But all I could hear is you

...

She had been in the lunchroom when the first bomb hit. She remembered frantic screams and the smell of burning flesh- and explosions, horrible, world-rocking explosions. But it all disappeared because of the senior boy who calmly directed the flow of panic to a safer place- underneath the tables was hardly the most ideal placing, but it was better than the decimated hallways or the open-air courtyard.

His voice rose above all else, low and sweet... Darker than molasses yet as rich as honey. When she saw the red of his debate team t-shirt combined with dark blood that ran down from his temple, she thought that maybe the darkness inside him gave him a different color than anything else.

He was mahogany; a beautiful, pale angel with that warm, rich, vengeful inside.

She didn't realize that she was staring and standing straight up until he was running towards her. His sculpted arms were reaching for her, and it was only then that she became aware of the falling object directly behind her. She could hear it, but only as if it was a dull whistling noise in the far distance.

What she could hear was his breathing as he came closer to her. She could hear the sound of his skin against hers as his smooth hand grasped her bony wrist. She could hear him yelling at her in that mahogany-molasses voice. Éponine almost saw the sounds of their sneakers crashing through the debris on the once-polished tile floors. But most of all, she could hear him.

She could hear, she could see, she could feel his aura. His enigma. His marble stature and his rich voice and those icy eyes that indicated more beneath the frosted surface. They were almost far enough away- still terrifyingly close, but almost to a table to duck behind.

Éponine ruined her life with one stupid decision.

At the same time that the senior- Enjolras, that was his name!- pulled her to safety, the time that corresponded with the landing of the next bomb, Éponine looked over her shoulder, only to see the flash that overwhelmed nearly all of her senses. Nearly, because she could still hear and feel Enjolras.

...

Because, my head, it's been spinning...

...

She woke up in the arms of someone, and from the familiar sound of their breaths and the feel of their arms- the subtle sound of skin against skin, she knew it was him.

Éponine knew what she wanted to say- something along the lines of 'Thank you for saving me, thank you for being the fallen angel when everything fell apart'. Instead, she said, "My head hurts."

There was a rumble from within his chest- that firm place where her head rested- and she could have sworn, had she not remembered his face being so serious, that he was laughing.

"You... You took quite a hit." Wait, what? "Can you see my hand?"

It was only then that a key aspect of her usual life presented itself as missing. She shook her head, as if by rattling her brain she could magically restore her missing piece. When nothing worked, and blinking furiously didn't brighten the blackness, panic began to grip her heart.

He came as relief in his breathing. Éponine could hear the way his exhalations twinged some of the lower notes of his vocal cords and the way his inhalations whistled just the slightest bit. His fingers drummed on her arm and it sounded to her like a marching band.

"I can't see a thing." She said as calmly as she could manage.

"Wait, seriously?" Enjolras sounded worried, and her heart swelled at the notion. Him worried about her?

"Yes.. It's all dark..." Éponine thought of how weird this feeling was. She allowed her eyes to stay open, and she could feel the macabre caressing of air on her eyeballs, but not a thing came to her sight.

"What's the last thing you remember seeing?" He asked, horribly serious. His voice was no longer thick persuasion. Now it was crisp and cool and business, like a slice of fruit rather than rich sweeteners.

"The... explosion? Bomb? The thing you saved me from."

"God..." He sighed. "You've been out since then... A lot's happened."

"What do you mean?" Her voice sounded timid even to her, and she felt him gently place her on the ground- was that grass? The creaking of his bones as he- presumably- stood echoed through her ears. The dew against the grass was cool on her cheek. His foot picked up, and in a surge of desperation her arm lunged out and grabbed at his ankle. "Are you gonna answer my question?" She challenged.

"There's no control, not anymore." Was all he said as an answer.

...

I know you're all about the world and when it's ending.

...

"Careful, Éponine-" Enjolras began, but she waved her hand in a shooing motion.

"Oh, shut up. I think I've got it now." She insisted, only moments before she tripped on a kindle that was half-melted to the pavement. He caught her swiftly, and she released a giggle. It was almost as if his eyes were so strong that she knew when they were rolling, and they were most definitely rolling at her.

