[A/N]: This is written in honor of the birthday of frustratedstudent, epic authoress of WAMP, ATR, and other ace Brick!AUs, today, April 25. Hope you like it! :)

April 25, 12: 00 A. M., Friday

People usually overwhelm themselves with the simplest of things.

But I am Enjolras, simple, independent, and divergent amongst my fellowmen and women.

Not that I am anyone supremely special as these people make me out to be.

No, honestly.

I mean, I do understand why they would openly gawk at me like I am sort of erected statue at the Louvre, but what that truly have to do with them being overwhelmed with me is utterly lost on me.

Sure, a pretty face gets you places, people, and positions.

BUT VANITY IS NOT EVERYTHING!

I vehemently despise it. I loathe it. I sometimes despise myself for it.

It is not always a good quality to have.

Usually, guys my age would bask in it, youth that we are. That is NOT a bad thing. I do not mind feeling a little vain with my, well, hair since I quite like it the way it is. But I do not think I need to put copious amounts of wax on it like Bahorel and Courfeyrac would. I think I would do more damage on it by doing that.

Like I said, it is not always good, especially when you get random women and girls patting it just because they say I look 'hot' with it. I think they're looking for trouble when they touch my hair. Now, I'm not being overly conscious. It's... just my hair, please. Leave it alone. I do not want to practice my chasse base to defend myself against unwanted, wandering, and offending hands.

Some men mistake me for a woman because of my hair, especially when my back is turned. That is actually a rather unintended compliment. To be thought of a woman sounds nice because most of the women I know are smart, pretty, cool, and badass like yeah. Like that American actress. What's her name again? Meryl Streep? Yeah, that woman. So, yeah, it isn't so bad.

EXCEPT WHEN THEY TRY TO DO THINGS AND INVITE ME TO DO... STUFF. WHICH I DO NOT REALLY CONSENT TO. SO I BACK OFF.

Sorry.

I would rather refuse. I still don't understand that kind of relationship, so I just shy away and respect those who have a connection like that because they're people just like you and me and well, you know, the usual thing Joly says I spew during ABC meetings (I'm surprised that he actually listens, given that he is so busy oggling his tongue on his iPhone. Every time I ask if he's done with his part for upcoming meetings or rallies, he just hands me a folder of accomplished tasks, so I don't really have a problem with that. It's a very accurately and swiftly done, and he need no reminders, so he's cool). So, yeah. Saves me words on my journal. Haha.

Thought I'd be serious and boring when I write on my journal, no? Hah! No. This is my liberty. Upon these leaves do my thoughts freely dwell. So, I don't really show this to people. Except maybe Combeferre who just has a knack for stealing this journal for gags. Hate him for it, really. But he knows how to shut up when it comes to these things because I could blackmail him with tales and tales of his embarrassing junior days with details in complete accuracy (and I'm not about to spill it to you because that would be so un-'Ferre to him), so we're fair. Haha.

(A certain girl doesn't know about this journal of mine because I hide it really, really well, and considering that said certain girl has boasted once of her 'searching skills', well, I think I am a rather brilliant guy. Not that she'd admit or consent to it.)

Anyway, back to the topic, it is a good thing, though, to have when you want the aforementioned certain girl to notice you.

Not that she would want me.

She likes that guy who never showed up again just because Combeferre and I rather slaughtered his idol-pfft, Buonaparte, and yeah, I know it's actually Bonaparte, but I just find the guy so, so irritating that my lips just purse in complete and utter derision and form a 'u' when I say his freaking name-in a brief debate. In HIS FACE. What a PRETENTIOUS EMPHATIC ELITIST. He may have been a good general, but I did not like how he crowned himself king just because he can.

Marius, that guy who is Courfeyrac's friend, thinks that is cool.

Right.

How about I SHOVE CONDORCET IN YOUR FACE. OR MAYBE LET YOU SWALLOW ROSSEAU, YOU-due to 'certain people' who may read these pages, I have crossed the raunchy lines too many a time to blot out the offending words from these otherwise pristine leaves. Proceed reading-OR MAYBE PAINT YOU PICTURES OF THE REIGN OF TERROR. OR MAYBE TELL YOU HOW HE GOT HIS ARSE KICKED BY NELSON IN TRAFALGAR, OR HOW HE WENT HOME CRYING JUST BECAUSE HE FAILED TO CONQUER RUSSIA-AS IF HE COULD IN THE MIDDLE OF WINTER! HOW DOES THAT SOUND, PONTMERCY?

Sigh. All right. I may have gone too far.

