Hi y'all! This is a prompt from the lovely Ceara (ConcreteAngelRoxHerHalo on ffnet and Lamoderneeponine on Tumblr) for the Enjonine Valentine's fic exchange over on Tumblr. It was a difficult prompt but I hope I did it justice.

Warnings for: alcohol abuse, talks of murder and arson, and smut. (If I missed anything tell me and I'll add it here)

Devastation and desolation, tears and fears, pain and gain - or what life with you can bring.

You could never say Éponine Thénardier isn't a good friend.

Who else would let one of her friends fuck her from upfront and behind, above and underneath, sideways and whichever other way you can imagine because his overstressed, over-worked mind needs to discharge?

Okay, granted, he's paying her to do it, and besides the money, she's getting at least one mind-blowing orgasm per session, so it's a pretty sweet deal overall. But it really is mostly for him that she's doing it, and you can't call her a whore if you have just one customer; at least, that's what she keeps telling herself; she only cares a little bit about that, but not enough to make her give the matter much thought.

She doesn't really know how it all started. An observation led to an idea that led to a joke that led to a proposition and then to the execution of said idea. No interesting story behind that.

He had been a virgin which was all kinds of weird at first, but he didn't seem to give it much importance, so in the end, neither did she.

And he learned fast enough.

God, did he learn.

At first he was stiff as a board (no pun intended… although he was that too), barely looking at, let alone going near the land of ambiguity that was her vagina. It took exactly 5 sessions to get his hands between her legs, and another 7 to get his tongue on her clit. Everything went uphill from there.

This has been going on for almost a year now, the whole arrangement being nothing but rewarding: good sex, good pay, a confidant as well as a real life best friend coming out of it.

Oh, and Enjolras is doing better too.

-e-e-e-

Tonight he's rougher than usual. Things with les Amis weren't going as well as he'd like, apparently, and from what she's heard from 'Ferre, Grantaire, with unneeded assistance from Bahorel, had basically shat, or more specific, pissed, on all his hard work. Again.

His grip is almost painful around her hips as he pounds into her from behind. Éponine doesn't mind though, she likes an aggressive fuck every now and then.

Enjolras is usually, expectedly, neat and precise in bed. He's methodical and thorough in all he does to her, as he is in everything else, so it's nice when he lets go and makes a bit of a mess, both inside and all over her. Honestly, it gives her the best orgasms.

He bends forward while he's pummeling into her, pulling at her hair and cursing like a sailor in her ear. His swollen cock fulfills every possible desire she could have; it's a surprisingly good fit for her and she can take him in any way without even the slightest hint of discomfort, unlike what she'd experienced with the array of previous lovers in her more colorful than she'd like to admit past.

They cum together and it's quick and sloppy and sticky and she loves every second of it.

After they're done, it's time for breathing and relaxing, cigarettes in hands, bad indie music in the background, maybe even a cup of coffee if it's still light outside. It's past 1am this time, so it's just the cigarettes, the music and post-coital bliss.

Mind-blowing sex aside, this is the part Éponine enjoys the most; this is when they're both at their best as people. With their bodies and minds clear, it's so easy talking to each other, confiding secrets, speaking of the unspoken, talking shit about mutual friends, whining about existence… okay, maybe they weren't at their best as people, but they were what they couldn't be with anyone else: themselves.

"They pissed in the middle of the street! The middle. of. the. fucking. street! What am I gonna do with those two? Grantaire is a loose cannon enough as it is, but Bahorel I still had faith in. I don't have time to babysit a couple of grown ass men and lead the country to salvation!" Enjolras waves the hand that's holding the cigarette haphazardly as he speaks; it's a habit that only comes out when he's smoking, which he does only after sex and she has to admit there's something mesmerizing in the way he gesticulates. She really loves his hands.

"It's an uphill battle you're fighting, man. Wish I could strategize with you, but unless R gets clean and his influence on Bahorel isn't as negative anymore, I'm afraid it's either take them or leave them." Taking a drag of her own cig, she lets the smoke linger in her lungs a little bit before letting the smoke out in short puffs; smoking is a bit like a game to her, as most of everything around her is.

