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Chapter Text

Annoyingly, when Éponine wakes up on Sunday morning, her peaceful hangover is immediately interrupted by the chilling realisation that her phone is missing. She realises it's not under her pillow, which is smeared with a good amount of last night's make up, and when she checks her bag and the pockets of her jacket, abandoned beside the front door of her studio apartment, it's not there either. 

God, she's never drinking with Bahorel and Jehan again. 

Groaning and trying very carefully not to panic, she sits down on her unmade bed again and pulls her laptop out from under her bed. She’s pretty sure she has a tracker on it, or maybe someone will have found it and sent her a message, or-

To her relief, when she checks her Facebook messages, she has one from Grantaire. 

You left your phone here you dumb drunken bitch xo

Rich, coming from him, Éponine thinks with an eye roll, but the knot in her chest has loosened. She really needs her phone. Now that she no longer lives with Gavroche and Azelma, she’s in a constant state of worry about getting in contact with them.

She reads on. I know you need it. I’m not gonna finish in here until like five am, but Enjolras should be awake tomorrow morning if you wanna come get it when you see this. You owe me big time. 

Honestly, all he did was grab her phone off the counter and bring it home with him after his shift at the Musain, it doesn’t exactly qualify as a big time favour in Éponine’s opinion. But she’s so relieved that she silently vows as she puts her sneakers on to buy Grantaire as many pastries as he wants. Éponine has known Grantaire for a long time; a pain au raisin and a pack of cigarettes should be enough to keep him happy.

She leaves her apartment, choosing to walk the thirty minutes to Enjolras and Grantaire’s apartment rather than getting the metro, hoping the exercise will help clear her foggy head. The two of them have an apartment in the nice part of town, owned by Enjolras’ parents. She doesn’t know what rent he pays, if any, and God knows she’s not close enough with Enjolras to outright ask. Éponine has been in it a fair few times to hang out with Grantaire, and she’d be lying if she said she wasn’t jealous of the space, the light, the multiple spare bedrooms, the small iron balcony looking onto the street. 

When she reaches the building, she hesitates at the intercom, considering if it would be easier to call Enjolras so the noise doesn’t wake Grantaire up. Then she remembers she doesn’t have her phone, so it’s a moot point. She’s kind of glad for it though. Most of the few conversations Éponine has had with Grantaire’s boyfriend have been stilted at best, and wildly tense at worst. She can’t imagine a brief phone conversation would be any different. 

She presses the button for their apartment several times, and to her surprise, it’s Grantaire’s voice which answers with a fuzzy sounding “Hello?” 

"It's me," she says simply, and Grantaire doesn't say a word, but there's a buzzing noise and she's able to pull the heavy door open. Grantaire is waiting for her at the open door of his apartment, wearing only a pair of ratty sweatpants and flip flops, his hair an unruly mess. He has several days worth of stubble, and greets her with a yawn so wide she can see his molars.

"Thought you would still be dead to the world," Éponine says as she steps into the apartment. 

Grantaire grumbles. "I was supposed to be, but my drunken best friend insisted on leaving her phone in my place of work like some sort of moron."

Éponine rolls her eyes, looking around the open plan apartment. "Enjolras not around?" 

Grantaire shrugs, but he's smiling softly now. He seems to be incapable of holding a smile back, where Enjolras is concerned. His hand comes up to his neck, running his fingers softly over a small, dark mark which very well could be a hickey, and Éponine just barely resists the urge to make an exaggerated gagging noise. 

"I heard him getting up earlier, think he might have gone for a run or something."

She wrinkles her nose. "Who does exercise at 9am on a Sunday morning?" 

"I know right? He's a weirdo." 

"You know, those words kind of lose their effect if you smile like a sap when you say them," she tells him, and then bats away the middle finger he waves in her face. 

"Yeah, yeah," he yawns, scratches the skin of his arm near his most recently healed tattoo, and goes to the counter. He picks up her phone and throws it in her general direction, and she gives a sigh of relief, clutching it to her chest before unlocking it. There's 2% battery left, and no missed calls from Gavroche or Azelma, so disaster has been avoided this time around.

"Thanks, R," she tells him seriously, "I owe you one." 

He snorts, shoving her shoulder lightly as they move towards the door. "No worries. I'll see you in a few days at the meeting, yeah?" 

Éponine resists the urge to roll her eyes. Grantaire is her best friend, so she's willing to make sacrifices for him, including going to his incredibly self-righteous boyfriend's social justice meetings for no other reason than he wants someone to sit at the back with, so they can look at each other like they're a camera on The Office. They used to have a drinking game; Drink every time Enjolras says something stupidly idealistic. 

They used to get super drunk. 

"Get some sleep, R," she tells him, before opening the door and stepping into the hallway, subsequently nearly colliding with the two people standing on the other side. 

They're two people in their middle age, the man tall and thin with a thick head of grey hair and piercing blue eyes, the woman blonde and immaculately dressed in a cream dress suit, chiffon scarf and stilettos, expensive handbag slung over one arm. They both seem vaguely familiar, but Éponine doesn't think she's ever met them before. 

"Oh, sorry!" she stammers out quickly, referring to the fact that she'd almost knocked the woman off her feet. 

Neither of them say anything, staring silently between Éponine and Grantaire. She looks to Grantaire, who has his eyes narrowed as though he too is struggling to place where he's seen their faces before. 

After another few beats of silence, Grantaire says in a voice of forced patience, "Can I help you with something?" 

This seems to awaken something in the man, and he steps closer to the door of the apartment. 

"Who are you?" he asks coldly, Éponine doesn't think he's from Paris; the accent sounds southern. 

Grantaire blinks, and then he glares too. 

"I'm Grantaire. Who the hell are you?" 

"We're-" 

"Mom? Dad?" 

Éponine hears the voice just before Enjolras comes into view. He's dressed for a run, in shorts and a t-shirt with his hair pulled back and headphones around his neck, but he has a brown paper bag with the emblem for Grantaire's favourite bakery on the front. He's staring at the two people in the doorway with an expression Éponine has never seen on his face before, but she works out quickly that it's one of abject horror. 

And then his words sink in, and Éponine thinks Ah, shit. 

She looks at Grantaire, and he's staring back at her with an expression of complete and total panic. 

The woman turns to face Enjolras, and she says in a sugar-sweet voice. "Alex, honey. We were just in the area, and given that you've been ignoring our phone calls , we thought we'd make a surprise visit to see you, seeing as you're not going to make an effort." 

Alex???

"Uh. Okay. Yeah, that's-" Éponine doesn't think she's ever seen Enjolras so panicked before. She's literally seen him handcuffed and dragged towards a police van, seen him simply look back serenely when a fascist was screaming in his face; but now, he's looking between his parents, Grantaire and Éponine with a look that almost screams of desperation. 

"Who are these people?" His father asks harshly, and that's another thing, because Enjolras and Grantaire have been dating for close to a year and a half now, and yet they appear to have absolutely no idea who he is. 

So, Éponine can assume that they've never been introduced. 

Enjolras' eyes flash with panic at the question, but they also seem to spur him into action, because he jolts and practically barges into the apartment ahead of his parents. 

"Coffee, we need coffee," he mutters, and Grantaire uses the momentary distraction of Enjolras' parents coming into the room to grab a hoodie off the back of a nearby kitchen chair and throw it haphazardly over his head. Éponine just stands there silently. 

Apparently, setting up the coffee machine can only buy Enjolras so much time, because once they're both sitting down, Enjolras' mom turns to him with a calculating look in her eyes. 

"This young man introduced himself as Grantaire," she says, inclining her head in R's direction. Her perfectly straight nose wrinkles just slightly, and Éponine decides she doesn't like her. 

Enjolras' throat bobs as he swallows. 

"Grantaire is-" he starts, "Uhm. He's-" 

"I'm a friend of Enjolras'," Grantaire cuts in, and Enjolras' shoulders relax the slightest fraction, "I go to the meetings he runs. They're amazing, you should be very prou-" 

"And why is he in our apartment without a shirt on?" Enjolras' father demands, as though Grantaire hadn't even spoken. His eyes are boring into Enjolras, who shifts where he stands. 

Éponine decides, then, that it's probably time she intervened. For some reason, Enjolras' parents don't know about Grantaire, and it sort of seems like Enjolras isn't out of the closet at all. Éponine has had her fair share of shitty parental interactions, and she can tell by the way Enjolras' parents eyes are narrowed at Grantaire that this isn't heading anywhere good. 

Grantaire is still standing there looking more than half asleep, and Enjolras looks like he's going through the seven stages of grief. 

God, boys are fucking useless. 

Éponine takes a deep breath, and steps forward, holding out her hand to Enjolras' parents. 

"Hi, it's really lovely to finally meet you both," she says, "I'm Éponine, Enjolras' girlfriend." 

Behind her, Enjolras makes a noise somewhere between a moan and a whimper. She ignores him completely. 

"Grantaire works in the bar down the street, and he lives across town," she lies, "When he has a late shift, Enjolras lets him stay on the sofa rather than paying for a cab at 4 am." 

As lies go, she's pretty proud of that one. But then, she's had a lot of practice. Enjolras shoots her a grateful look. 

She wasn't sure how Enjolras' parents would react to the news that their son has a secret girlfriend, so she nearly jumps out of her skin when Enjolras' mom practically leaps from her chair and makes a high-pitched, giddy sound. She strides forward, and Éponine can do nothing but make a stifled 'Oof!' noise when she pulls her into her chest for a hug. 

"Oh Éponine, it's so lovely to meet you!" She pulls back and gives Enjolras a disapproving look. "Alex, why didn't you tell us you had a girlfriend?!" 

Enjolras looks about three seconds from passing out. "It's very, very new." 

Well, that's an understatement. 

The coffee machine beeps, and Enjolras' father clears his throat loudly. Enjolras turns to the kitchen cupboard, pulling out mugs. One falters and drops from his hand, bouncing against the countertop but somehow not breaking. 

His father makes a noise that sounds suspiciously like a scoff. 

Grantaire looks at him, and then stands, walking to Enjolras and putting a hand on his lower arm.

"I'll make the coffee," he says, "Give you a chance to get showered and stuff." And, from the looks of things, have a small mental breakdown.

Enjolras shoots him a grateful look and heads for their shared bedroom, leaving Grantaire and Éponine alone with his parents. 

The kitchen is unnervingly silent. It's awkward. 

Grantaire gives a nervous bark of laughter. "So, I can see where Enjolras gets his good looks from."

Jesus Christ. Éponine is going to kill him. And then she's going to dig him up and revive him so Enjolras can kill him. For now, she settles for jabbing him in the ribs with her elbow as he’s setting her coffee down in front of her. He swears under his breath, and Enjolras’ father glares even more severely, and offers only a curt nod when Grantaire sets the coffees, milk and sugar in front of him. 

"So, Éponine, how long have you and Alexandre been together?" His mother is looking at Éponine like she hangs the stars in the sky. It's slightly unnerving and extremely creepy. 

"Uh," she flounders, "Really not very long at all.” Ha, she thinks, if only they knew.

When his mother continues to stare at her, she adds, “A few..Weeks, maybe?” 

Enjolras’ mother smiles even wider, if that’s possible. “Well, it’s very nice to meet you. Alex has never mentioned a girl before, or brought anyone to meet us. It’s the strangest thing, I’m starting to think he wants to keep all his relationships a secret.”

Grantaire snorts into his coffee cup, and finally Enjolras’ mom stops staring at Éponine for a moment, so she can glare at him. 

“Where are you from, Éponine?” Enjolras’ father asks suddenly, and when Éponine looks at him he’s staring at her intently, as though he’s examined her from head to toe and found her lacking. 

“Uh. I’m from Montfermeil, sir,” she answers, and she doesn’t miss the way both of their noses wrinkle in disgust, the same way Enjolras’ mother’s had when she looked at Grantaire. God, if Éponine mentions she’s from les Bosquets specifically they’ll probably both collapse. 

“And your parents? Are they from there too?”

“I believe so, sir.” 

“And what do they do?” 

God, what is with the third degree? Éponine thinks, bravely resisting the urge to give him the finger instead of answering. If Enjolras gets this every time he’s in the same room as his parents, it’s no wonder he seems to want to be as far away from them as possible. 

"They used to own an inn," she says bluntly, really wishing they'd drop the subject, because this is awkward enough already, and the last thing Éponine wants to talk about is the fact that both her parents are in prison for drug trafficking, fraud and child neglect. 

“And what do they do now?” 

Éponine shrugs her shoulders helplessly, wishing he could just drop it already. “I don’t know, sir.” 

Enjolras’ mother raises one eyebrow coolly, and well, it’s good to know where Enjolras gets that particular expression from. “You don’t know?” she repeats sceptically. 

"I-" Her throat feels dry. Grantaire nudges his knee against hers under the table in silent support, and she takes a sip of coffee to try and clear her parched throat. "I don't talk to them anymore, ma’am. I haven't in years." 

Enjolras’ mother and father share a look, but blessedly, they decide to both stay silent. 

The silence stretches on until Enjolras comes back from the shower. He looks a little more composed, dressed with his wet hair in a braid, a little colour back in his face. 

Grantaire has left his coffee sitting on the counter, black, and Enjolras adds milk and a frankly alarming amount of sugar to it before he sinks into the kitchen chair beside Éponine, opposite his parents. 

"So, not that I'm not ecstatic to see you both," he says, snark colouring every word, "But what are you actually doing here?" 

“Well, we had tickets to see La Cenerentola, ” his mother says, “And given that you’ve been ignoring our calls- Very rude, by the way, darling- We thought we’d call up for an unexpected surprise, to see what havoc you’ve wrecked on our apartment!” Her eyes sweep over the, in Éponine’s opinion, perfectly tidy apartment, catching on a laundry basket, waiting to be folded. She raises an eyebrow again. 

Enjolras’ smile looks more like a grimace than anything, and he sounds like he’s speaking through gritted teeth when he says, “Well, it certainly was unexpected.” 

The bag of pastries he’d bought from Grantaire’s favourite bakery lies open in the middle of the table. There’s one large, buttery looking pain au raisin in the middle of the bag. Grantaire eyes it with interest, but before he can reach for it, Enjolras’ father snatches it up and takes a somehow aggressive bite out of it. 

If looks could kill, the way Enjolras glares would have murdered him ten times over. 

"Don't scowl like that, Alex, darling," Enjolras' mother admonishes him firmly, "You'll give yourself wrinkles before you turn twenty five." 

“Also,” his father says, “You never responded to Marie’s invitation.” 

Enjolras’ brow furrows in confusion. “Marie’s invitation?” 

His father rolls his eyes. “About the wedding.” 

Enjolras’ frowns harder, and then it seems to dawn on him what his father is talking about, and he brings a hand up to rub at his temple. “I completely forgot about that.” 

“Clearly,” his father says, voice hard. 

Enjolras closes his eyes and seems to mentally count to five, then opens them again and says in an even voice, “I don’t know if I’m going to make it. There’s a lot of really important events for Les Amis coming up, and-” 

“Nonsense!” His mother says, “Your little club can wait. You have to be at the wedding, the whole family’s going!” Suddenly, her hand comes out, lightning quick, and wraps around Éponine’s wrist. “And you can bring Éponine, of course! She can stay with us! Your invitation has a plus one on it!” 

Shit. 

Shit shit shit shit shit. 

“Oh no, that’s not-” Enjolras starts, the same time that Éponine spits out “I don’t think that’s a good idea.” From her left side, she hears Grantaire mutter, “Oh God,” into his coffee cup. 

“Yes, very good,” Enjolras’ mom says, sitting back in her chair with a look of satisfaction on her face, “The two of you can come down and stay in the house, and go to the wedding. This is good actually, that Éponine can come. Some of the family still talk about that silly homosexual phase you decided to go through, Alexandre. It would be nice to prove to them all that there was no proof in it, just silly teenage hormones.” 

What the fuck? Beside Éponine, Grantaire’s hands curl into fists on the table. 

“Mom,” Enjolras says, sounding desperate, “I really don’t have time to go to a wedding. I’m really busy.” 

“But Alexandre,” his mother says, and there’s a look of triumph in her eye even as she takes a sip of coffee. She sets it down, and says “Euphrasie misses you so much. ”

Who the hell is Euphrasie?

Whoever she is, she takes the wind out of Enjolras' sails. His shoulders slump and he sighs heavily, closing his eyes. From the corner of her eye, Éponine can see Grantaire watching him; he looks like he wants to do nothing more than throw Enjolras’ parents out of the apartment and pull Enjolras in for a hug. 

Enjolras opens his eyes. “I’ll think about it.” 

Enjolras’ mother smiles, and it’s sort of uncanny how similar they look. She reaches forward and pats Enjolras’ hand where it’s lying stiffly on the table. “That’s all we ask, Alexandre.” 

***

To the chagrin of everyone involved, except, apparently, Enjolras’ parents, they decide to hang around after their initial conversation. Enjolras’ father demands more coffee and turns on Grantaire, barking a question about what he studies and literally snorting when Grantaire answers that he’s an art student. Meanwhile, Éponine desperately tries to read Enjolras’ mind as his mother subjects the two of them to an interrogation of their wonderful, totally real, definitely not fake relationship. 

“Éponine was saying you two haven’t been together very long,” his mother says. 

“Uh, yeah,” he stammers out, “It’s been like three months, I guess?” This is followed by a bitten back swear word when Éponine stands hard on his foot. 

“What he means, Madame Enjolras,” Éponine says as sweetly as she can manage, curling her hand around Enjolras’ forearm like it’s something she does everyday, and not like she’s only had about five conversations with the guy, “Is that we’ve known each other for three months.” She looks pointedly at Enjolras. “ Like I said earlier, we’ve only been dating for a few weeks at most.” 

“Uh, yeah,” says Enjolras. Helpful. 

Enjolras’ mother gives a tinkly, delicate laugh, tossing her long blonde hair back over one shoulder, and Éponine gets briefly distracted by the thought that great hair must run in the family. 

“It’s so funny to think, your father and I were planning on introducing you to the Desfriches’ daughter, Isabelle, at the wedding,” she says. 

Enjolras frowns. “You were?” 

“Yes, of course. She’s supposed to be a lovely girl, and of course, your father and I go way back with her parents. There was even talk for a while of your father merging his law firm with her father’s, and I’m sure introducing the two of you would have done wonders for that arrangement. But,” she smiles at Éponine, and it doesn’t quite reach her eyes, “That was before we knew about Éponine, of course.” 

“Yes,” Enjolras says slowly, and for the first time in the entire conversation he sounds intrigued, “I suppose you can’t set me up with anyone now, can you?” 

“It certainly seems that way, for as long as Éponine’s in the picture, anyway!” Enjolras’ mother does her strange delicate laugh again. Éponine doesn’t quite understand what exactly is meant to be so fucking funny. 

Enjolras makes a non-committal “Hm,” noise, and the conversation moves on. 

***

Finally, after what feels like hours of the most stilted conversation ever, but is in fact only 45 minutes, Enjolras' parents stand. 

"We have to be off, darling, we have a La Cenerentola in a few hours and we wouldn't want to be late." Madame Enjolras stands, lifting her expensive handbag and twirling the chiffon scarf around her neck again. To Éponine's surprise, she strides forward and kisses her twice on each cheek. 

"Well, I must say Éponine, you are an unexpected yet welcome surprise," she steps back, runs a thumb along Éponine's cheekbone, a smile on her face, and the gesture should feel warm, but it doesn't. 

Madame Enjolras gives another high, girlish laugh. "I was starting to think Alex was never going to find a nice girl and settle down!"

Éponine determinately does not look at Enjolras. She does her best to force a laugh. "Well, looks like he has!" 

"Hermine, we have to leave," Enjolras' father says, and his mother steps back. Enjolras kisses her stiffly on either cheek. Enjolras' father looks at him, and from first impressions he doesn’t seem like the kind of man to hug his son, but Enjolras has tensed at her side, clearly waiting on something. 

His father nods curtly, and Enjolras' tensed shoulders relax a fraction of a centimetre as he nods too. 

The two of them step into the corridor. His father turns, one hand closed around the handle. 

"Get a damn haircut, son," he says. 

Almost unconsciously, one of Enjolras' hands comes up and fiddles with the end of his braid, curled over his left shoulder. 

The door slams shut, and all three of them jolt at the noise. The stony silence that follows is broken by Grantaire saying, "So. What the fuck just happened?" 

"I think Enjolras just got his first girlfriend?" Éponine tries joking. No one laughs. 

Instead of answering, Enjolras sinks down into one of the pushed back kitchen chairs, pushes his head into his hands and makes a long, drawn out groaning noise. 

"Enj?" Grantaire says softly. He kneels down in front of the chair Enjolras is sitting in, pressing his palms flat against Enjolras' thighs. "You okay?" 

Enjolras sighs shakily. He looks up from his hands and loosens the end of his braid, running both hands through his hair in agitation. 

“I’m fine,” he says shortly, “I wasn’t expecting- I’m a bit-” He seems to remember then that Éponine is still standing awkwardly in the centre of the room, and abruptly stands. 

“I have a headache,” he says curtly, “I’m going to lie down for a while.” And that’s even more out of character than anything else that had gone on that morning. Éponine has witnessed the combined forces of Combeferre, Courfeyrac and Grantaire just barely convincing Enjolras to go to bed for an extra hour when he had the flu. 

Enjolras strides to his and Grantaire’s bedroom without another word and slams the door behind him. Grantaire sighs heavily. 

“Sorry, Ép,” he says quietly, although he doesn’t look away from the closed bedroom door, “I think…I think you should just go.” 

“Yeah, I can do that,” she agrees. She doesn’t know what kind of meltdown Enjolras is currently having, but she definitely doesn’t want to be around to witness it. She was meant to leave over an hour ago, anyway. 

Despite no doubt wanting to check on his boyfriend, Grantaire walks her to the door again. Just before she leaves, he surprises her by pulling into his chest for a hug. 

“Thanks, Ép. For covering for us,” he whispers, “I don’t know if they would have believed any story we could have thought up, especially that last minute.” 

She hugs him back tight. “That’s okay. I hope I did the right thing, it was kind of hard to tell in the moment.” She steps back and clears her throat awkwardly. “I, uh. I hope Enjolras is okay.” 

Grantaire nods, his mouth in a grim line. “He’ll be fine. He always has been, before.”

Éponine spends her entire walk home wondering if any of the lies she told had actually helped. 

Chapter Text

Despite her best intentions, Éponine doesn’t make it to an ABC meeting until nearly two weeks later. She really, honestly, tries her best to go to at least one meeting a week, but life tends to get in the way, so she doesn’t always manage it. This week, one of the other waitresses in the restaurant has the flu, so Éponine works four twelve hour days in a row, and by the time the meeting rolls around, she barely has the energy for lying in bed watching shitty reality tv, never mind putting on a decent outfit and leaving her apartment. And then the night of the next meeting, Azelma and Gavroche’s foster parents invite her for dinner. Despite the fact that they seem like genuinely nice people, whom she should probably get to know better if they’re going to be guardians to her younger siblings, Éponine still feels mostly awkward and tense around them. But she doesn’t want to be, because they could end up being in her life for a long time if things go well. So, rather than going to the meeting, she accepted the dinner invitation, bought the nicest bottle of wine she could afford, and tried her best to laugh at Lawrence’s corny jokes. 

It had gone surprisingly okay, until the end of the night, when Jane had tried to hug her, and she’d yelped and ducked out of her way before she could. Éponine hadn’t spoken to either of them since, apart from a hastily messaged apology when she’d been on the bus ride home and the mortification had set in. 

She’s just…Not great with parents of any variety, apparently.

Speaking of. 

When she finally walks in the door of the Musain for the meeting, the first thing she does is make accidental eye contact with Enjolras. She hasn’t spoken to or seen him since the fiasco with his own parents, and she’s barely had time to exchange more than a few messages with Grantaire. She can feel her own face going red, because yeah, she did kind of volunteer herself as Enjolras’ girlfriend last time she saw him, and in hindsight, that had been kind of a weird thing to do, even though any alternative scenario could have ended up much worse.

After a moment, he gives her a small nod of acknowledgement, and she nods back, relieved, as she sinks into the familiar chair in the far corner of the room. She doesn't know what else she was expecting, in all honesty. It's not like he was going to give her a medal. Or punch her in the face. 

Marius, across the room, catches her eye and gives an enthusiastic wave and a wide smile, and Éponine grimaces even as she waves back. You get one ill-advised, comphet crush on a straight boy, and he decides you have to be friends for life. 

"Are you leading poor Pontmercy on again?" a voice behind her says, and when she looks up, Grantaire is grinning down at her, smelling of smoke. 

Éponine snorts as he sinks into the chair beside her (despite being practically glued to Enjolras’ side the other twenty three hours of the day, Grantaire always makes a point of sitting next to her in the ABC meetings, which she is grateful for). "He should be so lucky,” she says snarkily, in response to his comment. 

“How come you missed the last few meetings?” he asks, “If you weren’t here to pull me back to reality this week I might have actually started believing in something.” 

Éponine snorts and shoots a pointed look at a delegating Enjolras. "Like you don't already. Sadly, some of us have rent to pay, because we don’t freeload off our boyfriend’s parent’s fancy real estate.” She glances towards the front of the room, but Enjolras isn’t focused on them at all, nodding along enthusiastically to whatever Feuilly is talking about. She lowers her voice further. “They didn’t give either of you any more shit after the other day, did they?” 

Grantaire sighs, his lips tightening as he too looks at Enjolras. 

“They didn’t,” he says, “Well, not to me anyway. I think Enj is just trying to ignore them, which tends to be the official party line anyway. I think his mom’s badgering him about going to this fucking wedding though.” 

“Yeah, she seems like the type,” she rolls her eyes, “Is it even someone he knows?” 

Grantaire shrugs. “Some cousin or something. I don’t know.” He frowns thoughtfully, “I think he’s been trying to think of a way out of it. He’s been kind of quiet the past few days, especially today.” His mouth quirks into a smile. “That generally means he’s scheming about something.” 

“Grantaire,” and there’s Enjolras, right on cue. In previous years, this would have been snapped, and Enjolras would be glowering, and the result would probably be a lot of yelling and a fair amount of sexual tension, but when Éponine looks at him, he mostly just looks exasperated and slightly fond. 

“Maybe you want to open the meeting?” he asks in a pleasant voice. Beside him, Courfeyrac is very obviously hiding a smile behind his hand, and Combeferre is rolling his eyes. 

Grantaire barks a laugh, but despite his smirk, the look he gives Enjolras is undeniably soft and sappy. “You can try and get me to contribute to your meetings all you want, Apollo. But when the view is this good from where I’m sitting, why would I take the lead?”  

Enjolras rolls his eyes even as his cheeks flush pink, and Éponine sits back in her chair and watches as the meeting finally gets going. She doesn’t like to contribute a lot, doesn’t know if she’s actually ever contributed. While Les Amis’ cause is obviously noble, Éponine has seen a bit too much shit to completely buy into it. She’s a bit of a cynic in that regard, she supposes. That’s why she and Grantaire sit together.

But then, she thinks wryly as she watches Grantaire watch Enjolras pull a pen from his hair with a sappy fucking look on his face, perhaps Grantaire has other motivations for coming to the meetings. 

Éponine fades into the background and lets her friend’s ideas flow around her.

***

The meeting ends, and Éponine actually has a day off work tomorrow, so she decides to stay around, even if she had spent the last twenty minutes of the meeting stifling a yawn into her hand every few seconds. As normal, most of the ABC have hung back- Combeferre, Courfeyrac and Feuilly remain gathered around Combeferre’s laptop, continuing their discussion on the next action of the Union Feuilly is a member of, but as soon as the meeting ended, Grantaire had pulled Enjolras to the bar by his wrist and pressed a glass of water and a peppermint tea into his hands. They’re still standing at the bar, their heads bent close together so they can have a whispered conversation, and Éponine pretends not to notice the way the two of them look up and glance at her in unison. 

“You up for it, Ep?” Jehan’s voice pulls her out of her reverie. 

“Huh? What?” she asks, looking away from Grantaire and Enjolras. 

“There’s a new Slovakian horror movie being shown in the movie theater down the street from Bahorel’s place. We’re getting our tickets now. You down?” 

Éponine doesn’t speak Slovakian, but she does like horror movies, and she does like Jehan and Bahorel, even if she’s 90% sure their bad influence is the reason she lost her phone the other night. She nods. “Sure. Sign me up.” 

Jehan smiles softly at her. “Great. Glad to hear it.” They sound like they genuinely mean it too. Jehan is nice like that. Their eyes flit to somewhere behind Éponine. “Enj, you coming?” 

“What is it?” Enjolras asks, coming around to Jehan’s side of the table and leaning over so he can see their phone screen better. 

“Slovakian vampire horror,” Jehan says with obvious delight, “It’s supposed to be super disturbing.” 

Enjolras huffs a laugh. “I think I’m good.” To her surprise, he turns his attention to Éponine, and asks, “Do you have a moment to talk?” 

Huh. 

That’s…Weird. Éponine and Enjolras don’t talk alone, ever. They’ve had conversations, of course. But those are always cushioned by a neutral presence, like Grantaire. Or Bahorel. Or Courfeyrac. Any time Enjolras and Éponine have ended up alone together, it’s been the moment where one of them suddenly remembers they want another drink, or urgently need to make a phone call. 

Éponine ’s pretty sure she knows what this is about though. She pushes her chair back and stands. 

“Sure. Outside?” She asks, and when Enjolras nods, she walks to the Musain’s heavy fire escape door and shoulders it open, holding it with one hand so Enjolras can step out behind her. Once outside, she pulls her pack of cigarettes and lights up, leaning against the wall. She notices Enjolras watching her silently, in particular the pack of cigarettes, and holds out the pack to him. 

To her surprise, he takes it, catching Éponine ’s lighter smoothly when she throws it. The inhale-exhale of smoking seems to drain some of the tension from his frame, and for a minute the two of them just stand opposite each other in silence, the smoking rising between them. There’s a slight breeze in the air- It’s a cold night, for June- And the hairs on Éponine’s arms are standing on end. 

Eventually, she asks, “So. What’s up?” 

“Uhm.” Enjolras starts, and then clears his throat. His fingers are clutched so tightly around the cigarette it looks like it’s going to fall apart in his hands. 

“I wanted to thank you,” he says in a rush, “For the other day. With my parents. I wasn’t expecting them to drop in so suddenly, and I appreciate you being there and covering for me. I’m sorry for not thanking you at the time.” A muscle twinges in his jaw. “They tend to throw me off a bit, I wasn’t really thinking properly.”

“Oh.” Éponine says. Grantaire had thanked her at the time, but honestly, she hadn’t really thought anything of it. She shrugs. “It’s okay. Parents suck, man. I get it.” 

Enjolras nods thoughtfully, staring off into the middle distance as he smokes. Éponine shivers, stubbing her cigarette out on the wall and throwing it in a trash can a few metres away. He doesn’t seem inclined to say anything else, so she says hesitantly, “Is that everything?” 

“No,” Enjolras’ cheeks flush red, and he bites his lip hard. “There’s something else. I need a favour.”

Éponine blinks. “A favour.” 

“Yes,” Enjolras finishes his cigarette, and Éponine can tell from the look on his face that he desperately wishes he had another. “A favour.” 

Éponine doesn’t like being asked for favours. Her dad used to ask her for a lot of favours. ‘Ponine, sweetheart, will you take this package to my guy who lives in Belleville? Don’t worry ‘Ponine I promise you won’t be asked to look after them for long, your mother and I will be back before tomorrow, probably. You’re my best girl.

Éponine crosses her arms over her chest and looks up at Enjolras. She actually doesn’t have far to go, the two of them are almost matched in height. Éponine has always liked being tall- It makes her feel safe, as stupid as that is. 

“What is it?” she asks warily. 

“I…When my parents were in the apartment, they mentioned a wedding. You remember, right?” At her nod, he continues, “As you can imagine, I’ve been trying to get out of it. But they’ve basically been bothering me non-stop about it.” He manages an awkward smile, shrugging one shoulder. “And they’ve been bothering me about you, as well.” 

Éponine winces, unsure if she should apologise or not. 

“So, I was wondering…” Enjolras takes a deep breath, and says in a rush, “Would you come with me to Provence and pretend to be my girlfriend so I don’t have to deal with my incredibly homophobic family for a week and subsequently put my head through a wall?” 

Éponine blinks. There’s no way she heard that right. 

“I. Uh. What?” she says, very eloquently. 

“Will you be my plus one to my cousin’s wedding?” he asks again, and the one saving grace of this is that he looks every bit as awkward as Éponine feels.

“You want me to pretend to be your girlfriend,” Éponine says slowly, just to check, “For a week. In front of your family.” 

Enjolras gives an awkward, forced sounding laugh. “Extended family too.”

Éponine doesn’t say anything. 

“Éponine, I want you to know,” Enjolras says earnestly, “There is absolutely no pressure for you to help me out. I know it’s super weird. I know it’s a lot to ask. I don’t want you to feel forced into anything.” 

She nods slowly. “I know.”

“And if it helps,” he continues, “I can pay for your flight.” 

Éponine feels her hackles rise almost instantly. “I don’t need charity.” 

“What? It’s not-” Enjolras sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose for a brief moment before releasing it. “It’s not charity. You’d be doing me a favour. It’s a thank you. Not to mention it would be a dick move for me to expect you to drop a bunch of money on a ticket just to help me out.” 

Immediately, she feels stupid. “Oh.” 

Enjolras doesn’t say anything, and their conversation descends into a tense silence. Enjolras has his arms crossed over his chest, and she can see his nails pressed hard into the skin, leaving little indents. 

As a peace offering, Éponine offers up her pack of cigarettes again. 

Enjolras rolls his eyes. “I shouldn’t, Combeferre is going to kill me,” he says, even as he takes one out of the packet. 

Before she can think better on it, Éponine blurts out “Can I ask you a very nosy and invasive question?” 

Enjolras blinks. “I suppose so.” 

“I just-” Éponine starts, and then decides it would be better just to rip the band aid off. “Dude, why aren’t you out yet?” 

Enjolras raises an eyebrow, but to her surprise he smiles wryly a moment later. “You’re right. That is very nosy and invasive.” 

Éponine shrugs. “I did warn you.” 

“You did.” 

“I just-” Éponine stares hard at him, and then wills herself to continue. “You preach all this stuff about not lying down and taking shit about our identities from anyone, fuck the man, vive la revolution or fucking whatever. And just- They seem like assholes, why do you care what they think? I didn’t think you were the kind of person to care what anyone thought of you, least of all people like that.”

Éponine shifts on the wall, clearing a space for Enjolras to slot himself in as she pulls another cigarette out of her packet. The two of them smoke in silence for a minute, and Éponine is just starting to think that he’s actually not going to answer her, when he says, “It wasn’t for lack of trying.” 

She looks up at him, frowning, and he continues. 

“I tried. I was actually pretty young the first time I told them- Maybe ten or eleven? I think I’d known for a while before that.” 

Éponine nods. She kind of gets where he’s coming from, there.

“So I told them, and they kind of just dismissed me completely? Said that it wasn’t possible, it was just a phase, asked if there was anyone in school who was influencing me, all the usual bullshit. So I left it, then.” Enjolras frowns, a deep furrow appearing between his brows. He stubs out the cigarette on the wall, and flicks it into one of the Musain’s trash cans. “I tried again when I was sixteen, and the results were a lot more insidious. Did you know I have a younger sister?” 

The sudden topic change catches Éponine off guard. After a moment, she says slowly, “No. I didn’t know that.”

Enjolras nods. “Yep. Euphrasie.” And Éponine thinks Ah. “She prefers Cosette.” And okay. Enjolras has definitely mentioned a Cosette before. She’s heard him talking to Grantaire about her, and Courfeyrac and Combeferre have mentioned her a few times, especially around the holidays. Éponine had always just assumed Cosette was someone from a different political group or another campus society. It had never occurred to her to think about Enjolras’ personal life, outside of the ABC and his relationship with Grantaire. 

"She's three years younger than me," Enjolras continues. "And when I tried to come out again, they talked a lot about my negative influence, how it would affect her. Basically it was decided that if I wanted to continue saying these things, I would be kept as far away from her as possible. So I kept quiet and it was left there for a few years, until I was moving out. They sat me down in my dad’s office and said that if I was to bring up anything like that again, I wouldn't be welcome under their roof, and I wouldn't have any contact with her at all." 

"God," Éponine says, voice hushed. "Is she-?"

"Cosette isn't like them," Enjolras says quickly. "She's a good person." His arms are crossed over his chest, his mouth twisting angrily. He’s not looking at Éponine, glaring straight ahead at the opposite wall. 

"She's seventeen, and she still has to live with them," he says. "So, if I still want to see her, I still have to see them. And if I still have to see them-"

"Then you can't come out," Éponine finishes for him. 

He nods, mouth in a grim line. "Not until Cosette leaves, anyway. She's moving here in the autumn for university, and I have every intention of telling them after that. And they'll cut me off. And that's fine." Éponine notices his nails are digging hard into the skin of his arms again, and figures it might not be as fine as Enjolras is letting on. 

"And Cosette?" she asks hesitantly. "Will she still be around after you do?" 

Enjolras nods instantly. "She says she'll stick by me whatever I want to do. She's been telling me I should have stopped seeing them years ago, but," he shrugs, "I would rather put up with a few weeks of bullshit per year than trying to keep in contact with her in secret. It's…easier this way, for now." 

Hm. Éponine doubts that, judging from the tense set of Enjolras' shoulders, and the obvious anxiety she'd seen the other day. But it's not her place to judge what decisions Enjolras makes about his family life. 

What is her place though, is-

"So what makes this wedding different from all the other times you’ve visited and put up with them?" 

Enjolras makes a noise that sounds vaguely like a 'ggrrruuugggghhhhhh' and leans his head back against the wall. 

"Because it's fucking annoying," he says bluntly. "You remember my mom mentioning a girl when they were there?" His brow furrows. "Uhhh…..Iris?"

"Isabelle," Éponine corrects. "She seemed pretty determined to set you two up." 

"Oh, she's pretty determined to set me up with any eligible young woman between the ages of nineteen and twenty-three. Any young woman. Every time I'm home." He sounds like he's gritting his teeth. "For the past three years. And you know how weddings are.” He rolls his eyes. “Lots of eligible young women.”

