "But...I think she was a little...Embarrassed, shall we say?"

"About what?" Concern gave way to curiosity.

"She had...a book." Éponine hesitated, knowing that Courfeyrac was probably not the best of people to confide in about this. But his smile was so bright and his eyes were earnest and the words just spilled out of her. "It was called The Art of Wooing for Young Ladies. As I said, she was...a bit embarrassed to be caught with it, I think."

There was a wicked gleam in Courfeyrac's eye. "Really? That sounds like someone has caught little Inès' eye..."

"Less of the little Inès," Éponine said, grinning despite herself. "She's older than you, you know."

Courfeyrac waved a dismissive hand. "She barely reaches my elbow," he said.

"More than a slight exaggeration," she countered.

"Still," Courfeyrac said. "I wonder who this gentleman is?"

"I have no idea," Éponine said. "But I am curious. I don't want to upset her, though, by asking..."

"Could it be one of her Guardian friends?" Courfeyrac tapped his chin and looked as if he was thinking very hard.

"Well, Éléonore did mention..." Éponine trailed off. "But I don't think that was going anywhere, and Inès has never mentioned him personally..."

"So there is a mysterious Guardian," Courfeyrac said. "Or, one of us has caught her eye."

"One of us – you mean you students?" Éponine said doubtfully.

"Yes," Courfeyrac said, nodding. "It's not such a strange conclusion, Éponine, don't look at me like that...I'm not arrogant enough to say it's me – but it probably is me, let's be honest about things, why wouldn't it be me? – it could be Combeferre, maybe she likes a more serious man..."

"I think Éléonore would have something to say about that," Éponine said.

Courfeyrac's eyes sparkled. "All the more interesting!"

"I think you're more likely," Éponine said, her stomach giving a little twinge at the thought of Inès finding Courfeyrac attractive in any sort of way.

"Hmm." Courfeyrac pursed his lips. "Maybe it is Enjolras. She does think him handsome..."

"Most people think him handsome," Éponine said. "It isn't that unheard of."

"Oh, I know," Courfeyrac said, and rolled his eyes. "Nearly all the women I knew and most of the men would have given their right arm for a chance to...Well, you know."

"Yes, I do," she said, not feeling surprised at all. Enjolras was definitely handsome, but that almost wasn't the right word; his features were very delicate, almost more feminine, and she thought that pretty might have been more accurate. Maybe even beautiful, because pretty was too tame a word; it didn't quite encompass just how lovely Enjolras' face could look sometimes.

Sometimes meaning times when he wasn't getting on her nerves.

She found the man in front of her much more pleasant to look at, however. There was something about his smile – its brightness and wideness and sincerity – that always made her want to smile back.

"Well, when you see her, tell her to come to me." Now Courfeyrac winked. "I'm sure I could give her some advice on how to woo."

"Oh, don't," Éponine said. "She'll be embarrassed enough, please don't mention it in front of her, she'll only sulk."

Courfeyrac pouted. "But I could help her."

"She doesn't need our help," Éponine said. "Let her deal with it herself. She's already embarrassed enough, like I said. I'm serious, Courfeyrac, if you mention anything to her –"

"What are you doing now?" Courfeyrac interrupted.

"Sorry?" Éponine frowned, unsure of where the rapid change in conversation had come from.

"Are you doing anything now?"

Éponine glanced over her shoulder, towards Valjean and Combeferre who seemed to be deep in conversation. She shrugged. "I suppose, walking with Valjean," she said.

"See, I had actually been hoping to run into you at some point," Courfeyrac continued. "Because I found somewhere. Somewhere I'd like to take you, if you don't mind."

"Well..." Éponine glanced at Valjean and Combeferre again. The two men were so deeply engrossed in their conversation that they didn't notice her.

"Here." Courfeyrac gently pulled the book out of Éponine's hand and strode over to Valjean and Courfeyrac. "Éponine and I are going for a walk," he announced to them. Éponine hurried after him.

"We are?" she said.

"Yes," Courfeyrac said.

"Oh," was Combeferre's response, surprise colouring his tone.

"I'm supposed to be –" Éponine began in a low voice, but she was cut off by Valjean.

"Éponine," he said, in a gentle voice. "Don't let me stop you from enjoying yourself." His eyes twinkled in a knowing manner. "It can't be much fun walking an old man around."

"I don't mind," she protested.

"Then we can do it again another day," Valjean suggested.

"Maybe I could continue your...tour," Combeferre said. "Once I have dropped my books off at home, of course."

Valjean smiled and picked up one of the piles, which Éponine now noticed had Valjean's own choice of books amongst them as well. "That sounds like an excellent idea."

Combeferre also picked up one of the piles, very carefully, and scowled at Courfeyrac when he balanced Éponine's book on top.

