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1.
The first time Éponine ever met Cosette, they were both drunk. Éponine in particular had been drinking steadily and heavily since she’d arrived at this party to the news that Marius had brought a girl with him. Courfeyrac had laughed at the idea of it (I didn’t even know Marius knew any girls!) and Grantaire had glanced sympathetically at her before wordlessly handing her a beer.
She’d swapped the beer out immediately for vodka, and proceeded to get thoroughly and quickly smashed.
Éponine didn’t even know if she even still loved Marius. He’d been kind to her when no-one else was, and through him she’d met Grantaire, and the rest of the Amis. He had been the only good thing in her life for a very long time, and it was strange and a little scary to think about that time being gone.
But regardless of whether or not she was over him, didn’t mean she wanted to see him parade a girlfriend around in front of her. Hence, the alcohol.
This house party was at Courf’s flat that he shared with Jehan, and there were people spilling out of every room. For Enjolras, the Amis were everything, but Courfeyrac knew everyone, and it seemed like all of those people were right here in this shitty student flat.
Éponine had meandered into the living room and been roped into a game of beer pong, which she and Grantaire won, beating the combined attempts of Courf, Combeferre and Enjolras. Grantaire had looked elated at the sight of Enjolras at a party, and even more elated when Enjolras had chugged the beer with barely a grimace, so Éponine had no qualms about leaving him as soon as the game was over, to escape to a quieter room.
She topped up her drink, and carefully eased opening the door to Jehan’s room, ignoring the “do not enter for any reason, especially not for sex reasons!” sign that was stuck on the door. Jehan knew about her thing with Marius, and so she was sure they wouldn’t mind her hiding in their room.
Although, she realised, laughing out loud at herself, everyone knew about her thing with Marius. Except maybe Enjolras, but he hadn’t noticed Grantaire’s blatant four-year-long infatuation with him, so she didn’t really expect it from him.
And now she was laughing to herself in an empty room. Maybe she was drunker than she’d realised. (She took another swig of her drink.)
She hadn’t seen Marius yet tonight. She hadn’t been intentionally avoiding him, and she didn’t know if her friends had been working to keep him away from her or if it was just a coincidence, but either way she was grateful for it. She didn’t think she was quite ready to see Marius happy with a pretty girl, no matter her complicated feelings about the whole thing.
Éponine sat there, on the floor in the darkness of Jehan’s room, fake skulls and pot plants and stacks of books casting odd shadows in the dim light from the street, finishing her drink and trying not to think about Marius.
She took the last swig of the drink, and then sighed, thumping her head back against the edge of the bed. This was just sad.
She was just psyching herself up to go back into the party (and to get another drink), when the door opened, and the light flicked on.
Éponine cringed in the glare of the bright overhead light, and the person who’d appeared flicked it off just as quickly as it had turned on. “I’m so sorry; I didn’t know anyone was in here! Jehan said I could come in for a bit of quiet.”
“That’s fine,” Éponine said, blinking the bright spots from her eyes, “I was just going back out anyway, the room is yours.” She stood up, and the alcohol hit her all of a sudden. She swayed, head woozy, and the person who’d disturbed her lunged to catch her.
“Hey, are you okay?” they asked, sounding concerned and not at all as drunk as Éponine felt.
“Yeah, I’m fine,” Éponine said, stepping back and sitting heavily onto the bed. The other person was just dark shadow in the dim room, shorter than she was but bulky, and strong, given how easily they’d held her weight. They sat down next to her.
“I’m Cosette,” they said, “I came with Marius, do you know him?” and Éponine’s heart sank.
“Oh,” she said, concentrating on the words, “you’re Marius’ new girlfriend.”
Cosette laughed, a light, happy, gorgeous sound. “Not his girlfriend, just a friend. I’m gay,” she explained, and Éponine felt her jaw drop.
“Oh,” she said unintelligently, trying to get her slow drunken brain to process faster. “Does Marius know that?”