"Don't roll your eyes at me, Enjolras!" She teased.

"I'm almost sure that you're falling on purpose. And how do you even do that?" He groaned as she pinched his shoulder.

"You're predictable." She sang, almost skipping ahead before he yanked her back and muttered in her ear.

"I am not."

She barked out a laugh, followed closely by a squeal when he seized her around the waist and spun her around. She couldn't see the spinning landscape, and while some of the magic was gone in that regard, she could hear his laughter like music and feel the breeze slapping her tangled hair against her face.

He must have fallen, pulling her to the ground with him, and she heard his back hit the concrete so that he could cushion her fall. Éponine would never guess that a calm side existed to the lofty senior debate star, but here he was, laughing with a burn-out sophomore that he'd been taking care of for... How long had it even been? Weeks? Months?

"Enjolras, can I ask you something?" The question finally allowed itself to escape. Unfortunutely, thinking back to That Day also brought unwanted images of a little freshman girl, a sixth grade boy and two elementary schoolers who had been left behind by her.

"Yes, anything." His breath was warm against her lips and his lithe arms loose around her. She was still sprawled on top of him, but neither seemed too inclined to move.

"What happened to the other kids at school?"

Her question was followed by silence. He stiffened around her, but it seemed like he did it just to hold her tighter, so that lessened the effect quite a bit.

"I don't know." he confessed. "After the third near explosion I took you and ran."

"Why me, though? I was- I am- nobody."

"Don't say that." He growled. "You are Éponine. Your life is scary and dark," one of his hands reached up to brush over her eyelid. "But you are unafraid. I saved you because it was the right thing to do. I ran away with you because you are Gavroche's sister, and as I didn't know where he was, I had to at least save you."

"At least?" She scoffed. There were no more words, but a comfortable silence. Éponine slipped off of Enjolras and onto the pavement next to him. The quiet lasted quite a bit, a comfortable cadence assisted by the warmth of his body next to hers and the feel of cool pavement beneath her.

"What does the sky look like?" She asked.

"It looks like the end of the world." Enjolras said. One of his arms made its way to support her neck. "The sky is red, but smoggy at the same time. I don't think its been either fully sunny nor fully dark. It's an apocalypse. It's red and black... Is that good enough for you?"

"You're red and black." She said mindlessly, recalling her first impression of him. Éponine had neglected to catch that ray of golden deep inside him, that passion that allowed him leeway to be whatever the situation required him to be. A glorious asset that made him caring, and all the more cold in an attempt to shield that ray from outside sources.

His other hand made its way to her face. It was what he did to tell her that he was looking at her, and now his hand wandered softly over her sharp features. His thumb ran over her bottom lip as his fingers cupped her cheeks. Éponine's breathing hitched.

"Enjolras, are you going to kiss me?"

He responded with a new feeling- the elation of loving and being loved in return, and the brush of lips against lips.

...

I know 'cause you whispered it right to me

...

When they came across another group, Éponine noticed that Enjolras became more separated. His speech patterns were shorter, he no longer ran his hands over her face, nor did he let her do so, and his kisses were few and far between. The group, she knew, was that of other kids from their old high school. And, if that high-pitched voice was any indication, her brother was there as well, but he didn't recognize her.

After a particularly long day in which Enjolras never even acknowledged her, Éponine pulled him aside in a place where they were barely seen by the others but eavesdropping-proof. She forcefully lifted his hand to touch her face.

"Are you ashamed of me?" She asked. Her thumb lay over his pulse point, and so she got a good reading of his angry, but silent, response. "I'm the little blind girl who tags along after you.. And I'm ugly as well, no?"

"Éponine, you're not-"

"DON'T LIE TO ME." She cried out. "Tell me."

"Éponine-"

"Tell. Me." Her voice broke, and a few tears escaped and wet his hand.

"You look like what we have become. You are our motherland, you are the new lady liberty. You are Éponine, and you are mine."

