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cracking marble
act three, spring
chapter fifteen, for better or for worse

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(       avril , 1832      )

      THE FOLLOWING DAYS passed in a love struck blur; everything that was once morbid suddenly seemed hopeful. It was as though the sun had finally emerged upon a never ending thunderstorm. Every little thing brought immense joy to the blonde girl; the sweet smell of flowers in the marketplace; the sound of laughter ringing throughout the Musain in the evening; the feeling of his lips on hers — it's strange what the power of love can do.

     This feeling stayed with Mathilde until the morning of the twenty-ninth. April was a month of many emotions and with the imminence of Joly and Musichetta's wedding it seemed unlikely that it would change.

     For the time of year, the weather seemed incredibly warm. The sun beat down upon the streets of Saint Michel contrasting greatly to the bitter chill of winter that had only just surpassed.

      It almost seemed that, with this change in weather, spirits had lifted among the community. When the sun shone, so did everyone that its rays touched, or so it seemed to Mathilde — but her lovestruck nature may have impaired her perceptions. Yet it was nice to think that others shared her new found joy.

    The sun's rays creeped through the broken glass windows in the stair well of Enjolras' building casting kaleidoscopic prisms of light throughout the environment. Her hand graced the bannister as she ascended the creaking wooden steps, her skirts held up in her other hand. The blonde made her way with slight haste, having run ahead of the other boys in the vain hope of catching a minute alone with Enjolras before the wedding traditions began and they would be forced to hide their affection for the day.

     Letting the hem of her dress fall to the floor, Mathilde reached Enjolras' flat. With sharp incentive, her hand twisted the dull doorknob and the door opened with alarmingly ease.

     Looking into the flat, a small smile made its way onto her face. Since their reconciliation, Mathilde's presence had been far more regular at Enjolras' residence and therefore he had made the effort to tidy and liven the place up to her liking.

    Papers were stacked neatly and cushions were plump. Works of literature were displayed upon the mantelpiece above the fireplace; fresh flowers sat in their vases contently perched upon windowsills overlooking the shining city below.

     The transformation was noticeable to say the least but many of the boys put it down to Enjolras' increasing mobility and desperation to be productive — which to some extent was correct. But the blonde knew the truth; and it just proved to her once more just how healthy an impact they had upon one another.

     Despite her pause in admiring the cleanliness of the sitting room, Mathilde did take in one fact; it was empty.

     Her eyebrows furrowed in slight confusion. She craned her neck as she stepped a few more paces into the room, closing the creaking wooden slowly behind me, to make certain that she was not mistaken.

      "Enjolras?" The blonde called, hands resting upon the back of the chaise longue as she awaited some form of acknowledgement or response from her revolutionary.

     After a moment of two, she heard a muffled noise sound from the bedroom. With an impatient huff at her lack of intellect in not checking there independently, Mathilde strode over to the door and opened it with the same haste that she had the other.

      "Enjolras, Joly's on his—!"

     Mathilde's words faltered as she strode into the room, her mouth suddenly becoming dry at the sight before her.

     Enjolras stood at least four feet before her, his shirt hanging loosely upon his muscular frame, exposing his toned, marble abdomen where a long pink scar ran serving as a reminder of the traumatic events of early January.

     Feeling her cheeks immediately heat at the intimacy of the moment, Mathilde felt bashful and the smug smirk upon his lips did not help her recover from her surprised state at seeing him half-dressed.

      "Oh! I'm sorry!" She cried the second her thoughts became more orderly, averting her gaze from him and trying to look anywhere else, "I— I didn't think—"

     His shoulders shook slightly in amusement at the blonde's flustered state, Mathilde tried to her best to fight the smile that threatened to crawl upon her lips.

      "It's alright, Mathilde." He said, his smirk never fading as he turned down the collar of the shirt, his cool blue orbs surveying the girl smugly before he added, "I don't mind you looking at me."

     The blonde's gaze shot back up to meet his as a light scoff sounded from the back of her throat at his presumption. Squaring her shoulders, Mathilde regained her composure and surveyed the handsome man in her midst.

     He cleared his throat gently, before his gaze darted between himself and the girl, looking down at the state of himself. His fingers delicately grazed the raw scar on his right side, wincing slightly before his gaze returned to the blonde.

     "Would you mind giving me a hand?"

      Mathilde found herself emitted another scoff as her feet carried her across the room to the marble man, his smirk falling back into place upon his lips as her hands found the unbuttoned fabric resting upon his torso.

      "Someone's got some gumption all of a sudden, haven't they?" The blonde chuckled, sparing him a quick glance as she worked on feeding one button through its respective hole.

       "What's so wrong with that?" He mumbled, contently, his hand casually stroking a strand of her hair and tucking it behind her ear. "What were you saying?" He asked, as his fingers nimbly caressed her jawline.

      "Um, Joly's on his way." She faltered slightly, keeping her gaze firmly upon the task at hand, knowing how easy it would be for him to distract me if he desired. "At least I— I presume he is, Combeferre, he said that they'd arrive around now—"

     A lighthearted chuckle broke Mathilde from my stuttering train of thought. In defeat, her hands rested from buttoning his shirt and she fixed her gaze on him, lips pursed,

    "What are you laughing at?" She asked, her own chuckle lacing her tone.

       "I've never seen you so flustered." He answered simply, his right hand continuing to caress the blonde's cheek with feather-light strokes, as though he were an artist perfecting a lifetime's work of art.

     Another scoff left her lips at his response, her eyes narrowing in part severity and in part playfulness, a small smile rested across her lips and she leant into his touch.

"I— I'm not flustered."

      "Then why can I feel your heart race whenever I speak?" He whispered to her, his hot breath fanning her face as he edged closer to her.

     Mathilde's eyes narrowed further at the insinuation despite in part knowing it was the truth; her heart rate did not mirror the cool demeanour she was attempting to maintain as Enjolras spoke.

      "I don't have an answer to that." She eventually mustered an answer in a small voice, her eyes locking with his; his lips millimetres from her own.

      "No?" He questioned, his eyebrow quirking in mock-innocence but his smirk said otherwise as his fingers ghosted her jaw once more.

      "Just kiss me, you fool." The blonde muttered just audibly enough for him to hear, her lips brushing his slightly as her request left them.

     His own lips curved into a small smile and with no hesitancy he sealed the almost non-existent gap between them, capturing her lips with his own.

    Without any hesitation, Mathilde mirrored his actions, leaning into his touch, his kiss setting her heart on fire. A small grin broke out across her face causing her to smile into the kiss as Enjolras' hands slid from caressing her face to holding her in his arms, wrapped around her waist. 

     All sense seemed to escape the blonde when he kissed her; it was one of those strange sensations that was so all encompassing that one nearly forget how to breathe. To say that the marble man — who now stood as righteous as ever before her — had swept the girl off her feet would be largest understatement of the century.

     His kiss suddenly became softer, as though she was made of porcelain and would break with the slightest movement.

     Their lips disconnected for a moment, Mathilde's mind still wrapped in bliss as Enjolras peppered tender kisses along her jaw and up to her temple.

     This brief interlude was enough for rationality to set back in as present arrangement flooded the blonde's mind once more.

      "Enjolras."

      Her words was soft as he pressed a kiss to her temple, her words struggled to get through to him as all she earned in response with a soft hum as he continued his pursuit now trailing kisses down her jaw.

      "Enjolras."

      Ahe tried again, a harmonious chuckle lacing her tone as his kiss tickled a tender spot on her neck causing her to delightfully writhe in his grasp.

     His own chuckle interlaced with hers in such a perfect harmony that could cause angels to weep. Enjolras' striking eyes found the blonde's hazel one as he faced her, her hands now softly caressing the side of his face fondly, wishing she could be blessed with seeing him like this for all her days.

      "Joly'll will be here soon." Mathilde said calmly, stroking the perfectly carved marble features of his face; a face so perfect it might as well have been created by the gods.

     Enjolras flashed her a glowing smile, his hands running up and down her back as he attempted to pull her closer, and his lips closer to hers once more.

       "So?" He asked, pretending to be dumbfounded by the statement, as his hot breath fanned her face.

     The blonde mirrored his glowing smirk right back at him, as she dodged his kiss subsequently leading to his grasp loosening around her.

       "So, he'll probably be a nervous wreck and you and the boys will need to calm him down." She told him matter-o-factly, eyebrows quirking as her hands ceased to cup his face, and moved to the white fabric that still hung upon his muscular physique. "So, you need to get your shirt on."

     Tilting her head to the left side slightly, Mathilde bit her lip as his expression morphed — transfiguring from bliss into somewhere between annoyance and content.

      "I hate it when you're right." The marble man grumbled, despite a small angelic smile gracing his lips, his hands leaving the small of her back as he turned down his collar.

       Watching him fondly, Mathilde straightened her dress, smoothing down the skirt delicately, as Enjolras did up the final few buttons of his shirt, looking intently in the mirror, focusing on the meticulous task at hand.

     The blonde couldn't help but smile at him; at his presence. She found the man mesmerising and could no longer deny her growing affection for the revolutionary before her, whose brows were furrowed accentuating the frown lines on his forehead as he scowled at his top button.

      A brief chuckle left her lips at his predicament, just as he managed to fasten the button. Hearing her emission of humour, the marble man turned from his position across the room, his teasing smirk back upon his face.

      The young woman shook her head at him, leaning against the dark wood sideboard behind her as he stalked over; eyes alight.

     Once more his proximity to her became closer and closer, his hot breath gracing her features from behind a smirk. He leaned toward her,, a familiar gesture that she welcomed happily despite her discouraging minutes before, just when a voice broke their shared daze.

     "Enjolras? Mathilde?"

     Joly's voice cut through the comfortable silence like a hot knife through butter, a slight edge of panic could be identified within his tone.

       In a flash, Enjolras crashed his lips into hers in a short, firm kiss, his right hand lingering on her jaw as it had found a habit of doing.

     Before Mathilde had time to replicate his actions, their exchange came to an end just as quickly as it had begun with Enjolras drawing away slightly and reaching onto the sideboard behind the blonde.

       "Here, Joly." He said, raising his tone slightly in order to alert the doctor in the neighbouring room, as he leaned away from the young woman, a blood red cravat now in his grasp.

