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The warmth is the first thing you notice when you wake. For a moment, you let yourself revel in it. You can feel it finds its center along your body, gently tickling your stomach, your breasts, your thighs, and then spreads out for miles and miles, a glorious rapture which gives life to everything it touches. You know it touches your heart, too.
The bed you're lying in encases you in softness; it's been so long since you've been this comfortable. It takes a few more moments to register this isn't right. You never sleep this well, your mattress isn't even big enough to be sprawled out like this without the floor's coldness to creep up on you. This isn't your bed. It's not even your house, you realize, once you can focus your gaze enough to inspect the spotless ceiling; once you fix your hearing and the loud morning traffic is missing.
And the girl in your arms is not your sister.
The shade of blond is familiar, though. It is branded into your brain, you would recognize it anywhere. So you will yourself to calm down and crawl a little closer, until your arms are firmly locked around her waist and your face is buried in her locks. You never want to let her go. You want to always be this close to Cosette, close enough to feel her breathing, close enough to smell her perfume after it has almost faded, close enough to always be there when she wakes. But what you want is not important. You feel her twitch once, stir twice, and quickly retreat yourself from her body.
'Hi', she mumbles into the pillow beneath her, before letting out a tiny, beautiful, muffled groan.
'Hey', you fake a laugh.
You do not feel like laughing.
'Éponine, why does my head hurt?', she looks up at you.
You put your hand on the small of her back and stroke it gently. Cosette will believe it to be a comforting gesture; in truth, every second you can't touch her, you're hurting. But that's okay. As always, you'll survive.
'You had your first drink yesterday', you whisper in mock outrage. You drop it when she scrunches up her face, her nose curling. 'And then your second and third. How are you doing, babe?'
You are too affectionate with her, but you can never seem to help yourself. You tell yourself it's what best friends do, it's normal. No one will notice the quick beating of your heart and the little twitches in your stomach region every time she looks at you. But you can see how different you are around Cosette, and you know others have picked up on it, too. A few people, only, but that's horrible enough. Some nights you lie awake in crippling fear. Cosette can never find out.
She fixes her eyes on you seriously and snarks: 'I feel like someone beat me up with a sledge hammer.' Now you do laugh. 'How do you do it?!'
You two are in your sophomore year of High School now. Cosette is not as experienced as you are.
'Well, first of all, sweetie, you shouldn't start the night off with a shot. Lesson learned, I guess. Next time, even your bravest I-Can-Take-It-Stare won't keep me from stopping you.' Images from the night before flash through your mind and you can't suppress the smirk and the nudge to her side. 'But how was I supposed to know you were such a lightweight!'
You regret it. You regret it greatly, when she catches you by surprise and topples you over the edge of the bed. And yet you don't. As you lie there on the soft carpet and look into the eyes of the beautiful girl you're in love with, you know befriending Cosette was the best and the worst thing that has ever happened to you. But you don't regret it.
You clear your throat awkwardly and shift your weight from one foot to the other and back again, before you dare to look up at her once more.
'I should go, I guess. Erm, I'll find my way out. You keep sleeping, little bird.', you say too gently, too tenderly. 'Thank you for letting me sleep over.'
'You're always welcome, my love.' She smiles at you softly.
She doesn't mean it the way you want her to.
You keep reminding yourself of it, until your key slides into the door of your apartment.