“It didn’t come up,” Cosette said, sounding confused. “We’re friends, it doesn’t matter?”
Éponine laughed despite herself. “I think he probably wants more than just friends, if he’s invited you to this party.”
“Oh,” Cosette said thoughtfully. “I’ll have to tell him, won’t I?”
“I think so,” Éponine muttered, wishing desperately that she had more vodka. “He’s a bit daft, but he really is a nice guy. I don’t want you hurting him, even if you don’t mean it.”
“I’ll talk to him,” Cosette said quietly, and patted Éponine gently on the shoulder. “Thank you.” She stood up. “I think I’m going to go back out and find him. Do you think you’ll be okay?”
Éponine stood up too, still swaying a little but much more stable. She waved her empty cup in the air. “Yeah, I need another drink anyway, and should probably re-join the party.”
Cosette laughed, and as she opened the door and the light from the hall shone in, Éponine saw her for the first time. She had delicate, gorgeous features, shiny long blonde hair, and her smile was beautiful. Éponine felt fuzzy again, and shook her head, following the other girl out.
She really needed another drink.
2.
The next time Éponine saw Cosette, it was over a month later, and it was at another party- this time at Grantaire’s much smaller, much shittier flat. Marius has initially been devastated by Cosette’s talk, but he’d bounced back as he always did from romantic rejections (of which he’d had many). Éponine had heard from Grantaire who had heard from Courfeyrac that Marius and Cosette had even gone out for coffee a couple of times, and apparently shared a love of weird obscure French literature.
And now she was here, at this party, waving at Éponine as if unaware of how confusing her presence was. This time, Cosette had a bottle of cider in her hand, and this time she was drunk as well, not just Éponine, if her loose movements were anything to go by.
Éponine looked around her, but it seemed that Cosette was indeed waving at her, and it was rude to ignore her. She grabbed two bottles of cider from the bag Courfeyrac had brought (he never minded people swiping his booze) and wandered over to see Cosette, who beamed at her. Éponine had forgotten how attractive the other woman was.
Today she was wearing a very cute flower dress with cap sleeves. Éponine sighed, glancing down at her own habitual black jeans. She hadn’t bothered to dress up for a party at Grantaire’s flat.
“Hi!” Cosette said happily, and now Éponine was sure she was drunk, could see it the glitter in her eyes. Éponine opened one of the ciders using the corner of the nearest table (Grantaire’s furniture was already falling apart, so no need to worry about scratches) and took a swig.
“We need to stop meeting like this,” Éponine said, tapping their bottles together, and Cosette laughed.
“I didn’t get your name last time, but I asked Marius about you! Éponine, right?” Éponine nodded silently, shocked into speechlessness. Cosette had asked about her?
“I hope you were okay, last time,” continued Cosette, seeming unaware of Éponine’s swirling thoughts. “You seemed upset, but I didn’t know you to comfort you, and I wasn’t nearly tipsy enough myself to chat with a stranger.”
Éponine chuckled. “But you’re drunk enough tonight?”
Cosette gestured vaguely with her bottle. “Courfeyrac invited me, and then he made me play a drinking game. I wasn’t very good at it,” she added, laughing ruefully, and Éponine grimaced.
“Never play drinking games with Courfeyrac. He spent his entire first year going to every single society’s social, so he can hold his drink better than anyone else I know.”
Cosette made a face. “Well, yeah, I know that now,” and Éponine smiled.
“Here, have another cider,” Éponine said, pleased that the one she’d snagged from Courfeyrac’s bag was the same kind that Cosette was drinking. She opened it on the table edge and passed it to Cosette, who grinned at her, downing the remainder of her current one. Her lipstick was pale pink, her lips curving around the bottle, and Éponine felt oddly flushed.
“Thanks,” said Cosette, bringing up the new bottle to clink against Éponine’s now half-empty one, and Éponine smiled.
Éponine had thought maybe it would be awkward, talking to Cosette, but it wasn’t. She didn’t know if it was that they were both drunk, but talking was easy and they found so much to chat about, so many things in common.