      He spared her a soft smile that held a slight trace of sadness, which she knew her mirrored exactly. They both shared the knowledge that, due to the events of the day, it was unlikely that they would have another moment alone together.

      In all honesty, the relationship between Enjolras and Mathilde had not been addressed formally and therefore had not been shared with the rest of the boys. Meaning the moments they spent alone were just as treasured as they were scarce, with chaste kisses and longing gazes making up the majority of their fleeting encounters.

      While all of the secrecy made the blonde uneasy — especially with Combeferre whom she normally confided in without fail — it definitely made it all the more romantic. She felt like a protagonist in one of her books, Juliet or Ophelia, hiding their love for another from their disapproving families.

      Mathilde relaxed slightly in stance as Joly strode into the room, a mild smile upon his face that didn't quite match the lovestruck glow of his eyes.

      Before he had time to assess the situation before him, the blonde found myself distracting the man in the form of a kind greeting, holding his hands and kissing his cheek politely just as any respectable young lady would do.

       "There he is." She smiled, as she pulled away from his cheek, giving his hands a light squeeze as she looked him up and down, "You look beyond handsome, Joly."

      "Thank you Mathilde," The doctor smiled, a light blush dusting the tops of his cheeks, "You look beautiful, yourself."

      "That's very kind of you to say, M'sieur." The blonde responded, humbly, as she unhooked Enjolras' charcoal coat from the nearby coat stand and moved over to him to assist him in putting it on.

     After watching the blonde's actions for a moment, Joly focused his attention upon the pair.

     "Are you both ready?"

     Enjolras hooked his right arm into the sleeve of coat with a small grunt of pain before following suit with the other, as Mathilde held the main body, from the collar, behind him.

      "Yes," The blonde answered Joly's query, raising her voice slightly for him to hear, "Amélie is under Celeste's watchful eye so it's safe to say she won't step a toe out of line.

      "Last I heard Julien was setting up the room for the ceremony with Feuilly and Bosseut." She continued, as she helped Enjolras into the main body of the coat. "And your best man is ready to go."

     She looked over Enjolras as he straightened out the coat, with some difficulty and a slight wince.

      "Without his cane." He interjected, looking directly at his doctor with a pointed look, hoping for permission.

       "With his cane, just in case." Mathilde retorted, having none of the revolutionary's reckless antics, particularly when he was so close to full recovery.

      "You really should use the cane." Joly advised him, gently, in attempt to soften the blow as his hands latched onto the cane which had been discarded next to the sideboard on Joly's left.

      "There you have it," The blonde sighed, contently, with a sharp look at Enjolras, a smile resident on her lips at his evident frustration. "It's the doctor's orders."

      "I swear to God, I will not carry that thing with me." Enjolras protested, firmly, aiming his comment laced with evident distress at Joly.

       "Would you rather fall down the aisle?" Joly responded, causing the young woman to let out a chuckle at the thought, earning herself a sharp look from Enjolras.

       "I'll be fine."

      "Alright, we'll see." Joly rolled his eyes, pressing the cane into Enjolras' grasp before leaving the room with a quiet chuckle, closing the door behind him in his pursuit.

     Mathilde chuckle faded as her gaze fell on Enjolras who was looking disheartened at the prospect of the cane, holding it gently in his grasp. His blue eyes told that he knew it was still needed but his will wouldn't be tamed just by that fact.

       "He is right." Enjolras started, looking down at the cane, before his gaze landed on the blonde beside him, "You do look beautiful."

      Her gaze fell to the floor as a bashful smile spread across her face, despite having kissed him more times than she could count in the previous days, his compliments never failed to make her blush.

"Thank you." Mathilde replied, fondly, her eyes returning to his as she moved toward him, "And you'll be fine with your cane."

"It's humiliating." He muttered, his hand trailing across the wood of the cane, delicately, his discomfort clearer than day.

On instinct, the blonde held the hand closest to her and interlinked her fingers with his, stroking it softly with her free hand, her eyes not once leaving his face.

"I know you hate it," She said in no more than a whisper. "But it's helping you."

Her comment was met with a light sigh, as his soft eyes met hers, as he set the cane down and leant upon it comfortably.

"Every day you walk with stronger step," Mathilde hummed to him, her right hand reaching out for his marble cheek, "You walk with longer step, the worst is over."

"Every day, I think of Amélie," He replied, just a quietly, humming the same tune himself, "Of what our lives would be if she'd been injured there."

The blonde's shoulders rose and sank in a delicate sigh at his fret, he had confided in her more than once that he had often found himself wondering what would have happened had that guard's shot hit my sister. Despite his heroism, he still had little faith.

"Don't think about it, Enjolras," She told him, running her thumb in a caress along his cheek, "Those memories I swear will pass." A light smile graced his lips at her words, "I will never leave your side and we will take this struggle in our stride."

His forehead rested against hers gently as he pressed a soft kiss her palm, his cool blue eyes boring into her brown ones.

"I promise." The blonde lettered under my breath, at a volume she knew he would just about hear, as she pulled back from their embrace and removed her hand away from his cheek.

"You know I appreciate you organising this gathering," Enjolras confessed, looking down at his loose cravat and adjusting it upon his neck, "But you didn't have to do it for me."

"It's Joly's final few moments amongst his friends as an unmarried man — it wouldn't have been right for you to left out." Mathilde retorted, with a light scoff, moving toward the mirror, "You're the best man, after all."

Looking in the mirror, the blonde began fixing her appearance, consciously running her fingers along the soft fabric of the red dress that Evangeline and Ambre had gifted her just three days prior.

Out of the corner of her eye, she could see Enjolras still fiddling with his cravat. Mathilde shook her head at his apparent helplessness, an amused smile heaving her features.

"It just seemed to make more sense the gathering to simply brought to you."

Her words hung in the air and seem to strike a chord with Enjolras as his focus shifted from his task and landed directly upon the blonde woman by the mirror who turned to look at him.

"Besides I believe I owed you the favour." She smiled bashfully, recalling the incident months ago where he'd delivered the meeting to her when she was injured; an event that seemed a lifetime ago.

His gaze softened as he realised her intentions, and a look flashed in his eyes that she couldn't quite name but made his eyes look the warmest and kindest they had ever looked.

"Mathilde, I—"

The sharp sound of a door opening caused his sentence to cease, fading into the chuckle and jeering laughs in the next room. But it wasn't the noise that first caught Mathilde's attention, it was the small boy who wore toothy grin upon his scrubbed face and whose usual shaggy blonde hair was combed back and neatly parted to the side.

"Mathilde!" Gavroche cried, as he bounded through the threshold of the door towards the young woman like a charging buffalo.

"Gavroche!" She responded; a wide grin spreading across her face as she bent down to his level and caught him in her arms, squeezing him tightly as he reciprocated her actions, his smaller arms hooking around her neck as he emitted a quiet giggle into her hair.

The blonde let him go reluctantly, looking him up and down, admiring his new clothing. To say that the seamstresses at Madame Couture's had been generous was an understatement, not only had they supplied Mathilde with a dress but also Amélie, with a periwinkle blue flower girl dress and Gavroche with a cotton shirt, black trousers, some new shoes that lacked holes and stains, and tight braces that clung over his shoulders, holding his trousers up upon his skinny frame.

"I dare say I've never seen a more handsome man in all my days." The blonde gushed with pride looking over the small boy, who was clearly beyond chuffed with his little makeover. His toothy grin flashed again as the small child practically beamed at her, straightening up in order to appear more grown up as she rose back up to her full height.

"Ouch, you know I'm sensitive, Tilde." A new voice cut into their interaction.

Looking up, Mathilde's eyes met the charming smile of Courfeyrac who also made his way into the room, adjusting an olive green overcoat upon his shoulders as he entered.

"And of course you look positively dashing as well, Courf." She told the curly haired man, as he approached them, sparing a nod at Enjolras who had returned to battle with his cravat, before coming up behind Gavroche and placing his hands on his shoulders, leaning forward over him slightly in order to press a light kiss to the blonde's cheek in greeting.

"Why thank you, Mademoiselle." The centre winked, taking a few paces back and steering Gavroche back into the neighbouring room where the general noise of laughter could still be heard.

Mathilde was about to follow suit when a gut instinct stopped her in her tracks. With slight hesitation, she turned to Enjolras before leaving the room, his red cravat now fastened suitably around his neck, contrasting nicely with the white of his shirt and the blue of his jacket; she had been foolish to believe that he would wear any colours other than those that made up the French flag.

"What we're going to say just then?" The blonde raised her query innocently enough, unable to erase from her mind the look that came across his eyes, leaving her wondering what his following words might have been.

Enjolras' brow furrowed in thought as he took himself back to the encounter moments earlier before they had been interrupted by the double act of Gavroche and Courfeyrac.

"Oh," He got out eventually, "It was nothing."

The blonde surveyed his eyes closely in order to try and spot a giant flicker of something that may have resembled the sight she'd seen before, but little avail was achieved. His cool eyes beheld their relaxed edge as he looked over at her.

"Never mind it." He hurriedly added, having clearly spotted her disbelief.

And with that, the marble man walked out of the room and into the conjoined one — with cane in hand and all. Discontent with his response, Mathilde heaved a small sigh and followed him out of the bedroom and back into the main room of the apartment which now hosted the vast majority of Les Amis with the exception of Lesgles, Feuilly, Julien and Amélie, who were all partaking in other various forms of wedding preparation elsewhere.

Scanning the room with a fond glance, the blonde overlooked her friends making themselves at home for a few brief moments. Once her gaze had landed on Éponine, she found herself naturally gravitating towards her as she often did in their large gatherings.

"I can't believe Chetta's really going to be married." She sighed dreamily, a small smile lacing her features showcasing her dimples, as she rested her furiously scrubbed-clean hands upon an equal scrubbed-clean face.

"That makes one of us;" Mathilde retorted in disagreement with her statement, nonetheless soaring a quick grin at her closest friend. "I can't believe it's taken them as long as it has to get married."

Éponine chuckled softly, her whole face lighting up in the process, proving how happiness really can bring out a person's inner beauty. Much like Gavroche, her hair been brushed out and arranged smartly and coupled with her emerald dress, the blonde knew her looks could give a fair few bourgeois girls a run for their money.

"I like your dress." Mathilde said with a slight smirk, looking her friend up and down.

