The rifle cuts through the quiet as easily as a butter knife. Enjolras pauses in fear. He looks around to find where he is, where has his first man fallen? He hears a cry from the lips of Marius. His head snaps to the side and he sees Marius scamper down to the Gamin. It's a gamin, the type of person he's fighting for. A marionette on a stage of blood and warfare. Except it isn't a stage, this is Paris, and the marionette isn't even a puppet. And the gamin isn't even a gamin.

Enjolras watches as she slips an envelope that would've once been white into Marius' fingers. When her cap falls off, the dark hair gives him the ability to move again. Enjolras leaps over a barrel of gunpowder and he scoops the gamine into his arms. No. Why Marius? I loved you first. He supports her head in the crook of his neck. The gamine's eyes widen. "Enjolras!" her face lights up in an opalescent smile. The last moment of happiness.

"Eponine, why him? Why that boy who cares nothing about you?" His blue eyes are clouded with concern.

"I didn't do it for him," she snaps and Enjolras would've chuckled if not for that painful wince. "Enjolras, outside of this, my life is already over. I am just a little piece of glass and I already know, my father will not die in this fight."

"Eponine, you know, you're going to live."

"Don't lie to me."

Enjolras could feel the tears mixing with the rain. He pushes up the now-dark-red blouse and can literally feel her pain as he sees the wound. He feels the sobs pushing up his throat and he pushes it away. His arms wrap even tighter around her. Dark brown hair is matted with blood as the red trickles off her dirt-covered neck. "I guess I was a little brash, wasn't I. Dying hurts, Enjolras." The tears trickle off her dark brown cheeks like waterfalls. They mix with the brown and make her look a little healthier.

She grips his shirt to hide the tears from everyone else.

"I'm sorry, 'Ponine," Enjolras whispers. He is sorry too. For not finding her in time, for not shooting down the soldier.

"Don't be. These few months with you have been the only happy ones I can remember."

She smiles and pulls herself up, kissing him sweetly on the lips. Enjolras can taste her blood, and he knows it's the last kiss he'll have from her. Her eyes close and she falls away. His head snaps up. "We fight for her. Patria is dead."

Enjolras is working for a newspaper. One day, a girl walks through the door. With dark hair and dark eyes, he feels like he knows her. She has a way around her that warns that she knows how to look after herself and if you think anything else she's going to make sure you don't recognise yourself.

After a while, Enjolras works up the nerve to ask her to the Café Musain.

She beams at him, "Yes, please."

One day as he stays in the dark of his building, a shriek fills his ears. He runs through the building until he finds her. Orange tongues of fire provide a wall. He sees her collapsed body on the other side. He runs through, besides the raging pain. He holds her close and her tears make his skin cool.

When the firefighters kill the flames, there's a pair of dead lovers who never got to tell each other that they loved each other.

Enjolras sees the dark-haired girl on the corner of a bar slash brothel. He doesn't go there for a good time, he's driving to the market. She's different from the others, stony gaze, makeup free, daring anyone to try and pick her up. When he slows for a better look, her eyes narrow on his and she- flips him off. Enjolras' jaw drops. Then she turns to a girl who's even younger. She looks more normal than the dark-haired one. Her hair is red. "Azelma, what the hell are you doing here? This place is for whores, the desperate ones."

The girl who must be Azelma glances up at the girl with disdain. "Bloody hell, Ep, you were here once."

"Shut up," growls the dark girl, and Azelma smirks.

Enjolras winds down the window. "Hello, ladies. Are you okay?"

The girl looks like she's going to spit a sarcastic remark but when her eyes settle on his, without the tint, recognition flickers. It's like a punch to the stomach. He feels like he knows her. And somehow he feels a sense of longing in the pit of his stomach, as old as life itself. He waves it away as just a flicker.

"Actually, sir, please may we have a ride to 13 McAnne Lane?"

"First, may I have your name?" Enjolras smiles.

"Oh, how rude, I'm Eponine and this little brat is Azelma." Eponine says it with affection in her voice, and she pulls the little girl closer to her. "I'm just here to fetch this little bitch."

Enjolras raises his eyebrows. "I'm Enjolras. Hop in if you like." He shrugs to let them know that he means no harm. Eponine slides into the back. When he arrives at her spot, he looks back at her. "Have I seen you before?"

"I don't think so." Eponine looks into his eyes and feels like she's been in exactly the same position before. Her fingernails curl into her dirt-coated palms. She slides out of the car seat and grabs her sister's hand. "And you, little Azelma, you will never go back there. You're seventeen, damn it."