(A VERY IMPORTANT NOTE: I DON'T REALLY HATE MARIUS OR BUONAPARTE, ALL RIGHT? I JUST, UM, SERIOUSLY, DO I EVEN NEED TO WRITE ABOUT WHY? I MEAN, COME ON, NOT EVERYONE WOULD PROSPER IF IT'S ALL FOR THE MONARCHY. EVERYONE IS FREAKING EQUAL. AGAIN, LET ME MAKE MYSELF CLEAR. I DON'T HATE THE PERSON. WHAT I HATE IS THE HIERARCHY-THE CASTE SYSTEM WHERE SOMEONE HAS TO BE BELOW OR ABOVE JUST BECAUSE OF BLOOD, BIRTHRIGHT, OR MONEY. WHERE'S THE JUSTICE IN THAT? SO TO CUT THE LONG RANT SHORT, I GIVE YOU THREE WORDS: EGALITE, LIBERTE, and FRATERNITE. REMEMBER THAT.)

But, well, who wouldn't?

Who wouldn't when the girl of your dreams likes that guy who never even noticed that she likes him (even if they were like the best of friends, as she would say)? Who wouldn't when I like her so much it hurts to the point of loving her (don't tell her I said that. She might freak out.)? And I know that sounds really crazy right now, but I AM TELLING THE TRUTH.

And quoting Sirius Black, I'll say: "TWELVE YEARS! I DID MY WAITING!"

Well, at first I used to hate how she would rattle my beliefs and all (she has managed to make me speechless a lot even if I could do that to her) but then we became friends, and then lately, for the past six years-yeah, not twelve, since I was just quoting Sirius Black, I just couldn't stop noticing her. I just couldn't stop. Especially when she would look at me and smile that dimpled smile of hers. How can I not focus on that? Then, suddenly, she's been into hugs and kisses on the cheek, and it's all I could do not to constantly want her warmth.

And scent.

I feel my eyes close a lot when she hugs me because it wafts up to my nose when I inhale the scent of her shampoo. It just feels and smells like home. So when she does that, I hug her tightly with one hand and let the other go through the silk of her hair. Sometimes, I'd hear her sigh. Sometimes, she would let her head rest on my shoulder and breathe. Then I'd be in trouble.

But lately, dang it. I just feel like an idiot.

Or the unluckiest fool.

I don't really understand our relationship, you know?

We're friends, at least. FOR HER. But that is not just how it is for me. No, no. BIG NO. Not anymore.

Especially when we're just sitting together on our big couch, and suddenly for some sort of reason, our knees would touch, and then we would just refuse to acknowledge whatever spark that happened to just ignite. EVEN WHEN she just hugs me and buries her head on my neck when she gets so freaked out by watching 'Paranormal Activities'-hey, don't blame me. That's what she wanted to watch. Then I'd feel the swell of her breasts under her shirt on MY shirt (the fact that I KNOW she doesn't wear bras when we're home in our shared apartment doesn't help. She said there was this research a French ami did that proved wearing bras doesn't help). Then I don't know what to do because she's pressing herself against me, and I can't just go away because I am her, well, friend. (At least, she doesn't hug me long enough to feel the blood rush to a certain part of me. If she does, then I'm in big, big, BIG trouble. But she doesn't, well, and that's just my luck. There have been few occurrences when it almost happened, but I just say that she's choking me already, so she releases me. Phew.)

But I am telling you, the chemistry is so explosive, even Combeferre and Joly are already considering locking us in the room above Corinthe. (Legend says that when two persons are locked there for a day, they'd come out debauched. Pfft. Lame, I know. But Grantaire made that up. Jehan just fueled the rumour with the initial success of his novel called "Love and Locks". Ohhhh, riiiight. But I don't know if it's been tested and proven by Grantaire, but Prouvaire says that's where he worked things out with Azelma. I'm not sure I'm comfortable with the idea of doing that there with Eponine.) But I can't do that to her because that would be taking advantage of her, and I don't want her to resent me for that.

But you see my predicament. And it's getting harder every freaking day that I spend with her. It's getting harder not to want her. Or need her.

Especially when I can hear her snoring on the couch just a few centimeters away.

(Kinda bad idea to be writing about her when she's near, yeah? Not really, considering that she's asleep, so it's no matter.)

A pretty picture, noneth eless, yeah?

But, hey, she passed out in the middle of studying for her finals, and she's doggone tired, so I gotta give her a break. (Not that she would want to, but she's been working hard for her schooling and siblings, so for France's sake, I cut the girl some slack.)

