Chapter Text
It was with perfect timing that Eponine joined her university's on-campus activist group, Les Amis (or, awful timing, depending on how you looked at it). During her sophomore year of college, she left her night shift at the dive down the street from her house (her parents house, really, but they’re never there, anyway). Actually, she was fired for sneaking unsold food home to Gavroche, but Eponine doesn't like the negative connotations of fired. With nothing better to do, she tagged along with Grantaire one night, and has attended every meeting since. She's polite enough, by Grantaires standards, and usually just does her homework in the back and occasionally makes the remark that “None of you people actually talk to poor people, do you?” which always makes Combeferre laugh. But sometimes she finds herself in a long, passionate rant about food scarcity or child services and makes a point to take a deep breath and mutter whatever because Eponine is calm, cool, and collected. Caring that much is for suckers.
She knows which harsh look to challenge the Amis with when she shows up late to a meeting. She always pays for food in cash. More often than not she shows up with black half-moons beneath her eyes. Everyone learns not to underestimate her.
She makes unlikely friends with Marius, who she thinks is cute like how one might think a three-legged dog is cute, and who lets her keep the extra change when he gives her money for the bus ride home (not that she ever plans on giving it back either way). When Courf asks why Eponine is friends with Marius of all people, Grantaire tells him its because Marius seems very innocent and Eponine likes to teach him about sex and drugs and rock and roll. Really, Eponine just likes the way Marius’ face contorts when she mentions something that makes his polished little head roll. Like late night cable TV. Or abortion, whatever.
It was perfect timing (or, again, awful timing), because Enjolras’ little step sister decided to join Les Amis at the same time - “She wants to be more participant in her second year of college, is what she said,” Enjolras scoffed while pulling up an extra chair to their little corner in the Cafe Musain. Grantaire asked him why a higher member count annoyed him so much, which earned him a pointed look that Grantaire tried to relish as long as he could. Secretly, Grantaire believed any attention was good attention, so long as it came from Enjolras. He had made the executive decision years ago that he would just have to settle with being hopelessly in love with him until the end of time and take whatever scraps he could get. Some people call that discipline, probably, he thinks, But I don't know why you would discipline yourself for anyone else. Whatever. He helped Enjolras set up more chairs, which neither of them mentioned.
When Cosette arrives it's like an angel has graced them with her presence. She looks nothing like Enjolras - curly brown hair and dark skin and all soft lines. But they share a similar elegant beauty - if Enjolras is a statue, then Cosette is a watercolor painting.
Cosette is pretty, really, truly pretty in a classic way, all glowing skin and twinkling eyes and slender fingers. The kind of pretty that you don't really notice until she gives you one of those full, earnest smiles, and you can't really look away or blink because you’re scared you’ll miss it. Eponine is uncharacteristically shy around her, but is always looking at her in her periphery. Grantaire, king of lonely hearts, knows where this is going. He braces himself.
Naturally, Marius falls in love at first sight. Nobody is surprised. Well, except for Enjolras, who only laughs when Courfeyrac complains that Marius won't shut up about how softly Cosette's hair falls over her shoulders (in this moment, Grantaire, who has had to put up with a month of Eponine's pining, has never related to him more). Enjolras gives Marius an amused look - not that of a protective brother, but of someone who knows just a little more than he’s letting on. Enjolras has never been particularly conniving - at least not in the way Grantaire or Eponine are conniving - but for once he allows some light chaos to unfold.
Because of course Marius falls in love with her - pretty, kind Marius, who is blissfully unaware what it means when Cosette asks Jehan if he has a copy of Sappho's fragments. (Not that Eponine is any smarter, or allows herself to be any smarter about these things, whatever.)
But Cosette likes to be kind, and she really does like Marius - she’s defensive of him like how a child might be defensive of their pet rock - so things get awkward when Marius nervously asks her to a fancy brunch at some fancy restaurant, and Cosette, wide-eyed and scared, can only respond, “Like, as a friend?” And Marius is immediately holding back heart wrenching sobs. Cosette doesn’t really know what to do about this, except put her hand on his shoulder, which only makes the tears Marius tries so hard to hold in spill out.
