vi. "You've got the best of both worlds / you're the kind of girl who can take down a man / and lift him back up again…"

Oddly enough, my forbidden encounters with Monsieur Enjolras make this whole arrangement somewhat worthwhile. Combeferre takes me to the Musain, where he would meet up with his dear friends and their respective partners. Monsieur Enjolras is always there –discussing, debating and preaching about dear old Patria.

Whilst Combeferre and the rest of his friends describe him as a 'marble statue as cold as ice', Monsieur Enjolras is as bold as fire as he speaks of his supposed love of his life. This initiates me to refute –practically bashing on his clichéd ideals. It is highly uncharacteristic of me to be so bothered by someone's idealism, but the way he romanticize it sets me off like flame to gunpowder. Could this be jealousy?

I can feel heads turning as I speaking, presumably because women usually only acts as a mute accessory and not as a participant. Messieurs Courfeyrac, Prouvaire and Joly are gaping in their seats as Monsieur Enjolras and I are nearly head-butting as it turns into a full-on showdown between idealism and realism (Skepticism, he argues).

"You need to get over your self-righteousness!" I call him out.

"You need to have more faith in the people –our own people!" he retorts.

"You talk of liberty and freedom, and yet you are telling me to have more faith in the people, which I do not intend to do. Isn't a free man –what's the word, he that is not hindered to do what he hath the will to do?"

Monsieur Grantaire pressed his lips together in a closed-mouth grin at my rebuttal.

"Ah, but you have to remember that freedom does not mean a liberty for everyone to do what he likes, to live as he pleases. It also has laws in the society."

"The society couldn't care less about my faith in them! I doubt that half of them even care about their own faith in the people. They only care about wealth and social status,"

"Not all of them…"

I let out a sharp exhale. "Open your eyes and look around, Monsieur –"

"Enough." Combeferre cuts in sternly before softening his gaze, "There's no need to burn the place down tonight."

Amongst a group of people aching to make a change, Combeferre serves as their solid middle ground. He does not challenge someone who disagrees with him; he prefers to accept the different opinions and not force his down other people's throats. When someone does, he would be doing his utmost to handle the situation in a civilized manner. He does not share Monsieur Enjolras' passion in fighting for the future of France; he values peace too much. It is in his natural instinct to be the person to rely on. Because that is just a good person that he is.

But there is some kind of twisted satisfaction inside of me when the veins in his neck are visible under his skin and his blue eyes –which aren't even blue anymore, are practically burning into me. It is a thrilling sensation under the risk of being exposed every time we steal a furious kiss in a dark secluded back room and every subtle touch whenever we brush against each other.

Of all the good things I have right in front of me, why must I choose the forbidden one?

vii. "Cloaked under the night / with nothing to suppress / A woman and a man / No more and yet no less / and I kissed you…"

The diamond ring on my left hand seems to grow bigger and brighter that it blinds me every time I raise my heavy hand. The wedding dress laid out on the chaise seems like a headless corpse lying dead to make an example of what will become of me tomorrow and ever.

Pale. Limp. Empty.

I need to get away.

So here I am in male's clothing on the other side of the city, knocking on his door like my life depends on it. For a moment, I honestly believe that it does.

"Yes, may I help you, Monsieur?" he answers, not the slightest bit drowsy despite the fact that it's past midnight.

I lift my head up from the shadow to show my face.

There is a flash of uncertainty in his eyes before I push past him into his townhouse. It is the minute gesture of telling me what big trouble we are in that gets me going, because, for the love of Saint Peter, I need to feel unsafe once more in my doomed lifetime.

Come tomorrow morning, I will be married to the patient Combeferre who will care for me like a gentle, loving husband that he should and will be. But, tonight, Monsieur Enjolras and I consume each other savagely, selfishly as if the world is ending tomorrow.

Trembling fingers frantically peel off the layers of clothing that get in the way, replacing it with our hands and lips. Hands and lips are tugging, kissing, exploring where it has never been evaded before. Teeth sink into the burning skin while the tongue grazes soothingly in between. Low grunts and heaving breaths echo in his dark apartment, and –Oh, God.

If the sight of his head of glorious blond curls between my legs isn't enough to blind me in ecstasy, the kiss he places on my nether lips certainly is. My hushed whispers grow into clear, audible moans of incoherent words. This elicits a small laugh from him; all the while his tongue is still caressing me. The wave is too much for my frail little form to bear.