I've already put a blanket and pillow for her, so she would be comfortable. And if I happened to caress her cheeks because I wanted to feel the silkiness of her skin, then shut up and let me sigh into oblivion about how it was beyond the capabilities of my imagination.

Secretly.

Got it?

Good.

I still have the chance to stare at her freely. Sigh. I can't do it a lot when we're with other people because she might get mad, or I might be too obvious, but Courfeyrac said that that's just bollocks because everyone could clearly see how much I was into her.

I dunno about her, though, and I tried asking Grantaire since they're like bros and all, but Capital R is rather a shut trap.

Dang it.

Anyway, I think I better shut my trap-or rather, this journal-as well, because Eponine is waking, and I must pretend that I am once again studying my long-abandoned law books.

Commence Mission Patria in...

3...

2...

1...

April 25, 6:00 A.M., Friday

Whew. That was near. Eponine almost caught me a while ago. It's a good thing I have learned savate or canne de combat, or else, my reflexes won't be fast enough to get me to my desk here. I've made sure I hid my face behind my law case files for good measure, too. What page was I in again before I went to check on Eponine-oh, right, page 425, the one where plunder cases are. If I showed Bahorel this page, he'd say that it's just "loads of bullcrap".

Agreed.

Anyway, when Eponine rose an hour ago, she looked at me sleepily and asked, "Enjolras, what time is it?"

And I answered, "Six in the morning. I didn't want to wake you up. You needed rest from Jung and Freud."

Then she just yawned and stood up to walk to my desk. I had to close my journal and bury it below the case file folder before she reached me. Then she put her arms around me and nuzzled her head near my ear. She breathed, and I AM TELLING YOU, IT IS PURE TORTURE. PURE TORTURE. I COULD SMELL HER PERFUME AND FEEL HER LIPS NEAR MY RIGHT EAR.

I have never thought I would get jealous of my own right ear, but that's exactly how I feel.

Then she whispered, well, kind of groaned out, "Enjolras, please cuddle with me. I need human warmth, and I think you've buried your nose enough in those papers of yours. Please?" (Haven't really buried my nose much. I mean, I'm already done with it, like, ages ago!)

Well, um, how could I refuse, especially when:

1. Her arms are choking my neck. (Truth: SHE. IS. EMBRACING. ME.)

2. Her scent is overwhelming. (Truth: SHE. SMELLS. LIKE. HOME. WONDERFUL.)

3. Her lips are near my right ear. (Truth: Her lips are near my right ear. I'm not forgetting that, right ear. You owe me one this time because you're attached to my body. Therefore, next time, you owe my lips to be near Eponine's lips, you hear me?)

4. She just asked me to cuddle with her. (Truth: I'm not hearing things, am I? She doesn't usually do that except when we're watching awful horror movies, so that's a great improvement, I am telling you. )

SO, YES. I DON'T NEED THE ROOM ABOVE CORINTHE TO SORT THINGS OUT WITH EPONINE!

Eponine then led me to the couch where she was dozing off on before and told me to lay on it first. When I have settled myself comfortably, she laid above me and rested her head below my chin. Immediately, I put an arm around her waist to support her, in the case of an inevitable though unfortunate fall, and ran my fingers through her hair. She put her hands on my chest and sighed. Then I felt her legs tangle with mine below.

For the first time in, like, six years, I felt content and just happy to have her there in my arms. I could do this forever.

SUDDENLY.

Unconsciously, it would seem, she put her lips ON. MY. COLLARBONE.

If this was an impetus to maybe, I don't know, ravish her and make her feel she's worthy and everything she's been denying for years, then I don't know what it is.

BUT.

She is asleep in my arms, so I don't think that's fair.

No matter, though, as I have triumphed against that euphoric want. I am writing of that occurrence to you, am I not? So before people judge me for being a coward or whatever, LOOK THINGS THROUGH.

Anyway, she woke up at 5:45 and eased herself off me before jolting me up with her tickling of my sides.

Which, by the way, is CRUEL since she didn't stop for STRAIGHT FIVE MINUTES.

I had to grab her waist so she would stop, and luckily, she did, but only to kiss my forehead and say thanks.

Which, by the way, is HEAVEN since that was the FIRST TIME SHE DID THAT!

Today must be my day. Things are happening. Oh, wait, what's that popular proverb meant for impatient people? Oh, right: "Good things come to those who wait."

YES!

Well, not really, since we are not, well, together, but I'd take what I could get from Eponine. She doesn't usually do things like that. So she's amazing.