Éponine snorts before she can stop herself. "And you are of course a very eligible young man. A very single and very, very, straight eligible young man. Any girl would be lucky to have you." 

Something breaks, and the two of them start snickering, Enjolras burying his head in his hands. It feels good to laugh, Éponine thinks, after the conversation had turned out a bit more intense than she’d been anticipating. 

It takes them a few minutes to stop laughing, and they fall into silence again, the only sounds coming from the traffic in the street and the inside of the Musain. 

“Sorry,” Enjolras says into the quiet, “I know this is so weird.”

Éponine sighs, and stubs her second cigarette out on the wall. “When’s the wedding?” 

Enjolras looks at her, frowning. “Two weeks from now.” 

“Okay, fine,” she pushes herself off the wall, throws the stub of her cigarette in the trash can, and turns to face him again. “I’ll let you know.” 

Enjolras blinks, his expression going from anxiousness to surprise. “I- Wait, really?” 

“Yep. I’m promising nothing,” she tells him, “I don’t even know if I’ll be able to get it off work. But I could maybe call in some favours, God knows that place owes me a few by now.”

He nods, still looking slightly shell shocked, and Éponine opens the door to the Musain’s backroom again. 

“Éponine!” Enjolras calls suddenly, and when she looks back over her shoulder, Enjolras has pushed himself off the wall too, although he doesn’t look like he’s planning on following her inside. 

“Thank you,” he says quietly, earnestly, and Éponine doesn’t know how to respond to that, so she simply nods and steps into the warmth of the Musain, letting the door swing shut behind her. 

***

Between work, her siblings, and the meetings in the Musain, Éponine doesn’t really get a lot of time by herself just to sit down and think about things. Even so, she finds herself rolling Enjolras’ request over her mind over the next few days, trying to make a decision. She’s not an indecisive person normally, she can’t afford to be, but every time she thinks about the possibility of spending an entire week staying in the house of two rich, homophobic assholes, pretending to be the girlfriend of a guy she barely knows, she pulls out her phone to text Enjolras, tell him sorry, but she can’t help him out. 

And then she pauses with her fingers over the keyboard and remembers the tense, unhappy set of Enjolras’ shoulders when his parents were there, the way they spoke to him, the things he said about them, and she finds herself putting her phone back in her pocket, guilt souring her stomach. 

She makes a decision after a meeting. 

Everyone is hanging around in the Musain's backroom, and Éponine had ducked out of the madness for a moment to take a smoke break. She leans against the wall of the alley, her view of the front of the Musain and the street it leads onto hidden by a large dumpster. She breathes out, watching the smoke curl into the night air, and closes her eyes. She's tired and her feet are aching from her previous shift, but she doesn't get a lot of social time, and she's going to embrace it whenever she can. 

Her peace is interrupted by the sound of the Musain's front door opening, and the sound of footsteps in the alley. This is followed by Enjolras' voice a few seconds later, saying "I know . Trust me, I know how unbearable they can be." 

Éponine frowns, and then works it out. Enjolras doesn't know she's there; he's on the phone. She shrinks back further into the shadow of the dumpster. 

"Yeah, Cosette, I already said I'm trying to work it out," Enjolras snaps, "No, I- No. I don't know what you want from me. Either I go down and be miserable or I stay here and you're miserable. It's not- Cosette? Cosette?"

There's a beat of silence, and then a groan of frustration from Enjolras. He mutters a curse word under his breath, and Éponine realises Cosette must have hung up on him. Éponine kind of gets the sense that the conversation hadn't truly ended before Cosette hung up in anger, and she can't help but roll her eyes in sympathy, before going back into the Musain through the back door. 

She takes a seat between Marius and Courfeyrac, and listens in on the conversation between Joly and Grantaire. Joly is complaining that he can't go to the club because he's worried about his liver. As her friends go, it’s a pretty normal conversation. 

A few minutes later, Enjolras renters and takes a seat on the other side of the table next to Feuilly. He’s silent, scowling down at his phone where it rests on the table. After a few moments of glaring at it, he picks it up, fingers flying across the keyboard, before setting it down again. Enjolras makes an effort to rejoin the conversation then, but Éponine can’t help but wonder if she’s the only person who realises his smile doesn’t quite meet his eyes.  

The phone lies silently on the table for the rest of the night, and as she takes the metro home with Bahorel and Jehan, Éponine finally makes a decision. 

***

She picks a night when she knows Grantaire is at work to speak to Enjolras. She doesn’t tell him she’s coming over, just takes the metro to their apartment at 7pm on a Friday night and rings the number for their apartment. Enjolras answers after a moment with a fuzzy sounding, “Hello?” 

“Hey, it’s me,” she tells him. “Can I come up?” 

There’s a pause, and then, “Éponine?” 

“Yeah,” and oh yeah, Éponine probably should have announced herself. It’s not very often her and Enjolras speak over a crackly building intercom. 

Enjolras is silent for another second, and then says, “Grantaire’s at work, just so you know.”

Éponine rolls her eyes. “I know. I’m here to see you.”

“Oh,” he says, and then there’s a buzzing sound as the door to the building unlocks. “Come on up.” 

Enjolras is waiting at the open door of their apartment when Éponine gets to their floor, in a parody of the way Grantaire had been waiting a few weeks previously. He motions her in with his hand, and asks, “Do you want coffee?” 

She nods as she falls into one of the pushed back kitchen chairs. “Sure. I take it-” 

“Black with two sugars,” Enjolras finishes, “Grantaire told me once.” 

Éponine sits in silence while Enjolras makes coffee, twirling one of her chunky rings around her finger to stop herself from fidgeting. Eventually, Enjolras sets a mug in front of her and sits down in the seat opposite her, holding his own mug tightly. 

“So?” he says expectantly. 

This is crazy, Éponine thinks for maybe the tenth time that day, and then continues on. 

“I’ll help you,” she tells him. “I’ll go down to Provence with you, if you still want me to.”

For a second, Enjolras just blinks at her. And then he says, “You’re serious?” 

She nods. “Yeah. I might regret it, but…Yeah,” she finishes limply. 

Enjolras snorts. “Believe me, you’ll definitely regret it on some level.” They sink into an uncomfortable silence, and then he asks tensely, “You were able to get it off work okay?” 

Éponine resists the urge to make a sarcastic comment, something along the lines of Nah, I’m just going to travel down without permission and wait for the inevitable phone call where I get fired after not showing up. But that would be a dick move, so instead she just says “Yep,” tersely. They fall into silence again, and yeah, he’s right, Éponine is already regretting her decision immensely. One week of this is going to be absolutely unbearable. 

“God,” Enjolras says, and when Éponine looks at him, he’s rubbing the back of his neck, looking exceedingly awkward, “We’re really going to suck at this, aren’t we?” 

Well, he certainly isn’t wrong. Even so, Éponine snorts and says, “I wouldn’t be so sure about that, sweetheart. ”

Enjolras had been drinking out of his coffee mug when she spoke, and Éponine watches in amusement as he chokes on it. 

“Please, no pet names,” he says once he’s cleared his throat a few times and composed himself somewhat. “I can just about put up with Apollo .” He grins at her, and Éponine finds herself grinning back. 

“Yeah, about that,” she says, curling her hands around her mug. “Why’d you start the whole going by your surname only thing? Alexandre isn’t a terrible name, really.” Certainly not as bad as Euphrasie anyway. Éponine can kind of understand having a nickname, there. 

Enjolras wrinkles his nose, the smile sliding off his face. 

“It’s not really about the name, it’s about the association,” he says. At Éponine’s raised eyebrow, he rolls his eyes, and says, “Technically, I’m Alexandre Junior. ” 

Ah. 

“That makes sense,” she says. She’s not going to blame him for not wanting to be named after his shitty father. Enjolras nods, and there’s silence again. Goddammit, Éponine had thought they were getting somewhere there. 

Surprisingly, Enjolras breaks the silence a second later. “Even then, it wasn’t me that came up with the surname thing. It was Courfeyrac.”

“Courfeyrac?” Éponine takes a sip of her coffee, and when she sets it down again, asks, “Why? What’s Courfeyrac’s first name?” 

Enjolras laughs. “I’m sworn to secrecy there, I’m afraid.” 

“Aw, c’mon dude!” Éponine says, leaning across the table. “You can’t leave me hanging like this!” 

Enjolras shakes his head firmly. “Nope. He’ll murder me if I tell you.” 

Éponine rolls her eyes but concedes defeat, sitting back in her chair again and draining the last of her coffee. She sighs, and bites her lip, knowing now she has no choice but to bring up the thing that’s been playing on her mind since she decided to go to Provence. 

“You really don’t have to pay for my flight, you know,” she says, and glares when Enjolras very obviously rolls his eyes. 

“I know I don’t have to; I’m telling you I want to,” he says. He looks pointedly around the apartment. “It’s not like I have rent to pay. Like I said, you’re doing me a favour. And it’s not exactly going to be a pleasant week. I should at least do something nice for you right now to make up for it.” 

Éponine opens her mouth to say that she doesn’t need people to do nice things for her. Then she realises that saying that is probably kind of weird and pathetic and not how most people react to being told their acquaintance slash fake boyfriend wants to do something for them, and shuts it again. Enjolras raises an eyebrow, but doesn’t comment. 

Éponine stands up, walking to the sink and putting her empty coffee mug in it. "I should get going." 

"You don't have to," Enjolras says, "Combeferre and Courfeyrac are on their way round. We're going to watch a 1968 documentary. You're welcome to stay." 

Éponine cannot picture herself getting her Friday night kicks from watching a documentary of any sort. It feels like the more she speaks with Enjolras, the less compatible they are. This fake relationship is going to be very forced indeed. 

"No, it's okay," she tells him. "I have work early tomorrow." She manages to quirk a smile. "Plus, looks like we're gonna be spending a lot of time together soon. We should stay out of each other's hair while we can, I guess." 

Enjolras laughs lightly. "Yeah, I guess so.” He pauses, his face flushing slightly, and then says “If you give me your number, I can text you about-” He makes a vague gesture with one hand, "The whole thing." 

Éponine nods, and dutifully recites her number for Enjolras to add. After, he walks her to the door, and as she steps into the hallway, already pulling her headphones out of her pocket, he says "Hey, Éponine?" When she turns, he's standing in the doorway, arms crossed.

"Thanks again, for all this," he tells her, "I really appreciate it."

Éponine doesn't really know what else to say, so she simply shrugs and says, "Any time, dude. That's what friends are for, right? Dealing with family shit." She has her headphones in and is walking towards the stairway before she can hear his answer.

Chapter Text

On Tuesday, Éponine picks Azelma and Gavroche up from school, like she agreed with their foster parents back in September, and takes them for milkshakes. She’s done it every Tuesday since she aged out of the system, and Lawrence and Jane had been kind enough to let her keep it up when they fostered her siblings. She doesn’t really know what she would have done, otherwise. 

Gavroche happily chats the entire walk to the cafe, about his teachers and his school friends and the soccer team he's started playing for on Saturday mornings. Lawrence had suggested he sign up, apparently. Éponine smiles. 

Azelma walks a little bit behind the two of them, barely looking up from her phone the whole time. Éponine bravely resists the urge to roll her eyes. She understands that Azelma is a sulky teenager now, and plays that role to the best of her ability. But Éponine really wants to slap her over the back of the head sometimes, and then grab the iPhone and throw it into the Seine. 

She resists when she remembers that it's good , that Azelma can have these things now. That she won't get looked down upon by her classmates for having old clothes and ratty shoes and an old brick phone. It's nice that Lawrence and Jane are able to buy these things for her, that it isn't an issue for them. 

After all, the best Éponine can do is a milkshake. 

"So guess what?" she tells the two of them when she's bought their drinks and the three of them are sitting outside, squinting against the late afternoon sun, "I'm going on a vacation this week. Kind of."

Azelma looks up from her phone with interest. 

"Where are you going?" Gavroche asks, licking chocolate off his arm. 

"Provence," she tells them while passing Gavroche a napkin, "A….friend of mine needed help with a family thing. So I'm going down as a favour." 

Azelma's forehead wrinkles, and God, she looks so much like their mother when she does that. "What kind of favour?" 

Éponine…hasn't actually said it out loud before. 

The kids notice her hesitation instantly, the perceptive little shits. 

"Ép? What favour?" Gavroche asks. 

Éponine clears her throat. "He, uh. He wants me to pretend to be his girlfriend. As cover in front of his parents." 

They both blink at her. Azelma's phone screen has gone blank, her thumbs frozen slightly above it. 

"Éponine, do you have a boyfriend?" Gavroche asks, and Éponine absolutely does not like that mischievous-looking glint in his eyes. God, she's going to need to put Enjolras into witness protection or something. 

" No, " she says firmly, "You guys both know I'm not into guys. It's pretend ." 

"Why?" Azelma asks, "That's weird ." 

Well, she has a point. 

"It is," she concedes, "He's Grantaire's boyfriend, right? But his parents are like, crazy homophobic. If he goes down there alone they're going to spend the entire time trying to set him up with their friend's daughters. If I go down with him, he doesn't have to worry about that, and the chances of him going insane are lowered a bit." Éponine can only pray that it isn’t at the expense of her own sanity.  

"Oh." Gavroche frowns. "That sucks." 

"Yep," she agrees, "So, yeah. I'm gonna be gone for like, a week. I'll have my phone and laptop, obviously, so you guys can contact me any time. And Grantaire's staying in Paris, so if you need anything you can go to him too." Grantaire isn’t always the most reliable when it comes to responsible shit, but he’s known Gavroche since he was in diapers and since Azelma was just a little kid and not a teenage she-devil. Éponine knows she can trust him, where her siblings are concerned. 

"Ép, we live with Lawrence and Jane now," Azelma says with an eyeroll, "We're not gonna need anything."

Éponine tries to ignore the sting of that. Sulky teenager , she reminds herself. 

The three of them drink their milkshakes in silence for a minute, and then Éponine leans across the table to Gavroche, and says in a conspiratorial whisper. "Hey, apparently his house is, like, crazy big. " 

Gavroche's eyes widen. "Really?" 

"Yeah. It has a pool ." Enjolras had told her that, tacked on as an afterthought to a message he'd sent her about logistics of getting to the airport, saying that If you want to escape, there's a pool with a separate pool house. It's a good place to go to be alone for a while. Éponine had thought pool houses only existed in TV shows about rich Americans. 

"Oh awesome," Gavroche grins, "Will you try to steal some rich people stuff for us?" 

Éponine laughs. "I don't know if they would approve of that. It kind of defeats the purpose of being Enjolras' plus one to the wedding if I spend the week in jail." 

Gavroche pouts at that, like he actually expected Éponine to steal the family's silverware or something. 

"If his parents are such assholes, why does your friend still talk to them?" A muscle in Azelma's jaw twitches. "It's not like getting by without parents is impossible." She definitely has a point there. None of the three of them have spoken to or seen their own parents in three years, after all. 

Éponine sighs. "He has a younger sister, I think they're pretty close. If he tells them he's gay, he won't be allowed to see her. So he isn't telling them." She shrugs. "Apparently, she's turning eighteen next month anyway, and moving to Paris in the fall. So there's only a couple of weeks to go, really, and then he can see her whenever he wants without his parents being involved." 

"Hm," Azelma stares at Éponine for another long moment, and then apparently decides that Enjolras' reasons are valid enough. Her eyes turn back to her phone, and she mutters "It's still really weird though." Beside her, Gavroche nods solemnly. 

"Well, I'm not gonna argue with you there, kid," Éponine says. She takes a sip of milkshake, and continues, "But hey, I kind of get it. I would fake-date a hundred guys if it meant I was allowed to see you two, you know?" 

Gavroche grins at her, and, although Azelma has turned her attention back to her phone, Éponine sees her crack a small smile.

Success. 

***

"The two of you are certifiably fucking insane, you do know that right?" Grantaire greets Éponine at the door of his apartment. 

"Hello to you too," she mutters grumpily, shouldering past him. She’s come straight from work to his apartment, enticed by the promise of wine and takeout. It’s the night before she goes to Provence with Enjolras as his fake girlfriend, and right now, even though it’s probably a bad idea, the prospect of getting extremely drunk is extremely appealing. 

Grantaire follows her into the kitchen, still talking. “You’re going to Provence tomorrow to pretend to be in a relationship for the sake of a family wedding. In what world is that a sensible idea?” 

"Maybe, if you thought it wasn't a good idea, you should have addressed it before now," she snaps, unscrewing the lid of the bottle of wine and pouring both herself and Grantaire a large glass. 

Grantaire snorts. "Yeah, I have been trying to address it, I’ve been trying to talk to Enjolras all week, but he’s refusing to hear it.” He takes the glass of wine she hands him, takes a long swig and says, “The two of you must be compatible on some level, because you’re both stubborn as hell.”

She grimaces. "I am begging you not to talk about my compatibility with Enjolras. I think I'm going to be hearing about it all fucking week." She glances around the apartment. "Where is the love of my life, anyway?" 

"His classes run pretty late today. He'll be home in an hour or so," Grantaire says, "Which means I'm going to order us food off Uber Eats but pretend I went and picked it up, and you're absolutely not going to say anything about it, right?" 

Éponine shrugs and takes a sip of wine. "We'll see. It depends how much you annoy me between now and then. Or if you want to buy it for me." 

Grantaire rolls his eyes and mutters "Dick," under his breath, but Éponine has known him for long enough to know he doesn't really mean it. 

***

Enjolras gets home about an hour after Éponine gets to the apartment. By this time, both she and Grantaire are lightly tipsy, the empty cartons of Thai food abandoned on the coffee table in front of them. He looks tired, and Éponine wonders if he’s been lying awake worrying about the coming week as much as she has. Probably more, she figures.

"Hey," Enjolras takes his bag off his shoulder and leans down, pressing a kiss to Grantaire's lips. When he looks up again, their eyes meet, and Enjolras' cheeks flare red as he says, "Hi, Éponine." 

She nods back awkwardly. "Hello, Enjolras." 

Grantaire, between the two of them, scoffs. "Wow, cool it down you two. The romantic chemistry is getting a bit too much. Maybe you guys should get a room. I can barely handle it." 

"R," Enjolras says irritably, even as he's pushing Grantaire along the sofa so he can slot himself in on the other side, even as Grantaire shifts so Enjolras can slot an arm around his waist and lean his head on his shoulder. The three of them fall into silence, broken only by the sound of the stupid music videos from their youth that Éponine and Grantaire always think it’s a good time to revisit when they’re feeling nostalgic. 

The silence is interrupted by Grantaire saying “Hey,” and when Éponine looks at him, he’s frowning, looking between her and Enjolras, who has raised his head off Grantaire’s shoulder and is frowning back. Éponine doesn't like the look in Grantaire’s eyes, somewhere between worry and amusement, so after a moment, she hesitantly asks, "What?" 

"Have you two. Ya know," Grantaire lowers his voice, " Practiced? " 

Enjolras and Éponine make eye contact over Grantaire's shoulder, and Éponine is relieved to see that Enjolras looks every bit as confused as she feels. After a moment, Enjolras echoes, "Practiced?" 

“You know, like practiced . You’re in a ‘relationship’,” Grantaire holds his fingers up in air quotes, “Are you really expecting to not have to kiss in front of other people, like, at all?” 

Éponine makes a noise that she doesn't really know how to describe. A squawk maybe? Some kind of bird of prey call? 

Enjolras narrows his eyes at Grantaire. "Do you think this is funny?" he asks coldly. 

"No, Enj, nothing about this is particularly funny," he says seriously. "But it's up to you guys. Would you rather have your first kiss in front of me, right now, or in front of Enjolras' mom, dad, sister, and extended family?" 

“Oh Jesus,” Éponine says with a building sense of horror, “He might actually have a point there.” 

“My family aren’t really known for PDA,” Enjolras says in a rush, and in an obvious last ditch attempt to get as far away from this conversation as possible. 

“Your family aren’t known for any displays of affection, public or otherwise,” Grantaire says, standing up off the couch and turning to face the two of them, shifting some of the food cartons so he can sit on the edge of the coffee table. “It’s going to have to happen if you want to make this believable. So pucker up, you two.”

“This is the worst night of my life,” Éponine says out loud before she can stop herself, and Grantaire barks a laugh. He actually looks like he’s enjoying himself now, because he’s a bastard. 

Éponine looks at Enjolras. Enjolras looks at Éponine. When they both look at Grantaire in unison, he simply raises an eyebrow and says, "I'm waiting," drawing the second word out. 

"Oh for fuck's sake," Éponine growls, and then she leans forward and kisses Enjolras, just to get Grantaire to shut the hell up. 

It lasts only a few seconds, and it feels awkward. The two of them aren't touching anywhere else, both their arms stiff at their sides. 

They break apart, and look at Grantaire awkwardly, silently asking for his verdict. 

Grantaire maintains a straight face for all of three seconds, and then he cackles wildly and practically doubles over, clutching his stomach. 

"R!" Enjolras berates him, his entire face flushing red. "You're the one who just said this wasn't funny!"

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I know," Grantaire sits up, wiping tears from his eyes, face red from laughing, "I just- Do you think you could be a little more obvious with the homosexuality? I couldn't entirely tell that you were completely disinterested in each other." He snorts, and then bursts out laughing again. 

Enjolras and Éponine share a despairing look, and wait patiently for another few minutes for Grantaire to get control of himself. It takes much longer than it should, in her opinion, but after a while he wipes the last of the stray tears from his eyes and says, “You should try again.” 

“God, fine,” Éponine snaps, and leans forward before she can think anymore about it. Unfortunately, Enjolras seems to have had exactly the same idea; their foreheads smack together hard, and they both reel backwards from each other with matching yelps of pain. 

Grantaire groans, not sounding even the slightest bit sympathetic. "Come on, guys. I know for a fact you're both better at this." 

" Both of us?" Enjolras asks, sounding equal parts curious and afraid. 

"Summer 2017 was a very weird time in both our lives."

Éponine puts her head in her hands and groans. She does not need to remember Summer 2017 right now. 

“What hap-” Enjolras starts, and then he shakes his head vehemently and says, “You know what? I actually don’t want to know.” 

“Yeah, probably for the best,” Grantaire says lightly. Surprisingly, the expression on his face softens, going from amusement to seriousness, and he says gently, “I didn’t say this to fuck with you both, you know. It’s just-” He bites his lip, looking at Enjolras. “If you get caught, and they work out you’re lying, and why…It could be really bad.” 

Enjolras sighs, and runs a hand tiredly across his face. “I know,” he mutters.

"It's fine," Éponine says, trying to convince both herself and Enjolras. She tries to smile, but she's pretty sure it looks more like a grimace. "What's a little making out between friends, after all? If Summer 2017 taught me anything it was that." Enjolras snorts a laugh at that, and she shares a grin with Grantaire.

“ Great attitude, Ép,” Grantaire’s tells her, like this is a team building exercise and not encouraging his best friend to make out with his boyfriend. God, he’s weird. “Maybe third time will be the charm? The two of you are doing this until it looks natural. The sooner you stop being blushing maidens about it, the sooner it’s over for both of you.” 

Éponine takes the pillow from behind her back on the sofa, and whacks Grantaire as hard as she can with it. If he’s going to spend the evening laughing at her and Enjolras, she at least wants an excuse to laugh at him now. 

***

The day after, Éponine wakes up early and sits at the one kitchen chair in her tiny apartment, staring at her packed suitcase and trying not to panic. 

It's only a week, she tells herself sternly. You can do this. It probably won't be as bad as you think. 

Grantaire is driving them to the airport, in the car he'd gotten back when he first passed his test. Éponine is pretty sure the car is older than Gavroche, maybe even Azelma. The engine makes a very interesting noise, which Grantaire remedies by cheerfully ignoring and turning his stereo up louder every time it gets a little bit worse. 

It's a mid afternoon flight, and Éponine has just finished a mediocre lunch when Grantaire calls her, because the buzzer for her apartment is broken, and she pushes the button beside her door that admits them to the building. Her skin prickles when she looks around her studio flat, the whole place probably the same size as the kitchen in Enjolras and Grantaire's apartment, but she doesn't have any time to think any more about it when Grantaire does an obnoxious knocking pattern at the door. 

"Hey, Ép," he says, striding in like he owns the place, already heading towards her suitcase. Enjolras follows, and Éponine looks at him, and does a double take. 

His long hair is gone, replaced with a short back and sides. He nods when he sees Éponine, and his left hand comes up as though to run through the end of his braid, before he freezes and it falls uselessly to his side. 

Éponine looks at Grantaire. He's looking back, with an expression that clearly says Please do not say anything. So Éponine keeps her mouth shut. 

For a minute, the three of them just stand silently in her empty apartment. The silence, predictably, is broken by Grantaire. 

“So, I just want to check again that you’re both self-aware enough to know this is an insane thing to do, right?” he asks, snark colouring every word. 

Enjolras looks at Éponine the same time she looks at him, and then, in unison, like they’ve practiced it, they turn back to Grantaire and say “Yep.” 

Grantaire sighs, but bends down and picks up Éponine's suitcase for her anyway. "Wonderful. Let's go then." 

Grantaire had somehow managed to get a parking space fight outside her flat, which Éponine figures must be some sort of miracle. Wordlessly, she gets in the back seat behind Enjolras, taking her phone out of her pocket and tapping nervously on her screen with her nails, just for something to do. 

Grantaire turns the key in the ignition, and nothing happens. 

"Uh oh," he says quietly, and Enjolras, who is doing a great impression of a tightly wound spring, latches onto it immediately. 

"'Uh oh?'" he says, "What do you mean uh oh?" 

"Uhhhh," Grantaire draws the word out, obviously stalling, while he tries the key in the ignition again. After another attempt, he says, "So my car doesn't appear to be starting."

Jesus fucking Christ. 

"Grantaire," Enjolras says slowly, sounding like he's saying every word through gritted teeth, "You told me you would get the car checked before today."

"I know, I know," Grantaire says urgently. He brings a hand up to the dashboard, caressing it slowly with his hand. "It's okay, baby. Just relax, everything is going to be fine."

"I am perfectly relaxed," Enjolras snarls, sounding the exact opposite. 

"Not you," Grantaire mutters. 

For God’s sake, he’s talking to the car. Éponine resists the urge to bang her head off the window. 

Luckily, when Grantaire tries the ignition again, the engine sputters to life. 

"See," he says with a grin, turning to Enjolras. "Told you I'd get you there." 

Enjolras sighs, bringing his fingertips up to either side of his brow, rubbing slow circles. "R, please. I already feel like I'm going to have a heart attack, can you please just try to get us there on time ?" 

Éponine thinks he sounds kind of demanding, honestly, but something about the way Enjolras says it makes Grantaire's face soften into a frown. He takes a hand off the steering wheel, rubbing at the back of Enjolras' head, over his newly short hair. 

"Of course," he murmurs, flicking his indicator with one hand, "It's okay. Try to relax for me." 

Éponine sits back in her seat, staring out the window as the city rushes past. She figures the least she can do for now is give the two of them some privacy. 

***

Predictably for the time of year, Charles de Gaulle airport is insane, full of large groups heading on beach holidays, families rushing to not miss their flight, crying babies. They’ve been in the door for all of five minutes and Éponine’s skin is already itching. 

Grantaire walks the two of them as far as security, where he can go no further. The three of them simply look at each other for a moment, and then Grantaire turns to her, wrapping her in a hug. 

“I’ll see you in a week,” he says quietly to her, “Call me if you need anything in the meantime. And…Thanks for doing this for him.”

Éponine shrugs. “Uh. Not a problem.” She pulls back slightly so she can make eye contact with him. “Gavroche and Azelma have your number, I hope that’s okay? I just didn’t want them to-” 

Grantaire interrupts her with an eye roll. “Of course it’s okay. Just try to enjoy your, uh, vacation,” he grins, letting go of Éponine so he can nudge Enjolras in the side. “You gotta let me know how big the grand Enjolras estate is. He’s extremely vague every time I ask him.” Enjolras looks extremely unamused at that. 

Éponine glances at security, and when she looks back, Grantaire has an arm around Enjolras' waist and is giving her a pointed look. She rolls her eyes, and takes that for the subtle hint it’s supposed to be, starting to walk away. She realises then that she doesn’t actually know where she’s going, so settles for hovering awkwardly near the entrance to security while Grantaire and Enjolras exchange a goodbye. She tries not to eavesdrop, but she catches snippets of their conversation even so. 

“Sorry for snapping at you in the car,” Enjolras says quietly, “I just-” 

“Don’t worry, I know,” Grantaire says, equally quiet. There's silence for a moment, and Éponine keeps her eyes carefully trained on the departures board. After a moment, Grantaire speaks again. "I'll pick you up next week, okay? Try not to kill your parents before then. I would visit you in prison, but orange really isn’t your colour.” Éponine rolls her eyes, but she can’t help but feel a fondness for Grantaire bloom in her chest when she hears Enjolras laugh for the first time all day. 

There's a few more words of muttered conversation, another silence, and then Enjolras appears beside her, cheeks flushed and newly-short hair definitely more tousled than it had been when they arrived. 

"Ready to go?" he asks, and Éponine nods, and follows him to security. 

***

Enjolras had been less than impressed when Éponine had suggested getting a coffee from the airport Starbucks, but she's tired and needs caffeine, and had simply glared at Enjolras until he rolled his eyes and relented. Now the two of them are sitting in relative silence beside one of the massive windows overlooking the runway. Enjolras is biting his lower lip, and his leg has been bouncing erratically ever since they sat down. 

"Are you a nervous flier?" she asks, glancing at his bouncing left knee out of the corner of her eye. Every so often the table shifts slightly, and Éponine wonders if her annoyance is showing on her face. 

The knee freezes, and Enjolras takes a slow breath out. "Not really," he admits, and Éponine nods. 

She looks out the window at the runway, and her breath catches in her throat every time a plane leaves the ground. She feels like it shouldn't be possible. 

"I've never been on a plane before," she tells Enjolras quietly, and he looks at her with eyes wide. 

"Wait, really?" He asks, and she shrugs. She doesn't know if this is the sort of thing she should be embarrassed about. 

"We didn't go on a lot of vacations when we were younger," she says, "My parents had the inn, and summer was always the busiest time of year, so they didn't have time. And then they lost the inn, and…" She realises she really doesn't feel like getting into what happened after her parents lost the inn, and closes her mouth, looking out the window again. 

"It's fine," he says quietly after a moment. "Nothing special at all, really." Éponine scoffs, rolling her eyes. 

"You would say that. I bet you've been on a plane loads of times, posh boy. I bet you had like, a villa in the south of Spain," she says, and then immediately slams her mouth shut, because she's pretty sure that insulting him and calling him names the whole time is going to result in a very awkward week for both of them. 

To her surprise, Enjolras smiles wryly. "Amalfi Coast actually. They used to have one in the south of Spain, but they decided it was," here, he holds up his hands in air quotes, "'Gauche.'"

Éponine snorts. "No way."

"I'm deadly serious." 

The silence starts to fall again, so Éponine covers it by asking awkwardly, "Was it a nice villa at least?" 

Enjolras shrugs. "I wouldn't know. They bought it after I turned sixteen, which was the age I started refusing to go on vacation with them anymore. Decided I'd rather have the house to myself." 

Éponine nods. “Yeah, that seems fair enough.” 

“Mm,” Enjolras hums in agreement, and then says, “It used to piss Cosette off though, so I always felt kind of bad about it, I guess.” He rolls his eyes. “They didn’t trust me to look after her, apparently.” 

Éponine starts to make a comment about how she wishes she hadn’t been trusted to look after her siblings, and then bites it back at the last second. Both because she feels a pang of guilt in her stomach for the implication that she wouldn’t do anything for her siblings, and also because she knows Enjolras didn’t make the comment just to get at her. They’ve had very different upbringings, that much is clear. How is he to know how much she would have loved having the house to herself when she was sixteen?

Luckily, their flight is called not long after that, and Éponine doesn’t have to tell him. 

***

The flight is short, barely over an hour. The two of them had been quiet for the majority of it, Enjolras with his headphones in and his nose buried in a book, while Éponine alternated between dozing lightly and staring out the window at the clouds. Before long, they’re stepping out the front doors of Marseille airport, getting hit with the heat of the early evening. 

Éponine knows Enjolras isn’t from Marseille- He’s from a town not too far from Aix- so she asks, “So, what happens now?” as she hoists her bag further up her shoulder. “Is there a bus or a train or something we need to get?” 

“Uh, no,” Enjolras, who seems to have become very interested in a nearby luggage carousel, says. “Our, uh…Our driver is coming to get us.” 

“Your driver.” Éponine repeats. “Your family has a driver?” 

Enjolras just scowls at nothing in particular in response. 

“Are you Batman?” Éponine blurts out before she can stop herself. It makes Enjolras snort a laugh anyway. 

It’s when they’re standing against the wall under the shade of the building that Enjolras speaks again. 

“Sorry,” he says, sounding embarrassed. “I told my mom we would be fine to get the bus, but she insisted on sending Antonin to get us.” 

“Antonin,” Éponine says slowly. “Your driver. Right.” 

“He doesn’t work full time for us,” he continues, “He-”

“Look, Enjolras, you don’t need to explain your family having a driver to me,” Éponine says, more snappishly than she means to. Enjolras’ face flushes red, and he opens his mouth to respond, but before he can say anything there’s a spark of recognition in his eyes, and a car, sleek and black, pulls up in front of them. 

“Never mind,” he mutters, more to himself than Éponine, and he puts on what looks like a very forced smile when the driver gets out of the front, “Hi, Antonin. How are you?” 

Antonin nods. “Hello, Alexandre. I’m well.” His eyes slide over to Éponine, and Enjolras puts a hand awkwardly on her shoulder. 

“This is,” he starts hesitantly, and then he squares his jaw, looking determined, and says, “This is my girlfriend, Éponine.” It’s almost believable. 

"Nice to meet you,"  Antonin says, taking her bag out of her arms before she can swing it into the boot. Thankfully, he seems largely disinterested in continuing any conversation after that, getting into the front seat again. Éponine makes eye contact with Enjolras over the hood of the car, and he shrugs, getting into the back on the other side. 

***

The hour-long drive is more or less silent, which Éponine is grateful for. She stares out the window as the fields of Provence roll by, the car taking them further from the cities into the countryside. She looks over at Enjolras, but he's not looking at her, choosing instead to stare out his own window. 

Éponine sighs, and pillows her head on her hand. 

After an hour and a half, the car stops at a set of iron gates, leading to a long, tree-lined driveway. Antonin reaches out of his window and keys in a code, and the gates admit them. Éponine looks at Enjolras, who currently looks like he’s being forced to suck on a lemon.

At her raised eyebrow, he says tersely, “Please don’t say anything.”

Éponine shrugs, and goes back to looking out the window. But she can’t quite hold in a disbelieving scoff when the car pulls up outside a literal mansion, with a wide, pillared doorway, and about twenty windows just on the front of the house. How many rooms does this place have? There’s a garage off to one side, and it’s bigger than Éponine’s entire apartment. The car does a neat circle in the driveway, stopping in front of the ornate front door. 

“Ready?” Enjolras asks her, and Éponine is not ready, not at all, she wants to run back to Marseille and jump on the first flight home to her tiny, shitty apartment in Paris. Her one comfort is that Enjolras looks like he wouldn’t mind doing that himself. 

So instead she shrugs. “Sure, as I’ll ever be.”

They step out of the car, and almost immediately the front door opens, and a girl, small and delicate, with a long ponytail of chestnut brown hair, runs out and makes a beeline for the car, yelling Enjolras’ name, before launching herself into his arms. 

Éponine glances at him, one eyebrow raised, but to her surprise, he’s smiling wider and more genuinely than Éponine’s seen him since he’d asked her to accompany him to the wedding. He wraps his arms around the girl, pressing an almost fierce kiss to the top of her head and resting his cheek there for a second, before they pull back and smile at each other. 

They have the same smile, the same nose, and Éponine makes the obvious connection just before she turns to her, holding out her hand with a blindingly white smile. She has faint freckles on her cheekbones, but then, so does Enjolras. 

“You must be Éponine,” she says, “I’m Cosette, Enjolras’ sister.”

Chapter Text

Éponine’s first thought is Oh, so this is Cosette. 

Éponine’s second thought is Oh shit, Cosette is pretty. The kind of pretty that makes Éponine do embarrassing things like walk into lamp posts or drop her completely full coffee cup (in fairness, she had still gotten both girls' numbers, but that’s- That’s not the matter at hand).

Point is, Éponine already knows this is going to be a horrible week. 

She squeaks something that could be an approximation of a greeting, and Cosette simply smiles sunnily and, before Éponine can say anything, lifts her bag out of the trunk and swings it over one shoulder. She hangs back, letting Cosette and Enjolras walk ahead, both of them close together and talking rapidly. 

The front door leads to an open foyer, a staircase in the middle leading to a second floor with two different landings, and corridors beyond that. The ground floor has at least four rooms coming off the main foyer, and who knows how many there are that she can’t see. 

It’s without a doubt the biggest house she’s ever been in. Éponine swallows. 

Enjolras’ parents do not greet them as enthusiastically as Cosette did. In fact, Enjolras’ father isn’t even in the house. 

“He was called into the office,” Enjolras’ mother says from her perch on an immaculate white sofa, “I’m sure he’s very sorry he wasn’t here when you arrived.” 

“I’m sure he is,” Enjolras says drily, and he raises one eyebrow when his mother stands up, walking to where he and Éponine are hovering awkwardly in the doorway between the living room and the large foyer. 

“Alex, it’s good to see you again so soon,” Enjolras’ mother says, pulling him down to her height for a hug. She pulls back to look at him, and says, “Normally we only see you once a year when you visit. Maybe you should make it more of a regular thing, hm?” 

“This is the first time I’ve visited all year,” Enjolras says. “You and dad were the ones who showed up at the apartment, remember?”

“Your new haircut is lovely,” she says, as though Enjolras hadn’t even spoken, “So much better than looking like some sort of hippie.” 

Enjolras’ smile looks more like a grimace. “Thanks, mom.” He reaches out and brushes his hand on Éponine’s arm, as though for moral support, or maybe he just wants the attention taken off him for a moment. “You remember Éponine?” 

