a/n: for some reason, i imagine modern au enjolras with glasses. just a thang

imperfect perfect - les misérables - modern au - enjolras x éponine love is easy. making it happen, making it work, is not. a story of firsts.
tangentially connected to I Can't See You

The first time he touches her, she is infuriated.

She can't feel the busted blood vessel in her eye, but Enjolras can obviously see it. The way his gaze pins her to the brick wall makes her feel small. Minuscule. Smaller than the hit that caused her blood to run in the first place.

Éponine's hand flys up to hide her face. Reflexive. Too quick. She misses and her fingers end up in her hair. Hot tears well as she chews the inside of her cheek.

Like a feather, his finger tips graze her cheekbone.

She flinches. He sighs. All she wants to do is rip his stupid black rimmed glasses off and dash them into the concrete.

Her eyes drop to the ground under his weighty stare.

It feels like pity.

The first time she kisses him, he is irate.

Rain courses from his hair in rivulets. Her small hands pull at his shirt eagerly, curling in the wet fabric with surprising pressure. Anxious. Hungry.

And for a moment, he gives. He wraps his hands around her shoulders, pulling her in, meeting her with a hard kiss. Forceful. Desperate.

With a strangled grunt, he pushes her away. Breathless, her lips flush, her mouth hangs open in a bewildered and silent why.

"What are you doing, Éponine?" he whispered, his mouth screwed into a indignant grimace.

"I thought-"

"Is this because of Marius?" he pleads. A note he can't even remember hearing in his own voice. "Is this to make him feel jealous? You're going to use me? It's not right, Éponine."

"So you're just going to send me away?" Its her turn to push him. She's all out turned elbows and tears as takes it like the statue he can be, face emotionless. "Pretend you don't feel anything for me? Does that feel 'right' to you?"

She stands there in the rain, huffing and angry and lost. Looking so fragile and yet so defiant. He wants to grab her by the hand and run away with her. But he can't. Every choice feels like a betrayal of himself, so for the first time in his life, Enjolras walks away.

It feels like shit.

The first time he holds her hand, she beams.

He's coming down from the high of a successful petition. She doesn't exactly understand exactly what it accomplished, but she tried. Just like she tried all night to keep her eyes on him, to let him know that she only wanted to see him.

She is playing with left over nachos on the table when he grabs her hand. His palm feels warm as he laces his fingers through hers. Alcohol has tinged his cheeks in pink, a lopsided smile adorns his handsome face.

He leans in, intimate but not close. "I like you." Not a secret. A statement.

"I like you, too," she whispers, unable to stop her smile as she squeezes his hand.

It feels like home.

The first time she orgasms, he is lost in her.

She is laying on his bed, her slender figure tensing ever so slightly as he covers her with himself. He places a kiss on her lips, and she loosens just a bit.

"Is this okay?"

With a nod she grips the back of his neck and they meet for a frantic kiss. She is willing him to touch her before she loses her nerve, he knows. Slowly he draws his hand up her skirt, hesitating at her undergarments. She's so warm.

Her smile is lost in the dark, as he asks: "May I?" Ever the gentleman.

"Yes, please."

He slides down her body and finds her center with a deftness she couldn't have fathomed. Her fingers tug at his hair as she moans, raspy and strong.

Smiling against her thigh, he chuckles.

It feels like love.

The first time they fight, they are both confused.

Reaching over for his warm body, hazy from the kind of sleep only lovemaking can bring, she finds nothing but cool sheets and clean air. The red glare of the clock warns 3:30 am. Confusion and dread churns in her chest.

She pulls his discarded t-shirt over her head, slides off the bed and into the hallway, a harsh glow radiating from his front room.

As sure as the sun will rise, Enjolras lords over the dining room table. He types away at his laptop, buried under loose papers and books. His eyes are red rimmed, watery, sleep deprivation carved into the wrinkle between his brows.

"Éponine, I didn't mean to-"

"What are you doing?" she demands setting her jaw. "I woke up and you were gone, Enjolras."

"I know, I have this-"

"Enjolras," she interrupts again. Not because she has anything to say. Just because she wants to spite him.

He presses his lips into a thin line and tilts his head, nostrils flaring. "Are you going to let me finish?" He pauses. A dare. "I have a proposal in two days for the Living Wage group on campus. I can't just neglect my duties because I have a girlfriend."

"We had sex for the first time tonight, Enjolras." It was her turn to tilt her head and dare him to interrupt, hands fisted in her shirt's hemline. "I won't be second again. Do you hear me? Do you understand? I stopped doing it for Marius and I won't do it for you and your fucking 'patria'."

He closes his eyes and his shoulders sag, tossing his glasses to the table and closing the laptop. With a sharp exhale his stands up and walks across the room to her. "I didn't know. That was... inconsiderate of me. I'm sorry."

"That's it?" she asks, her eyebrows screwed together.

"Yes?"

In that second he realizes that he lives to see her dimples deepen, her smile spreading in the slow way that it does. The way her nose crinkles. Infectious. He smiles as well. She laughs as he hoists her over his shoulder and marches her into the bedroom.

It might not be perfect, but it feels like progress.