Enjolras sighs and extinguishes his cigarette in the ashtray by the bed. "Leaving them isn't really an option. Revolutions come and go, but brothers are forever."

That makes her smile and glance at him with a raised brow. "What about sisters?"

"If you're referring to yourself, I should tell you that I don't in any way, shape, or form consider you a sister."

"Why not?" She asks, surprisingly not feeling even the slightest bit disappointed.

He smirks and slithers his hand under the covers. "Because I couldn't do this to my sister, could I?"

She gasps when she feels his fingers pinch her clit.

"Shit!" She starts giggling and shaking all over in response to him holding the little nub between his thumb and forefinger, rolling it gently until she becomes a wet, shivering mass of sexual arousal.

He brings his mouth to hers and climbs half way on top of her body. The kiss is sweet and soft; it doesn't look like he plans to take it further even though his erect cock is brushing against her thigh, and as much as she would love to feel him inside again, she's not going to force anymore out of him tonight. This is probably his way of apologizing for the roughness from before (though the insane orgasm deserves no apology whatsoever), with a hot make-out session and some gentle stroking of her nether region, which will receive no complaints from her.

Éponine spreads her legs wide and opens her mouth for his tongue. She doesn't have to do anything, just let him kiss, pamper and toy with her until she's left dying with his hand on her slit and his name on her shivering lips.

Two of his fingers stroke small steady circles around her clit while his lips nip at her own tenderly. The pleasure grows gradually this way, from a dull ache to a series of short, frenzied bursts that make her arch her back and want to moan his name, which she would if their tongues wouldn't be otherwise intertwined.

Enjolras cradles the back of her head in his hand as she convulses under him, keeping it straight so he could keep kissing her undisturbed; it makes her melt inside. Coming without his cock inside of her is almost a cause of regret; of course, coming by clit is incomparable to coming by G-spot, but the sweetness with which he caresses her and the warmth he emanates as he holds her close make it its own brand of intense. She comes wildly and perfectly and Enjolras smiles proudly.

They talk more after she's settled down. It's difficult remembering of what, the subjects always vary and very rarely last more than 10 minutes. There's something that makes them want to cover as much ground as possible in the short hours they spend together, the same something that makes him stay just a little bit longer each time and the same something that makes her frown whenever she closes the door behind him.

-e-e-e-

"What is it about me that never finds jokes funny?" Enjolras muses one day after they'd given each other head in his car.

"Where the hell did that come from?" Éponine asks when she finishes cleaning the smeared lipstick from her mouth and starts replacing it with a new layer of color; for a moment she wonders if she should check his dick for any trails of ruby red.

He takes a drag from his cigarette and the smoke comes out with his sigh. "Joly brought his girlfriend at the meeting today, so naturally he was trying to look all dashing and cool, which he isn't by the way, but I kept my mouth shut 'cause I got his back."

"The bro code?" she laughs, captures his hand and brings the cigarette in his fingers to her mouth.

"It's a valid set of rules," he shrugs and keeps his eyes fixed on her lips as they pucker around the filter. "Anyways," Enjolras takes his hand back after she's done and places his lips on the cig directly over the red marks she left behind, "so Joly starts trying to be all funny and starts throwing these jokes all over the place. Everyone else laughed while I just sat there looking like a 'vacuous cock', if we're to go by Joly's later words."

This makes Éponine burst into a fit of loud laughter, the kind that makes people bend over and clap their hands like a seal, mostly because imagining Enjolras sitting there as Joly called him a 'cock' is just too rich.

"Uh," he scrunches his nose and leans his head back on the seat to think. "Oh yeah!" He remembers and starts talking in the most monotonous voice she has ever heard from him. "So, a man and his son walk in the park and come upon two dogs humping. The son asks, 'Dad what are those dogs doing?' The dad says, 'Well, the dog on top must have hurt his two front paws, and that dog on the bottom is helping him home.'"

"Okay." She feels herself already starting to smile.

"The son turns to his father and says, 'It figures - every time you try to help someone out, you always get screwed.'"

"HA!" Éponine snorts but quickly covers her mouth when his head snaps to her and throws her an incredulous look.

"You actually think that's funny?"

She stops her shoulders from shaking just enough so she can shrug. "It's not not funny."