“Of course,” Enjolras’ mom gives her a gracious looking smile, and then pulls her into another bone-crushing hug. “The rest of the family can’t wait to meet you, dear. I’ve been telling them all about you.” 

Enjolras sighs, sounding exhausted. “Of course you have.”

She pulls back and narrows her eyes at him. She hasn’t let go of Éponine’s upper arms, and she resists the urge to squirm. “Well, your father and I hadn’t even heard of Éponine until we were in Paris, so who knows when we would have found out about her. I didn’t trust you to tell the rest of the family, to be frank, Alexandre, considering you haven't spoken to them since last Christmas. And she can’t just show up at the wedding.” 

“Okay, fine,” Enjolras concedes. He must have resisted the urge to argue in hopes of a quiet life. He fiddles with the strap of his bag. “Can we just go put our stuff in our rooms?” 

Enjolras’ mother blinks at him, looking surprised, and Éponine bravely resists the urge to elbow him in his ribs, because seriously, is he trying to break their cover before they’ve even started? 

Enjolras’ mom has her eyes narrowed, looking between the two of them. Cosette is hovering near Enjolras’ other side, and she’s looking at the two of them in confusion as well. 

“We haven’t made up any of the guest rooms,” his mom says slowly, looking at Enjolras suspiciously. “Maribelle is off for the day, and we…” She looks uncertainly between Enjolras and Éponine. “We assumed it wasn’t necessary.”

Éponine forces a laugh, and tucks herself neatly into Enjolras’ side, like it’s something that she does everyday and this isn’t literally the first time she’s done it. “You’re right, it’s definitely not.” She looks up, giving Enjolras a pointed look. “After all, we’re used to sharing by now.” 

“Oh yeah,” Enjolras says tersely, “Slip of the tongue, I guess. Éponine, I’ll show you where everything is.” He reaches down, maybe to give the impression of hand holding but kind of just grabbing her wrist instead. It’s a valiant effort, at least. 

“I’ll come with you,” Cosette says, looking eager to get away from the sitting room, but her mother says, “Hold on a minute, Euphrasie. We need to talk about your padel lesson.” 

Enjolras pauses, despite clearly wanting to run away from his mother. “Padel lesson?” 

“I’ll tell you about it later,” Cosette says quickly, and there’s obviously some silent communication in the look she gives Enjolras, because he simply shrugs and says “Okay,” leading Éponine from the sitting room. 

Enjolras gives an extremely perfunctory tour of the downstairs- Sitting room, kitchen, library, second sitting room, downstairs guest room, a door he doesn’t open which is apparently his father’s office- before leading her upstairs. There’s several more closed doors here, presumably bedrooms, and Enjolras ignores them all in favour of making a beeline straight for a room at the end of the hall. 

“This is my room,” he says, sounding tense, “So I guess we’re both staying in here.” He opens the door and waits for Éponine to step in before he follows. 

“Sorry,” Enjolras says awkwardly as Éponine sets her bag beside the bed. “It didn’t even occur to me that we’d have to share a room. When Courf stayed over when we were younger he always took one of the guest rooms.” 

Éponine snorts. “Yeah, probably because your parents are terrified of the homosexual agenda.” 

Enjolras frowns, seemingly running these words over in his mind, and then he nods slowly. “ Oh. Yeah, that makes sense.” Éponine rolls her eyes. At least the bed is king sized. She’s sure it’ll be fine.  

They fall into silence, and Éponine takes the opportunity to have a proper look around the bedroom. It’s plain, painted a pale blue, with three large windows overlooking a massive garden and the Provence countryside. There’s a large sofa, sort of like a chaise lounge, at the foot of the bed. It doesn’t suit Enjolras at all; it looks like a bedroom featured in a fancy furniture catalogue- It could belong to literally anyone. 

“Dude, this is your childhood bedroom?” Éponine asks disbelievingly. “Where’s all your stuff? All your embarrassing band posters and high school photos and sentimental crap?” 

Enjolras shrugs. “They told me to take it all down when I moved out. Said it would make the room easier to clean and nicer for guests to stay in. I brought some of it with me to Paris, but I guess most of it is probably in the attic. Either that or it was thrown out years ago.” 

Éponine blinks. She doesn’t really know what to say to that, and settles on “Yeesh. Yikes,” rather than anything that would actually help. 

Surprisingly, Enjolras smiles wryly, and says, “Yikes, indeed.” It seems like he doesn’t think it’s a big deal, or perhaps he doesn’t want to make a big deal out of it, because he changes the subject pretty quickly, pointing to a door that Éponine assumed led to a closet. “Bathroom and shower are in there.” 

“Wow, you have your own bathroom?” Éponine says, and she should probably be embarrassed by how eager she sounds. “Luxurious.” She’s never had a time in her life when she didn’t share her bathroom. She remembers vividly fighting with Azelma and Gavroche and her parents when trying to get ready for school in the morning, and then in the foster home it was a million times worse. 

Enjolras nods. “Yeah, it’s convenient.” 

There’s a knock on the door then, and Éponine tenses, expecting Enjolras’ mom, or even Enjolras’ father home from work, so it’s a relief when Cosette peaks her head around the door. 

“Hey, can I come in?” she asks. She’s taken her ponytail down at some point, her hair falling in a dark wave over her shoulder. Éponine makes a mental note to find a pillow to scream into later, because this isn’t fair.  

“Of course,” Enjolras says. He sits down on the sofa pressed against the foot of the bed, and Cosette takes a seat beside him. Éponine hesitates awkwardly in the middle of the room for a second, and then sinks onto the edge of the seat on Cosette’s other side. 

“So, padel lessons. What’s that a cover for?” Enjolras asks conversationally, looking like he’s struggling to suppress a smile. 

Cosette grins, looking over her shoulder at the closed bedroom door, before saying in a conspiratorial whisper, "Film club."

"Cosette!" Enjolras says, keeping his voice muted, "They're going to kill you if you get caught." 

Cosette shrugs, leaning over and resting her head against his shoulder. "I'm not gonna get caught. Besides, I'm the favourite child. They don't get mad at me, just disappointed."

"Yeah, don't I know it," Enjolras says with an eye roll, nudging her in her side. 

Éponine frowns. “What’s so bad about a film club?” 

Cosette rolls her eyes- blue, like Enjolras’, with really long lashes, not that Eponine is looking- and says, “Oh, a few years ago they released a short film- It was really good actually, kind of a mix between gothic and psychological horror- with lots of queer undertones. When mom and dad found out about it Enjolras and I were banned from the club forever.” She gives him a pointed look. “Not that it’s the kind of thing Enjolras would go to anyways.” To her surprise, Cosette turns to Éponine and asks, “Do you like horror?” 

Eponine laughs awkwardly. “Uh, yeah. But I like, like, really trashy B-list horror, with terrible special effects and acting and make-up where you can see that all the blood is very obviously ketchup.” 

She doesn’t know what reaction she was expecting, but Cosette turns in her seat so she’s completely facing Éponine and grabs both her hands tightly, a wide smile on her face. 

“Oh my god, I’m so glad you get it,” she says enthusiastically, “Normally I have to rope Enjolras into watching those with me, and he just complains the whole time.”

Eponine can feel her face heating, and as she stammers out some reply about how some people don’t appreciate the art of true cinema, she looks over Cosette’s shoulder and makes accidental eye contact with Enjolras. If possible, her face grows even hotter, especially when his eyes drop to her hands, Cosette still holding them tight, and he raises an eyebrow coolly, a wry look of amusement on his face. 

Éponine tries to ignore this, and focuses on continuing her conversation with Cosette, prolonging the inevitable moment when she has to once again pretend that she and Enjolras have anything in common. 

***

To her surprise, Éponine finds herself an hour into her week in Provence and realises that she’s actually having fun. Cosette is sweet and funny and easy to talk to, and although Enjolras still has a tense set to his shoulders, in the privacy of his own space he’s relaxed a little, cracking his own jokes and bickering good naturedly with Cosette, and Éponine starts to think that the week might not be so bad. 

So of course, that’s when they’re called for dinner. 

Enjolras’ father is there when they arrive downstairs, already at the table with a large glass of red wine in one hand. His greeting to Eponine is perfunctory but perfectly polite, and he gives a nod of approval when he sees Enjolras’ haircut. Enjolras, probably wisely, decides to hold his tongue. 

The table is set for five, and from where Éponine is standing she can count…More than one knife and fork on each side. What the fuck does that mean? From the kitchen next door she can hear bustling, and realises with a sickly jolt that the family isn’t alone in the house. They have staff . Fucking staff. 

Enjolras, too, seems to be put out by the amount of pomp and ceremony going into their evening meal. He looks at his mother and asks in a strained voice, “Was three courses really necessary?” 

Enjolras’ mother laughs as if he’s said something hilarious. “Sweetheart, it’s the first time you’ve been home all year. We had to do something special.” 

Enjolras snorts as he sinks into the chair beside Éponine. “I didn’t know that was the rule. Last Christmas when I came home Cosette was the only person in the house.” 

His mother’s eyes flash dangerously. “We were invited to the mayor’s Christmas party, Alexandre. We couldn’t turn an invitation like that down,” she says, and there’s something snappish in her voice now rather than her usual bright and breezy tone. She catches Éponine’s eye a moment later and puts the same serene smile back on her face, raising her wine glass to her lips. “Besides, this is the first time Éponine is here. It’s a special occasion.” 

“You really didn’t need to go to any trouble,” Éponine says quickly. She wants to diffuse some of the tension around the table, maybe crack a situationally appropriate joke, although she doesn’t know if that exists in the Enjolras household, all humour and happiness turned away at the door.

She says, “My family’s idea of a special occasion meal is something that didn’t come out of the microwave.” 

No one laughs, but Cosette, in the seat across from her, cracks a weak smile. Probably out of pity more than anything. 

Their mother’s smile has started to look a bit forced by now. “It’s no trouble at all, dear,” she says. 

Enjolras, under his breath, mutters something that sounds like “Not for you , anyway,” and Éponine does her best to ignore him. 

The starter passes with awkward, stilted conversation. Éponine had glanced at the knife and fork Enjolras was using before using the same ones, although saying Enjolras was using the cutlery was an exaggeration, given that he’s mostly just pushing the food moodily around his plate. 

“It’s really delicious, Madame Enjolras,” Eponine says when they’re eating the main meal, because the woman may be a homophobe, but the cassoulet really does taste good. 

Madame Enjolras smiles graciously. “Thank you, sweetheart.” 

“She didn’t make it,” Enjolras mutters under his breath to her, “We have a chef.”

Éponine has heard many stories of burnt toast and ruined saucepans and hastily ordered takeaways from Grantaire, and before she can think about it she turns to Enjolras and asks, “Is that why you can’t cook?” Cosette, sitting across the table from her, snorts a laugh into her glass of water. 

Their plates are cleared (by the staff), and a few moments later Enjolras’ father asks if they want more wine. Enjolras turns it down with a shake of his head, but Éponine figures that getting mildly drunk certainly wouldn’t make the situation any less tense, and accepts. 

She turns in her chair, prepared to go to the kitchen and grab a bottle- She’s pretty sure she’d seen a wine rack, when she was getting the grand tour earlier on- and her shoulder collides with a bottle and hand which had suddenly appeared at her shoulder, one of the staff filling her glass for her. 

The glass is missed completely, wine- red , because of course it’s red- sloshing on the pure white tablecloth, because of course the tablecloth had to be white. 

There’s a beat of silence, and then a flurry of movement as she and Enjolras make a frantic grab for napkins at the same time, trying unsuccessfully to clean the stain. 

“I’m so, so, sorry,” Éponine says quickly, and, when she becomes aware that the person who poured the wine has disappeared, retreating into the safety of the kitchen, she continues frantically, “It was my fault, I can pay to replace it, I don’t want anyone to get in trouble. I-” 

“Éponine, please do not worry,” Enjolras’ mother says, but any warmth in her voice is gone, “No one is going to get in trouble over a tablecloth.” 

Éponine doesn’t know if she’s talking about just herself, or the member of staff who had been unfortunate enough to be in her line of clumsiness as well, but she just nods and bites her lip, trying to swallow down the lump of embarrassment that has appeared without warning in her throat. 

Enjolras is looking at her, a pinched, worried look on his face. 

“It’ll come out in the dry-cleaning,” he offers, still dabbing ineffectually at the stain with a napkin, and Éponine doesn’t have the energy to tell him that’s not what she’s worried about right now. 

Then there’s dessert, and a digestif. It’s more food than Éponine’s had in one sitting in a while, and she feels bloated and uncomfortable, not to mention the day’s travel had caught up with her, so she’s exhausted on top of everything. Enjolras and his father are making an attempt at a cordial conversation, his father asking how long is left in his law course, asking about his thesis, and it earns the first sign of, if not warmth, at least approval, Éponine has seen from his father, a nod and interested hum.

She looks away from the two of them and makes accidental eye contact with Cosette, who is looking back at her. When they catch each other’s eye, Cosette glances at the antique grandfather clock behind her mother’s seat- It’s already after 11- and gives an eye roll and exaggerated-looking yawn, and Éponine feels a smile twitch at the corner of her mouth. 

“So, Éponine,” Enjolras’ father asks, jolting her out of her reverie, “What is it you study?” 

Beside her, Enjolras goes stiff. Éponine clears her throat awkwardly and says, “Uhm. I don’t, sir.” 

He looks up from his glass of wine, one eyebrow raised. “Don’t what?” 

“I don’t study,” she clarifies, “I’m a waitress. In a restaurant in the first arrondissement.” And I spend my days serving food to assholes like you, she only just manages not to add. 

Enjolras’ mother and father, at opposite ends of the table, share a look, and then his mom gives a high-pitched, tinkly laugh. 

“Sorry, dear,” she says, with a smile that doesn’t quite reach her eyes, “We assumed the two of you met at university. Are you taking a year out? Saving some money before you start?” 

She clears her throat awkwardly. “Honestly, I don’t have any intention of studying. Academia has never really been for me.” She’d hated school, always hated exams and assignments and deadlines, couldn’t have cared less about any of the subjects, and when the few friends she’d had had been talking about applying to university, not mention when Grantaire was applying the previous year, all Éponine could think about was how she couldn’t be bothered with it all. 

“I see,” Enjolras’ mother says stiffly, after a moment. 

“There’s nothing wrong with not going to university,” Cosette defends, frowning at her mother.  

Her mother looks back at her with a cool expression on her face, and after a moment nods slightly and says, “I suppose there’s not.” 

Enjolras’ father looks equally perturbed, looking between the two of them with his eyes narrowed. “If you didn’t meet at university, how did you meet?” 

Éponine glances at Enjolras, and although his expression is mostly unreadable, he gives a small twitch of his head which could be interpreted as a nod. They’d decided to stick as close to the truth as possible, so she says hesitantly, “We met through Grantaire.” 

“Grantaire is…?” 

“The guy who was in the apartment the day you showed up, dad,” Enjolras says quietly. 

Enjolras’ mother doesn’t even try to hide the disgusted wrinkling of her nose, and the noise Enjolras’ father makes is definitely one of disapproval this time. Eponine has the urge to throw her wine in both their faces. Enjolras’ mouth twists, and he looks down at his plate. His hands are in his lap, clenched into tight fists. Eponine is very aware of Cosette watching the entire exchange like a hawk. 

“Yes, well,” Enjolras’ father says, taking another long drink of wine, “I suppose the less said about that, the better.” 

“Excuse me?” 

Enjolras apparently can only bite his tongue for so long, which isn’t massively surprising. He leans forward, folding his arms on the table, looking at his father, and asks in a voice of forced calm, “Do you have a problem with Grantaire?” 

Cosette looks at the ceiling with an expression of resignation on her face, and Éponine wonders just how regular events like this at the dinner table are. 

Jesus Christ, Enjolras, pick your fucking battles, she just barely manages not to say out loud. She loves Grantaire, he’s her best friend, and normally she wouldn’t have a problem with Enjolras choosing to defend his boyfriend. But she’s exhausted and the wine is making her throat dry and she just really, really wants to make it through this dinner so she can go to bed. 

“Not a problem, as such,” his mother starts. “We just didn’t expect you to be associating with people like that when you went to Paris. All those tattoos . We thought-” 

“For God’s sake,” Enjolras snaps, pinching the bridge of his nose hard, “I cannot believe I’m actually having to specify this out loud, but- ” He looks up again, glaring at his mother. “Just because someone has tattoos doesn’t mean they are automatically going to rob you.”  

Enjolras’ father snorts. The wine glass is empty, but he’s holding it lightly between two fingers anyway. He looks almost amused by how quickly Enjolras has riled himself up. 

“Now Alexandre, be serious- ” he starts. 

“I’m being completely serious,” Enjolras interrupts, his eyes narrowed dangerously. “Grantaire was perfectly polite to you when he met you both, so I would really love to know what exactly he did to be deserving of your-” 

“Enj-” Cosette starts, her voice soft. 

“Euphrasie, call your brother by his proper name,” their father snaps without even looking at her. He takes a deep breath, and when he turns to Enjolras, it’s with something that looks almost like a sneer. “So your mother and I have an opinion on one of your university friends. What I don’t understand is why you’re making such an issue out of it.” 

Enjolras starts to speak, and then cuts himself off at the last second, glancing at Éponine out of the corner of his eye. His mouth twists, and then he says, in a much more even voice, “That’s not the point. The point is that people-”

“Alexandre,” his father snaps, “I am not getting into this right now. This conversation is over .”

“I really don’t think it is,” Enjolras snaps. 

“Uhm,” Éponine starts awkwardly, clearing her throat. “Can I get a glass of water, please?” 

Enjolras’ mother looks quite relieved at the interruption. “Of course, dear.” She starts to turn in her seat, maybe to catch the eye of the staff member who is clearing away the unused glasses and drinks on the unit at the side. This seems to be the final straw for Enjolras, who pushes his chair back with a loud screech along the floor and stands. 

“Believe it or not, I am capable of getting Éponine a glass of water myself,” he all but snarls. 

“ Alexandre , sit down,” his mother hisses, her cheeks flaring red. Before anything else can happen, a glass of water appears beside Éponine, carried by the staff member still in the room. Enjolras sinks into his chair again. She takes it from her hand, and, glancing between Enjolras, his father, his mother and Cosette, takes an awkward sip. 

Enjolras is staring at the glass of water like it’s personally offended him. He opens his mouth, and then snaps it shut, bringing his fingertips to his temples and rubbing. He looks simultaneously a lot younger and a lot older than he had earlier in the day. 

“I’m tired,” he says, sounding like he’s holding onto politeness by the very edge of his fingertips. “Can I be excused?” 

His mother has barely said “Yes,” before he’s scraping his chair back against the wooden floor, throwing his napkin down in his vacated place and storming from the room. Éponine can hear his angry footsteps on the stairs, and a few seconds later, the slam of a door. 

Enjolras’ father gives a long-suffering sounding sigh, and stands too. He doesn’t follow Enjolras, instead exiting through the kitchen, and there’s the sound of a door slamming somewhere else in the house.  

Éponine doesn’t know the protocol here, she can’t remember the last time she had to ask to leave a dinner table. But she’s not staying in the dining room with just Enjolras’ mother and sister for company, so after a moment of silence she asks awkwardly, “Uh. Can I be excused too?” 

“Of course, dear,” Enjolras’ mother says, sounding largely disinterested, and Éponine pulls her chair back and stands. She reaches down to pick up her discarded glass, with grand designs of at least leaving it in the kitchen, but a staff member snatches it off the table before she has the chance. She all but flees from the room. 

***

When she opens the door to Enjolras’ room, he’s changed out of his clothes from the flight and into a t-shirt and a pair of sweatpants. He has his back to her, but she can hear the sounds of his fingers typing rapidly at the keyboard of his phone. Without thinking, Éponine slams the door shut behind her. 

“Did you have fun?” she snaps at his back. 

“What?” he says snappishly, looking over his shoulder at Éponine. 

“Did you have fun?” she asks again. “Because I didn’t. I spent that whole meal not knowing what fucking fork to use and destroying tablecloths and dealing with questions about when exactly I’m going to university. I’m the one doing you a favour, the least you could do is help me out.” 

“Éponine, if you want to know what goddamn fork to use, all you had to do was ask ,” Enjolras bites out. It’s not about the fork, not really. But Éponine isn’t about to admit that. 

Éponine gives an unamused snort. “Yeah, like you would have noticed me if I had asked. You were too busy playing mind games with mom and dad.” 

“Mind ga- Éponine, what the hell are you talking about?” 

“‘Oh, poor me, I’m so embarrassed that my family has a driver and a chef to make me three course meals,’” she mocks. She’s being mean, perhaps unnecessarily so, but she finds it hard to care right now. “How about, instead of taking your privilege-induced guilt out on everyone else around you, you learn to bite your tongue for once in your life so we can both get through this week in one piece?”

Enjolras blinks, and then he scowls harder, his eyes blazing. 

“If you think I’m going to just sit there in silence while they insult and belittle the person I love-” He cuts himself off, taking a few deep breaths and running a hand through his hair in a visible effort to calm himself down. It clearly doesn’t work, because the next words out of his mouth are “He’s your best friend, why didn’t you defend him?!” 

Éponine groans through her teeth and clenches her hands in her hair, so she doesn’t do something stupid like slap him.

“Haven’t you been listening?! I’m trying to get through this week so we can go home and never talk about this again. The best way to do that is to sit down and shut up, and you know that too, but you’re so desperate to not let them win that you don’t care how it affects other people. Me, your sister, the people who work for you, fucking whoever. ” She glances at the door, and with supreme effort, drops her voice to a whisper. “I would defend Grantaire with my life, you know I would. But not right now, not when he’s not here to get hurt by it, but I am.” 

Enjolras scoffs. “I think that’s cowardly.” 

Ah, and there’s that familiar, burning anger again. 

Éponine scoffs right back at him. “You think that’s cowardly?” 

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

“Why did you cut your hair?” It’s mean, but Éponine has always been very good at working out people’s sensitive spots and pressing into them like a bruise, and right now she’s so fed up with this entire situation that she can’t bring herself to care. 

Enjolras recoils in surprise for a brief second, but then his eyes are narrowed again, his mouth scowling, and he says “Oh fuck you, don’t pretend you know anything about me.”

“I’m not pretending anything,” she spits, “I don’t know you, I don’t know what I’m doing here, and if you’re really that annoyed by me asking you to consider that for three fucking seconds, I can get the first flight back to Paris tomorrow and leave you to deal with whatever the hell happens afterwards. So fuck you too.”

They stand across from each other on opposite sides of the bed, breathing heavily. Enjolras opens his mouth as though he’s going to say something else, but he’s interrupted by a knock on the door. He storms around the bed to open it, deliberately keeping himself as far away from Éponine as possible. 

When he opens the door, his mother is standing on the other side, craning her neck so she can try and peer into the room. 

“What, mom?” Enjolras asks, sounding tired. 

“I thought I heard shouting,” she says, still trying to look into the room, presumably to see Éponine. 

Enjolras makes a noise between a sigh and a groan. “It’s nothing, mom. We’re just tired from the journey.” 

“Really?” she says, “Because, Alex, darling, you have a tendency to be a bit militant, and if you two are fighting I suggest you just-” 

Enjolras shuts the door in her face. He doesn’t turn around, keeping his hand clenched around the handle. After a moment, he slumps forward, his shoulders falling, leaning his head against the wood for a brief second, and when he turns around to face Éponine again, he has a look of eerie calm on his face. 

“If you want to leave tomorrow,” he says dully, “I can’t stop you.” 

It blindsides Éponine briefly. She had been expecting more anger, more yelling, more exchanged insults. The exhaustion in his voice takes her aback, and she doesn’t know how to react to it. As usual when something takes her by surprise, it just annoys her further. 

“I- Fucking whatever,” she snaps. “I’m going to bed.” She grabs her pyjamas, where thankfully she’d left them on the top of her suitcase, storming to the bathroom and locking the door behind her. She scrubs both her teeth and her face with a little bit more force than necessary, because she’s full of an angry, frustrated energy and she doesn’t know what to do with it all. 

When she comes out, she finds that Enjolras has produced a second duvet and a pillow from somewhere, and is shoving them onto the sofa with a scowl on his face. 

“What are you doing?” Éponine asks dubiously, pausing in the doorway. 

“You take the bed,” Enjolras says without looking up, “I’ll sleep here.”

“What? Don’t be stupid. There's room for both of us in that bed, it could fit about five people .”

“No,” he says again, maybe trying for offhand but landing somewhere around annoyed . “ Like you mentioned , you’re the one doing me a favour. You shouldn’t have to share the bed with me.” 

Éponine huffs an annoyed noise. She is far too tired for this. 

“It’s fine. I can share a bed with you for a week,” she says. “Apart from anything else, your mother in particular doesn’t seem very good at respecting your privacy. What if she walks in and finds the extra bed stuff?” 

Enjolras pauses in his folding of the duvet. After a moment, he says quietly, “Yeah, you have a point.”

Éponine doesn’t say anything else, just climbs into the bed and stares up at the generic white ceiling. There’s the sound of a closet door opening, presumably Enjolras putting the spare bedding away, and then a dip in the mattress, the rustle of bedcovers, and the light switching off. 

They lie beside each other in silence. There’s still the tension of their fight thick in the air, but it’s also clouded with a heavy blanket of fatigue over the top. Éponine’s eyelids droop heavily as she keeps her eyes on the ceiling. 

“If you want to get a flight home tomorrow,” Enjolras says suddenly, voice sounding too loud in the darkness. “I’ll pay for it.” 

Éponine sighs heavily. 

“Shut up, Enjolras,” she tells him, and she turns on her side to face away from him and tries to fall asleep. 

Chapter Text

The next morning, Éponine lies in silence until Enjolras gets up, grabbing his clothes and heading for the ensuite, and she waits until she can hear the shower running before grabbing her own clothes, towels and swimming costume and making her way out of the bedroom in hope of tracking down the pool. She’d spent the night dozing in fits and starts, unused to sharing a bed with someone, and Enjolras’ own tossing and turning had woken her up every few hours as well. That she doesn’t understand, given that he’s been sharing a bed with Grantaire for the better part of a year. Éponine has absolutely no desire to interact with him right now, hence running away to the pool, but she knows it can’t last. It’s not sustainable for a whole week of pretending to date. 

However, that doesn’t mean she can’t avoid any interaction with him for a few more hours at least. She’s still angry, after all. 

She makes her way through the house to the kitchen, where she’s pretty sure there was a door leading to the back garden, presumably where the pool and pool house is. The house is pretty quiet, which makes sense- It’s early, before 9am, and she’s grateful for the fact that she should avoid bumping into either of Enjolras’ parents.

“Oh,” she says awkwardly when she opens the door to the kitchen. There’s a woman there, her hair pulled up in a bun, cleaning the countertops. She looks over her shoulder when Éponine speaks, and, thankfully, offers her a smile. 

“Hello,” she says calmly. “Can I help you?” 

“I- Yes,” she says awkwardly. “I’m Éponine, Enjol- Alex’s girlfriend. We only arrived last night, could you show me where the pool is?” 

The woman smiles, tells her her name is Maribelle, she’s the maid, if Éponine needs anything while she’s here just let her know, and then points to the edge of a building Éponine can just see beyond the kitchen windows. She’s not good at handling stuff like this at the best of times, and all she can do now is offer the best smile she can and then retreat to the safety of her own solitude, where she can retreat from any awkwardness and push any questions about what the hell she's doing here to the back of her mind. 

It’s worth it though, when she’s swimming smooth laps back and forth in silence. The pool water is cold enough that she’d shrieked just a little bit when she first climbed in, and she wonders when the last time it was used had been. The temperature stops bothering her though, as she feels her head clearing, the still biting anger from last night ebbing away. She’d loved swimming when she was younger, back when her parents could afford the membership fees at their local pool, but it’s been years since the last time she’s done it, not since she left school. Memberships are expensive, and she has other priorities. 

Maybe she can live in the pool house for the week, Éponine thinks wryly as she redresses and hangs her swimsuit out to dry. It’s nicer than her own apartment, anyway. And it would probably be more comfortable than sharing a bed with Enjolras. 

There’s nothing to dry her hair with in the pool house, so she towel-dries it hastily and starts walking back to the main house, drops of water making her shoulders damp. Cosette will have a hair dryer, surely.

Her train of thought is interrupted by her phone ringing with a call from Grantaire, and she pauses and ducks behind an orange tree to take the call. She doesn’t feel like bringing Grantaire up within earshot of Enjolras’ parents again. 

“Hey,” he says when she answers, “How is the Palace of Versailles?” 

“Why do I feel like Enjolras would kill you if he heard you call his childhood home that?” Éponine asks, before continuing. “It’s- Eugh, it kind of sucks.” 

Grantaire makes an interested humming noise. “Huh. How so?” 

“I mean, don’t get me wrong,” Éponine looks around the garden slowly, and then glances over her shoulder back at the house. “The house is amazing, the food is great. But like, you met them yourself. You know more about them than I do. His parents are…A lot.” 

“Yeah. You guys have been there for less than twenty-four hours and I have eighteen ranting messages from Enj. With multiple paragraphs. Multiple paragraphs, Éponine.” 

Éponine snorts, trying to feign amusement she doesn’t really feel. 

“Yeah. Consider yourself lucky you’re not here.” 

There’s a small pause, and then Grantaire says in a terse voice, “Yeah. I’m so lucky. Really, just like, having the time of my life here.”

Éponine pauses. "Do I detect a hint of sarcasm?" she asks. She’s aiming for a joke, but it comes out sounding tenser than she anticipated. 

Grantaire doesn't respond.

Éponine narrows her eyes. “Is there something you need to get off your chest?” she asks. 

“Not really. Just feeling really privileged and lucky that you have to suffer through the ordeal of fancy dinners and a wedding with my boyfriend’s family, and I’m stuck here alone wondering why it gets to be you there instead of me,” Grantaire snaps. 

Éponine makes a noise of frustration, shoving herself off the tree she was leaning on and choosing to pace back and forth in front of it instead. She’s sure it’s not true, but it’s starting to feel like everyone in her life is trying their absolute hardest to piss her off. 

“Grantaire, you cannot be serious,” she snaps. “You can’t honestly be thinking that this is like…Personal, or whatever. The only reason I’m here instead of you is because of what I have between my goddamn legs. And if you think I don't have better things to do than fawn around for a week pretending to be in love with your boyfriend- who, by the way, could use some work on his interpersonal skills, he was an idiot last night- then you are completely fucking incorrect. Literally no one wants me here, but here I am anyway, as a favour to your boyfriend. So what right do you have to be an asshole to me about it?” 

“Because it should be me there with him, not you,” Grantaire snaps. “I should be the one helping him deal with his shitbag parents and putting up with a fucking embarrassing cishet wedding and finally getting to actually spend some time with Cosette. But it’s not me, it’s you. He didn’t want me there.” 

Éponine stops her pacing, opening her mouth and then closing it again. She knows that sometimes, Grantaire’s horrible self-esteem gets the better of him, and he retreats a bit too much into his own head and refuses to see what is staring him right in the face. 

Even with that though, she still can’t believe that Grantaire wouldn’t believe that Enjolras isn’t wholly committed to their relationship, to him. Everything in Enjolras softens when he looks at Grantaire. 

“R,” she says after a moment. All the anger has drained out of her, and she’s left with just a vague mixture of guilt-resignation-pity. “R. You know it’s not like that.” 

He doesn’t say anything. 

“Grantaire…” Éponine starts awkwardly after the silence stretches for a bit too long. 

He interrupts her with a sigh. “Don’t worry about it. You’re right. Of course you’re right. I’m sorry. This is stupid. This is a stupid conversation.” 

“I- Okay,” God, Éponine is so bad at interpersonal relationships sometimes, how the hell did she end up at the centre of all this? “Are you okay?” 

“Peachy,” Grantaire says curtly, and Éponine has to resist the urge to groan and beat her head against the trunk of the orange tree. 

“ Call Enjolras, ” she tells him sternly. "And don't mope when he doesn't answer you straight away. I don't think he'll be able to talk to you in front of his parents." And then, in a softer voice, “I imagine you’re the person he wants to talk to most in the world right now. He needs to know you’re there.” She may be angry at him right now, and most likely he is at her too, but that doesn’t mean she wants Enjolras’ brain to eat itself with stress. 

“Yeah, I know,” Grantaire says, and then, “I’m sorry, Ép, okay?” 

“It’s fine.” She is more than used to dragging Grantaire’s self-esteem out of the gutter, using force if necessary. 

When she hangs up, she realises that in the time it took to have the conversation with Grantaire, there's a small puddle of water running back and forth on the patio, tracing the line she'd been pacing.

The kitchen is no longer empty when Éponine steps in again. Now, Cosette and Enjolras are sitting at the small and much less ornate kitchen table, compared to the one in the dining room. Cosette has a laptop open and is typing rapidly, and Enjolras is reading a newspaper. It must be one of his parent’s, because judging by the expression on his face, he doesn’t like what he’s reading. 

Éponine shuts the door behind her, and the two of them look up in unison. She and Enjolras make eye contact, and after a beat she manages to give him a terse nod of greeting, which he returns. Cosette looks at him with narrowed eyes, and then smiles sunnily. “Good morning, Éponine. How was the pool?” 

“It was nice,” she says, running a hand self-consciously through her still damp hair. 

Cosette nods. “At least someone liked it. I’m pretty sure that’s the first time it’s been used all year. I keep telling dad he should get it filled in, but,” she rolls her eyes. “He isn’t the best at listening to what other people have to say, to put it mildly.” Enjolras doesn’t look up from the newspaper, but he makes a small, humorless scoffing sound. Éponine assumes their father must not be in the house. 

“Hello, Éponine,” Enjolras’ mother says, from behind her shoulder. Éponine nearly leaps out of her skin, because it feels like she’d just appeared from nowhere. She looks between her and Enjolras, and Éponine swears that something in her smile is the slightest bit smug. “Are we all friends this morning?”

This woman is the worst. Her and Enjolras make eye contact across the kitchen, and Enjolras shrugs and rolls his eyes. Éponine doesn’t know if they are friends or not, they still haven’t said a word to each other since their argument last night, but she wants to wipe the unbearably smug look off his mother’s face, so she smiles sweetly and walks to Enjolras, and, before she can think better on it, leans down and presses a kiss to his cheek. 

“Of course we are,” she says, “Everyone gets a bit grumpy after a day of travelling, you know? But we kissed and made up this morning.” 

Enjolras, to his credit, leans into it, wrapping an arm securely around her waist and pulling her in tight. “Definitely.” The smile he gives his mother is a smirk. “Thanks for your concern, mom. But it looks like Éponine is staying around whether you like it or not.” 

Enjolras’ mother blinks, looking blindsided, and then she says in a strained sounding voice. “Lovely. That’s- Just lovely.”

“Yep,” Enjolras says succinctly. He turns to Éponine. “Do you want coffee? I just made a pot.” 

She nods and takes her own seat at the table. “Sure. You know how I like it.”

Enjolras stands from his chair and pours a cup of coffee from the pot on the countertop. His mother is watching him with narrowed eyes, and he either hasn’t noticed or is very deliberately ignoring her. She waits to speak until Enjolras sits down again, handing a mug of black coffee to Éponine. When she takes a sip, it’s been sweetened to the level she likes. 

“You know, I’m so glad the argument you two had last night was sorted quickly enough, I was worried Alexandre wouldn’t have a plus one for the rehearsal tonight, but-” She smiles, sickly sweet and completely fake. “It looks like it isn’t going to be a problem.”

Enjolras, at Éponine’s side, stiffens. "What rehearsal?" 

His mother frowns. "The wedding rehearsal, of course. For Marie's wedding. I thought you were supposed to be intelligent." 

Éponine groans internally to herself. A rehearsal? Really?

Enjolras apparently has no such qualms about potential rudeness and groans out loud. “Is it really necessary for all of us to go to the rehearsal? We’re not even in the wedding party.”

“Well,” his mother says, “It’s a small rehearsal, followed by an informal get-together. Very small, casual, nothing to get excited about.” She glares at Enjolras over the rim of her coffee mug. “It wouldn’t kill you to show a bit of enthusiasm, Alexandre. You haven't seen any of the family since December, and you and Euphrasie were very antisocial that night. The two of you barely spoke to anyone but each other."

Enjolras and Cosette look equally unapologetic about this, and their mother makes a little scoffing sound, rolling her eyes. 

"I don't know what I'm going to do with the two of them," she remarks to Éponine, as though she's expecting her support on this. Éponine can't think of how to respond, so she settles, pretty unhelpfully, on a blank stare. 

Their mother glares between the three of them for a moment, and then sighs heavily and snatches a magazine off the kitchen counter, leaving the room and not quite slamming the door behind her. 

"Hm," Cosette says, looking between the door and Éponine, and then turning to Enjolras. "I don't think mom likes Éponine." 

Enjolras rolls his eyes, folding the newspaper he'd abandoned reading. 

"There's a surprise," he says, in an extremely long-suffering voice. 

"I mean," Éponine says awkwardly, "Do you think it's specifically me she doesn't like, or does she not like any of your girlfriends?"

"Bold of you to assume I've had other girlfriends," Enjolras says wryly, before getting to his feet. "Do you need a hairdryer? I think there's one in the closet." 

Cosette gives her brother a look. "She can borrow mine. The one in your room is probably older than I am. It's in my bathroom." 

So Cosette gets her own bathroom too. Getting ready for school must have been so easy for the two of them. No using up the last of the hot water. No fighting for the mirror. It must have been so peaceful. 

Enjolras nods and pulls his chair back, leaving the room. Éponine starts to follow him, but she’s stopped by Cosette’s voice saying, “Hey, Éponine?” 

Éponine turns to her. “Yeah?” 

Cosette bites her bottom lip, looking concerned, and then asks, “Is everything okay between you two? Enj seems off this morning.” A furrow appears between her eyebrows as she frowns, and Éponine finds herself marvelling again at the uncanny similarities between them. “I mean, he’s always off when he’s here. But…more so than usual.” 

She shrugs. She doesn’t know how Enjolras normally acts when he’s in his parents’ house, doesn’t know him well enough to really know what off looks like. 

“I’m sure we’ll be fine,” she says shortly, and then leaves before she can say anything else. She doesn’t know Cosette, and although she seems more sensible compared to her frankly insane family, Éponine is going to hold her at arms’ length for as long as possible. 