"Éponine will pick it up later," Courfeyrac said.

"I will?" Éponine said, but Courfeyrac was holding out his arm to her.

"Yes, you will," he said. "Because you and I are going for a walk."

"You two enjoy yourselves," Valjean said. "I'll see you both soon, I'm sure."

Valjean and Combeferre walked off side by side, whilst Éponine stared at Courfeyrac's proffered arm.

"You're supposed to take it," Courfeyrac said.

She hesitated for a single more second and then tucked her hand into his arm. She didn't think it was possible, but his grin grew even wider and together, they followed Combeferre and Valjean through the library doors.

OOO

For a while, they walked in a companionable silence. Éponine didn't mind it – it wasn't awkward at all – but her mind was still racing for something to say to him.

It was Courfeyrac who broke the silence.

"It was Jehan who showed me this place," he said. "It made me think of Clémence's gardens. You liked them, yes?"

"Of course," Éponine said, her curiosity growing. "They were beautiful."

"Yes, I thought so, too," Courfeyrac said. "It might be nice to walk somewhere we can pick flowers without being shouted at. As I said, Jehan found it, and you know how he is – he loves plants..."

"You're taking me to some gardens, aren't you?" Éponine guessed.

"They're public ones," Courfeyrac said. "But they're tucked away. It is probably why you haven't found them yourself yet."

As it turned out, the gardens weren't clearly defined; one minute they were walking on the street and the next minute they were walking on a dirt track lined by plenty of bright green bushes, filled with flowers of all colours spilling out onto the path. Great big trees towered overhead, with what looked like fruits growing on their branches. It reminded Éponine of the wilder parts of Clémence's garden, only it was a lot louder; she could hear the shouts of other people, young voices, probably children. Eventually the path opened out onto a wider space. This was a vast expanse of slightly too-long grass, and there were lots of people, lounging on the grass and running around and playing games. There were more paths, and it was down one of these that Courfeyrac led her.

This path led to a massive lake, surrounded by even longer, yellowy grass, and there were less people there. The chatter was muted, quiet, almost dreamy. The surface of the water was completely still and glassy, almost like a mirror, and it was so large, Éponine couldn't quite see the other side of it properly.

She gaped, and realised her mouth was hung open.

"You like it?" She wasn't sure if she had imagined it, but he sounded uncertain.

"It's...This is lovely," Éponine murmured. "Can we go closer to the water?"

"Of course," he said, and they walked arm in arm around the edge of the lake until they were further away from the other people. The grass on the other side was taller, reaching Éponine's shoulders and hiding them away, and she pulled away from Courfeyrac to crouch at the water's edge.

"Is the sea like this?" she wondered, reaching out with one hand. She let her palm hover over the surface, part of her wanting to touch it and the rest of her not wanting to disturb the perfect stillness of the water.

"You've never seen the sea?" Courfeyrac asked, voice shocked.

"No," Éponine murmured.

"That's..." Courfeyrac twisted his mouth. "That's a shame. I think that you'd have liked it."

She knew that was probably true, but it wasn't worth feeling sad over right now; instead, she let her hand slip beneath the water. Her hand was enveloped in the cool, pleasant liquid, and she swept her hand from side to side. Smiling to herself, she sat down properly on the ground, feeling the long grass brushing against her face and shoulders.

A moment later, she felt something nudge her as Courfeyrac sat beside her. His legs were crossed beneath himself and he shrugged out of his alarmingly blue coat and folded it. He placed it on the ground next to him.

Slowly, she retracted her hand from the water and wiped it on the skirt of her dress.

"I like it here," she said, after a few moments. "It's very peaceful."

"Jehan likes it for the flowers," Courfeyrac said. "But he sits here and writes poetry, sometimes. Did he mention some of his poems are going to be published?"

Éponine shook her head. "No," she said. "I mean, I don't write, but I can see how this place would inspire someone."

"Maybe you should take up writing," Courfeyrac said.

"Me? Write?" Éponine wrinkled her nose. "I can read well enough, but writing..."

"You can't –?" Courfeyrac began, sounding surprised, but she cut him off.

"No, I can," she said. "It's just – not so much practise. But I like to draw. I could come here and sketch, couldn't I?"

Courfeyrac beamed. "You could," he said. "Feuilly paints – have you ever seen his paintings? Maybe you could paint."

"Maybe," Éponine said. "This would be a lovely place. Is there more?"

"Of course," Courfeyrac said. "There are more flower gardens – and there's some more trees – some places to sit...And there's a gazebo...That's normally very quiet. Do you want to go there?"

"Yes," Éponine said, without hesitation.

She was almost sorry to leave the lake behind, but she was eager to see more. At some point, as they walked away from the lake and back into the trees, their hands became tangled together. His hand was larger and almost felt warmer than hers, and she couldn't have forced herself to let go even if she'd wanted to.