"...fair."

"You're not unfunny, by the way." She feels the need to make that addition, because it's simply the truth. "You just have your own sort of sense of humor that doesn't fit within the norm. You are a funny guy, just so you know."

His eyes soften and his lips quirk into a small smile. "I don't recall ever making you laugh though." He reaches out to brush her hair behind her ears and his fingers linger behind to stroke her cheek. The way he does it makes her flesh burn, not in a sexual way, but in a sweeter, needier way.

"You make me laugh all the time," Éponine replies and leans forward to touch his lips briefly. "Mostly at your expense, but that still technically means you make me laugh." She snickers and bites his lip playfully, bracing herself for his retaliation.

And retaliate he does.

Éponine shrieks when, like a flash, he wraps his arms around her and pushes her on the back seat, climbing over her to cover her mouth with his.

The laughter quickly turns to moaning as Enjolras grounds his hips against hers. His hands find their way under her shirt and start stroking her nipples so fervently they become like little pebbles between his fingers.

They dry hump each other to orgasm and it takes a long time before they disentangle themselves or stop laughing.

-e-e-e-

He calls her beautiful while she's riding him and she knows it's a slip up judging by the way he closes his eyes with a frown immediately after, probably mentally cursing himself. Éponine knows his expressions too well by now to know, but she still doesn't say anything, she just leans forward and kisses him.

She fucks him hard and he squeezes her tightly in his arms. Their lips are still pressed firmly against the other's and she cums a second after she feels Enjolras release his own climax inside of her.

They don't talk about it afterwards while they lie in bed, but they don't shy away from each other's embrace nor do they stop silently staring into each other's eyes.

This time, Enjolras kisses her deeply after he pays her and he's making a visible effort removing his lips from hers. Even while she's closing the door he doesn't turn to walk away, but holds her gaze until the doorframe covers his view and Éponine's left alone, leaning her forehead against it with a sigh.

Shit.

They're completely in love with each other.

Shit.

-e-e-e-

Surprisingly, things never become awkward between them. They still fuck like usual, he pays her, she does whatever he wants and they still talk about anything and everything. The only difference is the small elephant in the room that neither care, nor want to address.

They realize it's not just a sex-based friendship between them anymore, but neither wants to take that step because taking this further can't possibly end well. She's been through hell and he's not ready for something other than casual screwing. So they leave it at just that.

She thinks Grantaire is starting to catch on. He's ridiculously perceptive even though he's hammered 90% of his waking hours.

If Enjolras knows he knows, he keeps quiet about it and ignores R's jabs as he usually does when the alcoholic has no more beer to drink, turning his unfocused attention to his chief.

"You seem in higher spirits, my friend," Grantaire slurs, though how he manages to remain so articulate is a mystery never to be solved, and raises his now empty glass in the blond's honor, "care to share with the class as to why?"

"I don't recall my wellbeing being of your concern, Grantaire." Enjolras' voice is steady and uncaring, as per usual, and his eyes don't even lift from the book he's reading, except when R turns on her with the questioning.

"Do you know anything about it, Éponine? You two seem to be friendlier than usual lately. You're sometimes even, dare I say it, chatty?" R snickers when he catches the twitch in her eye.

"There's nothing between Éponine and I that could possibly interest you. So back off." There was a dangerous glint in his eyes that visibly chilled Grantaire and hopefully, not so visibly, heated her up.

Later, she lets him fuck her up against the wall, her legs wrapped around his waist as she takes his full length inside with nothing but an appreciative groan. They don't use condoms - she's on the pill and has had all her STD tests; he's never been near another person that way before so he's safe by default - so Éponine can feel every ridge of him inside while he's creating perfect friction between them.

Her skirt gets stained by his cum and he promises to buy her a new one, but instead of that kind of payment, she takes his hand and jams his fingers into her slit, for once in her life, caring about something more than money.

He makes her climax by sliding two fingers in and out of her rapidly, while his thumb draws random circles around her swollen clit. His free arm feels larger than it is as it's holding her tight, keeping her on her feet and close to him. She feels weak in his hold even when she's not shaking from head to toe in gratification and she knows she'll only grow weaker.