When she gets back to the bedroom, Enjolras is sitting on the bed, his back resting against the headboard, and there’s a hairdryer lying on Éponine’s pillow with the wire curled up. 

She lifts it and says “Thanks,” awkwardly, turning to the bathroom. 

“Éponine?” Enjolras says behind her. 

Éponine turns back to him without a word. 

Enjolras’ brow furrows as he frowns. “I wanted to talk to you.”

She hesitates, and then nods slowly. "Okay," she says warily, "Talk." 

“I just-” A muscle twitches in his jaw. “I wanted to talk about last night. The fight we had. I wanted to apologise.”

She blinks. “Oh.” She’s not really used to people apologising to her, and now she’s had two in one day. Everyone is acting very out of character. 

“Yeah,” Enjolras says. “I’ve said before that my parents kind of throw me off a bit, and when they started saying all that stuff about Grantaire, I just-” Something in his face darkens, and then he shakes his head like he’s trying to shake away the memory of it. “But you’re right. This is going to be less painful for both of us if we keep our heads down, and it’s not fair of me to make things more difficult for you when you’re doing me a favour by being here at all. So I’m sorry about that. And for swearing at you, of course, that was completely uncalled for.” The expression on Enjolras’ face is the familiar, serious glare he tends to adopt at Les Amis meetings. The sincerity is kind of funny, really, but at least Éponine knows he’s being legitimate. 

She tries her best to smile. “I don’t know, man. From what I hear, you’re famously quite bad at keeping your head down.” 

Enjolras smiles too, shrugging one shoulder. “Well, I can only try my best.” He bites his lip, and then says, “Tonight is going to be awkward enough, and it’s not going to be any easier if you and I are fighting. Truce?” 

Éponine stares at him for a moment, calculating. Eventually, she says, “Yeah, okay. As long as you promise not to do what you did last night again. It was very annoying and uncool.”

“I know,” he says, “I won’t.” 

“And I’m sorry too,” she offers awkwardly, after a moment of silence. “I know being here puts you on edge. I could probably try to be a bit more understanding. But just remember for this party tonight that I don’t know how to handle all this rich people shit. I need you to tell me what the fuck is going on.” 

Enjolras snorts. 

“We’re about to spend an evening surrounded by my ultra-conservative, cishet family, while I pretend to be straight and you pretend to be my girlfriend,” he reminds her, “Believe me, I’m going to be as out of my depth as you are.”

Éponine snorts a laugh despite herself. “Dude, that doesn’t comfort me at all.” She starts unwrapping the hairdryer’s wire, and looks up again when Enjolras says her name again. 

“I meant what I said last night,” he says when he’s got her attention. “If you want to get a flight home at any point, I’ll pay for it. Again, it’s the least I can do.” 

Éponine rolls her eyes and turns around, heading for the bathroom. 

“Enjolras,” she says over her shoulder, halfway between exasperated and impatient. “I’m not going anywhere.”

***

The rest of the day is uneventful. Thankfully, Enjolras’ mother leaves them alone for most of it, until she opens the door to the sitting room Éponine, Enjolras and Cosette had been spending their time in, and barks at Cosette to start getting ready. Éponine glances at the clock- It’s three hours before they need to leave. She looks disbelievingly at Cosette, who stands with an eyeroll. 

“She always says I could look very pretty if I spent more time on my appearance,” she says in a low voice, “It’s easier to go along with it than arguing.”

“That’s ridiculous,” Éponine snaps without thinking, “You’re already very pretty.” Her brain catches up with her mouth a second later, and she thinks Fuck. 

Cosette blinks, and then her cheeks turn pink. 

“It’s no big deal,” she says, face still flushed, not quite meeting Éponine’s eyes. “I’ll just watch Buffy reruns in my room until I actually want to start getting ready.” She hurries from the room before Éponine can say anything else. 

“She’s acting weird,” Enjolras says, “I think you’re making her flustered.” 

“What?” Éponine looks at him quickly. “What does that mean?” 

He doesn’t answer, just gets to his feet and glances at the door, which Cosette had closed behind her. 

“I’m going to call Grantaire,” he says in a hushed voice. “You know where everything is. Provided you don’t bump into my mother, you can make yourself at home.” 

***

An hour or so before they’re meant to be going, Éponine steps into the garden and calls Gavroche and Azelma, walking around the pool in slow circles while she talks to them. She makes an effort to find out about their week, asking about school, if Lawrence and Jane have anything nice planned for them for the weekend (which they generally do). She has to resist the urge to throw her phone into the pool when Gavroche asks in a snide voice how her boyfriend is. 

She spends longer than expected on the phone, and ends up rushing to get ready. Enjolras isn’t in the bedroom when she gets there, but if she listens she can just barely hear the muffled voices of him and Cosette coming from one of the sitting rooms, so they must be waiting on her. 

Éponine throws on her outfit and runs a brush through her hair, and is ready within fifteen minutes. It’s a small get together, their mother said. Casual. Nothing too fancy. 

Which is why she’s surprised and more than a little annoyed when she meets the rest of the family in the foyer. Cosette is wearing a deep purple, lacy-looking dress with a high collar and a pair of high heels. Enjolras isn’t wearing a suit, but he’s wearing nice shoes and a crisp shirt and trousers as opposed to the jeans and sweater he’d been wearing around the house. 

Eponine is wearing the plain black dress she bought in a charity shop five years ago, the one that Jehan had sewn a patch into when it ripped, and her black boots, knock off Doc Martens she’d found at the St-Ouen market for five euros. 

Their mother is there too, and she’s dressed immaculately too, in a deep green dress with a stupid little shawl thrown over the top and her own pair of high heels. Their father is wearing a suit. 

“Éponine. You look…Comfortable,” Enjolras’ mother says. She has her usual smile on her face, but the way she looks Éponine up and down is extremely judgemental. She’s not as good at hiding her expressions as she thinks she is. 

“Of course, it doesn’t really matter what you wear tonight. It’s just a rehearsal and a small get together after all,” she says after a moment. “I’m sure whatever you’re wearing to the wedding itself is lovely.” 

“Uhm,” Éponine clears her throat, feeling a sense of mortification creeping up her spine. “This is what I’m wearing to the wedding.” 

Enjolras’ mother is now looking at her like she’s just suggested showing up naked to the wedding, and even Enjolras and Cosette are giving her slightly dubious looks that makes something in Éponine’s stomach squirm with embarrassment. She smooths a hand down the front of the dress, both to straighten it out and to wipe the sweat off the hands. 

“What’s wrong with it?” she asks, hearing the defensiveness in her voice. 

“Nothing,” Enjolras says too quickly. 

This is enough for Enjolras’ mother to finally stop looking at her, turning her glare to Enjolras instead. Enjolras doesn’t say anything, just raises his chin and glares right back. 

God, Éponine really isn’t into this whole silent communication thing. 

“There’s obviously something wrong with it, so someone just say it,” she bites out. 

“Uhm,” Enjolras starts slowly, which is remarkably brave of him. Éponine knows she has an angry scowl on her face right now, trying to cover up the embarrassment she feels. “It’s a little bit…Casual?”

There’s the squirm of embarrassment again, worsened by the way Enjolras’ mother is looking at her. “Oh.” This is the nicest thing she owns. Éponine has a minimum wage job and rent to pay. She can’t afford nice clothes. 

Enjolras’ mother looks like she’s about to pop a blood vessel.

“Éponine and I can go into town tomorrow and get a new dress,” Cosette offers quickly. She gives her mother a slightly sly look. “I don’t think Éponine and I are anywhere near the same size, so unless you’re willing to lend her something of yours…”

“No!” her mother all but shouts. Her voice echoes around the foyer a bit, and, for the first time, Éponine notices a light blush in her cheeks. “No,” she says again, quieter. “The three of you can go into town tomorrow. There’s a few boutiques, I’m sure you’ll be able to find something there.”

Boutiques. Éponine has never set foot in a boutique in her life. Éponine buys her clothes at flea markets and in charity shops and Monoprix. Éponine can’t afford anything that comes from a boutique. 

“Hey,” Enjolras says, suddenly beside her, and he nudges her in the side in what she imagines is supposed to be a comforting gesture. It’s weirdly sweet. “You okay?” 

Éponine stutters out a laugh. “Yeah, I just-” she runs her hand down the fabric of her dress again. “I’m feeling a bit underdressed.” 

Enjolras shakes his head and looks at his mother, who appears to be distracted by something on her phone. 

“She’s full of shit, don’t listen to her,” he says in a low voice. “You look nice.” He looks slightly like he's being forced to suck on a lemon as he says it, but she appreciates the thought.

“I can’t afford a new dress,” she hisses to him as they walk down the steps of the house, to where Antonin is waiting with the car. 

“We’ll work it out,” Cosette says in a whisper on her other side. She hesitates, and then reaches out and squeezes Éponine’s hand once, before letting it go. Her cheeks are a delicate pink again, and Éponine feels like it has nothing to do with her make-up. “I promise.” 

Éponine tries her best to smile, and tries to believe her. 

***

The wedding rehearsal is every bit as painful as anticipated. The ‘small gathering’ Enjolras and Cosette’s mother had promised turns out to be at least seventy people, held in the huge back garden of a mansion even bigger than the Enjolras household. 

“This is our uncle’s place,” Cosette tells her in a low voice as they sit through the rehearsal of sitting arrangements, speech times and other things Éponine has absolutely no interest in keeping track of. “He makes more money than our dad, so predictably, our dad fucking hates him.” 

“His face gets all red and blotchy if you bring him up,” Enjolras mutters on her other side, “It’s the only thing about him that’s actually kind of funny.” 

Éponine had forgotten completely whose wedding she’s actually attending, but soon she’s being introduced to a blonde woman who turns out to be Enjolras and Cosette’s cousin, and her fiancé. Thankfully, none of them are expected to make much conversation, and Éponine watches with amusement as Enjolras’ father shakes hands with the father of the bride, his face slightly red and a muscle twitching in his jaw. Beside her, Enjolras has his lips pursed like he’s holding in a laugh. 

The one saving grace of the ‘small gathering’ is the open bar, and the waiters walking around with constantly full trays of champagne. Éponine still feels kind of gross about the fact that everyone in this community of literal millionaires she now finds herself in seems to have their own staff, but that doesn’t mean she can’t get drunk about it. 

To her surprise, Enjolras takes two glasses of champagne off the nearest tray in his line of vision, handing one to her before taking a fortifying glug. 

“Didn’t think getting super drunk to deal with your family was your scene,” she mutters to him out of the corner of her mouth as they stand in the corner of a room behind an ornate sculpture, probably in an effort to remain unseen for as long as possible. 

“I am not above resorting to alcohol to numb the pain,” Enjolras says drily. Éponine raises her glass to that, and looks around the room slowly as she sips. The room they’re in is very ornate, with cocktail music playing from somewhere she can’t see- Presumably there’s a speaker somewhere playing it, but Éponine wouldn’t be surprised if these people had enough money to hire a full orchestra for the night. There’s the sound of talking and laughter and the clink of champagne glasses. It all feels very artificial, knowing what she does about Enjolras’ family dynamics. 

“There’s so many blonde people here,” Éponine mutters, more to herself than anyone, looking around the crowd. With her dark skin and hair, she is the notable exception, and her stomach squirms uncomfortably again. She doesn’t want to stand out, she doesn’t want to talk to any of these people. 

“Alexandre?” a voice behind them says, and when they turn around there’s a girl standing there, probably around their age, wearing a pale blue cocktail dress and sipping from a glass of champagne. 

“Hello?” Enjolras says, looking confused. Apparently not one of his family members, then. “Can I help you?” 

She smiles and sticks out a hand. “I’m Isabelle. Desfriches. Your mom mentioned you would be here tonight, she said I should introduce myself.” 

Enjolras’ face goes white, and lightning fast he grips hard to Éponine’s hand and pulls her into him slightly. “Oh. Have you met my girlfriend, Éponine?” 

Real smooth, Enj, she thinks. 

Isabelle blinks. “Oh. Hello Éponine, it’s nice to meet you.” She looks knowingly at Enjolras. “Your mom conveniently left out the little detail that you weren’t single.” 

Enjolras grimaces. “Yeah. She tends to do that.” 

“Hm.” Isabelle seems surprisingly unbothered by this, and Éponine decides she likes her. “No harm, no foul. You’re not the only hot blond guy at this party.” She finishes the contents of her champagne flute and sets it smoothly on a nearby table. “You guys look cute together. I hope your mom stays out of your business. Have a good night.” 

“You know,” Éponine says to Enjolras as the two of them watch her move smoothly through the crowd, “You could do a lot worse.”

Enjolras snorts. “Yeah. Maybe my mother would have a higher success rate setting you up instead of me.” 

Éponine nods in agreement, taking a drink. “Well, at least we got it out of the way nice and early, right?” 

“Oh Éponine,” Enjolras says grimly with an eye roll. “If I know my mother, we are only getting started.”

***

“For fuck’s sake,” Éponine snaps, after she’s soundly dismissed another girl who Enjolras’ mother had suggested he talks to, “Why doesn’t she just tie a bow around your neck and put you up for auction?” 

“Do you see now why I needed you here?” Enjolras asks drily. “And this is with her knowing I’m in a relationship. You can imagine what it was like when I was single.”

“Do you think she wants us to break up?” Éponine asks. 

“I think she likes to pry into other people’s lives.” Enjolras says in response, “It’s how she keeps herself entertained when she’s not terrorising her children. She does it to everyone, it’s why she has no real friends.” 

“Alexandre!” As if on cue, they hear Enjolras’ mother’s voice behind them, and when they turn around, she’s standing with a glass of champagne in one hand, her other hand clutching tight onto a girl who looks about as enthused to be there as Éponine feels. 

“Alex, honey, this is Charlotte,” she says, “Your father and I know her parents from the country club. She’s studying politics in Lyon. You like politics.” Her blue eyes glint. “I think you two should chat.” 

Wait. 

This-

This can’t be real, can it?

“You cannot be serious, ” Éponine blurts out before she can stop herself. She’s surprised at how annoyed she feels, both on Enjolras’ behalf and her own, and when Enjolras’ mother gives her a cold look, she snaps, “I’m standing right here. ” 

“There was no harm in it, Éponine. I just thought they’d get on.” The cool look his mother is giving her is absolutely infuriating. “You shouldn’t be so possessive.” 

“Oh my fu-” she starts, but before she can finish, Enjolras grabs her hand and declares loudly that they’re going to get more drinks, before physically pulling her away from his mother to a different part of the room. Probably for the best. The boots Éponine is wearing are very good for kicking. 

“How can she just-” Éponine snaps, anger boiling in her abdomen even as Enjolras pushes a glass into her hand, looking worriedly over his shoulder as if he’s expecting his mother to follow, which wouldn’t be surprising. She drops her voice to a harsh whisper so that only Enjolras will hear. “You try to tell them you’re gay, and they decide that you can’t be. And then even when you show up here with a literal girlfriend who makes you happy, it’s still not enough for them? What do they want from you?” 

Enjolras snorts. “Don’t worry about it. I accepted a long time ago that nothing I do will ever be enough.” He raises an eyebrow with a grin. “You ‘make me happy’, huh?” 

She narrows her eyes, and shoves his shoulder lightly. “Piss off.” 

From behind them, there’s a loud burst of deep, manly laughter. Éponine looks over her shoulder to see a group of men in their mid to late twenties standing together, beer bottles held loosely in their hands, talking loudly. Every few seconds, one of the them says something, and the others laugh louder and more obnoxiously than before. 

"Who are they?" Éponine asks in a low voice. 

Enjolras pulls a face. "My cousins." He pulls lightly on Éponine's arm, starting to lead her away from them. "We are going to avoid them at all costs. They're all either finance guys or lawyers, which makes them the most boring people you'll ever encounter in your life." 

Before they can escape, one of them notices them watching. He turns, muttering to the rest of them, and then, to Éponine’s horror, with one more pointed glance at Enjolras, he makes an exaggerated limp wrist movement to the rest of them, and the peels of laughter get louder. 

“What the-?” Éponine mutters disbelievingly, and then the reality of what she just witnessed sinks in, and she turns to Enjolras and whispers savagely, “What the actual fuck. ” 

Enjolras rolls his eyes, as if he’s unbothered, but there’s something shuttered in his expression that wasn’t there before, a slight tightening of his jawline, something in his eyes that maybe speaks of hurt. Not to mention the way his hands have clenched into tight fists, like he’s thinking of punching something. 

“Fucking hell, they’re pathetic,” he murmurs, and Éponine thinks he’s speaking more to himself than her now. “They must be like, thirty? Do they seriously have nothing better to talk about?” 

“They’re bastards,” Éponine whispers savagely, “Fucking- Just ignore them. Ignore them.” She’s finding this hard enough to do herself. Her hands are trembling slightly in her anger. 

There’s another pointed shout of laughter, a very loud whisper of “Do you think she knows?”, and suddenly Éponine is filled with a hot, burning need to prove every single one of them wrong. 

She whips around to face Enjolras, hauls him close, and whispers “Kiss me.”

Enjolras blinks, and then his face flushes a deep red. “What, here? ” 

“Where else?” Éponine asks impatiently, keeping her voice low in case Enjolras’ mother or father are lurking nearby. “You could make every single one of them look completely stupid right now, and the alternative to that is me throwing a champagne flute at them, so we’re going to kiss and we’re going to look like we mean it.” 

Éponine can see Enjolras is tempted by this. He glances towards his cousins again, and all of them are watching them, disbelieving smirks on their faces. 

Éponine takes a step closer to him, curling her hand around his neck and gripping his hair lightly, trying to make it look like a natural movement, a symbol of a closeness that doesn’t exist between the two of them. 

“I mean, if you really want to prove a point,” she says while Enjolras takes what looks like a fortifying glug of champagne, “You have full permission to touch my ass. Or I could touch yours." 

Enjolras sputters into his glass, his face going, if possible, even redder. 

“That is absolutely not happening,” he says desperately. 

Éponine shrugs. “Whatever you want.” 

Enjolras groans, and drains the contents of his glass, setting it on a side table before turning back to Éponine. He glances once more at his cousins, and then squares his shoulders, and says, “Fine. Let’s do it.” 

Éponine drains her glass too and sets it beside his, reaching up to touch his cheek lightly, just like they’d practiced a few days before. 

Just before their lips touch, she mutters, “Try to look less like you’re going to war about it.”

In Paris, the two of them hadn’t made it any further than a simple press of lips against lips without either withdrawing with noises of disgust or bursting into nervous and slightly hysterical laughter. But spite is a great motivator, and they’re actually able to deepen the kiss slightly, and it feels like kissing an actual human as opposed to a slab of marble, which is a great improvement as far as Éponine’s concerned. She wraps her arm more securely around Enjolras’ neck, stepping as close as she dares, and his arm curls around her waist. 

“Hey,” Cosette’s voice appears as if from nowhere. “Do you two need to get a room?” 

They leap apart like they’ve been electrocuted. Cosette is standing in front of them with a hand on her hip and a smirk on her face. 

“We weren’t doing anything,” Enjolras says in a rush, his voice a few octaves higher than usual. Éponine didn’t know it was possible for his face to get any more red, but apparently it can. 

“Mm-hm,” Cosette says, and she looks like she’s enjoying herself at his expense, “Looked like it.” Eponine kind of wants to melt into a puddle of embarrassment on the ground. 

“Where have you been all night?” Enjolras asks, obviously trying to abandon any discussion of what it looked like the two of them had been doing. 

Luckily, Cosette rolls her eyes with a groan. “I got cornered by great-uncle Yannis,” she says in a defeated voice. 

Enjolras groans too. "You have my sympathy." 

Éponine glances between the two of them. "What's the problem with great-uncle Yannis?" 

"Massive misogynist," Cosette says succinctly. "Apparently I shouldn't be following my brother to university, I should be finding a man from my father's law firm and settling down in a nice home." 

"Christ." Éponine says bluntly, and Cosette nods solemnly at her. There’s the sound of laughter behind them, and Éponine looks over her shoulder, to see if Enjolras’ cousins are still staring at the two of them. 

They’re not. They’ve turned back to their little circle and are now conversing amongst themselves, in a way that implies they’ve lost interest in Éponine and Enjolras completely. One of them is still looking, and when he catches Enjolras’ eye, he smirks and holds his hand up in a thumbs up, raising his eyebrows. 

“God,” Enjolras mutters, “I think I just threw up in my mouth a little bit.” 

“Dad says we can leave soon,” Cosette says, sounding relieved. "I can’t help but feel a certain kinship with him on nights like this. He hates this shit as much as we do." 

Enjolras sighs. "I think that’s just because he’s forced to exercise some human decency, for once. " He looks at Éponine. “Want to go wait outside?” 

“I’ll catch you up,” Cosette says. “I’m going to go talk to great-uncle Yannis again”.

Éponine frowns. “Uh, what? But I thought he was an asshole? Massive misogynist, and all that.” 

“Oh, he is,” Cosette says succinctly, “He’s the worst. But, he adores me for some reason, and if I put up with his shit for long enough, he always gives me a hundred euros to ‘buy myself something pretty’.” She grins. “I’ll catch the two of you up in a minute.” 

Éponine decides at that moment that she simply has no choice but to like Cosette. 

“Hey,” Éponine mutters to Enjolras as the two of them head to the front door, “It worked. With your cousins. They stopped.” 

Enjolras does a weak approximation of a smile. “Yeah. They did.” 

Of course, they shouldn’t have been doing it in the first place, but Éponine doesn’t mention that, she doesn’t doubt that Enjolras already knows. She opens her mouth to make a comment about how she still wishes Enjolras had let her chuck a glass at them, but she’s interrupted by a voice from somewhere behind them shouting Enjolras’ first name. The two of them turn in unison, to see a portly man in a suit heading in their direction, a wide grin on his face. 

"Fuck," Enjolras says quietly to himself, and then he plasters a forced looking smile on his face and says, "Basile, hello. We were just leaving." 

"Nonsense, I haven't had the chance to talk to you all night. Your father mentioned you brought a young lady friend with you." He gives Éponine a look which is almost a leer, while simultaneously pressing another glass of champagne into both their hands, and seriously, where did he even produce those from? Éponine is starting to think they're appearing from thin air. 

"This is my girlfriend, Éponine," Enjolras says, and the amount of times he's said it to various people tonight has paid off, he sounds like a real pro now. "Éponine, my dad's business partner, Basile. Like I said, we were just leaving-"

"Are you coming with Alexandre when he moves back?" Basile asks her suddenly. 

Éponine has absolutely no idea what he is talking about, so she says "Huh?" eloquently. 

"When he moves back," Basile repeats, more slowly and clearly this time, like Éponine is stupid. He looks at Enjolras and laughs heartily. "You can't very well help run the firm from Paris, it’s almost eight hundred kilometres away!" 

Enjolras had been raising his glass to his lips to have a sip of champagne, but he pauses, lowering it slowly. 

“What did you say?” he asks slowly. 

Basile frowns. “Running the firm. Alexandre was telling us that you will be taking over a large portion of the firm once you graduate and move back from Paris.” 

“My father told you I’m coming back from Paris?” Enjolras asks slowly. “And joining the firm?” 

“Yes.” 

“Right,” Enjolras says, and then, “Excuse me.” He sets his champagne glass down and walks to the door, stepping outside and closing it behind him. Éponine turns back to Basile, unsure if she should say goodbye or not, but he has already turned his attention elsewhere. 

“So,” Éponine says drily, walking down the steps of the mansion and sitting down on the bottom step next to Enjolras, who is rubbing both temples with the tips of his fingers. “I imagine you don’t actually have plans to move in with mom and dad again?” 

His only answer is a slightly hysterical laugh in the direction of the ground. 

Cosette comes down the front steps then, not looking up in favour of rummaging in the small bag she has over one arm. 

“Result,” she says happily, “He gave me two fifties. I’ll split it with you, Enj.” She notices then that the two of them are sitting on the steps in front of the house, and frowns. “What’s wrong?”

"Do you know what Basile just asked me?" Enjolras asks, his eyes wide and minutely frantic as he looks at Cosette. 

She frowns at him. "What?"

"He asked when I'm moving back from Paris. He asked when I'm joining the firm ."

Cosette blinks, and then her eyes widen. " Dad's firm?" 

Enjolras just gives her another helpless look, and Cosette scoffs. 

“He cannot be serious,” Cosette says. “Do you think he’s made it up? Or do you think that’s what dad has told him? Wait no, what am I talking about, of course it’s dad.” 

“ Why though?” Enjolras asks, “Why would he want me to do that?” 

A look of realisation crosses Cosette’s face, and she scowls. “The two of them were talking about the villa a few weeks ago. How they never get to use it, how it would be nice if dad had more time off so they could use it more…”

“Oh, in the name of-” Enjolras grits out, and presses his hands to his face. “Why the fuck do I have a law degree?” 

Éponine frowns. "Can't you just tell him you're not doing it? You don't even want to be a lawyer." 

Enjolras snorts. "Believe me, it's not that simple." 

Éponine is about to ask why, but she’s interrupted by a bark of Enjolras and Cosette’s names behind her. Their parents are walking down the steps, and their father, who already looks like he’s in a foul temper, snaps, “Why are the three of you sitting on the ground like tramps ? Get up before someone sees you.” 

The three of them look at each other in unison, and then get to their feet, and they all wait in tense silence for Antonin to pull up in the car. Enjolras looks furious, his mouth twisting angrily every time he looks at his father, who is ignoring him. His arms are folded across his chest, nails digging into the crisp light blue of his shirt.  

“What’s wrong with you?” His mother asks snappishly. She looks between and Éponine accusingly. “Did you two have another fight?” 

“No,” Éponine snaps back, putting that particular line of conversation to a halt there and then. His mother glares, and Éponine glares right back. From a girlfriend’s perspective, she has more than enough of a reason to be angry with her, and this time, Enjolras doesn’t try to stop her. His mind is clearly a million miles away anyway. 

The car journey back to the house is filled with the same tense silence, but the minute the door slams behind them, Enjolras turns to his father and asks in a carefully controlled voice. “Can I speak to you, please?” 

Enjolras’ father raises an eyebrow in an uncanny impression of his son’s own unamused expression, and then sighs, walking to the room beside the second sitting room that Enjolras had avoided the day before. Éponine sees a glance of the dark wood of an office, with an ornate bookcase and a large mahogany desk in the centre, but that’s all she sees before he waves Enjolras in with one hand, and when Enjolras follows, the door is slammed behind the two of them. 

Éponine stands awkwardly in the hallway, Cosette a few feet behind her. The low murmur of two voices start from behind the office door. Their mother seems determined to ignore whatever they’re talking about- She’s already in the kitchen, pulling a bottle of white out of the wine fridge. 

From behind the closed office door, the voices change from a low mutter to what is almost definitely shouting. Éponine can hear Enjolras’ voice, raised and speaking fast, and then his father’s voice, a lot louder. 

“Hey,” Éponine feels a tug on her elbow, and when she turns, Cosette is giving her a tense smile. The voices behind the door get louder, and her face tightens further. “Want to watch a movie in my room or something?” 

“ Yes, ” Éponine says, because that is definitely preferable to standing awkwardly in the hall while she waits for Enjolras and his dad to stop verbally sparring, or, god forbid, joining his mother and her bottle of wine in the kitchen. 

She follows Cosette up the stairs and to the opposite end of the hallway from Enjolras’. Her room is just as huge, but it at least has a little bit more personality. There’s art and a few movie posters and photographs on the wall, a cello in one corner, an overflowing bookcase. Éponine steps closer to the wall with the majority of the photographs; there’s a photo of a small boy with a mop of blond curls holding a newborn baby wrapped in a pink blanket and grinning from ear to ear. Éponine smiles. 

“You can pick the movie,” Cosette says from behind her. There’s no TV in the room, and Éponine frowns, but Cosette simply walks over and sits down on her bed, resting her back against the headboard. She reaches over the side and pulls her laptop into view, typing for a moment before giving Éponine an expectant look. She hesitates for a moment, and then toes off her boots and sits beside her, leaning back against the headboard too.

“Any preference?” Cosette asks, the mouse blinking over the search bar of whatever streaming service she’s using. 

“I don’t mind,” Éponine says automatically. Cosette looks at her and raises an eyebrow. 

“Come on,” she says, her voice soft. “I want you to pick. You don’t have to tiptoe around me, you know.” Éponine had thought she was being subtle about that, but apparently not. 

She hesitates for a long moment, and then hesitantly suggests a horror movie she’s watched probably around fifty times at this point. Cosette grins, and as she’s searching it, claims it’s one of her favourites. She settles back against the headboard as the movie starts, her arm brushing lightly against Éponine’s. She swallows, and tries to concentrate on the movie. 

***

They’re about forty minutes into the movie, and Éponine has barely taken in a word of it. She’s too distracted by the fact that ten minutes in, Cosette had yawned widely and rested her head on her shoulder. There’s a faint scent of lavender, and Éponine doesn’t know if it’s Cosette’s perfume or shampoo or something else, but that and the feeling of soft hair against Éponine’s neck means her mind is somewhat unfocused. 

It’s a good thing Éponine has seen this one before, because otherwise she’d be fucked if Cosette wants to talk about it afterwards. 

From downstairs, there’s the slam of the door, and then the sound of footsteps on the stairs, followed by the opening and then the shutting of Enjolras’ bedroom door. It’s not quite a slam, but it’s close. 

Éponine glances at the door, and then at Cosette, sitting silently beside her, her face illuminated by the glow of the laptop. 

“Should I…” she starts awkwardly, and Cosette shakes his head. 

“Give him a little bit of time alone,” she says softly, “You won’t get him to talk about it right after anyway. Believe me, I’ve tried. You try to talk to him about it now, you won’t get a word out of him for the rest of the night. Besides,” she looks away from the screen to smile at Éponine, but it looks slightly sadder, slightly more forced now. She’s still beautiful, and Éponine, not for the first time that week, thinks fuck. “My favourite part is coming up.”

The movie ends, and Éponine bids Cosette goodnight and picks her boots up off the floor, carrying them back to Enjolras’ room. The top floor of the house is dark and silent, but Éponine thinks she can hear the voices of Enjolras’ parents downstairs, sounding agitated. She doesn’t want to know. 

She cracks open the door slowly. She doesn’t know exactly what she was expecting, but frowns when she sees Enjolras perched awkwardly on the windowsill, still in his nice clothes from the party, his knees tucked up to his chin, the windows thrown open wide. There’s an open pack of cigarettes beside him, and one in his hand, the smoke curling up slowly towards the ceiling. 

Éponine steps into the room, closing the door softly behind her. Enjolras looks over his shoulder, a scowl on his face, but he relaxes when he sees her. 

“Hey,” he says shortly. He takes a drag of his cigarette and blows the smoke out slowly, where it bounces off the wall and disperses. 

She walks up beside him and perches awkwardly on the other side of the windowsill. "Why do I feel like your mother will have a fit if she catches you smoking inside? You’re going to stain all the walls of her lovely clean guest room."

Enjolras snorts. "Yeah well, she can bite me." 

Éponine quirks a smile, reaching forward and taking a cigarette for herself. After a few moments of smoking in silence, she asks, “Good chat with dad, then?” 

Enjolras barks a short, humorless laugh, not looking away from the window. Éponine expects him not to answer, but after a moment he says sourly, “He’s fucking delusional if he thinks I’m coming back here. To what? Work with him? We’d kill each other within a day,” he shifts ever so slightly, his mouth twisting. “We don’t even like each other.” 

“Did you tell him you don’t want to work with him?” Éponine asks. “That you don’t want to be a lawyer at all?”

Enjolras nods, shrugging. “He doesn’t care. He doesn’t care about what Cosette or I want. He never has.”  

Éponine snorts. “Yeah. That much is kind of obvious.” 

“I just-” Enjolras is frowning slightly, staring out the window into the dark of the garden, his voice faint. “Why have children if you’re not going to care about what they want and how they think and who they are ? Why bother if you’re going to lose interest the second they don’t fall into the neat little box you have laid out in front of them by you, or threaten them because of something they have no control over?” He frowns deeper, and takes a long drag of his cigarette. 

Éponine doesn’t say anything. She doesn’t know if she’s supposed to. 

“It’s so stupid,” Enjolras says. He looks at Éponine, but distantly, like he’s looking right through her. “I’m doing all this; bringing you here, pretending to be in love with you, and none of it matters, because they don’t just dislike me because I’m gay. They dislike me because I’m me .” 

Éponine sighs. “Enjolras…” 

“Sorry,” he says quickly, looking away from her. The cigarette in his hand has gone out, and he reignites it with his lighter. Éponine has the feeling he’s only doing it to avoid looking at her. “Sorry. That was dramatic. Sorry.” 

“You didn’t just talk about the job thing, did you?” Éponine asks. “In his office?” 

Enjolras shakes his head.

“What did you-?” 

“Nothing worth repeating,” he says quickly, looking out the window again. His knees curl closer to his chest, finger tightening on the cigarette. 

Éponine swallows. 

“He’s never, you know-” she starts awkwardly, not finishing her question and hoping Enjolras can fill in the gaps. When he gives her a blank stare, she says, “ You know, ” and does a weak facsimile of a punch. 

Enjolras’ eyes widen. “Oh God, no. Nothing like that. No, he just- No.”

Hm. Lucky for him. 

Enjolras makes a small, humorless snorting sound. “I think he knows that if he tried that, I wouldn’t hesitate to hit him back.” 

“I did that once,” Éponine offers. “It feels pretty fucking good.” She’d had to stay in Grantaire’s mom’s spare room for nearly three weeks afterwards, but she still maintains that it was worth it. 

Enjolras is staring at her. “Éponine…” 

“Nope,” she says quickly, drawing a line through that line of questioning instantly. “We’re talking about your trauma right now, not mine.” 

Enjolras raises an eyebrow. “I don’t have any trauma.” 

“Oh, I know,” she says sarcastically. “Your parents are just using your younger sister to blackmail you into hiding your sexuality and making you come home at the holidays to be emotionally abused so the four of you can play happy families around your horrible extended family.” 

Surprisingly, this makes Enjolras laugh. 

“You’re very blunt, you know that?” he asks her. 

Éponine grins. “I prefer the term direct. ” 

Enjolras rolls his eyes and looks out the window again, but his posture is less tense now, less curled in on itself.

They sit on the windowsill in silence, smoking, for a few more minutes, and then Éponine asks, "So, where did the two of you leave things?"

Enjolras rolls his eyes. "We're going to talk about it some other time. Which means we're never going to bring it up with each other again, and he'll just expect me to move in again in September. And then instead of doing that I'll come out, and after that he won't even want me under his roof, much less in his law firm." He takes another deep inhale of smoke, exhales, and says in a bitter voice, "And everyone's happy." 

“You know what you should do?” Éponine says eagerly, “You should join the firm, and then fucking tank it. Just run the whole damn enterprise into the ground. It’ll be a massive fuck you to your parents and you’d get to partake in corporate sabotage, which I know you’re a massive fan of.” 

Enjolras laughs, shaking his head. “You know, you might be onto something there.” He’s still smiling, and it turns the slightest bit smug when he stubs his cigarette out on the window sill, leaving a black mark on the pure white paint. Éponine smiles too, and does exactly the same thing. 

“I’m exhausted,” he says, a hand coming up to rub at his right temple. “And I have a bit of a headache. I think I should head to bed.” 

“Yeah, okay,” Éponine says, and she’s unable to stop feeling awkward about it yet, but at least they’re not shouting at each other tonight. “I’ll go to bed too.” She slips off the window and walks to the bed, pulling her pyjamas out from under the pillow where she’d left them that morning. 

"Hey, wait-" Enjolras says behind her. When she turns to face him again, he’s watching her with a furrow in his brow. "Where were you when I was talking to him?" 

Éponine shrugs. "I was with Cosette. We were watching a movie." 

Enjolras blinks, and then his mouth twitches slightly, like he's going to smile. "Oh?" 

Éponine feels defensive despite herself, and she can feel her own body betraying her as heat rises to her face. 

“Yeah,” she says snappishly. “Why?” 

Enjolras is definitely trying not to laugh at her now, she can tell. “No reason. Just wondering if I’m going to have to give you a shovel talk?” 

“Oh, would you look at the time?! I’m exhausted. Time to go to bed!” Éponine says, panicking and running for the bathroom, and the sound of Enjolras’ laughter is cut off by the door slamming shut behind her.

Chapter Text

Éponine knows from talking to Grantaire that Enjolras is a perpetually early riser. He has too much to do in a day, according to his boyfriend, to afford lie-ins, although that apparently isn’t for lack of trying on Grantaire’s part. As far as she knows, he’s been largely unsuccessful up to this point. 

Which is why it’s surprising when Éponine wakes up the day after the wedding rehearsal, after nine am, and Enjolras is still lying in bed beside her, his back to her. She frowns, and then clears her throat awkwardly. 

“Hey,” she says, “You awake?” 

There’s a small pause, and then a strained sounding “Yes.” 

This makes her frown harder. “Everything okay?” 

He sighs softly, and then says, “I have a headache. Don’t worry about it.” 

She sits up. Enjolras has the covers pulled right over his head, just the ends of his hair visible. 

“Did you drink too much bottomless champagne last night?” she says, trying to make it sound like a joke. “Are you just majorly hungover?” 

This is enough to get Enjolras to pull the duvet cover down to shoot her a look that isn’t quite a glare. He’s pale, squinting against the light from the crack in the curtains, deep purple shadows under his eyes. 

It doesn’t look like a hangover, anyway. 

Éponine stares at him for a moment, and simply responds “Hm.” She still doesn’t know Enjolras very well, but she knows this behaviour is out of character for him. But she can’t do anything right now, so she gets out of bed, gathering her clothes and towel to use the shower. Once in the bathroom, she texts Grantaire ' Hey, does Enjolras get migraines or anything?'

There's several texts waiting for her by the time she gets out of the shower. 

Yeah. 

He gets them when he's stressed. 

Normally a couple of painkillers and a few hours of sleep helps them go away. 

Do not let his parents interact with him for the love of god. Unless you feel like scrubbing his brain off the walls. That one makes Éponine grimace. 

There’s another one after that, and then repeated again a minute later, Grantaire obviously impatient for her reply.

Is he okay? 