When Grantaire came to find her, the two of them were sitting on the couch, squished together, sharing stories and a bottle of wine. Grantaire raised his eyebrow, but didn’t mention it, merely said that he and some of the others were going to a club, and did she want to come?
Éponine looked at him, thinking about going to a loud club filled with sweaty people and bad music, finding a cute boy to fuck and leave in the morning. And then she looked at Cosette, holding the wine bottle and smiling so sweetly.
“I’ll stay here, this time,” she said, and grabbed the bottle from Cosette, settling back in beside her.
3.
They were halfway through their High School Musical drinking game, and Éponine was well on her way to being pissed. Everyone was. They were in Enjolras and Combeferre’s flat- they didn’t often come here for parties, because it was small and far from the clubs, but for movie marathons it was perfect. Their couch was old and obscenely comfortable, and they had a projector that was great for watching films. Éponine was pretty sure they used it to make powerpoints of study material to show to each other, but it was a good thing they were such nerds when it came to things like this.
The first time Éponine had been to this flat she’d spent the entire time glowering at Enjolras, angry on Grantaire’s behalf, not knowing Enjolras or Combeferre well at all, but now she did know them. She knew that Enjolras was an unobservant idiot who nevertheless cared deeply about his friends, and that Combeferre was an absolutely gigantic nerd who had tattoos of physics formulas and could speak in great detail about many types of insects. She’d still be unlikely to hang out with them by herself, but they were her friends.
And everyone was drunk tonight. Exams were over for December, and they all had a month off. People were going home, or staying, or working, but tonight they were watching High School Music, playing a ridiculous drinking game, and eating their bodyweight in takeout and snacks.
They were squished together on the couch, her and Grantaire and Joly and Bossuet and Bahorel. Enjolras, Ferre and Feuilly were sprawled on the floor, all three of them uncharacteristically relaxed and boneless now exams were over. Courfeyrac and Jehan were crammed into the tiny overstuffed armchair, and Marius was asleep already in the corner, being as much of a lightweight now as he had been in first year.
They were just waiting on Musichetta, who was working late and had demanded that they pause before the I Don’t Dance scene. Everyone was drunk and relieved that exams were over, and Grantaire was singing snippets of the songs, his singing voice always so much nicer than anyone ever thought.
The door slammed open, and Chetta barrelled in, towing a confused looking Cosette with her. There was a chorus of welcomes and cheers, and Musichetta beamed at everyone, shedding her coat and her jacket and her bag. She always had a way of being instantly comfortable wherever she was.
“Cosette!” Courfeyrac exclaimed happily. “I’m so glad you could make it! Here,” and he leapt to his feet, dislodging Jehan, who slipped onto the floor, grumbling, “I’ll get you settled!” He was immediately in host mode, even though this wasn’t his own flat (Enjolras and Ferre were deep in a conversation with Feuilly about the intrinsic homoeroticism of baseball scenes. Grantaire was listening with an expression of great delight on his face.)
Chetta flung herself onto the couch on top of Joly and Bossuet, but Éponine’s gaze followed Cosette, as she hung up a jacket, and poured herself a fancy gin that she pulled sheepishly out of her bag.
“An early Christmas present,” she explained when Courfeyrac raised his eyebrows, topping it up with lemonade, and then she looked around the room.
Éponine was too slow looking away, and Cosette caught her eye and smiled, shrugging at the chaos erupting around them, as Bossuet hit himself in the head trying to uncork a new bottle of wine, and Éponine shifted her weight and beckoned Cosette over to sit next to her. And Cosette did.
They pressed play, and everyone was laughing and singing, but Éponine was oddly conscious of Cosette’s thigh pressing against her own, conscious of the heat of Cosette’s body against hers, and she tried to focus on the movie, on the hilarity of the drinking game and the ridiculousness of the singing. They all got steadily drunker, Cosette leaning more and more onto Éponine as she worked her way through her gin. Her hair was soft and tickly where it brushed Éponine’s face, and she smelled citrusy and sweet.