-e-e-e-

Éponine is awoken one night by a cacophony of yelling, smashing and an array of appellatives that would make a grown man blush. Ah, the parents are home.

With little enthusiasm, she goes out to meet the ones she calls mom and dad, bracing herself for a fight, or at least a squabble, when she hears the sound of other familiar, just as unwelcome voices in the next room.

"We are screwed! We are absolutely fucked!" It's Gueulemer that sounds so worried and surprisingly scared. It's unusual and a chill runs down her spine because she knows something bad is up.

When she enters the room where her parents and the whole of Patron-Minette are assembled, she understands why.

They're all covered in dirt, which isn't out of the ordinary for a bunch of homeless rogues, but it's the smell of smoke that permeates from each and every one of them, and most alarmingly, the massive crimson stains on Thénardier's and Montparnasse's clothes that make her stop in her tracks.

"What are you doing here, girl?!" Thénardier hisses at her and tries fruitlessly to hide the blood on his person from her eyes.

"What have you done?" Éponine is surprised by how shaky her voice is as well as how overwhelming the dread in her stomach is.

"Robbery gone wrong." Her mother spits and shoves some rags in the men's hands for them to wipe themselves with. "Owners got back home and took us by surprise. You'll keep your mouth shut or you know what'll happen." She fixes her daughter with a dangerous look that prompts Éponine to merely nod and slowly back way into her room.

Inside, she dry heaves and does her best to get her heart beating at a healthy pace again. She knew her parents were filthy criminals, hell, she was one too up until a few years ago when she went clean, but this... Cold blooded murder... Fuck!

She couldn't say anything. How could she? Éponine may have resented them for everything they've put their family through, but she never, not once, stopped calling them mom and dad.

-e-e-e-

The next day she pretends nothing ever happened and pushes the anxiety aside to make room for the bubbling excitement she feels when knowing Enjolras is about to pass through her door. Among all of the fucking darkness that surrounds her, he's the only flickering candle that sheds some light in the otherwise pitch black night. She guesses it's because she's in love with him that she's thinking up these stupid-ass analogies.

The moment he comes in her room she gasps and involuntarily covers her mouth with her hand.

He looks like shit.

His eyes are red and swollen with a ring of darkness surrounding them and there is a ghostly hollowness in his expression that matches the pallor of his skin.

"You okay?" Éponine asks, unsure of how to speak and of what to say, but sure enough that she needs to approach and take his hand in hers. His palm is cold and clammy and she guesses his whole body is the same.

Normally, Enjolras would just dismiss any worry she might have and just take her straight to bed, but this time, his hand squeezes hers, closes his eyes tight, which makes his appearance even more harrowing, and wraps his arms around her.

"No."

His shoulders start shaking and she's horrified to realize he's crying, but she hugs him back tighter than necessary, trying to will whatever's hurting him away because, as used to seeing despair in others as she is, having the man she loves completely broken in her embrace shreds her heart in too many pieces to count.

"What do you want me to do?" It's not like she has much to give, it's only her body and her heart that she still has left; whether they're good enough for him, she doubts she'll ever know.

"Nothing," he sobs into her shoulder. "This. I just need... This."

His hold on her grows so tight it's making it difficult to breath, but Éponine says nothing, not caring if he suffocates, or crushes her in his arms or drowns her in his tears.

"Okay."

A few hours pass until he's okay enough to speak, okay being a term used loosely, like in the way you still call room temperature tea 'warm' or 'cold' while it's decidedly neither. Enjolras is lukewarm right now and it breaks her heart.

"My parents are dead."

The words hang in the air like a chilling breeze. Éponine doesn't even get to ask what happens before his mouth starts whirring, making sounds and articulating words she does not want to hear.

"Our house was burnt to the ground. Arson. Possible robbery. The police noticed a few of the locks had been forced open. Their bodies... Their bodies showed signs of struggle. It was difficult. They were charred. But the coroner found evidence of violence. Main hypothesis is murder."

He took a deep shaky breath.

"My parents were killed."

The sound of his voice was covered by the sound of the world shattering around her.

The blood, the smell of smoke, the failed robbery... The killings.

It almost made her want to laugh. Of course things couldn't go easily for her. It was enough she got to fall in love with someone who loved her back, even though they would probably never confess to each other; of course everything had to fall apart around them. It's how her life worked, after all.