"Like what you've been through is better."

"Well that wasn't my choice." Eponine looks up and looks Enjolras pointedly in the face. "Thank you, Monsieur. I have a feeling we'll see each other again."

One day at a writing workshop Enjolras sees a head of dark hair and knows who it is. He slides into the desk beside her. "Hello, Mademoiselle. Remember me?"

The girl turns her head and then lets a rough laugh escape her lips. "Hello, Monsieur Enjolras. It's been almost exactly a year since I've seen you, is that correct?"

"I think so," smiles Enjolras. "May I see what you've written?" She smiles and looks him in the eye with that way about her.

"Of course. Partners, Monsieur?"

"Of course, Alcyone."

"What?" she asks him, raising an eyebrow. "Who's that?"

"Alcyone was in love with Ceyx, and when Zeus killed him, she threw herself into the sea."

"And what, do you picture yourself in Ceyx's place, oh great Apollo?"

"No!" He blushes. He rubs a place behind his finely shaped ear.

Eponine chuckles and looks at him with satisfaction. "So, Monsieur, I was wondering if you'd like to go to the Café La Tage?"

Enjolras fidgets nervously. "I thought it was the man who asked. But to answer your question, yes."

Enjolras takes her seat and carefully reads her story, asking if he should make corrections. It's just a setting, she says, but it makes him feel like she knows it all too well.

The dark clouds swirl, but they're not dramatic. There aren't many trees where we are. They're just little skeletons of what they might've been one day. A thousand years ago this place might've been pretty, but not any more. It's too full of shit and rubbish to be remotely decent. There's a shack on the border. That's where my family and I live. The broken shards of my life are still broken, but the tears stopped a long time. Picture a little girl with russet locks. Her dark brown eyes are just as stony as mine. She arrived later than me, so it's affected her more. The scars are proof. But mine came from my own. If I was braver, or a little more selfish, I would've gone with my brother, Gavroche. He's happier on the streets than here. I envy him. I'm always alone, and my thoughts scare me more than any of the drunken rages of my father.

Her eyes flick to the last sentence and her brow creases. "I think I incorporated too much from reality." Then her eyes dart to Enjolras and she smiles.

"Is that a good thing or a bad thing," he mutters.

"Oh, I just visited that place once. And I used too much of my sister."

"That's fine. It's good to use your experiences."

"Right."

She frowns again. "You know this is a work of fiction, right?"

"I gathered such," he smiled, but his stomach twists with worry for the girl. "Would you like me to pick you up at eight?"

Enjolras almost blushes; he hads't gone on a date before. He's been asked by a girl once in, what, 6th Grade? Of course he didn't go.

Eponine looks like she is about to spit a deadly remark, when she looks at his face and smiles. "Yep, sounds good. Pick me up at 13 McAnne Lane?" She smirks at him with a corner of her mouth.

At 8, when he pulls up at the same place where he dropped off her and Azelma, he sees her and is astounded. The dress must be brand new, or really well preserved. It's dark blue with long sleeves ending midway on her arms. Lighter blue flowers are imprinted on the edges, and there's a small slit on the right thigh. Her dark hair is tumbling down her shoulders. She hasn't applied too much make-up, only a little bit of lip gloss, and there's a tiny tad of dark blue eyeliner.

Enjolras' shirt is red and his pants are black. Surprisingly, he doesn't feel inadequate. Just as he's about to open his mouth, Eponine walks towards him and clamps a hand over his mouth. "Uh, uh, uh. Let me speak." She pulls back and places her hands on her hips. "One, thing, babe. You look really good." Enjolras wonders if he actually heard admiration in her voice.

Enjolras smiles and he feels the awkwardness vanish. "You are stunning as well, Mademoiselle."

"You're amazing!"

"You're better."
"You're a freaking god, now you can shut up. If you say another word I will slap you into Australia." And she looks at him with such an intense glare that he's glad he went to the bathroom before.

He opens the door to the passenger seat and bows as though it is Cinderella's pumpkin carriage. Eponine beams and slides in. Enjolras walks around and into the drivers seat.

Enjolras likes the Café La Tage. It's quiet, but it has fine food. People don't focus on anyone other than their other. That night there's the quiet sound of music. It's not specifically one genre. There's the obvious strum of a guitar and the voice of a man whose words go unheard. Eponine looks dazzled as she walks in. "Wow," she whispers. "I like this. My other dates all took me to big ones or just bars depending on what they could afford. But this, this, is me."