Someone on the screen said “wildcats!” and there was a cheer, everyone downing their drinks, and Cosette was laughing and so was Éponine.
“It’s so nice to see you again,” Cosette whispered, close to Éponine’s ear so only she could hear, and Éponine felt a warmth in her stomach that she couldn’t attribute to the alcohol.
“I’m glad you came,” Éponine whispered back, focusing hard to make sure she didn’t slur the words. She meant it, and she didn’t want Cosette to think she was only saying it because she was drunk (although maybe that was true).
Cosette grinned at her, eyes bright, and then Grantaire started singing, and everyone joined in, and so did Éponine, smiling at the feel of Cosette at her side.
4.
When Éponine next saw Cosette, she was sitting on the floor of the kitchen in Joly, Bossuet and Musichetta’s flat. It was Grantaire’s birthday, and both Éponine and the birthday boy had been late to the surprise party, because Grantaire had been so convinced no one would want to celebrate his birthday that he’d forced her to go with him to a bar for a drink.
She’d only managed to get him here with a promise that they could leave as soon as she “picked up the book that Chetta had borrowed”, and he had almost cried when all of his friends had jumped out to surprise him. No matter how much they all told him they loved him, it still never seemed to sink in. so they would just have to keep telling him.
Éponine had seem glimpses of Cosette when everyone had yelled surprise, but then she’d got side-tracked and caught up chatting and drinking, and so this was the first time she’d spoken to Cosette.
“Hi,” she said, looking with a raised eyebrow down at Cosette, who was leaning against the kitchen cabinet with a Tupperware dish full of brownies on her lap, and steadily eating her way through them.
“Hi!” Cosette said cheerfully and drunkenly, waving a half-eaten brownie at Éponine. “Want one?”
Éponine looked at her. “Are they pot brownies?” she asked, and Cosette looked so scandalised that Éponine couldn’t hold back her laugh.
“Of course not! I'd never ruin good brownies with weed.” She ate another brownie, and Éponine tried not to watch her lick her lips.
“It's just that drunk me always wants brownies, but drunk me can't be trusted to make brownies,” she said, gesturing wildly, and Éponine couldn't help agreeing.
“So,” Cosette continued, “I made a batch of brownies when I was sober, so I could eat them when I was drunk. Sober Cosette has great ideas.”
Éponine laughed, and Cosette beamed drunkenly up at her.
“Would you like one?” Cosette asked again, and Éponine shrugged.
“Are they any good?” she asked, half-joking, and Cosette gasped in affronted horror.
“Yes!” she practically shouted. “Sit down,” she demanded, tapping the floor beside her, and Éponine shrugged and flopped down, leaning back against the cabinets.
“Have a brownie,” Cosette said, and Éponine did.
They sat in comfortable silence for a few minutes, eating the brownies, which Éponine had to admit were delicious. She downed her drink, sitting the empty cup gently down on the floor, and took a deep breath.
“Hey, Cosette,” she said, deliberately not looking at the other woman and grateful for the alcohol giving her the courage, “I think I’m gay.” Her voice shook as she said it, despite her best efforts, and she could feel a lump building in her throat, tears welling in her eyes, and she wished she hadn’t finished her drink, so she would have something to do with her hands.
Cosette was quiet for a moment, giving Éponine just enough time to work herself into a panic, and then Cosette’s hand landed on her shoulder, a warm, solid weight grounding her.
“Thank you for telling me,” Cosette said quietly, reassuringly. “Am I the first person you’ve told?” Éponine nodded silently, and Cosette made a noise under her breath, of surprise or maybe of gratitude. “You’re so brave, you know.”
Éponine scoffed, and when she spoke she could hear the tears in her voice. “I’m not really. Almost none of my friends are straight, and this shouldn’t be hard for me, it’s shouldn’t.”