Later, when she gathered the courage to ask one of the more honest of their group, he told her what she looked like. Her eyelids were scared and mangled- whens she opened her eyes they were still dirt-brown but with a milky glaze on top. Her lips were full and pretty in the way they'd never been before, but burn scars scratched across her skin and disfigured her face.

But she was his, so Éponine could live with anything.

...

Just where the hell were you?

...

The attackers came in the middle of the night. Their footsteps rattled off the walls of empty town buildings, rousing Les Amis de l'ABC (as they had called themselves). Éponine was curled between Enjolras, whose arm was comfortably wrapped around her waist, and Gavroche, who was the victim of Éponine's death hug. She revealed herself to him shortly after Joly told her what she really looked like. Seriously, how hard was it to recognize your own sister?

Enjolras was the first to wake of the trio, and the first thing he did was soothe the Thernardier siblings.

"Stay here." He told them. Éponine could vaguely hear the sounds of their friends preparing for an inevitable battle. "You too, Gavroche."

"We need every man." A voice that Éponine recognized as Combeferre said from nearby. Enjolras released a weighted sigh. Gavroche cheered under his breath and left Éponine's side. Enjolras reached to comfort her, but she reeled back.

"Let me help in some way."

"No." Enjolras insisted, firmly. "You'll just get hurt."

"I don't care about getting hurt!" She cried. "I care about you! I care about all of you!"

"You're not going to give up, are you?" Enjolras asked. She shook her head, feeling her brain rattling against her skull. She cursed it for its uselessness. Had she her sight, she could help. She could prolong their deaths—maybe even save some of them. Éponine knew Enjolras was right- if she fought, it would end badly for either her or someone on her side. She wouldn't be able to aim.

That didn't stop her from trying.

"No." She said, trying to imitate his icy tone. From the way the air bent around her, she knew that he flinched and she was succeeding. "I won't. And if you try to keep me here, I'll just come out during the battle. In the middle of fire, if I must."

"I'm sorry." His voice was soft, and she had no time to question before he pulled her into a deep kiss. Once he pulled away, her head was spinning and her lips tingling. It was moments later that a sudden impact hit her head, and her world went an even darker black.

..

I've just been sitting here watching ghosts.

…

Her ears rung with the horrible realization of silence. She struggled to her feet; she was so used to Enjolras being there to assist her, but it was not so. But, why? Why was he not there?

Éponine's memories flashed and her last knowledge was of being hit over the head by someone- probably Enjolras. That meant… That meant he had fought. And surely Les Amis would come back for her once they won… Right?

Her hand felt the brick of the alleyway until she made it into the street. Almost immediately, a grotesque smell slammed into her and filled her to the brim with freezing understanding. Her bare foot landed in a puddle of a wet, sloshing liquid. She shivered, and cruelly hoped that the blood belonged to the attackers.

It was the distant breathing that led her to him. She would know that sound from anywhere, and now it was coming from a place in which she never wanted him to be. Éponine found Enjolras laying in a pool of his own blood, clutching his wounds and breathing slowly. She knelt beside him and felt as her chest constricted with barely withheld sobs.

"…Éponine?" He asked, drowsily. His hand was fumbling as it reached for her. It roamed her body, as if trying to memorize her as a last opportunity.

"Enjolras… You're going to be okay, I swear-" She tried, but her words were short and scared-sounding.

"Don't lie to me, Éponine. It doesn't suit you. " He took in a raggedy breath; Éponine recognized a death rattle when she heard one and she finally let herself cry. His weak hand tried to comfort her, and she felt awful; he was the one dying, and yet he was giving her that feeling of safety.

"I love you," She whispered through her cracked tears. "I love everything about you, your hair, your eyes- yes I remember them-, your voice, it's mahogany-molasses, you know… Red and black. And you're struck through with sunshine, Enjolras. Never forget that." She was heaving by the end, so harshly that she was sure he couldn't understand a word.

"The sky… I think it's sunny again." He told her, and it was goodbye, and it wasn't nearly enough.

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