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It’s raining.
It’s raining, and Éponine is running.
Those two things together may seem like a terrible combination (and they are; she’s almost twisted her ankle twice), but Éponine’s got no choice. She should have been back home before the storm hit, because she’s got her phone set up to alert her of thunderstorms, but her lunch with Musichetta ran late and she dropped her jazz shoes in a puddle and everything’s gone to shit.
It’ll go even more to shit if she falls and breaks something, but she can’t afford to slow down. Cosette hasn’t called or texted, which could be good or bad or awful. Good would mean she’s handling it, bad would be she’s not handling it, and Éponine doesn’t even want to think about if it’s awful because the last awful time was horrific.
The rain’s whipping down, lashing against her skin and leaving stinging pinpricks. Her hair’s plastered to her skull, and she feels like a drowned rat as she scrambles across campus, clutching her binder and books to her chest. She’s fumbling for her dorm key in her jeans pocket when thunder crackles and a lightning flash strikes campus into stark silhouettes.
She drops her key.
Bending down, she frantically scrabbles around on the pavement with her chopped-short nails and manages to snatch the key up as she feels her fingertips start bleeding slightly from the rough cement. She shoves the key into the lock and shoulders the old wooden door open, slamming it shut with her foot before flying down the hall. She sprints up the stairs, footsteps echoing through the stairwell, and finally reaches her and Cosette’s room right as another peal of thunder rolls down the hallway. As Éponine stands outside, the room is dead silent, and Éponine can feel her stomach drop. She quietly unlocks the door and slips through to find Cosette perched on the windowsill and peering out through the glass.
“Cosette?”
No answer.
“Cosette, are you okay?”
Nothing.
Éponine quietly drops her bag on the floor by her bed and pads over, balancing on the windowsill next to Cosette. She cautiously wraps her arms around Cosette and holds her, watching her face. She’s staring straight out the window, eyes glazed over and bottom lip quivering. Éponine can literally feel her teetering on the edge of a breakdown; she’s tight and tense and drawn up like a rubber band about to snap.
And then lightning splits the sky, and Cosette whimpers.
“Cosette, it’s okay,” Éponine says softly, rubbing her thumb over Cosette’s shoulderblade.
Thunder shrieks and Cosette starts sobbing, cries ripping their way out of her. “It’s okay, it’s okay,” Éponine soothes frantically, fighting to keep her voice even. “Cosette, it’s alright, you’re here with me --”
“No!” Cosette screeches. She tumbles out of Éponine’s arms and onto the floor, folding in on herself and digging her nails into her wrists.
Éponine’s never seen her this bad.
“Hey, hey,” she whispers, sliding to the ground. “Can I touch you?” Cosette nods almost imperceptibly, still breathing in sharp, quick bursts with her head down. Éponine winds her fingers around Cosette’s hands, gently uncurling them and brushing her fingers over the half-moon dents on her wrists. She studies Cosette, trying to figure out what to do next.
Biting her lip, Éponine slowly pulls Cosette’s hand up and presses a light kiss onto it before lowering it back down to her lap. Cosette sucks in a sharp breath but does relax slightly; then thunder roars outside and she chokes back a sob and Éponine thinks she’s never felt so helpless. “What can I do, little lark? Tell me what you need,” she pleads quietly.
Cosette doesn’t move.
“I’ll do anything,” Éponine breathes.
Cosette scooches back on the floor toward the bed, her chestnut hair hanging as a limp, tangled curtain around her pale face, and finally looks up at Éponine. Her blue eyes are dark and bloodshot, there’s tear-tracks down her cheeks, and her lip is bleeding where’s she ripped the skin off from chewing on it. “Oh, love,” Éponine murmurs.
“Nap with me?” Cosette rasps.
“What?”
A hint of a smile flits across Cosette’s face, and she stares at Éponine for a second. Éponine cocks her head to the side, and Cosette seems to melt slightly before she takes a deep breath. “Will you nap with me?”
Sensing Éponine’s bewilderment, Cosette heaves her light frame off the carpet and slinks under her blankets, tugging the edge of her comforter back and patting the mattress. “You don’t have to.” she mutters, feeling Éponine hesitate.
“I’d be honored.”
Éponine crawls up onto Cosette’s bed and slips in, breathing deep and smelling what could only be Cosette. Her bed smells like peach and lemongrass, and Éponine can't move.
Éponine’s holding her breath, hands unmoving at her sides, when Cosette shifts. She twists slightly, turning her head to glance at Éponine over her shoulder and blinking sleepily at her. She seems to sense how stiff Éponine is, and rolls over to face her. The corner of her mouth curls up and she reaches out, wrapping her fingers around Éponine’s arm and pulling it close to drape it over her waist. Cosette snuggles closer, and Éponine can feel Cosette’s warm breath puffing on her bare collarbone as she nestles her head into Éponine’s neck. Éponine gives a small shiver, goosebumps rising up her neck. “Okay?” Cosette mutters quietly.
“Perfect,” Éponine whispers back.
She wraps her arms tighter around Cosette, curling her fingers into her sweater, and rests her chin on top of her head. Éponine can hear Cosette settle into her sleep-breathe and sigh gently, and she smiles.
And as rain patters on their window, Éponine tilts her head down and presses a kiss to the top of Cosette’s head before sinking into sleep.