𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐭𝐭𝐲 𝐰𝐡𝐞𝐧 𝐢 𝐜𝐫𝐲 [ 𝘫. 𝘥𝘦𝘴𝘤𝘢𝘮𝘱𝘴 ]

12, poèmes

"Eponine? Can I talk to you for a minute?" Michéle tugged her sleeve after Latin class had finished. Eponine looked surprised, and agreed. "Sure, what do you need?" They stepped into an empty classroom.

Michéle looked nervous. "So uhm, before the vacation started I walked to my uncle's office and overheard something," she started. Eponine realised what she was implicating, but let the blonde finish.

"And I just wanted to tell you that I'll be here for you, and Vergoux got far less than what he deserved." Michéle's hands were wringing together, her fingers purplish and strained.

Eponine looked to the floor. "You and your uncle are the only ones that know, Michéle. Can we please keep this a secret? I don't want the other boys to think I'm an easy target."

Michéle nodded aggressively. "I'd never tell anyone! I'd hate it if anyone did that to me too, so my mouth is shut."

"Thank you," Eponine smiled.

. . .

"Nine, is your boyfriend nice?" Colette asked. The young girl was sprawled out on the floor surrounded by dolls, and a grumpy Colby Jack whom she had forced to wear a doll hat. Eponine was perched on the armchair, reading Jane Austen's Pride and Prejudice.

Eponine laughed. "He's not my boyfriend, Coco." She put her book down. Colette frowned. "But mummy said he was," she said in a questioning tone, "she said you were getting married!" Colette propped herself up, sitting cross-legged on the fluffy carpet.

Eponine thought of an answer, before saying: "We're going to get married, but he's not my boyfriend." She hoped Colette wouldn't prod too much. "So I can ask if he wants to join me and Jackie–" she pointed to a sleeping Colby Jack "--on a tea date?" Eponine giggled. "Of course you can," she replied.

Colette smiled broadly. "I'm going to ask him tonight! Dad said they are coming to eat," she said, deep in thought. Eponine's eyes widened, suddenly very aware of her slouchy appearance. "Are they now?" she asked, and Colette nodded, blonde curls bouncing along. "Mummy bought steak! Can you ask him to eat here more so mummy buys more steak?"

"Hmm, I'll ask him if you ask mum to buy more crème brûlée, deal?"

"Yes!"

. . .

[play: mystery of love, sufjan stevens]

Not even an hour later, Béatrice, Joseph and Gérard were on the Van Dorens' doorstep. Eponine's mum happily brought them to their spacious living room. "Oh Sylvie, I just love these flowers!" Béatrice gushed. "Oh thank you, my husband got them for me!"

Sylvie turned to Joseph and Eponine, who were quietly conversing in the corner waiting to be dismissed. "Why don't you kids go upstairs? And show him your instruments, Eponine!"

She didn't have to tell them twice. Eponine was happy that her room wasn't too big of a mess, and extremely grateful for herself from yesterday for cleaning her room. Joseph trailed behind her, following her to her room.

Somewhere on the first stairs, she'd felt his hand slip into hers. She gave him a squeeze, and he tripped before quickly regaining his balance. "Sorry," he muttered, looking away. "It's fine, Jo." she smiled, and dragged him up to the second floor.

When they reached her room, Joseph was flushed red all over. "What, our stairs got you that bad?" she laughed. Joseph squeezed her hand with a smirk. "Not the stairs, mon ange." Eponine's face flushed. "Shut up," she said. All Joseph could do was smirk.

They entered her room, and Eponine threw herself onto her bed. Joseph plopped down on the big, leather armchair at her balcony window. She propped herself up on her elbows, and he leaned his chin on one hand. His feet were set far apart, and he slouched back.

Joseph.

Maggots ate at his stomach.

His mum had always described love like butterflies, but there was nothing fluttery about this. This was his impending doom, his feelings eating at him. With every passing minute, they came closer and closer to his heart. He was scared of what it would mean if they did. Did this feeling ever ebb away? Was it going to keep gnawing at him for the rest of his life?

"Remember when you fell off the climbing rope?" he asked, laughing at the memory. She groaned, and buried her head in her hands. "Please don't ever mention that again, that was so embarrassing," she whined. He chuckled.

"How about when you tried to get your bike and tumbled straight into my lap?" Somehow, his smirk was growing even bigger. Her hands still covered her face, but he could see the flush between her fingers. "Shut up man, I see you read every book I've read the moment you see me with it at school," she said, looking up. Her hair fell onto her face. It took every one of his muscles to not reach out and put it behind her ear. "Had to see if you had decent taste, Nine."

His heart thumped in his chest when he used her nickname. He never had done so before, not even at their study dates, dinners or whenever they spoke at school. He waited for her to scowl, to scold him, or to frown with disgust, but it didn't come. Instead, she smiled. "Come on, Jo. We know that's not true." Her eyes met his.

He felt trapped in them, like a Venus flytrap traps its prey with beauty. He couldn't tear his eyes away, no matter how hard he tried. His already tense muscles grew tighter, and a fist formed on his thigh. "That we do," he whispered, brown eyes still locked on her grey-blue irises.

Joseph was never the poetry type. Literature, absolutely, but never poetry. But when he looked at the girl in front of him, there wasn't a single line of poetry left unthought. Her sweet perfume filled his nose, all he could see was her, and all he could hear was the soft sound of her breathing contrasting intensely to the sound of his thundering heartbeat. He wanted to speak everything he thought, pour out every drop of his deeply rooted attraction, but his throat felt tight and tongue thick.

Eponine seemed to notice his starred figure. "What's wrong, Jo?" But he couldn't get anything past his vocal chords in fear that he'd say something he might regret. "Your eyes are as wide as saucers and you look like you could chuck a book at me any given moment," she giggled.

He wanted to ask her to repeat his name, the sweet sound of it rolling smoothly on her tongue. But all that came out was a meagre: "Do I deserve this?"

Eponine frowned. "What does that matter? Do you want it?"

If only she knew how badly he wanted this for himself. And he was going to get it, no matter what.

mon ange: my angel

a/n: thank you for 6K! i hope you're enjoying the story so far. when joseph calls eponine 'mon ange' that's a direct reference to him telling his mom he isnt an angel, which i will include in a chapter later on!  i love that scene too much to leave it out.

please don't hesitate to leave comments, they make my day :)

i'm neither french or english, so please point out any mistakes i make both language- and culturewise! almost everything is unedited as of now, and i probably won't edit the whole story until it's all published.

good day/night,

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