Heartlines

The tile slid in and out of focus and Eponine fought for consciousness. Her hands shook and breathing seemed to be a luxury of the past. Bathrooms at the University were less then squeaky clean, but she did not have time to make it back to the flat.

Of all the fucking days. The crest of her hip bore the most recent marks. Still red and imprinted with nails marks, the raw skin felt deserved. The pain grounded her, but something had gone wrong.

The lightheadedness increased, and she was faintly aware of bathroom traffic between lectures. Footsteps neared her stall. Eponine's heart nearly stalled from fright and the world dimmed, sense by sense.

"Red!" He called, holding a crayon.

"Come on 'Taire, you always pick that one. I wanna turn." She pouted, stomping her sockless foot.

"Fine." He relented, dropping the treasure on the floor between them.

They were lucky; one of Papa's friend's Babet had robbed a schoolteacher. When they'd tore through his belonging, they found copies of coloring pages, word-searches and sheet music. None of it was deemed valuable to the adults, but it was treasure to the children.

Gleefully, Eponine fingered the crayon. Its waxy touch enchanted her. How bright it was!

Humbly Grantaire began to draw with the old pen. His deliberate bold black strokes balanced Eponine's haphazard and unpredictable scrawls.

"Noooo!" Grantaire howled.

Eponine shook and dropped the stub of a crayon.

"Y-ou yo-u broke it." Incredulous, he knocked the teacher's repurposed papers from the table.

"I-I-I-I."

"SHUT UP!"

"Sorry. R, I'm sorry!"

He swung his arms in front of himself, tears blinding his vision.

Eponine cried out as his palm struck her jaw. Grantaire stumbled forward grabbing for her. She scrambled away, falling to the floor scraping her hands on the unfinished wood.

He landed on top of her. Eponine's fists beat at his chest and she wriggled under his weight.

A dark vile smell wrapped itself around the pair. Eponine blushed in shame and turned in to herself. Her arms wound tight around her legs. Urine pooled underneath her.

"'Ponine, I d-didn't mean it." He touched her arm.

She yanked it away. Surprisingly strong for such a boney limb.

"Stupid. I'm an arse!" The word felt rough on his infant tongue. He caught a fraction of a smile on his friend's face.

They go through the motions in silence. Washing and pilfering the dirty laundry for a semi-clean clothes. He is careful to maintain distance while she reigns in her fear and embarrassment.

Once the dirty panties are hidden and Eponine is settled in a nest of adult jumpers he releases a breath. He fingers the crayon halves, flecks of wax rubbing against his skin.

Sharing. For a year they shared pain, survived each day, uncovered moments of laughter, and found a family in each other.

"I think I'm gonna faint! Catch me Jehan." Courfeyrac cooed dramatically.

"Oof." The poet huffed in response.

"Where's Eponine?" Grantaire asked, trying his best to appear nonchalant.

"She left psych early." Jehan offered, pushing his boyfriend off of his shoulder. "I didn't see her return before lecture ended."

Courfeyrac groaned and sought another shoulder to lean on. "Where is she?! I'm dying." He announced.

"Go on then. Enjolras is waiting with a table. I'll find her and catch up." Grantaire directed. Worry filled his throat, and he was sure he couldn't eat anything if he joined the Amis for lunch. His stomach rumbled, and he amended the thought. After he knew Eponine was safe. Then perhaps food would be appealing.

The boys murmured their goodbyes and Grantaire turned to the near empty lecture hall. There was no sign of Eponine of her belongings.

Reevaluating his plan, he swallowed apprehension before ducking in to the women's room.

"Hmm. Not bad." He observed, noting the lack of urinals and lingering perfume.

He bent forwards and looked under the stalls for her signature boots. Grantaire struck gold when he peeked under the door of the last stall.

"Eponine? It's me. Open up?" Grantaire phrased it as a question, although they both knew that if she didn't answer he would be inclined to break down the door.

The lock slid open. She blinked at him and fidgeted with her backpack.

Grantaire bit his lip and straddled the toilet (lid down of course, as Eponine would have informed him, this was a ladies room, for fucking ladies!).

"Wanna talk about it?"

"Not particularly."

"Courf and the guys are in the mess hall. We can catch up if you want."

Eponine shook her head softly. "Same shit, different day, you know?"

"Yeah." He waited for her to continue talking and caught himself surveying her body for obvious damage.

"Will this ever go away? Crazy is my new normal."

He snorted at the comment. "Baby, were we ever normal?"

"Fuck no." She agreed, a dark smile tugging at her mouth.

They sat quietly for a few moments with Grantaire ripping bath tissue in to minuscule pieces. Eponine rubbing her shins over and over through her leggings.

"R. Do you remember heartlines?"

"You haven't called me that in months." His stomach clenched at the old nickname. "Fuck. It's been ages since I thought about her."

"Who?" She asked, confusion and jealously oozing from her question.

Grantaire gaped at her. "Mara. Don't you remember?"

"No." She shrugged. "Tell me?" Like a cat, she curled towards him. Eventually she laid her head on his thigh and rested a hand on his knee.

"Fuck. Okay. Mara gave pinched the papers from the teacher Babet robbed."

Eponine nodded, picking at a hole in his jeans.

"She deemed us worthy of the only crayon the older kids didn't steal. The red one. We scribbled hundreds of shit drawings until Mara scolded us for wasting it. I remember being really offended, considering you and I shared a toothbrush until a couple years ago."

She rolled her eyes and propped her head up using an elbow.

"Mara said that we had to use our crayon for good. We had to make connections with it. Heartlines she called them."

"How people find each other right?" She mumbled in to his shirt.

Grantaire didn't remember sliding to the tile, but there she was. Tucked to his chest, holding on to his torso with a familiar desperation.

"Yes." He whispered. "It's how hearts reach out to each other. Without words or permission."

"What if it's broken?" She asked.

"Tu coeur est…" Grantaire thought for a moment and pressed his lips to her scalp. "Your heart is my heart."

Two broken hearts may indeed work more efficiently than one. One afternoon, he found Eponine with her tongue stuck out in concentration winding medical tape around the two halves. Proudly she presented him with the 'fixed' crayon. Sure, it was smaller than before and they certainly had to be gentle when they colored, but it was functional.

He closed his eyes and hugged Eponine tighter. Gradually their breathing synced and in that moment, Grantaire swore he could hear their heartlines sigh in perfect harmony. Nothing hurt as much as when they were parted, and nothing felt as safe as when they were together.