For a split second, Éponine weighed her options: 1. Tell Enjolras that her parents killed his in cold blood while trying to rob their house, thus not only severely endangering him and herself but also ensuring a residential suite for her mom and dad in jail; 2. keep her mouth shut, keep themselves safe from Patron-Minette and their sharp ears slash knives, and keep holding on to Enjolras and this weird, beautiful love they shared.

The Thénardiers won't get caught, she's sure of it. They have enough connections and enough dumb luck to get away scot free without so much as a gram's weight on their conscience.

Guess it'll be all on her. The decision is already taken before she takes the time for consideration. She won't tell him, she'll suffer the burden; she'll hate herself and carry the blame for the rest of her life. But at least they'll be safe and she'll get to hold onto him a little longer.

With a sigh she cradles his head in her palms and softly kisses his lips. Then she kisses his nose. Then his cheeks, his eyes, his forehead, his chin and every inch of his pale, beautiful face.

"I'm here."

If this is what real love does to someone, she rather she had never felt it at all.

-e-e-e-

Weeks pass and Enjolras' spirits are starting to recover. In this time they've met almost daily, though they only had sex at most four times.

No, all they did was either talk for hours or lie in bed in silence for even longer. And she was okay with that.

Éponine has never lost someone she deeply cared for before; sure, she's seen her fair share of deaths, but never really of a family member or close friend, so she can't really understand what Enjolras must be feeling and she definitely doesn't know how to console him.

She guesses being her usual self and not coddling him is the safest path she can take.

"The police have pretty much given up the search for the killer," he says one day and Éponine hopes he doesn't catch her flinch.

"I know it must suck," she says slowly while running her hand over his bicep and resting her cheek on his shoulder, "but what can you do? I think it would be healthier for you if you just moved on. Finding the one who did it won't bring your parents back."

He shakes his head almost violently and his jaw clenches. "No. I can't give up. I'll never ever forgive myself if I let this go. Even if I die in the process, I'm going to make whoever did this pay."

Her hand lowers herself from his arm and catches his own in a tight hold. "Don't say you're going to die."

They gaze at each other for a while; at first her words surprise him, but his shock is quickly replaced by comfortable warmth that reflects in the way he looks at her. It makes her heart ache.

His kiss is warm as well. His soft lips leave scorching marks on her skin as they go down from her collarbone, to her breasts, down her stomach and then down between her legs.

He makes her scream as his tongue darts along her slit in fast, wet and hungry lapping motions and she comes all over his face in mind-blowing ecstasy.

Afterwards she climbs on top and slowly, passionately, rides him to orgasm, hands intertwined while eyes fixate on the person in front of them.

"Thanks for being there for me," Enjolras surprises her by saying once the physical stuff is done and they're back to resting in each other's arms.

"We're friends, Enj, and with the life I lead I need to take good care of the very few I have. I'll always be there, even if you stop wanting me to, that's a promise to you and to me." It's 50% truth, of course, but the deeper meaning behind her (and his) caring will remain unsaid, at least in words.

Their fingers are still intertwined; he gives them a little squeeze and brings her hand to his mouth where his lips lay gentle pecks on each callus and scratch.

"Thank you," he says in barely more than a whisper. "Thank you."

-e-e-e-

The police barge through her door and in the ensuing mayhem, Éponine only knows a few things: handcuffs are as uncomfortable as ever, her parents, even when past their prime, can still put up one hell of a fight, and behind her there is a glint of gold, crystal blue and pain that hurts more than any punch the cops could throw at her.

The look on Enjolras' face as the police take her away is an unclear mix of rage, disbelief and pure suffering, and while she stares back at him she feels his emotions seep into her as well.

Éponine feels rage that she is being blamed for something she did not do, disbelief that he would sit back and watch them arrest her without a single word in edgewise, and agony that he didn't trust her enough.

5 years for being an accessory to murder.

5 years in prison for not wanting her family to get locked up like dogs and for not wanting the man she loves to be in danger and hate her forever. How is that fair?

She doesn't think it is, but what can she do anymore? The deed is done and the hammer has fallen.