Éponine rolls her eyes. God, Grantaire is needy. 

Enjolras has made it into a rough approximation of a sitting position by the time she leaves the bathroom. He’s sitting on the edge of the bed, scowling at nothing, his hands clenched into tight fists around the edges of the mattress. 

She rolls her eyes. “Lie down,” she says sternly. “I’ll bring you some painkillers.” 

“What?” Enjolras asks, squinting at her, his hand coming up to rub at his right temple. “No. We have to go…Fucking…Shopping or something, right? Shit.” 

Éponine snorts. “Yeah. I don’t think you’re going anywhere except back to bed. Now stop your whining and lie the fuck down.” 

Enjolras gives her a confused looking frown for a few seconds, and then relents, which is a relief. Éponine has physically forced her siblings back to bed when they’re sick plenty of times, but she doesn’t think the two of them are quite at that level in their acquaintanceship yet. 

To her eternal suffering, both of Enjolras’ parents are in the kitchen when she arrives downstairs. Cosette is there too, and she looks at Éponine with her usual sunny smile. 

“Morning, Éponine,” she says. “Where’s Enj-?” Her father shoots her a withering glare, and she backtracks. “Alex?” 

"He has a headache," Éponine says. "Do you have any migraine medication?" 

Cosette frowns thoughtfully and slides off the chair she was sitting on, disappearing into one of the pantries. 

Enjolras' father scoffs, looking at his wife. "I swear every time that boy is getting softer every time he comes back here." 

If it’s a stress migraine, the fact that it’s come the morning after the argument with his father is no coincidence. Éponine glares, snatching the pills and glass of water out of Cosette's hands. She feels kind of bad about that, but she can apologise to her later. 

"If you think he's soft," she snaps at their father, "You obviously don't know him very well." She leaves the kitchen and stomps up the stairs without another word. They already dislike her for no real reason, she thinks bitterly. Why try to feign a politeness that she doesn’t feel? 

“Here,” she says once she’s closed the door to Enjolras’ room, setting the glass of water and the pills Cosette had given her on the bedside table. 

“Thanks,” Enjolras mumbles. He sits up, taking the pills and downing the water, and asks, “Did they say anything?”

“Uhhh. No,” Éponine tries, but Enjolras gives her an unimpressed look and raises an eyebrow, and she relents. “There were some comments.” 

“My dad, right?” he says, and when she nods, he shrugs and says, “It’s fine. I’m used to it.” 

Éponine shifts where she stands, because she doesn’t really know what to say to that. After a moment, she offers, “If you want, I can tell them about that time you punched a cop?” 

It makes Enjolras laugh anyway, even if he immediately grimaces and rubs his temples afterwards. 

“Don’t,” he says. “I’m saving that one as part of my grand coming out ceremony. If I’m planning on giving them both a heart attack, I want to really commit to it.” 

Éponine snorts a laugh, and says, “Well, it’s not what I expected to do today, but I’m used to it. I’ll bring you painkillers and water and all the good shit. You can’t drop dead on me before the wedding, I’ll have to actually talk to your family then.” 

“What?” Enjolras frowns at her, although she can’t quite tell if he’s just squinting against the light. “No, you can’t just sit here and watch me react negatively to direct sunlight all day. You’ll be bored out of your mind. You should go out with Cosette. She told me she’s looking forward to spending more time with you.” 

Inexplicably, Éponine can feel her face going red. “Really?” 

“Really,” Enjolras lies down again, pressing a forearm over his eyes. “Or maybe I’m just saying that so you’ll leave me alone to suffer in peace. I guess you’ll have to find out.”

***

She goes out with Cosette. 

“Have fun, you two,” her mother calls from the doorstep as the two of them walk towards the car, “Éponine, make sure you buy something more, ah, appropriate. ” Éponine bites hard on her tongue so she doesn’t snap something back. 

Antonin drives her and Cosette into the centre of Aix-en-Provence and leaves them there, with Cosette promising to call him when they need to be picked up. Éponine has never been to Aix before, has never really been to the south at all, so she’s happy to follow Cosette through the streets, as she walks with a directness that speaks of having visited the city many times.

“Where are you taking me?” Éponine asks as she walks beside her. 

“The shopping district,” Cosette tells her simply. “Mom used to take me clothes shopping all the time. I think she thought it would be a bonding thing, even though I kind of fucking hate shopping.” 

Éponine tries not to laugh. She doesn’t want to admit it, but there’s something kind of funny and endearing about someone who looks vaguely like a Disney princess swearing. 

“Thing is, my mom and I don’t really have the same taste-in anything -so she gave up on me a few years ago,” Cosette continues cheerfully. She looks at Éponine then, and asks, “What do you like to wear?” 

“Oh,” she starts, stumbling over the question because she doesn’t really want to give her real answer, which is Whatever I can afford. 

Cosette continues to stare at her, obviously expecting a response of some sort, and Éponine just shrugs helplessly. 

“Come on, ” Cosette cajoles gently. “You must have some idea. Favourite store? Pants or skirts? Favourite colour? Give me something, Éponine.” 

That, she can answer. “My favourite colour is pink.” 

Cosette blinks, looking taken aback, and Éponine snaps a defensive “What?” before she can stop herself. 

“No, nothing,” Cosette assures her quickly, with a little shake of her head. “You just don’t look like what someone whose favourite colour is pink would look like.” Éponine opens her mouth to respond to that, because rude, but Cosette continues with a shrug. “But then, I’m the last person who can judge someone’s taste based on appearances. You haven’t seen me in the clothes I actually like to wear, yet.” When Éponine gives her a disbelieving look, she adds, “I don’t wear it in front of my parents. It’s easier than arguing.” She grins, quick and the slightest bit sly. “I have a plan for the wedding though. You’ll see.” 

“That’s…Ominous,” Éponine says cautiously. 

Cosette gives her another bright smile, and then comes to a sudden stop in the middle of the street, her blue eyes wide. The two of them are standing outside a small boutique with a selection of fancy coats and dresses in the window. 

“Oh, this place is perfect, ” she says happily. 

Éponine takes one look at the prices in the window and nearly laughs out loud. The dresses in the window cost more than her entire month’s rent back in Paris. She could maybe afford one sock, if this place sells socks. 

“Cosette, I can’t afford anything here,” Éponine says. 

Cosette shrugs, unconcerned. “It’s fine. I’ve had my dad’s card details memorised since I was thirteen. It’s on my parents, seriously.” 

Éponine snorts disbelievingly. “Absolutely not. They’ll notice.” 

“No, they won’t.” Cosette says firmly. At Éponine’s raised eyebrow, she rolls her eyes and says, “They never check this account, and with something like this they won’t even notice it’s gone.” When Éponine continues to stare at her, she says, “Enjolras once donated 300 euros to an LBGTQ+ charity using this card and in their names, and they never said anything about it. And you know they definitely would have if they’d bothered to look.” She grabs the handle of the door and opens it with a flourish, waving Éponine in with one hand. “So come on, Ép.” 

Éponine takes a hesitant step towards the door, and says slowly, “I mean, your mom was the one complaining that my dress isn’t wedding appropriate. She can’t really say anything if I buy something better.” 

Cosette gives a smile that is simultaneously sunny and mischievous. “Exactly.” She links her arm with Éponine’s and practically drags her into the store. 

There’s no one else inside apart from a bored looking salesperson sitting behind the desk, reading a magazine. She glances at the two of them, and maybe she's just paranoid, but she swears she looks Éponine’s outfit up and down and raises an eyebrow, but Cosette is dragging her to a rack of clothes before she can think anymore about it. 

“Go wild,” Cosette says, standing back so Éponine has full access to the rack. “And remember it has to be-” She purses her lips in an uncanny impression of her mother. “-Wedding appropriate.” 

Éponine hums in agreement, although in truth she’s not really listening, too distracted by the myriad of colours and fabrics and price tags in front of her. Eventually, she picks up something inoffensive, in a dark grey colour, with a price tag that doesn’t give her as many heart palpitations. When she looks over her shoulder, Cosette is giving her an unimpressed look. 

“Whatever you want,” she says again. “Seriously.” 

Éponine hesitates, and then runs her hand slowly down the skirt of a different dress, silky and a pale lilac colour. She lifts it off the rack, forcing herself not to look at the price tag, and turns to Cosette. 

“Do you know where the dressing room is?” 

Cosette beams.

***

Two hours later, Cosette and Éponine are walking down one of the main streets of Aix-en-Provence. Éponine has one bag with a designer dress with a price tag she’s trying very hard not to think about, and another with a pair of white stilettos in them, easily pushing her to more than six foot tall. 

“You’ll be taller than Enjolras,” Cosette had said gleefully when Éponine had picked them off the shelf. “Dad is going to be furious. You should do it.” 

“So what now?” Éponine asks her as she struggles not to hit people with her shopping bags. 

“Now I want lunch,” Cosette says simply. “Do you know any good burger places?”

Éponine snorts disbelievingly. “Burgers?” 

“ Yes, burgers,” Cosette says firmly. “I’m never just something simple and nice with my parents. It’s always like ‘Let’s go to this place with an eight course tasting menu consisting of a single grape with a smear of caviar on top’. Like, no, mom and dad, just get me some pizza or something.” She gets a faraway look in her eyes. “I’m so jealous of Enjolras. I bet he eats so much pizza in Paris.”

Éponine grins. They’ve already passed a few chains she recognises, and she decides then that her mission is to find Cosette a decent burger or die trying. She hesitates for a second, and then reaches out and links her arm with Cosette’s. 

“That grape thing sounds gross,” she tells her. “Let’s find you some real food.”

***

For such a delicate, elegant person, Cosette can put away a burger and fries like nobody’s business. Éponine is kind of in awe. 

“God,” Cosette says simply, throwing down the crumbled paper her burger was wrapped in and wiping her mouth with a napkin. “So fucking good.” 

Éponine can’t help but laugh. “You're acting like this is your first time having a burger.” 

Cosette rolls her eyes. “It's not my first time, no. I do hang out with my own friends occasionally, you know. When I’m allowed,” she adds bitterly, scowling down at her tray.

Éponine clears her throat awkwardly, looking at the menu above the counter. Nothing in the hot food section would be particularly appetizing by the time they got back to the house, but there’s donuts and brownies and other snack foods. 

“Should we bring something back for Enjolras?” she asks. 

Cosette considers for a second, looking at the board, then shakes her head. 

“He’ll be okay. He doesn’t eat a lot of sweet food. And anyway,” she grins, bright and mischievous. “It gives me an excuse to make fun of him; tell him his relationship with Grantaire is sweet enough or something dumb like that. He goes all red, it's hilarious."

Éponine’s brain shuts down. She feels a strange swooping sensation in her stomach, and opens her mouth to try and cover it up, to say something, anything, but can only manage vague stuttering noises. She hears Cosette saying her name as though from very far away, hears her ask what’s wrong. 

“Do you-” she starts, over the sound of her heart pounding, “You- You know about Grantaire?!” 

For a moment, Cosette blinks, staring back at her with an expression that mirrors the shocked one Éponine can feel on her own face. Then suddenly something cracks, and Cosette’s mouth splits into a wide grin, her eyes filling with mirth, and the next second she’s doubled over the restaurant table, in peels of hysterical laughter. 

Éponine stares at her, saying nothing. But Cosette’s continued laughing is kind of infectious, and the sight of her pink cheeks and the tears of laughter in her eyes have Éponine giggling awkwardly too, even though she’s not quite sure what the joke is yet. She yanks a napkin out of the dispenser and hands it to Cosette. 

“Thank you,” Cosette says breathlessly as she takes it. She dabs at her eyes and cheeks with the napkin, and looks at Éponine, asking through her stifled giggles, “Oh my God, Éponine. You didn’t- You didn’t actually think I thought the two of you were dating, did you?” 

Éponine frowns, and then she works out what Cosette is saying. 

“Wait,” she says. “You- You know it’s fake?!” 

This is apparently enough to set Cosette off again. She buries her face in her hands and Éponine watches her shoulders shake for a few moments, but she’s quicker to recover this time, even if she still has to wipe a few tears away. 

“Éponine,” Cosette says, still with a grin on her face. She does a quick glance around the restaurant, and then leans closer to her, lowering her voice. “Enjolras is gay. I’ve known he’s gay since I was fifteen years old. He told me he was bringing you, he told me it’s all fake. Of course I know the two of you aren’t actually dating.” 

Her eyes are bright and shining, cheeks red from laughing, and Éponine thinks she might be the most gorgeous girl she’s ever seen. She pushes that thought down instantly, because she kind of has other things on her mind right now. 

“He told me,” she says. “He told me you knew he was gay.” She laughs a little bit at her own stupidity. “I don’t know why I thought you wouldn’t know about Grantaire.” 

“We’ve facetimed before,” Cosette says proudly, taking a sip of her milkshake- Banana, what a strange choice. 

Éponine scoffs a little bit, shaking her head. "I can't believe I thought you didn't know." 

Cosette nods. "Yeah. I'm guessing Enjolras must really be at the end of his rope with these visits, I didn't expect him to resort to drastic measures like a whole fake relationship plot. It's like something out of a rom-com." She gives Éponine a slightly dubious look, but it's easy to tell from the glint in her eyes that she's joking. "The two of you aren't actually going to fall in love, are you?"

In answer to that, Éponine makes an exaggerated gagging noise, and Cosette laughs. 

"Grantaire can have him," she tells her. 

Cosette leans an elbow on the greasy table and rests her chin in her hand. 

“Tell me about Grantaire,” she says. 

Éponine frowns. “I thought you already knew about Grantaire? Thought you guys had facetimed.” 

“Only once or twice,” Cosette clarifies. “It’s too risky when my parents are in the house.” She rolls her eyes. “Given that the lock on my bedroom door is broken, and conveniently, they haven’t gotten round to replacing it yet.” 

Éponine grimaces. Cosette is still looking at her expectantly. 

"What do you want to know?" she asks. 

Cosette smiles softly. "Whatever you're willing to tell me." 

"You know," Éponine says cautiously, "I'm pretty sure Enjolras will tell you about him. If you want to know." 

Cosette grins. "Enjolras is biased." 

"So am I. Grantaire is my best friend." 

"That's true," Cosette says with a shrug, taking another sip of her milkshake. "But I get the feeling that you're quite a direct person. I'm expecting you not to bullshit me, here." 

Éponine hesitates, but Cosette is still looking expectantly at her, so she says slowly "Grantaire is great." 

"A glowing review indeed," Cosette says sarcastically, but she nods at Éponine to continue, still smiling softly. 

"He's funny, and weird, and massively talented, but he pretends he's not, and he doesn't like a fuss being made over him," she says. "He pretends he doesn't care, but the truth is that he cares so much . He doesn't even try to hide it, he definitely wears his heart on his sleeve, but it's buried under a layer of snark so thick it can be kind of hard to tell if he's being genuine or not. Sometimes his brain is terrible to him, and his self-esteem sucks, but he knows his friends' strengths like the back of his hand, even if he doesn't know his own, and he'd do anything for them." 

Cosette's expression is carefully neutral. 

"And does he love Enjolras?" she asks. 

Éponine nearly laughs, because if there's one thing she's certain of, it's that. Grantaire is Enjolras' satellite, Enjolras the person he would follow into the dark if he allowed it. She supposes it could be seen as unhealthy, and she does sometimes worry about the impact it would have on Grantaire, if everything was to crash and burn. But Éponine has a feeling that Enjolras puts 110% into everything he does, and for now, there's no doubting his commitment to Grantaire. 

"You wouldn't believe how much," she says, in answer to Cosette's question, and she smiles. 

“Good,” she says softly. She’s staring down at her empty food tray again, but she’s smiling so wide that her eyes are crinkling in the corners. “That’s good.” She looks up at Éponine again and continues.

"I get lonely here," she says. "But, it's almost kind of worth it, in a way, when I get a call from him. He's so different in Paris. He's actually happy there." 

Éponine frowns. 

"It's so important to me that he's happy," Cosette says softly. 

Éponine swallows. Sometimes it feels like her whole world revolves around trying to ensure that her younger siblings have some small modicum of happiness , that they are healthy and happy and feel safe and loved. It had never really occurred to her that they might want the same thing for her as well. 

“It makes me feel guilty,” Cosette says quietly. “Knowing that he’s been coming back here every year and making himself miserable for a couple of weeks, just so he can see me. I’ve told him so many times he doesn’t have to do any of it,” She’s not meeting Éponine's eyes, instead pushing the wrapper for her straw moodily around her tray. “It would be so much easier, he could be so much happier, if he just cut them off and never talked to them again. But I guess- I’m going to be eighteen in three weeks, and then I’ll move out in September. It’s not that much longer, really. I think he just- Neither of us wanted to lose touch again.”

Eponine frowns. “Again?” 

Cosette sighs, letting go of her straw wrapper and placing her hands delicately in her lap instead. 

“I’m not proud of this,” she says to Éponine, almost like a warning. Éponine raises an eyebrow, but doesn’t say anything. 

“When Enjolras left for college, when he moved to Paris- I was angry,” Cosette says quietly. “I guess- I was fifteen, our parents are awful and always have been, and suddenly he was leaving me alone with them and going off to a city hundreds of miles away where he could live his own life, and was leaving me behind.” She shrugs. “I guess I felt abandoned, and it hurt, and I went cold on him. Didn’t speak to him from when he left until Christmas when he came home. Three months, more or less. He tried. He sent texts and called and sent emails and made a Facebook account so he could try and contact me. And I ignored all of it. It was mean and immature." She's looking down at her tray, determined to avoid Éponine's eyes. 

"And then at Christmas, he managed to corner me. I'd basically been avoiding him the whole time he was home, and it’s not like mom and dad were going to make us hang out. I don’t think they even realised that we weren’t speaking.” There’s a distinct note of bitterness in Cosette’s tone when she says this. "And that's when he came out to me. It was kind of funny, in hindsight. I was running away from him at the time, so he ended up just kind of yelling it at my back." She laughs lightly. "Mom and dad weren't at home, obviously. And everything just…Made sense after that. He told me everything, about him coming out to mom and dad before, what they said." She shrugs. "I couldn't blame him for leaving after that, for wanting to escape from it all. That wouldn't be fair."  She rolls her eyes. “Honestly, I think him leaving me was only half of it. Part of me was just jealous, that he got to leave and I had to stay behind. Not for much longer though."

Éponine doesn’t really know what to say to any of that. Eventually, she cracks an awkward smile, and reaches forward to gently nudge Cosette’s arm with the back of her hand. 

“I guess you’re lucky he’s so fucking stubborn,” she says. 

Cosette grins. “Yeah, he’s never known how to leave well enough alone.” She swallows, and then sits up straighter in the booth seat, shaking her head. Éponine senses she’s maybe thinking of moving the conversation onto something lighter, and for that she’s grateful. 

She’s not expecting what Cosette actually changes the conversation to, though. 

"So, do you have an actual boyfriend back in Paris?" Cosette asks, her voice lightly curious, and Éponine nearly chokes on her Diet Coke. "What did he think of you swanning off to Provence with my brother?"

Éponine laughs lightly. "I don't have a boyfriend," she says, "Enjolras and I…We actually have a certain kinship there. I'm gay too." 

Cosette looks up from her milkshake, her eyes wide. "Really?" she says, and her voice sounds slightly more high pitched than usual. 

Éponine nods warily, confused by her reaction. "Is that going to be a problem?" she asks, hardening her voice. 

Cosette's cheeks flare red. "Absolutely not," she mumbles, and Éponine frowns softly. She doesn't seem freaked out or disgusted, more embarrassed than anything. 

“Well…Good,” Éponine says after a slightly awkward pause. 

Cosette nods. She’s looking Éponine up and down, something analytical in her expression. After a moment, she says, “Can I style your hair for the wedding?” 

Éponine blinks. “Uh-” 

Cosette blushes even redder than before. “You don’t have to say yes!” she says, a slightly frantic note in her voice. “It’s just- You have lovely hair.” 

Éponine blinks. “I do?” she asks before she can stop herself. 

Cosette nods, cheeks still red, a small embarrassed smile on her face. “Yeah. It’s so dark. And-” She cuts herself off suddenly, shifting in her seat. She pulls her phone out of her back pocket. “Shall I get Antonin to come and get us?” 

“Oh,” Éponine is slightly blindsided by the sudden change to the conversation, but she nods her assent and watches Cosette, who is still blushing, make the phone call. She stumbles over her words a bit, and Éponine remembers what Enjolras had said the previous day about her making Cosette flustered. 

It doesn’t really make sense to her. Cosette doesn’t seem like the kind of person to get intimidated by someone older than her, and besides, there’s only just over a year between them. And she knows that she and Enjolras aren’t actually dating, so it’s nothing to do with that-

Éponine nearly chokes on the last dregs of her Diet Coke. She doesn’t know if it’s a shot in the dark, or if she’s getting her hopes up over nothing, but she can’t help but wonder if there’s the possibility that Enjolras isn’t the only queer person in his family. 

That would be interesting. Not that it makes a difference. Cosette is Enjolras’ sister; it would be a terrible idea. 

Éponine can feel her own face reddening now, and simply nods mutely when Cosette asks if she’s ready to go. She’s so distracted, she nearly forgets to grab the bag with the clothes, the entire reason they came out in the first place. 

***

When they get back to the house, Cosette closes the front door behind both of them and heads straight up the stairs, in an obvious attempt to avoid her parents for as long as possible. Éponine is more than fine with this plan, especially given the items she currently has in her shopping bags are technically stolen from them. 

“Hey,” she says, when they reach the top of the landing and Cosette turns to head in the direction of her room. Éponine reaches out and grasps gently onto her lower arm to stop her from leaving, and Cosette glances down at the place where her hand is, and then up at Éponine. 

It throws her off a little bit, but she manages to continue. “Thanks for coming with me today,” she says. “And helping me pick out a dress and everything.”

Cosette smiles. “The dress is really pretty.” She blushes lightly, dropping her eyes from Éponine’s face to her arm. “You’re going to look lovely.” 

Before Éponine can say anything else, she’s walked into her room and shut the door behind her. 

Éponine stands in the hall, frowning at it for a moment, and then shrugs and heads to Enjolras' bedroom. He's sitting on the couch at the end of his bed, his laptop open on his knee, headphones in. He looks up when he hears the door, but relaxes when he sees it's her. 

"Hey," she says, "You look better than you did this morning." 

He nods, taking his headphones out. 

"Yeah. I slept until one o’clock. I know you were joking, but part of me is wondering if it was just a hangover from all the champagne.” 

“I wouldn’t rule it out,” she says, setting her bags beside what she’s come to refer to as her side of the bed.  

“Did you and Cosette have a good day?” Enjolras asks, his eyes turned back to his laptop. 

“Yep,” Eponine holds up one of the shopping bags in a redundant gesture, given that Enjolras isn’t looking at her. “Got something more wedding appropriate. And I'm hoping we'll be back in Paris before your parents realise I stole from them." 

Enjolras snorts. “Don’t worry, they won't notice," he says. "Cosette has been doing it for years. I suppose technically I should be telling her to stop but," He smirks. "For some reason I don't feel too bad about it." 

Éponine snorts. "Your parents are right, you are a terrible influence." 

Enjolras hums in agreement. He moves to put his headphones back on, and without permission, Éponine loses control over her filter. 

"Cosette," she blurts out. Enjolras looks up again, raising an eyebrow. 

"What about her?" he asks. 

"Is she, uh-" Éponine, very bravely in her opinion, resists the urge to run and barricade herself in the bathroom rather than finishing the question. "Is she just, like, an ally, or-?"

Enjolras frowns at her, and then something in his expression turns a bit too knowing for Éponine's liking, and he says, "Why do you ask?” 

Éponine grits her teeth. “Enjolras,” she says through them, “Please don’t make this any harder than it needs to be.” 

Enjolras now looks like he might be struggling not to laugh at her, which is a very mean and uncool thing to do to your fake girlfriend, in Éponine’s opinion. Eventually, he says, “Cosette may or may not identify as queer. If you want to know for certain, you’re going to have to ask her yourself.” 

Éponine groans out loud, and the look Enjolras gives her is not sympathetic in the slightest. “I’m not going to do all the work for you.” 

“You’re the worst boyfriend ever,” Éponine tells him seriously, and then sits beside him on the sofa. She watches him type a sentence on what looks like one of his essays for his law course, sees him frown, delete it, and change it to a different wording. 

"Does it bother you?" she asks curiously. "The thought of people dating your younger sister?" 

"Nope," Enjolras says shortly. "Cosette is going to be eighteen years old in a matter of weeks; she's an adult. And even if she wasn't, it's absolutely not my job to decide who is and isn't good for her. She's smart enough to know that for herself." He bites his lip, his fingers hovering over the keyboard. "I hope she knows she can come to me if she ever needs help, but I refuse to be one of those brothers who demands to know everything about his sister's partners. That is controlling and overbearing and creepy." 

Éponine nods approvingly. "Good." 

“She’s a good judge of character,” he says, “She knows the kind of people who are good enough for her, and the kind of people who are worth her time.” 

Éponine feels her mouth quirk into a smile. “Smart.” 

Enjolras looks at her, a bemused expression on his face. She feels heat in her face again, and snaps a defensive “What?”

"All I will say is," he says, the ghost of a smile on his face, "I know this has nothing to do with me. But I think you are good enough for her, for the record." 

Éponine feels herself blushing scarlet. "I'm not asking out your sister," she mumbles. "I'm literally your fake girlfriend." 

Enjolras snorts. "Yeah, it would be a bit of a strange dynamic, to say the least." He saves the essay and closes it. 

***

Another night, another awkward family meal. The five of them are sitting in the dining room again, but Éponine is relieved that there doesn’t appear to be any staff this time. Apparently, the novelty of Enjolras’ first girlfriend has worn off pretty quickly, and she, Enjolras and Cosette serve themselves. Their mother and father claim to have already eaten, and are now drinking wine and staring at the three of them. Cosette and Enjolras seem to have adopted a policy of struggling through their own conversation and trying to ignore their parent's stares, and Éponine is trying to do the same, but the way they're looking at them is extremely disconcerting. 

“Hey,” it occurs to her suddenly, turning to Cosette. “What university are you going to in September? Paris One?” That’s where Grantaire and Enjolras study, where most of her friends go. 

Cosette takes a sip of water and shakes her head lightly. “École Normale, actually,” she says, and there’s a little note of pride in her voice which makes Éponine have to bite back a smile. “Cello studies with music education.” Éponine has never watched anyone playing the cello, apart from maybe on TV, but it's easy to picture Cosette playing softly, her eyes closed, skilled fingers on the strings. It makes something in her stomach curl in a way she’s determined not to analyse too much. 

"You should play for Éponine sometime," Enjolras says to Cosette, and there might be a slight teasing note in his voice. She has to resist the urge to give him a kick under the table. So much for it being none of his business. 

Cosette's cheeks have gone red, her eyes carefully trained on her plate. 

"Shut up," she mumbles. 

Their father obviously chooses this moment to decide that the three of them are enjoying their conversation a bit too much, and butts in. 

“She should have gone to the University of Paris, like-” he starts. 

“Believe it or not, dad,” Cosette cuts in sharply, “Just because Alex is my older brother doesn’t automatically mean I have to do everything he does. I think I finished the ‘copying everything my older brother does’ phase when I was- Oh, about five years old?” She’s smiling at her father, but it’s fixed and doesn’t meet his eyes. 

"Do you have any brothers or sisters, Éponine?" Enjolras' mother blurts out suddenly. Maybe she wants to avoid yet another argument over the dinner table. Éponine can’t say she blames her. 

She flinches, not expecting to be addressed by her, but recovers quickly, nodding. "I have a brother and a sister. I'm the eldest." 

"And I suppose they still live with your parents, anyway." Their mother takes a sip of wine, setting it down and running a tip of a finger around the rim of the glass. It makes a squeaking noise which sets Éponine's teeth on edge. "Even if you've decided not to." 

She's so wrong that it's almost comical, but Éponine doesn't really feel up to correcting her. She sits still, chewing the inside of her cheek, while their mother continues to talk. She has a small smile on her face, like she's enjoying herself. 

"You really should reconnect with them, dear, if only because it would make it easier to stay in touch with your siblings. I'm sure your arrangement can't be easy, right now," she says. 

" Mom ," Enjolras snaps, sounding an equal mix of embarrassed and angry. "I don't think Éponine wants to talk about-" 

“And then, once you've done that, Alexandre and I can arrange to meet them. I’m sure we’ll be great friends in no time,” Enjolras' mother continues like he hadn't even spoken, still with the same self-satisfied smile on her face, “It can’t be that difficult for you to reconnect to them, I’m sure you want to. After all, family is so important .” She doesn’t even seem to be aware that Cosette and Enjolras are staring at her with matching disbelieving looks on their faces. Neither of them are touching their food.  

For some reason, that’s what does it for Éponine. She sets her knife and fork down calmly, takes a deep breath, and says in a carefully controlled voice, “It might be quite difficult for my mother and father to make friends with you and Alexandre, Madame Enjolras. Unless you feel like making regular visits to Fresnes prison.” 

The room falls into a silence that isn't uncomfortable, so much as it is torturous. Enjolras and Cosette’s parents have expressions of thinly veiled horror on their faces, and Cosette and Enjolras are looking at Éponine with matching expressions of concern, a furrow between both their eyebrows. 

God, this is why she doesn’t like telling people. 

“Oh,” their mother says in a small voice. She looks at her husband, and then says, “ Oh, ” again, as the realisation of exactly what Éponine means sinks in. 

Éponine supposes she shouldn’t be surprised when Enjolras’ father immediately rounds on him. “Why didn’t you tell us about this? Now your mother is embarrassed.” 

“What?” Enjolras says faintly. He’s still looking at Éponine, looking somewhere between confused and concerned. Then, his father’s words seem to sink in, and he shakes his head and turns, saying disbelievingly, “Wait, what ?” 

“Why didn’t you tell us?!” His father demands again, and Enjolras’ expression changes to one of anger. 

“Because I didn’t-!” he starts, and cuts himself off at the same time Éponine gives a low hiss of warning, because if they’ve been dating, Enjolras would surely know about her parent’s situation . The look of anger clears from his face, replaced with one of complete calm, and that’s even more disconcerting. He sets his knife and fork down calmly. 

“Because it’s none of your business,” he says, voice as calm as his face. He sounds like he’s trying to reason with two children fighting in the playground. “Éponine clearly doesn’t like talking about it, and the two of you have pushed her into discussing something that she is uncomfortable with. She is my fr- My girlfriend, and she is also a guest in your home. If this is how the two of you treat guests, I seriously don’t know how you have any friends.” He rests his elbows on the table, folds his arms and says, still scarily calm, “I think both of you owe her an apology.” He looks between his parents expectedly. 

"It's fine," Éponine says quickly, but she's more than a little shocked by the two of them muttering an unenthusiastic apology in her general direction. 

"Great," Enjolras snaps. "Congratulations to you both for exercising some common human decency. I really, really didn't think you were capable of it." He turns to Éponine. "Do you want to leave?" 

" Yes ," she says enthusiastically, scraping her chair back and standing. She bends down to lift her plate and take it to the kitchen, but Cosette swoops in before she can and lifts both hers and Enjolras', shooting a glare at both her parents before storming into the kitchen and slamming the door behind her. 

Éponine walks out of the room and storms her way to the bedroom without waiting to see if Enjolras is following. She hears him saying something else to his parents, his tone callous and cold, followed by the slam of the door. Éponine doesn't look round to see if he is following, but she can hear his footsteps on the stairs behind her.

She opens the door to the bedroom and storms in, leaving it wide open, because as much as she wants to be alone right now, she can't reasonably kick Enjolras out of his own bedroom. She stares around helplessly, feeling a restless buzzing under her skin. When she looks around, Enjolras is staring at her, a worried expression on his face and a furrow between his eyes. 

"Éponine…" he starts. 

"I'm going to have a shower," she murmurs before retreating to the bathroom. She stands under the hot water for much longer than necessary, like if she stays there for long enough, she can wash the conversation off herself.  

The shower calms her enough that by the time she's opening the bathroom door again, she doesn't feel quite so much like she's going to jump out of her skin. Enjolras is on the bed, and he sits up when he sees her. 

“Éponine, I am so, so sorry about them,” he says quickly. “The two of them are out of order, I really can’t-” 

“Dude, it’s fine,” she says quickly. “You can’t control what comes out of their mouths." She pauses, and then says, "Thanks for making her apologise. It isn't necessary, but I appreciate it." 

Enjolras rubs his hands across his face. “It is necessary. They can't treat people like that." 

"To be fair," Éponine says, walking over and sitting on the bed beside him. "They couldn't have known. No one knows. Except Grantaire. And Gavroche and Azelma, obviously." She looks down at her lap self-consciously. "Sorry if it makes you feel weird, knowing that about me." 

Enjolras frowns. "You don’t have anything to be sorry for. Why would that make me feel weird? It's not even about you. It's about your parents." 

Éponine shrugs awkwardly. That isn't necessarily true. 

"They're in for drug offenses, mostly," she tells him. "And then some." 

"Éponine, you don't have to tell me about this-" Enjolras starts. 

"I know that," she says. It's not quite a snap but it's close. She knows she doesn't have to tell him anything, but the words just keep coming. 

"They used to give me packages," she says, staring into the middle distance. "Packages and a metro pass. From when I was like, eleven or twelve, I think? They gave me a backpack of packages and a list of addresses and sent me all over the city, and when I came back they'd have presents or candy or something waiting for me. Used to say I could keep getting it if I kept quiet about my errands ." 

Enjolras doesn't say anything. He just looks at her, a deep furrow between his eyebrows. 

"It took me a while, but I worked out what it was I was doing eventually. When I was a kid it didn't seem like a big deal. But by the time I was fourteen, fifteen? A dark-skinned girl from les Bosquets? If I'd gotten caught by the police, I would have gone down for possession at the very least, dealing at the worst." She curls her hands into fists on the bedsheets. "I don't think they even would have defended me, if that had happened." 

Enjolras doesn't say anything. 

"I wanted to stop, and I did ask." She snorts. "You can imagine how well that went." 

"I don't know that I want to," Enjolras says, his voice quiet. 

Yeah. He's probably right about that. 

She shrugs, and keeps talking. She hasn't talked about everything with her parents out loud in a long, long time, and she can feel something tight within her loosen the tiniest bit. 

“So I had to keep doing it. And like, it wasn’t anything I wasn’t used to,” she says. “Like, I was used to the dodgy neighbourhoods and the weird men twice my age who would try and make me stay for a drink.” She feels Enjolras stiffen beside her, and says quickly, “Nothing ever happened. Maybe something could have, but I was careful. As careful as I could be.” She sighs. "Honestly, in hindsight it's kind of a relief what happened, because otherwise maybe I'd have ended up doing it forever. But," She shakes her head, trying to shake the memories away. "But something happened, and I knew. I knew I couldn't do it anymore. I knew I had to put a stop to it all." 

"What happened?" Enjolras asks. 

Éponine swallows. It makes her chest tighten even now, thinking of it. “They wanted Azelma to do it." 

"Fuck," Enjolras says, and Éponine snorts, because, yeah, that pretty much summed up her feelings on the situation. 

"Yeah," she says quietly. "She came to me a few days after her twelfth birthday, told me mom and dad had asked her to take a bag up to a flat in Sarcelles, and not speak to anyone. All the usual shit ." She remembers how she felt when Azelma had told her, the kind of stomach dropping, heart in your throat feeling, like going over the edge of a roller coaster. She takes a slow, steady breath out. She hadn't realised before, but she's clenching her jaw tightly, and there's a stinging feeling in the corner of her eyes. Part of her wants to shut up and never speak to Enjolras again, but she's come this far now, she might as well finish it. 

She makes the final confession, the final nail in the coffin, the thing that she still turns over and over again in her mind when she can't sleep at night and is lying awake staring at the ceiling. There’s a strange lump in her throat, but she swallows, and somehow manages to speak around it. 

“It was me,” she whispers in the direction of the white bedsheets, “I was the one who called social services. The cops. Whoever. I’m the reason my parents got raided. I’m the reason they’re in prison. I’m the reason we spent three years in a group home.” 

And then something fragile breaks inside her, something that she usually makes sure to hold deep beneath the surface, and she’s crying, properly crying, choking on sobs while her face floods with tears. And Éponine hates crying; it’s sticky and hot and uncomfortable and vulnerable, and she can’t believe she’s doing it in front of Enjolras of all people. She hides her crumbling face in her hands and presses her palms close to her face, because the thought of being seen is absolutely unbearable. 

“Oh god,” Enjolras mutters, his voice slightly frantic, and Éponine feels guilty then, because he never asked for any of this, she’s pretty sure this isn’t in the fake girlfriend job description. There’s a hand, soft and unsure, on her shoulder. And she’s humiliated and upset, and right now it seems easier to turn and sob into his shoulder rather than try to hide anything. It would be a pointless endeavor anyway, given how loudly she's crying. She doesn’t struggle when he pulls her in, simply leans hard into his chest and squeezes her eyes shut and breathes in the scent of cotton from his t-shirt as he rocks her back and forth and she chokes on her sobs. 

It takes her an embarrassingly long time to calm down again, but eventually the crying subsides into pathetic little hiccups, and Éponine wipes the back of her hands hard against her eyes. 

“Sorry,” she mutters, her head still resting on his chest. She can’t look at Enjolras right now, and she continues looking down at the bed below them, ashamed and humiliated. “I don’t- I don’t know where that came from.” 

“It’s okay,” Enjolras says calmly. He wriggles a little bit, and when Éponine, with great effort, manages to extract herself from him, he stands and disappears into the bathroom. He reappears a moment later with an unopened box of tissues, which he sets on the bed beside her. 

“Thanks,” Éponine says, her voice nasally and ragged to her own ears. She pulls a tissue from the box and blows her nose as delicately as she can. It’s not very effective. 

"I'm going to make you some tea," Enjolras says quickly, suddenly, and then he disappears from his bedroom, closing the door behind him. 

Éponine sniffs, and pulls another tissue from the pack, clearing the last of the tears from her face. Enjolras is away for much longer than it takes to make a simple cup of tea, and Éponine remembers what Cosette had said about giving Enjolras some time alone, after the fight with his dad. 