"Well, you did buy it." She retorted in the same manner, refusing to let her forget her generosity.

"Oh hush and take my compliment." The blonde chuckled, attempting to maintain a serious demeanour and yet failing miserably.

"Never." The brunette replied, with a smug smile, bumping her shoulder with her friend's, automatically causing her to roll her eyes.

      The girls' light laughter blended in with the rest of the rumbling exchanges taking place in the room. Mathilde's warm eyes scanned her surrounding meticulously, analysing everyone's behaviour as best she could.

      Grantaire sat on the arm of the chaise-longue in conversation with Bahorel who sat upon in. The artist's hands were balled into fists clearly conscious of not facilitating a bottle of alcohol and not knowing what to do with themselves, luckily he was being reassured by Bahorel, whose foot was tapping in an inconstant rhythm, that there would be drinks served at the reception.

      Jehan was sat in the window-ledge in the same spot where the blonde had spent part of her first night in the apartment, talking to Enjolras and Courfeyrac who had gathered around him; the trio of them gazing out of the window looking towards the brightly lit street beneath them.

      An exchange that particularly caught her eye was that between Gavroche and her older brother who stood just to her right, standing just before the closed front door to the apartment.

       "Gavroche, have you got the rings?" Combeferre asked patiently, although his eyes told a different story; one of that was trying to conjure up a plan of action if Gavroche were to turn down and say he was ringless.

     However, this panic was subsided when the young boy reached into the depths of his trousers pockets and withdrew two simple golden bands.

     "Yes, sir!"

      "Be very careful with them." Combeferre responded, with a small smile, his body language urging the young boy to reinstate the rings back into his pocket.

       "Of course, sir!" Gavroche replied, stamping in an overly dramatic impression of the national guard which the blonde couldn't help but smile at.

      Combeferre shook his head at Gavroche's antics, before sharing a knowing glance with Joly and clearing his throat slightly.

      "Well, then I see no need to postpone the occasion any longer." Combeferre's voice has raised in volume quite substaintally as he desired to attract the attention of everyone in that room.

       After a moment of shushing Marius, Combeferre continued, angling his body towards Joly and then back to the group, and then proceeding to alternate between these two positions through his following query.

      "Any last words as an unmarried man, Joly?"

      Joly folded his arms around himself for a moment, seemingly thinking hard about something or other before turning sharply toward Combeferrre and stating:

     "You owe me ten francs."

     "What?!"

      Combeferre's outcry stimulated a small rumble of laughter throughout the room, particularly from his sister who found something quite humorous in her brother's change in demeanour from a relaxed sway to now both his feet being planted firmly upon the ground as he gaped at the doctor.

      "We made a bet ten years ago that whichever of us got married first would receive ten francs from the other." Joly explained, simply, not even bothering to fight to smug smirk that crawled its way on his features, "Pay up."

       "I was hoping for something a little more sentimental." Combeferre sighed, as he unwillingly dove into his pockets as Gavroche had done moments earlier and began to count out his due.

       "One can't think of sentimentality when they have to pay off the debt a wedding costs, my friend." Joly replied matter-o-factly, slapping Ferre on the back lightly, while holding out his other hand in preparation for receiving his payment.

       "Fair enough." Combeferre struggled to argue with the doctor's logic, handing him the money dutifully, before turning back to the rest of their group. "To marriage!"

      "To marriage!"

***

       "RING OUT THE BELLS upon this day of days!"

    The heavenly melody echoed through the stone corridors of the Halls, as the party entered, audibly gasped at the sound of such a pleasant chorus.

      "May all the angels of the Lord above, in jubilation, sing their songs of praise!"

      Gavroche skipped merrily along to the joyous tempo tugging Mathilde's arm with him as he went, his left hand tightly clasped in hers.

      "And crown this blessed time with peace and love."

      The angel-like melodies soon died down as Gavroche and the blonde girl came to the end of the corridor, approaching a large mahogany door left slightly ajar that led to the side chapel where the afternoon's ceremony was to be held.

     Mathilde's breath hitched in her throat upon gazing within the chapel, freezing in place as Gavroche tugged his hand out of hers, running to the other side of the room to show off his new clothes to Madame Houcheloupe who was sat in the second row.

      Sunlight poured through the large gothic windows that spread across the left wall, illuminating the chapel in a heavenly, golden glow. Small arrangements of snowdrops, white peonies and lilies hung about the room giving a sweet scent to air, each being tended to by a seamstress of Madame Couture's.

       "You girls truly did do a wonderful job with the decoration." The blonde voiced her admiration to Simone who was the nearest to her, as the rest of the party entered the chapel.

      "Of course, Ambre is mostly to blame." Simone confessed, offering a light smirk, and a shrug as she nodded towards wily red head who had approached Joly and was showing him each of her creation. "But I won't dismiss some of the credit."

     The dark haired seamstresses chuckled, as she bumped her shoulder lightly with Mathilde's before progressing across the room to help Helene with a wreath.

      The blonde's feet carried her further down the aisle, her eye catching a familiar face standing at the alter, who ruffled the dirty blonde mop of hair upon Gavroche's head as the small boy continued to run around as if it were Christmas morning.

       "You look very professional, M'sieur." Mathilde commented, addressing Julien and referring to the black cassock that clothed him.

      The pastor stifled a small chuckle, giving the dog collar around his neck a slight tug.

     "I'm boiling hot, can you notice?"

      "Not at all." She replied, returning his small smile, her hands clasping in front of her.

      "Okay, good." He affirmed, nodding a little too quickly to not tempt the blonde's suspicions, as he moved to small stand in the centre of the altar, his eyes fixing upon his hymn sheet. "You know this is my first real ceremony?"

      Mathilde's eyebrows raised, as she computed the reason for his skittish behaviour.

  "Oh, really?"

     "Indeed, I can't say I'm not at all nervous —" Julien chuckled, nervously, flicking through the parchment in his hands, "In fact, knowing Joly and Musichetta is making my nerves all the worse."

      The blonde's gaze softened as she took a few steps towards him and grabbed his nearest hand in her two.

        "But you're giving them the happiest day of their life — how can you be nervous about that?" She soothed him, giving his hand a sympathetic squeeze, watching his shoulders descend from their raised position and slowly relax. "You'll be brilliant as you always are, Julien."

     Her words seemed to have done the trick and calmed the pastor's nerves, sufficiently. He returned the squeeze of hand, just before releasing his from hers. With a gentle exhalation, his warm brown eyes scanned the room of guests, stopping suddenly in one spot.

       "She's beautiful."

     Mathilde didn't need to follow his gaze to understand who she was; Éponine stood in the middle of the aisle in conversation with Courfeyrac, her presence practically illuminating the room as she threw her head back in a hearty laugh.

      If the blonde's words had not soothed Julien; it was apparent that one look at the girl in the green dress could weather any storm brewing in the young pastor's mind.

      "Does your heart lay in your gaze, M'sieur?" The young woman found herself asking, looking at his profile intently, "Or are you merely observing your surroundings?"

      "Oh—" Julien stifled a quick cough, his eyes darting away from Éponine to find his hymn sheet once more. "Merely observing, of course."

      A rosy tint dusting his porcelain cheeks as he fumbled with the parchment in hand.

   "Éponine is a lovely girl, really. But her affections clearly lay with Pontmercy if you observe as I have."

      Mathilde's eyebrows furrowed as she looked back in the direction of Éponine, who was no longer paying attention to whatever funny comment Courfeyrac had made, but instead was gazing intently towards a certain Bonapartiste.

      If the pair hadn't been in a public setting, she would dare say her temptation to voice her frustration at the unfolding events in the chapel would have been difficult to restrain. But instead Mathilde simply gritted her teeth and uttered:

   "Yes, I see."

     The dark cloud of frustration that hung over her was not permitted to last long, as the blonde began to notice commotion in the room. The guests were shuffling and filing past one another in order to get to their seats in time.

      "Are you ready?" Joly's frantic whisper came from her left, addressed to Julien, as he and Enjolras made their way to one side of the altar.

      "Yes, yes." The pastor responded quickly, setting down his parchment and standing up straight.

     Giving his arm one last squeeze, Mathilde sent a gentle nod of confidence towards Joly, before dismissing myself from the front of the room.

    "I'll just take my seat."

     In a few short strides, the blonde had reached her seat and sank into it. Éponine was on her left and a very excited looking Gavroche on her right, who was turning around and peering down the aisle in attempt to sneak a quick glance at the procession before it appeared.

      Soon the melodious sound of flute music echoed around the chapel, playing the classical wedding march. The blonde's eyes fixed admirably upon Jehan who played so beautifully from the opposite side of the altar to the groom and best man.

      In unison, the guests all rose from their seats and turned to look down the aisle where a little brown haired girl was proudly advancing down the aisle in a little white dress, scattering white rose petals along the floor as she went from a small basket clutched in her hand.

      When Amélie was halfway down the aisle, two more figures emerged from the doorway and Mathilde could have sworn time froze.

     Musichetta looked ethereal in the white dress — that the blonde seen her wear but a week before — as she and Lesgles walked arm in arm down the aisle. Somehow she seemed even more beautiful than then, but that was no doubt down to the blinding smile that lit up her face as her eyes landed on her husband-to-be, who looked as though his breath had been snatched from his lungs.

      Amélie reaches the end of the aisle and sensibly walked over to her older sister, standing at her side with her head held high in pride. Part of Mathilde found her dedication to her duty thoroughly amusing but admirably nonetheless.

     The blonde could no longer fight the wide grin that broke out across her face as the duo reached the altar and Jehan's music ceased. Lesgles placed a dear kiss on Chetta's cheek, before shaking Joly's hand and placing Chetta's in his before retreating to his seat across the aisle.

      The couple joined hands tenderly and looked upon each other as if there was no one else in the room; just the two of them in an infinite love struck bliss.

      "Dearly beloved." The voice of Julien rang out in the echoing chapel, "We are gathered here to today's to join this man and this woman in holy matrimony."

***

     "YOU MAY NOW KISS your bride."

      Gleeful applause rang the chapel amidst a few wolf whistles coming from Courfeyrac's direction as Chetta and Joly's lips met in a sweet heartfelt kiss, validating their eternal devotion to one another.

