A/N: *dodges rotting fruit* Don't worry, everybody, I'm still alive! This has been an absolutely crazy semester. Anyway, this one-shot is adapted from a short story I had to write this semester for my Intro to Creative Writing class, so I hope you enjoy it!

Éponine was pacing back and forth across the green room floor like a caged lion. Why, in the name of God, did she decide to wear the 5-inch heels tonight? They were already pinching her feet, and she had pedals to work once she made it onto that recital hall stage. On that note, maybe the half-backless dress wasn't a good idea either…Dr. Parker definitely wouldn't approve.

She grabbed a couple handfuls of her long, black hair, trying to resist the urge to pull it all out. The musty smell of the old rug and the nasty shade of the pale green walls weren't helping her brain to relax. Ironic, she thought, since that's the whole purpose of a green room.

"'Ponine," her best friend's voice murmured behind her, an interjection of calm in her crazed mind. Since they were small children, Enjolras had been the only one allowed to call her that. He was always special that way.

Her pacing jerked to a stop at the sound of his voice, her back still turned to him as she took a deep breath. But it did nothing to calm her. Her heart was still racing, just for a different reason now. "I can't stop freaking out about this, Enj," she whispered as she faced him, using her nickname for him in turn. "I mean, we're the first all-undergrad ensemble to even attempt this piece, and I'm a sophomore, for God's sake." She raised onto her toes, despite the shoes, and looked over her friend's shoulder to make sure their percussionists, Combeferre and Courfeyrac, weren't listening to her before she continued. "Dr. Jones and Dr. Parker must have a hell of a lot of faith in us if they think we can actually pull this off. Who the hell plays Bartók when they're 19? And another thing, too –"

"Éponine-Marguerite Thénardier," he interrupted, taking her face in his hands, as he always did when he got serious about getting her head out of the clouds. The touch of his familiar, calloused hands made her heart skip a beat, just like the sound of his voice saying her full name did. His short-cropped hair, somewhere between dirty blonde and brown, helped him look much more put together than she did. But nothing got her attention like those hazel eyes behind his black-framed glasses as they met her brown ones.

God, he looks good in all black, she thought to herself, but she quickly pushed the thought aside. "Yes, Henri-François Enjolras?" she replied, hoping the sarcasm in her voice would hide what she actually felt for him. She knew he would figure it out soon enough; he'd always known what was on her mind.

He ignored her tone, still making her look into his eyes. "Listen to me for just a minute," he said, brushing a bit of hair out of her eyes. "You know as well as I do that Dr. Parker wouldn't have given you that second piano part if she didn't think you could handle it, even though you're only a sophomore. And her aside, I know better than anyone else that you've been practicing your ass off for this. Trust me. You can do this. Okay? Just calm down, and everything will come out alright, I promise."

Éponine gave Enjolras a weak smile. His pep talks were one of the many reasons she'd fallen in love with him two years ago. "Okay," she agreed, nodding. The best friends wrapped each other up in a strong hug, while in the corner behind them, Combeferre and Courfeyrac were absentmindedly adjusting their cufflinks for the hundredth time as they double-checked each other on the exact stage setup they needed to have. Éponine let the percussion jargon wash over her ears, paying it no mind. The only thing that mattered to her right now was being here, with him.

They were all nervous; the tension in the air was palpable. Béla Bartók's "Sonata for Two Pianos and Percussion" was a daring piece for anyone to attempt, especially four undergrads, but Dr. Jones, the percussion professor, and Dr. Parker, Éponine and Enjolras' piano professor, had given them the go-ahead to perform it anyway. Éponine had wondered if she would give herself carpal tunnel from all the practicing – and she probably would have, if Enj hadn't forced her to take breaks.

Éponine heard the green room door open and reluctantly released her best friend, hoping she hadn't gotten makeup all over the front of his black suit. She noticed they had all turned to face the door as she pushed her hair back and smoothed down the front of her black dress. It was time.

"Ready?" the attendant asked, glancing around the small, sickly colored room at each of the four performers.

She tossed a glance at Enjolras. "Nope," she said, grinning.

Her best friend returned the gesture, squeezing her hand. "Lead us out, 'Ponine."

With an authoritative step, she marched out of the green room behind the attendant, her heels clicking along the hallway tiles. He pulled the stage door open, and Éponine mustered her best smile to float to the second Steinway grand piano, on the far right side of the stage. Over the applause that greeted them, she heard Enjolas, Combeferre, and Courfeyrac all reporting to their own posts. Thankfully, Combeferre and Courfeyrac weren't stumbling past the back of Enj's piano as they got their setup between the two massive instruments. As she got to her spot, gripping her piano tightly, Éponine briefly wondered where her family was sitting in the hall. Probably wherever Enj's parents are, even though we're on opposite sides of the stage.

The four students made brief eye contact, before taking a unison bow and settling in at their stations. She and Enjolras quickly adjusted their respective piano benches, and Éponine shuffled a few pages of her music to make sure they were in place just so for the last movement. Show time.

With a deep breath, she turned to her left to Enjolras, watching the ringleader of their whole circus. With a flair, he placed his hands on the first chord and started to play. His fingers were metronomic over the keys, just as they'd rehearsed. The notes were so perfectly quiet; Éponine could barely hear them from her side of the stage. She counted the key strokes as she watched his hands – one, two, three, four, five, six…seven, eight, nine, ten, eleven, twelve, thirteen…

Now it was her turn. She took a breath, in time with the music. The first three notes sounded under her two hands, in the same tempo and volume as Enjolras. She counted only by moving her lips. Soon, she forgot the audience, the dress, and even the 5-inch heels. Her hands fell into the familiar pattern she'd practiced for ten thousand hours. It was just her, Enjolras, and the music.