Maybe the two of them are the same, in that regard. They need time to vent and repress their own emotions before they can think of dealing with other people. Maybe Enjolras understands the desperate need to be by herself right now. 

Enjolras is away for long enough that she starts to feel bad for kicking him out of his own bedroom when he uses his elbow to open the door, a mug in either hand. By now Éponine has washed her face and disposed of the used tissues. She isn't emotional anymore, but she is embarrassed. 

“Thanks,” she mumbles half-heartedly when Enjolras hands her a mug, and he simply nods and sits down on the edge of the mattress. 

“Are you okay?” he asks. 

Éponine makes a gross sounding, nasally snort in response. “Yeah, I’m okay. Sorry about that. I just- Haven’t done that in a while, I guess.” 

Enjolras frowns. “What? Talked about it? Cried?” 

She shrugs. “Both. I’m not much of a talker. Or a crier, I guess.” 

Enjolras quirks a smile, awkward and unsure, and, after a moment’s hesitation, clinks his own mug lightly against the side of Éponine’s. “Same.” It makes Éponine smile too, despite how tense she feels. 

The two of them drink their tea in silence for a few moments, leaning back against the headboard with their arms touching, not looking at each other. Éponine isn’t much of a tea drinker, normally, but it does warm something inside her, and she can feel the tight knot of emotion in her throat loosen bit by bit. 

“Do you want me to forget about all of that?” Enjolras asks quietly. He’s looking at Éponine warily, like he’s worried she’s going to either yell at him or burst into tears again. 

She shrugs. “It’s not like you can. At the end of the day, I didn’t have to tell you if I didn’t want to. I guess-” Her mouth twists. “I figured you’d understand it, on some level. It’s all just…I don’t know. The joys of having horrible parents? The horrifying ordeal of being an older sibling?” 

Enjolras snorts. “I don’t think it’s the same thing.” He’s not meeting her eyes, instead looking down forlornly into his mug. “At least you actually did something to protect them. I just…Ran away.”  

She frowns at him. “I wouldn’t call it that.” 

Enjolras doesn’t respond beyond a small, self-deprecating snorting sound. It makes Éponine frown and sit up straighter on the bed, grabbing his arm and tugging so he’s forced to look at her. 

“Seriously,” she says firmly. “It wasn’t running away. It was self-preservation. You have to protect yourself too. I did it to protect Gav and Azelma, but it protected me too.” 

Enjolras raises an eyebrow. “You don’t think it’s cowardly? Nothing I’m doing is protecting Cosette. It's just me being selfish.” His cheeks flush red, and he avoids her eyes, looking at the other side of the room, his hand tightening around the mug of tea. 

Éponine frowns. There’s a lot of things she could say to that; it would be easy to throw the word ‘cowardly’ back in Enjolras’ face, the way he had so carelessly thrown it at her the other day; but they’re long past that now, and she’s not in the habit of throwing around sentiments she doesn’t feel. 

“No, I do not,” she says firmly. "It makes her happy, to see you happy. She told me." 

Enjolras frowns at her. "And what does that matter? It doesn't do anything." 

"It shows her that you can be happy! It shows her that there is a better life out there, that she won't always be stuck here by herself with your parents being absolutely miserable. Do you think she would believe that if you'd…What? Stayed with your parents and went to university in Provence and then joined your father's law firm?" Éponine thinks of the quiet misery that Enjolras has been exuding from every pore since they'd arrived in Provence, tries to imagine him being like that all the time, and is surprised at the sudden flare of sadness and protectiveness in her chest at the thought.  " Fuck that. That's not who you are, and it's not cowardly or selfish to leave that behind. And Cosette will be in Paris before you know it, and she can be happy too. And she'll be proud because she got there herself. And it's because you showed her it was possible."  

She finishes her rant, her breathing slightly heavy. Enjolras is staring at her, looking slightly bemused despite himself. 

"I don't know if I've ever heard you talk that much in one go," he says. 

Éponine raises an eyebrow. "And do you believe me?"

A muscle in Enjolras' jaw twitches, and he shrugs half-heartedly. Éponine sighs, and decides not to push it. After a moment, he huffs a laugh. 

"I don't think I really have a right to complain," he says, "Considering what you and Azelma and Gavroche have been through. I know you said I'd understand, but…I don't think our situations are particularly comparable." 

Éponine hums, neither an agreement or disagreement. She tucks her knees up to her chest and holds them close. 

"Maybe not," she says quietly. She looks up at Enjolras. "But we can agree that being the oldest sibling is the fucking worst, right?" 

Enjolras laughs shakily. "God yes. It fucking sucks." 

Éponine grins. "It sucks so bad. Especially when your younger siblings are little shits, like mine."

"I've never met them," Enjolras says quietly, "Are they good kids?"

Éponine sighs, thinking about Azelma's brief shoplifting phase that she's not sure is gone entirely, and how Gavroche gets described on all his report cards as "disruptive and easily distracted". 

"They try to be," she decides on. She swallows. "Everything probably fucked them up a little bit. I tried to make it as painless for them as possible, but," she shrugs helplessly. "What could I do?"

“You can’t put any kind of blame on yourself, or tell yourself you should have done something different. You were a kid .” Enjolras says seriously. "And you can't tell me that Gavroche and Azelma's lives would be any better if the three of you had stayed with your parents. They're fostered now, right? That's a good thing, isn't it?"

Éponine nods, sipping the last dregs of her tea. It's gone cold, and she's pretty much drinking it out of politeness more than anything. "Yeah. They got fostered a few months after I aged out of the system. They're a nice couple." She finishes her tea, but keeps the mug clutched tight in her hands. "American. I've met them a few times. They keep inviting me for dinner. It’s a sweet sentiment, I guess. They seem…It seems like they really care about them." 

Enjolras raises an eyebrow. "Kind of sounds like they might care about you too," he suggests wryly. 

The thought had crossed Éponine's mind, but she hadn't allowed herself to think about it too hard. Lawrence and Jane didn't sign up to foster her, just her brother and sister. She sighs, shrugging half-heartedly. 

Enjolras doesn't say anything, and the two of them fall into a silence that isn't quite comfortable, but is no longer uncomfortable either. Enjolras breaks it a few moments later. 

“I still mean it, you know,” Enjolras says. “If you want to go home at any point, I’ll pay to change your flight.” 

Éponine sighs, rolling her eyes at him. “You’re so annoying . I told you I’m not going anywhere.” 

He frowns at her. “Éponine, they triggered you. I can’t ask you to be around people who do that to you just as a favour to me.” 

Éponine snorts and points an accusing finger at him. “Dude, shut up. That was a complete fluke. They trigger you more than they do me, just by virtue of their existence, and you’re back here at least once a year anyway.” 

Enjolras blinks, like he hadn’t really thought about it that way before, and then he smiles wryly. 

“We’re talking about your trauma, right now,” he says, a hint of smugness in his voice, “Not mine.” 

Éponine stares at him for a moment, and then grins despite herself. “Oh, fuck you.” She opens her mouth to say more, but finds herself interrupted by a wide yawn. 

“Tired?” Enjolras asks. 

She nods, appreciating the out, setting her empty mug on the bedside table. “Exhausted.” 

Enjolras sets his mug on his side. “Me too. Let’s sleep.” 

The two of them get under the covers, Enjolras switches the light off, and after a few moments, Éponine turns on her side. Enjolras has his back to her, breathing steadily, and she can’t tell if he’s fallen asleep already. She hesitates, and then reaches forward and cautiously rests a hand on his shoulder. 

“Hey,” she says quietly into the darkness. 

“Hm?” Enjolras stirs slightly, looking over his shoulder at her. “What’s up?” 

“Thanks,” Éponine says awkwardly. “For, you know. Letting me talk about that stuff.” 

He looks at her for a moment, and then smiles sadly. 

“It’s okay,” he says softly. “Parents suck. I get it.” 

She smiles back. “Yeah. You do.” She takes her hand off his shoulder, turning to lie on her other side, away from him. 

“Goodnight, Éponine,” Enjolras says into the darkness. 

She closes her eyes. “Night, Enj.”

Chapter Text

The next morning, Éponine is walking back from the pool after her morning swim when she hears her name called from the ornate sitting room. 

It’s not Enjolras’ voice, nor Cosette’s, so she walks towards it cautiously, running a hand through her hair, still soaking wet from the pool. 

Enjolras and Cosette’s mother is sitting in an armchair next to the bookcase, a glass of lemon water in one hand and a magazine in the other. It’s eleven am, yet she’s dressed immaculately in a pure white suit, blonde hair blow dried in loose waves down her shoulders. Her pink lipsticked lips smile at Éponine, but it doesn’t really reach her eyes. 

“Éponine, dear, would you like to sit? I’ll get Maribelle to bring us some coffee.” 

“Oh,” Éponine tries to think of a polite way to say that she’d rather stick pins in both her eyes, and fails. Luckily, she has an excuse ready made. “Thank you, Madame Enjolras. But I’ve just finished in the pool. I'd like to freshen up and dry my hair first.” And maybe convince Enjolras or Cosette to come down for emotional support. Or maybe change her name and leave the country. She really doesn’t feel like having another conversation with Enjolras’ mom. 

“Don’t be silly, dear,” she says, still smiling that same smile, “And please, call me Hermine.”

Éponine doesn’t think she has any other choice than to sit down on the sofa opposite her. Her hair drips water droplets onto the cream fabric of the couch. She tries not to squirm as Maribelle comes back and pours two coffees, handing one to her. She smiles in a way that looks sympathetic, before disappearing into the depths of the house again. Éponine wishes she had stayed for some sort of moral support. 

“Éponine,” Hermine says after a moment, “It’s a pretty name.”

“Thank you, ma’am,” she says quietly, keeping her eyes carefully trained on the crema on the top of her coffee. It’s clear she wants something from her, from the way she ambushed her like this, and Éponine kind of wishes she would just get on with it. But no, for about two minutes, the two of them just sit in agonising silence, Éponine drinking her coffee, Hermine her lemon water. Éponine is just getting to the point where she’s considering knocking one of the lit scented candles dotted around the room over, so she can create a diversion and escape, when Hermine finally speaks again. 

“I presume you have your own apartment in Paris? Given that your parents are…” Here, Hermine pauses, her lips pursed together like she’s smelt something disgusting. 

“In prison,” Éponine provides helpfully. 

There’s a flash of displeasure in Hermine’s eyes, and after a moment, she says, “Yes,” stiffly. 

“I rent a studio apartment in Belleville,” Éponine provides. That isn’t even true, her apartment is in Clichy, but like hell is Éponine telling this woman where she really lives. Hermine continues to stare at her, saying nothing, and she hesitates, and then adds, “It’s not very much, but it’s enough for me.” She nearly laughs out loud at the image of what Hermine and Alexandre would say if they could see the size of it. The living room they're sitting in right now is bigger than her entire apartment. 

“And do you and Alex see a lot of each other, when you’re in Paris?” she asks mildly. Éponine frowns, wondering where exactly she’s going with this line of questioning. She’s clearly dancing around the subject she actually wants to address, but Éponine has a feeling she’s getting closer. 

Yeah, lady. To your knowledge we’re dating. Of course we’d see a lot of each other, she wants to respond, but instead she just shrugs her shoulders uncomfortably and says, “Often enough, yeah.” She prays it suffices. 

“Hm,” Hermine frowns thoughtfully and takes a sip of her lemon water. “And do you know his friends? Have you met them before?” 

They’re Éponine’s friends too, but she's not willing to get into that right now. She wants to escape from this conversation as fast as possible, and besides, that’s none of Enjolras’ mother’s business. She nods warily instead. “We’ve met.” 

“Do you know Grantaire?” she asks. Her face hardens- this is clearly the topic of conversation she's wanted to address from the start- and a chill goes down Éponine’s spine. Her stomach lurches, sure that they’ve somehow been caught, sure that her and Enjolras are about to be kicked to the curb. 

Éponine forces herself to keep her expression neutral, and reminds herself that she’s a good liar, she can do this. She takes a sip of coffee casually, using the movement to adjust the grip where her hands have gotten sweaty and buying time to think of a response. 

“We’ve met,” she repeats when she lowers the cup. Carefully neutral. 

“You were in the apartment alone with him when we met you in Paris,” Hermine says. “You must know him well enough.” 

Éponine raises an eyebrow coolly. “Are you trying to accuse me of something, Hermine?” she asks mildly. She feels like she’s in the middle of some sort of battle with her, but she’s not exactly sure what the stakes are, or how she can win. 

Hermine doesn’t say anything, so Éponine raises her chin and does what she does best. Tell a whole bunch of lies. 

“I stayed over at the apartment the night before,” she says calmly. Something like anger flashes in Hermine’s eyes, and Éponine feels a petty sense of satisfaction. “Enj- Alex got up early and went for a run. As I told you when we met that day, he lets Grantaire stay on the couch when he has a late shift, and he was still there when I woke up. That’s it.” 

“Why does he let him stay over?” Hermine asks sharply. 

Éponine frowns, confused. “I- Because they’re friends?” 

“To what end?” 

Éponine opens her mouth, and then hesitates, unsure of what to say in response. Hermine has apparently moved on from assuming Éponine is cheating on her beloved son with Grantaire, but she can’t quite tell what this new angle of questioning is about. 

“I don’t understand,” she eventually admits. “Is there something you’re trying to ask me?”

Hermine sighs, and presses a hand to her forehead. She brings it away and looks at Éponine properly for the first time since she’s sat down. She looks oddly serious. Éponine kind of wants to run away screaming. 

"I have some…concerns," Hermine says slowly. “About Grantaire. I worry that he’ll take advantage of Alexandre.” 

Despite the fact that there is absolutely nothing funny about the situation, Éponine has to push down the bizarre urge to laugh. She can’t help it. The idea of Grantaire taking advantage of Enjolras in any way is ludicrous.

“Why do you think that?” she manages to choke out. 

 "Because why else would he want to be friends with him? They're not exactly…Cut from the same cloth." Hermine's nose wrinkles in disgust again, and Éponine takes a deep breath in and imagines punching her in it, until she's calmed herself down enough to speak. 

"I suppose you could say the same thing about me," she says, trying to control the anger in her voice. "Are you worried I'm going to take advantage of him, as well? What exactly do you mean by that, anyway?" 

“Yes,” Hermine snaps. “But you’re clearly self-sufficient enough to look after yourself. I don’t know if-” She cuts herself off, swallowing. “First it starts with staying in our house after a late night at work, and then what?”

Éponine snorts, feeling absolutely disgusted by the entire conversation. “Believe it or not, Grantaire doesn’t need your money. And even if he did, I don’t think this is any of your business. If Enjolras wants to give him- Anything, he can. He’s his friend, not yours. And he doesn’t need your input.” It’s as much as she can say without giving anything away, without getting herself or Enjolras or Grantaire hurt in some way. 

Hermine is staring at her, her mouth slightly open. But there’s a flare of anger deep in Éponine’s stomach now, making her jaw clench, and she’s at the end of her rope, so she continues.  

“And it’s bold of you to act like you care what happens to him when he’s in Paris when we both know you spend your time completely disinterested in his life, unless you’re intervening in it.”

“Intervening-” Hermine starts, but Éponine interrupts before she can continue.  

“ Yes, intervening. Isn’t that what you do every time he gets home? Try to foist him off onto girls he doesn’t want to talk to, put him into situations he doesn’t want to be in?” Éponine smiles sharply, knowing she’s being deliberately nasty. “And you couldn’t do that now that I’m here, which I guess is why you got such a kick out of harassing me about my personal life, right? It’s just something else to keep you entertained.” 

Enjolras’ mother is staring at her, stony faced, her hands clutched hard around the coffee cup. She hasn’t taken a single sip out of it yet. 

“He’s not a child,” Éponine snaps, sensing that her rant has reached its end. “You can’t dictate who he chooses to be friends with, and you can’t control who he falls in love with. So I suggest you stop trying.” She stands up, setting her coffee cup down on the nearest table. She doesn’t quite slam it down, but it’s close. “Thanks for this conversation. It has not been fun.” Éponine is done being polite to this lady. This lady can go fuck herself. 

Hermine’s lips purse, and she sets her coffee cup, still full to the brim, on the side table. 

“Thank you, Éponine,” she says curtly, like she’s determined to have the last word. She stands up, and for a bizarre moment, Éponine wonders if she’s going to hit her or something, but instead she just storms past her to the double doors that lead to the kitchen, slamming them both angrily behind her and leaving Éponine alone in the living room. 

She stands there for a moment, breathing heavily, her hands clenched into fists by her sides. Her anger is ebbing away, slowly being replaced by the realisation that she’s kind of fucked up. 

Quickly, she darts out of the living room and takes the stairs two at a time. She bursts into Enjolras’ bedroom and slams the door behind her, much louder and more dramatically than she intended. Enjolras is sitting on the window sill, scrolling through his phone, the picture of tranquility, but the slam of the door makes him jolt slightly, looking up from his phone. 

“Good swim?” he asks, “You were away for a while.” 

She clears her throat. “So. Don’t freak out.” 

Enjolras’ entire body stiffens, a furrow appearing between his eyebrows. “What happened?” 

Éponine glances at the door, making sure it’s definitely closed after her, and then says in a low voice, “Your mom asked me about Grantaire.”

Outwardly, Enjolras doesn’t look like he’s panicking. The furrow between his eyebrows deepens, and his adam’s apple bobs as he swallows. After a moment, he asks in a semi-calm voice, “What did she ask? And what did you tell her?” 

“I- She was saying all this shit about him, I didn’t even think, I just- I got mad. But I didn’t tell her anything, I swear, I-” she starts, but before she can put her thoughts in some kind of coherent order, there’s a yell of Enjolras’ name from the hallway, and his father barges into the room without knocking. 

“I want her out,” he snaps, pointing a finger at Éponine. She’s not scared of him, obviously, but something about the gesture, the disrespect of it, has her flinching back from his finger. 

“Excuse me?!” Enjolras is on his feet instantly, stepping between his father and Éponine. “Don’t talk to her like that.” 

“She was disrespectful to your mother,” his father snaps, trying unsuccessfully to look around his son to glare at Éponine, “And she wants her out of his house.” 

“And mom was disrespectful to Éponine last night, so what exactly is your point?” Enjolras snaps. “If Éponine was rude, there was probably a reason for it. But I want her here with me, so unless she decides she wants to leave, she’s staying.” 

He glances over his shoulder at her, an eyebrow raised in a clear question, and Éponine squares her jaw and looks right at his father and says, “I’m staying.” 

“Your mother isn’t happy,” Alexandre Senior says. He’s looking right at Enjolras, barely acknowledging Éponine is in the room, “We don’t know why you’re making this choice, surely for a partner you should want someone who-” 

“You have some fucking nerve talking to me about disrespect right now,” Enjolras all but snarls. “Éponine is a good person, and that is all I want in a partner. And according to you and mom I could do a lot worse for a partner.” 

Éponine blinks, confused. His father’s eyes have narrowed, so presumably she’s not the only one. 

“Most of the cousins still think I’m gay,” Enjolras says, his voice low. There’s something almost threatening about his tone. His father’s eyes widen with the realisation of what exactly Enjolras had been talking about, and he scowls even harder than before, opening his mouth. Enjolras holds up a hand to cut him off, and when he speaks again, his face and his voice are surprisingly calm.

“You know that’s true, and you know those rumours aren’t going to go away if I show up to this wedding tomorrow without a date. Maybe you should consider that before telling Éponine to leave,” he says. 

“But they’re not true- ” Enjolras’ father spits, and Éponine is caught between the urge to wrap Enjolras in a hug, or kick his father in the balls. 

“Yeah, sure, of course they’re not,” Enjolras snaps with an exasperated eye roll. “But they’re still there, and like I said, me showing up without a date isn’t going to discourage them. And believe me, I would love for the two of us to forget the entire thing and get the first flight back to Paris, but I don’t know if mom’s reputation could handle it. And I know she’ll take it out on Cosette. I’m not letting that happen.” 

Alexandre steps back, looking at his son, breathing heavily. He glances over at Éponine, standing slightly behind Enjolras, and then sighs. 

“I’ll talk to your mother,” he says eventually, his tone sulky. 

Enjolras twists his face into a sarcastic smile which doesn’t reach his eyes. “You do that. I’m sure you’ll be able to talk her into letting Éponine stay.” 

His father gives him another cold glare, directs the same look at Éponine, and then storms from the room and slams the door so hard that the picture frames on the wall shake. 

“I’m sorry,” Éponine blurts awkwardly as soon as she’s sure he’s not coming back. “I didn’t mean for any of that to happen.” 

Enjolras sighs, and shakes his head. “Don’t worry about it. It’s not your fault.” He sinks onto the edge of the bed, rubbing his temples with his fingers like he has a headache. Éponine sits beside him on the bed and, after hesitating for a moment, puts a hand on his shoulder. Enjolras groans and scrubs both his hands across his face. 

“God,” he mumbles into them. “Did I really just lie about my entire sexuality so I could spend an entire day surrounded by people I hate? Why the fuck am I doing this?” 

Éponine frowns. “You’re doing this because you’re an older brother and you have to. And because he was being a dick, and you stood up for me. Because I’m an idiot who nearly got myself kicked out, and you’re the best fake boyfriend ever.” 

To her surprise, Enjolras laughs into the hands he still has pressed over his face. 

"Whatever happened to keeping our head down?" he asks. “Shit-talking Grantaire was a lot more socially acceptable three days ago.”

Éponine grimaces at the reminder that yes, she is in fact a hypocrite, who yelled at Enjolras the day they arrived for doing the exact thing Éponine just did to his mother. 

She shrugs. “What can I say? It’s hard not to defend him.” 

Enjolras finally takes his hands away from his face, and although he looks like he’s either on the verge of tears, or of putting his fist through a wall, he manages a small smile. 

“It is,” he agrees. “He deserves it.” He closes his eyes, takes a few steadying breaths in and out, and when he opens them again, he looks calmer. 

“We go home in two days,” he reminds her, although he’s probably trying to assure himself as well. 

Éponine nods encouragingly. “Two days, and you’ll be home with your boyfriend,” she reminds him. “And I’ll be back in my apartment with a bottle of red wine and the intention of never speaking to another person again.”

Enjolras snorts. “Are we all that bad?” 

“The worst ,” Éponine confirms. Before she can say anything else, there’s a soft knock at the door, and Enjolras says ‘Come in’, instantly. Éponine glances at him, and he explains, “It’s Cosette; my parents would absolutely not knock if they felt like coming in here right now.” 

Sure enough, Cosette swings the door open and shuts it behind her quickly. She gives Éponine a quick smile, but a moment later she’s turned back to Enjolras, sitting on his other side. 

“I heard the two of you yelling,” she says softly. 

Enjolras shrugs quickly. “It’s not a big deal.”

Cosette sighs softly. “Liar,” she says, and then she puts her head on Enjolras’ shoulder, and as Éponine watches, he drops his head down, resting his cheekbone on the crown of her head. The three of them are silent for a moment, and then Enjolras speaks.

“I’m missing your birthday,” he says quietly. “I haven’t even said sorry for that yet.” 

Cosette laughs. “Shut up. You’re here now. And you’re helping me move. I don’t want to try and take my cello on a train or a plane. And I’ll get to meet Grantaire. That makes up for it. I get to give him a shovel talk in person, it’s going to be so exciting.” 

Enjolras nods sagely, a smile twitching at the corner of his mouth. “You better terrify him.” 

“I am a deeply terrifying person,” Cosette says with a grin. Something about the glint in her eyes when she says that has Éponine believing her, and she almost wants to text Grantaire a warning in advance. 

“Your brother held up under my shovel talk surprisingly well,” Éponine tells Cosette, who laughs and looks between the two of them disbelievingly. 

“It was horrible,” Enjolras mutters. “I thought you were going to kill me.” 

Éponine pats his shoulder. “Not yet. But consider yourself warned. Now,” she gets to her feet. She wants to distract both herself and Enjolras from the conversations with his parents. “There must be somewhere in this massive goddamn house where the three of us can watch a movie in peace, right?” 

Cosette grins, sitting up straight on the bed. “There’s a slasher I’ve wanted to watch for ages that I think you’ll like,” she says, sounding delighted. “It has 3.6 stars on IMDb!” 

Enjolras groans. 

***

Éponine wakes up on the morning of the wedding pressed against a warm, comforting weight. She keeps her eyes closed and groans, because waking up never fails to irritate her, before turning onto her side and pulling the pillow next to her closer, resting her head on top of it. 

It takes her a solid ten seconds that pillows don’t tend to breathe , or have a heartbeat. 

It takes her another two seconds to realise she’s cuddling Enjolras, and she promptly opens her eyes and spits out “Oh god .” She hears Enjolras make a similar noise of panic, but ignores it as she tries to roll away as quickly as she can in her embarrassment. She overcorrects, rolling out of the bed and onto the floor. 

Fabulous. 

Groaning, she pushes herself to her hands and knees. Enjolras is standing on the other side of the bed, as if he’d panicked and jumped out when he realised the two of them had been wrapped around each other like particularly enthusiastic octopi. At least one of them had managed to stay on their feet. 

“Are you okay?” he asks her. 

“Yep,” she says brusquely. She stands and brushes herself down, and when she looks up, Enjolras’ face is bright red, so at least he’s as embarrassed as Éponine feels. 

They make eye contact across the room. 

“Never tell anyone and pretend it never happened?” Enjolras suggests wryly. 

“Yep,” Éponine agrees instantly. “Sounds like a plan.” 

Enjolras nods, and sits on the bed again. Éponine hesitates, and then crawls back onto the bed too and, crossing her legs, resting her back against the headboard. They’ve already shared a bed for nearly a week and made out more than once. And Éponine has cried all over him. A bit of accidental cuddling is nothing at this point, really. 

“You ready for today?” she asks. 

Enjolras rolls his eyes. “Never been so excited. Really. I think I might offer to officiate.” 

“Grantaire is a negative influence on you,” she tells him with an eye roll, because that particular brand of snark could only have come from him. “Once we get through today, we’re officially on the home stretch.” 

Enjolras sighs and nods before getting to his feet. “You can have the shower first,” he tells her. “I don’t think we should forgo coffee today, but I have a feeling that if you go into the kitchen right now my mom might attempt to kill you with a kitchen knife.” 

***

Cosette had offered to help Éponine get ready, so when she’s standing in the bedroom, showered and hair dried but still in her casual clothes, watching Enjolras adjust his cufflinks in the mirror, she points over her shoulder awkwardly and says, “I’m going to, uh- Cosette offered to help me get ready, so I’m just going to-” 

Enjolras raises an eyebrow at her in the mirror, but thankfully puts Éponine out of her awkward misery by saying “Go ahead,” and she nods in thanks and practically runs from the room. 

She still hesitates before knocking the door though, as if Cosette is going to turn her away, even after what she said previously about helping her. Of course, maybe she’s too busy getting herself ready, and Éponine will have to fend for herself. 

She knocks on the door. There’s a shuffling sound from inside Cosette’s room, and then she opens the door, and she- 

She’s still in her pyjamas, a pair of shorts and an old, faded t-shirt advertising a film club, with her hair piled on the top of her head in a messy bun. She looks like she’s literally just rolled out of bed, but she lights up when she sees Éponine at her door. 

“Ép, hi,” she says, smiling brightly. “You want me to do your hair?” 

“Yes, please,” Éponine says hesitantly. “If you’re, y’know-” She looks Cosette up and down skeptically. “If you have time to get ready yourself.” 

Cosette’s smile turns the slightest bit sly. 

“Oh, don’t worry,” she says cryptically, pulling Éponine in by her hand and sitting her in front of her vanity. “I have a plan.” 

Éponine glances down at the vanity in front of her. It’s messy, littered with half-used tubes of lipstick and skincare products. There’s a small trash can beside the vanity, full to the brim with used makeup wipes. She clears her throat awkwardly. 

“I don’t really have any makeup or anything with me,” she says. “I just- I never wear it.” It’s expensive and a waste of time, in her opinion. She can only imagine what Cosette’s mother would say about that, considering she thinks her own daughter needs three hours to get ready.

Cosette shrugs, too busy turning on a pair of what look like hair curlers and setting them on a heat mat. “That’s okay. I can do some eye makeup for you, if you want? And lipstick. Obviously, we don’t have the same skin tone, so that’s out.” She looks up, meeting Éponine’s eyes in the mirror. “Of course, you’re very beautiful naturally anyway. So it’s not like you need it. Only if you want me to do it.” 

She can feel her face heating up, both at Cosette’s comment and the way she’s looking at her, but wearing makeup is a fun novelty for her, and if it means she can hang out with Cosette a little bit longer, she’ll take it. 

“Sure,” she says. Cosette smiles at her in the mirror, and Éponine can’t help but smile back. 

***

“There,” Cosette says, forty minutes later, letting go of the last lock of Éponine’s hair, so it falls gently to her shoulder. She stands back, surveying her work, and smiles so wide her eyes crinkle. 

“Perfect,” she says, so softly Éponine almost misses it, “You look perfect.”

Éponine wouldn’t necessarily go that far, but she certainly looks different, in a way that’s both disconcerting and refreshing. She doesn’t think she’ll ever commit to wearing makeup full time- her ass has practically gone numb from sitting on the seat in front of the vanity for so long- but she’s pleasantly surprised by the change. She reaches up and tugs on one of the curls her hair is now sitting in, and smiles when it bounces a little bit. 

“Thank you,” she tells Cosette sincerely. She stands up from the chair and Cosette takes a little step back, still looking up at Éponine, the look on her face unidentifiable. 

“I guess I’ll see you downstairs?” Éponine asks awkwardly after a small moment of silence. Given how long Cosette has spent on her appearance, she’s definitely running short on time for herself now. “Sorry that you spent so long getting me ready.” 

Cosette blinks, apparently shaken out of the weird daydream she was in by Éponine’s words. She smiles again a moment later. 

“Don’t worry,” she tells her. “Like I said, it’s all part of the plan.” 

Enjolras is already downstairs by the time Éponine gets back to their bedroom. She’s aware she’s holding her head stiffly, like moving too fast or too suddenly is somehow going to make the lift and curl and shine fall out, even though that’s impossible. 

The dress she’d bought in Aix hangs on the side of the wardrobe, still in its plastic packaging. She stares at it, still wearing her sweats. She knows it fits, knows it looks nice, but it seems ridiculously fancy and over the top, far too fancy for Éponine. 

But then, judging from the rehearsal dinner, everything else about the wedding is going to be the same. She shrugs and gets changed. 

It takes her a while to get into the dress, to tighten the delicate lace strings at the back so it sits properly on her chest- it’s strapless, and the thought of that specific wardrobe malfunction in front of Enjolras’ entire family fills her with horror- and by the time she feels comfortable and secure in it, Éponine has twisted herself away from the mirror. She turns to face it, and can’t quite hold back a tiny noise of surprise and pleasure. 

Most of the time, Éponine doesn’t put a lot of thought into her appearance. That requires time, effort and money that she simply doesn’t have, and she’d long accepted that she’s never going to be one of those beautiful, otherworldly girls, like Cosette, the kind of girl people stop and stare at in the street. 

She feels like that now. 

Her hair is long and black and glossy and waving gently towards her waist, her eyes dark and lined with kohl. Pink lips that look like they belong to someone else smile at her in the mirror, and Éponine runs both hands down to the light tulle of her skirt, gripping lightly. She looks over her shoulder to check the door is closed, and then twirls twice, simply for the pleasure of feeling the fabric flow around her legs. She feels feminine and girly and gorgeous in a way that’s rare to her, and Éponine realises as she straps her feet into the stilettos that she has a silly, elated grin on her face. 

She does have to grip quite hard to the bannister to get herself down the stairs in one piece, but once at the bottom, she manages to walk more or less in a straight line to the front living room, where Enjolras is waiting. He’s wearing a simple suit with no tie, because men’s formal clothes are so boring, and is fiddling idly with his cufflinks again, probably just to keep himself distracted from the fact that his parents are already there. The silence between the three of them is frosty and uncomfortable. 

Éponine tries to smile, walking over to stand beside Enjolras. 

“Hey,” she tells him. 

Enjolras looks up from his cufflinks, and his eyes widen as he takes in Éponine’s outfit. After a moment he smiles, a small but genuine one, and says, “You look really pretty.”  

Éponine laughs, knowing his parents are watching them, and gives him what she hopes passes as an appreciative look up and down. “You’re not so bad yourself, Apollo.” 

“What’s Apollo?” his father asks. 

Enjolras smiles again, a small, secret one, and Éponine is willing to bet his mind is a million miles away from his parent’s living room. “Nothing important.”

The longer she’s spent taking in Éponine’s outfit, the more Hermine’s lips are persing. Of course, that could just be an effect of looking at Éponine after their little conversation yesterday, but she has a feeling it’s directed very pointedly at her outfit, and in particular- 

"Éponine, are you sure you want to wear those shoes?" Hermine asks. 

Éponine frowns, wondering what exactly could be wrong with her shoes. It’s when she turns to give Enjolras a confused look, the same time that he looks at her, that she realises what the problem is. 

Because the shoes have a very definite heel on them, and Enjolras is having to look up at her to make eye contact. She doesn’t know exactly what height she is right now, but she’s definitely at least two inches taller than Enjolras. 

Enjolras seems to have worked out the issue at the same time, because he raises an eyebrow subtly, looking like he’s struggling to suppress a laugh. 

Éponine smirks too. So, they’re fucking with them. Great. 

"Why?" Éponine asks in answer to Hermine’s question, trying to inject confusion into her voice. "Are they not wedding appropriate?" 

Enjolras looks at her, all wide eyes and faux-innocence. "They look perfectly appropriate to me." 

"I mean, they are , but-" Hermine's face is turning steadily more red. Beside her, Alexandre groans and presses his fingers to the bridge of his nose. Enjolras huffs a laugh, and then covers it up with a false sounding cough. 

"Do you want to borrow a pair of my shoes?!" Hermine blurts out desperately. 

Éponine simply smiles serenely and links her arm through Enjolras' and says sweetly, "After our conversation yesterday? No, thank you." 

“Does it not bother you that she’s taller than you?!” Alexandre snaps at Enjolras, who simply shakes his head and shrugs.

“Believe me, my masculinity isn’t fragile enough that Éponine being slightly taller is going to bother me,” he says. He widens his eyes, and says in a voice of false-curiosity “Why, would it bother you ?” 

“For god’s-” Alexandre apparently deems the two of them a lost cause, and turns to his wife. “Where’s Euphrasie? We’re running late.” 

“EUPHRASIE!” Hermine all but screams up the stairs, making both Éponine and Enjolras cringe. 

“We were supposed to leave fifteen minutes ago,” she mutters savagely to her husband, who again, pinches the bridge of his nose. Maybe this is where Enjolras gets his migraines from. Éponine can’t bring herself to feel any sympathy.  

There’s the sound of footsteps on the landing above, and then Cosette is running down the stairs, smoothing her hair out and pulling a small bag over her shoulder. 

“Sorry, sorry. I’m here!” she says brightly. She’s wearing a long, black, floating lace dress, almost witch-like, chunky knee-high platform boots and lace gloves. Éponine tries not to focus too hard on the dark, wine red lipstick she’s wearing. Cosette looks up from her bag and catches Éponine’s eye, and her mouth parts slightly, a pink flush in her cheeks as she looks her up and down. Éponine finds that it doesn’t bother her too much, probably because she’s too busy staring back at Cosette. 

“Oh my god,” Enjolras mutters under his breath, quiet enough that his parents won’t hear. 

Hermine simply stares at Cosette in silence for a moment, her mouth gaping open, and then her face hardens and she says, “For god’s sake, Euphrasie. Go change out of that thing right now. You look like a vampire.” 

“I thought we were running late,” Éponine says immediately, and blinks innocently when Hermine glares at her. 

Enjolras hums. “Yeah, we were supposed to leave,” he makes an exaggerated showing of checking his watch, “ Eighteen minutes ago. We’ll miss the start of the service if we have to wait for Cosette to change. You’d never hear the end of it.” 

Alexandre gives a long-suffering sigh, as though he’d rather wash his hands of the entire thing, and then says, “They are right, Hermine. She’ll just have to wear it.” 

Hermine gapes silently at all four of them for a moment, and then bites out a “Fine”, picking up her handbag and stomping down the steps to where Antonin is waiting with the car. Alexandre mutters something unintelligible under his breath and follows her. 

The door swings shut behind him, and the three of them start laughing almost immediately. 

“ Oh my god, ” Cosette says gleefully. “They’re so angry. It’s amazing.” 

“I think Éponine and I were already testing mom’s limits,” Enjolras says, equally amused. “I think you might have sent her over the edge.” 

Cosette snorts, rolling her eyes. “Yeah, well. She can go to therapy about it.” 

“That’ll be the day.” 

Right on cue, there’s a roar of Enjolras and Cosette’s names from outside, and the three of them leave the house, still stifling laughter into their palms. 

They sober up on the car ride, a symptom of being around Enjolras and Cosette’s parents again, and the journey to the church is largely silent. Éponine sits between Enjolras and Cosette, staring down at her hands, folded in her lap. Every so often, she’ll trail a hand over her dress, just to feel the fabric again, admiring the contrast of the pink with Cosette’s black. 

At one point, Cosette smiles up at her and says, “The dress is stunning. You made the right choice.”

“Yes,” Hermine snaps. She’s been quiet the entire journey up until now, glaring silently at Cosette, her lip curling in disgust every time her eyes catch on the dark lace of the dress or the platform boots. “At least one of you has enough taste to not completely embarrass us.” 

“Because we all know embarrassment in this family is connected solely to what we choose to wear,” Enjolras says mildly, as though he’s commenting on the weather. “And not anything else.” 

“Shut up, Alexandre,” his father snaps. 

This seems to spur Enjolras on. He looks at Cosette and says, not without a pointed glare at his mother, “I think you look great.” 

“Thanks, Enj,” Cosette says, and the two of them share conspiratorial smiles. Both of their parents look like they’re going to continue arguing, but the car pulls up in front of the church before they can. Hermine glares once more at Cosette’s dress, as if out of principle, and then she fixes a smile on her face just before stepping out of the car. At this point, she’s so fake Éponine is impressed despite herself.