      Chetta spared Mathilde a quick giggle as she and Joly, arm in arm, proceeded back down the aisle as man and wife, with their guests shortly beginning to file behind them in order to make their way to the venue of the reception.

      Éponine quickly vanished from the blond's left, hand in hand with Amélie, running away after the party in a fit of giggles, while the young boy on her right rugged eagerly at her arm.

      "Did you see me give the rings, Mathilde?" He asked with a grin that could light up the entire city, "I didn't lose them!"

       "Yes, I saw." She responded, giving him her full attention as she turned to face him in her seat. "You did a very good job. I dare say you were the best ring bearer I've ever seen."

  The blonde reached forward to smooth out his hair which had become wily from all the rufflings he'd endured from the older boys.

     However, her attention upon Gavroche did not last much longer as she noticed a presence standing before her, causing her to avert her gaze and meet the cool blue eyes that never failed to make her heart skip a beat.

      "Mademoiselle, would you care to accompany me?" Enjolras asked, being the perfect gentleman, standing back slightly as Mathilde arose her seat, Gavroche having sped off after Amélie and Éponine.

      "I'd hate to impose — you and that cane of yours make quite a duo." She humoured him with a knowing smile, his response of a stubborn huff was enough to confirm to her that she'd frustrated him sufficiently. "Oh, I kid you." She chuckled, taking hold of his arm as he grimaced at the cane in his other hand. "Don't be so childish."

      "I wouldn't have to be if you'd let me burn it." He retorted, looking ahead as they trailed at the back of the group so as to keep their conversation to themselves.

     "I'm merely helping you help yourself." Mathilde answered back, fairly, with a small shrug. "Accept defeat, M'sieur."

      "Never."

     The walk to the reception at Couture's Ballroom took them all less than ten minutes, the large group of them travelling as one mass of joy along the streets. Choruses and shouts of congratulations were hurled at the bride and groom who merely blushed in appreciation and continued to lead the procession.

      The Couture Ballroom was just as quaint as Mathilde had remembered it to be from years previously, a large ballroom dance floor took up most of the room and was headed up by a rest platform whereupon day an orchestra ready to play the afternoon away. Chairs and tables lined the circumference of the room, where every guest had a place setting — Mathilde's being on a table with Amélie, Gavroche, Courfeyrac, Grantaire and Éponine.

     Food was served about an hour after their arrival, each guest was served an individual vol-au-vent which tasted not only heavenly but also very out of our budget so the blonde encouraged the children to appreciate the food while they could as it was unlikely they'd be indulging in anything similar any time soon.

     By the time the dance floor was in full swing, most chairs had been turned to face it with only a few people occupying them and admiring the dancing, and most of the people soaking up the admiration as they danced along to the three quartered times waltz playing melodiously in the background.

      Mathilde say very contently at their table, making feeble conversation with a fairly inebriated Grantaire who seemed to become very insightful when under the influence of alcohol, and also keeping an eye on the children who were hiding underneath the table concealed by the tablecloth, claiming they had found themselves a den and that whoever intruded it did so at their own risk.

      Grantaire was going off on another tangent about the futility of the revolution when Mathilde's eyes landed a particular red haired walking in their direction, his face slightly flushed from dancing.

      "Care to dance, Mademoiselle?" The flautist asked her, offering her his hand, panting slightly as he brushed some hair from his freckled face.

      With Grantaire not noticing his presence and both children being fairly occupied, the blonde's answer came in the form of a simple nod as the man dragged her from her chair and led her upon to the ballroom floor.

     The two of them swayed together for a few moments in a pleasant silence, when Mathilde felt a ripple of laughter from Jehan's shoulder where her hand was placed. Before she could ask what this had brought about by, he voiced his reasoning.

     "Ah, this brings back memories." The poet smiled, shaking his head with a bright grin.

      "What does, my dear Jehan?" She queried, her own lips finding a smile at that sight before her.

      "You and I together, with Enjolras' eyes fixed on you as though you were the only thing in the room." Jehan nodded in the direction behind the blonde, who turned so as to see his view.

     Just as said, Enjolras was sat at the top table — due to his status as best man — seemingly in conversation with Marius. However, his gaze was firmly fixed on the young woman and Jehan, his eyes met hers and a small smile tugged at the corner of his lips.

      "It reminds me of the first night you came to the Musain. Do you recall?" Jehan asked, Mathilde's attention travelling back to him, trying to ignore the heat of her cheeks.

      "How could I forget?" She responded, thinking back fondly on that evening many months previously.

     "His gaze has not changed a bit; I trust now that you believe me when I tell you so." The romantic looked on her with a perceptive gaze that she knew no lie would get past.

  "I could never doubt you, my friend." Mathilde told him honestly, as they continued our journey across the dance floor amidst the many other couples.

      "So, what is going on with the two of you?" Jehan asked her, in a hushed tone.

      "Nothing more than a mutual fondness I assure you." The blonde lied as convincingly as she could, knowing Enjolras' wishes about the situation.

      "Yes, and I love the monarchy." Jehan responded humourlessly. "Don't kid me, Mathilde."

      "Shh!" She whispered harshly, smacking his arm gently, hoping no one had heard his statement. "Don't let Enjolras hear that or he'll start the revolution now!"

     Jehan did nothing but chuckle at her response, before a serious look spread across his face and he looked at her eye to eye.

      "My point is I know love when I see it, Mathilde." He said, matter-o-factly. "I am a poet."

      His statement cut through the blonde like a knife, before she could give it too much thought however, her subconscious fought to change the subject.

      "Speaking of love, Chetta has many friends who are here today." Mathilde smiled, looking around the room for all the seamstress she'd grown to be fond of. "Do any of them peak your interest?"

     A gulping sound brought her attention back to Jehan who was progressively getting redder and redder atop of his cheeks.

      "So someone does?!" The blonde inferred excitedly, her eyes widening and smile broadening.

      "It's been a pleasure dancing with you, Mathilde." Jehan said promptly, dropping his hand from her waist and pressing a quick kiss to her cheek before walking quickly away towards Feuilly and Bahorel at the other side of the room.

      "Oh, Jehan!" She cried, begrudgingly, bringing herself to the edge of the dance floor so as not to get in the way of other dancers. "That's completely unfair!"

      The blonde's sudden outburst seemed to attract the attention of a certain revolutionary — but then again everything she did seemed to attract his attention without fail.

      "What was that about?" Enjolras asked from his seat which wasn't too far from her standing.

      "Oh, nothing." She dismissed, believing Jehan's reaction to her assumption was more than enough to warrant full disclosure. "I was just teasing him." She added, moving closer to the blonde man beside her. "Care to dance, M'sieur?"

      "I would love to," He answered rather quickly, a derisive smile tugging at his lips as he looked down at himself before adding, "But my current situation renders me unable to know whether I am able."

      "Well, there's only one way to find out." Mathilde shrugged, her formerly cautious self from that morning having disappeared in the jovial atmosphere of the ballroom. "You can leave the cane." She told him as she helped him to stand, "Just hold onto me."

     "I'm not sure about this, Mathilde." He replied, as she linked her arm with his and led to him onto the dance floor.

      "Relax," She told him gently, placing her hand upon his shoulder, feeling his snake around her waist. "We'll take it one step at time." She went on, as they began to softly sway to the music. "Andante."

      "And is your intelligent self going to tell me what that means?" Enjolras chuckled, joining their hands together locking them in frame.

     Mathilde returned his chuckle with a soft smile, and answered in an equally soft voice.

      "Take it easy, take it slow," The blonde sang gently, Enjolras' face contorting in frustration as his pain overpowered his will to advance. "Please be patient for improvement soon will show.

"Soon you'll be in your prime." She assured him, as she walked him through the steps slowly, "Andante, andante. Just one step at a time."

"Keep your fingers on my waist," The blonde smiled, as they came closer together in their embrace, "Don't you hurry, we've no reason to make haste."

His eyes were beginning to dart down towards his feet to make sure they were acting in accordance to the routine, his jaw clenching in a quiet frustration once more.

"Look at me," Mathilde sang, her hand leaving his shoulder momentarily to tip his chin up so that his gaze met hers instead of the floor. "Hold me tight." Her hand caressed the side of his face, softly, before resting back on his shoulder once more. "Andante, andante. Just dance with me tonight."

Enjolras' face lit up all of sudden as the music began to pick up in tempo. The marble man bravely twirled the blonde away, causing her to emit a short burst of laughter as he brought her back into his embrace; their faces merely inches apart.

"Hold me closely. Hear this song." She whispered, in a sweet melody. "Practise time and time again and you'll be strong."

Their simple waltz began to flow more rhythmically to the tempo of the song.

"Stay with me, come what may." Cool blue met warm hazel as their eyes connected, "Andante, andante. Who cares what others say?"

Steps became strides as Mathilde felt Enjolras' confidence increase and his movements became surer and stronger as he span her around once more. 

"Andante, andante. Let's dance the night away." Enjolras' voice intermingled with hers in a soft harmony as he drew her back into his embrace.

The blonde chuckled softly as she felt his arms close around her, her voice barely a whispered as she concluded their song.

"Andante, andante." She breathed, the melody softly lacing her words. "Soon all will be okay."

They stopped in place as the music ceased, a polite applause breaking out from those observing the dancing from afar, but the two of them were oblivious to their gaze.

"I forget how persuasive you can be." The revolutionary smiled softly, loosening their embrace slightly, becoming aware of surrounding figures.

"I'm a woman of many talents." Mathilde shrugged nonchalantly, a knowing smirk resident on her lips.

"It seems so." He agreed, with a faint chuckle, as the music started up again and the pair swayed together, leaving the waltz aside and instead just basking in each other's company.

A minute or two passed when a confused look graced Enjolras' features which did not go unnoticed by dancing with him.

"Do you know that girl?" He asked, moving his head backward in the direction of the person.

Peering over his left shoulder, Mathilde found myself involuntarily grimacing at the sight; a girl with light blonde hair tied up intricately in an up-do in a gown so breath-taking that it very nearly put Musichetta's to shame. Her brown eyes narrowed in the direction of the dancing couple, her jaw clenched and chin held high on her shoulders.

"You mean the one who won't take her eyes off of you?" The blonde asked, with a forced chuckle so as to mask the jealousy she could feel growing in the pit of her stomach.

"Yes." He answered with a vigorous nod, "I can feel her gaze burning into my back."