He looks up in the mischievous manner that sends shiver down my spine. His fingers replace where his mouth was, quicker than a blink; ebbing and curling against my inner walls. Being the terrible man that he is, he ghosts his lips over mine, careful not to let anything more than his hot breath touch them.

"I want you," he whispers, almost to himself.

"Then, please."

The blue in his eyes disappear behind his dilated pupils. With a hard kiss and his hands clutching both of my wrists for dear life, we pass the point of no return.

I break away with a gasp at his intrusion. He freezes and looks at me in confusion and a tinge of urgency.

My legs wrap around his waist as if he will break if I don't. "Please…"

He slams into me again and again mercilessly. His hands only grip my wrist tighter when I arch against him. His mouth keeps on ravishing my body despite my pleading. No matter; those words that escape my lips aren't pleas to stop, anyway.

But, there is one small moment before everything goes white, where he lifts his head from the crook of my neck. His eyes, wide and darkened with lust, look right into mine with a ghost of a tender smile.

It is my own safe definition of the unsafe.

viii. And in the morning / when you turn in / I'll be far to sea / and you have broken me all the way down / you'll be the last, you'll see…

As fearless and stubborn as I seem, I am no more than a petty coward. I do not have the guts to call off the arrangement and deal with the consequences, opting to leave him in his slumber before the sun rises instead.

In the end, I put on the white dress to hide the marks Monsieur Enjolras have made the night prior and the fake smile to conceal what's left of my broken heart. I set my eyes on the man at the end of the aisle –and giving my all not to even glance at the one standing beside him.

The priest pronounces us husband and wife. My heart drops in guilt as I fear that Combeferre can taste the betrayal on my lips. It crumbles as I can feel his glare boring into me, stoic and passive.

It makes me wonder if he did not even come at all. A part of me would have been relieved that I am not the only coward in this situation. But Monsieur Enjolras, among other spiteful things he may be, is not a coward.

I am.

ix. Do you ever get the feeling that we started in the middle? / Or have you ever had the sense that we've been lying just a little? / I mean, come on / it's not like we've known ourselves that long…

"Would you like me to take the other bedroom?" Combeferre asks, standing gingerly in the middle of our bedroom. Ours.

"Don't be ridiculous. The maids are going to talk," I attempt to reason with him, "Stay."

His eyebrows knit for a split second, but he obliges anyway and sits on the edge of the bed wordlessly.

"Did I say something wrong?"

"I know about you and Enjolras."

I stop in my tracks to guess his emotion and thought towards this fact. But instead, I find nothing but the soft, serene eyes that belong to Combeferre and Combeferre only. "Is it that obvious?"

"No, but I know Enjolras better than anyone else," he replies.

In loss for words, I stride to sit by his side and utter the only thing that rings true in my head. "I'm sorry,"

"Please, do not apologize for your own feelings,"

"Even if they involve a man other than my husband? His best friend, no less…" I ask carefully, perfectly aware that I'm walking on thin ice.

My personal experience has prepared me for blows to the face or degrading insults until I have grown numb of them as the years go. But, when Combeferre only shakes his head softly, the dull ache in the chest begins to suffocate me.

Then again, the pain isn't enough to conquer my stubbornness to give into my horrible infatuation towards his closest friend. It's not enough to turn me into the good wife he deserves.

"I will not stop seeing him, however."

"I understand."

"You are free to see anyone else you fancy."

He nods gently, lowering his eyes. "Thank you."

That moment I wonder if his kindness would be the death of me someday.

A/N: hello, lovely people! Thank you for still reading this. There's a little smut here for you as my symbol of gratitude to you guys haha. I have close to zero experience in writing smut, mind you, so I hope it's not too bad :/

Combeferre and Eponine's relationship here is loosely based on Christopher and Sylvia Tietjens in Parade's End. I was watching the BBC version a while ago and the similarities kind of struck me. I really enjoy writing the gray areas of Eponine's guilt and selfishness, and Combeferre's 'perfect' traits that make him imperfect. I'm planning to write more Ferre in the next part, so stay tuned!

Speaking of the next part, I decided that three parts would not be enough for this story, seeing as I have already written 1,700ish words on three sections alone. Therefore, I divided up the story into five and an epilogue to close it up.

Songs I featured in this part are "A Beautiful Mess" by Jason Mraz, "Beneath The Moonless Sky" from Love Never Dies, "All The Way Down" by Glen Hansard, and "Tracing" by John Mayer.

Until the next time!