I think she knows that, actually, since we've had this sort of conversation before. It went like this:

"Why do you always think you're 'not good enough'?" I asked once. "You've triumphed over your dad. You practically raised Gavroche and helped stop Azelma from using drugs. You found your two younger brothers all by yourself. Now, you're almost done with college. I think that's more than good enough. You're more than good enough. And you don't need Pontmercy or Montparnasse or men to tell you that you're beautiful."

"Listen, Enjolras, I'm not always alone when I did all of those things you've said. I've always had friends and you and people helping me. You make it sound like I'm some sort of heroine when you say it like that. I never felt like one. I just did what I did because I had to. I had to stay alive. I had to fight to survive. I had to help my brothers and 'Zelma. But I'm happy to hear you think so highly of me. I don't usually hear stuff like that when I actually do something good. So thank you," she said, her lips curling fondly and showing her dimples.

As usual, I decided to be frank when I said, "You have a beautiful soul, Eponine. And you are pretty. Sometimes, I don't think you realize that."

I watched her face turn incarnadine as she looked down and replied, "Thank you. Look, I might sound like I'm bragging or what, but I do know I look nice. It's just that I feel intimidated and a bit insecure of other women's beauty. Look at Cosette. She's got these blue eyes and beautiful voice that Marius fell for. Then there's Musichetta who's so pretty she's been blessed with two guys. And what do I have on my arsenal? Nothing except this bravado and wit that few people appreciate. So sometimes, I feel like don't have a fight when it comes to stuff like that. I mean, look at you, Enjolras, you have your glorious curls, your beautiful blue eyes, and I don't know, everything? You see what I mean?"

Um, thank you, Eponine. I didn't know you liked my hair and my eyes and my, um, everything. If we were an anime, my nose would've long bled copiously.

Anyway, I replied, "You have pretty brown eyes, you know. I don't think you take credit for that. Jehan even told me once that it's such a lovely hue and that you could see it even from afar. I think it's only fair to say, then, that you are beautiful."

And then she blushed again and said thank you. I think that was the time I've seen her at her happiest. I hope I could always see her like that.

Now, though, I have to stop for a moment and take a break in writing because I really have to prepare for the next exam. My hands are sort of aching, actually.

Eponine's kind of doing the same thing, too, with her notes on Psychology. She's muttering things to herself again. Her hair fell in front of her face again, ahahaha.

OH, ALL RIGHT. I'LL STOP.

"Hey, Eponine? I'm going to shower first, all right? I have to be at school by seven, so I'm going to start preparing," I shouted so she would hear me while I cleared my desk and put my journal under my bed. I'm not going to put my journal in the real safe first. I'm in a bit of a hurry.

I showered for five minutes, dressed, put on the redcoat I received last Christmas, and packed my bag quickly. Before I went out, Eponine hugged me, and I bid her goodbye.

I hope things go well for me at school, as well.

"Finally," Eponine said, locking the door and heading to Enjolras' room. "Where did he put that little red notebook of his again?"

She checked his desk. Naught. She opened his wardrobe. Zilch. (Although was that the Assassins' Creed videogame Courfeyrac was wailing for the last time he went here? Oh. Oh, right, he sort of pissed Enjolras because he spilled the strawberry ice cream that was his favourite.) Still, she did not find the red notebook Enjolras has been, for some reason, hiding from her.

What was written in there, anyway? Sleuths around the city? He could just ask her. Porn? Well, haha, he could have just asked Courfy or Bahorel. But no, that's not Enjolras. Maybe, speeches? But, no, he has another red leather bound notebook for that. Cheats for games, then? Nope. That's written on MS Word.

WHAT IS IN THAT LITTLE RED NOTEBOOK?

She sighed, almost about to give up, when she noticed a small bump on his bed. Hmm, that's unusual. That's the first time she's seen it like that. All right, all right...

Eponine raised the mattress and found the treasure, the little red notebook she's been finding for months. Squealing in excitement, she took it and plopped down on Enjolras' bed.

She opened it and read the first page. Written on it was: 'July 3, 7:43 A.M., Wednesday. In lieu of a lost bet from Combeferre, I have to do as he says, and that is to write my thoughts on these leaves. He said it would help people from being bothered by me and my endless segues of French politics and spitfires with Eponine. What is wrong with speaking, actually? Are mouths not made for that? Anyway, it is July, and I cannot let slip from my mind about the upcoming celebration of Bastille Day. I think it would be..."