"Oh?" Mathilde voiced innocently, her tone laced with teasing, "And here I was thinking you liked being the centre of attention?"

"At a rally, perhaps." His response came instantaneously, "Right now, I'm beginning to feel quite unnerved."

Despite him telling her so, his body language made it quite clear. Mathilde could see the tension in his jaw, and the way his eyes darted to and fro would hardly make anyone believe the man was calm.

"Yes, she seems to have that effect on people." She mustered up as a response, offering him a weak smile. "Her name's Roselle; apparently you've met. A meeting which, by her description, was quite an occasion—"

"No, I remember." He cut her off all of a sudden, his eyes widening in realisation, "She's that girl."

"Well, now I'm intrigued." Mathilde smirked, her jealousy tempering.

"She ran into me once — physically, I mean — in the cafe and wouldn't stop apologising," He told her, keeling his voice relatively low, "She was speaking so quickly I thought— well, I thought she was barking mad so I walked away rather briskly."

"Oh, I like your version of events much more than hers." The blonde responded jovially to his story, attempting to suppress a hearty chuckle but the broad grin across her face left little to the imagination.

"She's walking in this direction—" Enjolras stated in a panicked whisper and, with a quick glance over his shoulder, Mathilde realised he was right and that Roselle was sauntering seemingly toward the two of us, "What are we going to do?"

"On an ordinary occasion I'd say run and don't look back but you're hardly in the condition to do so —" The blonde began, words leaving her mouth rather quickly.

"And on this occasion?"

"There's no escaping her." She surmised, letting out a withheld sigh.

"Oh Christ above." Enjolras remarked under his breath, just as the petite figure reached and stood opposite the two of us.

"M'sieur." She greeted Enjolras with a sweet smile, as he and Mathilde parted from each other's embrace so as to be civil. "Mathilde." Her gaze turned the blonde, her tone giving off a slight air of displeasure.

"Mademoiselle." Enjolras responded, his voice tired but effortfully doing as much as he could to disguise it.

"Roselle." Mathilde replied, with an attempt to mirror her smile.

"I couldn't help but notice that you've been dancing for quite a while," The seamstress remarked, innocently enough, "So I wondered whether M'sieur Enjolras had grown tired of his partner yet?"

Mathilde felt her jaw clenching in frustration, her nostrils flaring slightly at her insinuation. In her anger, she must have also take a hold of Enjolras' arm rather tightly as he reached across with his free hand to stroke it soothingly.

"I must decline your proposal, Mademoiselle." He answered, sparing a glance, as to avoid looking at the pout on Roselle's face. "For I am about to rest, I'm recovering from an injury —" he patted his abdomen lightly, "and Mathilde will not have me strain myself."

He looked at the girl beside him for some reassurance to which se nodded maybe a little to quickly.

"In addition," He added, pointedly, "I could never grow tired of her."

A silent chuckle shook through the blonde at his words as she could feel my cheeks heating up, however she was not allowed to bask in that enjoyment for much longer.

"Not for one dance?" Roselle persisted — Mathilde had to give her determination some credit.

"Again, I must decline." Enjolras repeated, his voice suddenly sounding more tired causing the blonde to wonder whether he was in need of rest after all. "If it's dancing you're after, I can persuade another for your sake!"

The marble man looked over to the side of the room and beckoned another of the boys across to tempt into the lion's den.

"Marius!"

The Pontmercy boy looked up from his conversation with Combeferre and Joly, and nodded in our direction as he placed down his glass of champagne and strode over to the group.

"Enjolras."

He greeted in response to the heckle he'd received moments previously, as Enjolras directed his attention toward Roselle.

"Mademoiselle, this is Baron Marius Pontmercy—"

In that moment, Roselle looked as though she'd been struck by lightning, letting out a very unladylike cry.

"Baron?!"

"Yes, Mademoiselle." Marius confirmed, standing up straighter as if to balance in his invisible title on his shoulders. "And you are?"

"Roselle." She said very quickly, with a slight nod of her head, her affections for Enjolras seemingly disregarded as she grabbed the hand of the Baron. "Would you care to dance?"

His answer could not be heard by Mathilde and Enjolras as she pulled him away deeper into the dance floor, all the blonde could do was scoff at the pairing.

"I'd go as far to say that they're nearly as vain as each other." She remarked, shaking her head incredulously, before turning to Enjolras. "By the way, Baron was a very nice touch."

"She struck me as the materialistic type." He reasoned with a nonchalant shrug.

"Maybe, you're getting better at reading people M'sieur." The blonde suggested, with a cocked eyebrow and small smirk playing on her lips.

"Well, I learned from the best." He answered, sporting the same smirk on his lips.

No doubt was Mathilde about to retaliate with some witty comment when Enjolras' gaze shifted downward causing hers to follow to see a smaller figure tugging on the sleeve of his coat.

"Enjolras?" Amélie peered up at the man she'd learned to greatly admire with a mischievous grin. "Will you dance with me?"

Enjolras smiled at her proposal before taking a step back in order to bow to her and offer her his hand, with a kind smile.

"It would be an honour, Mademoiselle."

"Are you certain you don't need to rest?" Mathilde interjected, reaching forward to stop them suddenly, her hand landing on the front of Enjolras' right shoulder in her haste.

"Oh, sweet Mathilde," Enjolras sighed melodramatically, taking that hand in his and removing it from his shoulder. "I only said that to get rid of her."

A devilish smirk crawled itself way onto his features in response to the blonde's surprised scoff. She snatched her hand back from him, folding her arms as she shook her head at him with a slight chuckle.

"Be gentle, Amélie." Mathilde told her younger sister, earnestly, to which she saluted. "Enjolras is still injured remember."

"Don't worry, Mathilde," Enjolras shrugged off her warning, taking both Amélie's hands in his, "I can handle her."

Another scoff left the blonde's mouth before she could help it.

"And those, M'sieur, will be your famous last words."

Slowly, she passed the pair of them, beginning to make her way towards one of the far tables.

"Gentle." She whispered fervently to Amélie as she went.

She responded with an obedient nod in her sister's direction before looking up at Enjolras, with a sheepish smile.

   "I've never properly danced before." She confessed.

Mathilde could name the spark that glinted in Enjolras' eyes at her words, but the small smile that crept onto his lips was telling enough.

"Then, would you care to stand on my feet?" He asked, putting both feet forward to her stand on. "It's the only way to learn." He added, before sparing a glance in her older sister's direction. "Isn't that right, Mathilde?"

The blonde felt my mouth suddenly go dry at his question, her heart warming at the fond memory of her father and her dancing the same way around his study all those years ago — the memory she'd disclosed to him on the night of the first snowfall months before.

"It is the only way."

Mathilde barely comprehended the words as they left her mouth — slightly taken aback by the amount of fondness she'd felt towards the man in that moment.

   "Have fun." She addressed to the pair of them, after regaining her composure with a heartfelt smile, before departing quickly from the dance.

Mathilde exhaled deeply, relaxing her shoulder as she sank down into a seat at the edge of the ballroom floor, smiling contently at the view before her on the dance floor.

For in just that moment, there seemed hardly anything wrong in the world. They were together and they were happy.

"I believed I haven't had the pleasure of making your acquaintance." A voice sounded from the blonde's left.

About two seats away sat an older woman, easily in her late sixties, dressed modestly in a very well kept frock of grey-blue. A warm smile sat across her lips, as she sat up straight, her hand ladened with various rings balancing atop of a parasol.

Looking at her posture immediately made Mathilde conscious and she forced herself to sit up properly and lift her head, and she leaned in towards her with a soft smile.

"Oh, I beg my pardon." The young woman excused herself, turning her body more toward the woman, "I'm Mathilde."

"Delighted." The older woman nodded politely, her smile never fading, her entire presence oozing glamour. "Madame Couture, but call me Lucille."

Madame Couture reached her hand forward and Mathilde met her halfway, giving it a brief shake to ratify our acquaintance.

"Are you a friend of the bride or groom?"

"Both, I suppose." The blonde responded after a moment of thought, "More so the groom, I've known him a good while longer than Chetta." She confessed, casting her gaze back over the ballroom once more before turning back to her with a change of conversation. "You're very generous in allowing us to occupy your ballroom, Madame."

"Oh, there's nothing I would not do for the sake of love." She smiled broadly, leaning back in her chair slightly and beckoning the young girl closer.

Mathilde rose from her seat and moved one over in order to sit next to her.

"Speaking of such." The older lady carried on, with a slight glimmer of mischief present in her eye, "Who was that gentleman who you were dancing with?"

The blonde found herself smiling at the ground at her mentioning of the instance,

"Monsieur Enjolras." She answered her promptly, "He was injured in the New Year and is still in recovery, if you're wondering why —" She went on assuming the older lady was curious as to his condition, just as many people had been enquiring, that evening.

"Oh no, that's not what I wondered." Madame Couture cut her off swiftly with a shake of her hand, and a light chuckle. "I was going to ask how long the two of you had been an item?"

"Oh." Mathilde's response lacked the excitement it appeared the older woman may have been expecting as  the blonde remained true to her word and told her the lie she could tell in her sleep, "I'm sorry to displease you, Madame, but Enjolras and I are no item."

She expected the lady to look disappointed or disheartened as this response, knowing how most older woman with little financial difficulty thrived on gossip and small talk that was shared at intimate occasions such as these. But instead, she surprised the blonde by adopting a small smile, narrowing her eyes slightly at me as though she was inspecting her statement very thoroughly.

"I'm not sure I believe that." Madame couture concluded, leaning back in her chair once more.

After a brief pause, she reached for the blonde's hand which she gladly gave her.

   "Tell me, Mathilde, have you ever heard the saying that lovers can see into each others' souls through the eyes?"

Mathilde couldn't help the small grin that crawled its way onto her features, recognising the statement in part as a mantra that she'd carried with her since she was too young to remember learning it.

"Something like that." The blonde replied with a small shrug as the older lady squeezed her hand gently. "Do you believe it to be so?"

"Oh yes," Madame Couture responded almost instantaneously, "Unequivocally, yes."

Her confidence in the matter made Mathilde relax into her seat once more, suddenly not caring for my posture anymore.