If Enjolras had been pale and hollow on the night his parents were killed, now, in the courtroom as they cuff and prepare to take her to her new home for the next five years, he seems dead. He looks like an ambulatory corpse with no light shining through his eyes and not even a spark of the fire that usually burned their natural flames within him.

Éponine would have run and taken him in her arms were she not filled with such deep loathing for the man who betrayed her for only having his best interests in mind.

They catch each other's eye at one point and where there had been love before, now there is nothingness between them that should have caused more pain, but instead causes only numbness.

What does hurt is that, even after all that happened, she knows and can tell that deep down the love is still there.

And what's worse is that it will probably never go away.

-e-e-e-

Prison is a bitch. It's dirty and depressing and her fellow inmates are some of the worst kind of scum. On the bright side, Éponine feels superior to everyone around her for the first time in her life, but the small blessing isn't enough to make the situation any less grim.

Two years have passed since she's been locked up. It's been hell and she's counting down the days until she can finally see the sunlight reflecting from the city's windows in its full force again.

Enjolras is still on her mind every day of every week. The anger, the sadness and the longing has turned into nothing much but a dull ache, like old wounds that hurt when the atmospheric pressure drops. It's a constant pain that will stick till her dying day and it's hopeless to think of getting rid of it.

She receives an unexpected visitor one day, the first one she's ever gotten and she expects it to be the last. For a moment, she is horrified that she'll be met with gold and crystal blue when she opens the door to the visiting room, but the fear is quickly replaced by surprise when it's black and emerald green that she's faced with.

"Hi 'Ponine."

Grantaire looks well. Better than he ever has in the time she's known him. There are no more dark circles under his now clear, focused eyes. His black curls are trimmed and proper and his clothes are clean, no longer smelling of alcohol and stale cigarette smoke.

"Hi R."

They speak freely and comfortably; they've always gotten along better with each other than with most of the other amis (troubled kindred spirits he had once said). She doesn't ask why he's only come now, after two whole years, because judging by his appearance these two years must have not been easy for him either.

"So, what's happening in the outside world?" Éponine asks casually though she knows he knows what she wants to know.

"Nothing." Grantaire sighs. "And that's the problem."

He goes on to tell her about Les Amis de l'ABC, or rather the former Les Amis de l'ABC.

Enjolras had axed their organization soon after her sentencing. The boys had tried to protest, but the Chief had lost his enthusiasm and passion for good and could not be swayed. It had ended in shouting, blaming and crying, not even the combined efforts of Combeferre and Courfeyrac managing to affect the blond when his mind was made up. So the friends parted on less than amicable terms and most of them had yet to speak with each other since.

After relaying to her what had become of most of her friends, some turning out well, some not so much, he left Enjolras for the finish.

"He's a mess," Grantaire murmured with his forehead perched on his palm and his other hand balled into a fist. "He has no purpose anymore, no will to go on. His faith in humanity is gone and so is his caring for its fate. The fire's been put out and nothing but ash is left. All he does now is mope around in his apartment, drink until he passes out and the only thing that's stuck with him is his anger. Seriously, what alcohol is doing to him, I - " he breaks off, shakes his head and starts blinking rapidly. "My own eyes were opened while his are slowly closing."

"Éponine, you ruined him." R says this more as an observation rather than a blame or a judgment, something for which she isn't sure if she's thankful or not.

She still has no reply for him neither any words of consolation, so she just nods and listens and lets her heart break again.

They say goodbye and she knows she will probably never see the former drunkard again. Éponine hopes he'll stay on the right track and tries hard not think about all the times Enjolras had berated Grantaire for his vices.

She wonders if R has ever returned the favor, though she already knows the answer as he smiles at her before he leaves.

-e-e-e-

They let her out after only three years for good behavior. Éponine could be thankful, but those 36 months of her life will never be recovered, nor will her friends, nor her former life.

The world is different around her because she is different in turn.

There is no aim to guide her on the new life she's supposed to lead except one thought and one wish.

-e-e-e-

Her fist pounds loudly on Enjolras' front door.

There is fear of course, but above all else is anger and wanting of the fight they never got to have.