“Hey, look at me,” Cosette said, voice firm, and Éponine turned, Cosette’s other hand settling on her other shoulder as she did so. Cosette’s face was very close to hers, and Éponine still felt close to tears, and she could smell the chocolate and the alcohol on Cosette’s breath, and her blue eyes were so clear and so sincere. “It’s always brave to tell people something important about yourself. Maybe I’d be more supportive if I wasn’t drunk, but all I can say is that I’m proud of you, all right?”
Éponine nodded, uncharacteristic tears spilling from her eyes, and let Cosette pull her into a tight hug.
5.
Éponine was in a club, and she was drunk. It was loud and busy and she was having a great time, dancing loose and free and easy, limbs feeling detached from her body, head floating, happy and contented to be dancing with her friends. Grantaire and Musichetta were dancing with her, both with much more skill but with equal abandon, and Bossuet and Joly off somewhere else looking for the bar, or making out in a corner, possibly. The rest of the Amis were here somewhere, but she’d lost them pretty early, and she knew not to bother looking for them. She knew they’d text if they were in trouble, and there was no point looking when it was this busy. She was sure they’d show up at some point.
And then she saw Cosette, weaving through the crowd with a drink in her hand, wearing a sparkly top, a look of extreme concentration on her face that suggested she too was very drunk. Éponine hadn’t seen Cosette for over a month, since that night on the kitchen floor when she’d came out. Cosette had been so kind, so lovely. She’d came out to Grantaire the following day, hungover and drinking shitty takeaway coffee. He’d blinked at her, grinned, and then punched her in the shoulder and welcomed her to the club. She’d punched him back, and then changed the subject, but she couldn’t hide her own smile.
Joly and Bossuet had offered to throw a party, which she’d declined. Chetta had given her a hug that almost smothered her, and then asked if she needed help finding a girlfriend. Everyone had been so nice, and no-one had made a big deal about it, and she really hadn’t needed to be worried at all.
Nothing had changed, expect that Grantaire had switched to pointing out pretty girls to her, and Éponine had felt an easing of a tension inside her that she hadn’t realised was there.
And now they were at a club, all of the Amis for once, on a Tuesday night when drinks were cheap, and even Enjolras was pretending that his lectures the next day didn’t exist. Speaking of Enjolras, Éponine had been meaning to ask Grantaire what exactly was going on there. The two of them had been talking recently, oddly civil, but Grantaire had been uncharacteristically close-lipped about it.
But that didn’t matter just now, because here was Cosette, gorgeous and smiling as always. Éponine shouted on her, but she was too far away to hear. Éponine poked Grantaire, who blinked at her, and then she tried to convey with head movements where she was going. He just looked blankly at her, so she rolled her eyes and started to make her way through the crowd, aided by judicious use of elbows.
She emerged from the dance floor, blinking and sweaty and pushing her hair out of her face, looking around for Cosette, who she finally spotted sitting in a booth with Enjolras and Marius, an unlikely pair at the best of times but even more so in a club.
Cosette beamed when she saw Éponine, and Éponine grinned back, feeling heat rising to her cheeks. Cosette jumped to her feet, almost spilling her drink, and then stumbling, and Éponine lunged forward without a thought to stabilise her, grabbing Cosette’s arms and almost tipping over herself. Cosette laughed, unbothered and leaning forward, wrapping her arms around Éponine in a tight hug. Cosette’s body was soft, and warm, pressed against Éponine, and Éponine felt suddenly flushed, gently extracting herself from Cosette’s arms with a smile.
“It’s so good to see you!” Cosette gushed, Éponine felt her smile growing impossibly big.
“You too,” she said, and Cosette grabbed her hand.
“Come on, do you want to dance?”
Éponine nodded uncertainly, looking back at Enjolras and Marius, both of whom looked very drunk and neither of whom were talking or even really looking at each other, both sitting there like they were by themselves, deep in thought. “Will they be okay?”
“They’ll be fine!” Cosette said. “Come on, let’s dance!”
