A/N: For Freedom909, who definitely needs fluff today. Pairing is Enjonine, of course

Marks of Youth and Love

Eponine knows the six words all too well, having seen them so many times before on another man, but tonight they stand out with a strange new clarity against her lover's pale skin. "Combeferre told me that you were only seventeen when you guys got these tattoo," she whispers as she runs her fingers over the lines gracefully spelling out 'liberte, egalite, fraternite ou la mort.'

Enjolras merely shrugs with a diffident sort of grace as he adjusts the blankets that have gotten tangled around their feet. "Well what about it?"

She grins mischievously as she scoots closer so she can kiss his cheek. "How did you two underaged boys get into a tattoo parlor anyway?"

He blushes deeply and ducks his head. "Are you sure you want to hear that story?"

"Please. I hear all kinds of things every day at work," she drawls as she rolls so that she is on top of him and resting her chin on his collarbone. "You're not exactly the bad boy type."

He smirks before giving her a soft kiss, lingering long enough just to tease. "I recall you saying differently just a few minutes ago."

Eponine can't help but roll her eyes at his smugness; it really does not help that he has such a good memory when it comes to her. She tugs lightly on his hair by way of retaliation. "Are you going to tell me the story or not, Auguste?"

Enjolras chuckles as he rests a hand over her waist. "So where were we?"

"Underaged in a tattoo parlor."

"Well then, it was something we thought would be a good idea to commemorate the fall of the Bastille."

"Why am I not surprised?" She laughs at his affronted look and kisses his nose. "So how did you get away with it? Fake ID?"

"Some persuasion. I'm not particularly proud of that," Enjolras says.

"Oh? What did you do?"

"Two tattoos for a term paper."

Eponine's jaw drops. "You do know that no one, and I mean no one reads term papers after the first checking. I think that was an uneven bargain!"

"That's exactly what my mother said when she did find out," Enjolras huffs.

"No. Your tattoo artist got the wrong end of the deal," Eponine replies, though she is on the verge of laughing just from imagining Enjolras' mother screeching at her son. "A term paper, for something so well done?"

"Do you really think so?"

"I wouldn't be curious about badly done work. At least not like this."

Enjolras grins before kissing her more thoroughly, running one hand down the line of her spine while the fingers of his other hand tangle in her long hair. His thumb brushes against a knotty scar under chin. "This. What happened here?" he asks against her lips.

Eponine shuts her eyes for a moment against the memories that flash before her eyes but the warmth of his touch grounds her in the present. She takes a deep breath as she manages to meet his eyes. "I was fifteen. It was the night of the arrest." She half expects to shudder again, like she always does when she speaks of this night, but she finds herself clinging to his arm and somehow able to speak. "The cops had come, and I had to figure out what to do first: warn my parents or get my siblings out."

He nods slowly, knowing what this memory means to her. "Then?"

"I ran back, for Azelma and Gavroche. I was in the clear but I didn't see them anywhere so I turned back. I tried to take a shortcut through a fence. I fell the wrong way against the wire," she says. She clasps his hand tightly. "At least it's faded. Most people don't notice till I point it out."

"Well I'm glad you did," he says. "It's nothing to be ashamed of, Eponine."

She bites her lip, fighting back that voice that throws this reassurance back in his face. "Really?"

Enjolras doesn't say anything but he kisses that thin white line first, then her brow, her nose, her cheeks, and finally her lips. "Always."

She nods before lifting his arm and wrapping it around her so that his tattoo is flush against her skin, still with so many other lines. "Thank you."