“I forgot how much I hated this shit,” Enjolras mutters while the three of them wait in the line to get into the church. He’s looking at the effigy of Jesus attached to the front door of the church with something that looks like trepidation. Éponine frowns. Her family had never been in any way religious, so she’s never had to deal with the struggles of being a queer kid in a religious space. She wishes she could take the unhappy and slightly panicked look off Enjolras’ face right now, but she doesn’t really know how.   

"I mean, it might not be so bad," she tries as she looks up at the twin spires of the church, "Plus, there's always the chance that we'll both walk in there and immediately burst into flames." 

Enjolras snorts, and says "Don't get my hopes up,” but he looks amused despite himself. 

***

Thankfully, the wedding is short and, surprisingly, not massively painful. Éponine has never been in a Catholic church before, so she spends most of the marriage ceremony looking around at the admittedly pretty architecture and stained glass windows, and trying to copy Enjolras and Cosette when they do the sign of the cross, given that she has no idea what it’s supposed to look like. 

From there, they’re bundled into the car again, and driven back to the house owned by the bride’s mother and father, where the rehearsal had taken place a few nights previously. This time, there’s a gazebo set up in the back garden, with tables and a bar and a dancefloor with a stage in front of it. There’s also twice as many people, and Éponine’s skin is already crawling. 

The three of them are sat at a table with some distant cousins that neither Cosette nor Enjolras seem to know that well, who thankfully they seem largely ambivalent to their small group. And, even better, Enjolras and Cosette’s parents are placed at a table on the other side of the room. As soon as she’s able, Éponine goes to the bar, and is relieved to see that it’s free, the same as the rehearsal. 

She considers getting a glass of wine each for her and Enjolras, and then thinks fuck it, and comes back with two bottles instead, setting one down on the table in front of him with a thump. 

“We’re going to get through this,” she tells him, sitting down and pouring two generous glasses. 

Cosette is looking at her hopefully. “Is there one for me?” 

“Nope,” Enjolras says succinctly, before Éponine can answer. 

Cosette glares at him. “Why not?” 

“Because if you get too drunk and throw up everywhere,” Enjolras says, “it’s somehow going to be all my fault.”

Éponine snorts a laugh into her wine glass. 

Cosette is continuing to glare at her brother. “C’mon, I can totally have a bottle.” 

Enjolras rolls his eyes. “A glass?” 

“Three?” Cosette wheedles, “I’m gonna need them to get through the speeches.” 

Enjolras groans. “ Fine,” he says. “ Do not throw up.” 

Éponine kind of understands Cosette’s need for alcohol once the speeches start. She doesn’t know how many they have to sit through, but they feel like they go on forever. She’s just considering trying to escape to the bathroom and hiding in a toilet cubicle for the duration of the wedding when Enjolras nudges her in the side and passes her something on the table. When she looks down, he’s handing her a notebook with a naughts and crosses box drawn in it and a pen. 

“Cosette brought it,” he whispers. “We used to do this when our grandparents made us go to mass with them.” 

Éponine huffs a laugh, draws a cross in one of the boxes, and hands the notebook back. 

By the time the speeches are finished, she, Enjolras and Cosette have played several games of naughts and crosses and hangman, and they’re starving. Éponine practically inhales her food when it arrives, and at one point she catches Enjolras’ mother’s eye across the room, and she doesn’t look impressed.

And then the food is cleared away, music starts, and-

“What now?” Éponine asks. 

Enjolras shrugs, which isn't exactly helpful. "We hang around until we can leave, I guess?" he says, and Éponine barely resists the urge to groan out loud. 

“Let me take a photo of you guys!” Cosette says suddenly, making grabby hands for Éponine’s phone. 

“What?” Enjolras asks, sounding mystified. “Why?” 

Cosette rolls her eyes. “Because you’re a beautiful couple, of course.” She glances pointedly at their mother and father, standing not too far away, seemingly engaged in conversation. Even as they watch, Hermine looks away, obviously disinterested in her conversation, towards the three of them. When they catch her looking, she looks away quickly. 

Cosette raises her eyebrow, giving Enjolras a pointed look. 

Éponine shrugs. “Sure.” She hands her phone to Cosette and both she and Enjolras stand up. She steps closer to Enjolras, tottering in the heels again, and he slots an arm around her waist to keep her steady. There’s an awkward second of silence, and then Cosette gives Éponine her phone back with a grin. 

She looks down at the photograph. Anyone who knows her and Enjolras well enough will be able to tell that they’re still slightly awkward in their closeness, the way their smiles are just a little too wide to be genuine. But with Enjolras smart and polished in his suit, and Éponine with a hand planted on his chest to keep herself steady, her head tilted towards him subconsciously, they look-

“Wow,” Enjolras says beside her, “We do look like a couple. It’s unnerving.” 

Éponine snorts, and, on a whim, sends the photo to Grantaire. Her phone vibrates with a text message a moment later. 

Wow, you guys are hot together, it says. Maybe you two should date xo. 

“He thinks he's so funny,” Éponine says, showing the message to Enjolras, who rolls his eyes and calls him an idiot. He fishes his own phone out of his pocket a moment later though, and whatever is on the screen makes him smile softly. 

Éponine rolls her eyes. They’re so sappy. They’re the worst. 

Time passes, but not fast enough. The bride and groom dance together to a boring, generic love song, and then more couples start filtering onto the dancefloor. On the other side of the room, Hermine and Alexandre continue to occasionally glance over at the three of them. Hermine’s eyes are narrowed suspiciously, and at this point, Éponine has no idea what she wants from her anymore. 

“This DJ is shit,”  she says, slightly louder than anticipated. The cousins who had been ignoring them on the other side of the table turn away from their conversation briefly to glare at her. 

At the same time, the DJ makes a call into the mic for a couples slow dance. Éponine shares a panicked look with Enjolras and gets to her feet with every intention of running out of the room. Before she can though, she catches the eye of Enjolras’ mother and father again. They’re both glaring at the two of them, and she makes a sudden decision. She can put on one last show, really sell the illusion to them, convince them that this is real before she leaves. 

“For god’s sake,” she mutters to herself with an eye roll. She turns back to Enjolras and holds her hand out to him. “C’mon, let’s get this over with. Sooner we do this, sooner we can get even more drunk.” 

Enjolras groans, but gets to his feet willingly enough, taking Éponine’s hand. “Well, when you put it like that. ” The two of them walk to the dancefloor and find a secluded corner, as far away from Enjolras’ parents as possible. There’s a moment of awkward manoeuvring, eventually ending with Éponine’s arms tight around Enjolras’ shoulders, his around her waist. 

“Well,” she says, after a few seconds of swaying awkwardly to the music, “This is terrible.” 

Enjolras is craning his neck, trying to see the table where Cosette is sitting by herself. “I’ll kill her if she’s filming us. She’ll definitely use it as blackmail.” 

Éponine groans. “Wonderful. She’ll send it to Grantaire, our lives are going to be hell.” 

Enjolras snorts. “That’s what we get, I suppose. For doing all this.” 

Éponine hums in agreement, and then apologises quickly when she stands on Enjolras’ toe, making him wince. The two of them dance in silence for another few moments, and then Éponine says, “This remains one of the single weirdest things I’ve ever been asked to do, and I was literally a drug mule for my parents.” 

Enjolras gives her a concerned look, so she smirks back, to let him know she’s joking. He smiles too, and says, “Yeah. I don’t really know what I was thinking, asking you to do this. I actually didn’t think you’d agree to it in the first place.” 

“What would you have done?” Éponine asks. “If I hadn’t?” 

Enjolras swallows, glancing to the side of the room where his parents are. “I…don’t really know. I hadn’t gotten that far yet.” 

“I’m glad I agreed,” Éponine tells him seriously. “It’s actually been surprisingly painless, most of the time. And it’s been fun to fuck with them. And,” she swallows. “You deserve to have someone in your corner. Apart from Cosette, I mean. If that’s what it takes for you to get a break while you’re down here.”

Enjolras quirks a smile. “Believe it or not, there has been a lot less attention on me, with you here. It may not seem this way, considering the past few days, but…it’s like I’ve finally done something right, for once.” 

Éponine swallows. That’s…kind of sad really. 

“I wish,” Éponine says slowly. She doesn’t know if she’s overstepping, how Enjolras will react to this, but she’s surprised to find that actually, she does want to tell him. She wants him to know. 

“I wish that you could have come to a wedding like this, and dance with the person you actually want to dance with,” she says quietly, so no one can overhear. 

Enjolras laughs; a little quiet, a little sad. “I don’t think I’m going to be invited to any more family weddings, after- you know.” 

Éponine nods. “But the important thing is, they won’t be invited to yours, either.” She hopes she hasn’t given anything away there. 

Enjolras blinks, his head tilting to the side as he gives Éponine a curious look. She bites her lip; she hopes Enjolras doesn’t ask her, because, apart from anything else, she doesn’t actually know anything, other than Grantaire’s intentions. Thankfully, Enjolras just hums thoughtfully, and then smiles slightly and pulls Éponine closer to him, resting his chin on her shoulder briefly. “Thank you.” 

Éponine swallows. “Yeah.” Which doesn’t even make sense, but it’s the best she has to offer now. 

The dance finishes, and the two of them walk together back to the table where Cosette is sitting, looking extremely bemused at the two of them. When Éponine looks over her shoulder, Hermine is still watching them and glaring. 

Éponine wishes she could tell her exactly what she thinks of her, but what’s the point? They’re leaving tomorrow anyway. Éponine is tired of wasting her energy on being angry at Enjolras’ parents. She wants to enjoy the rest of her time in Provence, in the weird, safe little bubble she, Enjolras, and Cosette have created for themselves. 

So instead, Éponine just smiles, and gives Hermine a sarcastic little wave. Unsurprisingly, this makes her look even more annoyed. What’s surprising is how little Éponine cares. 

***

Honestly, as the night goes on and she and Enjolras take increasing advantage of the open bar, Éponine starts to feel quite sorry for Cosette, because she and Enjolras are getting steadily more drunk and so are making steadily less sense, while Cosette is mostly sober, her three glasses of wine long gone. She insists she doesn’t mind though, grinning and rolling her eyes, and at one point she snorts so hard at something Enjolras says that her water comes out her nose. 

Éponine is still just about sober enough to acknowledge that the current line of conversation she and Enjolras are pursuing is borderline ridiculous, but that’s not important right now. What’s important is proving that she’s right. 

“Dude, I’m serious!” she’s defending, affronted, while Enjolras and Cosette watch her with matching looks of amusement. “I can totally carry Grantaire. Who do you think used to pick him up from the club in his first year?”

"You cannot ," Enjolras repeats for about the fifth time. "I don't think you could even lift me, so I seriously doubt you can lift Grantaire." 

Éponine raises an eyebrow. "Is that a fucking challenge, Apollo?" 

"Oh no," Cosette says with an eyeroll, but she's grinning. 

Enjolras ignores her, throwing back his wine and setting the empty glass down on the table decisively. “Yeah, it is.” 

“Right,” Éponine scrapes her chair back and gets to her feet, rolling her shoulders. “I’m going to prove this to you, and then you have to buy my drinks for the rest of the night. Deal?” 

“It’s an open bar,” Enjolras says as he gets to his feet, which, oops. Éponine had forgotten about that part. “So, what’s your plan here exactly? Are you going for a fireman’s carry, or-?” 

His words dissolve into a panicked yelp when Éponine simply slots her arms around his waist and tries to yank him up towards the ceiling, like she does when she’s fucking around with Gavroche and Azelma. Unsurprisingly, she is not strong enough to lift Enjolras, and the two of them fall in an ungraceful, messy heap on the floor. Éponine tries to shove Enjolras’ weight off her, and finds she can’t, because she’s laughing breathlessly, trying unsuccessfully to smooth the skirt of her nice dress down as Enjolras rolls off her with absolutely no grace, lying next to her with tears of laughter rolling down his cheeks. 

Éponine opens her eyes and sees Cosette standing over her, doubled over and clutching her stomach in laughter too. 

“Oh my god,” she gasps, “You’re both drunk morons . I can’t-” 

“Alexandre!” 

Shit . 

Éponine sits up, yanking her dress down past her knees. Enjolras and Cosette’s father is standing over the two of them, a face like thunder and his arms crossed over his chest. His glare is directed entirely at Enjolras, as though Cosette, standing less than three feet away, doesn’t exist. 

“Alexandre, sit up right now before you embarrass all of us,” he says coldly. 

Enjolras blinks, and then without warning, he gets to his feet surprisingly quickly for someone who has had at least five tequila shots, brushing off his suit and taking a step closer to his father. Éponine hadn’t noticed before, but when they stand next to each other, Enjolras is slightly taller. 

“It’s a wedding, dad,” Enjolras says, and Éponine can tell by his tone that he is gripping onto the last of his patience with his fingernails, “Everyone’s a bit drunk. It’s fine .” 

“It most certainly is not fine,” his father snaps, keeping his voice low. “What business do you have acting like an idiot in front of everyone? People from the firm are here, Alexandre.” 

Enjolras snorts. “And why should that matter? It’s not like I’m going to be working with any of them.” 

Alexandre scowls, his hands curling into fists at his sides. Enjolras raises an eyebrow cooly and says in a voice dripping with condescension and sarcasm. “Maybe you should calm down. You wouldn’t want to start an argument in front of everyone, right?” 

His father’s face darkens. “What kind of example are you setting for your sister?” Beside him, Cosette cringes. 

Enjolras looks from his father, to Cosette, and then back again, and then says in that same cool voice. “Cosette is an adult. She’s old enough to decide what is and isn’t an example for her.”  

Enjolras’ father is getting steadily angrier in the face of Enjolras’ casual dismissal, and she’d be lying if she said it wasn’t incredibly entertaining to watch. 

Their father’s face turns redder, and he pinches the bridge of his nose with his fingers, before saying in a strained sounding voice. “We can talk about this in more detail tomorrow. But the entire family is here, and-” 

Something about the way Enjolras lists forward makes Éponine think danger could be on the horizon. 

“Yeah, dad, you’re right,” he snaps suddenly. Several wedding guests turn to look at him, and Éponine kind of wishes she could disappear into the floorboards. “It’s a wedding, the entire family is here, and believe it or not we were actually having a good time before you joined us. So why don’t you try to stop making everyone else miserable for once in your life, and give me a fucking break .” 

Enjolras’ father takes a sudden step back, reeling like Enjolras had hit him. He stands still, mouth open. His gaze is fixed firmly on Enjolras, but then one of the guests who was nearby mutters something under their breath, and his gaze slides over to them. 

When he looks at Enjolras again, his face is no less stormy, but his voice when he speaks is light, almost casual, rather than the confrontational tone from a few seconds previously. 

“Go home, son,” he says calmly, “You’re drunk.” 

He storms away. Enjolras and Cosette’s mother tries to stop him halfway across the room with a hand on his arm, and he yanks it away from her grasp and continues to storm out of the room. She turns to stare at both her children with a face of thunder. 

“For fuck’s sake,” Enjolras mutters under his breath. He looks tense and unhappy, his arms folded across his chest and gripping his suit jacket hard. 

“Let’s go home,” Cosette says suddenly, and Éponine and Enjolras turn and look at her in unison. Éponine hadn’t even considered that going home could be an option. 

Enjolras is frowning at his sister. “I’m pretty sure Antonin is off the clock until after midnight.”

“It’s only round the corner,” Cosette says confidently, already grabbing her purse and swinging it over her shoulder. “We can walk it, right?” 

Éponine can feel Enjolras looking at her, and when she catches his eye, he looks down at her shoes dubiously. 

“It’s a half hour walk,” he says, “Do you think you can manage it?” 

The shoes are tall, but Éponine likes to think she’s tough enough to handle it, so she nods and stands tall and says, “Yeah, I can totally manage.”

***

That turns out to be a goddamn lie. 

They’ve been walking for about twenty minutes out of the thirty it takes to get back to Enjolras and Cosette’s house, and after fifteen minutes of unsuccessfully trying to suck it up, Éponine had gratefully accepted Cosette's offered arm around her waist and Enjolras' shoulder for her other arm. Her shoes are killing her slowly. Stilettos are the devil, she’s never wearing them again. Her drunkenness from the wedding is wearing off, the pain increasing with every step she takes, the more sober she becomes. 

“I would offer to carry you,” Enjolras says when Éponine stumbles for the fourth time, “But I’m kind of drunk and I’m pretty sure we’d end up falling into a ditch.” 

“You would definitely end up falling into a ditch,” Cosette assures them. “It would be hilarious, but I don’t really feel like going to the hospital tonight.”

“It’s fine,” Éponine mutters under her breath. She looks up at the dirt track they’re walking down, apparently a back road leading to the Enjolras’ house, parallel with a vineyard Cosette had implied belonged to their grandparents in the 1970s. The sun is low in the sky, casting orange and red light over everything it touches and painting the sky lilac and pink. She can smell lavender from the fields. 

“It’s really beautiful here,” Éponine says quietly, mostly to herself. 

Enjolras blinks, and looks up at the sky, his eyes squinting against the glare of the sun. 

“Yeah, I guess it is,” he says after a moment. 

“You’ve never noticed?” 

“I have. I just-” Enjolras shrugs, and lets go of Éponine so he can open the creaky looking gate at the back of the Enjolras’ property. “Every time I’m here, I’m mostly thinking about how I can’t wait to leave again.”

Cosette frowns. Éponine has removed her arm from around her shoulders, but Cosette has her hand, feather-light, on the base of her spine. It’s very distracting.  

“We could come back,” she says as the three of them walk down a path, the pool coming into view a moment later. “After we’ve moved out. Rent an apartment for a few days or something. We could bring Grantaire, I think he’d like to see it. Just because we’ve left, doesn’t mean it’s not home.” 

The three of them have reached the back door of the house, and Enjolras is frowning softly at Cosette as he unlocks the door. Éponine feels like she’s intruding on something private, so she takes advantage of the fact that they’re now in the house to sink down on the nearest kitchen chair and ease her shoes off one at a time, making a completely involuntary noise of pleasure when she’s able to place her feet flat on the ground. 

“I’m surprised they’re not bleeding,” she says, holding her feet out in front of her to be sure. 

Enjolras snorts. “Grantaire never mentioned how dramatic you are before.” Before Éponine can flat out deny that statement, he yawns and says as he walks towards the kitchen door to the hallway, “I’m going to bed. I’m already not looking forward to this hangover on our flight tomorrow.” 

The fact that their time in Provence is almost at an end, and that tomorrow Éponine will be sleeping alone in her own bed again, is an extremely bizarre concept. Without really meaning to, she glances at Cosette, only to find her looking back at her already. When they make eye contact, Cosette’s cheeks go red, and she looks away, apparently intent on examining the coffee machine. 

“Goodnight,” Éponine tells her softly, before she lifts her stilettos in one hand and retreats upstairs. 

By the time she gets back to their room, Enjolras has changed out of his suit and into his sleep clothes, and is lying on his back with his phone held in front of his face, his fingers flying across the keyboard. Even as Éponine watches, he fumbles and it falls out of his hand, and he moves just in time to avoid getting smacked in the face with it. 

“Oh my god,” she says through a snort. “That was a quick reaction for someone who’s had as much tequila as you.” 

“I have had so much tequila , thanks to you,” Enjolras laments, staring up at the ceiling. "I am so fucking drunk. It’s all your fault." 

“Hey, man, I was just trying to get you to loosen up,” Éponine tells him. She puts her hands on her hips as she looks down at him. "Do you think you're going to hurl?" It's a question she's asked many times, to Gavroche and Azelma when they'd caught a stomach bug, to Grantaire when she picked him up wasted from the club, to herself in the bathroom mirror halfway through a very hungover ten hour shift. 

Enjolras shakes his head, eyes closed. "I don't…think so?" 

Éponine nods, switching the bedside light on before she leaves the room, walking barefoot down to the kitchen to get Enjolras a glass of water. The house is silent, Enjolras and Cosette's parents still at the wedding, the staff in their homes, and-

"Éponine, hey," Cosette says quietly behind her, and Éponine very nearly jumps out of her skin. 

"God, fuck, Cosette, you scared me!" 

Cosette steps further into the kitchen. She's taken off her clothes from the wedding and is back in the pyjamas from that morning, her hair piled up on the top of her head again. She’s taken her makeup off too, and she looks softer, more delicate, her pale face shining in the moonlight. 

"Is he okay?" Cosette whispers, nodding towards the stairs. 

Éponine nods, turning and filling a glass with water, anything to not look at Cosette and her soft skin and heart shaped lips. 

"He's fine," she says, "He's just a little bit drunk, but he's good."

“Are you okay?” Cosette asks. 

Éponine frowns, and turns back to face her. “Yeah?” she says, confused. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

Cosette shrugs and takes a step closer. “I know our family are a lot to deal with. I’m sure you’re looking forward to escaping from here tomorrow.” She glances at the large clock on the wall. “Today, I guess.” 

“Mm,” Éponine hums in agreement. It’s true, she is looking forward to going home, to her own bed and her own house and her own life. But it’s also true that the week hasn’t been anywhere near as painful as she thought it would be. And she thinks she might feel bad, leaving Cosette here when her and Enjolras leave tomorrow. 

“When do you move to Paris?” Éponine asks her suddenly. She hadn’t even been intending on trying to find that out, it had slipped out without permission. 

Cosette’s expression cracks into a small, excited smile. “Early September, probably. That’s when the campus accommodation opens. Mom wanted me to move into the apartment with Enj, but I insisted on the dorms. I was surprised when she relented, to be honest.” 

“We should hang out, when you’re in Paris,” Éponine suggests quietly. There’s a nervous energy thrumming under her skin, and it intensifies when Cosette raises her eyebrows slightly, and takes a step closer to her, so the two of them are nearly pressed together. 

“Really?” Cosette asks. She’s whispering too, even though the two of them are completely alone. 

“Yeah,” Éponine replies. She swallows. “I like you. I’d like to see you again.” 

Cosette’s cheeks go pink, but what Éponine said seems to have emboldened her. She nods decisively, and runs her tongue along her lips nervously. Éponine tries and feels not to track the movement, and then huffs a sudden breath in when Cosette takes yet another step closer to her, so their bodies are pressed together. She looks up at her through her long lashes, and Éponine very carefully does not flinch when her hand comes up to her face, cradling her jaw, her thumb running back and forth over the skin of her cheek. 

“Éponine,” Cosette says slowly, carefully. “I would really like to kiss you right now. How would you feel about that?” 

For a moment, Éponine feels like she can’t breathe. She clears her throat, and then manages to say, “Good,” in a tone much huskier than normal. 

“That would feel g-” she starts to reiterate, but she doesn’t get the full sentence out before Cosette has stood up on her tiptoes and kissed her. 

Cosette’s lips taste of cherry- it’s the last coherent thought Éponine has before her brain short-circuits and she sinks into the kiss, groaning a little bit. She feels Cosette rise up on her toes a little bit more, and she wraps her arms around her shoulders and pulls her closer, angles her head so Cosette doesn’t have to stretch as far. There’s a warning bell in Éponine’s head, telling her they need to be careful, in case Cosette’s parents arrive home, and then Cosette makes a small satisfied noise into Éponine’s mouth and takes her hand off her face to bury in her hair instead, and Éponine stops thinking altogether. 

It’s a long time before they stop kissing, but eventually Cosette pulls away a little bit. By this point, both her hands are buried in Éponine’s hair. She presses their foreheads together, smiling so hard her eyes are crinkling at the corners. She’s radiant, and gorgeous, and Éponine’s knees feel a little bit weak. 

"Mm," she mumbles, "I think it's generally-" She pauses for a moment, because Cosette is close and her lips tasted of cherry and she smells of lavender and God, Éponine can't remember the last time she kissed a girl and felt like it meant something. 

"I think it's generally considered quite bad etiquette to make out with your brother's girlfriend," she manages after a moment, and Cosette throws her head back and laughs. 

"Believe me, he won't mind," she assures her, and then she leans in and noses at the sensitive space behind Éponine's ear, and she closes her eyes and leans into her touch. She wants to kiss Cosette again, so she does, sliding a hand up to tangle in her dark hair, groaning softly when she feels her lips part against her own. 

They break apart eventually, both breathing slightly harder than normal in the silence of the kitchen. Éponine's lower back is pressed against the counter top, and Cosette is pressed against her. She's smiling widely, a Cheshire cat smile, and there’s a little smudge of pink on her upper lip, left there by Éponine’s lipstick. The thought makes her feel slightly giddy. 

"I didn't know you liked girls," she says, completely nonsensically, and Cosette giggles. 

"I like you ," she says simply, like it's obvious. “You look so gorgeous tonight, I didn’t know what to do with myself, where to look.” As she speaks, her thumb runs itself back and forth along Éponine’s bottom lip, while she stares at it, her blue eyes wide and fascinated. Éponine doesn’t know if anyone has ever looked at her that way before. She feels like she could get used to it. 

“Yeah,” she says quietly in response to Cosette. “I’ve been feeling a similar way all week.” 

Cosette smiles shyly. "I did wonder. I felt you were looking at me."

Éponine can't help but laugh shakily. "Enjolras is going to kill me." 

Cosette shakes her head, still smiling. "No he won't. He likes you." She stands on her tiptoes and crowds Éponine back against the kitchen counter again. 

"Now," she murmurs, her lips brushing against Éponine's with every word. "Stop talking about my brother." 

They stay like that in the kitchen for Éponine doesn't know how long, until there's a screeching noise of metal-on-metal outside, and Cosette freezes against her. 

"My parents are back," she mutters. She steps away and runs her tongue over her lips, staring up at Éponine with an uncertain expression on her face. 

Éponine feels giddy and floaty, so she turns to the sink and grabs the two glasses of water, which is why she’d originally come down to the kitchen. When she turns again, Cosette is still watching her, smiling slightly. 

Éponine can’t really grip onto her whilst she’s carrying the two glasses, and she can hear the crunch of gravel in the driveway, so she doesn’t have time to, no matter how much she might want it. Spontaneously, she leans down and pecks Cosette’s lips, revelling in the little surprised noise she makes. 

“I’ll see you tomorrow, okay?” she says, and then heads upstairs and into Enjolras’ room just as she hears a key turn in the lock of the front door. 

Enjolras is already asleep, snoring softly, when Éponine closes the door behind her. She sets one of the glasses of water on the table on his side of the bed, the other on the one on hers, and gets ready for bed, smiling at her own reflection in the mirror the whole time. 

Unfortunately, the movement of the mattress when Éponine climbs into bed is enough to wake Enjolras. He makes an unintelligible noise, and then his eyes open, bleary and confused, and he says, “What?” 

“What?” Éponine asks as innocently as she can. 

Enjolras is staring at her, a furrow in his brow, and she can’t tell if he’s confused or suspicious or just half asleep. “Where did you go?” 

“Nothing,” Éponine says quickly, and then curses herself. That doesn’t even make sense, Cosette has clearly fried her entire brain. 

“What?” Enjolras says again. He’s staring at her, his eyes narrowed, and then he sighs and lies down properly again, closing his eyes. “You know what? I don’t want to know.” 

“Good,” Éponine says.

“Good.”

They lie in silence in the dark for a few moments, and then Éponine clears her throat and says "So." 

"So," Enjolras repeats, sounding about three quarters of the way to sleep. 

"So, uh," she says, "I sort of- Made out with your sister, a little bit." 

Enjolras is quiet, and Éponine winces, fully expecting to get berated, or him to kick her out of the bed, at the very least.  

To her surprise, Enjolras just mutters "About damn time," before rolling onto his side and starting to snore. 

Chapter Text

Éponine wakes up suddenly the next morning, when the duvet covers are ripped off of her and she finds herself shivering in her pyjamas. 

“What the hell?” she murmurs, still more than half asleep, and turns around to face Enjolras. He’s the reason she has no covers, having yanked them off her and somehow wrapped them around himself while still sleeping. 

“Fucking thief,” she mutters, pulling half-heartedly at them. When he doesn’t relinquish his hold on them, she rolls her eyes and decides to get out of bed and pack. 

She showers and dresses. Enjolras still isn’t awake when she comes out of the bathroom, so she packs as quietly as she can. When it comes to the dress from the wedding, hanging on the wardrobe door, she hesitates, running her hands slowly through the fabric. Éponine can’t imagine having an occasion to wear something like this again. It would make more sense to leave it here, really. 

She squeezes it into her suitcase anyway. 

It’s almost midday at this point, but Enjolras is still asleep. Éponine doesn’t want to disturb him,so she leaves the bedroom, shutting the door quietly behind her. The house feels oddly peaceful, oddly still, and Éponine realises why when she walks into the kitchen and finds it empty except for Cosette, who is standing at the counter cutting strawberries with a look of intense concentration on her face. There’s quiet classical music playing from the radio in the corner, and the early afternoon sun is shining through the large windows, casting everything in white and gold. 

“Hi,” Éponine says, her voice coming out as an almost-whisper. 

Cosette glances up from her task quickly. Her eyes meet Éponine’s, and she swallows and then smiles softly. 

“Hi,” she replies. “How did you sleep?” 

“Good,” Éponine says, walking to the coffee pot. There’s a charge in the atmosphere, left over from their kiss the night before. Éponine glances at the spot where Cosette had her pressed against the counter, and feels her cheeks heat. When she looks at Cosette, her head is bent over the strawberries again, but there’s colour high in her cheekbones. 

“We don’t have to-” Éponine starts, the same time that Cosette looks up at her and says, “I was thinking about-” 

The two of them pause, and when neither of them start speaking again, they laugh slightly awkwardly. 

“You go,” Cosette says. She finishes cutting the strawberries, scooping them up in both hands and setting them in a bowl beside the chopping board. 

Éponine breathes deep, and continues. “We don’t have to talk about it,” she says, deliberately ignoring the swirling feeling of want in her stomach. “If you would rather forget that it ever happened.” 

Cosette looks up at her, her brow furrowed, a soft frown on her face. 

“Why would I want to forget that it happened?” she asks, sounding genuinely confused. 

Éponine is saved from answering by the creak of floorboards behind her, and Enjolras arrives into the kitchen, muffling a yawn into the back of his hand. 

“Morning!” Éponine says a bit too loudly, trying to ignore the way Cosette is still looking at her. “How’s your hangover? Are you going to be able to handle this flight today?” 

“I’m sure I’ll manage,” he says in a sleepy mumble. He joins Éponine beside the coffee pot, pouring a large cup and running a hand through his hair as he stifles another yawn. He looks around the kitchen with a frown, and asks, “Where is everyone?” 

His question finally gets Cosette to stop frowning, and she looks at him with a gleeful smile. 

“Mom went to Aix for lunch with some people. Dad went into the office. They’re both furious with you, given that you essentially told dad to fuck off last night. They’re both refusing to say goodbye to you as a form of protest.”

Enjolras blinks, and then smiles widely. “Wait, really?” 

“Really,” Cosette confirms. “I don’t think they realise that it’s literally the opposite of a punishment for you. Maribelle has been and gone too, so it’s just us.” She bends down and produces a shallow pan from one of the kitchen cupboards. “When’s your flight?” 

“Antonin is picking us up in two hours,” Enjolras answers. He finishes his coffee and immediately pours another cup. Éponine wonders if she should be concerned about his caffeine intake; maybe she should rat him out to Combeferre. 

“Good,” Cosette says. “I’m going to make crepes.” 

Éponine doesn’t know what she was expecting, but it wasn’t for Enjolras to get a slightly panicked look on his face. 

“Really?” he says. “You don’t have to, we can find something else-” He’s silenced a moment later with a glare from Cosette. 

Éponine doesn’t really understand what’s going on, but it becomes abundantly clear ten minutes later, when Cosette sets her crepe down in front of her, and she bites into it. It tastes…bitter, and slightly like charcoal.  

Éponine lifts the crepe with a fork and peers underneath. The underside is black, which- She’s pretty sure it’s not supposed to look like that. 

She wasn’t going to say anything out of politeness, but Enjolras clearly has no such qualms, because he bites into one, pulls a face, and says, “Cosette, you know you burnt them, right?” 

“I did?” Cosette asks, but her face goes a deep red, like she already knew it. 

Éponine looks between Cosette and Enjolras, who is looking at her with a bemused expression, and puts two and two together. 

“Oh my god, neither of you can cook, you privileged fucking rich kids,” she says with a disbelieving snort. Cosette buries her face in her hands, blushing to the tips of her ears, and it’s adorable, but that’s not the matter at hand. Enjolras simply shrugs, looking unapologetic. 

“Okay, nope, I’ve had enough,” Éponine says, standing up and glancing at the clock on the wall. They don’t have to leave for nearly another two hours, they have time. She gathers the eggs, milk, and other ingredients and stands in front of the pan, using a spatula to scrape off the little burnt bits left by Cosette’s attempt. “The two of you are learning how to make crepes. It’s a basic fucking life skill.” 

“I can see why you were scared of her,” Cosette mutters to Enjolras, who nods solemnly. 

With Enjolras and Cosette’s parents out of the house, not able to burst in and bother them at any moment, it’s evident that it’s much easier for the three of them to relax. Éponine stands over Cosette and Enjolras as they crack eggs and mix, waving a wooden spoon at them threateningly and dictating. 

When the crepes are finished, they’re at least edible. Éponine will take it for now. 

The three of them sit around the kitchen table, eating breakfast and working their way through a new pot of coffee. Every so often, Éponine will look across the table at Cosette, and find her staring back. Every time they make eye contact, Cosette glances quickly at Enjolras and averts her gaze. 

The fourth or fifth time this happens, Enjolras rolls his eyes, standing up and taking his mug and plate to the sink, and says, “Oh my god, Cosette. I know. ” 

“Know?” Cosette repeats questionably. Éponine sees the moment when his meaning dawns on her, because she splutters indelicately into her mug and turns in her seat to glare at him. “You know ?!” 

“Éponine told me,” he says, seemingly more interested in cleaning his plate and mug than Cosette’s interrogation. 

Cosette turns around to face Éponine, a betrayed look on her face, her cheeks a deep red. “You told him?” 

Éponine feels her own face heat as well. “I thought he’d be too drunk to remember?” 

Enjolras snorts. When he looks over his shoulder at the two of them, still sitting at the table, he looks like he’s trying not to laugh at them both. 

“I hope the two of you have more chemistry than me and Éponine anyway,” he says, and then he ducks out of the room with a laugh when Cosette makes an indignant squawking noise and throws a leftover strawberry at him. It bounces off the closed door. 

“To be fair,” Éponine says, when the kitchen falls into a silence. “Having now made out with both of you, I definitely have more chemistry with you. Enjolras and I kissing is like trying to force two magnets together. I’m surprised we haven’t bounced away from each other and hit the opposite wall at any point.” 

She was hoping to make Cosette laugh, but she doesn’t. She’s frowning softly at Éponine, that same frown she had on her face before Enjolras had joined them. When she doesn’t say anything, Éponine snaps, “What?”, hearing the defensiveness in her own voice. 

Cosette folds her arms over her chest, leaning them on the edge of the table, and says, “Why would you think I’d want to forget about it?”

Éponine opens her mouth to respond, and then realises she doesn’t know what to say. She shuts it again, and settles on a helpless shrug. 

“Éponine?” Cosette prompts, raising an eyebrow. It makes her look uncannily like Enjolras, which- Éponine doesn’t want to think about Enjolras right now. 

“I just-” Éponine sighs. “I don’t want you to feel like you have to keep hanging around me, when you come to Paris. You’d finally be out from underneath your parents’ control and I want you to be able to have fun . Not feel, like- tied down by some girl who pretended to date your brother for a week.” 

Cosette blinks, and then raises her eyebrow, looking at Éponine with an unamused expression. After a moment, she says bluntly, “Well, that’s stupid.”

Éponine snorts despite herself. “It is?” 

“ Yes,” Cosette says firmly. “I meant what I said last night. I like you, and I’d like to see you again.” Something in her face falls. “I mean, unless you didn’t mean it. It’s fine if you didn’t, I can-” 

“No!” Éponine practically shouts, so loudly that Cosette flinches the slightest bit. “I meant it too, of course I did. I just-” She swallows. “I also mean all the stuff I just said, about you having fun and not feeling tied down.” 

Cosette blinks at her across the table, and then a slow smile spreads across her face. She leans forward, and slides her hand into Éponine’s. 

“I can work with that,” she says slowly. “I want to keep seeing you. Do you?” 

Éponine nods wordlessly. 

“Okay, cool,” Cosette’s smile gets wider. “We can still see each other. And I promise to have fun, if you promise not to tie me down.” 

Éponine understands what Cosette is saying, and the realisation settles on her chest like a warm, comfortable weight, which she’s assuming is a good sign. She smiles, and twists the hand still being held by Cosette, so they’re holding hands properly. 

“I would really, really like that,” she says, soft and honest. 

“Good,” Cosette says, and then she leans across the table and presses a firm kiss to Éponine’s lips. Éponine reaches up with her free hand and tangles it in Cosette’s long hair. 

“If I come in, am I going to witness something that will make me want to bleach my brain?” Enjolras calls from the hallway. 

They break apart, and Cosette sighs and rests her forehead against Éponine’s. “Oh my god, I hate him.” 

Éponine snorts. “No, you don’t.” 

Cosette gives a loud, long-suffering sigh, but she’s smiling as she says, “No, I don’t.” 

***

It feels like no time at all before she and Enjolras are standing on the steps outside the entrance of the house, their bags in the back of the car. Enjolras and Cosette’s parents hadn’t come back to the house for the rest of their time there, which she thinks all three of them are wildly grateful for. 

Cosette has her arms tight around herself, and she’s smiling, but there’s something strange and tight-lipped about it. Éponine feels guilt swirling in her chest, at the thought of her and Enjolras leaving, and Cosette staying in that big, empty house by herself, waiting for her parents to get home. 

Her guilt makes her hesitate, unsure, but Cosette simply rolls her eyes and grabs one of her hands, pulling her in for a hug. 

“I know the two of you are dirty liars,” she says into Éponine’s hair, “But I don’t care. It meant I got to meet you, so I see it as a win.” 

Éponine laughs, and pulls back a little bit, so she can smile at Cosette, and she makes sure to maintain eye contact when she says, “I’ll see you when you get to Paris, yeah?” She wants that, wants Cosette to know how serious she is about it. 

Cosette smiles so widely her eyes crinkle in the corners. “You will,” she confirms. Earlier on, after breakfast, she’d asked for Éponine’s phone, and when she’d handed it back with a soft smile, there’d been a new contact. Cosette, with two emojis beside it- a pink flower, and a bat. 

