Happy New Year, folks!

This one's a bit shorter, but HOPEFULLY not too much of a disappointment?

Disclaimer: Non.

Grief is a strange and terrifying thing. The terrifying part is that you can never know how you will react until you feel it. If you'd told Éponine six months previously what she'd do if Azelma died, she'd probably have believed the part where she vowed to go and kill her parents and Montparnasse. She might have believed the part where she destroyed a bathroom. She might even have believed she'd cry and beg Joly to save her. She would have laughed out loud and told you to fuck off if you said she'd cling to Enjolras as though her life depended on it, and then sleep in his arms all night. And yet there she was, dead to the world. It was strange and unexpected – not least for the pair themselves – but it turned out that when they were together, Éponine felt… safe. Warm. Even… happy.

Éponine never feared death, because she always thought that what scared people about death was that it was essentially separation. The most final way you can be separated from something, or someone. Éponine had never believed you saw people again after they died; you died and you were dead and that was it. She used to say heaven was made up by people who felt guilty about someone who died and wanted to believe that whatever they fucked up got fixed eventually. For this reason, she never expected to grieve, as such, because what good would it do? What you did, or didn't do, was done. She certainly never expected the crippling agony that losing her sister would bring her. She'd always thought that she'd just get on with it, it was part of life. You loved people, and they left. Even when her siblings were the only people in the world she cared about… which now, they weren't. That was unexpected, too. Who'd have thought that she'd have ended up with all these people that she never wanted to be separated from? Or that she'd find herself in a position where one person saying "I'll never leave you, Éponine" could cut through a fog of despair so thick she couldn't even dream of a way out herself?

It was a funny old thing, grief. Death might separate people, but maybe… just maybe… grief could bring people together.

If you'd told Enjolras six months previously that he'd have a night like that one, he'd have looked at you scathingly and then told you to stop wasting his time, he had a rally to plan and he couldn't be doing with silly little stories of women and sympathy. He'd have told you that drinking with Grantaire was a bad idea if you'd told him that he'd wake up first the next morning, but lie perfectly still for over an hour so he didn't disturb Éponine's sleep. He'd have asked you to please leave the café before he got really angry if you'd told him he'd feel happier than he'd ever felt watching the rise and fall of her chest, or counting her freckles, or just holding her close in case she was cold or scared. He'd have stood up angrily and pointed at the door if you told him he'd stroke stray strands of hair out of her eyes and kiss her head, then pretend to be asleep in case she woke up, peeking every few seconds to see if she had. He'd have punched you square in the face if you told him what he whispered to her at quarter past seven that morning.

But he did wake up first. And he did lie still for an hour, determined that the tiny firecracker in his arms would look that peaceful for as long as possible; both because it was so nice to see the perpetually moving Éponine finally still, and because he wanted to watch her and keep the burning joy in his heart going forever. He certainly did brush her unruly curls out of her eyes with his fingertips, and kissed her head… several times actually, and he panicked immediately afterwards every single time. And at quarter past seven, he whispered into her curls the biggest secret he'd ever told.

"Éponine Juliette Thénardier, can you keep a secret?

…I think I might be a little bit in love with you."

At twenty past seven, he felt her stir and immediately pretended to be asleep. Less than a minute passed before Éponine laughed "Enjolras, I know you're awake", her voice and giggle thick and groggy with sleep.

He smirked, but kept his eyes closed. "You caught me."

She didn't reply, but stayed still, wrapped in his warm embrace. Should it feel this comfortable? Shouldn't this be weird? It's not weird. Why isn't it weird?

He doesn't seem to think it's weird.

Éponine looked up at his face: the little bristles of a night's beard growth casting a shadow over his jawline; the slightly crooked remains of a smirk playing at the corners of his lips; defined cheekbones below the almost girlishly long eyelashes framing his closed eyes. She felt suddenly brave.

"Keep your eyes closed"

"What?"

"Just do it"

"…ok."

Éponine sat up, turning to look at him face on, and couldn't help but smile. I can practically hear his mind whirring, he's so confused. She got up off the couch and knelt beside his head, then leaned her head slowly towards his. Her lips met his gently, and though she couldn't see it, she knew his eyes had shot open in surprise. She silently prayed he wouldn't pull away, and then smiled in relief when he responded, raising his hand to hold her head and pull her closer. It wasn't the blistering, feverish urgency of the kiss in the café; it was slow, burning with a steady passion which consumed their whole bodies, filling their senses with nothing but each other. She forced herself to pull back after several minutes, and looked immediately down at the floor in embarrassment.

"Éponine, I…" she heard him begin, tentatively.

"Shhhh." Laying a finger on his lips, she said "don't say anything. Please don't say anything."

He looked at her with questioning eyes which she could feel on her skin (how can I FEEL where he's looking, how is he doing this?) but he obeyed. Gathering her courage, she continued. "I'm… I'm not very… good, when I need to say what I really feel. Last night, I thought… I thought my heart had broken into a thousand little pieces, and I'd never be ok ever again. But you came and you said everything I needed you to say and you… I… I can't thank you enough times for what you did, Enjolras. I don't have the words. You've saved me, so many times, and I just… I wish I could repay you, but I can't. All I can do for now is say thank you, from the bottom of my heart, from me, from Gav, from Jacques… Enjolras, I –" tears welled in her eyes, but she choked back the words she really wanted to say. "Thank you."

Enjolras smiled, raising a hand to cup the side of her face gently. "You don't… you… I…" wow. "You don't have to thank me, Éponine. I… tha –" he dropped his hand and ran it through his hair in frustration. WHY CAN I NEVER THINK OF THE WORDS WHEN I NEED THEM FOR ÉPONINE!?

She raised her hand to his face, stroking a thumb across his cheekbone. He covered her hand with his own, and managed to murmur a "thank YOU" before her lips met his once more. Enjolras leaned into the kiss, his heart jumping with pure joy.

He honestly didn't care what happened to him for the rest of the day, because it had started so perfectly. Could life possibly get any better than this?

Please review! I'm kind of nervous about this one, don't know why :L