"I've seen evidence of it more times than I care to count; myself and Monsieur Couture, Joly and Musichetta—" She paused for one moment, looking at the blonde knowing before gesturing to the dance floor where Amélie and Enjolras were still engaged in a dance, "And yourself and Enjolras."

Mathilde let out a shaky breath at her insinuation. She shook her head in disbelief as she made to respond to the older lady.

"It is no lie when I say I esteem him greatly, but love him?" The blonde repeated incredulously, exhaling unsteadily. "I'd never loved anyone in such a way. However will I know?"

The lady said no more than two words as she squeezed the girl's hand a final time, her gaze far off looking towards the dance floor.

"You'll know." She said in a soft voice, as a white-bearded gentleman slowly approached the two of them, bowing slightly and offering a hand to Madame Couture; Mathilde could only assume this to be her husband.

"Care to dance, mon cher?" He asked, his voice gentle and calming at he gazed lovingly at his wife, a spark of love soaring across his irises.

"Until my last breath." His wife affirmed, seizing his hand in hers and rising to her feet, leaving behind a parasol and a young maiden at a complete loss for words.

The couple walked arm in arm slowly onwards the centre of the dance floor to join the slow waltz that had started up again.

Mathilde's heart ached at the prospect they represented; to grow old and love with everything one possessed. How ahe dreamt of feeling the bliss of a marriage and the life of love that awaited shortly after. Maybe imagining it with a certain revolutionary in mind wasn't so absurd after all.

The couple embraced one another and began moving smoothly across the floor, at their own pace; in their own time; in their own little world for one moment. They could not have contrasted more to the duo not to far to the right of them, where Julien and Éponine stood towards moving in very jarring motions as Mathilde presumed Julien attempted to walk Éponine through the steps; the clench of his teeth showcased the pain he was attempting to suppress at her stepping on his feet; her flushed cheeks showcased her embarrassment of her actions and the soft movement of her lips signalling the mumbled apologies leaving them to reach the pastor's ears.

Not too far from them, Madame Houcheloupe and Grantaire were more or less skipping through the routine, both their faces rosy and laughs echoing throughout the room, clearly having had a little too much to drink. But on such a joyous occasion who would blame them?

The blonde was losing herself in her own world once more another voice — a softer voice — broke her out of her starstruck daze.

   "Mathilde?"

Caught in slight surprise, the blonde startled turning in the direction of the voice. She let out a brief sigh of relief as she came face to face with Helene who was wearing a light pink dress, her lips pressed together in a small smile and her eyes alert like a hunted deer.

     "Helene, why are you so flustered?" Mathilde remarked, immediately sitting up with immense concern flowing through each and every word she uttered.

      "I must give into my pride and ask you something of extreme importance." She said in a quiet voice, her eyes pleading the blonde to listen.

      "Of course," Mathilde conceded, patting the chair next to her and taking Helene's slightly shaky hands in her own, "Ask away."

     The brunette took in a deep breath that caused her whole body to seize before letting it out slowly and looking at the blonde earnestly.

      "Do you think it deceitful to be in love with a man while betrothed to another?"

    Mathilde raised an eyebrow at her question, not expecting a query so personal to come from Helene whom she'd only exchanged with a couple of times.

     "That depends." She replied, clearing her throat gently. "Can you explain the circumstance?"

     Helene shut her eyes hard for a brief moment, bracing herself to tell of her situation, with a final breath out, she said at rapid speed:

   "I find myself betrothed to to Edgar Vauquelin."

     "Of Bergerac!?" Mathilde asked incredulously, in a louder voice than intended in response to her question, to which the brunette shushed her, frantically looking around for eavesdroppers.

     "I have known for little over a week." Helene whispered, her voice still low, "And it has troubled me greatly."

     The blonde's eyebrows furrowed at her statement, her chest tightening slightly, imagining the worst.

     "Is he unkind to you, Helene?"

     "Oh no, Edgar hasn't a bad bone in his body!" She responded quickly, squeezing Mathilde's hand in response to seeing her worrisome expression. "I have known him since I was far too young to acknowledge it." She gave a wry smile not looking directly at the young woman beside her, "We grew up together, you see. My mother was a member of his household, all these years ago."

     Mathilde allowed a moment to take the information, before she thought back to her opening question, and still found herself feeling as though ahe wasn't being told something.

      "Please don't think me indiscernible when I ask just what the problem is?" She queried, looking Helene over with further concern, her voice raising from a whisper to a more normal volume.

      "He doesn't love me, Mathilde." Helene responded shaking her head with a sad smile, her voice quiet. "Or at least, he doesn't love me now."

     A shaky sigh left the seamstress as she corrected herself, her voice gaining volume slightly matching Mathilde's.

     "When I was younger, I was bolder; outspoken; rather thoughtless to tell the truth." She confessed with, her past clawing its way out of her. "Now I have seen the world as it truly is, and I have become reserved as it is the only way to survive, being garish gets you no further in the world than being bland."

     "You are far more than bland, Helene." The blonde said earnestly, her heart sinking at her words.

     Helene spared the girl a look of thanks before she inhaled once more.

     "You see, Edgar wants to marry the Helene he knew in Bergerac; the girl I was before I came here, but I am not her." She looked almost humbled by the fact, feeling accomplished at how she had changed and grown since that time, "How can I be with someone who does not love me for who I am?"

      "Pardon my rashness, but you cannot." Mathilde's answer was rash and blunt but every word was true, her belief clear as day. "Marriage is bliss; it's beauty. It's everything that you see here before you today. Marriage is not false. And I believe that is what a marriage to your Edgar would be."

    The blonde gave her a weak smile, hoping she'd not said anything too out of turn.

    "I apologise for my candour."

     Helene shook her head very quickly, her gaze on the floor but slowly moving up to meet the eyes of the blonde beside her.

     "No, you said everything rightly." She reassured, "You said what I needed to hear."

     "So — to answer your question." Mathilde ratified, slowly, making sure she was sure she wanted to hear what she had to say. "No. In your circumstance, being in love with another is not deceitful if your betrothed does not have the right affection for you."

      A small smile crossed her features, as she fully exhaled, her shoulders relaxing for the first time since she'd sat down next to Mathilde. The blonde set her hand free from hers in this moment of tranquility, the action didn't make her nervous but all the same she turned back in a matter of moments with her eyebrows slightly furrowed.

        "What difference do you suppose it makes if the one who owns your heart doesn't know you exist?" She asked, wincing slightly.

     Mathilde opened her mouth to speak but it took a couple of seconds for her to gather her thoughts and choose how to word them without sounding brash.

       "Without any offence, I believe that is quite a substantial factor regarding a potential courtship." The blonde settled on telling her, but it was the answer she seemed prepared to receive, nodding along with the words as they left her mouth.

      "Yes, I suppose it does matter quite a bit, doesn't it?" She said with a slight chuckle but Mathilde didn't miss the tone of sadness her voice held behind it.

      "Who is it that owns your heart, Helene?" The blonde's curiosity bested her as her voice carried the question before she could tell herself otherwise.

      "I couldn't possibly say out loud." She replied, a small smile playing at her lips as she shook her head, avoiding Mathilde's eyes once more. "For when he knows, so shall the world."

     The blonde took note of how her eyes had lifted across the room and fixed there, as she patted her on the knee as a goodbye.

     "Thank you for your words, Mathilde."

      The blonde goodbye was stuck in her throat as she couldn't find the will to muster it as her eyes beheld the same subject that Helene's had done, the same subject that had brought a dizzy smile to her lips; he who owned her heart.

      "Courfeyrac?"

     A small round of applause broke out around the room as the song playing throughout the room ceased. Mathilde reclined in her chair as individuals began to leave the dance floor with one another, still attempting to process the information Helene had supplied her with and whether or not she was right in thinking Courf was the one who was the subject of the shy girl's affections.

     In an attempt to distract herself, the blonde forced herself to look upon those leaving the dance floor. Madame Couture and her husband were hand in hand, approaching another table across the room in attempt to socialise. The older lady caught her eye and sent a knowing wink her way before turning back to her party.

     A large huff caught Mathilde's attention as her closest friend launched herself laboredly into the chair Helene had just occupied.

Éponine looked fairly put out considering the blonde had just seen her looking rather jovial when dancing with Julien, her legs spread wide as she sat; all ladylikeness forgotten.

"Are you having fun?" Mathilde asked her, a smile pulling at her lips and she turned in her seat.

"I suppose." She merely mumbled, kicking the heels of her boots together, her eyes flicking from the floor to where the dancing had began to start up again in the middle of the room.

"You looked happy when dancing with Julien." The blonde remarked, choosing her words carefully with intent to spark something.

"He is a very good dancer and a very kind man." Éponine spared the girl a glance as she praised the man, "I stepped on his toes thrice and not once did he lose his temper with me."

"It's almost as if you can do no wrong in his eyes." Mathilde said, staring at the brunette intently hoping she would take the hint so blatantly being handed to her.

"Well, he is a pastor, Mathilde." She merely chuckled, staring back at the blonde comically.

"That's not what I meant."Mathilde muttered just under her breath so she could not hear, her jaw clenching slightly as she shuffled in her seat.

Éponine let out a frustrated huff, her arms folding across her chest as she reclined further into her seat, her brown eyes were narrowed and fixed on one spot of the dance floor where a certain baron was dancing with a golden-haired girl.

"He hasn't said two words to me, today." She muttered quietly, her eyes as sad as the blonde had ever seen them. "I even wore the dress you bought me to impress him but ... nothing." She let out a long sigh, disappointment lacing her tone, "Instead, he's dancing with the girl who insults me."

Mathilde's heart broke for the girl on her left, who devoted every second of her less than luxurious life to the ignorant Pontmercy, who couldn't even spare her a compliment on a day where she clearly had made great effort.

His dancing with Roselle however; the blonde felt partly responsible and upset about her involvement in the orchestration of the events. Disappointed in herself for being so selfish in that moment and not thinking of how impactful the consequences may have been to her closest friend.

"You are simply too good for Pontmercy, Éponine." Mathilde stated abruptly, as though it was the most plain fact in the world. "I shouldn't have to tell you twice."

"He would never dance with me like that." She sighed once more, shaking head a small derisive smile playing on her lips.

Mathilde took this an opening to once more attempt to attract her romantic attentions elsewhere, where she knew they'd be reciprocated and treasured just as they deserved to be.