The trees they were walking amongst now were taller, their trunks thinner, their branches skinnier and weaker and brushing over their heads as they walked.

There were fruits on these branches, little fruits that were too large to be berries but smaller than apples. They were in shades of oranges and reds and the occasional golden yellow. She untangled her hand from Courfeyrac's to try and reach up and pluck one from a branch. She was too short, and her fingertips brushed against the underside of a particularly rich red fruit, but she couldn't curl her fingers around it enough to pull.

"Here, let me," Courfeyrac said, reaching over her head. His hand wrapped around the branch and pulled it down to her level, and she pulled off about four of the fruits – two orange, the red one, and then one that was more of a shade of pink than anything else.

"Do you think we can eat them?" she asked.

"Well, they can't kill us," Courfeyrac grinned, and let the branch spring back up into the canopy. He accepted one of the orangey fruits that she offered, and they began walking.

She dropped the red and pink fruits into the pockets of her skirt and rolled the orangey one around in her hand. The skin was thicker than she thought, and she dug her nail into the waxy surface. The skin was white on the inside, and peeled away in chunks, revealing a fruit with paler, more yellow flesh beneath. She bit into this; sweetness and sourness exploded over her tongue, and some of the juice trickled out of the corner of her mouth. It tasted delicious, almost like Bliss, and nothing like any fruit she'd managed to get her hands on in life.

She threw the peel away, having tried an experimental nibble which told her it tasted bitter and not very pleasant. Courfeyrac then took her hand again. Her hand was sticky from the juice, but he didn't seem to mind.

On their way, they passed a group of children led by an elderly lady, and it took a while for the sound of their whoops and hollering and yells to fade away as they continued walking.

Eventually, the path opened out onto a clearing. The grass here was cut very short, and felt spongy beneath Éponine's feet when she stepped onto it. It was peppered with lots of tiny white flowers, their centres as yellow as butter. In the middle of the clearing sat a small structure. It was almost a circle, made from wood and painted white; ivy had grown and curled around the structure, around the railing that circled it and the poles that supported the roof. There was a small set of steps leading up to the raised floor of the gazebo, and inside were some wooden benches overlooking the clearing.

There was no one else just there; it was just the two of them, and in that moment it was so quiet it would have been easy to believe they were the only two people who existed.

They walked up to the steps, and then they paused there. Courfeyrac held her hand to help her up the steps, and then smiled at her. "I won't be a moment," he said, and let go of her hand.

She sank down onto one of the wooden benches, and fished one of the leftover fruits from her pocket – the red one – and proceeded to dig her nail into the skin to peel it away. She had just finished eating it, and was in the process of licking the juice from her fingertips, when Courfeyrac returned.

In his hands was a flower; it had a dark green, thorny stem, and it was a cluster of large blue petals curling around each other.

He climbed the steps and bowed, tucking one arm over his stomach and stretching out the other to offer her the flower. "For you," he said, and for once, his mouth was not smiling, but there was some kind of happiness in his eyes.

She reached out, her hand trembling slightly, and accepted the flower. She brushed her fingertips over the flower's surface; the petals were softer than anything she had ever felt, and she could feel how delicate and fragile they were. Her eyes flew up to meet Courfeyrac's.

"What are you doing?" The words tumbled from her mouth in an almost breathless whisper before she could stop them.

His eyebrows went up a little, and something like confusion rearranged his features. He straightened up from his little bow, and stepped backwards, putting even more distance between them.

"I'm not sure," he admitted. He tugged on the cuffs of his bright blue jacket and looked at the floor. "I just thought you would like it...This place...The flower. All of it, I suppose."

"I do," Éponine murmured, looking down at the flower. "I was just...surprised."

He sat next to her, but not so close that they touched. He clasped his hands together.

"If I'm being completely honest," he said, "I have absolutely no idea what I'm doing."

Éponine turned her head to look at him, watched the way his eyes were focused on some spot in the distance. She couldn't help the way the corners of her mouth began to twitch upwards, nor the way her hand stole across the space between them to cover his, linking their hands together.

"Thank you," she said, giving his hand the tiniest of squeezes. "This was very thoughtful. It's beautiful here."

Courfeyrac looked at her, and he smiled. It was not as large or as bright as smiles she had come to expect from him, but she felt the force of it anyway, felt it as a jolt in her stomach and in her chest.

"I'm glad you've liked it," he said. He squeezed her hand once more, and said, his tone becoming slightly teasing, "It must have been more entertaining than your previous plans for the day."

She gave a short laugh and looked away from him, but she still felt the burn of his gaze in the side of her head for a while afterwards, as they sat in silence, hand in hand.