Passionate.

If there was one word to describe the virtuous Enjolras, that would be it. Passionate, not only in the aspect of liberty, but in all other aspects as well.

Chaste.

Another accurate description. He was the pure, undefiled son of a nobleman. His mind was filled with lofty, unrealistic ideals - the result of living a life free of worry and hardship. He had no idea what sort of tragedy and chaos the real world had in store for him or the band of young rebels he had the privilege of leading.

Eponine, all too familiar with misfortune and harsh reality, had often had to resist scoffing at his lengthy speeches as she listened in with the rest of the boys. But Marius had always had such a high opinion of him, so for his sake, she stayed and listened attentively, keeping quiet.

It was his passion, however, that she admired. The fervent glimmer of hope in his eyes, contagious and bright. The way his usual, serious countenance would briefly give way to the faintest hint of a smile when words such as "liberty", "freedom", and "revolution" spilled forth, their very taste sweet in his mouth.

Attentive.

Those vigilant, green eyes never missed a thing. He was keen to notice what everyone else seemed to overlook. Like when, on her way to deliver a letter to Marius from Cosette, Grantaire had rudely shoved his way past her as he stumbled to the table to get another drink, causing her to drop the letter and nearly fall flat on her face, if she hadn't braced herself against a wall. Enjolras, who'd been standing nearby discussing plans with a fellow student, did not give her a chance to pick the letter up. Instead, pausing in his conversation, he bent down to take it, and, after a quick glimpse at the envelope, gave an inaudible sigh and handed it to her.

"Not another one." He mumbled. His disapproval of such an inappropriate distraction at a time like this was made quite clear to Eponine, who completely agreed with him.

"I'm only the messenger." She shrugged, hoping he didn't blame her.

"You're alright, I hope?" He asked, referring to Grantaire's rude push a moment ago, touching her elbow lightly, a brief look of concern on his face. "I'm afraid my friend can't keep his wits about him when he's had a bit too much ale."

"S'alright. I've seen plenty a man worse." She replied, glancing at the drunk as he poured himself another tall glass of alcohol.

Enjolras met her gaze for a moment and she could have sworn she saw a look that resembled pity directed at her. Why? Because she'd met her share of drunkards? ...No, wait, it was something more than pity. Compassion, perhaps. She didn't like it. Not from him.

"It's nothing I'm not used to." She added quietly, straightening her shoulders, suddenly feeling uncomfortable under his stare. She didn't like him paying so much close attention to her, a simple street urchin who had no business conversing with a man like him.
"Have you seen Marius around? He'll be dying to read this." She couldn't help the bitterness in her voice as she searched the crowded room for her beloved.

"You'll find him upstairs. Said he felt a bit tired and wanted to rest." He answered before turning back around to continue his conversation with his friend.

She made her way through the crowd, gripping the letter tightly in her hand, willing herself not to rip it to shreds.

When she'd come back downstairs, nearly all the young men had left, gone home for the night. She made her way down the stairs slowly, one hand sliding down it's balustrade, the other wiping away at a few stray tears as she thought about Marius sitting up in his room, writing down his declarations of love for his darling Cosette. She felt sick to her stomach, not sure how much more she could take.

"You're still here?" She heard a lone voice ask.

Enjolras, seated at a table with books and maps before him, had spotted her. She nodded her head by way of responding. She stopped at the last step and sunk down, hugging the banister with one arm, leaning her head against it.

"And you?" She asked, hoping he couldn't see how red her face was from crying. Besides the few candles on the table, there was not much light in the room.

"Yes, I'm...just trying to plan out our next course of action." The momentary pause and his knitted brows revealing his confusion and stress.

She watched him tiredly, as he ran his hands through his flaxen curls, tugging on them as if trying to wring inspiration from the depths of his mind.

"Careful, or you'll rip out that lovely hair of yours." She warned him, stifling a yawn. He ignored her comment, perhaps not having heard her at all, as he opened up a book and flipped through pages. She noticed, for the first time, wrinkles around his eyes, bloodshot from lack of sleep.

