Enjolras x Reader

Chapter 19

You quietly made your way into the house and planned to head straight to your room, but there was a light emanating from the kitchen. You knew you wouldn't be able to get by unnoticed, but honestly, what did it matter if you got caught now? You approached the kitchen and, as expected, your father called you "Ma princesse. Come here for a moment." He pulled up a chair for you and motioned for you to sit down. He took a glass and poured some whiskey into it.

You looked at it hesitantly and then at your father. "You don't have to keep up the act. I know you drink."

The two of you sat there in silence, occasionally taking a sip from your drink, the only sound being the ticking of the clock in the hallway and the faint flickering of the candle. It illuminated his face, making the lines on his face appear more prominent as he nursed his glass of whiskey.

"I will be gone all day tomorrow. I reckon you know why." You nodded. Your father sighed and refilled both of your glasses. "I'm sorry I could never provide you with the education you longed for. Had it been possible, I would have in a heartbeat." he took your hand into his "You're my everything, mon petit caneton, and I would do anything for you. You're all I have left ever since Antoinette died."
Your breathing stocked. He never brought up your mother.
He took a shaky breath "So I beg of you; whatever it is you plan to do tomorrow, don't do it."

You didn't dare to look at him. "I have to."

He was about to say something but decided against it. He finished his drink and walked away, leaving you in the kitchen by yourself...
So he finally gave up, huh? You refilled your glass. It was gonna be a long night.

Dearest Father,

Too pretentious.

Cher Papa,

Too tacky.

To Pierre Moulin,

Too formal.

Ugh, why did expressing your emotions have to be so hard?! Whatever. You'd skip the beginning for now and focus on the actual content instead. After all, it was already past midnight and you needed the energy for tomorrow.

I am writing to you because   ...why were you writing? Because you might die in a matter of hours. But if he were to read it, it would be because you were already dead. Saying it would just be repetitive. Feelings. Yes. You needed to write about your feelings. What did you feel for your father? You loved him, of course, but he was also driving you mad, but you couldn't say that; not if it was your last words to him. Hm...

because I wanted to tell you just how much I love you.   Good start.
I know we had our ups and downs, disagreements, arguments,   too negative.
but despite it all, you were always there for me. Always took care of me and made sure I was alright and that I had everything I needed. I cannot express just how thankful I am for everything.   A bit much, but eh. It'll be fine. But what now? Maybe an apology is due. Or rather an explanation?

This is why it pains me to write this letter. I know I have not always been a great daughter; I did not always obey or listen to what you said. The fact that you are reading this in the first place is more evidence of this and I do not want your last memories of me to be those of a rebellious brat, but    buuuuuut France needs me? No, too narcissistic. France needs us? No, that's stupid.

but my friends need me.   Hell yeah.
I know we do not see eye to eye on the matter, but it is something that needs to be done. I am sorry for all the pain I have caused you. You once said you trust me to make my own decisions and this is what I am doing.
There are so many more things I want to say, but have not the words to express. I only wish I would have gotten to know you better.
Je t'aimerai toujour,
(Y/N) Antoinette Moulin

One down, three to go. 

The next morning, you snuck into your father's study. His uniform wasn't there and neither was his gun. The thought that one of your friends might end up at the wrong end of the rifle's barrel sent a shiver down your spine. Nevertheless, you placed the envelope, lovingly adorned with the word "Papounet", onto his desk ontop of a stack of documents.
You noticed a letter addressed to Javert. What caught your eye was the word "rebellion", but before you could read it, there was a knock on the door. You opened it just to see Éponine standing there, dressed in men's clothes, with a black eye. 

"No." 
"Hear me out."
"Éponine, please."
"I know what you're thinking."
"Please. Don't do this. He's not worth it."
"It's not about him."

You raised an eyebrow. "Okay, yes. It is about him. But still, you're my best friend and I can't let you do this alone. Please," she took your hand into hers, "let me come with you." You looked at her and couldn't bring yourself to say no. Is this what it was like for your father?

You quickly went to your room and placed an envelope onto the neatly folded dress that was sitting atop your bed. As you stepped out, you handed Éponine Enjolras' letter and watched as she put it into the inner pocket of her coat.

The journey to the Place de la Bastille was mostly spent in silence. The weight of the pistol in your pocket seemed to get heavier by the second. Your heart sped up with every step you took as the sound of blood pounding in your ears became louder and more unbearable.
"Stay close to me." you whispered to Éponine as you approached a group of young men, it must have been about 300, your friends among them.

Bossuet spotted you, walked over and handed you a slightly torn red flag, luckily not taking notice of Éponine. "So," he asked, "are you ready for this?" 
You smirked at him. "I was born ready." He pushed you playfully, "That's the spirit!"

You chatted with some of your friends as you waited for more people to arrive. Then, when the time was right, Enjolras called out. "Citizens, today will be the first day of a new life, a new France. Let us welcome it gladly with courage and cheer! Let us take to the streets with no doubt in our hearts!" The crowd cheered.

Enjolras smiled determinately. "Bien, mes amis. On y va!"