“No, Marius, honey, I - uh, Im.” Cosette awkwardly trips over her words, for the first time not completely graceful, but Eponine will remember the way the blush spreads over her face for the rest of eternity. Cosette bites her lip, thinking, and god, Eponine is in hell. She excuses herself because she really just cannot handle dorky, embarrassed Cosette right now. It was a long shift at the fast food joint and she’s tired and she doesn’t deserve to be tortured like this. Thus, Eponine misses when Cosette finally squeaks out, “Marius, I’m a uh, kind of uh, a lesbian.”
It is here that the beginning of the end begins.
Enjolras lets out the most triumphant, genuine laugh Grantaire has ever heard come from him (what he would give to pull that laugh from his lips!), and at this Grantaire can't help but join him, until Marius is beet-red and Cosette is running a hand through her hair (thank god, Grantaire thinks, Eponine’s not here to see this).
The meeting goes on, except an embarrassed Marius leaves shortly after the incident, and Cosette is left alone at her usual table. Grantaire, feeling sort of bad for her, decides to sit with her. God, she is pretty, Grantaire thinks, and even though Cosette and Enjolras aren't biologically related Grantaire can't help but wonder how hot their parents must be to have kids so angelic. At this new table, Grantaire has a dangerous view of Enjolras’ back, who sits just one table over, and still occasionally breaks into quiet fits of laughter. Grantaire feels a lightness in his chest, watching him, his curls bouncing every time he lets out a chuckle, the way the nape of his neck tilts when he throws his head back. He’s close enough that Grantaire could reach past Cosette and tug on his curls if he wanted to. He really wants to.
Instead, he turns to Cosette. “Your brother is very amused,” he starts. “I don't think I’ve ever seen him laugh like that.”
She looks relieved to have the attention off of her recent mortifying coming-out. “Grantaire, right? I don't think we’ve ever actually spoken.”
He nods. “Well, I’ve heard a lot about you,” he says, hoping she takes that to mean that Enjolras talks about her sometimes and not that Eponine is obviously, clearly enamored with her and won't shut up about it. “For example, your name is Cosette. You’re Enjolras’ sister. That's tons, actually - I think I could write your biography.”
If she thinks his joke is funny, she is very good at hiding it. “I've actually heard a lot about you too.”
Grantaire hopes she doesn't notice his smile falter. His thumb, tracing the grooves in the wooden table, suddenly stops. Cosette is friends with Eponine. And Marius. And probably other people who know my name, he reminds himself. That is most definitely where she heard my name.
“Enjolras talks about you sometimes.”
Grantaire is sure she has noticed his smile falter. What?
“Only the worst, I suppose,” he jokes, except it’s not really a joke because Enjolras probably does only mention the worst facets of Grantaire. He takes a swig of his wine - it seems it will be a long night. Cosette just makes a humming sound and does something like suppress a grin (although Grantaire couldn’t imagine why), and diverts the conversation to whatever band happens to be on Grantaire's shirt that evening, until Enjolras finally gets his wits about him and starts the meeting. He gets up from his chair, turns around and gives Cosette a brotherly “Quiet, ugly,” and then a lingering look at Grantaire that he swears he’s never gotten. Enjolras, for one heavenly night, has his guard down. Tonight will be long, maybe, but not totally unbearable.
“I think that was aimed at me, actually,” Grantaire whispers to Cosette, who rolls her eyes but allows a short laugh to escape her. Grantaire tries not to make eye contact with Enjolras for the rest of the night, so he doesn't notice Enjolras also trying not to make eye contact with Grantaire for the rest of the night.