Enjolras beams. "I thought you'd like it."

A sweet-faced, blonde waitress walks through to them. "Ah, Enjolras," she grins.

He doesn't recognise her. At his puzzled expression, she continues, "We've never met, Mademoiselle, but I'm Joly's girlfriend, Musichetta."

Enjolras nods in a manner that's more… accepting than his usual one. It has something to do with Eponine being there. He orders roast lamb and Eponine orders Spaghetti Carbonara.

As she's twirling the pasta around her fork, she shoots a beautiful, dazzling smile in Enjolras' direction. "Like what you see, darling?"

Yes. Yes he does. "What do you mean?" He avoids coughing but he obviously fidgets, because Eponine smirks triumphantly.

"So where do you want to go after this," her voice is seductive, raspy.

God damn, she's not joking. "I don't know. Where did you have in mind?" He cuts a larger slice of lamb than he usually does, ducking his head to hide the deep red of embarrassment.

"I've got a special place." Right then, she finishes her meal, and a minute later, they're both finished.

They share a slice of chocolate cake and then she leads him out. She gets in the driver's seat and Enjolras feels the awkwardness again. He thinks she's taking him to her apartment but she stops a bit away from anyone, really. He looks around and gasps. There's no bed, no kitchen, nothing. It's a garden. Roses climb a white fence. He's not sure if they are the beautiful forget-me-nots of stories.

"You made it sound like you were taking me… somewhere else."

Eponine shrugs and smiles at him. "I like to scare people."

There's no meanness. The moon and stars watch them and they think, Yes, we'll remember them. The broken girl and the marble boy, standing under the night.

Eponine looks up at him, and her lips twist upwards. Her feet carry her forwards and she presses her lips to his. He never thought she'd taste like she does. When he thought about what she tasted like (and yes, he did think about that) he thought maybe cigarette smoke and alcohol. It didn't prepare him for this. No, she tastes like cinnamon and apple pie. Her hands wrap around his head and pull him closer. Despite his better instincts, his hands pull her near.

Yes. The moon watches them, a dark princess, who thinks, We will always remember you. We will remember the broken girl and the marble boy, she grew back together, and the boy's marble broke under our watchful gaze.

Maybe one day Jehan will write about them in one of his poems. Maybe they'll tell him, or one of their friends will catch them. But they will always remember the girl made of dust, and the boy made of marble. And how the girl broke his marble and the boy made her real.

Eponine pulls back and smirks. "Look me in the face and tell me that you didn't want that."

Enjolras looked her in the face and smiled. Can marble crumble?

"Yes. You have no idea how much I've wanted that."

Eponine looked around her and threw back her head, laughing. How could a girl like that laugh so beautifully? "We've done this before, Enjolras."

Enjolras looked at her quizzically and he had the amazing feeling that she was right. That they had done this before. "Really? When?"

"In another life, Monsieur."

Eponine and Enjolras move in together. One day, he takes her to the ABC. Eponine follows him through the wooden doors of a Café that would probably bankrupt if it weren't for the Friends of the Abc, a group of journalists.

As the friends debate, her eyes are rested firmly on their leader. His blue eyes blaze with a passion that cannot be withheld when he talks about a better world. Eponine clasps her hands and leans forward. "Paris' conditions are in despair. People starve every day. There are children who are separated from their parents and siblings."

Eponine raises her voice then. "You are correct, Monsieur. After all, you've had more than your fair share of the streets. But sometimes, the pain, the starving, comes from within. Once you get sucked into the world of Paris, real Paris, there's a little part of you that can't crawl out."

Enjolras glances at her. His eyebrows crinkle for a minute before he looks back to the others. "My friends, let me introduce you to Eponine Thenardier." Enjolras' hand outstretches to Eponine. Eponine smiled and her slender fingers wrap around it. She stands beside him.

Grantaire grinned. "Has Enjolras fallen in love at last?"

Enjolras' eyes fall downcast. "Maybe," smirks Eponine.

They never needed to tell each other. They just knew. They didn't need to tell one another that they loved them. So one day they were at a party at Marius and Cosette's house. Eponine and Enjolras stay away from the liquor until music starts to roll from the radio. Enjolras looks at Eponine and smiles. "Dance with me, Eponine?"

She takes his hand and they sway together on the dance floor. She looks up at him. "Oh, I know this song." And Eponine starts to sing. Enjolras never thought she could be more perfect than she already was (even though every day proves him wrong) and when she sings (a nightingale song) he lowers his face into her hair. "I love you," he whispers.