And when Cosette pulled her along, Éponine followed her gladly back into the dancefloor. She’d lost sight of Grantaire, of Chetta, but Cosette was here, close to her in the crowd of people, and Éponine could feel the beat of the music in her body. Cosette was flushed, her hair sticking to her face, and her eyes were bright, slightly unfocused, but happy, and Éponine was happy too, drunk and loose and just glad that Cosette was here, that they were dancing together.
Éponine didn’t know how it happened, and later, lying in her bed, trying to remember (trying not to remember), she still wasn’t sure. But one second they were close, dancing together, sure, but not touching, and then the next second, Éponine’s hands were on Cosette’s hips and Cosette’s arms were around Éponine’s neck. Cosette’s eyes flickered down to Éponine’s lips, and Éponine felt a lurch in her stomach, and then she was leaning forward, and kissing Cosette.
The only thought that Éponine had in her brain in that moment was wow. Is this what kissing should be like? She’d kissed men before, fucked men before, but never had it felt like this. Her whole body was burning, burning up wherever she was touching Cosette. The music was still thudding through her body, but all she could feel were Cosette’s lips against hers, Cosette’s breasts against hers, Cosette’s hands on her neck and her own hands wrapping round Cosette’s waist, palms slipping under her top onto the hot soft skin of her back.
It was intoxicating, and overwhelming, and Éponine’s whole body was on fire with it, heat in her chest and her throat and her belly, and they could be alone, they could be anywhere and Éponine wouldn’t know anything but Cosette’s lips and hands and body on her.
Someone bumped into Éponine, and she stumbled, pulling her lips away, still holding Cosette, looking straight at her. Suddenly she could hear the music, see the lights, see the flush on Cosette’s cheeks and the glitter in her eyes. Éponine felt short of breath, and more sober than she should be, and so turned on just from this kiss that she was dizzy with it.
“Come back to mine,” she breathed, sure that her eyes were beseeching but not even able to pretend to be chill. And she was sure Cosette felt the same, from the way her breathing stuttered. She pressed a kiss to Cosette’s jaw, feather-light and gentle, and felt Cosette tremble in her arms.
“No,” Cosette said, and Éponine blinked, taken aback, as Cosette stepped away from her. Her voice was quiet, but despite the noise and the music and the pulse in Éponine’s ears, she heard perfectly.
“What?” Éponine said, voice shocked and unsteady, and Cosette just shook her head, face twisted, the happiness of a moment ago gone as if it had never been there.
“Sorry,” Cosette said, and then she was walking away, pushing her way through the crowd, and gone from Éponine’s sight.
Éponine stood there, staring after Cosette, until someone jostled her and spilled beer on her, and she was shaken alert again. And then she turned on her heel, and headed off to find Grantaire, and the bar, and shots.
+1
Éponine had been intending to avoid Cosette for the foreseeable future. In fact, she’d been attempting to scrub the entire incident from her memory, but despite the tequila she’d drank after Cosette had left, it was burned bright in her mind. She’d found Grantaire dancing with Enjolras, and while she was happy for him, Cosette’s rejection stung.
She’d managed successfully to go a month without seeing Cosette, so of course she would see her here in this coffee shop, when she had an assignment and a lab report and an essay due and her head was full of equations, getting herself a triple espresso to go. Cosette was sitting by the door, partially hidden so Éponine hadn’t seen her until she was at the counter. The other woman was cradling a giant cup of frothy creamy coffee in one hand and scribbling furiously with the other. Her hair was tied up, and her brow furrowed, and she was just as gorgeous as always.
“Here’s your triple espresso,” the barista said, sounding very chipper, and pushing Éponine’s travel mug across the counter. “Love the slogan,” she said, and Éponine smiled ruefully.
“My friend got me it for a joke,” she said, tracing her finger over the writing. Think like a proton and stay positive. Grantaire hadn’t meant it seriously, but the gift had meant a lot to her and she genuinely loved it. She picked up the mug, and turned to go, dropping a couple of pounds into the tip jar and snagging a couple of sugar sachets as she did so.