Getting up, she made her way over to the table, leaning against it as she looked across to see what he was reading.

"It's a shame, really..." She said quietly.

"What?" He looked up, a little shocked at her sudden proximity.

"For you to be wasting your time on such a hopeless endeavor."

This caught his attention. He closed his book.

"Why hopeless?" He asked, folding his arms across his chest, leaning back in his chair, waiting for her to humor him.

"You have unrealistic goals, Monsieur."

"Do I?"

Eponine nodded, picking up a book and flipping through it.

"What makes you think you, a bourgeois, have the right to stand up for the poor and malnourished citizens of France when you've no idea about the plight of our daily lives? You haven't a clue about the hardships we deal with, what sort of misfortune we go through? What makes you think any of them will side with you when you go give your rousing speech in the streets with the boys tomorrow, passing out your pathetic pamphlets and flags?" She placed the book down, picked up another. "They all know who you are, where you come from, what sort of privileged life you live."

"A privileged life I gave up for the cause." He corrected her.

"See, you are under the assumption that doing so makes you heroic, but I'd say it makes you rather idiotic. Why on earth did you decide to give up such wealth and luxury when you could've easily managed this rebellion with it as well as without it?" She didn't give him a chance to reply. "Oh, right, because you thought you could fool the people into believing you were one of them. Well, good job on that. I see you've made yourself very believable, especially with your expensive, fashionable attire and educated manner of speech. They're sure to rally behind you now."

He stared at her without realizing his jaw was open, never expecting to hear such things from someone like her.

"And where, might I ask, does this sudden onslaught of animosity come from?"

She shrugged, eyeing his maps.

"Nowhere in particular."

"Well, I'll have you know, Mademoiselle-" He started to retaliate, rising up from his chair, right before Marius burst open his door and rushed downstairs.

"Eponine! I've finished the letter." He exclaimed, waving it in front of her face. It was sealed away in a neat envelope, with only his signature on the front. "Make sure she gets it tonight."

Eponine stared at the piece of paper, reluctantly reaching for it.

"Are you alright, my friend?" Marius asked a dazed looking Enjolras.

"Huh? Yes, quite alright." He muttered, sitting back down in his chair. He glanced at the pained expression on Eponine's face. Putting aside what she'd just said, he turned to Marius. "You expect her to go out on her own this late at night?"

Marius looked at Eponine, as if he hadn't realized it was nighttime and it suddenly just occurred to him.

"Don't worry about me, I know my way around." She quickly said, defending herself.

"One of us should escort you." Enjolras insisted.

"Please, Monsieur. You forget you aren't talking to a proper lady. Not like his dear Cosette." She motioned towards Marius, trying to keep the resentment out of her voice.

"But a lady nonetheless." The young leader made a point to look straight into her eyes before looking back at Marius. "Really, now. This love business has made you lose all your senses, Pontmercy. It's terribly improper for her to go out alone." Eponine was too tired to protest. "Wait until the morning. Then she'll be able to do your bidding." He said the last sentence with a hint of sarcasm.

"You're right, of course." Marius smiled, and reached for Eponine's hand, sending shivers down her spine. "We'll wait till morning."

"Meanwhile, make yourself at home here, Mademoiselle. You're welcome to stay the night, we've plenty of rooms upstairs. It's too late for you to return home, anyway. I trust your parents won't mind you being gone for one night?" Enjolras asked tentatively.

"When have they ever minded?" Eponine muttered to herself, heading over to a nearby divan. "I'll sleep here. This'll do just fine."

"Nonsense. Marius, show her to a room." The leader instructed.

"Come on, 'Ponine." Marius grabbed her by the wrist, to her delight, and led her up the stairs. "You'll forgive me for being so inconsiderate, won't you? I'm afraid I've been rather love-struck and dazed the past few days."

Enjolras was careful to notice the pained look on the poor girl's face as she acknowledged the fact that her beloved's romantic daze had nothing to do with her. He tried to refocus on his plans, but he could not stop thinking about this street urchin who was so wise beyond her years and how, in a matter of five short minutes, managed to open up her mouth and make him question all that he was fighting for.