A long time goes by before anyone thinks to tell Eponine what she missed. Grantaire doesn’t really remember the whole Marius-Cosette fiasco because when he thinks of that night the sound of Enjolras’ stupid, earnest laugh rings through his head and that lingering look haunts him and he begins to imagine scenarios in which Enjolras would mention his name and he has to bite his knuckles in order to stop from melting. No one else noticed Eponine slipping out of the cafe in the midst of all the chaos, so when the next meeting rolls around, no one gives her a quick update on everything she missed, like we’re writing a formal complaint to our governor or we’re trying to get admitted into a conference or the girl youve been crushing on for months is actually gay.
Soon enough, Cosette and her kind soul slip back into her usual friendship with Marius and Eponine learns to pretend not to be enamored by every aspect of Cosette’s wonderful existence, and they’re suddenly the three amigos, Cosette fixing Marius’ tie and Eponine licking her thumb to wipe away some dirt on his face. Marius is, as usual, blissfully unaware of how weird things are going to get for him in the coming months.
One night, weeks later, when Cosette and Enjolras visit Fantine and Valjean for a family movie night and Grantaire has to attend an art class, Eponine and Marius hit the town. Marius doesn't usually hit the town as much as he kind of lightly taps it or respectfully touches it. He lets Eponine drag him places, though, because she ends up telling him some wild story that's usually at least 30% true. Figuring out where to go is always a compromise, though. She thinks it's fun to get plastered - he doesn't. Eventually they settle on some club with live music where Eponine can drink and Marius, the lightweight that he is, can sip a fancy mocktail.
Eponines not sure why she asks him, “Fallen in love with anyone recently, loverboy?” because Marius gets very sad very quickly. She wrinkles her nose - she knows she’s never been the most considerate person, but jeez.
“Shit, sorry, I guess you’re still, you know,” Eponine starts, and Marius shakes his head.
“‘S fine, really, I don't really mind so much - it was just like, like,” he tries to explain himself. Sober Marius is not much better at articulating his thoughts than drunk Eponine. She considers tuning him out, but it’s kind of endearing, like how babies are endearing when they babble nonsense.
“Like, it was jarring, right? I really thought we had a connection, but then she doesn't even like boys, which is fine, but I just, I guess I was just oblivious, right?” And when Eponine doesn't respond, he repeats, “Right?”
Eponine's lips are pressed into a tight line and she makes some strangled noise in the back of her throat. She closes her eyes and tips her head back a moment, trying to drown out the mediocre tunes of whatever local band is playing. “What do you mean,” she begins, slowly, “what do you mean, she doesnt like boys?” Her voice is at least three octaves higher than usual.
“Weren't you there? I remember you being there.”
“I had… to step out for a minute.”
“Oh.” Marius may not be the brightest, but he is aware that…something is happening right now.
“Marius?”
“She’s, uh, she’s gay. She told me she’s a lesbian. I guess you’re, uh, the last one to know, ‘Ponine!” He punctuates it with a nervous laugh, and Eponine is reminded of a child trying to ease the tension during a scolding (‘it’s a funny story, really’).
And Eponine can't hold it in anymore - she lets out a frustrated, cathartic noise that turns into a wild laugh that ends sharply a moment later, eyes wide and manic. A victorious grin is plastered on her face and people sitting at the surrounding tables give her a weird look, and honestly, Eponine really just couldn't care less. Marius is blushing furiously and stifling a laugh he’s sure is inappropriate, and Eponine is squeezing his hand and saying “That's crazy! That's crazy! That's so interesting!”
Suddenly, Marius is the responsible one, peeling a dizzy Eponine from her vinyl barstool and into the fresh night breeze, where she is looking up at the stars and blinking very hard. She manages to suppress her grin into a tight-lipped smirk, and she says to Marius, “It’s been a lovely evening my friend, really, thank you for paying, I’m going to catch the bus, adios, au revoir, goodbye, goodbye, goodbye,” all very quickly and melodically.
Marius stares at her long black hair swishing behind her as she bounces away, himself equal parts amused and unnerved. Eponine is cool, calm, and collected. Eponine is mostly cool, calm, and collected.
Something, Marius thinks to himself, something… strange is happening.
At 1 pm, Grantaire wakes to a dozen texts from Eponine.
EPONINE: HOW LONG DID YOU KNOW???