And as she headed towards the door, trying to tear open the sachets and not to spill her coffee at the same time, Cosette looked up, and looked straight at Éponine. She stumbled to a halt, her bag heavy on her shoulders, the coffee mug warm in one hand and the sugar spilling on the floor, and Cosette smiled, gently and with a hint of sadness, and then gestured to the empty seat in front of her. Éponine hesitated, then sat down, placing her cup tentatively down in front of her.
“Hi,” she said quietly, and Cosette smiled, so beautiful Éponine felt a pang in her heart.
“Hi,” Cosette said, putting down her pen and closing her notebook. “You know, this is the first time that we’ve met when we’ve both been sober?” Her wry tone startled a laugh from Éponine, and she relaxed a little, taking a sip of her coffee and wincing at the heat and the bitterness.
Éponine wasn’t sure what she was going to say, opened her mouth to ask a polite question about uni or the weather or god knows what, but the thoughts that had been roiling around in her brain had resurfaced at the sight of Cosette, and before she could stop herself, she blurted out the question that had been bothering her this whole time. “Why did you leave?”
Cosette flinched, and Éponine almost stopped, but she needed an answer. “I thought you were into it, at the club. I thought, maybe… that you liked me. But you stopped. You left. I just. I wish you would tell me why.”
Cosette took a deep breath, looking down at her coffee. “I do like you,” she said, soft and quiet. “That’s why I left. I like you for real, and I didn’t want to be just a drunken hook-up for you. I wanted to go home with you, god, of course I wanted to, but it would have broken my heart to leave the next day knowing that was it. I want more.”
Éponine could feel her mouth open in astonishment, her hands clutching her coffee mug, her thoughts scattered, mind completely blank.
“I didn’t want to tell you. You’d only just come out to me, I didn’t want to push you, or be a trial run for you, but then you kissed me and I couldn’t resist it. I’m sorry.”
“Cosette,” Éponine breathed, trying to gather her thoughts enough to reply. Cosette looked so sad, and that hurt, but it was just so unnecessary. This last month avoiding Cosette had made one thing very clear to her, and that was how she felt.
“I like you too. I never knew that you… I didn’t… I had a crush on you before I even knew what it was.”
Now it was Cosette’s turn to look gobsmacked, as Éponine fumbled for the words to say.
“I know we’ve only met like five times, and been drunk all those times, but I like you. You’re smart and funny and gorgeous and I’d love to go on a date with you. Not as a trial run, but a genuine proper date. Maybe without any alcohol.”
Cosette laughed, smiling widely. “I’d love that,” she said, and Éponine beamed back, the two of them no doubt looking like fools, grinning madly at each other in this random coffee shop on a normal Monday morning.
Éponine’s phone buzzed in her pocket, breaking the moment, and she looked at the time and swore. “Fuck, sorry, not now though. I have so much work to do.” She thrust her phone at Cosette, unlocking it quickly. “Put your number in? I’ll text you, and we can go for dinner?”
Cosette smiled, as if sensing Éponine’s uncertainty, taking her phone and typing in her number. “I can’t wait,” she said, and the sincerity in her tone made Éponine flush. She got to her feet, picking up her bag and her coffee and her phone, and then she looked at Cosette, smiling up at her so sweetly, and she bent down and kissed her.
It was nothing like the hot and heavy kissing in the club. Éponine’s hands were full, and Cosette’s were still on the table in front of her, and only their lips were touching. But it was gentle, and lovely, and when Éponine straightened up they were both smiling.
“Bye,” Éponine said, voice only a little bit unsteady, and Cosette waved at her as she left, still smiling a wide happy smile.
She was going to go on a date with Cosette. She walked down the street with a spring in her step that she would have been embarrassed to admit to, and her happiness was only slightly dampened when she tried to take a sip of her coffee and spilled it on her jumper. But who cared? Cosette liked her. Éponine had told Cosette that she liked her, while she was sober, and everything was fine. More than fine.
She was going on a date with Cosette.