It's early morning and he doesn't answer. Enjolras was never the 'early to bed, early to rise type' but rather the 'sleep whenever there's time or when there's no other choice anymore', and she suspected the second part was just as valid now as it was then. Since she literally has nothing better to do she keeps on knocking.

It takes 30 minutes until she finally hears the sound of footsteps and the door slowly opens to reveal the sight not even her wildest dreams could come up with. Take Grantaire 3 years ago at his worst and multiply it by two: this is what Enjolras looks like right now. His eyes are sunken and bloodshot, his cheeks are hollow, a sickly hue painted on his once marble skin, several days' worth of stubble on his face and most noticeable, the strong stench of alcohol emanating from his person as well as from the inside of his apartment. What a sorry mess he has become.

There is no reaction at first, from neither of them. Éponine suspects he feels the same as her: all of the words, all of the accusations she has prepared in those three years to throw at him forgotten in this one second of realization that they are once again in front of each other. All at once the memories of nights of passion, of endless anecdotes with meaningless commentaries, all of the wiped away tears and all of the love came flooding into her consciousness, leaving her paralyzed, helpless for words as well as movement.

After a while, it's finally he who speaks, his voice gruff and dull, like he hasn't spoken in a while and was trying to find his voice again.

"So they let you out."

It isn't as much a question as it is a statement and Éponine has a hunch he's already known about her release.

"They did. Let me in."

His eye twitches but he steps aside and lets her pass.

The apartment is a dump and it smells like one too and she can't help but think the both of them have been locked in their own versions of prison these past two years.

"Why the fuck are you here?" Enjolras asks, venom dripping out of every word as well as out of his eyes as he gazes at her.

She looks at him a moment before she speaks. "I'm here because I had wanted to be angry and scream and make you feel sorry for what you did to me, but right now I'm too busy pitying your sorry ass to do any of those things."

Enjolras laughs a bitter laugh and shakes his head in disbelief.

"What I did to you? What about what you did to me?" His incredulity soon turns to hostility and his voice steadily grows in volume. "You fucking lied to me, 'Ponine, and that's putting it mildly! Do you have any idea of what you did?!"

"I tried to protect you!" She shoots back, feeling the hurt slowly come back to her as well as the anger and the disappointment. "Did you even stop to think for one second, or God forbid, maybe ask why I did what I did?"

"My parents were killed by your parents! And you knew! You knew and you said nothing!" He is close to her now and his red eyes are wide and hateful as they stare at her. "Just repeat those words in your head. Just try. Maybe that way you can understand the gravity of what you did."

"Do you even care what I went through, you selfish son of a bitch?!" As she yells, Éponine realizes she's no longer thinking straight; all she knows is those three years of suffering and of beating herself for everything that had happened. "I had to hold you while you cried all the while knowing what I did! I could have told you, yeah, but how would you have looked at me afterwards? My parents killed your parents. You would have resented me, you would have been disgusted by my presence and I would have lost you all the same! I would have betrayed my parents, and I hate them, believe me, but that was something I couldn't do. I did what I thought was best and you can't blame me for wanting everything to stay the way it was! But now I've lost all of that and then some, because YOU didn't even care about ME!"

"You're out of your goddamn mind," Enjolras spat and turned away from her, went to a chair, fell down on it and buried his head in his hands. "You're fucking crazy."

Éponine snorts and sits herself down on the floor next to him. "Must be why I'm here trying to cause a fight and why I'm still fucking in love with you."

He genuinely laughs at that, weakly, but amused nonetheless. "I still love you too... And the thought makes me sick to my stomach."

There is a long pause where neither say nor do anything, they just sit there in silence, mulling over their twisted relationship and fucked up lives that will probably never get back on track.

"What the hell do we do now?" Enjolras asks in a defeated tone.

"No clue," she replies in much the same manner.

So they keep sitting next to each other; she never leaves and he never throws her out.

They're too miserable, too lonely and too fucked up to be able to survive without each other anymore. They have nothing left in the world except each other and while they know sticking by the other's side will only bring further hardships, the thought of being alone and without each other was far more terrifying than the opposite.

They are sick, twisted people living sick, twisted lives and birds of a feather flock together and make an ugly, fragile nest that only someone like them could call a home because even this is better than being alone.