GRANTAIRE.
HOW LONG DID YOU KNOW
WHY DIDN’T YOU TELL ME
COSETTE - LESBIAN??
Shit, thinks Grantaire, half because he knows only something wild can come from all of this, and half because he really did forget to tell her. Oops. There are six more texts from her in a similar fashion, and then one sent an hour later from the last.
EPONINE: come 2 my house asap
Grantaire knows better than to say no to Eponine. In a huff, he drags a hand through his hair and pulls on a pair of jeans.
“So. Cosette. Lesbian. Why am I just learning about this now?” Says Eponine, hands on her hips like a frustrated mother. Grantaire winces.
“Erm, we all had our suspicions, even before… you were even more oblivious than Marius, honestly.”
She narrows her eyes at him. “Not the point.”
Grantaire is laying his head against her old headboard, legs criss cross on her comforter. She is pacing at the foot of her bed, frantically pulling her hair out of her face, into a ponytail, letting it go, pulling it back up, letting it fall. It's oddly soothing.
“I mean, she reads so much Sappho. And she said her favorite song is Come to my Window. Are you seriously surprised?”
She throws a pillow at him. “Well, it's like, it's like, it's all been a fantasy, right? Like I would casually think of kissing her or something -”
“It totally wasn't casual, by the way -”
“But I never really thought about it substantially, you know, like it's never been real, like - and now… it could be. Is this what it's like for straight teenage girls? When they're in high school and they think the football captain is going to ask them to prom? Is this what that is?”
“Is Cosette the football captain?”
With a huff, Eponine plops down on her bed. A sticky ring pop sits on her middle finger - sugar eases her, she claims. “What am I supposed to do?”
Grantaire bites his lip. “I mean… nothing? Like, we do nothing. We just nurture these elementary-school type crushes until the day we die and maybe we leave a love letter in our death and that's it, probably. We just don't do anything. There's nothing to do about it.”
Eponine seems unfulfilled by the way her eyes narrow at the ceiling. “I do not accept that.”
Grantaire shrugs. He’s the master of unrequited love. “It’s easier like this,” he says, but it’s not, actually, and he knows this - he knows that maybe if he asked Enjolras to a restaurant or a bar or an all expenses paid trip to Hawaii he’d say no, flat out, and then Grantaire could get closure, and then maybe at that point he’d be a successful enough artist to afford therapy (maybe Jehan would do, or Joly, who probably knows everything about the brain), and then he’d be done and it would be over. But it’s like a miserable book, a long, gut-wrenching book that tortures every character, that you hate to read but can't put down, that you cry over when you finish it because you didn't want it to end. The pain becomes a comfort after a while. Wise men say ‘it's better to have loved and to have lost, than to have never loved at all.’ He rolls his eyes at that sentiment. Not quite the same, Grantaire thinks bitterly. I am not losing anything. I do not have anything to lose.
As if reading his thoughts, Eponine says, “It’s not like we have anything to lose.”
Grantaire gives her a sick laugh, disbelieving. She rolls her eyes.
“I mean,” she begins, like a moody teenager, “you already think Enj can't stand you - if he only confirms it, what's the difference?”
“So you want to just walk up to Cosette at the next meeting and ask her out?” Eponine gives him a warning glance. “What do we have to lose, right?”
The ring pop exits her mouth with a satisfying pop! “That's - no, that's different. I’m not saying we just hit them up out of the blue, but, I mean, like, maybe we could try, right? Like we could try and if we fail then we fail. Maybe we should try.” It was clear Grantaire would not convince her of anything. “And everyone knows you’re madly in love with him anyway.”
Grantaire's face twists into a horrified look. “They do?”
Eponine gives him an annoyed eye roll. “Obviously,” she scoffs. “All you do is stare at him during meetings and hope he calls on you so you can say some stupid bullshit. You don't antagonize anyone else like you do to him. You better be grateful that he’s even more oblivious than Marius - who also knows, by the way. You're, like, a complete whore, and everyone knows it, dude.”