"I love you too," she replies. Then they start to slip away into the shadows, unwatched. They go into the attic, where no one can find them.

They fall against the bed and her hands settle on his shoulders and his on hers. Their lips press together, tongues, teeth. Her top lies on the ground, crumpled. Enjolras' bare skin presses against hers.

It's a few hours later and they lie together, it feels like a million years. Afterwards, they slip on their clothes again and smooth them as much as they could. His eyes make her feel beautiful. Once their tops are smooth, the first thing they do is wrap themselves in each other, beautiful lovers. When they finally come down, they seem to have a glow surrounding them. Courfeyrac's flick up to them coming down the steps. He turns to the rest of the friends and mutters, "Guys, Eponine is wearing Enjolras' top."

One day, Enjolras and Eponine are lying in bed. The sound of a car parking, alerts Eponine. She darts into the living room and peeks through the curtain. Her breath catches. She runs to the phone. "Courfeyrac!" she screams. "Courfeyrac pick up!" She switches to Joly. "Joly, listen, my dad's here. My dad isn't a good man. He'll kill me!"

As the door crashes open, Eponine runs to Enjolras. "Enjolras, go out the back." Her voice breaks and her tears spill, running down her face.

"Eponine, what's wrong?" he asks.

"Enjolras, my father's here."

Enjolras knows what her father's done to her. He darts out of bed and dresses. Her father is there, a knife in his hand. "Eponine," he growls.

Enjolras instinctively wraps his arms around Eponine. Her tears are frozen now, in anger. "Don't touch Enjolras. If you touch him, I'll kill you."

The former innkeeper thirsts for blood. His daughter's defiance rises his bloodlust.

Enjolras detaches himself from Eponine and stands before Thenardier, his eyes blazing in the fire that is saved for his speeches. Thenardier smirks and raises the knife in his hand. He swipes it down. It catches Enjolras in the shoulder. The blonde-haired boy pulls back and his hand presses against the red staining his shirt. He doesn't cry out. Thenardier once again swipes it and it clips Enjolras' cheek. Eponine shrieks and grabs a lamp. Enjolras fights against Thenardier. Thenardier lashes out and grabs Enjolras' neck and drags the knife across his throat. Enjolras falls to the ground and Eponine screams, blood-stained fingers grabbing her cheeks. She falls against him on the earth.

Thenardier had no reason to come here today but to kill. And he had no reason to kill them today but the fact that he was angry. Montparnasse had been convicted and was on death row. It was a coincidence that the house was Eponine's.

So as Eponine lies there, holding Enjolras' paling face in her hands whispering 'I love you's, Thenardier raises the knife over the place her dying heart would be.

As they lie with their blood mingling on the ground, the night shakes its head in mourning for its two dead children.

Thenardier is arrested and executed a year after the murders. Multiple names hanging over his head, a lethal injection is pressed against his wrist.

The ABC Friends are interrogated, only a little bit below as if they had been the murderers. They grieve. They never knew they cared that much.

Courfeyrac and Joly are haunted by the fact that Eponine had called them. Courfeyrac was asleep and Joly was in class. Joly drops out of medical school, Courfeyrac is insomniac from the nightmares.

One day, Jehan visits their house, to put an end to it. When he walks into the bedroom, he jumps back. Red stains on the wood. Jehan searches through their drawers, and finds a leather book. He takes it out and opens it out of curiosity. What type of books did Eponine read?

On the first page:

Alcyone and Ceyx:

The story of my very great love, Enjolras.

Next Time

Dedicated to my good friends, Enjolras and Eponine who were buried far too fast.

Lovers standing in the night,

Flower moonbeams oh so bright,

A darkness that can't be foretold,

The story of the moonlight and the gold,

The stars they grieved for lovers fallen,

The moon she sighed for children gone,

Many she saw into the next life,

But none so mournful as the ones,

Not yet husband and wife,

Oh they knew, those lovers did,

That he was that moonlight's one true prince,

Sewn together by years long past,

Each life isn't quite so fast,

That gold, he tried to change the world,

That dark cat, never let her hope be sold,

Once upon a time, a girl crawled from the gutter,

She fell about in tears when her life was no different from her others,

Each year they came a little closer,

Each year they came a little better,

No they never wed under chapels old,

But they knew, though they never told,

Maybe next time they'd succeed,

Maybe next time they won't bleed.

Written by Jean Prouvaire.