i'm death-defying

Dusk had yet to fully settle in the Latin Quartier as Enjolras hurried home to find his misplaced copy of Condorcet's work on Sketch for a Historical Picture of the Progress of the Human Spirit. He had wanted to reference it for a speech he was going to give a week later, yet he didn't have it in his belongings earlier.

It was when he was walking home that he remembered Éponine (or was it Combeferre?) had borrowed it from him two nights ago. Gritting his teeth at not recalling who exactly has it, his face grew acrid in contemplation as he got to Rue de la Grande-Truanderie. It doesn't help that Combeferre has uncertain hours of shift for this week, he thought, knocking on the door numbered 32 and waiting for Gavroche or any of the little ones to open it.

He resolved to briefly take it from her – if she does have it – to locate the passage where the Marquis extrapolated on how enlightenment impedes the ruination of man in society.

Gavroche was the one to unlatch the door, and the fair-haired child looked up at him as he greeted the older one with a cheeky curl on his lips. "My sister's in the kitchen, if that's what you want to know."

Enjolras willed the flutter of incarnadine rush to go away from his visage, and he must have succeeded as the boy confusedly stared after him as he entered the quaint apartment. "Good evening to you too, Gavroche," he offered good-naturedly, however.

"Éponine," he called out, entering the kitchen beside the wall of their living room, which was made up of just a mauve-coloured couch with no pillows. "Have you seen Condorcet's Sketch for a–?" Steps halting, he paused as he took in the sight before him.

She was sleeping on top of the table, with that particular treatise he has been looking for open before her. The side of her face was pressed against one of its leaves, her free hand – at least not the one she's using as an alternative pillow for her head – clutching the other page. Little snores from her lips came out in a few breaths, as the dusk of her lashes flittered about in what possibly could be dreams.

"Oh," Enjolras uttered softly, a fond curl resting on his lips. Shaking his head, he took a small corner from the journal he was carrying and decided to leave a note telling her that he'll come back for the paper soon. Writing quickly, he put the letter flat beneath the topmost pages of the treatise.

He thus strode towards her, taking care not to jostle her awake with his steps. The fair-haired student lightly patted her hair before dropping a kiss on the crown of her auburn tresses. That done, he turned to leave the kitchen, letting her slumber peacefully.

Enjolras was a foot step out when he heard her mutter his name softly. Alarmed that he had wakened her, he pivoted only to see that she was still very much asleep, only now, her head turned to the other side. A slight grin on his mien appeared briefly before he shook his head amusedly.

Taking this as his cue to leave, he went to the door and found Gavroche once again ready to unbolt it for him. This time, the child's face was threatening to break with a roguish smirk.

"I saw that! You kissed 'Ponine's hair!" the fair-haired child exclaimed teasingly, a finger pointing at him.

Choosing not to rise to this taunt, he raised a brow and countered, "The shadows confuse you, Gavroche. You should borrow Combeferre's glasses."

Before the boy could retort anything else, he immediately went to the door and made his escape.

"Smooth-face!" he heard him call out as he left, trying to calm the way his heart fluttered at being caught by her brother doing that – whatever was that.

"Gamin!" Enjolras agreeably retorted from afar, and he discerned the child's laughter as he got to the stairs.

Later that evening, when his tiredness eventually lulled him to sleep in very much the same position as he saw Éponine, his dreams are full of swirls tinged with fire and sensations of softly falling rain against the rays of sun. He knows he is in slumber, but the certain warmth that spread throughout his chest for some reason makes him think of her fondly curled mouth.

Let it be known that if anyone ever perceived and heard him mutter her name, it was just the shadows confusing their eyes, and that they should probably borrow Combeferre's glasses.

A/N: Well, I'm not sure this is just a drabble, but eh, take of it what you will. I hope you guys enjoyed it as much I did writing it! 3 Title inspired by Kal Cahoone's song "Build the Fire". Written for drabble prompt (Hi! Could you do "Hey, have you seen the..? Oh." for Enjonine?") given by tomorrowatdawn.