Cosette glances at Enjolras, who conveniently seems extremely interested in his phone, and to the car, Antonin sitting in the driver’s seat staring out the front window, and then presses a quick, fleeting kiss to the corner of Éponine’s lips, too fast for her to react to it. 

Éponine grins in response, and hitches her bag further up on her shoulder. “I’ll see you soon,” she promises Cosette, and then walks down the stone steps leading to the driveway, slipping into the backseat of the car and closing the door. 

She watches from her window as Cosette and Enjolras exchange their own goodbye. They hug for a long time, much longer than she and Cosette did, her dark head nestled against his shoulder. She pulls back, and he says something to her, his brow furrowed, an unhappy frown on his face. Cosette frowns as he speaks, and then she responds, and, with a sudden grin, reaches up and ruffles his hair like he’s a little kid, laughing when he makes an indignant noise, so loud Éponine can hear it through the window. 

They hug once more, and then Enjolras pulls away and walks down the steps, an oddly set expression on his face. He opens the door and gets in the back seat beside Éponine, slamming the door a little bit harder than necessary. 

And then Antonin starts the car’s engine, and they’re pulling away from the front door. Éponine glances out the back window just in time to see Cosette give one last wave, before stepping into the house again and closing the door behind her. 

And just like that, the week is over, and they’ve both survived. 

Éponine looks away from her window and to Enjolras. He’s not looking at her, staring silently at the trees on the drive as the car heads down the driveway and out the iron gates at the front. Éponine doesn’t really know if he wants to be left alone or not, but she risks reaching across and nudging his shoulder lightly. 

“Hey,” she says softly, “You okay?” 

He jolts slightly, and Éponine pretends not to notice when he hastily rearranges the morose  expression on his face into a tight smile that she knows instantly he doesn’t wholly mean. 

“Yeah, yeah. I’m fine. I just-” he glances at Antonin in the front seat, and then says in a low voice, “I just hate leaving her there.” 

Éponine nods, smiling sadly. She reaches down and squeezes his hand quickly. “I know.”

“It’s weird as well,” Enjolras says, his voice still quiet. “That's probably one of the last times I’ll ever be in that house. I don’t care, but-” He stops, and then huffs a breath, ruffling the longer hairs curling towards his forehead. He gives Éponine a guilty looking smile. “Well. Maybe I care a little bit.” 

Éponine remembers packing up and leaving the apartment she’d shared with her parents and siblings, after her parents had been arrested, just before the three of them had moved to the foster home. The way the leftover feelings of dread and unhappiness and anxiety had mingled with something that had felt oddly like loss. 

“I think it would be weird if you didn’t,” she assures him. “And…I get it. Even though I know they’re safer there than anywhere else they’ve been, every time I leave Gavroche and Azelma at Lawrence and Jane’s, I wonder if I’m doing the right thing. I worry about them until I can see them again.”

Enjolras nods in understanding. Éponine doesn’t intend to say what she says next, but she just knows she wants to take that sad, conflicted look off Enjolras’ face. 

“You should meet them,” she says. 

Enjolras’ eyebrows knit together as he frowns. “What?” 

“Gav and Azelma,” she explains. “You should meet them. They’re horrible little shits, Gavroche will probably pick pocket you and Azelma will be on her phone the whole time and will only look up to be judgemental. But…It could be fun. And I’ll make Gavroche give you back whatever he steals off you, I swear.” 

“You’d really want me to meet them?” Enjolras asks, looking bemused. 

Éponine nods. “Sure. They already know Grantaire really well anyway. It’s about time he introduced you.” 

Enjolras smiles then, small but genuine. “Okay, yeah,” he says, nodding. “We can do that. Sounds good.” 

Éponine smiles too. “Good.” She turns her face away from him, going back to staring out the window. She and Enjolras don’t speak again for the rest of the drive, but it feels comfortable, like going home. 

***

Éponine falls asleep for the duration of the plane journey, only waking up with a jolt when she feels the bump of the wheels touching tarmac. She’s twisted in an awkward shape in the small chair, and her cheek is resting on Enjolras’ shoulder beside her. She can feel the weight of his cheek on the top of her head, and judging by the confused noise he makes when the plane touches down, he’d been asleep too. 

The late night from the wedding, not to mention the journey and the events of the week, is catching up with her, and she lifts her head off Enjolras’ shoulder slowly, rubbing a hand across her face before muffling a yawn into the same hand, feeling exhausted. At this point, she’s just glad she didn’t drool on him. 

“Grantaire is waiting in the arrivals lounge for us,” Enjolras assures her. He looks almost as tired as Éponine feels, but when she smiles, elated at the thought of being home, he grins back. 

When Éponine steps into the arrivals lounge, the first thing she sees is Grantaire leaning against a pillar, a short distance away from where most people are reuniting. He has his usual shit-eating grin on his face and is proudly holding a white sign reading ‘ Mr and Mrs Enjolras-Thenardier’ . 

Éponine is going to murder him one of these days, honestly. 

Éponine hears the moment when Enjolras sees Grantaire, the small, elated gasp of happiness he makes. She sees, too, the moment when Grantaire sees Enjolras too, his face splitting into an unabashed and familiar grin, all crinkled eyes and dimples. 

"Shit, Apollo, aren't you a sight for sore- Oof!" Grantaire's words are cut off when Enjolras strides up to him, abandoning both his bags at his feet, and throws his arms around his neck. There’s a small moment where Grantaire is frozen, and then an arm wraps securely around Enjolras’ waist, holding him tightly, and Grantaire’s stupid joke sign is abandoned as his other hand comes up and cradles the back of his head, buried in the short hair. 

Éponine hangs back, letting them have their moment. When their moment starts to go on for a bit too long- not to mention when Grantaire's hand starts to creep towards Enjolras' ass- she yells, "Hey! Can we get out of here please?!"

The two of them manage to pull away from each other, and Grantaire is grinning as he pulls her in for a rough, one armed hug. 

"Hey dude," he says into her neck, because she's taller than him and always has been, "Missed you." 

"Mm-hm," Éponine pats him awkwardly on the shoulder, "Please don't express it in the same way you did to Enjolras." 

Grantaire laughs and pulls away from her, turning back to Enjolras, who appears to be trying to arrange his hair into some sort of order again. He reaches out and cups Enjolras' face in his hands, brow furrowed in concern. 

"You look…Surprisingly well adjusted for someone who just spent a week with his parents," he says, mildly surprised. He lets go and reaches down, lifting one of Enjolras' bags off the ground and slotting an arm around his shoulders. The three of them start walking in a line towards the exit to the car park. 

Enjolras gives a small, but genuine, smile. "You have Éponine to thank for that," he says, "She was fantastic, kept me sane all week." 

Éponine snorts, embarrassed. “Dude, don’t give me too much credit. I didn’t do that much. I nearly got myself kicked out two days ago.” 

“Really?” Grantaire asks with a small laugh as he unlocks his car. “Why? What happened?” 

Enjolras and Éponine make eye contact over the top of the car, and Enjolras gives a barely perceptible shake of the head. Éponine gets it. Telling Grantaire exactly what Enjolras’ mother thinks of him wouldn’t achieve anything, outside of upsetting him. 

“Just my mom, being herself,” Enjolras summarises as he gets into the passenger seat, Éponine slotting in behind Grantaire’s seat. Thankfully, Grantaire accepts this with an eye roll, and Éponine sees him lean over and squeeze Enjolras’ knee briefly, just before he starts the car. 

"So,” Grantaire says as they pull out of the Charles de Gaulle parking lot, “Anything exciting happen at the wedding?"

"Nah," Enjolras says. 

"It was pretty boring, really," Éponine adds. 

There's a pause, where they're all in silence, apart from the sound of the radio. 

"Cosette and Éponine made out," Enjolras says mildly, because he's a traitor. 

Grantaire damn near crashes the car. 

***

The traffic is terrible, as is usually the case with central Paris, so it’s over an hour before the car pulls to a stop outside Éponine’s apartment building. Éponine looks out, at the graffitied walls and overflowing trash cans, and is amused to find that she’s already more comfortable than she’d been the entire week at Enjolras’ family’s massive mansion. 

“I’ll help you get your bag,” Enjolras says.

“Okay?” she says, confused. Éponine’s luggage isn’t exactly a two person job, but she decides not to argue, simply getting out of Grantaire’s car and stepping back and watching as Enjolras lifts her bag out of the trunk for her. 

“Thanks,” she says awkwardly when he hands it to her. 

Enjolras nods, his hand falling to his side limply. The two of them stare at each other for a moment, and then Éponine clears her throat, starting to turn towards the front door of her apartment building. 

"Éponine," Enjolras says suddenly. His hand reaches out and grips her arm. 

She turns to face him. "Yeah?"

He seems to hesitate for a moment, and then he sighs, and before she can say anything, he puts his arms around her in a hug, and she finds herself gripping him back on instinct. 

"Thank you," he says quietly. 

Éponine smiles into his shoulder, and pats him awkwardly on the back before withdrawing a bit. 

"Anytime," she tells him. 

Enjolras raises an eyebrow. "Really?" 

Éponine thinks on it for a second, and then shakes her head with a grin. "Actually, no. You can find someone else to be your fake girlfriend in future. I've done my time." 

Enjolras laughs. “Don’t worry, you’ve done more than enough. I’ll think of a different excuse next time.” 

“Cool,” Éponine smiles. “Something slightly less insane, maybe?” 

Enjolras grins back. “Maybe.” 

She laughs slightly, adjusting the bag on her shoulder. “I’ll see you around, Enj.” 

He nods. “Yeah, see you soon.” 

Éponine watches as he gets back into Grantaire’s car, and watches from the doorway as the two of them pull away, before going back to the comfortable familiarity of her apartment. 

***

Believe it or not, life goes back to normal pretty quickly. 

Éponine goes back to work, and other waitresses ask how her vacation was, and she smiles and tells them it was fun, the weather was great, the place she was staying had a pool. They don’t need to know any more than that, and the whole concept of the week was so strange that Éponine doesn’t think she could explain it if she tried. She sees Gavroche and Azelma again a few days later, picking them up from their foster parents’ apartment and taking them for milkshakes. They ask about her vacation and about Enjolras and his parents, and when Gavroche asks if Enjolras’ sister is nice, Éponine distracts them with the gifts she picked up in the airport- A savon de Marseille beauty pack for Azelma, and a chocolate bar bigger than Gavroche’s head. 

She goes to Les Amis meetings when she can, and marvels at the change in Enjolras between Paris and his hometown. Éponine understands why, of course, but it seems impossible to her that the strained, stressed person he’d been in Provence is the same person as the one who confidently chairs the Les Amis meetings, who laughs at Courfeyrac and Bossuet’s antics and yells into a megaphone about the injustices of the French government, who gives Marius legal advice when his asshole grandfather bothers him, and tells him to take no shit from him. 

Now, sometimes when she goes to the apartment to visit Grantaire, she doesn’t wait until she knows he’ll be home. She’ll go around when it’s convenient and press the intercom, and Enjolras will let her in and the two of them will drink coffee at the kitchen table while they wait for him, chatting amicably. It’s different. It’s nice. 

“How was Cosette’s birthday?” she asks him, a month after they get back from Provence. 

“Not too bad, all things considered. She’s just preparing to move, I’m pretty sure she’s already packed most of her stuff for something to do,” he replies. He frowns at her, his head tilted slightly to the side. “Why haven’t you asked her yourself?” 

“Well,” Éponine looks down, becoming extremely interested in a whorl of wood on the kitchen table. “I have not exactly…been in contact with her. As such.” 

When she looks up, Enjolras is staring at her, one eyebrow raised. She maintains eye contact with him for ten seconds, and then snaps, “ What ?” defensively. 

“Just text her, you useless lesbian,” Enjolras berates. “She’s been asking about you.”

“Hm,” Éponine stares down at the table, doubt clawing at her belly. 

“Éponine,” Enjolras says, and there’s a firmness in his tone that makes her look away from the table and to him instead. Enjolras stands, lifting his own mug and reaching across the table for Éponine’s too. 

“She likes you,” he says simply. He walks to the coffee machine, refilling both mugs. He sets the fresh cup in front of her and stands back, leaning against the counter. “And that’s really none of my business. But I’m going to ask that you don’t fuck that up.” 

Éponine blinks. Even after everything she said on their last morning in Provence, it’s hard to believe that Cosette- beautiful, funny, sweet-natured Cosette- wants anything to do with her. It doesn’t make sense. 

But maybe it doesn’t have to. 

“Okay, fine,” she says. And then, because she knows how she would feel if she was in Enjolras’ position, she adds, “I promise I won’t.” 

Enjolras holds eye contact with her for a moment, and then nods approvingly. “Thank you.” 

Éponine gives him the sweetest smile she can. “Call me a useless lesbian again and I’ll throw my mug at you.” 

Enjolras snorts a laugh, but before he can open his mouth to respond, his phone, lying silent on the kitchen counter, starts ringing. He glances at the screen, and whatever is on it makes him scowl. He cancels the call without hesitation. 

“Mom or dad?” Éponine asks. 

Enjolras sighs, pushing a hand through his hair, longer since they got back from Provence, warily. 

“Dad,” he answers. “I think he’s finally looked up from his work for long enough to notice the date, and has realised that I graduated last month. It’s been constant. ” 

Éponine snorts. “He still thinks he’s going to get you into his law firm? Is he completely delusional?” 

“Éponine,” Enjolras says, his eyes wide, “He believed you and I were dating. The answer is obviously yes. ”

***

In early September, Éponine falls asleep after her shift, and wakes up to realise that she’s running late for the Les Amis meeting. She gets ready as quickly as she can, but she still ends up walking into the Musain around twenty minutes late, slipping in quietly at the back so she doesn’t disturb the meeting. 

It’s not until she’s sitting down that she notices two notable absences: Enjolras and Grantaire. 

She frowns. Grantaire hadn’t mentioned he wasn’t going to the meeting, and there’s very few things in life that keep Enjolras from the ABC. It’s out of character, to say the least. After the meeting has concluded, she makes her way to the front of the room and taps Combeferre, who has been running the meeting in Enjolras’ absence, on the shoulder. 

When he turns, she says, “Hey. Where are Enjolras and Grantaire?”

For a brief second, something in his face tightens, and then he says calmly, because Combeferre is always calm, “They went down to Provence for a few days.” 

“Provence?” Éponine says, confused. “Why do they-” 

The date occurs to her at that moment, and she falls silent. 

Combeferre continues, obviously not realising that Éponine has worked out the reason for herself. 

“Cosette starts at Ecole Normale next week,” he says. “They’re helping her move out. And,” He frowns deeply, a furrow in his brow. “Enjolras needed to talk to his parents too.” 

She swallows. “Have you heard from him?” 

He shakes his head. “They left this morning, and they were driving down. It’ll probably be a few hours before I hear from him, but I think they were going straight to his parents’. So,” Combeferre stops speaking, hesitates, and then settles for an unhappy looking shrug. “Hopefully I’ll hear from him soon.” 

Éponine nods, unsure of what else to say. She likes Combeferre well enough, but she doesn’t really spend a lot of time in one-on-one conversation with him. Saying that, she hadn’t spent a lot of time in one-on-one conversation with Enjolras six months ago, and that’s working out surprisingly well, so. Maybe she should try. 

She gives Combeferre an awkward smile and says, “Well, okay. Let me know if I can help with anything.” 

Combeferre blinks at her, obviously surprised, before his face settles into a smile back at her, warm and pleasant. 

“Okay, I’ll let you know,” he says, nodding. “Thank you, Éponine. He’ll appreciate that.” 

***

Two weeks later, she’s waiting in a bar for Grantaire. She’d barely heard from him for most of September, and Éponine had largely let him be, letting him deal with whatever the fuck is going on, but he’d finally contacted her earlier that week. Things had been kind of crazy, he’d said, but did she want to meet for a drink? Éponine always wants to meet Grantaire anywhere, so of course she’d said yes. 

The bar Grantaire had picked was a weird choice, very far removed from the grimy dives with cheap liquor they usually favour, or the bar he works in where they get free shots. It’s some brightly lit student place, American-style, with arcade games and dance mats and fishbowl cocktails in a variety of colours. 

Éponine looks around the bar questionably, and then shrugs. Well, whatever. At least there’s alcohol. She slips onto a stool in the corner and orders a beer. 

Grantaire’s reason for the choice of bar becomes clear when he finally arrives. It clearly wasn’t his choice at all, given that Éponine realises he’s arrived when she hears a shout of her name, followed by a figure barrelling into her at full speed and wrapping her in a quite inescapable hug. And then the smell of lavender. 

“Wait, what the fuck? Cosette?! ” 

“Hi!” she says excitedly. She pulls back slightly, but keeps her arms tight around Éponine’s neck, and she’s smiling so wide her eyes are crinkling at the corners. “Happy to see me?” 

Éponine laughs, and pulls her in again, burying her face in her hair. “Yes,” she says sincerely. “I didn’t even know you were coming.” 

“Yeah,” Grantaire appears beside them then, a smug grin on his face, and Enjolras is there too, holding Grantaire’s hand and looking like he’s struggling to suppress a smile of his own.

“Sorry I didn’t tell you it wasn’t just the two of us,” Grantaire says, “But I figured it would be a nice surprise for you.” He gives her a very exaggerated wink, which Cosette would have to be blind to miss, and Éponine makes a mental note to punch him in the face later. 

Cosette unwraps one of her arms from around Éponine’s neck in order to wave her middle finger in Grantaire’s face. 

“Stop being a dick,” she tells him sweetly, “And get me and Ép a drink.” 

“Jesus,” Grantaire mumbles under his breath, but Éponine can tell he’s trying not to laugh. “It runs in the family, then.” 

“Excuse me?” Enjolras says innocently, raising an eyebrow, and Grantaire grins and stands on his toes to press a kiss to his cheek. 

“Nothing, darling,” he says sweetly, and then breaks away from their group, heading in the direction of the bar. “Can you guys find a table?” 

The three of them find a table in the corner of the bar, and it’s only slightly sticky with spilt drinks. Éponine notes, as the three of them wipe it clean, that Enjolras looks tired, deep purple shadows under his eyes, and a little bit paler than normal. 

“Hey,” she murmurs as Cosette goes to the bar to dispose of the napkins they’d used, “Are you okay?” 

He blinks at her, as if he hadn’t expected her to ask, and then shrugs. “I’m okay. Just tired. There’s been- I’ve had a lot going on.” He looks over Éponine’s shoulder, and then he shakes his head minutely. Éponine understands why a moment later, because Cosette is back, sitting down at the table and tugging Éponine down next to her. 

Éponine exchanges a look with Enjolras. They’ll talk later. 

“How are you liking Paris?” she asks Cosette instead, turning to her. She smiles, and reaches up, giving the end of Cosette’s hair a small tug. “I love your new hair.” Cosette’s hair is cut into a short, choppy style, and is now a deep purple rather than her natural chestnut brown. 

“Thanks!” she says brightly. She does a little flick of her head, which makes Éponine grin wider. Cosette gives Enjolras a salty look, but it’s clear she’s joking. “I tried to get Enj to do it with me, but he wouldn’t commit.” 

“Purple washes me out,” he says drily. Grantaire comes back with their drinks, sinking into the chair next to Enjolras, and grinning at Enjolras’ comment. 

Éponine sits back in her chair as Cosette starts telling her about university, letting the comfortable feeling of being with her friends wash over her. 

***

She doesn’t get the chance to talk to Enjolras alone until later in the night, when Cosette, eyes wide and cheeks flushed pink with alcohol, had challenged Grantaire to one of the arcade games dotted around the bar. The two of them are huddled around the Pacman machine, and every so often Grantaire throws his head back and laughs at something Cosette says.

“They’re going to ruin my life, aren’t they?” Enjolras voice says behind her, and when she turns he’s grinning, holding a beer out to her. She takes it and clinks the bottle neck lightly against his. 

“Almost certainly.” 

“Want to get some air?” he asks her. “Cosette is eyeing the dance machine and I’m scared.” 

Éponine laughs and gets to her feet, walking to the side door that leads to the smoking area and shouldering it open, holding it so Enjolras can step out after her. The two of them lean against the wall, their shoulders just brushing, and pull out their respective cigarettes and lighters. Once lit, they stand in comfortable silence, listening to the music blasting from the bar.

Éponine is waiting for Enjolras to speak, and after a moment, he does. “So, guess what?”

Éponine turns to him and narrows her eyes. “What? And before you say anything, I’m telling you now, I am not attending any more weddings as your fictional girlfriend.” 

Enjolras snorts. “No, nothing like that. Although it’s not necessarily unrelated.” He finishes his cigarette, throwing it into a nearby trash can. 

Éponine is about to ask again, but she doesn’t have to. 

“I came out,” Enjolras says curtly.

Éponine nods. “I thought you might have,” she says cautiously. 

“It was always the plan,” he says. His expression has changed, settling into a thoughtful frown. Now that he doesn’t have a cigarette to occupy his hands, he’s very intently examining the label on his bottle of beer, picking at it idly with a thumbnail.  “I did it when we went down to help Cosette move. Grantaire brought his car, so,” His lips twitch. “We had a quick getaway, anyway.”

“And, uh. How did it go?” she asks, although she’s pretty sure she’s fairly confident of the answer. 

Sure enough, Enjolras snorts humorlessly. 

“Oh, about as well as expected,” he says. “They thought I was joking at first, which was just exhausting. I must have spent about fifteen minutes just convincing them that I wasn’t making it up. And then they finally started to believe me and that’s when I became a shame to the family and a sick, disgusting person and a horrible influence on my sister. My mom cried a whole bunch; it was embarrassing. They gave me and Grantaire a week to move out of the apartment, which was surprisingly generous all things considered.” He finally succeeds in ripping the label off his bottle, and curls it into a ball in his fist. “So yeah. Pretty much what I expected.”

“They kicked you out?” Éponine asks, a pang of mixed sympathy and anger throbbing in his stomach. She knows she shouldn’t be shocked; one week with Alexandre and Hermine had told her everything she needed to know about the kind of people that they are. 

But…Maybe a small part of her hoped that they would surprise her. 

Enjolras nods in confirmation. “They kicked us out.” 

“Shit, Enjolras,” Éponine says softly, “That sucks. I’m sorry.” 

“I expected it,” he says again. 

“That doesn’t mean it doesn’t suck,” she counters. 

Enjolras looks at her, a soft frown on his face, and for a moment he looks once again like the cowed, unhappy person he’d been in Provence. After a moment, he nods in agreement. 

“Yeah. It sucks a lot.” 

Éponine swallows. “Have you guys got an apartment sorted now?” 

Enjolras nods. "It was hard, for a few weeks. We’d already been looking for places in preparation, but we weren't able to find somewhere as fast as we thought. I had to camp on Courfeyrac and Marius' sofa for a few days. R went to Joly and Bossuet's." He looks up at the night sky, his mouth tight, as if the memory is somewhat painful for him to recall. "But we've got somewhere near Oberkampf, now. There's no spare room for Grantaire to have an art studio anymore. But it's fine. It's quiet, it's clean." He smiles softly. "It's ours."

She knows she should feel happy, knowing that Enjolras and Grantaire are safe in their own place now, but the thought of the two of them being- for however brief a period- homeless, kind of makes her want to cry. 

Enjolras is grimacing, obviously having worked out what is going through her head. 

“I'm sorry that we didn't tell you,” he says. “For one, we just didn’t really have time to tell anyone, in between apartment viewings and everything. It was just-” He closes his eyes, seems to deflate in front of Éponine's eyes. “It's been a lot, honestly.” 

Éponine nods. “I know. I know it has.” She hesitates, and then asks, “Do you want a hug?” Her voice comes out sounding awkward, but the question is genuine. 

He laughs shakily. "Honestly, I can't really deal with anyone being nice to me right now. There's a good chance that if you hug me, I'll cry. I don't think either of us want that." 

The two of them fall into silence, but neither of them make any move to go back inside, despite the chill in the autumn air. Éponine lights another cigarette, Enjolras declining when she offers him the packet. 

“How's Cosette been dealing with- you know.” Éponine waves her arm vaguely, and then decides not to beat around the bush. “Your mom and dad kicking you out because they're homophobic assholes?” 

He shrugs. “She’s been really good about it all. They’ve been trying to contact her in any way they can, but she pretty much has them blocked on everything now.” His lip curls like he’s trying not to laugh. “ And, she lied to them about the university dorms she’s signed up for. So even if they show up in Paris and try to track her down, they can’t. And they don’t know where I am either, so. No more unannounced visits. They actually-” He cuts himself off suddenly, then sighs deeply as he reaches into his jacket pocket, his packet of cigarettes and his lighter emerging. “They called me, the day after we left. They all but accused me of kidnapping her, and they were going on about calling the police or whatever. And then Cosette grabbed the phone out of my hand and reminded them that she was with me out of choice, and since she’s now legally an adult and they have no jurisdiction over her anymore, the police can’t do a thing even if they do call them.” He rolls his eyes, and takes a deep inhale of the cigarette in his hand, blowing the smoke up towards the night sky. “They’re pathetic. But we haven’t heard from them since.” 

“Wow,” Éponine says, drawing the word out. “You weren’t lying when you said it’s been a lot.” 

Enjolras huffs a heavy breath out. “I really wasn’t.” He looks at Éponine, and, to her surprise, he looks like he’s trying to hold back laughter. 

“Believe it or not,” he says, "They actually brought you up in the middle of it all." 

Éponine nearly chokes on her beer. "Wait, really?" 

"Yeah  seriously. They were all 'Oh, but Éponine is such a nice girl. What would she think if she knew all this? She's so nice and you're going to ruin everything with her.' Like, please. They hated you, they weren't exactly subtle about it."

"Oh my god," Éponine chokes out through her laughter. " Please tell me you told them I'm a lesbian."

"Éponine, they were already angry and confused. Of course I told them you're a lesbian." 

And then something breaks, and the two of them are laughing, loud and long, echoing around the empty smoking area. Éponine leans back against the wall and rests her cheek on Enjolras’ shoulder, choking on her laughter, and she feels his shoulder shaking under her. 

“Oh my god,” Enjolras says, breathless with laughter. He wipes his hands across his cheeks, wiping away his tears of laughter. “Fuck. That’s-” He pauses then, a furrow in his brow, and then continues, “That’s the first time I’ve been able to laugh about all this. I haven’t exactly been much fun to be around recently.” 

Éponine grimaces in sympathy. “Oh, Enj.” 

“It's fine,” he says, the expression on his face fixed. “I'm fine. Or, you know,” he looks at Éponine and offers a guilty shrug. “I will be.” 

“You will be.” Éponine repeats, certainty in her voice. “And Enj?” 

He looks at her. 

“We don’t fucking need them,” she tells him fiercely, because Éponine feels like she doesn’t know much sometimes but she knows that for certain. 

Enjolras stares at her for a moment, and then nods firmly and smiles. The two of them don't say anything, just clink their beer bottles lightly against each other's. 

“Hey,” Grantaire says, swinging open the door to the smoking area, followed by Cosette. “You two have been gone for ages. Have the two of you been making out out here?” 

“Yes,” Éponine and Enjolras say drily and in unison, without looking at each other. 

“Knew there was something going on between you,” Grantaire says. He stands beside Enjolras, reaching up and tucking a rogue curl behind his ear. He keeps his usual sharp grin on his face, but his eyes are serious when he asks Enjolras, “You okay?”

Enjolras smiles back, small but genuine, and reaches up, wrapping his hand around Grantaire's wrist and pulling it down so they're holding hands instead. 

“I'm okay,” he says. “Ép and I were just catching up.”

Grantaire snorts. “Oh yeah, it’s been a fun few weeks.” He shares a meaningful look with Éponine, and she knows they need to talk. But one glance at Cosette’s face, the tight, unhappy set of her mouth and the way she’s looking at Enjolras with concern, tells Éponine that it can wait, at least for tonight. She gives Grantaire a barely perceptible shake of the head. 

Grantaire raises an eyebrow, but then he nods too, and tugs lightly on Enjolras’ hand. 

“Want another drink?” he asks, and Enjolras smiles softly and lets Grantaire pull him back inside, leaving Éponine and Cosette together in the smoking area. 

The look on Cosette’s face is still slightly tense, so Éponine says “Don’t worry. I’m not going to make you talk about it.” 

“Good,” Cosette leans back against the wall beside Éponine, and for a moment she looks every bit as tired and world-weary as Enjolras had. “I don’t want to talk about it anymore, not tonight anyway.” The look on her face changes, becoming slightly mischievous, and she nudges Éponine lightly in the side. “I’d rather talk about you instead.” 

“Me?” Éponine questions, raising an eyebrow. 

“Mm-hm,” Cosette hums in agreement, looking up at Éponine through her eyelashes. “What are you doing tomorrow?” 

“Uh,” Éponine frowns, trying to remember her schedule. “I’m working at five, but apart from that I’m free.” 

“Cool,” Cosette smiles, bright and lovely. “Why don’t we go on a date? I’m allowed to do that now.” 

Éponine feels her face splitting into a silly, elated smile, and for once, she doesn’t try to hold it back. “Okay, let’s do it. Tell me your real address, and I’ll take you to my favourite burger spot in Paris.” 

“Oh cool,” Cosette pushes herself off the wall to stand in front of Éponine instead, taking a step closer so they’re almost pressed together. “I love burgers.” 

“Yeah.” Before she can think about it too much, Éponine reaches out with her left hand and intertwines their fingers. “I know you do.”

Chapter Text

As the weather starts to turn colder, Éponine changes her weekly milkshake meet-up with Gavroche and Azelma to hot chocolate instead. It’s simply too cold for milkshakes, and it’s not like either of them are going to complain about it. 

It’s mid-December, and Paris is horrendously busy, the three of them dodging in and out of crowds of Christmas shoppers and winter tourists. Éponine has a tight grip on Gavroche’s shoulder, which she can tell he’s feeling indignant about, but she can only imagine what Lawrence and Jane would say if she managed to lose him. 

Eventually, they reach the place they’d decided to go to, a cramped bookshop/cafe in Le Marais that Jehan is fond of. When they walk in, Éponine looks around, but doesn’t see anyone familiar. 

“They must be late too,” she tells Gavroche and Azelma as she leads the three of them to one of the bigger tables in the corner of the cafe, removing her hat and scarf as she speaks. When her siblings are settled, Éponine goes to the counter and orders three hot chocolates. As Gavroche and Azelma bicker- as usual- Éponine sits quietly, eating whipped cream with a spoon. 

She’s nervous. She’s never taken this step before with anyone else, of letting them meet her siblings. She’s never really had a relationship serious enough to bother. 

On cue, she hears the ringing of the bell above the door into the cafe. Enjolras and Cosette stand in the entrance, wrapped up in coats and scarves and hats, both their cheeks flushed pink from the cold. Enjolras spots them first and waves, smiling, and Cosette meets her eyes across the room and grins widely, grabbing Enjolras’ elbow and pulling him to where they’re sitting. 

“Sorry we’re late, there was a metro delay,” she says brightly, taking the seat opposite Éponine, Enjolras sinking down beside her. Cosette rolls her shoulders slightly, and the smile on her face is different; tense, like the smiles she used to give sometimes in Provence. Both Gavroche and Azelma are staring, and Éponine knows she can’t avoid introductions anymore, so clears her throat. 

“Gav, Azelma,” she starts, trying to keep her voice steady, “This is Cosette, my-” She hesitates, and catches Cosette’s eye. She smiles softly, nodding encouragingly. 

“My girlfriend,” she finishes, and Cosette beams. 

“And this is Enjolras,” Éponine continues, feeling her face heat up despite how much she doesn’t want it to. “My-” 

“Your boyfriend ,” Gavroche cuts in in a snide voice, and Éponine hesitates for only the barest of seconds before smacking him on the back of the head, which is no more than he deserves. He yelps dramatically as he rubs it, and Cosette stifles a laugh into the back of her hand. 

“My friend ,” Éponine says firmly, still glaring at Gavroche. 

Enjolras gives Éponine a sympathetic looking smile. “How long have you been putting up with that?” 

“Six fucking months, dude, thanks to you,” Éponine answers, and Enjolras raises an eyebrow. 

“You started it,” he reminds her. 

“Well you perpetuated it,” she counters.

“See, this is why Grantaire keeps telling you two to stop flirting,” Cosette says with a stern look between the two of them. In fairness, it is uncannily similar to how Enjolras and Grantaire used to speak to each other, before they’d gotten their shit together. Accusing Éponine and Enjolras of flirting has become a running joke between Cosette and Grantaire, much to her and Enjolras’ chagrin. 

“Where is R?” Gavroche asks, craning his neck over Cosette and Enjolras’ shoulder as if Grantaire is going to magically appear from behind one of the bookshelves. 

Enjolras shrugs. “He had to work. He says he might see you guys later, if his shift isn’t too bad.” 

“Oh,” Gavroche’s face falls slightly. “I was going to show him this new game I got.” Beside him, Azelma rolls her eyes. Éponine imagines she’s been hearing a lot about this particular game at home. 

“You can show me, if you want,” Enjolras offers slightly awkwardly. Gavroche glances at Éponine, both asking for permission and asking something else, and she nods encouragingly without hesitation. 

It’s okay, she tries her best to convey silently. He’s a friend. 

Gavroche hesitates, and then drags his chair around beside Enjolras and pulls his phone out of his pocket, opening whatever it is he wants to show Enjolras. 

It’s slightly awkward at the start, Azelma and Gavroche still slightly unused to strangers, but they become more comfortable the longer the five of them sit there. Éponine notices as well that Cosette’s shoulders have relaxed out of their tense posture, and she considers the fact that she must have been as nervous to meet her siblings as Éponine was for them to meet her. The thought gives her a warm feeling in her chest. She gets it every time she’s forcibly reminded how good Cosette is, how much she cares. How much she cares about Éponine . 

“Your classes finish next week, right?” Éponine asks Cosette when the two of them get a moment for their own private conversation- Gavroche is still showing Enjolras whatever it is on his phone. Enjolras is looking at it with a bemused expression, but he’s asking questions, speaking to Gavroche like he’s an adult, and Éponine finds herself smiling at the two of them. Azelma is in the bookshop, browsing the fantasy section. She’s old enough to go off by herself of course, but Éponine finds herself keeping one eye on her out of instinct.  

“They do,” Cosette says. “I’m staying in my dorm for a few days, but most people are going home for the holidays. So I’m going to stay with Enj on the 23rd.” Enjolras glances up at the sound of his name. 

Éponine nods. “What are you two doing on the 25th?” 

Enjolras and Cosette look at each other and shrug in unison. 

“We’re kind of playing it by ear,” Cosette says. “This is the first year we’ll be-” She pauses, a furrow between her eyebrows. “-by ourselves. So I guess we’ll just have to…adapt?” 

“Grantaire’s going to be in Marseille,” Enjolras adds. “I think he’s going to come back up the day after.” 

“I mean,” Cosette fiddles with the napkin underneath her coffee cup, tearing the edge off and tearing that into smaller pieces, “It’s not like our traditional Christmases were brilliant fun or anything. Our parents used to throw these massive Christmas parties, and the dress code was formal, and everyone would be snooty and horrible. As usual.” 

Enjolras is watching Cosette thoughtfully now, and the furrow between his eyebrows matches hers. He nudges her arm lightly with his own. 

“Well, then our Christmas will be the opposite,” he offers. “Jumpers and sweatpants dress code only. And I’ll cook, which will no doubt end in disaster. It’ll be fun.” 

Cosette looks at Enjolras and smiles, nodding enthusiastically. Azelma joins them at the table again, but she’s still looking wistfully at the fantasy section of the bookshop, and Éponine makes a note to mention it to Jane or Lawrence next time she sees them. 

“You know,” she says on a whim. “If you really want to go for a non-traditional Christmas, the three of us are free that day too.”

Enjolras blinks at her. “Really?”  

Éponine nods. “The three of us don’t celebrate Christmas, but Lawrence and Jane do. So they asked if I wanted custody of the kids for the day.” Their family is culturally Muslim, and she’d been pleasantly surprised at the start of the month when Jane had called her, asking if she wanted Gavroche and Azelma to stay with her over the holidays. She’d also asked, slightly hesitantly, if it would be okay for her and Lawrence to get the two of them some presents, and Azelma and Gavroche had spent so many years with nothing; Éponine didn’t have the heart to turn her down. 

“I’m not a kid, ‘Ponine,” Azelma says in a voice of practiced patience. Éponine could roll her eyes at that, but really, Azelma is right. 

“They asked if I wanted to be with Gav and Azelma,” she concedes, and notices the small, pleased smile Azelma gives her. “But most things are going to be closed, so we’d just be hanging out in my apartment.” She grins and kicks Enjolras lightly under the table. “At least you’d have someone to help you cook.” 

“Oh thank god,” Relief floods Enjolras’ face. “There’s a good chance I could kill us both if I try to do it myself.” 

“I won’t let that happen,” Éponine says, and grins when Cosette mouths ‘Thank you’ at her frantically. 

The conversation has moved on- Cosette talking to Gavroche and Azelma about music- when Enjolras says “Hey,” across the table to her. 

“Yeah?” she says. 

“You really want to come to ours on the 25th?” he asks. “I doubt we’ll be doing anything exciting.” 

Éponine shrugs. “Yeah. The three of us won’t be doing anything, since most things tend to shut down anyways. At least this way the five of us can do nothing together.” She smiles. “You and Cosette can have your non-traditional Christmas, and Gav, Azelma and I can have our non-traditional completely normal day. And I’ll help you cook. I do not want you to poison my girlfriend.” 

Enjolras scoffs and says, “Oh fuck off,” incredulously, but he’s got a wide, genuine smile on his face, which Éponine can feel herself matching. 

And she realises, as the five of them sit around the cafe table, as Grantaire arrives an hour later looking tired but happy, as Cosette and Azelma chat about fantasy books and exchange recommendations, as Grantaire and Gavroche laugh at Enjolras’ complete inability to play whatever game Gavroche had been showing him earlier, as Cosette holds her hand under the table, that she’s happy. 

She’s happy, and she doesn’t need her parents to be happy. And, by that logic, Enjolras doesn’t need his. 

They have everything they need right here.