[note: part one of several, title is a quote from demetrius, more to come soon.]

this fierce vein

They were sprawled head-to-toe on Enjolras' bed, each absorbed in their own literature; Éponine was re-reading A Midsummer Night's Dream (she had always loved it but couldn't give one reason for that), while her friend was engrossed in Machiavelli's The Prince (typical). She set her book aside, resting against the pillows as she just looked at him.

He was too pretty by half. She didn't know why he was still her friend after looking in the mirror every day for the past year she'd known him. Éponine was glad he hadn't ditched her though; she enjoyed bickering with him and having a friend to talk to. She'd become friends with Cosette, a girl she had known as a child, two years previously but conversation was always a little awkward, as Éponine once fancied Cosette's current boyfriend Marius. They were all friends now, that's how she met Enjolras, through Marius and the others.

He was an odd sort, she concluded. He probably didn't even realise that his mussed golden curls and scruffy jaw were endearing, or that the way he tilted his head to the side as he read made him look all the more serious. He was blind to almost everything. Except the fact that his friend had been staring at him for a good five minutes.

Enjolras finished his sentence and looked up, placing a finger between the pages, "What?"

"I was just watching you read. Very focused," she smirked, patting him affectionately on the cheek.

He stuck out his tongue and returned to his book, chuckling.

Éponine didn't watch him much longer, just a few seconds, but she caught him looking up at her through his lashes, one eyebrow raised. She shrugged off the haze that had settled over her and picked up where she'd left off with Demetrius still chasing after Hermia. Poor Helena, she thought.

She was full absorbed once again, Enjolras smiled to himself. It had surprised him when he'd caught her watching him; he'd been glancing over at her every few minutes for the past half hour, but that time, her eyes had met his and his breath had caught. She'd been looking at him.

They were friends. Good friends. Perhaps even best friends. He loved being friends with Éponine. She was so different to Marius, Grantaire and Courfeyrac, she was quite happy to sit in silence and just read. The others thought it wasn't very manly. Sure, they could each read alone in their rooms, but not both in the living room... that was just weird. But Éponine.. he could lie in bed with her for a whole day, trading books, having short conversations, teasing each other. He could watch her as she read, occasionally mouthing a word as if she was pronouncing them in her mind and had gotten stuck, he would see her tuck her hair behind her ear each time it fell in her eyes.

He would tell himself time and time again that he couldn't find her beautiful. Enjolras couldn't want to kiss her, to... do other things with her. She was his friend. She was the friend that helped him pick up his marks when he'd almost failed - it was preparation for a rally against human rights abuses that he'd been organising for months... who needed to study for an exam when people were dying? She was the friend that had been heartbroken over Marius for months upon months.

He did not fancy Éponine Thenardier. Half of him was shouting that he did and that he should act on it, whilst the other wanted to punch himself in the face. He did not fancy Éponine Thenardier.

He did not fancy Éponine Thenardier.

He did not fancy Éponine Thenardier.

He did not fancy Éponine Thenardier.

Enjolras looked up at her again, Renaissance text long forgotten. Her eyebrows were furrowed, a piece of hair had fallen out of her ponytail (again) and her teeth bit into her bottom lip. He sighed almost imperceptibly.

He fancied Éponine Thenardier.

Fuck.

[to be continued]