title: gray or blue
fandom: les misérables
pairings: enjolras/éponine
rating: t
summary: Éponine begins working in Montparnasse's coffee shop, and her life becomes entangled with the students in the bar downstairs who talk of revolutions.

She did it for Gavroche, mostly.

True enough, the temptation to get away from her parents was tremendous motivation, too (she'd had enough of living in filth, of seeing the money they stole and swindled disappear into more schemes, or, more often, drugs) but if Éponine thought it was best for her little brother that she stay with them, she would have.

"I suppose you don't care if your parents end up in jail. You know with your father's health condition he can't do proper work, and if I have to start robbing banks to feed this family, you'll be sorry, little missy!"

"Health condition, my ass. Leave off those meetings behind the petrol station and see how long your 'health condition' lasts."

"If you don't want your brother to starve, Miss Éponine, you'll be grateful and take the job your father found for you!"

"Yeah, and you better be nicer to Montparnasse than you are to us, or he might decide he doesn't like you as much as he does now."

"Charming," she had said.

But she was tired of seeing Gavroche go to bed red-eyed and hungry. And living in a hovel by herself on the other side of the city and working in Montparnasse's stupid coffee shop still beat home life.

That's what she told herself when she woke up that morning at 4:45, shrugging on her coat over the worn sweater she had slept in and grabbing a chunk of a 20-pence baguette to make it to her 5 AM training at Thebes. ("It's a classical reference," Montparnasse had explained, patting the tips of his product-saturated hair. She was tempted to ask him to elaborate, just to see him fumble for bullshit.)

Montparnasse had been demonstrating how to use the espresso machine, narrating extensively as he scooped and ground and stirred. Éponine shivered and tried to stay awake. It was still January, and too early in the morning for the shop to be warmed up yet. It would be better when the shop opened and there were others besides the two of them.

"Who else works here?" she asked suddenly.

"Oh, there's Jules, and Eva, a few hours a week. I just wanted to spend some time with my new employee." He dropped her a wink that made her skin crawl, and stifling the urge to roll her eyes was actually painful.

Still, it was kind of nice watching the steam curl up from the machines, and the heady smell of coffee sent some warmth curling into her belly.

"Your turn," Montparnasse said, leaning against the counter and cocking his hip to one side so that his absurdly tight t-shirt rode up to show a sliver of hip.

"Just a shot?"

"No, you need practice steaming the milk, too."

She faked the confidence, shaking the powdery grounds into the basket and tamping them down.

"Pack it harder," Montparnasse murmured, his mouth suddenly and disturbingly close to her ear. She shoved her shoulder back to push him away.

"God, 'Parnasse, give a girl some room to breathe."

"It has to be packed just right for the perfect shot," he insisted. She rolled her eyes but obliged him anyway. Slide the basket into the filter, shove it up into the machine, and hit the button.

"You forgot the—"

Too late, she grabbed a cup to shove under the spout, but missed the first few dribbles.

"Don't worry." He chuckled and leaned in, and she could smell his cheap cologne. "With practice, you won't make any more silly mistakes."

"I'm sure I'll catch on," she said sweetly, and flicked on the steam to drown out whatever he planned on saying next.

By Thebes' opening time at 6:00, she could make a decent latte, and something that could pass as a cappuccino to someone who didn't know better. Montparnasse assured her she'd get the hang of the foaming. She ignored the probable innuendo in favor of the morning sun finally shining in the front windows and the two or three trial coffees that were jumpstarting her system. She began to hope that maybe the job wouldn't be so terrible, so long as Montparnasse kept his hands to himself.

He flipped on the neon "Open" sign at the front of the store and turned around. "Now go clean the bathroom."

"What?"

"Toilet, sink, mirror, and floor." He shot her a nasty smile. "There are supplies in the top shelf in the left-hand closet. Let me know if you can't reach."

Deliberately, she grabbed a chair and stomped over to the closet.

By 11:00, she hadn't made a single drink. She had, however, cleaned the bathroom twice, mopped up the milk Montparnasse overturned in the kitchen, wiped down all the tables repeatedly (god, people are animals), and taken out three bags of trash that were as big as her body. She tried to think about the Euros adding up on the day's paycheck instead of her aching back and throbbing feet. She tried to make herself think about Gavroche.

Still, she couldn't help wondering when the day would be over.

"Hey, do I get a shift schedule or something?" she asked Montparnasse. Neither Jules nor Eva had showed up yet.

"Yeah, you know, we just kind of see how it goes each week," he answered, eyeing her critically. "If you really want to, I can give you some hours off, but—" he lowered his voice—"your dad made it sound like you wanted all the work I could give you."

She tried not to stiffen. "I was just curious."

A little before 1:00, Montparnasse told her to take a half hour lunch break. She had tried, probably without success, to keep her longing gaze away from the pastry case, but she hadn't tried hard enough, because Montparnasse leaned one arm against the counter and said, "You can eat here, but half the cost comes out of your paycheck."

Fine, then.

She trudged back to the flats and up the rickety stairs to her room, boiled water on the hot plate and then sat on the mattress to eat a styrofoam cup of noodles. By day, the room looked even worse: cracks on the ceiling, peeling wallpaper, stains she didn't even want to think about on the vaguely beige carpet. Now that she was outside of the shop, she could smell the coffee on her clothes—not rich and comforting anymore, but sour and old-smelling.

This is it, now, she told herself. This is your life. You'll get used to it.

She was still hungry when she slurped the last of the noodles out of the mug. The caffeine rush from earlier was utterly used up, and Éponine wanted nothing more than to toe off her tennis shoes and curl up on the bare mattress under her ratty yellow fleece blanket.

Instead, she groaned, more of a growl through her teeth, yanked her coat back on, and jerked the door open, trying not to think about the hours until closing.

A/N: If you made it this far, thank you! This fic originally started as a daydream in my marketing class ("lol what if I wrote an E/É coffeeshop au?") but then I couldn't concentrate for the rest of class and knew I had to write it. The title is from the song by Jaymay. More to come! I've already posted it at my tumblr [youwerejustakid] but, by popular request, am finally getting around to putting it up here.

Your comments mean the world to me!