Of course she's stuck in the tiny seat (the one that's just too small to be comfortable). Of course he has the window seat and she's glued in the middle. And of course she's reading when he comes, so it's too late to leave the aisle and let him pass.

After a moment, however, she's slightly happier she hadn't noticed him earlier. Because now he was trying to squeeze by between her and the seat in front of her, and she can't help but notice that his ass is the hottest thing she's encountered on this frigid winter day. The plane isn't heated, but Eponine still feels a hot flush run up her face and paint her cheeks.

She buries her nose in her book once more, but the markings on the page no longer form coherent sentences.

"Sorry," he mumbles as he settles into the seat next to hers. She almost blurts something out along the lines of "oh, it's no problem" or "I don't mind," but ends up simply nodding.

Feeling another blush rising up on top of the other one - I'm about to explode oh god I think he's staring at me get out get out - Eponine quickly throws her book into the pocket of the seat in front of her and stumbles (more like falls) out into the aisle, desperate just to get away, get outside, because her lungs suddenly feel severely lacking in air-

A passing stewardess almost becomes her first victim as Eponine ducks and dodges between the other passengers, aware that causing another scene in front of him - eyes so blue like the sky on a summer's day- might just cause her to melt through the floor and disappear forever. This plane ride was her last hope of leaving her past for good; she didn't need that handsome boy to follow her to a new life. A girl like her didn't deserve a young man like him. Her father had instilled that thought in her often enough.

Voices swim around her, and for some reason -stupid karma- his voice stands out of the crowd, the slick, velvety sound that, even though it had been just a murmur, had sent pleasant shivers scuttling down her spine.

Nope, Eponine, don't you dare go down that road. Love is part of your past, and it's all getting left behind in that hellhole you called a home.

"Excuse me, Mademoiselle?" She turns and resists the urge to shut her eyes, the rational side of her yelling the fact that she is not in the Wizarding world and that invisibility spells and cloaks do not actually exist.

"Me?" Eponine tries to keep her voice as nonchalant as possible, but she knows even he can't miss the fact that no woman's voice could ever be that high.

The young man smiles and Eponine feels her legs go weak. She wishes she could see him smile like that at her every day.

"You seem to have, erm, lost your shoe..." His voice trails off as he holds up an old boot that may have once been a rich chocolate color, but now looks like something that came out of-

Let's not go there, Eponine. You don't need to go throwing up on the guy as well. Just imagine what he'd think of you then.

But sure enough, the only thing covering her left foot is a sock that's made out of more holes than cloth. It's only when he gently pulls her aside into an empty row of seats that she realizes how long she'd been standing in the aisle, unmoving and silent, staring at his golden curls and sharp blue eyes the whole time.

It is now that she realizes how cramped third class seats really are.

"Um, th-thank you, Monsieur," She takes a step back to try and -escape you're running away again naughty girl- step into the aisle, but karma seems to be on her period today because Eponine's foot catches on her other one and she starts falling, faster and faster, expecting the heavy ground to meet her breathless heart. Then her heart is beating again, only it's going one hundred times the speed of a normal person, because he is holding her, his arms circled around her waist, in that cramped row of empty seats that seem to have eyes of their own, watching and judging her.

How dare she associate herself with a boy like that? A handsome young man like him doesn't deserve a gutter rat like her.

She dares to blush in his presence, the nerve!

"Uh...I, um..." Eponine sees that her shoe was thrown onto the aisle in the young man's haste to catch her, and she almost smiles. She feels herself being pulled closer and closer toward his full mouth and blue eyes, the ones that speak of a never ending sky with an unreachable horizon, and Eponine wonders what it would be like to kiss him.

Another blush rises on her cheeks, and she wonders if her face will ever return to its original, tanned shade. They are so close, their noses practically touching, that she is sure he sees her blush, is positive that he's judging her by it as harshly as those chairs.

"Thanks for, uh, catching me." The words stumble out of her mouth, as clumsy and wobbly as a child just learning to walk. He smiles, and at this close range she can count every one of the snowy white teeth.

Fire there's fire everywhere and you're dying

"You're welcome." He lets her stand and takes a step back, and Eponine suddenly finds herself missing the warmth of his arms on her waist, of their steadiness.

Would you catch me again...if I were to fall? She wants to lose control of her tongue and blurt out every thought, appropriate and otherwise, that has entered her mind in the past five minutes, but he's clearing his throat and pointing behind her. A man with a black hat and equally black suitcase is gesturing to her, presumably asking to her move away from his seat.

She squeezes past him, going so far as to suck in her stomach to avoid touching him. When she's back in the aisle and in front of the way of yet another stewardess does she realize that the young man had taken hold of her arm again. Presumably, that was how she has gotten through the crowd unscathed.

You're not in his arms but he's there he's watching and he sees you die

"You seem to be attracting quite a bit of attention today." She turns to face him ad he's smiling that smile again, the beautiful one that makes his eyes light up.

"That's only 'cause you're the one pulling me around, Monsieur." She isn't sure if being sassy was going to help or hinder her, but at the moment it's all she has to hide behind, the only thing she has to lash out and protect herself with. Becoming friendly with strange men has never done her good in the past.

And it would be well for you to remember that.

For a moment, his eyes dim and he looks hurt, but soon that annoyingly handsome smirk is back.

"And you, Mademoiselle, have yet to resist."