He considers this. “Okay, what's your game plan?”
A particularly shit-eating grin spreads over Eponine's face.
The game plan was, as Eponine put it, simple enough. Grantaire is Eponine's wingman, and Eponine is Grantaires. Easy.
Except, not that easy, because Cosette is very kind and nice and easy to talk to, and Enjolras is… weird. “Isn’t it kind of unfair that you have to deal with Enjolras’ bullshit and I get to chat with lovely Cosette?”
“Not really,” Eponine assures, offering no further explanation. She didn't have to - Eponine was the single most determined person Grantaire had ever met. Even more so than Enjolras - what Eponine wanted, she got, one way or another. She just didn't want that much. And besides, Enjolras is stubborn, and so is Eponine, so who better to be Grantaire's wingman? No other member of Les Amis would be quite so effective - except, perhaps, Combeferre, who would definitely have no part in this.
“Okay,” Grantaire says steadily, “what am I supposed to say? What does a wingman even do?”
Eponine pondered this. She had never really gone after anyone, and rarely cared about anyone enough to do something like this for them. She sucked her ring pop.
“Just, like… let her know I’m a lesbian? And that I’m into her? Or, just hint at it. Like, ‘Eponine doesn't grow out her nails,’ or ‘Eponine never had an Ed Sheeran phase.’”
A smile cracks over Grantaire’s face. “Cool, okay. And what will you be telling Enjolras?” It would seem Eponine had already thought of this.
“That you’re not actually a complete shithead? Like, you actually care about things? I don't know why you pretend not to care about anything. Maybe he thinks you hate him,” she muses. “He definitely thinks you hate him.”
Grantaire considers this with a frown. He can’t imagine actually hating Enjolras. “It’s not really a facade -”
“R, last week you pretended to have never given to charity in your life. You’re literally on a monthly donation list for that thing, so, like, I don't know why you think acting like everything sucks is the proper way to get an optimist to like you.” She sits up cross-legged and looks at him. “Nihilism isn’t sexy,” she adds.
The thing Eponine referenced was an LGBT youth organization that he couldn't believe she remembered he signed up for two years ago.
The room was very silent as Grantaire thought over what Eponine said. It was true that he and Enjolras didn't exactly see eye-to-eye on everything, but he’s never been completely transparent with him. Laziness, probably, he thought. It was much, much easier to be disliked when you make yourself unlikable, but if he were to be vulnerable with Enjolras and still end up unlovable - that seemed much, much worse.
“What are the rules?”
“We can make some up as we go along. But for starters, how about ‘no lying.’ You can't lie and say that, like, I’m really good at pottery or something, because I cant follow up on it.”
“Okay. How about ‘no involving other members of the group.’”
Eponine nods in agreement. “And you cannot, under any circumstance, tell the other person that we’re in love with them.”
The room fell into a comfortable silence as Grantaire considered the plan. There were three possibilities laid out in front of him like cards - the first being that Grantaire refuses, and just goes on being a little bitch forever. The second was to accept and somehow, miraculously, it works, and Grantaire gets to actually hold Enjolras’ hand or something. Or the third possibility, the most likely one, which is that he accepts and it doesn't work, and Enjolras ends up hating him forever and maybe Cosette hates Eponine too. But then again, closure, acceptance, the stages of grief, and maybe Grantaire can once again be a functioning human being.
Eponine interrupts this train of thinking. “So?”
He hesitates, and then gives her a defeated sigh. “Okay, I guess.”
Popping the ring back in her mouth, she lies back on the bed. “Cool, okay,” she smiles.
Just then, Gavroche opened the door, arriving back from school.
“‘Ponine! I made it in the school play!” And then, because he was caring too much for a 12 year old boy, he added, “I mean, obviously, my audition was fantastic.” Upon noticing Grantaire, he stuck his tongue out at him and gave him a face of mock disgust. Grantaire stuck his tongue back out at him and grinned. Oh, to be 12 years old again and not hopelessly in love with someone who hates every fiber of your being.