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It’s not every day one finds themselves on the corner of a street, sweating through shirts they really cannot afford to waste, looking not only pathetic but angry. At least it’s Eponine who’s seething. With her thick hair tied up in a bun to avoid the sweat pooling at the base of her neck, she has murder in her eyes as she tracks the people moving around her and Marius. The concrete is hot beneath her shorts despite the shade they managed to sit under, but she has lost whatever will she would need to get herself to move.
She lets her legs burn underneath her and realizes that maybe it’s not healthy to like feeling the pain because it’s something to focus on rather than her thoughts. However that can only work for so long before even the sharp sting of raw skin against burning rocks begins to dull. So instead, she sits and thinks about how selfish people must be to not even spare a quarter to put into their outstretched cups. Well, she tries to think about that because anger has always been easier to deal with. At least, it is when compared to the stronger emotions making their way up her throat.
She’s not stupid. It’s not as if she genuinely thought this would work. She sees old people, disabled people, people who tug at other’s heartstrings much more than Marius and her ever will, on the streets every day. They too hold out cups or bags or cans waiting for someone to be kind enough to give some money rather than avoid eye contact and speed walk away from them. It’s a sad fact of life, a life Eponine is all too familiar with.
But it’s not just Eponine out in the streets with no place to call home except a very temporary spot on Montparnasse’s couch. Marius is slouching beside her, withdrawn in a way that makes her stomach twist. He doesn’t deserve this, she thinks but decides for once in her life that she deserves some pity too, so she amends the thought into we don’t deserve this. It doesn’t make her feel any better, but at this point she’s not sure anything will. Being 18, technically homeless, and dirt poor tends to kill the hope in people.
“What are we going to do Ep?” Marius’ voice is as gentle as always, but this time his kindness is tinged with thinly veiled desperation.
“We’re going to sit in this shade and try to evoke pity from strangers. Then we will go back to ‘Parnasse’s, steal some of his ham and cheese, and sleep.” Her voice is callous, at least compared to Marius’, because she is in no mood to be comforting. Her heart is breaking at the sight of Marius’ slumped figure, but her instincts are kicking in. She is going to get them out of this (even if she feels defeated and her legs are heavy and she might have cried for the first time in years this morning), and that means she can’t waste energy on being anything but realistic. This means ignoring the bigger meaning behind Marius’ question rather than have to find a nice way of wording I don’t fucking know what the hell we’re going to do. This means watching his eyes fall to the floor as he sighs.
The truth of the matter is that they are living on stolen time that still isn’t enough.
Eponine may have runaway, Marius may have been kicked out, but now they are both stuck in the same shitty situation with no one to count on but each other. This is not what Eponine was hoping for when she wished for Marius and her to live together for the rest of their lives, and she knows for a fact that this is not what Marius envisioned his moving out to be like.
Her mind immediately starts formulating plans, plans that could work, before she’s reminded that Marius is now with her. Marius who’s never had to do anything but work on his studies and navigate an unhealthy relationship with his grandfather. Marius who once went bright red when he saw Eponine steal a 99 cent candy bar for Gavroche. Marius who would never see her the same way again if he knew how Eponine was raised. No, those plans were not an option. She’s going to have to do better.
It’s at that moment, when Eponine’s thoughts begin to race in desperation, that a guy stops in front of them and raises his eyebrows. Eponine and Marius look up in sync as the mystery man calmly pulls out a flask from his pocket and proceeds to pour what they assume is alcohol into their cups.
“Looks like you guys need it,” he says and, to their surprise, proceeds to plomp himself next to them with the familiarity of an old friend. The silence that follows is to be expected. Except for the fact that Marius always talks in the least acceptable moments.
“We’re not old enough to drink,” he squeaks. Eponine gives him the benefit of the doubt and attributes his tomato red cheeks to the heat. She, however, doesn’t stop herself from judging him for having no street-smarts whatsoever. God, this kid is going to get her killed.
“Neither am I. Which is why I know that if someone my age is desperate enough to beg for money in this heat in this part of the city, well, they need a drink more than most.” The guy leans against the wall of the building providing the sacred shade and raises the flask to his lips. He knocks back what has to be more than a shot of liquor like a pro.
Eponine isn’t impressed.
“How old are you?” she puts extra effort into sounding sharp, mimicking Montparnasse’s speech when he’s making deals. She doesn’t yet sound as intimidating as she wants too, but Marius flinches.
“19.”
“What the hell are you doing talking to us?”
“What the hell are you guys doing on the streets?”
The silence comes back with a vengeance.
“You can’t expect us to tell you that.”
You can’t expect me to trust you. She waits for some sort of witty retort, maybe an aggressive defense, maybe an awkward exit right out of their lives. Instead, she’s met with his light blue eyes looking, staring really, right at her from underneath the messiest dark curls she’s ever seen. She never really realized how much she despises vulnerability until she takes one good look into the boy’s eyes. The first thought that pops into her head is harsh. It’s cruel and it’s unfair because her mind supplies the word pathetic when it should supply sympathy. Eponine can’t feel empathetic towards this kid whose eyes are a mirror reflecting back her own emotions. Ones that she is trying not to see.
They are three teenagers sitting in the middle of the city, lost, scared, desperate and with no one to count on but each other.
She thinks fuck it, I’m tired, and downs the alcohol in her cup. Marius’ eyes are wide so Eponine throws what she hopes is a reassuring look over her shoulder. She takes his cup from his hand and forces herself to swallow everything that was in his cup too because he’s her best friend and she knows him well enough to know when he’s feeling pressured. Marius and her, they know each other. They trust each other. Eponine doesn’t trust easily. She’s been taught her whole life what problems trust leads to, but she’s just left everything she’s ever known and she has been on guard for too long.
“I’m Eponine. That’s Marius.” She can feel her heart beating frantically in her chest, and she prays to whatever god may be out there that she’s not making a mistake.
“I’m Grantaire, but you can call me R.”