Chapter Text
Game Two of Eight
They lose the game.
It’s not like they don’t see it coming. The other school is the type with pressed uniforms and shiny cleats, girls with shiny teeth and shinier hair tied up in ponytails that Eponine swears they flick in your face on purpose when you get too close. They had played hard - Eponine will take credit for two turnovers that afternoon, and one of their new sophomore attackers had attempted two shots and made one - but it hadn’t mattered by the last whistle from the ref. It never feels good to lose a game, but especially not on a day like this where the sky feels heavy and sad with clouds and her hair will be full of smoggy rain even after she showers. Sunny days can get hellishly hot, but there’s energy and light to keep everyone going. Rainy days like this feel like a loss is inevitable - they’re tired.
Eponine unlaces her cleats, feeling the cold bleachers bite into her leg as she pulls at her soaked shoes and shoves them into her bag. Around her, her teammates do the same - huddled forms in black jerseys, as wet with the rain and soaked in the exhaustion of a loss as she is.
Her eyes land on a small figure at the end of the bench - blonde hair falling forward into dark eyes, flushed cheeks ruddy with sweat and wet with rain, leaning forward to pick up a water bottle only to tip her head back to drink, throat bobbing-
Eponine’s throat feels dry. She pulls her own water out of her bag and flicks her eyes back to her shin guards, shoving them deeper into her bag and before reaching down and lacing her still-dry sneakers up too tight.
Her calves burn as she shoulders her bag - her eyes track the turf on the ground as she makes her way off the field to where she knows Grantaire’s van will be her sanctuary.
He’s leaning against the passenger door when she gets to the parking lot just outside the field, the familiar slope of Grantaire’s shoulders visible through a rain-soaked hoodie. Something in Eponine’s heart warmed - he had stayed for her game.
“Tough game,” Grantaire says as he unlocks his driver’s side door. He unlocks the other door from the inside, and Eponine collapses into the passenger seat. The worn grey fabric is familiar and grubby, and she sinks into the long-collapsed seats with a grateful exhale.
“Tough game.” Eponine agrees.
She pulls her headband off, then wrestles the hair tie holding her short ponytail out. She winces as it tears her hair and she resolves herself to pulling dark brown hairs from the black elastic casing. She feels Grantaire’s eyes on her as she tosses the hair onto his car floor.
“Thanks a lot for that, I was really hoping for more sweaty hair in my car.”
Eponine snorts. Grantaire’s car was not renown in their circles for its spotlessness. The chariot of questionable choices, yes. The vehicle of voyages aplenty, also yes. An alleged means of physical transportation, yes. A respectable and dignified vehicle that didn’t moderately to severely resemble Coachella Valley after the music festival (minus the cultural appropriation) in such a way that it could not tolerate more of Eponine’s lost hairs than it already contained, this van was not.
“You’re welcome. It’s a gift, I made it for you myself.”
Eponine sees him shake his head and grin as he flicks on the heat without her asking - the cold and rain had seeped into bones, and she’s grateful for the warmth as they sit for a moment.
Her eyes fall on the rest of her team still gathered on the sidelines of the field where she can just see them through the bleachers. Her eyes slide away, though, as soon as it becomes apparent just who is and isn’t still loitering in the aftermath.
She takes a deep breath, and tugs her hand through her wet hair again. She glances back at the team but honestly, Eponine would know if what she was looking for was there - she forces her gaze forward again and her eyes catch, stopping her fist as it had been curling and uncurling in front of the rattling plastic vents.
There’s a figure over at the gate (locked despite the reserved field, and the closest path back out to the street), shoving their feet into the holes of the chainlink fence and hoisting themselves up. Her blonde hair is heavy with rainwater and full of snarls, made worse by the wind that she squints against. The figure, a good 30 yards away, says something Eponine can’t make out as she hoists her legs over the top of the fence and jumps down the other side.
Cosette, back on solid ground, runs her hand through her hair in a way Eponine knows means she’s finger-combing as best as she can after a day of running and rain. Eponine looks away decidedly, choosing instead to flick Grantaire’s CD player on and filling the car with the sound of the slow 90’s rock they could both agree on.
Grantaire backs out of their spot in the field parking lot, his eyes scanning and finding nothing to stick on. Eponine cannot relate.
Grantaire puts the car back into forward, and they make their way out of the soccer field parking lot.
Unsurprisingly, Cosette has not suddenly disappeared to grant Eponine mercy. She’s still there, now under a tree to keep the rain off her even though she’s now clad in a blue hoodie with their school name on it. She’s got a phone pressed to her ear, and Eponine can’t hear what she’s saying but it’s clear she’s frustrated. Her mouth moves fast and she’s frowning, the hand not holding her phone shoved into her pocket in a tight fist.
Grantaire is saying something, though - “Ep?”
“Sorry,” She blinks and shakes her head. “Say that again?”
“Just asked if that was one of the chill teammates you’re glaring a hole into, but I feel like context clues point toward-”
Eponine feels an illogical burst of anger at Grantaire, for some reason, for casting judgement without knowing. “She’s chill. She’s really nice, and I’m not-” She exhales. “I’m not glaring a hole into her. Just seeing if she’s alright.”
And she was. Cosette was fine - Eponine could see her clearer and clearer as their car got closer. Cosette was under a tree and had a jacket (even if it was getting more drenched by the minute) and presumably was on her way home (even though she wasn’t at the bus stop or walking anywhere, and had clearly gotten bad news on the phone) and also was an adult who could take care of herself - she didn’t need creepy teammates to watch her or push themselves into spaces they weren’t welcome.
God, she swears she didn’t mean to, almost didn’t know what was going on until the words were out of her mouth and the window was down and her voice was cutting through the rain.
“Hey!” She shouts out the window at Cosette, who’s head snaps up. “Want a ride home?”
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