"Perhaps, you should set your sights on someone else." The blonde shrugged, her eyes burning into the side of Époninr's head as the brunette's eyes burned into the back of Roselle's. "Maybe someone who is a very good dancer and a very kind man?"

"It's hopeless, Mathilde." She dismissed, clearly not having been listening to a word uttered. "He'll never see my love."

The urge to smack her friend upside the head was almost completely overwhelming but Mathilde managed to fight the temptation. She wondered just how dense all three counterparts of this triangle had to be in order to not see each other's blatant affection; Marius oblivious to Éponine, Éponine oblivious to Julien and Julien so far in damn denial he refused to confess anything.

The blonde shook her head in attempt to clear it of the infuriating thoughts before seizing her friend's hand in her own forcing her to look upon her.

"I know what will make you feel better." Mathilde pursed her lips, standing up and pulling Éponine to her feet behind her, "Come with me."

Dragging the brunette with her, the blonde weaved her way through the people standing at the side of the floor as the last song ceased and another polite applause broke out; the whole affair was beginning to feel a little stifled for the girl's liking, and was begging for a little spontaneity — which she was more than willing to contribute.

"So where's the champagne then, Grantaire?" She cried heartily, as the drunk came into view surrounded by the rest of Les Amis, a bottle in hand, jolly grin broadening at the sight of the blonde breaking through the small crowd.

"All in moderation, my dear, all in moderation." He tutted, leaning back in his chair taking a swig, "Too much champagne can be a dangerous thing for a pure, young girl like you."

Mathilde scoffed looking back at Éponine who quirked her eyebrow, pursing her lips at the statement.

"Ooh, and what's wrong with a bit of danger then, Monsieur Grantaire?" The blonde asked, folding her arms with a smirk. "After all it's about the only excitement we get. And who would deny us that small pleasure?"

Mathilde darted forward and seized the bottle from the drunk's hand much to his discontent with a loud laugh before singing zealously;

"Small pleasures, small pleasures. Who would deny us these?"

"Not me!" Gavroche cried from his seat at the other side of the table.

"More champers —"The blonde giggled holding the bottle up, as Éponine approached holding two glasses, "Large measures —" She went on, pouring the champagne, "No skimpin' if you please!"

Slamming the bottle back down on the table, Mathilde sparing a wink at Grantaire, who merely laughed at the scene that she and Éponine were creating as other members of Les Amis started to pay attention:

"We rough it, we love it! Life is a game of chance." She cried, tapping her glass with Éponine's, wrapping her other arm around her. "I never tire of it — leading this merry dance."

A broad grin spread across Mathilde's face, as she set down her drink with Éponine's and took her hands.

"If you don't mind having to go without things." The blonde sang loudly, twirling her friend around energetically, "It's a fine life!"

"It's a fine life!" The seated guests responded, enthusiastically.

"Though it's not all jolly old pleasure outings..." She added, basking in the newly changed atmosphere of the ballroom. "It's a fine life!"

"It's a fine life!" The crowd responded once more heartily, some getting to feet to clap to the rhythm of the anthem.

"When you got someone to love, you forget your cares and strife."

The blonde grinned at Joly and Musichetta, as Courfeyrac ran forward and took Éponine from her and danced away with her.

"Let the prudes look down on us," Mathilde cried, picking up her glass and raising it in a toast, "Let the wide world frown on us!"

"It's a fine, fine life!" Everyone sang amidst laughs and downing their drinks.

"Isn't that right, Éponine?" The blonde called to her friend, taking a sip of her drink, perching herself on the edge of the table, signalling for the brunette to take over the song.

"Who cares if straightlaces sneer at us in the street?" She cried, addressing the table, "Fine airs and fine graces!"

"Don't have to sin to eat." Mathilde winked, finishing her drink.

"It's hell in Saint Michel," They sang together, embracing one another, "But who knows what we may find?"

A new voice joined a melody as the blonde saw Gavroche wedge his way between the two girls and into their embrace.

"There's pockets left undone on many a behind." He sang in harmony with his older sister, as they shared a laugh.

Mathilde merely rolled her eyes at their thriving antics before running back to table.

"If you don't mind having to deal with Grantaire, it's a fine life!" She cried, addressing the drunk who merely shook his hand and continued to drink.

"It's a fine life!" The crowd returned, their attention turned toward the cynic as they barked in laughter.

"Though he claims our efforts will get us nowhere!" The blonde continued, smirking at the man before looking back at the occupants of the table. "It's a fine life!"

"It's a fine life!" They shouted more loudly than before as the blonde hoisted herself up and stood upon one of the chairs.

"And how swell our lives will be in the kingdom of the free!" Mathilde raised her fist into the air earning applause, and looked to see Éponine mirroring her stance on another chair not too far from her.

"When we take good care of it, we'll all get our share of it." We sang passionately, "Don't you all agree?"

A roar of assent and applause was the response we achieved from our growing crowd as more and more guests joined in the song wanting to be a part of the jovial atmosphere.

The small band on their platform suddenly began playing along increasing the tempo of the music. Hands grabbed hands and in a mass of excitement, people stood from their seats, spinning around with each other as the song carried on.

"If you don't mind having to like or lump it, it's a fine life!" Éponine and Mathilde chorused, as they span around with their respective partners; the blonde with Bahorel and the brunette with Feuilly.

"It's a fine life!"

"Though there's no tea sipping or eating crumpets, it's a fine life!" They sang with as much power as they could muster, attempting not to choke on our their laughter.

"It's a fine life!"

The music of the band gradually slowed and calmed down to a softer melody, as Mathilde's eyes landed on Joly and Musichetta sharing a light kiss not too far from her.

The blonde walked forward the few steps between herself and the table, picking up her champagne glass once more. She hit the top of it gently with a nearby spoon, the dainty sound ringing out loudly in the now quieter room.

"But not for you," She sang, raising my glass towards them, prompting others to do the same. "The happy home, happy husband, happy wife."

Mathilde felt an arm wrap around her shoulders and saw Grantaire mirroring her actions, toasting to Joly and Musichetta.

"Yet you both don't have a clue..." The blonde continued, watching as the doctor and his wife blushed at the actions of their guests, "That for the likes of such as you..."

She looked to Grantaire who nodded, clinking his glass with hers before taking a prompt swig as she let out a light chuckle.

"It's a fine—"

"Fine... life!" The rest of the room chimed in toasting the couple as the band picked up the pace one final time, before finishing up; the room drowning in the jovial sounds of happiness.

***

"WE'RE GOING TO CONTINUE back to the Musain, are you coming?"

The night had reached its natural end much to the dismay of guests. The night sky was a dark backdrop to the streets of Saint Michel which was faintly glowing in the light of newly burning lamplights.

The hour stood at ten o'clock at least, by the look of the sky. Guests were dispersing and going their separate ways, Joly and Musichetta has left about ten minutes prior for their honeymoon; a fortnight in Trouville.

Their party had finally congregated when Bahorel had asked Mathilde the question, her arms wrapped around herself to help thaw the slight bite the cool air held.

"Not tonight, I think I'm going to get some rest, Bahorel." She responded with a small smile, her eyes landing on figure making his way over the two of them, cane in hand.

"Of course, your little display has no doubt got you tired, no?" Bahorel inferred, with a devilish grin.

"You're tiresome, M'sieur." The blonde responded, shaking her head in attempt not to mirror his grin.

"You wouldn't have it another way." He teased, his eyes fixing on Enjolras who flocked to the girl's side upon arrival.

"Watch over the children, won't you?" Mathilde asked the young man, with a tired smile, not wanting to deny the children of their fun for one night.

"Of course." He said in seriousness, knowing how much the safety of children meant to her, how much it meant to all of us. "Enjolras, are you joining?"

"I think I'm retire for the night too, actually." The marble man replied, "But I'll accompany Mathilde first, if you'll let Madame know."

Bahorel gave a quick nod, as he retreated to the group moving out of sight towards to Musain.

"Farewell, you two." He waved.

Enjolras offered the blonde his arm, which she took gladly as they began to walk in the opposite direction towards Madame's — and subsequently Mathilde and Amélie's — residence.

"And just like that it's over." The young woman sighed, leaning her head upon Enjolras' shoulder lightly, "I can't say I don't feel a little deflated."

"That's fair to say." Enjolras responded with a slight chuckle, their steps falling in sync as they progressed down the street. "You have been obsessing over this wedding since their engagement."

Mathilde let out a small chuckle in agreement, basking in a comfortable silence between them for moment before he spoke up again.

"Can you see yourself getting married, Mathilde?" He asked, his eyes straight forward ahead of them as he spoke.

To say his question caught the blonde off guard would be an understatement, she considered it a miracle that she didn't fall over then and there.

"Is that a proposal?" She chuckled, her head still on his shoulder, looking fondly ahead of them.

The man emitted a nervous chuckle but recognised her joking tone, and shook his head gently.

"No. It's a merely question."

"I think so. I'd hope so." She said, raising her head off his shoulder and standing up straight, as she wondered out loud. "To be as in love as Musichetta and Joly is something I can only dream of."

Mathilde sighed, contently, the thought warming her heart, but equally scaring her as the only person she could imagine that with was the person directly on her right.

"Can you see yourself getting married Enjolras?" The blonde returned the question to him, curious as to his thoughts on the matter.

"In time. To the right person, I suppose so." Mathilde pretended not to notice him spare a brief glance in her direction. "But the whole convention is a little too ostentatious for my taste."

"Ostentatious?" She enquired, wondering how he meant it.

"Well, as Joly said, it's an occasion that costs a king's ransom all to say I do?" He reasoned, rather cynically, furrowing his eyebrows as he turned to see the girl's reaction. "You surely see my point of view?"

Mathilde thought for a moment. He certainly did have a point. In such an oppressed society as the one they lived in, spending one's money on a wedding was hardly the sane thing to do when food and shelter were the first priority.

In Enjolras' eyes, she wasn't sure how she could have seen it any other way. For him to disagree with the belief of thousands and then to advocating wanting change for them would be seen as completely hypocritical.

But in that instance, Mathilde was determined to make him see her point of view, despite how irrational and naïve it may have been perceived.

"But it's so much more than I do." The blonde said almost breathlessly, in my hurry to express herself. "Don't you see?"

