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Adore wakes up slowly, to the sound of muffled voices. The feeling of comfortable lethargy doesn’t fade away like it usually does when her eyes open, but she’s too content to wonder why.
The glowing green numbers of the clock on the nightstand read 4:07. Post-show exhaustion always leaves her brain a little foggy the next morning, and she patiently waits for it to fill in the details.
Waving to the cheering crowds, trying to shout her thanks above the din.
A flood of meet and greet moments, hugs and a few tears from fans.
Dressed as Ariel, finally a mermaid.
Feeling too tired to even sit up, pestering Bianca to let her stay.
Unsure how to voice the need for human contact after the thrill of performing.
Bianca’s silent understanding.
Adore smiles, and it all clicks into place. The fabric under her cheek is softer than any pillowcase, and the feeling of safety and warmth suddenly makes sense.
Lifting her head off Bianca’s shoulder, she can just make out his profile in the near-darkness before settling back down gently enough to not wake him. She remembers falling asleep with her nose pressed to Bianca’s chest and the reassuring weight of his arm around her shoulders. Sometime during the night, Bianca must have rolled onto her back, because Adore is curled against her side with feet hooked around one of Bianca’s ankles.
Bianca stirs, and Adore holds her breath, hoping he won’t move away. There’s a soft sigh above her head, and his cheek presses against her forehead, exhales ruffling her hair.
Under her ear, she feels the steady thrum of a heartbeat, the gentle rise and fall of Bianca’s chest lulling her back towards slumber. Adore is all about free love and generosity with her body, but this is what’s missing no matter how wonderful a lay she’s had.
She hums in contentment, shifting her thigh off of Bianca’s bony knee. Her foot must have tickled, because there’s a sharp inhalation above her head. Adore freezes, wondering if the indulgence of the night before was just for a half-drunk friend, if Bianca is going to insist on personal space now that she’s completely sober. Cuddles while they’re awake and fully clothed aren’t a problem, but usually when she passes out in Bianca’s bed it’s on top of the covers after a night of heavy drinking (and Bianca’s eye roll when she opens the hotel room door).
”I can hear you thinking.” Bianca’s voice is rough with sleep, and suffused with humor.
”You can?” Adore is still stuck on the part where he isn’t detaching himself from her weight against his side.
“Go back to sleep, we have to be up early,” he murmurs against the top of her head.
Adore wonders if he’ll want to talk about this later on.
Bianca tilts her chin down to make eye contact, shifting the arm under her head. She starts to push herself up, straightening her legs, certain that he’s about to move away. Instead, she hears a quiet huff of laughter, and Bianca rubs her hand over her eyes before settling it back on her shoulder and gently pulling her back down.
“Relax. Stop being so tense.” Bianca’s other hand comes to rest over the fingers she has tangled in his shirt.
”M’kay.” She cautiously crosses her ankle over his shin again, and he taps his foot against hers.
Bianca’s breathing evens out with slumber, and Adore lets herself drift back to sleep.