The calm of the opening only lasted for a moment, before Enjolras jumped into the next frantic section; Éponine responded in turn as Combeferre and Courfeyrac did their parts. The four of them were a unit, breathing, thinking, and playing together. Éponine just prayed that Bartók would be proud, wherever he was.

The longer the performance went on, the more relaxed and confident Éponine became. It was almost like she and Enjolras could read each other's minds. She was focused on the music, whipping pages as the notes flew by, but she was also focused on Enjolras – his eyes focused on the page in front of him, his strong hands pounding and caressing the keys as the volume changes called. She had always loved watching him play, but more than that, she loved playing with him. She loved him so much.

Finally, they played their last quiet chord, Combeferre's drumming getting softer and softer as the piece came to an end. Éponine released a breath she didn't know she'd been holding, a huge smile on her face as the applause broke out. She finally turned her head completely to grin at Enjolras, her childhood best friend and the man she loved. They simultaneously rose from their piano benches as the audience rose to their feet in a standing ovation; Éponine could distinctly hear her father whistling his approval loudly from the left side of the hall. So that's where they were. All four of them broadly smiling and gesturing to their fellow musicians, they took two more bows together, before Enjolras finally led them off the stage. Éponine exited behind Courfeyrac, barely hearing the hall attendant congratulate them on such a successful performance. There was only one person that she wanted to see.

As Combeferre and Courfeyrac headed to the lobby to see their families, she saw that Enjolras was standing in the middle of the green room, an exhilarated smile still on his face. The atmosphere of the room felt completely different now – celebratory instead of anxious. She still didn't care about the 5-inch heels as she crossed the distance to him in four broad strides, leaping into his arms. He held her tightly around the waist as he spun her round and round in circles, both of them laughing. "What did I tell you, 'Ponine?!" he joked as he squeezed her tightly. "I knew you had it in you! You aced it!"

"I had a lot of help," she answered into his chest as he set her down. Thankfully, his grip didn't loosen. Between the dizziness from Enjolras spinning her around, and just being around him, Éponine wasn't sure she could stand on her own. "Oh, God, Enj…I can't believe we made it," she said.

She felt one of his hands stroking the top of her head, his long fingers gently combing the red mess on top of her head. "I never doubted you, 'Ponine," he whispered into her hair. "Ever since we were kids, I've always believed in you."

Éponine looked up at him, her chin resting on his chest. "You can't possibly mean that, Enj," she murmured under her breath. Impulsively, she let a hand reach up to rest next to her chin, just over his heart. "We met when we were three," she laughed, trying to keep a tingle of nervousness out of it.

Her best friend just smiled, and her heart skipped another beat. "I know," he whispered back, one of his hands coming up to meet hers as his forehead connected with her head. "And you've always been one of the most important people in my life." He quickly caught his breath and looked down, as if he realized just how much he'd said, almost like it was too much.

No one else would have noticed the subtle change in him, but she did. And she knew that look. Éponine knew this was her chance. Come on, Annie, she said to herself. Now or never. "Enj…" she whispered, trying to hold onto his hand a little tighter. She almost felt like her whole body was vibrating. "There's something I have to tell you."

She could feel his frown as he pulled back to look at her. His hands were resting on his shoulders. "What is it? Are you alright? You're not having another anxiety attack, are you?" he asked worriedly, the words pouring out of his mouth. "I know you get those after big performances; are you okay?"

"No, I'm fine." God, why is he always so thoughtful that way? "Only nervous on the inside," she laughed, a little breathiness making its way into her voice, despite her attempts to sound calm. Just relax, 'Ponine.

He looked quizzically at her. "What do you mean? What's going on?" Éponine took a step back. She just couldn't do this while standing so close to him. She needed to be able to think clearly. For a moment, Enjolras looked like he wasn't going to let her go, but he dropped his arms, stuffing his hands in his pockets. She looked down to muster her courage before she spoke.

"Henri…" Éponine had to force herself to use his given name. She swallowed hard, biting her lip, but forcing herself to look him in the eyes. "I'm in love with you. I have been for a couple of years now…and…" she trailed off for a moment. "I…I figured it was time for you to know." God, that was the lamest way to end that.

His jaw dropped, and for a moment, Éponine was afraid she'd said something wrong. But then he smiled, and she felt herself calm down a little. "'Ponine…" he laughed. "I thought you'd never say so." He stepped forward, closing the distance between them as he wrapped his arms around her again.

Despite how good it felt to be enveloped by him like this, and what his words implied, she needed to be sure. "Wait…" Éponine said slowly. "What are you saying, Enj?"

"'Ponine, I'm saying…" he laughed again, his hands moving up to hold her face again. "I love you, too." Her heart nearly stopped as a smile broke out on her face. On impulse, she leaned forward and pressed her lips to his. She could tell he was eager to kiss her back, his hands still holding onto the sides of her face before they moved to her shoulders.

The kiss didn't last long, but when they pulled apart, Éponine couldn't stop smiling. "We should probably go out there; people will start to wonder where we are," she giggled.

Enjolras grinned back, entwining their hands. "They can wait," he said, his eyes shining mischievously.

"Enj, we shouldn't," she protested, but there was no heart in her words. She wanted to stay in this moment forever.

He only grinned, gently squeezing her hands. "So, 'Ponine…" he said casually, "how long were you planning to wait to tell me about this?"

For a moment, she frowned at him. And then the meaning of his words registered. "What?" she exclaimed.

Enjolras was laughing outright now. "Let's be completely honest – you've never had much of a poker face." He squeezed her hand, placing a small kiss on her forehead. "But I couldn't be happier that you finally told me. I love you, Éponine Thénardier."

Éponine resolutely ignored the happy butterflies that were still in her stomach. "I love you too, Henri Enjolras."