Eponine snorted as she read the next few lines, which was about certain corrections on how Bastille Day was supposed to be celebrated. She skipped pages and stopped on December 25. It read: "December 25, 9:45 P.M., Wednesday. I write to you after we've done exchanging gifts. Today, I think I have received the greatest gift ever. Usually, people would give me books and books and books. (Well, there'd be occasionally weird stuff given to me by Grantaire, Courfeyrac, and Bahorel, but this is different.) I've received a brilliant red coat with a rosette! It fits me perfectly. Whoever gave me this gift is brilliant. But I don't think it's Combeferre since I know he gave me the cup that has the French flag on it. It's not Prouvaire, either, since he sent me a book with the orations of early Greek philosophers. (That was a thoughtful gift, by the way, because it's good to have a reference for when I plan my next speeches. Anyway, I think it could be... WAIT, WHY HAVEN'T I THOUGHT OF HER? Yes, yes, it is Eponine! I remember she's been staring at my shoulders for the past few weeks. That must be why. I nearly confronted her about it, but every time I try to speak with her of it, she disappears. Hmm... that must be. I have repaid her, though, by giving her her favorite book series, the 'Game of Thrones'. I don't what's with it that she's attached to since it's about monarchy dilemmas and I don't like it much except for the tactics certain people use. But if I asked her, she would probably say, "It's George R. R. Martin, and he's brilliant." Am I not brilliant for you? Anyway, I saw her smile when she saw what she got. I think we're even, then. Well, then after..."

"He actually found out."

Chuckling, she decided to read the most recent entry and found her eyes widening until she finished. Eponine could hardly breathe.

He does... "...like her so much it hurts to the point of loving her (don't tell her I said that. She might freak out.)?"

For... six years?

How could she have not known?

But even... "...Courfeyrac said that that's just bollocks because everyone could clearly see how much I was into her."

OH, MY.

She actually didn't need to keep on waiting.

But Enjolras was right. She might freak out-of happiness, that's what!

Oh, what should she do, what should she do. He'll know she knows the moment he enters.

No sense in hiding, though.

People do usually overwhelm themselves... but now is not the time for that. She's got six hours before he goes home.

All right. She'll do it.

When Enjolras went home and opened the door, he smelled something different.

Or, perhaps not. Is that Eponine's perfume from the lavatory?

He decided to put his bag down and call, "Hey, Eponine. I'm home. Where are you?"

Enjolras saw Eponine go out of her room and timidly face him. Raising a brow in worry, he asked, "What's wrong, Eponine?"

She walked towards him before hugging him tightly. Once again, he returned her embrace and sighed when he smelt her scent. Just like home, he thought, running his fingers through her hair. Eponine sighed against him before murmuring something.

"What?" he asked.

Eponine leaned back in his arms to face him and say, "IdidsomethingbadtoyouandfoundalittlerednotebookandkindafoundouthowyoufeltformeandIhopeit'sokayifIsayIfeelthesame?"

"What?"

"Um."

"Eponine, that was my journal!"

"Yes, I know!"

"You shouldn't have looked!"

"Yeah, but-!"

"Eponine, why would you-?"

Enjolras felt her lips touch his and shut up. Tightening his hold on her waist, he kissed her back and felt her smile. He felt her fingers tug at the roots of his hair softly and moaned, feeling a little frail. But she bit his lower lip, and that was all he was waiting for. He walked backwards until he felt his back touch the wall and turned her, gripping her hips for balance, while kissing her.

Eponine put her arms around his neck and opened her mouth, letting his tongue touch hers for a bit before lightly kissing his cheek, jaw, and neck. Enjolras could hardly think of anything except her. So he sighed her name and gently nipped at her earlobe. He felt her shiver and hear her moan his name.

"You didn't have to wait for six years, you know," he heard her whisper as he left marks on her neck. "You could have just told me that time when we were talking about why I thought I wasn't good enough. I was almost expecting it, then, especially when you told me that you thought my eyes were beautiful."

"I didn't want to take advantage of you. You were still kind of hurting over Pontmercy. It wasn't a good time," Enjolras replied, grunting as Eponine nipped at his right earlobe this time.

"Well, it's been six years. I think that's a long time to wait," she said, chuckling as she rested her forehead on his. "But I think we could make up for each other, like, right now. On your bed, probably."

Enjolras kissed her once more before smiling widely and carrying her in his arms.

"No matter."

April 25, 11:39 P.M., Glorious Friday

This is the best day of my life.

Said certain girl finally let me into her life.

People usually overwhelm themselves.

I am overwhelmed. Of Eponine.

But she is extremely special to me.

Even when she's snoring right next to me.

A pretty picture, nonetheless, yeah?

[A/N]: And that's it. I'm sorry if this was late. But I hope you had fun with it! :)