He only smiled at her passionate state, giving no indication that he wanted her to stop.

"Marriage is a mutual promise between two people to share their lives with each other." Mathilde explained, fervently, "For richer or for poorer, in sickness and in health, for better or for worse."

The blonde paused for breath, oblivious to the fondness within the gaze of the man on her arm.

"It's a declaration of love in the eyes of God. It's a celebration." She looked at him intently, with tone softening slightly, "How you cannot see it as such?"

In the midst of her passionate speech, she hadn't acknowledged them to take the turn into the street where she lived.

"I suppose I've never had cause to think of it that way." Enjolras responded, sounding slightly defeated at the blonde's response, not bothering to fight the smile making its way onto his lips. "And besides, in this moment, I think not of the future."

He moved his arm and unlinked it from hers, before moving it downward and intertwining their hands.

  "I think of now, of you."

A bashful smile lit up Mathilde's face and her gaze dropped to the floor at his words.

"The sun is nearly gone." He hummed lightly, "Street lamps are turning on. A silver glow is stretching 'cross the sky."

The blonde allowed her gaze to travel back to the revolutionary, listening to his slow, calming voice sing into the night.

"We've happened on a view, that's tailor-made for two." He went on, pulling her to face him suddenly, placing a light kiss on the back of her hand. "What a shame it is we'll have to say goodbye."

Mathilde spotted a glint in his eye, but wasn't quick enough to recognise it as mischief before the marble man span her around on the spot, increasing their pace as they walked down the street.

"A certain girl and guy adore this swirling sky," They proceeded down the street, Enjolras hardly needing his cane to help him walk much to the blonde's delighted surprise. "And those two are you and I, but let's not get caught."

He shot her a playful wink at which Mathilde could only chuckle.

"I knew that this could be." He confessed, pulling her close, "You're just the type for me."

"Oh really?" The blonde scoffed lightly, narrowing her eyes in the same playful manner.

"And I've seen a spark in sight," He hummed tucking a strand of hair behind her ear, "What a simply magnificent night."

The revolutionary moved in closer in attempt to close the space between them as he leant in for a kiss. But no sooner did he do so, did Mathilde twirl out of his embrace with a smart smirk resident on her lips at the competitive look upon his features.

"Magnificent?" She remarked, pretending as though the near-kiss has not occurred, "Is that what you'd call it?"

"Yes, I believe so." He responded, shortly.

"It seems a very eccentric choice for you?" The blonde mused, deciding she was in the mood to tease the man before her.

"How else would you describe it?" He challenged, folding his arms, raising his eyebrows at her.

"Enchanting." She chose carefully, her smirk set in place as she turned on her heel to continue down the street.

"And that's not eccentric?" Enjolras called from not too far behind her.

"You say there's something here, but let's make something clear." Mathilde sang in response to his earlier verse, "I think I'll be the one to say that's true."

"Is that right?"

"And though you look so spry in that jacket and your tie." She went on, turning around to face him.

"Spry?" He chuckled at her word choice.

He had a point. Spry did even begin to cover how he looked. The blonde's heart did somersaults at the sight of him, he looked just as handsome as he had that morning.

"There's no way that I couldn't fall for you." Her smirk turned into more of a playful smile. "It's plain that you appeal to all the girls in heels."

Mathilde retraced her steps back up the street so that she now stood opposite him once more.

"And to a certain one who feels there's some chance for romance." She inhaled deeply at the thought, raising her shoulders to exaggerate the bliss. "And you're clearly feeling something."

"Is that so?" He responded melodically, pulling her close once more.

"And maybe I feel that same something." She shrugged nonchalantly at the words she sang.

"Good to know." He smiled down at her lovingly, "So you agree?"

"That's right." The blonde nodded, returning his smile, their hands lacing together again.

"What a simply —" He began, leaning down for kiss in a second attempt, which Mathilde easily defied.

"Enchanting night!" She cut him off, as she evaded his kiss once more, spinning out of his embrace and dancing merrily along the street with him not far behind.

It was not long before the blonde felt his strong arms wrap around her and more or less sweep her off her feet just as he had done when Madame Houcheloupe had caught them in the Musain.

Their joyful laughter mingled into one and echoed along the street, without a care in the world for just that one moment.

He set her down a couple of moments later when they were both sufficiently worn out from their escapade. She let out one last chuckle, throwing her head back a little, clutching onto his forearms for support.

When Mathilde met his gaze once more, it was far more sombre than she had expected. His eyes surveyed her with great care as though he were looking on a piece of fine artistry. The corners of his lips turning upwards ever so slightly now and then. The type of gaze that made her cheeks go red, and avert her gaze with a light chuckle.

"Why are looking at me like that?" She asked, biting her lip in nervous anticipation.

"You're perfect." He uttered, his smile broadening but his eyes holding as much sincerity as she'd ever seen causing the words of Madame Couture to come soaring back to her. 

"And you've clearly had too much wine." The blonde joked in attempt to diffuse the situation and clear herself of nerves.

"Not an ounce of alcohol could change my opinion of you." He confessed, his voice low as she was pulled into his embrace, not denying him the kiss that followed suit.

Her hand moved up slowly to cup his cheek as his arms wrapped around her in the deserted street with the stars their only witness.

Mathilde pulled out of kiss gently, with her forehead still resting against his, a small smile tugging at her lips.

"I think you're perfect too."

"I am a very flawed man." He confessed, his voice low and sincere, drawing back slightly to survey the blonde properly.

She shook her head slowly in response to his statement, which she neither evidently denied nor  agreed with.

"And I would have you no other way." She told him, bringing up her other hand to cup his other cheek, pulling him closer, as she whispered against his lips. "You're perfect to me."

He closed the gap between them with any hesitation, their lips brushing in perfect synchronicity. Every time they kissed, Mathilde could feel her heart beat insanely as though it were the first kiss they'd ever shared. Time froze and for a moment it was him and her in a perfect little bubble without a care or a need in the world.

Once more, Mathilde was the one to pull away from him, giggling gently as he continued to press kisses against the rest of her face.

"I should go inside now." She whispered to him as he pressed a soft kiss to her cheek, coming to the realisation that they had stopped in place not to far from Madame's townhouse.

"So soon?" He queried, placing a kiss on her temple before drawing back to look at her still wrapped in his embrace.

"Our journey will be wasted." The blonde told him, with a tired chuckle the events of the day finally taking their toll upon her.

Enjolras merely shook his head at the statement.

"No time spent with you is a waste."

The blonde could hardly fight the smile that spread its way across her face, quoting a writer they both greatly acclaimed in an apt opportunity.

"Now cracks a noble heart." She said softly, caressing his cheek, "Good-night, sweet prince; and flights of angels sing thee to thy rest."

"You do love that play." He noted, his eyes falling shut slightly before opening a moment later, evidently the exhaustion was not just felt by the blonde girl. 

"It's gradually becoming a favourite." She informed him.

Little did he know the reason why being that Hamlet was the play the two of them read the most during the time Enjolras' spent recovering that spring.

"Sweet Ophelia!" He cried melodramatically, causing Mathilde  to let out a loud laugh in surprise, as he wrapped his arms around her. "O heavens, is 't possible a young maid's wits should be as mortal as an old man's life?"

"And what a tragic end she meets." She smiled sadly into his chest, sighing into his embrace.

"I suppose love is capable of good and bad." Enjolras discerned, his voice gentle from atop of her head where his chin rested.

"I don't think there's anything more noble than dying in the name of love." Mathilde told him earnestly, looking up at him gently leaving his embrace in order to part with him.

"O rose of May, dear maiden..." He said gently, leaning down toward her, still quoting the bard. "Sweet Ophelia."

His lips met hers in one last bittersweet kiss that made her heart soar just as every other kiss had, she couldn't possibly imagine how she could ever tire of kissing that man.

Just as before, she drew away with a soft smile nudging his nose with hers.

"Goodnight Enjolras."

The blonde left his embrace in quiet discontent, wishing she could have stayed there all night.

"Goodnight Mathilde."

The blonde ascended the few steps that led up to the front door of the town house and retrieved the small key from the hiding place under the cracked flower pot on the window sill.

The door opened with a crack once the key had been turned, and she leant back out of the door to reinstate the key in its former place for when Amélie and Madame returned later that evening.

Her eyes met Enjolras' again and with a short nod and quiet smile, they bid each other a final goodnight; no words needed.

Have you ever heard the saying that 'lovers can see into each others' souls through the eyes'?

In that moment she knew, just like Madame Couture said she would.

She could gaze into his eyes and find calmness even if the world was crumbling around her. She'd bared her soul to him and him to her.

She loved him — and that terrified her.

***

THE YOUNG WOMAN disappeared out of Enjolras' view behind the door of the townhouse. A large exhalation of breath left the revolutionary's lips, a small grin falling upon them which he didn't even want to leave.

His heart was full, and his head was light. He wanted nothing more than to bask in that feeling in the street where she lived.

"I have often walked down this street before," he chuckled to him as the song left his lips, seizing his useless cane in his hand. "But the pavement always stayed beneath my feet before."

He hummed as he moved from his place, beginning to walk along the street.

  "All at once am I several stories high," he sang as he went, "Knowing I'm on the street where she lives.

"Are there lilac trees in the heart of town? Can you hear a lark in any other part of town?" He asked the universe above him, reasoning why everything in his midst seemed all that bit better just knowing she was near. "Does enchantment pour out of every door?" He shook his head, grinning like a schoolboy. "No, it's just on the street where she lives.

"And oh the towering feeling, just to know somehow she is near" He cried, stretching out his arms, in delight, hoping to soak some of the tranquility and exquisiteness of that place. "The overpowering feeling that any moment she may suddenly appear."

The man reined his arms back in as he stole a glance at the door where she'd disappeared just down the street.

"If people stop and stare, that won't bother me." He remarked, with a shrug, taking each step with pride, "For now there's nowhere else on earth that I would rather be."

"Let the time go by!" He cried passionately, declaring his affection for the girl to the empty street that now held a place in his heart just as she did. "Just as long as I can be here on the street where she lives."

His melody coming to a natural end, Enjolras spared one more smile in the direction of where he'd seen last, before taking his cane in hand and walking back along the lamplit street in the night; the night that had witnessed the cracking of marble heart at the hand of a maiden unlike any other.

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